++++++I am in the process of reconstructing this page...for now here is the old one++++++ At the age of three, I was a boisterous and enthusiastic youngster. I loved to play games with my big brother, Malcolm. Malcolm loved me to death, but like any normal six-and-a-half-year-old he liked to tease me, too.I felt loved and protected by this big brother and thought that he was the best big brother in the world. It was strange, you could hardly tell we were related because of the differences in looks. I was dark haired and green eyed, with rosie cheeks. Malcolm was white haired and blue eyed with pale skin. I used to run into his room and call out "Malcolm, lets go play" and, if he wasn't at school, he would respond enthusiastically. One day he didn't respond. he wasn't there, I kept calling out his name but he didn't come. I began to think that may be he didn't want to play with me anymore and then I remembered. I remembered the square box that he was put into, I remembered the last time I saw him wondering why he didn't wake up. I remembered the windy day when we stood at the open hole and watched his box lowered into it. I was alone now, too young to really understand, although somehow I knew that he wasn't coming back. Malcolm died three weeks before he turned seven. His death was caused by herbicide spraying, used to kill weeds and keep them off the road. Malcolm was coming home from school one day without anything on his feet. That night he was sick, the first time he had ever been sick in his life. My mum didn't know how sick he was. The next morning he was dead. It happened so fast. I grieve for my mother who found him. My dad was devastated. I remember seeing his ashen face covered with tears. One of the few times I ever saw my dad cry. He had lost his son, his only son. What he felt in those dark moments I'll never know, But I reckon he was regretting that he had been unable to spend as much time as he wanted to with his son because he was studying. Six years later I was raped (I don't like to talk about it). All of sudden I was dealing with feelings no young child ever should have to face. I felt like no matter how much I washed I could never get clean. I wondered what I had done to deserve it, buried shame inside for fear of somebody finding out. I could never look at my self the same again. I felt like I couldn't trust anyone to touch me, except for my parents. I would cry silently at night, afraid somebody would hear my sniffs, I felt like a huge black cloud was hanging over me and there was no way I could ever be 9 years old again. I still did not understand about my beloved brother's death. I had a brother, he died and that was that. I hadn't really felt any grief over it. Then on September 2nd 1989, after we had just moved from up north, my dad left us. He said it was only for a little while, he promised he wouldn't divorce my mum. Being only ten years old, I felt that nobody could have broken my heart as much as my dad did that day. Losing my dad was like losing the last remaining relics of my brother. That hit me really hard. I cried and cried when dad walked out to his car and drove away. It's something I'll never forget. my six-year-old sister tried to comfort me, saying "he'll only be down the road" but I knew better than to believe that lie. In my heart of hearts I knew dad wasn't coming back. I tried to hope that he would, dared to believe that it was only until "mum and dad sorted some things out". I remember telling my mum that I wanted my daddy back. He never did return, and three years later mum and dad divorced. Dad had broken his promise and I felt betrayed. I hated daddy for having an affair, I hated my step-mother (who was then his girl-friend) for tearing up our family. And it was with this deep-rooted hate that I entered highschool in 1992. Year 8 was terrifying. I felt so alone, betrayed, scared. I have always been outgoing and bubbly but this time I could barely talk except for answering questions about my name and what class I was in. For the first time in my life I wanted my brother back, someone I could trust after all my trust had been broken, someone to hold my hand and tell me that it was going to be okay. I took up smoking and drugs to fit in with the popular group, so that I would not feel so lonely and could be accepted, which was what I wanted more than anything. It didn't work, many people hated me even more because of who I was associated with. I did eventually make friends and became one of the school ruts. I was scorned and ridiculed by a lot of people because of the friends I had (some where not involved with the drug scene, and I thank God for them). I liked my friends and at that moment I decided that I was never going to dislike my friends because others didn't like them (this was perhaps one saving grace for me). When I was fifteen , I was a mess. I lived in a world of depression and grief. My brother's death hit me like a ton of bricks, and I relived daily every moment of sadness in my life. I began to question my life, wonder where I was going, why it was worth living.I was going down hill,towards suicide. I attempted suicide twice, with the hopes that it would work. I could be with my brother again, the only one I thought really loved me. Suicide didn't work. I wanted help so desperately, wanted someone to love me, after my last suicide attempt I decided I didn't want to die, I think I scared myself to pieces when I went into shock and almost fainted. I can remember sitting on the cold ground, with blood streaming down my wrist, crying my heart out when I finally cried out "Lord help me". I guess that is what God was waiting to hear. Jesus really entered my heart that day. I had become a Christian before mum and dad split up. But I began to wonder, after my dad had rejected me and banned me from seeing him, how could a God who loved me enough to die for me, let these bad things happened. Always I asked why. Until that november day, when I pleaded with God to help me. I can't really describe how I felt right at that moment. It seemed that when everything was hopeless, I had finally found someone who truly loved me, thought that I was worth more than anything in the world. God welcomed me home with open arms, like I was the prodigal son. I felt protected and whole again. I knew the angels must have been partying on my behalf. I was no longer lonely. It was like I had been going through a dark tunnel that just seemed to get darker every step, and then suddenly I had burst out into the light. I had found God again and I was determined never to let him go. At sixteen, I was doing well at school, I felt accepted by other students, I had made heaps of great friends, I wanted to live my life for God. I no longer felt alone, stumbling through the darkness without a place to go or purpose for living. I could rejoice that my brother was with God in Heaven, that he had eternal life to enjoy God forever. I knew that I had to move forwards, stop wallowing in self-pity, stop blaming God for being raped, rejected, broken and start praising him for putting my heart back together. My youthgroup helped me get my life back together without even realising it, just by being there for me, letting me cry, holding me, encouraging me, showing me that they cared. I learned from them what it meant to really be a friend, what it meant to live for God and how to have fun without needing drugs to make you high.God had made something beautiful of my life. At 22 I can truly say, even though I still hurt deeply for what has happened in my life, I know that I can leave the past behind at the foot of the cross, and move on. I still find myself picking up lost pieces of my heart and little by little I have been able to love and laugh again. It strange how as the years pass the hurt decreases and the Joy I have in Christ increases. I have come through the other side of the healing process and in all earthly accounts the healing is almost complete....I know that I'll never be completely healed until I reach heaven, but at least now I can move on with my life and focus on God's will. His perfect plan for each of us is amazing and I don't know anything that give more joy, happiness and satisfaction than living in God's will. We need to pray for those who are hurting, that the Holy Spirit will work in their hearts and soothe them. I love to reach out to others. I can show others God cares because I have learned first hand in my own life. I am not afraid to show that I am Christian now, although at one stage I was. I love the Lord with all my heart. He is my soul, my inspiration my 'endless love'. If I can make a difference in even one person's life then I have done everything I have set out to accomplish in the name of the Lord. If you are hurting know that God loves you infinitely more than anyone and anything on earth ever can. he will take that hurt and sorrow and replace it with joy and happiness and love. It just takes time and it takes God.