Soap for Jesus

"Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness And I have to sit down for a while The feeling that I'm losing her forever And without really entering her world I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter That funny little girl Slipping through my fingers all the time I try to capture every minute The feeling in it Slipping through my fingers all the time Do I really see what's in her mind Each time I think I'm close to knowing She keeps on growing Slipping through my fingers all the time Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table Barely awake, I let precious time go by Then when she's gone, there's that odd melancholy feeling And a sense of guilt I can't deny What happened to the wonderful adventures The places I had planned for us to go (Slipping through my fingers all the time) Well, some of that we did but

"Why do you do this for me?" "What?" Well...why do you walk me 30 minutes to the train station every night, pay for my ticket and your return ticket, take me home on the train, walk me to my door, then leave, go back to the station and travel right back where you came from, then to take your own bus home and making your journey home over 3 hours longer? Why do you look into my eyes and tell me that you know I'm not perfect, but I'm perfect for you? Why, when I apologised for my clingy t-shirt, did you say it was okay, but please don't wear it outside because other guys would stare and you'd feel like you had to hug me and keep me safe? Why did you promise marriage before sex? Why do you spend the time you desperately need to make this university proposal succeed for your future career, studying with me when it's a lot crowded and noisier? Why do you kiss me and never make a move to touch me inappropriately? Why do you always put m

Here, enjoy a scribbling I did to enter a competition at my bestie's Pet Day last year. I'd forgotten I'd written this. I have ridden on a train before. The noise alone brings back scary memories for me. My last owner used to take me to work with him sometimes, and he wasn't...wasn't very nice to me. So to be sitting inside one, with the people and the noise and all the usually calm trees and buildings blurring...it was too much. I sat there panting, shaking, so hot and dizzy. I seriously thought I might die. My mistress tried to talk to me me. She told me that she loved me, that I was special and her good boy. She called me all her special names and pulled me onto her lap, tucking my head against her shoulder, trying to absorb my terror. I wriggled free, bouncing onto the next seat and attempting to climb over the edge of it. She tugged me back by my lead until I was on the chair again, at which I gave up and curled into a ball, still shaking. Don'

Note: Trigger warning: If you're in a bad place, don't read this. If you think you can handle it...try. It may encourage you. I hope. :P Depression-exhaustion. It's one of the things I loathe most about a bout of suicidal depression. (If you need a definition of that, feel free to message me: fromselfharmtovictory@gmail.com) First there's a tiny grey cloud, a mood change...flashbacks...sometimes panic attacks...random crying spells...intense sadness over the lost things/people... Those can be triggered by, or exacerbated, by arguments, events (i.e., a person who dislikes/caused a lot of trouble for me married recently, and it triggered this bout because he was brought back into my life, albeit unintentionally, by mutual friends; aggravated by an argument this past weekend). Then it literally feels like my mind is being torn in two. There's the one part which seems to be out of control, and the other which is logical and takes the rationale. It knows I'

Walking hurriedly along the street in the cool evening air, I glanced sideways at my reflection in the glass window, noting again my arms with dissatisfaction. I barely had time to think, rushing madly as I was to get the 8:39 train in time, trying to take in and appreciate the surroundings around me (anti-depression technique), but my shoulders sagged a little, thinking of my dissatisfaction with the way I looked, trying to concentrate on it being more important the way I am inside and yes, I DO like my style. Including the trainers. It's independent looking, like I don't care what people think - and I don't, to some degree. But there are certain things about my body that I don't like. Since being rejected, that insecurity has gained a lot of ground, even though I try to ignore it. Rushing along Broad Street, I neared three guys in suits sauntering along. Looking ahead, I went to go past them when one, on a phone, waved at me, in front of my face. I smiled at him as

Thoughts taken from a Facebook post, written by guest blogger Gabriel Hudelson: On the objectification of women... I recently read a blog post about how, in short and brutal summation, girls should feel free from the legalisms of the modesty movement and guys need to get their thoughts under control and stop blaming and objectifying women. And I agree. Sort of. Guys, we do need to take responsibility for our eyes and our thoughts. We don't have the freedom to blame Eve here. Jesus didn't say "if any man looks at a woman to lust after her then she really should have put more clothes on." The truth of the matter is, brothers, that a lustful heart and mind *will lust*. Regardless of the attire (or lack thereof) of the object of lust, "the eyes of man are never satisfied." (Pr. 27:20) Furthermore, we have no right to take our opinion and preach it as Gospel. "Thou shalt not wear pants." "Thou shalt not wear sleeveless shirts." "

Looking around my bedroom, my shoulders slump - yet again. The last two and a half weeks have been so, so wearying. It's a strange combination of tired joy, as my physical body gets more weary, learning once more to look to the Lord for the strength I need to get through the day on five hours sleep. And now, tonight, my stepdad just wriggled through all the boxes and bags and more dumped stuff on the floor that, a month ago, was starting to look almost tidy. I sat on the bed, just watching, nearly crying but somehow keeping them back. That seems to be a well-developed habit, how to turn the tap off so it was never there. But it's still sad. He puts Pepsi up next to me because the kid keeps jumping around the floor and getting in the way, before carrying on pulling all the books off the shelves, pulling the bookcase up and over the chest, nearly at a horizontal angle because there's too much stuff in the way. I want to help, but there's not enough room in the messy c

Recently, I've been watching so many people change, grow away, start courting, get engaged, get married, have their first child - or even their second, and/or go to university, start their job, start a company... These are people I grew up with, people I knew, people I watched struggle through dark times or watched as they forged a path to their dream...or are still fighting. It feels strange to be on the sidelines, living quietly, watching them now. It is their turn to be the mainplayers on the stage of life. Watching my friends and acquaintances form a new world...change this current one - both for good and for an evil they cannot even imagine is coming. And there's me... Trotting back and forward every day to work, going home, occasionally travelling, starting a project here and an event there, blogging here, posting there, watching the sky, always dreaming and somehow never quite getting done... Someone can say a word, a phrase, and more and more recently, t

I've just got home after a ten and a half hour shift at work. It's 9:30pm and I have to be up at 5:30 in the morning. I've not yet eaten and have a bunch of household chores to tend to before I go to sleep - including packing. Yet I'm happy. And kinda bouncy. And no, it really doesn't have anything to do with the Mars energy drink - that's just the thing propping my eyelids open invisibly. So what's so utterly enchanting about the pile of freshly air-dried clothing on the kitchen table - apart from it being one of the best smells on God's earth? Neither the 10.5 hour shift or the 5:30 rising are normal for me - I've spent the whole week living at my brother's house, both cat-sitting and house-sitting, and now tomorrow I'm off to Preston to spend the weekend with my best friend, Steph. So why the bouncy? Because this week has proved something. I left home with fears and foreboding looming. I hadn't cooked a meal in pretty much a y

Sheesh, that was a long title. Okay. This post is addressing the current situation regarding Faith's FB page, Help Me Prove It , and her YouTube video which has gone viral. I've been a friend of the Pennington girls - Grace, Hope and Faith - for three or four years. Not intimate, just your general bog-standard friend. The first thing I heard about this was when my best friend called me, upset, and reported that there had been a kick-off between mutual friends over the video on YouTube. To give you a brief on my own background, I was born and raised in a strict evangelical Christian home. I never left the house alone until September 2010 (I was 18) and my father, a Christian minister, later turned out to be a paedophile. So yes, I do know thereof which I speak. I met the Pennington girls through a writing forum - One Year Adventure Novel - and later on, met them in person at the Summer Workshop in Kansas. When I revisited America for the final time in October 2013, Grac

In this country of free speech, we are starting to see, more and more, the intolerant intolerance which is known as "tolerance". The more people fight for "freedom of speech" and "equality" for minorities, and not for all people, the more we see people losing it. I understand where they are coming from; I really do. From a Godless perspective, it is very easy to see. I also understand where I, and so many others that feel frustrated, bitten down and like they're treading on thin ice, are coming from. I am of sound mind and body. I am intelligent, without meaning to be arrogant about it, and I'm a Christian. To many people, I am a threat, simply because they see what I believe as a threat. This problem lies with their perception, not with me. I am not a nice person; by nature, and it shows rather frequently, I am selfish, arrogant, vain and self-interested. However, if you know me, I am unwavering in what I believe, attempt to love uncond

I just finished reading an encouraging note sent to me by Sarah Beth regarding a question I'd asked about From Self-harm to Victory earlier in the day. I don't know about you, but messages of encouragement always make me cry. And feel guilty. As much as I publicise my weakness so that people see who I am and who Christ is, I still feel like a fraud. That I'm blazoning myself for glory and my actions as good works. That people still can't see the real me. They're suspicious of me, and so am I. And it's hard to carry on being me and showing so much weakness. Do you know how hard it is to be openly weak? To listen to others discourage you and to despise yourself for it? She praised me for humility and I could only cry knowing how much I fight with pride. Then I stopped and listened. Because Someone was telling me to let go of my guilt and shame and accept what she said. Not as praise for me, but as praise for Him in me. Praise from Him to me. No, I&