To Write Love on Her Arms

[Guest guest]

The Founder of the charity "To Write Love on Her Arms" is the highlight of our time together at Central Christian Church.Please join us! http://www.centralchristian.com/home.aspHere's more about TWLOHA http://www.twloha.com/

MISSION STATEMENT:

To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to

presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression,

addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage,

inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.

VISION:

The vision is that we actually believe these things…

You were created to love and be loved. You were meant

to live life in relationship with other people, to know and be known.

You need to know that your story is important and that you're part of a

bigger story. You need to know that your life matters.

We live in a difficult world, a broken world. My friend Byron is very smart - he says that life is hard for most people most of the time. We believe that everyone can relate to pain, that all of us live with questions, and all of us get stuck in moments. You need to know that you're not alone in the places you feel stuck.

We all wake to the human condition. We wake to mystery and beauty but also to tragedy and loss. Millions of people live with problems of pain. Millions of homes are filled with questions – moments and seasons and cycles that come as thieves and aim to stay. We know that pain is very real. It is our privilege to suggest that hope is real, and that help is real.

You need to know that rescue is possible, that freedom is possible, that God is still in the business of redemption. We're seeing it happen. We're seeing lives change as people get the help they need. People sitting across from a counselor for the first time. People stepping into treatment. In desperate moments, people calling a suicide hotline. We know that the first step to recovery is the hardest to take. We want to say here that it's worth it, that your life is worth fighting for, that it's possible to change.

Beyond treatment, we believe that community is essential, that

people need other people, that we were never meant to do life alone.

The vision is that community and hope and help would replace secrets and silence.

The vision is people putting down guns and blades and bottles.

The vision is that we can reduce the suicide rate in America and around the world.

The vision is that we would learn what it means to love our friends,

and that we would love ourselves enough to get the help we need.

The vision is better endings. The vision is the restoration of broken families and broken relationships. The vision is people

finding life, finding freedom, finding love. The vision is graduation,

a Super Bowl, a wedding, a child, a sunrise. The vision is people

becoming incredible parents, people breaking cycles, making change.

The vision is the possibility that your best days are ahead.

The vision is the possibility that we're more loved than we'll ever know.

The vision is hope, and hope is real.

You are not alone, and this is not the end of your story.

BEGIN: This began as an attempt to tell a story and a way to help a friend in Spring 2006. The

story and the life it represented were both things of contrast – pain

and hope, addiction and sobriety, regret and the possibility of freedom. The story's title "To Write Love on Her Arms" was also a goal, believing that a better life was possible. We

started selling t-shirts as a way to pay for our friend's treatment,

and we made a MySpace page to give the whole thing a home. Our friends

in Switchfoot and Anberlin were among the first to wear these shirts. In the days that followed, we learned quickly that the story we were telling represented people everywhere. We

began to hear from people in need of help, and others asking what they

could do to help their friends. We heard from people who had lost loved

ones to suicide. Many said that these were questions they had never asked and parts of their story that they had never shared. Others were honest in a different way, confessing these were issues they knew little or nothing about. It seemed we had stumbled upon a bigger story, and a conversation that needed to be had.

Over the last two and a half years, we've

responded to 80,000 messages from people in 40 different countries.

We've had the opportunity to bring this conversation, and a message of

hope and help, to concerts, universities, festivals and churches. We've learned that these are not American issues, not white issues or "emo" issues. These are issues of humanity, problems of pain that affect millions of people around the world.

We've learned that two out of three people who

struggle with depression never seek help, and that untreated depression

is the leading cause of suicide. In America

alone, it's estimated that 19 million people live with depression, and

suicide is the third-leading cause of death among those 18-24 years old.

The good news is that depression is very treatable, that a very real hope exists in the face of these issues. We've

met people who are getting the help they need, sitting across from a

counselor for the first time, stepping into treatment, or reaching out

to a suicide hotline in a desperate moment.

To Write Love On Her Arms

Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just

outside our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the

passenger seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe

place and Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this

skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward,

knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had

an audience. She smiles. "Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember

the stars."

I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to

resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for

endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they

know is darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to

midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.

is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She

hasn't slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar

blur of coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to

listen and to let us pray. We ask to come with us, to leave this

broken night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready

now. It is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard

to leave without her.

She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the

near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of

awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted

suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of

self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling

trapped, two groups of "friends" offering opposite ideas. Everyone is

asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor,

takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom.

She cuts herself, using the blade to write "FUCK UP" large across her

left forearm.

The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours

later. The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does

not accept her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become

her hospital and the possibility of healing fills our living room with

life. It is unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her

church, the body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her arms.

She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone

I've known, like a ny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns

attitude and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her

story, she is humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a

hundred lifetimes. I sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her

life has been so dark yet there is some soft hope in her words, and on

consecutive evenings, I watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her

that she's beautiful. I think it's God reminding her.

I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run

a five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is

going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too

much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes

more

[Guest guest]

Tworkowski, The Founder of the charity " To Write Love on Her Arms "

is the highlight

of our time together at Central Christian Church.

Please join us! http://www.centralchristian.com/home.asp

Here's more about TWLOHA http://www.twloha.com/

MISSION STATEMENT:

To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to

presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression,

addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform,

inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.

VISION:

The vision is that we actually believe these things…

You were created to love and be loved. You were meant to live life in

relationship with other people, to know and be known. You need to know

that your story is important and that you're part of a bigger story.

You need to know that your life matters.

We live in a difficult world, a broken world. My friend Byron is very

smart - he says that life is hard for most people most of the time. We

believe that everyone can relate to pain, that all of us live with

questions, and all of us get stuck in moments. You need to know that

you're not alone in the places you feel stuck.

We all wake to the human condition. We wake to mystery and beauty but

also to tragedy and loss. Millions of people live with problems of

pain. Millions of homes are filled with questions – moments and

seasons and cycles that come as thieves and aim to stay. We know that

pain is very real. It is our privilege to suggest that hope is real,

and that help is real.

You need to know that rescue is possible, that freedom is possible, that

God is still in the business of redemption. We're seeing it happen.

We're seeing lives change as people get the help they need. People

sitting across from a counselor for the first time. People stepping

into treatment. In desperate moments, people calling a suicide hotline.

We know that the first step to recovery is the hardest to take. We want

to say here that it's worth it, that your life is worth fighting for,

that it's possible to change.

Beyond treatment, we believe that community is essential, that people

need other people, that we were never meant to do life alone.

The vision is that community and hope and help would replace secrets and

silence.

The vision is people putting down guns and blades and bottles.

The vision is that we can reduce the suicide rate in America and around

the world.

The vision is that we would learn what it means to love our friends, and

that we would love ourselves enough to get the help we need.

The vision is better endings. The vision is the restoration of broken

families and broken relationships. The vision is people finding life,

finding freedom, finding love. The vision is graduation, a Super Bowl,

a wedding, a child, a sunrise. The vision is people becoming incredible

parents, people breaking cycles, making change.

The vision is the possibility that your best days are ahead.

The vision is the possibility that we're more loved than we'll ever

know.

The vision is hope, and hope is real.

You are not alone, and this is not the end of your story.

BEGIN:

This began as an attempt to tell a story and a way to help a friend in

Spring 2006. The story and the life it represented were both things of

contrast – pain and hope, addiction and sobriety, regret and the

possibility of freedom. The story's title " To Write Love on Her

Arms " was also a goal, believing that a better life was possible.

We started selling t-shirts as a way to pay for our friend's

treatment, and we made a MySpace page to give the whole thing a home.

Our friends in Switchfoot and Anberlin were among the first to wear

these shirts. In the days that followed, we learned quickly that the

story we were telling represented people everywhere. We began to hear

from people in need of help, and others asking what they could do to

help their friends. We heard from people who had lost loved ones to

suicide. Many said that these were questions they had never asked and

parts of their story that they had never shared. Others were honest in

a different way, confessing these were issues they knew little or

nothing about. It seemed we had stumbled upon a bigger story, and a

conversation that needed to be had.

Over the last two and a half years, we've responded to 80,000

messages from people in 40 different countries. We've had the

opportunity to bring this conversation, and a message of hope and help,

to concerts, universities, festivals and churches. We've learned

that these are not American issues, not white issues or " emo "

issues. These are issues of humanity, problems of pain that affect

millions of people around the world.

We've learned that two out of three people who struggle with

depression never seek help, and that untreated depression is the leading

cause of suicide. In America alone, it's estimated that 19 million

people live with depression, and suicide is the third-leading cause of

death among those 18-24 years old.

The good news is that depression is very treatable, that a very real

hope exists in the face of these issues. We've met people who are

getting the help they need, sitting across from a counselor for the

first time, stepping into treatment, or reaching out to a suicide

hotline in a desperate moment.

[The Story] To Write Love On Her Arms

Pedro the Lion is loud in the speakers, and the city waits just outside

our open windows. She sits and sings, legs crossed in the passenger

seat, her pretty voice hiding in the volume. Music is a safe place and

Pedro is her favorite. It hits me that she won't see this skyline for

several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this

will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience.

She smiles. " Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars. "

I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve,

and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but

songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is

darkness. These words, like most words, will be written next to

midnight, between hurricane and harbor, as both claim to save her.

is 19. When I meet her, cocaine is fresh in her system. She hasn't

slept in 36 hours and she won't for another 24. It is a familiar blur of

coke, pot, pills and alcohol. She has agreed to meet us, to listen and

to let us pray. We ask to come with us, to leave this broken

night. She says she'll go to rehab tomorrow, but she isn't ready now. It

is too great a change. We pray and say goodbye and it is hard to leave

without her.

She has known such great pain; haunted dreams as a child, the

near-constant presence of evil ever since. She has felt the touch of

awful naked men, battled depression and addiction, and attempted

suicide. Her arms remember razor blades, fifty scars that speak of

self-inflicted wounds. Six hours after I meet her, she is feeling

trapped, two groups of " friends " offering opposite ideas. Everyone is

asleep. The sun is rising. She drinks long from a bottle of liquor,

takes a razor blade from the table and locks herself in the bathroom.

She cuts herself, using the blade to write " FUCK UP " large across her

left forearm.

The nurse at the treatment center finds the wound several hours later.

The center has no detox, names her too great a risk, and does not accept

her. For the next five days, she is ours to love. We become her hospital

and the possibility of healing fills our living room with life. It is

unspoken and there are only a few of us, but we will be her church, the

body of Christ coming alive to meet her needs, to write love on her

arms.

She is full of contrast, more alive and closer to death than anyone I've

known, like a ny Cash song or some theatre star. She owns attitude

and humor beyond her 19 years, and when she tells me her story, she is

humble and quiet and kind, shaped by the pain of a hundred lifetimes. I

sit privileged but breaking as she shares. Her life has been so dark yet

there is some soft hope in her words, and on consecutive evenings, I

watch the prettiest girls in the room tell her that she's beautiful. I

think it's God reminding her.

I've never walked this road, but I decide that if we're going to run a

five-day rehab, it is going to be the coolest in the country. It is

going to be rock and roll. We start with the basics; lots of fun, too

much Starbucks and way too many cigarettes

more

--- End forwarded message ---