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Man Named Jim

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Nov 29, 2009

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I knew a man named Jim,

And I used to let him in,

He was tall and loud,

He could be mean and proud,

I knew a man named Jim,

He knew my secrets, he knew my pain,

He’d ride in on a black, night train,

We were close and he knew me well,

We did deeds I’d rather not tell,

I knew a man named Jim

I went to church and my dark friend cried,

You have no salvation, Jesus lied,

You’re petty, you’re weak,

You’re small and meek,

I knew a man named Jim

Falling to my knees I began to weep,

Oh Lord, this hole is far too deep,

I need some help, I need a hand,

I’m up to my neck in quick sand,

I knew a man named Jim,

I read the Book and began to pray,

It taught me how to give my life away,

Once and for all I accepted grace,

Love and joy filled my face,

I know a man named Him

I knew a man named Jim,

He was my evil, he was my sin,

If he ever tries to come around again,

I’ll turn away and he won’t get in,

I know a man named Him,

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What Would Jesus Do 2.0

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Nov 22, 2009

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What happened to the bracelets? What happened to the keychains? What happened to the buttons and shirts and bumper stickers? More importantly, what happened to the mentality? In the mid 1990's there became an abundance of a certain message for Christians. That message was also plastered all over the above mentioned paraphernalia.

What Would Jesus Do?

WWJD

Over ten years later and we've not only had the bracelets kept in the attic getting musty but also that mentality, that message, that daily personal sermon.
It is our universal call as Christians to live as Christ did. He was our example.
Romans 8:29(NIV) For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.

2 Corinthians 3:18(NIV) we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.

Galatians 4:19(NKJV) My little children, for whom I labor in birth again until Christ is formed in you

Ephesians 4:22-24(NIV)You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; 23to be made new in the attitude of your minds; 24and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.

The challenge to all Christians is to reject all of which this world has taught you is acceptable but goes against the purpose of WWJD.
Let's be honest with ourselves, the majority of the time we ask ourselves "What Would Jesus Do?" the correct responce is DUH! The answer is obvious. It's clear. It doesn't require deep prayer or reflection. It's a simple, DUH!

Would Jesus give someone the bird for cutting them off in traffic? DUH!

Would Jesus quote explicit Lil' Wayne lyrics on his Facebook status updates? DUH!

Would Jesus stay home from church in the morning because he just didn't feel like getting up? DUH!

Would Jesus not act like a Christian around his friend because it might make him unpopular? DUH!

Come on, people. Let's get back to asking ourselves one of the easiest questions we can. What would Jesus do? That's our call. That's our mission. There is NO such thing as part time Christians. There is no such thing as Diet Christians (All Of The Salvation, Half the Responsibility!) We are ALL called to live as our savior did. We are ALL called to walk in his steps. No exception. No excuses. No compromises.
John 14:12(NKJV) “Most assuredly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do he will do also; and greater works than these he will do, because I go to My Father."

Christ himself called us to do as he did and GREATER. So let's start asking ourselves, every day, in every situation

What Would Jesus Do?

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CYC Blog : Are You An Absolute Young Christian?

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Sep 12, 2009

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So He called me to find a way to have these young CYC followers check themselves on how they're living. Right away I knew I couldn't come out the gate and start preaching them on what they should and shouldn't be doing. No "You shouldn't argue with your mother, that's not Christlike!" Nope. Instead, I was able to think of a way to challenge these guys. To make them look at their own lives and ask themselves if they are living right. So I posted the following blog. And I'm going to be following it with more blogs, each one highlighting a personal trait that makes an Absolute Young Christian.

--------------------------------------------

We've been called by the big man to pose a question to all of you out there in Myspace land, all of you CYC'ers.

Are you an Absolute Young Christian?

Now, what do we mean when we ask this? What do we mean when we say 'absolute?' Definition time!

Absolute - Complete, Outright

So when we ask, are you an Absolute Young Christian we are simply asking, are you completely, totally, outright and without exception a young Christian? In today's world there are so many things pulling us away from the one direction we needed to be headed. So many things pulling us away from Him. So many things that are creating a buffer between us and God.

HERE IT COMES!

We are here to set the challenge and place the call out to all of you! Are YOU an AYC? (pronounced ace, as in "whenever I need some prayer help I know I have an AYC in the hole." Or whatever other clever pun you can think of.) Over the next couple weeks we are going to be posting different traits of being an AYC. We're going to blueprint exactly what makes someone an Absolute Young Christian. That way, if you start to let those things begin to pull you the wrong way, you can jump back over to here and remember just what makes YOU who you are. Being an AYC is what YOU are meant to be. So we start with the challenge:

Are you an Absolute Young Christian?

And if not,

Are you ready to be?

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Zoe Parker: The Broken - A CYC Original Series

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Sep 9, 2009

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The quilt lay underneath Zoe undisturbed. It had been four hours since her step mother came into her room and said the words that cut through Zoe like a knife. It had been four hours since Zoe had first contemplated taking her own life as a solution for her tragic problems. It had been four hours for her to lie there, staring at the wall, holding Roger ever so tight and go back and forth on the decision to do it.

It was now two o’clock in the morning. The red numbers on the alarm clock next to her bed pierced the darkness. Zoe hadn’t had much of an appetite in the previous week but now she was finding her stomach growling like a caged tiger. Mulling over the consequences of the last journey from her room, Zoe decided the chances of everyone being sound asleep were good enough to venture forth to the kitchen.

Once in the hallway Zoe tip toed towards the kitchen with Roger in tow. She emerged from the end of the hallway, took a right and was at the opening of the kitchen within ten steps. Luckily for Zoe the multiple expensive appliances offered enough luminance through the dark for her to manage a path to the marble tile floor. The ground felt cold on her bare feet as she crossed from the carpet of the hall to the kitchen. Her hand traced over the long matching marble counter as she found her way to the double door refrigerator fixed against the back wall. Like all of the other appliances around her it was gleaming stainless steel.

Zoe reached for a handle on the front of the refrigerator but found nothing to grasp. Squinting her eyes and looking closer she found that except for a pencil thin line separating the two doors, the surface was totally flat. Stumped and still hungry Zoe made her way back to the long counter where she thought she had seen a basket of fruit. She found it there in the center of the marble, a perfect hand woven basket holding a variety of fruit. Zoe’s stomach grumbled when she saw what appeared to be a juicy red apple. Zoe snatched it quickly in her hands and found it to be slick and odd. She looked closer and realized that the apple was wax and out of the top hung a small wick.

Zoe frowned and set the apple imposter back in its home. Disappointed she decided to give up on her quest to relieve her hunger. Just as she was about to turn out of the kitchen she heard footsteps coming down the hallway. After her last experience from exploring the house she found herself stricken with fear and anxiety. She feared the passive, bitter sweet wrath of her step mother. But before she could move there now stood a shadowy figure at the end of the hallway and was taking its steps towards the kitchen. Out of pure instinct Zoe found herself shutting her eyes and cowering.

“Zoe? Is that you?” It was the voice of her father that rang through the darkness calling out to her. Zoe found herself slowly releasing from her tight ball of protection.

“Yea, it’s me dad,” she responded back to him. While the largest portion of her fear had subsided she found herself still a bit weary of letting herself feel totally comfortable.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” Her dad’s voice sounded weary and tired but also expressed concern.

“I don’t know…..I’m hungry I guess. I was trying to find something to eat but the refrigerator handle is broke, I think.” Zoe offered her explanation.

Zoe could hear her dad chuckle under his breath. He walked past her, wearing his navy blue flannel pajama pants and crisp white cotton t-shirt, and stopped in front of the fridge. He motioned her over with a small hand gesture. Zoe obeyed and walked over, standing next to her father. He pointed to the bottom of what appeared to be the right door of the steel obelisk. He placed his finger three inches to the left of the pinstripe line and pressed. The door released from its grasp and exhaled a deep breath of cold air.

A small awe of the obviously expensive technology was felt by Zoe but was soon replaced with a wonder why her dad needed the Jetson’s refrigerator. It, like everything in the house, seemed to all be put together for the simple purpose to impress others. Not to be practical but to be the talk of those who saw it. Zoe, who had spent the last couple years shopping for her and her mother and microwaving most of her dinners found herself just not feeling the need for all the hoopla.

While Zoe pondered what other domestic devices had secret hidden entry methods her father had removed a glass bottle of milk and a plate of cookie bars. He then placed his hand gently on Zoe’s back and guided her around to the other side of the countertop. There she found a row of wooden stools with puffy black cushions. Her dad pulled out one and let her sit first. Then he found his own sitting next to her. The hunger pains grew sharply as he pulled the plate of cookie bars in front of them. The graham cracker base was covered by a swirl of chocolate. Zoe’s mouth watered as she reached for her first one.

For the next five minutes the two sat in silence. Swallowing her second rich cookie bar Zoe’s stomach while now satisfied was telling her just how good some cold milk would be. After a quick scan of the counter she turned to her dad.

“We need glasses” she noted.

“No. No glasses,” he said rather bluntly. “This is my time. I come out here once a week. I get to be alone. I get to drink from the bottle. I get to be by myself.”

Zoe suddenly found herself assuming that her father was giving her a hint. She mumbled what was an attempt at a quick apology and started to get up from her stool.

“I wasn’t telling you to leave, kiddo. My time is now our time. It gives me a chance to share some cookies and milk with the daughter I haven’t seen nearly enough of lately,” He told her warmly.

Her father grabbed the large bottle of milk, his hand wrapping around the neck and he brought it to his lips. With a bend of the wrist he swallowed three large gulps. The bottle was then returned to the counter as he let out a soft belch. Zoe giggled a tiny bit as she looked up at her dad and saw a long white milk mustache above his upper lips.

“What?” He questioned feigning confusion and returning a big warm smile. Then he slid the bottle over to Zoe and nodded for her to take her own drink. Zoe placed her small hand on the neck of the bottle, her fingers barely wrapping halfway around. Her other hand found the bottom in order to lift it to her lips. She tilted the glass container and took a large chug of milk. The bottle once again found the table as Zoe’s small body let out a high pitched pip of a burp. Her father looked over at her and gave a hearty chuckle as he saw a massive matching milk mustache dripping from her lips.

* * *

The morning sun penetrated through the windows in Zoe’s room. It was now Sunday, eight hours after her late night dessert snack with her dad, and for the first time in a long time Zoe awoke with a feeling of hope. While that feeling was still very small it was doing a good job of distracting her from the dark emotions that overwhelmed her daily.

Rolling out of bed Zoe scanned her bedroom floor and found the same denim blue jeans she had worn the day before. With only a few pairs of pants Zoe often had no other choice but then to wear the same pants two or three days in a row. Today was no different. As she lifted the worn fabric from the ground something fell out of her pocket and bounced off the carpet. Reaching down, picking it up and examining it Zoe found herself looking at the lipstick from Gabrielle’s room.

“I have to give it back,” Zoe uttered groaning to herself out loud. Her head hung low as she held the cosmetic tube tightly in her palm. She realized there was no way she could make this journey alone. Quickly she snatched Roger up in her left arm and seized him to her side. She turned and made the slow journey from her room out into the hallway.

As Zoe walked she imagined Gabrielle’s response in her head. At worst Zoe predicted that her step sister would take the makeup back and command her to get out of her room. At best Zoe envisioned Gabrielle appreciating her honesty and welcoming her to use her makeup and extraordinary vanity anytime she wanted. Realistically Zoe knew that it was more likely to fall closer to the worst side.

The pounding of her heart felt like a jackhammer inside Zoe’s chest as she reached her step sister’s door. Making a loose fist she brought her hand up, flicked her wrist and using her knuckles tapped lightly on the door. The soft beat was followed by no reply so Zoe used a little more force this time increasing the volume of her knock.

“Come in,” came the voice of Gabrielle through the door.

Zoe, moving with the caution of a gazelle entering the den of a lioness, ever so slowly turned the handle and creaked the door open. The door crept open and Zoe could see her Gabrielle sitting on the bench in front of the vanity, looking into the mirror and brushing her perfect straight blonde hair. The two step sisters made eye contact through the mirror.

Gabrielle spoke first, “What do YOU want?”

The nerves inside Zoe’s stomach wound even tighter hearing the sharp tone of Gabrielle’s voice. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Regardless, she took a few steps into the room. Unsure of what to say and unclear if she would even have the clarity to form the words Zoe simply extended her arm out towards Gabrielle.

“I didn’t mean to….” Was all she could muster as her fingers lethargically crept off the tube of lipstick and revealed it in the palm of her hand. With her head bowed in shame Zoe could still see her step sister through the mirror. As soon as Gabrielle’s gaze came to the item in Zoe hands her eyes widened in shock and then quickly squinted in fury.

“You STOLE my makeup!?” Gabrielle accused Zoe as she shot up from the bench and turned to face Zoe.

“I was just looking at it and then….” Zoe’s soft, almost whisper like explanation was quickly cut out by Gabrielle’s harsh words.

“You were in MY room!? And you took MY makeup!? You ugly little brat! Just because you look like a troll doesn’t mean MY makeup will fix that. You’ll NEVER look like me. You’ll NEVER be me. You’re not even supposed to be here. You’re not even a member of this family. You’re father never loved you enough to see you and you’re only here because he felt sorry for you. You pathetic little loser. How would you like it if I took something of YOURS!?” Gabrielle’s words hit Zoe’s soul like poison arrows shot from point blank range. Zoe winced at each one, not feeling anger in return but instead she found herself feeling shame and emptiness. Gabrielle wasn’t finished. “Not that you have anything worth taking. Even your stupid little monkey is ugly. How would you like it if I took that? It might do you some good to grow up and not be such a baby carrying it around all the time.”

With Gabrielle’s last words she reached out, grabbed the dangling arm of Roger and pulled sharply. Zoe was caught off guard but came to her senses enough to catch the end of Roger’s leg and initiate an immediate case of tug o war over her purple, fluffy primate.

“Stop. You’ll hurt him.” Zoe pleaded with her step sister.

“Hurt him?! What are you? 6? He’s fake.” Gabrielle shot back.

“Please. Stop. I’ll never come in here again. Just let Roger go.” Zoe begged this time with her step sister, trying to secure her stuffed monkey and find solace in her own room.

“You bet your butt you’ll never come in here again! And this monkey is MINE now!” Gabrielle gave a heavy pull so strong it pulled Zoe forward two steps.

“LET GO!” Zoe shouted loud, in both anger and desperation as it was her turn to give Roger a mighty tug. Except when Zoe pulled Gabrielle didn’t come forward like she had. Instead there was a loud rip sound that pierced the air. The tension on Roger’s leg was gone as his body fell back to Zoe’s possession. It was missing an arm.

Zoe looked up and what happened before her took place in slow motion. It was almost like time slowed down as she watched Gabrielle lose her balance after Roger’s arm ripped off in her hand. Gabrielle stumbled backwards, flailing, unable to catch herself, but it was too late. Zoe watched in shock as Gabrielle fell back into the vanity, sending it crashing to the ground and falling on top of it. The glass of the mirror shattered and Gabrielle fell in a heap on top of it.

Before either girl could move there were two loud heavy set of feet running down the hall way. First to appear in the door way was Zoe’s father. He stared in awe of the sight before him. Second to arrive was Victoria, Zoe’s step mom, who upon seeing her baby girl lying on top of the broken vanity mirror let out a shriek of terror and horror. She shoved her husband aside and ran to her daughter.

“Zoe, what did you do?” were the first words to come out of her father’s mouth. Before Zoe could mutter an answer Victoria interjected.

“I’ll tell you what she did, Robert. She came in here to ask Gabrielle if she could use her makeup. When Gabrielle said no Zoe got so jealous and angry that she shoved poor Gabi right into the vanity. The vanity, by the way, that was one of a kind and will take me forever to replace.” Victoria’s baseless accusations came forth so freely. She had turned again to her daughter who was now sitting up. Gabrielle appeared to be fine save for her now messy hair and a two inch superficial cut on her left cheek. It was a cut so shallow that while it was red it couldn’t produce a single drop of blood.

“And look at my poor baby! That’s going to scar! I know it! I know it! Robert we have to take her to the emergency room. She may have internal injuries. I’m going to get her into the car. You take care of…..that girl,” Victoria seemingly refusing to refer to Zoe as Robert’s daughter.

Victoria helped Gabrielle to her feet and putting her daughter’s arm over her own shoulder, helped her out of the room. As they passed by Zoe, Victoria shot her a look of anger and bitterness. Once they were out of their room Zoe’s father turned and faced her.

“Zoe, is what Victoria said true?” Robert asked her softly and solemnly.

Shaken by the events of the last fifteen minutes Zoe struggled to find words. She became aware that it may appear she was trying to think of an excuse so she just babbling whatever she could get out.

“Dad…I just..I didn’t……” She was quickly interrupted.

“Don’t lie to me Zoe. Please. Do not lie to me,” Her dad immediately accused and commanded at the same time.

“But….but….I’m not lying,” Zoe stammered pitifully.

Zoe could see both growing anger and disappointment in her father’s eyes.

“Zoe, I want you to go to your room and stay there the rest of the night. I’m going to take Vicki and Gabi to the ER. Do NOT come out. And tomorrow is your first day of school and you ARE going. I don’t want to hear anything else about it. . I’m so disappointed in you. I really thought this could work Zoe. I really did. But now I’m starting to wonder maybe you’d be better off somewhere else.” her dad trailed off in such a disheartened tone that it almost brought tears to Zoe’s eyes. If she wasn’t already so empty inside it would have.

Slowly she walked past her father and turned down the hallway. She stopped just inside her door and looked once more back down the hallway. Her father stood with his head bowed under Gabrielle’s door frame.

“Dad……” Zoe attempted to communicate one last time.

“Just go to your room, Zoe,” her father spoke defeated.

As he turned and walked to the front door, Zoe slowly closed her own door behind her. Crawling into bed she laid Roger next to her. Lying on her side she traced her finger over the giant rip where his monkey arm used to be. Now it was torn. Just like me, she thought to herself.

Zoe wrapped him up in her arms and stared at the wall. She played back her recent memories in her head, starting with finding her mother dead in her own home. Slowly, darkness crept over Zoe’s heart. Slowly, feelings of emptiness, abandonment and loneliness swept over her. As the images in her head reached the present she found her heart and soul drowning in a sea of numbness. Zoe finally was overcome. She finally reached her breaking point. The feelings inside her overcame her and she was convinced that she no longer had a place in this world. That the only person who truly ever loved her had died and that she wanted to follow her. As Zoe closed her eyes she had made up her mind. There was no turning back now. Tomorrow would be her last day on Earth. After school, she would return home and with everyone out of the house and all alone, she would take her own life.

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Zoe Parker: The Beauty - A CYC Original Series

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Aug 25, 2009

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If staring at a wall was an Olympic sport, Zoe would be a gold medalist. She lay in her new room, the former den of porcelain angels, and stared at the beige wall. It had been four hours since she slung her canvass duffle bag onto the foot of her new bed and proceeded to lay down, clutching Roger and fixating her eyes on nothing but the wall. The room was average size but being adorned with only a twin size bed, a small night stand which held a smaller lamp and a crème white dresser, it felt huge. Huge and empty.

“Empty like me,” Zoe thought to herself entering the room those long four hours ago.

Since then she had laid, unmoving on top of a quilt. It was one of those quilts you get at a designer home supply store that people pay way too much for because they think it looks genuinely homemade. Zoe was immediately reminded of Victoria with how fake and corny it looked. Like her it tried way too hard to be something it wasn’t in an attempt to impress everyone.

Zoe did have something to be thankful about. In those previous four hours she was not bothered a single time. Not one time did someone stop in to see how she was doing, to ask if she needed anything or just to check in. For this, Zoe was grateful. She didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or be around anyone. Especially the people in this house. While her father wasn’t horrible, he just reminded Zoe too much of her lost mother and how much life had changed in three short years.

The layout of the house actually complimented Zoe’s solitary desires. The front of the house held the living room, dining room and the kitchen. On the right of the house were the bedrooms of her father and Victoria and Gabrielle. To the left of the house was a large bathroom, the laundry room and then Zoe’s room. Lying in her bed she was at all times at least fifty feet away from everyone. Mathematical blueprint equations like this are what kept Zoe’s mind busy as she gazed at the wall.

A knocking at her door popped Zoe’s tranquility bubble. She was no longer alone.

The voice of her father rang through her door, “Zoe can I come in?”

“Maybe he’ll go away if I don’t say anything,” Zoe’s voice pondered in her head.

“Zoe, are you ok? Look, I know you probably don’t feel like doing a lot. Losing your mom was probably really devastating to you. I’m here for you, Zoe. We’re going out to this nice Italian restaurant in town. They have some great lasagna. I wish you would come…..but I understand if you don’t want to. The new house and everything is a lot to take in. Remember though Zoe, I know we haven’t spoken much or seen each other much the past few years but you’re still my little girl and I love you. I’m always he……” Her dad’s heartfelt speech was shrewdly interrupted by the shrieking voice of Victoria.

“ROBERT!!!! LET’S GO OR WE’RE GOING TO MISS OUR RESERVATION!” the magnitude and tone of Victoria’s cry made Zoe wince in her bed.

Zoe could faintly hear her father’s hand fall to the handle of her door. At that moment a significant part of her wished he would open the door, come inside and hug her. That part of her yearned to have her father hold her close, like when she was little, and make her feel like everything was going to be alright. But then the bitterness of reality came calling, or rather yelling.

“ROBERT YOU GET OUT HERE NOW OR WE’RE LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!” Victoria hollered with such sharp poison.

Zoe could hear the door handle jiggle just a tiny bit as she realized her father’s hand had fallen away and he was now retreating to Victoria at the front of the house. In that moment the portion of Zoe that ached for her father’s love began to wither away. And as she heard the front door close and the car drive off leaving her alone in the house, it all but died.

* * *

The sunlight pierced through the white shades of her bedroom window and felt warm on Zoe’s skin. She groggily raised her head off her pillow and realized that she had fallen asleep. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand she noticed that it had only been an hour since her father stood behind her door. Bored, curious, and well aware that she had the house to herself for at least another hour, Zoe decided to venture from her room.

As she opened her door and stepped out in the hallway she immediately noticed the amount of pictures on the hallway walls. These were high class portraits of Victoria, Gabrielle, Victoria and Gabrielle and a rare occasional one with her father. They all had the same trendy look as everything else in the house. Zoe found herself admiring a particular one of Gabrielle.

“She’s so beautiful. She looks like a supermodel,” Zoe thought to herself as she looked over the close up on Gabrielle with her face in her hands.

The focus of Zoe’s eyes shift and she could now see the reflection of herself against the glass of the picture frame. She examined her average green eyes that she thought were too big and round. She frowned at her shoulder length, unkempt brown hair and the round cheeks that she thought resembled a chipmunk. With the immediate comparison to Gabrielle’s high cheek bones and feline exotic looking blue eyes Zoe felt like a potato next to a rose.

Just down the hall she could see the entrance to Gabrielle’s room. Zoe moved swiftly down the hallway and stood in front of the door. Contemplating whether or not to go in lasted two second as she quickly turned the handle and gently pushed the door open. Without stepping through the threshold Zoe could examine the entire room.

Gabrielle’s bedroom resembled a stylish New York City studio apartment. Her bed was positioned at an angle five feet from the back corner. Built into the opposite far corner was a mahogany computer desk. It was adorned with a pink laptop, stacks of notebooks, pens, and folders. The entire room was colored in deep browns and light pinks.

One thing in particular caught Zoe’s eye. To the left of the door, between two tall windows with light pink curtain, stood one of the most stunning sights she’d ever seen. Her eyes were now transfixed on a gorgeous ivory vanity. A row of three drawers was the base with shorter row on top of that. There was a grand, oval mirror fixed to the top and the glass was outlined with beautiful floral etchings. The entire vanity sat on four legs that were sculpted top to bottom into wooden roses.

Without thinking Zoe took slow steps into Gabrielle’s room. Her eyes spellbound by the luxurious piece of furniture as she slowly approached the vanity. Zoe, with the movement of someone approaching a previously undiscovered treasure, reached out and let her fingers grace the ivory bench standing in front. It was smooth marble with a plush light pink velvet pad to sit on.

Zoe’s hand crept from the bench to one of the pearl handles of the bottom drawers. With great caution she slid the drawer open a few inches. Her fingers danced inside and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She admired the gold base and the cosmetic’s deep red color. She turned it over and on the bottom of the base she read “Crimson Fantasy.”

Through the empty hall of the house she could hear the closing of car doors in the driveway. Zoe felt panic rush through her as she scrambled to gain her senses. She quickly pushed the open drawer shut and made her way to the door of Gabrielle’s bedroom. As she crossed under the door frame a wave of alarm crashed over her as she realized the tube of lipstick was still in her hand. Before she could turn around to return it she heard the knob of the front door turn.

Not wanting to get caught snooping in her step sister’s room she reached for the door, closed it quickly but silently and bolted down the hall for her room. He ever so quietly shut her own door and resumed her place lying in her bed. She shut her eyes to feign sleeping as she could hear the three new members of her family enter the residence.

Zoe could feel the percussion of her beating heart against her chest as she lay there. She hoped that no one saw her outside her room and more importantly, anywhere near Gabrielle’s room. Each second felt like an hour as the minutes slowly passed. With no sudden intrusion Zoe began to feel relief. That was quickly squashed by a soft but sharp knock at the door.

Thinking it wise to still fake taking a nap she did not answer. But before a second knock ever came the door knob turned and Zoe could hear someone enter the room. Through the utter silence she could hear the door close softly and someone approach her bedside. Keeping her eyes shut and attempting to keep her heart rate from beating like a hummingbird she felt the shift of weight as someone sit next to her on the bed.

“Zoe, I know you’re not sleeping. Open your eyes. I want to speak to you about what I just saw when we came in the house,” Victoria’s voice rang through the room and was the missile that sunk Zoe’s heart.

One eye after the other Zoe slowly opened each and rolled to her back. She pulled herself up on the bed and tucked her knees into her chest. Resting her chin on her knees, she hugged her legs and tried not to make eye contact with her stop mother.

“I saw you coming out of Gabrielle’s room. I want to know why you were in there,” Victoria questioned.

A thousand excuses raced through Zoe’s mind, each one sounded more and more outrageous than the next. Zoe was suddenly overcome with hopelessness and despair. She pondered that maybe if she was honest with her stop mother, maybe, just maybe, this woman could understand her and even just attempt to aid her.

“I was curious and wanted to look around the house,” Zoe barely got out from her quivering lips. “I saw Gabrielle’s room first and it was amazing. Everything is so beautiful. She is so beautiful. Then I saw the vanity and it made me wonder. Maybe I could find out what makes her so beautiful.”

The side of Victoria’s mouth curled up in a slight smile. Her eyes showed pity onto Zoe.

“Zoe, I understand. Gabrielle is a gorgeous girl. She’s my perfect little angel. She looks like a movie star. She is perfect. I can understand you wanting to be like her, to look like her. But baby, women use makeup to highlight their features. And I’m sorry but you just don’t really have anything worth doing that to. No matter how long you sat in front of that mirror and no matter how much makeup you put on, you’re still going to look like you. And you should be proud of that. Lots of beautiful girls wish they could look more natural,” Victoria said dripping with a passive aggressive backhanded insulting tone. “Plus, pretty girls don’t ever have to work for anything in life. They get the world laid at their feet. You won’t have to deal with that. You’ll be able to really develop your own little personality.”

Zoe looked down at her knees as the words of her step mother hit her heart like a sledgehammer. It took everything she had not to let the tears flow from her torn soul. Victoria stood up from the bed and headed to the door. She stood in the doorway with the door in her hands ready to close it. She peeked her head back in and looked at Zoe.

“And I know you’ve been through a lot but I wanted to warn you that your father is going to be really busy. Not only is he doing a lot of overtime at work but Gabrielle needs him with her solo for the school musical she’s going to be in and I need him there for me to deal with the hurt and pain of having to put my babies in a box in our closet. So I hope you understand that he’s just not going to have a whole lot of time for you for awhile. After all, you came into our family,” Victoria said with massive amounts of harsh resentment.

As Victoria closed the door behind her Zoe’s emotions were not conquered by the drug known as hate. Deep in her heart she felt abandonment and loneliness. Her mother, the only person who truly loved her, had given her life to drugs. And now the one place she might be able to call home, the one place she might find hope, love, and a new beginning didn’t want her. It was that moment Zoe felt like a single star perched in a night sky filled with nothing but darkness. It was that moment that Zoe felt like the only answer was to escape the pain, to let the darkness extinguish her starlight and to take her own life.

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Zoe Parker: The Addiction - A CYC Original Series

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Aug 22, 2009

Tagged in: Untagged

The large rain drops splashed off of the top of the deep brown casket. The irony of a rainy day funeral was lost on Zoe Parker as she stared at the wooden box that held her deceased mother. Zoe observed the twenty or so people who decided to attend the burial ceremony. The small crowd creating a semi circle around the casket consisted of mostly people from her neighborhood smattered with a few of her mother’s old friends. All of them had known Sandra Parker during the better years of her life. All of them seemed to have abandoned her over the past three years as she slipped deeper and deeper into her own personal void.

“Hypocrites,” Zoe thought to herself. She could feel the bitterness and contentment building within her. The only emotion she had felt since she had finally left laying next to her just perished mother was hate. Being around this gathering of people was doing nothing to reverse that.

That feeling dwelled within her now as she looked over the people who disregarded her mother when she needed them the most. Those people who did not find a need to attempt to rescue her mother from the vices that ruined her life. They did show up however when those demons finally took it.

Hate is a powerful thing and Zoe felt nothing but that for these people. The seed had been planted six days before when she finally left her mother’s side after being there for two hours and travelled next door to inform her neighbor. That seed was slowly watered as the police came to her home, roped off the house, and drew the attention of the entire block. They all gawked and stared. They passed their judgments and make their demeaning remarks. They were there to see her body wheeled out covered by a thin white sheet. None of them cared when she was alive, when she needed them the most. But they all stood at the pew of righteousness feeling better about who they were as people because they weren’t the ones suffering.

“Damn them,” Zoe had swore in her head. That seed of hate so quickly became a sprout and over the next six days leading to the funeral it would grow rapidly. She hated her father, Robert Parker, who couldn’t make the trip the day he got the call, forcing her to stay with the neighbors she barely knew and who obviously felt so inconvenienced by her being there. He hated her step mother, Victoria, and her daughter, Gabrielle, for coming along. Neither Zoe or her mother had ever met the two but somehow they pretended to care enough to attend the funeral.

Having met them for the first time just eight hours earlier had given her time to hate other things about them. She hated Victoria’s shallow, fake smile when she met someone. She hated Gabrielle’s almost perfect blonde hair and beautiful features that donned too much makeup for her fifteen year old face. Gabrielle was only two years older than Zoe but with her overdone cosmetics and revealing, fashionable clothes she looked to be seventeen. Zoe, with her dark hair and humble looks, with her baggy sweatshirts and outdated jeans was the exact physical opposite. Right away Zoe hated Gabrielle for that.

Hate’s an interesting thing. As Zoe stood there among the funeral’s attendance, in between her father and stepmother, all she could feel was hatred. It didn’t matter that her dead mother was about to be lowered into the ground. Emotions can be drugs. For three years Zoe was a constant user of sadness. When her mother died sadness was no longer effective. She needed a hard drug. That drug was hate and she was addicted.

* * *

The drive to her father’s house was unbearable. Gabrielle with her stylish pink cell phone that slid open three different directions sat next to Zoe and had been talking for three straight hours. If you could call that talking. Zoe had lost count of the amount of “OMG’s” and “WTFs” sputtered by her bubbly step sister. It had also been a drive of empty one sided conversation with her step mother so far.

“We are happy to have you live with us,” Victoria commented to Zoe with so much fake sweetness it almost gave her a cavity.

“I’m happy too, Zoe,” said her father. The first words he had spoken directly to her since her funeral.

“We had to rearrange Vicki’s angel room and turn it into a bedroom for you but it was no big deal,” her dad remarked kindly.

“Not for you maybe but you try putting together a room for a teenage girl with such short notice. I didn’t have time to pain. I didn’t have time to pick out new drapes. I didn’t have time to do ANY real decorating. Not to mention finding a suitable place for my babies,” her stop mother shot at her father.

Zoe muttered confused, “Babies?”

“Victoria collects porcelain angels and had the whole room filled with them. It’s ok though. You needed the room more,” her dad informed her.

Through the rearview mirror Zoe could see her stepmom roll her eyes at her dad’s last sentence. Her dad continued, “It’s not much. A dresser and a bed. A small night stand and a lamp. We’ll work on making it more to how you want it as you get settled in. Maybe decorate it with those silly kittens you love.”

“I haven’t been into kittens since I was eigh…..” Zoe began to reply but was almost immediately interrupted by Victoria blurting out.

“Kittens?! Robert, please. No girl in my house is going to decorate her room with kittens. I was already planning some really modern color patterns with…….” Victoria trailed off as Zoe stopped listening. She could see her stepmother become exuberant talking about the interior design of her new room. Zoe didn’t care so she drowned her out.

The second three hours of the trip had been easier on Zoe. Victoria put on a thick cloth beauty mask and fell asleep. Gabrielle switched from talking on the phone to clicking away at its keyboard and listening to the white ear buds of her bright pink iPod. Her father drove silently as her listened to the low drones of a sports talk show on the radio. Zoe studied her father through the mirror. The past three years had changed him. He was tan and leaner. He seemed to have lost the goofy, carefree demeanor Zoe knew for so long growing up. It appeared to have been replaced with a heavy sense of seriousness and almost a detachment from everything and everyone around him. It was almost like he was drowning out the world.

“I miss mom,” Zoe blurted out. She didn’t know why she said it. She didn’t plan to say it. It just came out. Immediately as the words escaped her lips she felt dumb for saying it in this care, around these people. Then she heard another voice from the front of the care.

“Me too,” she heard her father say solemnly. Zoe looked at him through the rearview mirror. She saw his eyes filled with deep sadness. The kind of sadness you feel only after a horrible loss. Then she saw it, her father’s eyes fill with tears as a couple dropped to his shirt. He quickly rubbed his eyes and reached to the radio turning the volume up.

Maybe Zoe didn’t hate him so much after all.

* * *

Zoe caught herself nodding off as they pulled down her father’s road. Their road. The reality just hit her that this was now the street that her new home was on. Everything in her life was still in a constant state of change. So it was a bit surreal as the car passed through the middle class neighborhood, filled with clean white picket fences and neatly trimmed, perfectly clean lawns.

They came to a stop in the nicely paved, light gray driveway. To the left of the car was a basketball hoop. In front was the white door to a two door garage. Attached to the garage was a beautiful 3 bedroom white house with navy blue shutters. It looked like something out of a magazine. Suburban paradise.

Zoe slung her canvass duffel bag over her shoulder as she exited the car. It’s amazing how light the bag was considering it held everything she owned. Except for one thing, her purple fuzzy monkey amigo Roger, who was tucked under her left arm. As she approached the house via the concrete walkway she clutched him so tight that if he were alive he surely would have suffocated by now. Step by step, slowly she came to the navy blue front door. She stood there, directly across from it and just stared.

Everything looked so perfect to Zoe. The shutters and door matched to the exact perfect hue. The driveway was absent of a single crack or blemish. The grass was green, the sky blue, and in the distance she could hear the chirping of birds. Zoe had been living a nightmare and now she stood in what seemed to be a dream.

She was snapped to reality as Gabrielle rushed by her, bumping her shoulder hard and sending her sprawling forward. Zoe was just able to catch her footing and not meet the concrete front step face first.

“Why don’t you and your stupid ape watch out,” her step sister said with bitterness.

Zoe collected herself and looked Gabrielle up and down. So many violent thoughts bounced around her head. Thoughts of pulling that perfect blond hair out of her skull were the most prominent. For even just a moment Zoe had taken a break from that dark personal realm of hate. But like an old friend, it had returned. With that feeling brewing within her she entered the house. Able to control those temptations to inflict pain and torture upon her step sister she closed the front door behind her already so cynical and doubtful that this new life could be any better than the last.

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Zoe Parker: The Alpha - A CYC Original Series

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Aug 21, 2009

Tagged in: Untagged

Originally posted on MMTI website on June 24th, 2009.

I wanted to share with you another example of my recent obedience to God. Once again this idea was sent down from Him out of no where. I didn't have prior warning but all of the sudden this rush of an idea for a short story came upon me. And recently I've learned to listen and listen right away. So I did, I started getting together the story details in my head and go to writing that night. I've been posting it on the blog over at the Christian Youth Crew and the responce has been nothing short of great. Right now I'm finishing up the 4th chapter. Below you'll find a synopsis of the story that's followed by the first chapter.

Zoe Parker dreads going to school. She dreads coming home. She dreads just about everything in her life. Her perfect family was decimated by a nasty divorce three years ago. Now at the age of thirteen her father lives six hours away, remarried and seems to want nothing to do with her. Her mother is an emotional wreck who has turned to alcohol and drugs and slips farther and farther away as the days go by. Zoe finds herself without anything to live for and simply going about each day only because her heart is still beating. She wonders how it could get any worse. But after tragedy strikes and her world is turned upside down she finds herself staring the darkness in the face. Has she been pushed to far or is there someone out there that can save her soul and bring her to the light?

“Everything used to be perfect,” She thought to herself as she lay in bed. Her favorite stuffed purple fuzzy monkey, Roger, held tightly against her chest by her two folded, crossed arms. It had been a rough three years for Zoe Parker. Her parents had been married for ten years. They had been a normal, happy family for those ten years. Then it all fell apart. A little bit of bickering evolved into full on shouting matches. Any resemblance of that loving, quant family was gone. Zoe didn’t know how it got that bad. It wasn’t something she could see coming or predict. It just seemed to grow, like a storm coming off the lake and then suddenly the little drops of rain turned into a huge down pour accompanied by the crashing thunder of broken dishes and screamed curses.

She lay there, chin tucked into her chest, nuzzling her nose into the fuzzy head of Roger. She could hear her mother screaming again. This time it was because Zoe’s father was unable to make the six hour trip for a visit he scheduled months ago. It had to do with work or something, Zoe found herself numb to the ever growing spew of reasons. She didn’t care anymore. She had spoken to her father on the phone three times in the past eighteen months and seen him two times less than that. She didn’t expect him to come.

Her mother was a different story. You never realize how much a woman can change when she loses the man she loves and her heart shatters. Sandra Parker always seemed to be more upset that she wouldn’t see Zoe’s father rather than he cared enough to make the trip to see Zoe. Indeed, even after three years she was still in love with him. When he left she tried to fill the void inside her with some light drinking. An occasional wine with dinner, going out for drinks with friends every now and then, these were all completely normal for an adult to do in Zoe’s mind. It’s when things began to escalate that Zoe could see her mother was developing a problem. One glass of wine at night turned into numerous glasses throughout the day. Going out for a drink once a week had turned into NOT going out once a week.

The drinking had stopped a year ago. That was when Sandra found out Zoe’s father had remarried. The news came without notice. Just a call one afternoon to announce that he had met someone a year ago, they had gotten married in a tiny ceremony a week ago and that he was moving six hours away with his new wife and her daughter. A love story wrapped up in a 5 minute phone call. Zoe didn’t blame her father for hiding it. For the same reason she didn’t blame her father for not making more of an effort to see her. Since the split Zoe’s mother was a different person. The loving, warm woman who loved to bake Oatmeal cookies, color with crayons and never once swore; that woman Zoe knew as her mother was replaced with an empty, cold woman who when she wasn’t furiously angry was an emotionless zombie of a mother.

But her mother putting away the alcohol wasn’t the blessing it should have been for Zoe. The bottle had been replaced with a needle. Zoe noticed the tell tale signs of heroin use right away but couldn’t put the pieces together and realize that’s where they pointed. She had noticed her mother’s sudden drop in weight, the heavy bags under her eyes, and the fact that she never slept at night. Whereas before Zoe’s mother was constantly yelling at her about something, making her feel like her father leaving was her fault, making her feel as if she ruined her mother’s life; at least now her mother stopped yelling and would mostly just leave Zoe to herself. While this wasn’t the ideal life for Zoe she saw it as an improvement and figured things could continue to get better over time.

Then three months ago her eyes were opened. She came home from school and had to use the restroom. The bathroom door was locked and her mother was inside.

“Mom, I have to use the bathroom,” Zoe said through the wooden door.

Her mother replied with a frantic tone, “Zoe, you’re going to have to wait. I’m busy in here.”

“Mom, I can’t wait. I REALLY gotta go,“ Zoe pleaded with her mom.

Her mother’s rushed tone spat back, “Just go away Zoe. Let me be. Go away.”

Like the majority of older houses there is usually a trick to unlocking the bathroom door. Zoe learned this trick long ago. She went to the kitchen, grabbed a butter knife and returned to the locked entrance. She stealthy wedged the blade between the door and its frame. With an experienced flick of the wrist, she popped the mechanism and the door slowly swung open. Zoe looked at her mother and the butter knife slipped from her then limp fingers and fell to the floor.

Directly in front of Zoe was her mother, sitting on the toilet, sprawled back against the tank, legs and arms spread out. On the middle of her left arm was a just untightened rubber tube, on her forearm fresh needle marks and on the sink counter next to her lay a needle, a bent blackened spoon, lighter and a small plastic baggie with white powdery residue. Sandra Parker tried to reach out for her daughter, tried to offer some kind of explanation, but instead only incoherent babble fell from her lips. She dropped her hand in defeat, slinked back against the toilet and let her eyes roll into the back of her head as the high took her over.

Zoe stared, mouth gaping open, unable to move, or think or feel. She witnessed her mother’s fruitless attempt to explain, she saw the evidence and while only being thirteen years old was by no means a dummy. She knew her mother had just shot up with heroine. Zoe, without making a sound, reached up, grabbed the bathroom door handle and slowly closed it behind her. She walked, step by step to her room. She crawled into bed, reached out, pulled Roger’s furry body into her own, rolled to her side, stared blankly at the wall and began to weep.

It wouldn’t be the last time Zoe found solace in the embrace of her purple monkey Roger and the solitude of staring at the wall. For the next three months, every time she saw her mother and knew she was high she would slowly walk to her room, grab Roger and continue her position staring at the wall and sobbing. This would happen three to four times a week for the next three months. She would come into the kitchen, see her mother with that drugged out smile and simply turn around and head to her room without muttering a word. Her mother never seemed to notice. Then again, her mother never seemed to notice anything these days. Whether it was Zoe’s failing grades, the letters from her teachers that came in the mail, or the black eye she came home with after a fight at school, Zoe’s mother wandered around the house in a complete haze totally oblivious to the world around her.

“Today will probably be no different,” Zoe was thinking to herself as she walked home from school.

She dreaded school. She dreaded coming home. She dreaded just about everything in her life. She especially dreaded the thought of coming home to finding her mother high again. She knew the odds were likely. Her mother’s drug use was growing noticeably over the past couple weeks. Zoe wasn’t angry at her mother. She loved her mother more than anything in this world and simply felt complete sadness that her mother was hurting so much inside that she had to resort to drugs. Zoe just wanted her mother back.

As Zoe reached her destination on the sidewalk, made the turn and headed to her front steps she bit her lower lip.

“This is it. Let’s see how high she is today,” She thought to herself concerning the condition of her drug addicted mother.

The handle turned slowly as Zoe opened the door and entered the house. It was silent inside but it was always silent inside. The television disappeared months ago and Zoe’s mother never listened to music anymore. Zoe slid her shoes off at the door and let her backpack drop from her shoulders to the ground as she closed the door behind her.

“Mom, I’m home,” She called out, somehow, like every day, holding onto the smallest, tiniest chance of a miracle that her mother would call back to her like she used to over three years ago.

Silence.

Zoe dreaded that. Usually her mother would make some half hearted response and the silence usually indicated Sandra was occupied at the moment by her attempts to get high. Slowly she walked from the front of the house to the kitchen. She noticed a piece of paper sitting on the paper. With a snatch she had it in her hand.

NOTICE OF EVICTION – ALL RESIDENTS OF THIS PROPERTY ARE HEREBY COURT ORDERED TO VACATE THE PREMISES NO LATER THAN 10 DAYS FROM THIS RECEIVING THIS LETTER.

Zoe had feared this. She feared that her mother would be using all of her money to feed her drug habit. Her fear had come true. They had just over a week to find a new place to live. Zoe wondered just how worse her life could get. Then she saw it out of the corner of her eye.

It was the toe of her mother’s sneaker. It was sticking out from being the big brown recliner in the living room. Zoe quickly rushed over to the location of her mother. Another fear had come true. Her mother was on her back on the living room carpet, her skin pale and colorless and her eyes staring blankly into the air.

A small gasp escaped Zoe’s lips. Her hand cupped her mouth as she stared at her mother’s body. Her hand then went to her mother’s mouth and nose. No breath came forth. Then her fingers went to her mother’s wrist. Among the old track marks there was no pulse to be felt. She then raised her hand to her mother’s forehead and felt the far too cold skin. She looked into her mother’s eyes and saw a peace she hadn’t seen in three years. No anger. No heroine high. No sadness. She crawled next to her mother, reached out, grasped her mother’s hand and pulled it into her chest, rolled to her side, and stared blankly at the wall. She was to dead inside to weep.

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CYC Blog - Help: Am I truly a lost soul?

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Aug 20, 2009

Tagged in: Untagged

Here is the first help email we got at the Christian Youth Crew myspace and the corresponding reply we published in our blog. Email is in bold and reply is what follows.

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I'm not much of a believer, but I kno God's watching over me..I have not yet been baptised and I dont read the good book as often as I should. Can this be why I'am having problems in my life? I cant keep a good relatinship with a girl, I have no relationship with my father ( I kinda dislike him alot right now), I'm almost 20 and have nothin to show for it. Alot of bad things keep happening to me..but I always tell myself that God has a plan for me and he reveal it to me when the time is right. My question is how wiil I know? When will I know? what do I have to do? Am I truly a lost soul?

Here is the great thing about being a Christian. We have a God who will clean your slate the moment you want him to. Forgiveness and love is yours as a gift from him. It's not something you earn or purchase, it's something you accept. So whether you're 20, or 30 or 75 it doesn't matter. What matters is your recognizing that you could live fuller as a Christian. To say that you're having problems because you're not reading the Bible enough or not walking in His path isn't the way to look at it. We will all face troubles no matter how deep we walk with God. We're told that here:

James Chapter 1 ²Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, ³because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. ⁴Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

Our faith is like a muscle and unless we get a chance to work it out, it'll never truly grow and get stronger. Walking with God doesn't necessarily give us a bullet proof vest to deflect trials and tribulations. Rather it enhances our ability to deal with those situations, to have faith that everything will work out and to not let our problems rule our lives. The Bible teaches us so many things about living our lives including being good husbands, parents, children, teachers, students and humans in general. So I wouldn't say your relationships with others are suffering because of your distance from being a more devote Christian but rather being a devote Christian will help you in developing those relationships, nurturing them, getting over the hurdles involved and making them last. No soul is lost. Jesus Christ died to make that so. And if you want to get into the Christian life more, don't feel the need to go all out right away. Take it slow and let it grow. Start with hitting http://www.biblegateway.com every day and reading the verse of the day. Plant the seed, brother. God and his followers will help you make it grow.

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My Profound Six Days : Thank You Mighty Men

Posted by: Josh Fairbanks on Aug 19, 2009

Tagged in: Untagged

I wanted to share my blogs from the Mighty Men website on the Purpose Place website. Here is the first one.

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8 months ago I sat in my church, listening to the music and occasionally clapping my hands along. The music wasn't the slow drone of hymns but rather in comparison to something you'd hear from a Steven Curtis Chapman or some other adult contemporary artist. I looked over at the section of the youth in the church. My church takes pride in the youth following they have and they should. They have separate programs and such that really are more in tune with them. However, during the main service's music some were robotically clapping their hands, some just standing there staring ahead, and others looking around probably wondering if they would get caught bringing in their iPod next week.

Don't get me wrong, it's not bad music. But it's not the music that Christian youths are listening to. There are so many hard rocking, hip hopping, head banging, lyrically smooth artists in today's modern Christian music landscape. Bands like Skillet, Thousand Foot Krutch, Red, Gritz, George Moss, Toby Mac, and others are all spreading the word of God and doing it with music that touches today's youth.

So, those two paragraphs really simply lead to this point. As a looked at them, I felt a nudge. A spiritual nudge. Kind of like God just going, "Hey, you see that?" I turned, looked, and went "Yea." End of discussion. Someone kick my butt.

Fast forward to three months ago. I'm working (as I do every Sunday now) but get the blessing of taking a few of the resident's to a church in South Haven. As I sat and the music played my mind began to wander. I now think it just stepped out to answer the call God just placed. Because as I sit there for no reason I started to think of that time 8 months ago. Then it hit me, or rather, he was tired of waiting for me, became rather blunt about it and told me, "You should start a myspace for Christians youth around the world. A place where they can talk about music, movies. A place where they can come for advice. A place on the internet where they can come together and congregate." So thought about it, nodded, and went "Yea." End of discussion. Someone kick my butt.

So for 3 months there was a small battle in my head. God on one side nudging me and simply going "Do it. Stop waiting." And the voices on the other side going "It's a waste of time. It's going to fail. No one will care. It won't matter. You'll look like a fool." End of discussion. Someone kick my butt.

Last Sunday, got a few of the residents at church again. Sitting on the bench, monitoring them, listening to the music I get another call. Brain steps out for a second, "Hello?" It's the big G. "You've waited long enough. It's time. It's going to be great. Get started ASAP. Oh and I want you to focus on reaching out to help these kids. Change some lives." So I say "I'm going to do it." End of discussion. Hey, put that foot away. My butt's sore enough already. I got the point this time.

Monday night a get the layout together, write the mission statement, get everything ready. Here is what's posted on the top of our profile.

Mission Statement:

Our mission is to provide young Christian's a place of solace on the internet. We offer God's youth someone to reach out to in their time of need. Whatever struggles you may be having, if you need advice, someone to listen or someone to just talk to Christian Youth Crew is here for you. To offer the chance for young Christian's to congregate and talk about all of the things that effect their lives ie: God, family, friends, music, movies, etc. This is the place for teenage and young adult Christian's to come together and grow under God's word.

How It Works:

Whatever troubles you are having in your life we are here to help. Whether you're struggling with being a young Christian in today's world, or your love life is bringing you down, or tragedy has struck your family, or even as something as small as you got a bad grade on a test or are just having a bad day, we are here for you.

What You Do:

You email us. Your email will remain totally confidential. We will post the contents of the email on our blog along with our words or prayer and advice. Then other young Christian's from around the world will comment on the entry, offering their own kind words to help you out. No one will know it's you unless you comment and want them to. Otherwise it's just your message and you can read all of the great words and prayers others have for you.

So...

Tuesday morning the Christian Youth Crew went live on Myspace. I hit the Thousand Foot Krutch profile, scroll to their comments sections and I'm sending friends requests to everyone I see that has left them a comment. Sent over 150 or so friend requests.

Today is Monday. It's been 6 days. We have 115 friends. AT LEAST 40 of those are from people telling their friends about us and those friends finding us to add us. We've gotten 24 general profile comments, we've already received 3 emails asking for help, we've answered those and placed them in our blogs, we have 176 blog views, 6 blog comments, and a private IM chat Satuday night with someone struggling with her faith, depression and whether or not if her faith and life is all for nothing. We were able to touch her.

It's been AMAZING. I finally listened and the impact we are having is astounding. Not only that but the blessings in my own personal life are multiplying. The impact we are already having in people's lives are amazing. To let you know even part of the impact we are having, we had a young girl email us for help, we posted our reply in the blog and this was the email she sent us in responce to that:

Oh my gosh. Thank you soo much. That really touched my heart. It even made me break down and cry :) I feel much better now. And again thank you SO much.
I'll be praying for you while you continue to help others like you helped me. That was such a blessing.
Be blessed
-Amy

That alone let's me know I'm on the right path. That alone let's me know that I've found part of my calling. It's been an amazing 6 days and I really wanted to reach out and let the Mighty Men know. Because without YOUR help, without Michael Small being one of those feet kicking me in the butt, pushing me to do greater things in life, I'm not sure the CYC would exist yet and I wouldn't be reaping the blessings in my own life. So I'm here to thank you all.

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