A Ridiculously Faithful God

By Tyler Dykstra

2.9 million. That’s how many people live in Chicago, according to the 2010 census, which apparently, didn’t count me. But that’s another story. After four years among the throngs of the urban corridors, I headed west with my newish (10 months) bride in a ’97 Camry. Fifteen hours of yawn inducing flat land later, we arrived among a more hilly country. The population of our town?  2.5 thousand.

We set up camp among a Native American reservation in the Western United States, to begin our lives of ministry. I can throw a stone in every direction and not hit a neighbor, a contrast to constantly closed blinds covering windows merely 10 feet from another apartment dweller’s home.

Orphan

By Tony Robledo

Imagine.

You are a child, small and unnoticed, who wakes every morning to the bustling sounds, chuckles, and shrieks of other orphaned children. It’s the only kind of waking world you’ve ever known. Every morning, the lingering smell of ammonia from the night cleaning crew. Every morning, a nurse wiping up accidents in the hall outside your door. Every morning, alone in a room crowded with other children. You have no parents, no mist of memory, no whisper of a past, no foggy recollections. Only a small, strange mark on your chest. There was no paperwork, just a name tag tucked into a whimpering bundle on the back stoop of an orphanage waiting to be found, to be heard, to be loved. You are a child, small and unnoticed. And today is no different.

The Barrel of a Gun: How Violence Kept Him from Leaving

By David T. Ulrich

Published in The Moody Standard 76:11. This story is adapted from interviews with a male Moody student. Names are changed to honor confidentiality.

“At about 1 a.m. in the living room, I finally stood up and said, ‘I’m going to break up with Haley tomorrow, and she’s gonna blow my brains out.’ My friends on the other couches chuckled when I said it. It sounded absurd—Haley, do this? But they didn’t know how much I’d been lying.

Spare the Rod: A Physically Abused Child Learns Righteous Resistance

By David T. Ulrich

Published in The Moody Standard 76:9 This story is adapted from interviews with a female college student. All names changed to honor confidentiality:

“‘Spare the rod, spoil the child,’ my mom and dad used to say. So they couldn’t risk being light on the rod.

“One time I made a snack for myself before dinner: cottage cheese and applesauce in a bowl. But I couldn’t finish it—maybe it had gone bad, or else I just felt sick—but I couldn’t get through the whole thing. Mom said she wouldn’t feed me anything else until I finished my bowl. This was her ‘discipline.’ Doesn’t seem so extreme, right?

Snake in the Vines: Molested on Furlough

by David T. Ulrich

Published in The Moody Standard 76:9. This story is adapted from interviews with a female college student. All names changed to honor confidentiality:

“‘Have you ever played Truth or Dare?’ Rachel asked. ‘Let’s play. I’ll go first—have you ever been in love? What does sex feel like? Tell me more about your boyfriend; your love story is my favorite.’”

“We did this for about an hour every day that summer, but we never did ‘dares,’ unless walking barefoot with her through the jungle to find our big tree covered in vines and green moss was a ‘dare.’ One time, one of the spiky black vines on the ground started to move. A python had snuck into our fort and was waiting for us. So that probably counts as a dare.”

Lovely and Trapped

Published in The Moody Standard 76:8
by David T. Ulrich

This story is adapted from interviews with a female college student. Names withheld to honor confidentiality:

“Whenever I find my baby sister—wherever she is—I’ll have to tell her about all of this.

“On the night before we were separated, we got home from the store with our uncle and found the front door wide open and the antique mirror in the entryway smashed. We walked over the broken glass and I stood in the middle of the room holding my sister in one arm and my brother’s hand next to me.

“We couldn’t find Mom. I thought someone had broken in and hurt her.”

A Name For All Seasons

by Danielle Germaine

These past few days have welcomed the first glimpse of hope that peeks out from beneath the dark winter veil. Happy and warm, the sunlight repels my gray, downcast apathy that characterized my first winter here in the city. Let the cobwebs be cleared, the box of mittens and scarves put away, and the dusty shelves of my heart be made spotless.

Behold, spring has arrived.

Healing on Holy Ground: Rape survivor, male, speaks about speaking

Published in The Moody Standard 76:9
by David T. Ulrich

This story is adapted from interviews with a male college student from Illinois:

“At the beginning? Well, at the beginning he was like a mentor in being a man, a neighborhood kid just a couple years older than I was. We played paintball together and he showed me what kind of shoes I should buy. But he was also the kind of seventh grader who kept illegal fireworks tucked under his bed, if that says anything.