Soap for Jesus

"A Twist in Time" "You want me to be evil? Fine, I'll be evil." I raised my hands towards them, the pink sepphalite now flickering visibly between my fingers, revelling in the release of the power I had chained back for so long. "No, we don't want you to be evil! We just want you to be good, to give you a second chance. Why lie to us?" Snow asked me, tears rimming her lids. "You know what your problem is?" I watched the light grow stronger. "It's not that you want me to heal. It's that you want me to follow your kind of healing. No matter how hard I try to be good, it will never be good enough for you, because there is a certain route you won't be happy unless I take. You want me to kowtow and bend, to grovel and you want to see your final victory - good vanquishing evil. The knight slaying the dragon. You want me to be completely destroyed, humbled on the ground, because that's the way every good fairytale e...

The lovely Katie Comstock posted this on her blog recently and sent me a link. Now I share it with you, and pray that those who need to read it will read - and listen to - it. This is an anthem for the homesick, for the beaten, The lost and broke, the defeated - A song for the heartsick, for the standbys, Living life in the shadow of a goodbye. Do you remember when we learned how to fly? We'd play make-believe we were young and had time on our side. You're stuck on the ground; got lost, can't be found. Just remember that you're still alive. I'll carry you home; no, you're not alone. Keep marching on - this is worth fighting for. You know, we've all got battle scars. You've had enough. But just don't give up. Stick to your guns; you are worth fighting for. You know, we've all got battle scars. Keep marching on. This is a call to the soldiers, the fighters, The young, the innocent and righteous. We've got a little room...

I have several dear Muslim friends, including my former manager who I totally adore, and as people, I get along great with them. But the religion itself, as more and more immigrants come into the country, this is what I fear, and this is what is becoming reality on the streets of our capital: MUSLIM "MODESTY PATROL" STALKING STREETS OF LONDON [Excerpts] Earlier this month, a group who had claimed [that] an area in East London was a "Muslim area" had told people that alcohol was banned, or that they were dressed inappropriately. Borough officials, community leaders and police condemned a group of self-proclaimed vigilantes who took it upon themselves to patrol the streets of London confronting people they deemed as indulging in "non-Muslim" behavior. The group, who dubbed itself a "Muslim patrol," filmed the incidents and posted the footage on YouTube. In one video, which was published by the UK news portal The Commentator, the group co...

*chuckles* I'm lying here in a half numb, half blank, half calm (three halves, yes, I know :P) frame of mind. Kristin just asked me how I was, and I answered, I'm thinking God is weirdly good. Cause He is. My mom's in need of prayer, a lot of it, especially as the first court date with my father on the 15th nears. I'm lying here in emotional and physical pain. And apparently I "don't have any major stress in my life", a comment I'm currently finding hard to forgive. *smiles, thinking* I messed up again recently. I do that frequently. And I've been convinced God's going to punish me, as usual. If He has, He's done it in the sweetest way. I might have lost most of the things I love, but God's shown me His love, His people, and Mom and Mr C are the most important things in life. I might be in despair and lost in the darkness, but there's always someone out there who's more lost than me cause they haven't go...

As Time itself drew to a close in Earth's final days, the system of life seemed to have gone back several hundred years. Feuds, wars between kings and knights that fought on horseback...beheading as capital punishment had become ways of life once more. One could almost believe that old TV shows and films, like Doctor Who, were a reality, for there were upon the Earth many strange beings, the like of which had never been seen from the dawn of Time until now. There arose a great and powerful Dark Knight who rode through the land, calling all the people who dwelt there in apparently ordinary lives to arms. For a millennium, the world had lain quietly under the guidance of one King who reigned supreme in Jerusalem, capital of the much torn land of Israel. Yes...the problems of the world had centred around this one small city in one tiny country, as the book of ancient prophesy had foretold it to be a stumbling block. And once more, a King reigned in Jerusalem as had not been his l...

I was wondering what to post for my 20th birthday blog post. And...I'd like to share this. From my heart again. ;) "Janey, I'd like to ask prayer for healing for your eczema. Would that be okay?" Laura asked, keeping her arm around me. I nodded. "Sure, why not." My family didn't raise me to believe in commanding diseases to leave the body, but I understood that it was done still with the acknowledgement God may not choose to grant it, but the belief that until proved otherwise, He had. Laura caught the main guy's attention and asked him to pray. "Sure!" He moved over to me. Laura had slipped her arms around me again, and my remaining OYAN siblings moved in as a circle around me. "You be the point of contact." He placed his hand on Laura's shoulder and prayed for complete healing of my body. Then he placed on his hand on my head, commanding the eczema to leave my body in the Name of Jesus. What followed next w...

(As most of you know, I'm in Overland Park, Kansas, staying with the Noe family for the One Year Adventure Novel - OYAN - Workshop 2012. Today, June 23, is the day after the workshop ended.) Sarah Noe is wearing a very cool t-shirt. It has on the back "Live, Move, Be", and a Scripture reference in Acts. I likey. I'm struggling to find words to say what's in my heart, so for right now, I'm just going to type out the little speech thingie I gave last night just before the final session ended. I was shaking, writing this. I wrote it and struggled with words, and re-read to find out that it said a lot that struck the chords inside of me, but nothing that really seemed to say my deepest emotions. I debated backing out of reading it...and the only reason I wrote it was so I'd stand less chance of crying on stage. I prayed God would bless it and that it would be used to bless, but it felt totally inadequate and I wasn't expecting Him to. I know this...

In modern society, there are many new phases and phrases of "expressing ourselves". There are also many new open forms of behaviour - not merely tolerated, nor even accepted, but promoted and taught by subtlety, blatantly and through constant, thorough inculcation. Most of these began in the last century. From 1,900 years of fairly slow changing, there has been a sudden rush of things generally considered "unacceptable" being promoted in the highest degree. Most of these are not really "human rights-centred", as much as being "me-centred". Not as much about correcting incorrect morality - such as the freeing of slaves - as about ensuring the comfort of individuals, which has now enforced the point of freedom of speech so harshly that most of the liberties it grants are curtailed. For example, you are allowed, encouraged and firmly supported to announce that you are gay/homosexual. Even if I like you and am your friend, I am not allowed to ...

I've had nothing to say for a long while. Kinda long while, anyway. I just want to take some excerpts from a few emails and chats and pray God they encourage you. "While you are alive in Christ, you still have a sin nature - a dead weight, a dead body, that you're chained to, much like a Siamese twin. That burden you carry around for the rest of your earthly life. And to prevent us from thinking of ourselves as gods, I think He lets us have the weaknesses to try and make us rely on Him more. All of us struggle with idolatry in every shape and form. It's not even as simple as a graven image. And any addiction when submitted to becomes Idolatry. And yes, the sin is big and black and monstrous in the eyes of a pure and holy God. But what we forget is that He's looking at us through the red blood of Christ - and we're already pure. The biggest struggle is what you're enduring - getting up and going again. The righteous man falls seven times and rises...

Tweet earlier: I stink of alcohol. And blood. Not mine. Will explain later. Please pray for my new friend Noel. Thanks. :) Walking home from the X51, I was heading to the 404 when I approached these three dark-skinned kids (you know the type, baseball caps, etc) around this older white man on the floor. At first I thought they were beating him up, but one was offering his hand and another attempting to help him stand, which didn't quite make sense. On asking what was going on, they said that they'd seen him collapse and were just trying to help him back up again. Two community support officers (kinda like police backup but without much power) came up to us then, and they told me (I'm going to tell it you all in one bunch so you don't have to try and piece it together like I did) basically, that he'd been drinking (Noel claims he hasn't drunk all day, he's just on a hangover) and that he'd walked into a window earlier uptown, and that he'd been...

Once upon a time, there were two men. They were born together, lived together, ate together, worked together, slept together. They were Siamese twins, perfect reproductions of each other in every mannerism. Except two things were strange. They looked the same as one man. Each had exactly half of that one body that they shared. The one had been born years before the other, corrupted from what it was meant to be. The soul that they shared was rotten through, but there remained within a touch of the original design, a thread of what it was meant to running through its core. One day, the breath of the original Designer, the One Who made the whole man with the perfect soul before the Corruption fell upon it, stirred the dust and bit through the grit on that soul. He brought it to life, once again, and the original Soul, faced with the choice between the Old Familiar, that is and never should have been, and the New Unknown, which is ageless and timeless, chose the New Unknown and reached out...

Vents, like most things, can be used for good or ill. They can let out good smells or bad smells. Good thoughts or bad thoughts. Praises or rants or - frustrations. Yet sometimes, the bad product can be turned into good on the way. So here's to hoping the frustration rant turns into a productive praise. If not by posting time, shortly afterwards! As usual, I'm lying back on my bed here looking I'm not doing anything. Which is something that highly annoys me about computers. Or maybe it's just laptops. *pats Lapina* No offence, girl. Sometimes it makes me feel like I'm doing nothing too. Or like I'm wasting time. I mean, I deliberately cut out on things that are time-wasting, like, say, playing Facebook games or watching non-productive films (okay, I do make time for Doctor Who as a de-stresser :P), to take part in more productive things, like chatting to/mentoring people, updating blogs, emails, FB posts, Twitter, website. I'd even like to attempt writing ag...

They sold them every year. People in green and brown clothes and people in blue, smiling, with a box around their necks or in their arms, full of small red paper flowers. Other people came up and put some money in the buckets they had on their arms, and walked away with a little red flower that they'd put on. 'Course, not everyone did it. My family was something Daddy called "pacifist", and he hated the people in green and blue. Every time he saw one of them, he'd call us together and herd us past them as fast as he could. Still, that didn't stop my sister and I looking. In the end, Marissa stopped looking. She said that Daddy was right, and it didn't really matter. After all, it was just a paper flower that people wore a few days and then forgot about. It didn't seem to matter that much to them, so why would it to us? I didn't care about what everybody else did. It was the people in green and blue that I watched. And they were there, year after ye...

11-11-11, whether British or American. Armistice Day. Veteran's Day. Remembrance Day. On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day, on the eleventh month, the Armistice was signed in 1918, "officially" bringing an end to the First World War. Since then, at 1100 hours on November 11th, two-three minutes of silence are held to remember the fallen who died that we might live today, and those currently serving and dying in foreign countries - whether we agree with the wars or not. The past three Saturdays I've been involved in selling poppies to the general public. The Poppy Appeal is part of a nationwide group that makes and sells poppies to the public, calling them to remember - and never forget. Across Britain, perfect strangers are united with one bond - a splash of red on their lapels or tops, calling them to remembrance. Tough biker jackets, upper class dainty scarves, a grubby child's little jacket; all share one common feature - the poppy. There's some coats t...

One of my most favourite books of all time has to be Elisabeth Elliot's Passion and Purity. Elisabeth Howard Elliot Leitch Gren has to be one of the most inspirational and amazing women out - especially in the guidance area of relationships. The story of her husband, Jim Elliot, is legendary. However, less well known is the love story of Jim and Elisabeth. Embodied in the book Passion and Purity, it contains pain, hope, peace, struggles, tears, timeless God-given love and prayer. It talks about the concepts of releasing back to God, waiting on God, emotional battleground - in fact, pretty much every area that one could struggle with in relationships. This blog post is for Calleigh, Kiehl, Carissa, Rebekah, Anjelica, Kay and Holly, and Miguel, Nick, Matt, Jay and Miles from Passion and Purity. I’m including some of you not because you necessarily have relationship problems, but because you may find some of it a blessing in your own personal lives right now. Chapter 12: Holding Patte...

Linked to me earlier today by my big brother Jay Lauser . “Who am I?” By Dietrich Bonhoeffer (March 4, 1945) Who am I? They often tell me I would step from my cell’s confinement calmly, cheerfully, firmly, like a squire from his country-house. Who am I? They often tell me I would talk to my warders freely and friendly and clearly, as though it were mine to command. Who am I? They also tell me I would bear the days of misfortune equably, smilingly, proudly, like one accustomed to win. Am I then really all that which other men tell of? Or am I only what I know of myself? restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, yearning for colours, for flowers, for the voices of birds, thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, trembling in expectation of great events, powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, fa...

I nearly crashed last night, and it was only by the grace of God that I didn't go fully down. This morning leads to repentance with tears, as I realise that like Peter, who is coming to be one of my favourite Biblical characters in that I can identify with him in several ways, I took my eyes off Christ, Whose power gives me the strength to stand, and looked at the roaring waves around me. Indeed, they are steep. As I type this, I am uncertain whether and cannot find out if my father is dead or living. My brother attacked my mother again yesterday, bruising her already bruised leg again, and leaving me with much fear for my trip to the USA. On top of that, I spent nearly two hours in a minibus with cadets yesterday, where nearly every song had horrible swear words that even I would never use or else had hidden to blatant sexual connotations. (I was the only girl in a group of four boys.) The whole trip there and back was spent in tears. And we wonder why our kids end up the way they...

WARNING: NOT FOR YOUNGER OR INNOCENT READERS. Wrote this for Snapshots. Opinions?? 'She stared at the screen, tears pouring down her twisted face. "What does he know, or care?" A little voice inside of her whispered. "You're just another human...a worthless body, a lazy, selfcentred bitch. She's right...everyone who tells you that must be right. Because you see it in yourself. You lazy, good-for-nothing, cutting harlot." Burying her face in the crook of her arm, she sobbed quietly into the cushion on the arm of the chair, trying to suppress the louder sobs that would bring down her already angry and weeping mother. She raised her soaked face and studied the computer screen again, reading the type that a faceless person had sent, begging her, pleading with her not to cut. Glancing down at the knife on her lap, she pulled the kitchen towel out, ready to soak up the blood when she'd made the cut - or two - that would send her into a state of shocked num...

Hey guys, check this cut from my first chapter of a new novel - No-Win War. :D Critique away! No-Win War By Jane Johnson Chapter One “We’re at war with them, as far as I’m concerned,” I said, my voice flat. “Always have been, and always will be.” The two of them stared at me. I read faint disgust in their faces as they bowed their heads and backed out of my room. “Ole Habo. He just doesn’t have an inkling that times CAN change.” “No; he’s too stuck in that past of his. We’re a new generation, and things can be different. He’ll see, someday.” “What did you say?” I called after them, but they had moved beyond hearing range. With a weary sigh, I turned and shuffled back to my cosy leaves. The very fact they called me old signified that this new generation that I didn’t really know had lost respect for me. Why do they even bother coming to ask advice? All they do is mock at it, even though I know better than they, and then go and pass a contrary decision in that new fangled Parley-ant of t...

This is a snippet of a short story I wrote earlier. I am thinking of including it in Snapshots. They had argued last night and this morning, bitter, fierce, sniping. Then silence reigned, a heavy, sullen blanket. She came back in from cleaning out their chickens. He pointed to the microwave. "Put it on for 30 seconds." She started the microwave, looking a little puzzled. It bleeped, signalling the end. She looked at him. "Take it out. It's yours." She pulled out a plate of toast. "Thank you." "See, what an evil father you've got. He made you some toast because you were hungry and feeling like you were going to faint." With an inward sigh, she cut two begrudged slices of cheese and ate it as a sandwich. She turned to the fridge and pulled out a carton of apple juice. With a brief laugh, she told him about last night at a meeting, where a friend had surprised her with apple juice instead of squash. "I was so pleased because apple juice...