*This is a work of fiction, inspired by real events

He was a beautiful man, with profound eyes filled with pools of copper and a jawline so sharp it stung to look at. I met him through mutual friends – we were at one of those free music festivals Atlanta loves to throw during the spring. “Bijan,” he answered, unsmiling, when I asked for his name.

I had to ask again to hear him over the off-tune indie band playing nearby and the surrounding cliques’ overlapping conversations. I grinned. “Does that mean you’re my hero?” I teased, playing on the Farsi meaning of the name, trying to help him relax. I know what anxiety is like. He merely grimaced and replied, “Yeah.”

My girlfriend smiled sheepishly at our exchange. “Bijan comes from Persian parents as well. I thought I’d introduce you, because Middle Easterners can only date each other, right?” That was a joke, I learned later that evening – Bijan was gay.

We went out for dinner after the festival ended. I ordered spaghetti with tomato and basil sauce, while he opted for mozzarella cheese sticks and a dirty martini. “Yeah,” he said, between licking the salt off an olive, “I used to have a boyfriend. Handsome, tall fellow. A godsend in the gay community – to find a guy who wanted to be exclusive AND was ‘manly’ enough for me to take home without having to come out? Bless. Things didn’t work out, though. It is what it is.”

His demeanor was ambiguous- I couldn’t determine whether he was really nonchalant, or just resigned about the situation.

Bijan wasn’t actually from Atlanta. His parents lived in Nashville; he was here doing his Master’s in Public Health at Emory. He wanted to help impoverished men and women of color in urban communities with commonplace STI’s receive necessary treatment and prevention. Bijan was an intelligent student, but didn’t receive enough funding for his studies. Fortunately, his parents were wealthy enough to fund his degree, housing, and other needs while he built the foundation for his life.

I was fond of Bijan. We didn’t hang out much after that night, but we made time to get cappuccinos or go to shows a handful of times over the next few months. Those few times, we talked (argued) about religion, local occurrences, and epidemiology. I admired him for his pure intentions – he truly believed he could “make the world a better place” through his research, despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles world health organizations often faced, like lack of funding or permission to send aid into certain areas. He had faith that goodness would prevail. But that faith appeared to be nonexistent when it pertained to his own life.

“Yeah, my parents have a list of women for me to meet in the occasion I don’t bring one home before I turn 27,” he’d lament. “Muslim, or Coptic Christian. They really expect me to carry the family name, because I am the ‘man of the family.’ Pardis, my only sister, is older than me, but she eloped with a guitar player a few years ago. Extraordinarily cliché, but aren’t we all? I don’t know where she is now. Anyway, they’ve cut her off and now it’s just me and Parsa, who is still in the 7^th grade.”

Bijan spoke quickly, like he wanted to get a confession with a sheikh or priest over with, like I was about to assign him a punishment for simply existing. “They can’t get over the fact that they came here from Iran to have a better life, that they managed to literally go from rags to riches with their business, and they still managed to have a ‘fuck-up’ for a daughter. It puts so much pressure on me and Parsa to be great, to be venerable characters in the narrative they’ve imagined and ingrained in their heads. It’s why, despite the legalization, I will never be able to marry the man I love.

Because what the hell kind of Iranian can tell their parents, that their son has a husband? I would bring dishonor upon my entire community.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You know, I haven’t made many friends I like here. It’s hard for me to trust people. I feel like everyone lets me down. But I guess telling you all this doesn’t really make a difference.” Bijan confused me sometimes, as well, but when I prompted him for an explanation, he rarely conceded. I chose to enjoy his company, nonetheless, and take what he would give me.

I never got the sense that Bijan was a particularly happy individual, despite his aspirations and fertile inner life. Then again, very few are. Yet, nothing could prepare me for the letter I received early this year from – of all people- Bijan’s mother, stating that he had killed himself and left me a note. She didn’t write anything else, except that she hoped that Bijan hadn’t portrayed her and her husband as ‘bad people’ to me, and that they had tried their hardest to do everything they could for their beloved son.

Dearest Laila,

I hope this letter reaches you well, given the circumstances. If you’re reading this, I am gone. There is nothing you could have done. I want to thank you for being a wonderful friend during the short time we knew each other. In a different life, with different neurobiology, I might have loved you more than a friend. Alas, it was not meant to be.

I write this, because I want you to know. I need to validate to myself that my act is not entirely selfish.

When I was 23, I contracted HIV from a hookup. At least, I want to think it was from a hookup. Unless my ex cheated on me, then I got it from him. It doesn’t really matter though.

Yeah, yeah, I know: HIV is incredibly treatable, to the point where it doesn’t even have to shorten your life expectancy, you just have to take antivirals and enzyme replacement therapy, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because HIV is the last straw for me. It’s the last straw on top of being atheist, on top of being gay, on top of an unforgiving world. I’ve been ready for this for years – the universe just told me it was time.

My father once said that he would rather me have cancer than an STI. I took that as indication that he would, façade and obligatory consolations aside, honestly prefer me dead than shameful. Everything about me is shrouded in shame. This, my death, is my gift to my parents: they can tell their family I died of a broken heart, of mental illness, of anything else, rather than the ugly truth. And maybe it’s true: maybe I am a product of my own relentless self-destruction, a product of gin, sex, and blasphemy.

I am not blaming anyone. Some people weren’t just meant for this world, not human enough, too human. I truly believe I will find peace after this. I’m going to sleep – for eternity.

With utmost love,

Bijan

I did cry. Sobbed, in fact. And I was furious, absolutely enraged, at his casual tone in the letter. Did he not understand the depth of his actions? Did he not understand the implications for his family? His poor brother, now all alone in a cruel world?

His mother didn’t leave any contact information in her note, which is just as well. I had no desire to speak about Bijan ever again. I could only imagine how he completed the act- was it here in Atlanta? Did he blow his brains out, leaving his roommate a grotesque final image of him? I shuddered, and prayed to forget Bijan’s beautiful face.

I eventually reconciled with the fact that I couldn’t call Bijan again, and would never again listen to him talk about his work, or his family, or anything. That he was gone, never to return.

Bijan was an astounding man that touched my life, and broke my heart with his demise. I wish his tale was a unique one, but I know it’s not, because suicide is the leading cause of death among young adults in the developed world, and I know that a high percentage of suicidal individuals never seek help, and I know that many people of color believe suicide, death, is the honorable way to go when they’ve disrespected the culture they come from.

And I wish for the next generation of humans on this planet to be more merciful to the gays, to the different, to each other, and I wish for the next generation of humans on this planet to cater to those who don’t know how to be alive in their communities, or anywhere else. I wish for a more forgiving world, one Bijan could have lived in, flaws and all.

Growing up, I evaluated from a kid who played mass at home and preached to the family congregation in a non-understandable language, to a lapsed Catholic who pretended to sleep on Sundays. It worked from time to time, but my parents got me on this.

Sure, I was baptized, received Holy Communion and was confirmed, and I was learning about the Catholic faith in School, at home and even at mass through the priests preaching. But, becoming a teenager made me drift away from Catholicism, not in the way of leaving Church or not attending mass. I was just not interested in this topic, nor did I realized at that time, that God is a friend of mine, someone who strives for a relationship.

I grew up in a traditional Catholic family.

As a family we attended mass every Sunday, we prayed the rosary and faith was kinda important for my parents. I remember days, when my mother would come up to me and my brother, telling: “It would be nice if we would pray the rosary together.”

We knew that this kind of prayer wouldn’t be short, what means, when we accepted the invitation it would be more like: Hm, we would rather continue playing PlayStation or watching television instead of sitting down twenty and more minutes for the rosary.

My parents were good people, and all they tried was to live their faith and share it with us. We knew the commandments, the sacraments and some prayers, but I must admit that my relationship with God was similar to a machine you mostly find on train stations. I would put in as many prayers as I could, mostly before exams and after them, praying for a good mark or something else. Imagine putting in prayers like coins, pushing the button and waiting for something good to come out.

My prayers were rather one-sided, if you compare it to a relationship with a friend. How else should it be, because I never heard that the big mysterious invisible guy sitting in the clouds could be a friend, someone who strives for a relationship with every individual.

I never thought of God as a friend.

I never enjoyed school, mostly because of mathematics and physics, but after finishing it finally, I found the freedom to pursue my goal of being a graphic designer. And I did it. And I worked for a while as a designer in Frankfurt, the major financial center of Europe.

At this time I went to mass in a Croatian community near Frankfurt, mainly because I would meet there a friend of mine. But, one Sunday morning at mass, while standing in line for Communion, the choir sang Adoro te devote from Thomas Aquinas.

The words hooked me immediately and did something to me I can’t explain. After this experience, I attended mass every Sunday, no matter if my friend was there or not.

Reason? I had met an old friend again: Jesus.

But, I started to feel like I was in a wrong place at work.

I felt a kind of restlessness in my heart. Like the priest-theologian Michael J. Himes writes in his book Doing the Truth in Love, restlessness is the path to joy, which keeps you hungry. It is a gift of the Holy Spirit, which drives us to always want more, to give more and to seek God.

This restlessness brought me to the enormous desire of working and serving in the Church, but not as a priest. I came to the conclusion that I should study theology, but I had to go back to school and get my A level, the general qualification for university.

In this period, I drifted deeper into the Croatian Catholic community by working on their new website. I even started to write for some religious websites, and found out that writing, journalism and media can make an enormous impact on people. I loved to communicate this way.

Well, through the time I met new friends in Church, attended mass on a regular basis even throughout the week and started to read the readings at mass. Years before I was probably the most shy person on earth, and I couldn’t imagine to stand there in front of five hundred and more people.

My brother always asks:
“What has happened to you? You are like a new person, not the old one, the shy boy who couldn’t even look at people.”
Indeed I changed radically, but the upcoming months and years were full of up and downs, tears and failures, situations and moments with no hope. Without faith, I wouldn’t come through. Failing the exams, being lost and not seeing your goal anymore felt like darkness. St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the French Carmelite nun, experienced also moments of darkness. “If you only knew what darkness I am plunged into!” she once said to the sisters in her convent.

But, faith strengthened me, and after all these up and downs, I finally got my matura, which opened the door for university and my desire: theology.

Throughout these years I learned that God wants to be in a relationship with us. He communicates with us in many different ways: through emotions, feelings, memories, desires and prayers, but also through people and happenings in our daily life. Not to forget, relationships are also a way of communication God uses.

Through my girlfriend, I learned that prayer is not always a quiet moment in your room, but living your life and being aware of his presence. Through her, God showed me that prayer also means to be and to live, to enjoy time together, to laugh and live his love through our lives. It means being aware of his presence and love. “Imagine God looking upon you and smiling”, the Jesuit Anthony de Mello once said.

With an open heart, you can find God in All Things.

You probably know some of these desires: becoming a better person, loving more and so on. It’s not about having visions or experiencing tremendous miracles, it’s about having an open heart which let you find God in All Things.

This is the real miracle that happens every day.

When you walk to the train station, to school, to work or wherever else, try to experience his presence. The wind rushing through the leaves in autumn, the snowflakes in winter, or the wonderful sunshine in summer.

Knowing that God is your friend, walking with you, makes live much more interesting, for you have so much to discover. Here ends my piece, but not my way, not my life and not my searching.

How about you? Are you already on the way?

Mario Trifunovic is a student of Catholic theology in Frankfurt/Main. He is writing on English and Croatian on his website called, “Think outside the box”.

There I was… I sat in the cinema and watched The Magnificent Seven. I sat and watched in awe, but also in terror.

The glamorizing gunshots, explosions, and loud cries kept my eyes and brain glued to the screen; yet there was a part of me that was terrified.

It was the part of me that was in the exact same cinema on July 20, 2012, watching the Dark Knight Rises, in awe of the violence being committed on screen, as it was then unfolding into cries and panicked screams right before my eyes.

Even though there was chaos, confusion, and agony that surrounded me in this moment, it fell silent and shattered my heart.

Before I continue, I would like to give some backstory into who I am. Currently, I am at the age of 20 years old. I was born and raised into a Christian household, so my beliefs and convictions align with the teachings of Jesus Christ and the truth of the Bible.

Yes, most of which that I will be writing about, comes from a place of God in my heart and the experiences that I have faced with Him. But I hope you know that I am not here to preach at you about God, rather, I am here to share a little part of the larger story that He has written for me since the beginning of time. This story is of truth, hope, love, and redemption.

Ask yourself this question and be truthful about the answer. What has been the greatest challenge in life for you to overcome? Now, if you think that you haven’t had to overcome any plight, or if you think that your quarrel was compared to nothing, I would ask you to rethink your reasonings.

The great thing about this question, is that everyone will have a different answer. There is no right or wrong way to navigate this question. We all have different walks of life. This is what makes us unique. Some people are faced with moral dilemmas, some are faced with overcoming injuries, and others with pain and suffering. To each his own.

The greatest challenge I had to overcome was July 20, 2012: The Aurora Theater Shooting.

One man open fired in an auditorium full of human beings, killing 12 and injuring 60. This is not including those who had and still are suffering from various forms of mental illness.

My pain and suffering came in the form of internal stresses. According to the DSM-5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders) and my Counselor, I met the criteria for PTSD and Delayed Response, which include depression and anxiety due to the events of that night.

Three months after the shooting, I was in shock. I was going from one thing to the next, without taking the time to stop and ponder what had happened that night. One day, as I was snowshoeing in the silent mountains of Colorado, I felt a boulder drop on me. Not a literal boulder, but an emotional one.

The images, sounds, screams, and smells from that night; It all came rushing through like a tidal wave. I felt guilt instantly and it spoke to me saying, “You got out alive yet there is a little girl who lost her life, and you stood in shock and did nothing to help.” This was every day when I awoke from bed and when I fell to sleep. I put on a façade of happiness when I went to school, but inside I was desperate and crying for help.

Friends and family would ask how I was doing and my response would simply be a complete lie; “I’m fine.”

I then began to think to myself about how I could fix all these internal struggles. How is a 16-year-old supposed to deal and cope with such a trauma? My time as a child and life prior to the event told me to run to Jesus, but there was another part of me, the part of me that is now living this pain and suffering, that told me to run away. So I ran.

How can I run to a God who let such events happen? So, I began to run to worldly pleasures, thinking that they would bring me comfort and fulfillment, but I was naïve, lost, and wrong. This way of thinking and “healing”, ended up bringing me further down the rabbit hole of depression.

Growing up in the church, I always heard that suffering was valuable. It creates perseverance and reliance upon God. I truly believed this, until I experienced it for myself. The only time I would actually call upon God was when I wanted Him to deliver me from these challenges. I was too scared to face the reality of what I was dealing with. So I continued to run from my internal struggles and bottled them up. Eventually… I popped.

I attended counseling for seven months to try and change the way that I thought about that night.

To see it in such a way that is positive, rather than negative. Not every session was great, but not every session was terrible. Progress was happening and change was enacting in my thoughts, but not in my heart. During these times, It was crazy for me to experience the phenomenon of my head and my heart feeling like they were a million miles apart.

My head would say one thing, but my heart would speak another. In my thoughts I knew the truths about God and pain and suffering, but my heart didn’t want to believe it. Depression dug down deep. Lies, anger, and bitterness towards life were tenants who rented out my heart and whose payment was in the form of hate.

I began to ask myself what I wanted to do. It seemed like no matter what I did, I would still feel empty inside. Nothing could fill this shattered, yet naïve heart. Thoughts of suicide began rushing into my head and at one point, I thought it was all I had left. But to escape this suffering by the way of death didn’t seem right to me.

There was this minute piece of light within me that told me there was more to life than pain and suffering. That one day, my life would impact someone.

From the wise words of Friedrich Nietzsche, “He who has a Why to live for, can bear almost any How.”

The truth hit me: the reason for my empty, broken, and desperate heart, was having a lack of purpose to live for.

From the novel, Man’s Search For Meaning, By Viktor E. Frankl, this man attempts to find reason in his pain and suffering, while he endures unnecessary acts of evil during the times of the Holocaust. While I read his experiences in detail, I began to see that pain and suffering is a way of life and that we are promised to cross roads with it.

In Acts 14:22 Luke writes, “Through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom.” I don’t want to speak for Viktor, but something tells me he knew this truth. So I began to constitute that, even though I am guaranteed to suffer in life, the only thing that I can do, is change how I see it. James 1:2-4 began to have new meaning for me, “Count it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. And let perseverance have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

For far too long I chose to only see my current situation, which was agony and pain. I didn’t have a purpose to live, because I wasn’t living for anything except the depression that was killing me. I didn’t look beyond my current situation to see the glory and joy that would come.

Thus began the slow transformation of my heart and the way in which I thought. One of the biggest lies that I believe we as a human race have believed for far too long, is that pain and suffering is the end and there is no moving forward.

I lived this lie for four years too long. As God began to work in my heart over the summer of 2016, he allowed me to experience what positive things can come from pain and suffering.

From the life of Job, this man went through innumerable amounts of pain and suffering, yet at the end of the story, “… the LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning” (Job 42:12). He experienced death and loss from his wife, children, and livestock, but after, God blessed him with more than what he had before. This isn’t the only truth that stands out to me, but there is one more that comes from verse five, chapter 42, “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see you…” What Job is saying is that he never experienced God in a true and intimate way for himself, but because of his pain and suffering, he was able to.

Job began to see God in a new way. His eyes were opened to who God is. Our God that is full of love, glory, majesty, joy, compassion, power, grace, and many more characteristics that my mind cannot fathom. Job experienced this. “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted” (Job 42:2).

Like Job and his life before pain and suffering, I too had only heard of God. Even after my trauma, I believed that I was worthless, unloveable, foolish, and weak. I believed that I was beyond saving, that I could not come back from this.

I gave up on God, therefore I gave up on life, but do you want to know what the funny thing is? God didn’t give up on me.

Even after running from him for four years, never truly knowing him before my suffering, and living in constant sin; He still loved and wanted me.

I saw and experienced His relentless pursuit and commitment of love and grace for my heart. I finally SAW the truth that God is love and He wants good things for me. Therefore, I stopped asking God to take away the pain and suffering and instead, I asked him to help me see it in a new way and to walk with me through it.

I came to this conclusion that, it didn’t matter what I expected from God or this crazy thing called life, but rather what God and life expected of me. To be in an intimate relationship with Him and to live my life as a light to those who are in a dark place.

Now it all comes back to the question I had asked earlier in my writing, “what has been the greatest challenge for you to overcome?”

By this time, I’m sure you have an answer, but I want to add a little more to this question… “and how did you overcome this?” Some of your answers may be like mine where you chose to let it defeat you, for others it may be that you whizzed on by with no problem, but for the rest, you haven’t faced it.

God has allowed me to experience such a trauma that I would have never dreamt of facing, but through this, I have come out on the other side as a testament to God’s faithfulness and to the truth that pain and suffering is a gift… because I now see the beauty in life and God.

The hope of my writing and experience is to illustrate that when pain and suffering comes, you shouldn’t run away out of fear or let it defeat you like I did. Rather, you should run head on toward the challenge and face it.

To quote Viktor Frankl once more, “Emotion, which is suffering, ceases to be suffering as soon as we form a clear and precise picture of it.” Now, while you run head on into pain and suffering, know that God is with you every step of the way and that this momentary affliction, is no match for the glory that will follow.

“Sometimes the only way around suffering is to go straight through it.” -Anonymous

The following accounts are true, and there is no fiction or hyperbole present. It may be hard to believe. It may be hard to understand. But, even though it’s been almost two years, I still remember everything as clear as if it were just yesterday.

Before I begin my story, let me provide some context. The Aghori are a very specific sub-sect of Hindu priests. They worship Shiva, the god who plays the role of “the destroyer” in Hindu mythology.

They look absolutely terrifying, smoke massive amounts of pot, live far away from cities, ritually consume human flesh, and bathe in human ashes. As a result, they are feared by the rest of society for their cannibalistic activity, and are considered extremely dangerous due to their constant state of being stoned.

Many people also believe them to be practitioners of black magic, which only adds to the terrifying air of mystery and unknown that shrouds the Aghori. Nobody dares try to interrupt their (sometimes very illegal) practices – neither the people they offend nor the police.

One blistering summer day, a friend, who happens to be an architecture student, called me with an interesting proposition.

He had heard about an interesting structure, a large, ancient gateway running along the top of a cliff almost 500 meters high. In ancient times, this used to be the gateway to the plateau we were situated on. My friend (who will now be referred to as V) loved to go explore abandoned monuments scattered all over the state, and I was more than ready to go photograph buildings in disrepair.

We left the city in central India early the next morning, since we only had a vague idea of where it was located. We figured we’d have to do some driving around to find it. Around three hours later, after driving for miles on tiny dirt paths along the cliff with absolutely no cell reception, we got to the gateway. We were sorely disappointed.

It had been ‘restored’ poorly. They had clearly cut corners and basically just slapped ugly, graffitied plaster and cement on top of the beautiful old stone that was originally the surface. Sadly enough, this kind of ‘restoration’ is getting more and more common with Indian monuments.

Our wanderlust far from satisfied, we decided to keep driving a little further. We were already pretty far out in the middle of nowhere. What did we have to lose?

We could see what looked like the ruins of a small, long-abandoned fort. We couldn’t figure out the actual route to drive up to the fort. Luckily, we saw a man walking along the street who probably lived around there.

V pulled down his window and asked the local for directions to the fort. Before he answered, the local hesitated for a minute, and then finally asked us why we would want to visit such a godforsaken place. We were very puzzled. We chalked it up to “superstitious rural bullshit,” laughed it off, and coerced him into pointing us to the right path.

We drove up closer, parked the car about half a mile from the fort where the dirt path ended, and walked over. The doorway to the fort was pretty imposing. It was a massive brass-lined behemoth with nasty looking spikes protruding from it. Since the door looked too heavy and tall for us to move it, we opted to climb over one of the corners that was now just a pile of rubble.

The inside of the fort was almost completely bare, save a few patches of shrubbery and one solitary, tiny free-standing room right in the center. The room had a closed door on it that looked recently installed, which prompted me and V to exchange a look of slight discomfort.

I think we were both rethinking the local’s warning about this place.

We wordlessly decided to steer clear of the room, and distracted ourselves by walking to the other end of the fort to give it a look. All of a sudden, we caught a whiff of a scent that is all too familiar to anyone who has spent the night in a college dorm – it absolutely reeked of weed.

We looked around, and stumbled upon a rather large crop of weed hidden between the shrubbery. This discovery along with the local’s earlier warning and the lack of cell reception had me and V understandably panicked. We decided to head back to the car and get as far away from this spooky fort as possible.

As we were heading back, we crossed the closed door again. To our surprise, it was now open. From the darkness of the room, a menacingly tall, lean man ambled out and looked towards us, confused.

That was our first sight of the Aghori. The cannibalistic priests.

At this point in time, we didn’t know that he was an Aghori, we just saw a man in a loincloth with matted hair and a huge beard glaring at us. He broke the tension by smiling, and told us not to be scared. He told us he was a “holy man,” and that we had no reason to worry. This did nothing to ease our fear. We managed to mumble a vague greeting. He responded by inviting us into his hovel for a cup of tea. We tried to refuse, but he was having none of it.

Culturally, hospitality is a big deal in India; it would be offensive to refuse someone’s hospitality. He got slightly angry, and asked us if we were really planning on refusing a holy man’s hospitality.

Since the car was at least half a mile away and we seemed to have run out of options, we had no choice but to follow him in. A strange sight greeted us inside. There was an altar with a trident sticking out of it. We were terrified, and we didn’t know what fate awaited us.

Once inside, he took his spot on a pile of rags on one side of the altar, and gestured towards another pile of rags on the other side for us to sit on. There was no further mention of tea. Instead, he procured a chillum (pipe) that looked like it was made from bone, and started filling it up with from two neat little piles. One looked like pot and the other is still a mystery to me.

As he lit a match, he said, “We Aghoris believe this is the way to achieve the closest state to our god in this human form.”

It was then that we finally understood that this man was an Aghori. Considering the horrible rumors prevalent about them in India, we were even more terrified. He took a deep draw from the chillum, and wordlessly handed it to V.

V looked uncertain, so the Aghori told us that it wasn’t an option to refuse an offering to his god. He looked at V with a stern glint in his eye, so V gulped and slowly took the chillum from him. He lit a match, took a small draw, and then started coughing violently. The Aghori seemed to find this funny, and laughed.

He gestured to V to hand the chillum to me. With shaking hands, I pretended to take a draw and faked a cough. He seemed to believe my ruse, and took the chillum from me. At this point, me and V were so far past petrified that we were instilled with a false sense of calm, and we decided to make the most of the situation.

V asked the Aghori for his story. What made him reject all of society and take the path of the Aghori?

What we heard was very surprising – one would assume that a person wouldn’t just choose to become an Aghori. It would be the result of being born into it, or having a very hard childhood and being left with no other options.

What the Aghori told us as he sipped on a glass of water was that he was born into a perfectly normal family. He was in school through middle school like a normal child, but in his teen years, he realized that this was his true calling in life.

He thought he had come into contact with a higher power, albeit through no real critical spiritual experience. He rejected his family and his old way of life to become an Aghori. He ran away from home, searched far and wide for an Aghori, and followed him around until the Aghori accepted him as his apprentice and trained him.

All this time I had quietly been taking pictures with the camera that was still around my neck.

As he was taking his next draw from the chillum, he heard my camera’s soft click. He took a purposefully long, slow draw, all the while glaring straight at me accusingly. Once he finished, he paused for a second, and vehemently asked me whether I had been secretly photographing him.

As I stuttered, he slowly started laughing, told me he was just joking, and it was perfectly alright. He even posed for me while twirling his mustache. A few minutes later, he seemed to have been overcome with whatever he was smoking, and he lay down seemingly in a trance. V and I took this chance to quietly slip out, and hurry back to our car.

Neither of us said a word to each other during the three hour drive back home.

I understand that this story might seem pointless. But this was my first real experience with such deep religious spirituality that it converted me from an atheist to agnostic. As a photographer, this is the story behind some of my favorite shots, a story that I have never before shared with anyone in its entirety.

What keeps you going?

In life, we all have something that keeps us going; a passion, a goal, fear of failure, love or hate, or maybe just a dear friend or sibling. The most important to me, through experience, is love for those around me, especially my family and friends.

What do I mean by love? It seems this word can be used in a thousand different ways. To answer this, think about your life. Who do you think is more important to you, a brother or a friend? These days, no one seems to pick up the journal to read of the beauty of the sun. Most newspapers are full articles on killings, theft, terrorism, rape, and porn.

A lot of these happenings occur within our own home, the family.

Boundaries are crossed, anger builds and the family is torn apart. To see the beauty of the sun, to look beyond the newspaper, and feel the love of life, we must have a united family.

It seems the family is becoming an ever less important aspect in the eyes of the world. The world seems to focus on individuals and how one can grow up independently, without the care of parents.

One of the organizations where we can still find the teachings of a family, is within a church.

Most members of church organizations refer to one another as brother and sister. They do this in believing God is our universal Father, thus we become brother and sister at birth.

I find this to be a little ironic. Most churchgoers believe in God, but also in the devil, who like you, is a child of God, making him our brother as well. Knowing he is our brother, would you refer to him as your friend?

One great teaching from Jesus Christ is of the power of a true friendship. In John 15: 12-13 he says, “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

The true love that keeps me going is that of my friends. We need to establish our strongest friendships within our family. Love is felt and lived when friendships are formed within the family and then with others.

Life keeps going by love, be a friend. It keeps going.

In Portuguese:

O amor no lar Na vida passamos por dificuldades e as maiores geralmente acontecem no lar. Os relacionamentos dentro de casa são essenciais para nosso bem e trazem amor. Na vida temos irmãos e amigos, mas qual deles é o mais importante para ter em sua vida ou em sua casa? Já se perguntou isso, qual é o mais ideal? Porque dentro de casa ás vezes há briga, conflito, violência e discussão.

No jornal sempre saía artigos muito tristes sobre traições, roubos e assasinatos, mas o fato mais assustador são que essas tragédias estão acontecendo dentro da família. O amor nem sempre existe na família, ás vezes irmãos brigam entre si. Esses acontecimentos tiram a felicidade e o amor do meio familiar. Deus quer que a alegria e a felicidade habitem no lar porque Ele é nosso amoroso pai dos céus. Ele nos concedeu uma família aqui na terra, mas por sermos gerados por Deus nós nos tornamos igualmente sendo todos irmãos e irmãs com Deus sendo nosso pai.

Com esse propósito nas igrejas os membros se referem um ao outro com o título de irmão ou irmã. Sendo assim até Satanás seria nosso irmão e na verdade ele é nosso irmão. Ele como você, é um filho gerado por Deus, todavia por causa de suas escolhas, habita no inferno, num lugar de infelicidade. Agora sabendo que ele é nosso irmão você o chamaria de seu amigo? Todos nós nascemos irmãos e não amigos. Nós precisamos merecer a amizade entre nossos irmãos. Jesus Cristo disse em João 15: “Ninguém tem maior amor do que este: de dar alguém a sua vida pelos seus amigos.” O amor pode ser alcançado quando nós nos tornarmos amigos de nossos irmãos e assim o amor estará presente no lar.

In 49 B.C., during a time of political unrest, the Roman senate ordered Julius Caesar to disband his army. Ignoring this order, he led his army across the Rubicon River in an act of treason. This was called, “The point of no return” because this tiny river represented a boundary that by law prevented generals from leading their troops into Rome. The march across the Rubicon preceded Caesar’s rise to power. The story I’m about to tell does not involve a rise to power, but I can identify with the point of no return.

I grew up in a home where my parents taught us Christian values, and we were always in church. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know about God. My point of no return came when God put me in a position where I had to decide if I believed with absolute certainty the truths that I had repeated for those early years of my life.

I want to take you back to a morning almost seven and a half years ago. I was a bitter sixteen-year-old that hid behind a quiet personality. It was a sunny, November afternoon as I slid into the back of my dad’s car.

My parents were taking my grumpy self to yet another doctor. This time they had to fight a little harder to make it happen. The pastor of our church had called me into the middle of my parents’ counseling session and asked me if I would be willing to see a spine doctor. My brother and sister were both away at college so I figured that my parents must be looking for a kid to distract them from their own problems.

My spine had had an abnormal “s” shaped curvature called scoliosis since I was eight years old. The curve had increased rapidly during my teen years. My rib cage had shifted out of place. Despite my best fashion efforts, my torso was noticeably asymmetrical. I figured this appointment would involve another doctor discussing my “deformity” and trying to convince me to wear a brace.

The whole thing seemed weird and unnecessary but not wanting to seem “unspiritual,” there we were on our way to the doctor again.

Fast forward, about two hours later. The normal x-rays are done. I’d been through this so many times I could almost tell the technician the steps. My parents and I are sitting in a cold, white room waiting. In walks the doctor wearing his white coat.

He perches on his spinning chair, slaps the x-rays up on the lighted board, and the fancy talk begins. He’s bringing the questions and I’m bringing the attitude. I am doing my best to let him know I hate him without saying the words that will get me in trouble. This involves avoiding eye contact, exasperated sighs, and the occasional glare.

The doctor asked, “Do you like water or swimming?”

I slowly raise my head, looked him in the eyes and say, “I hate water.”

The doctor did not hesitate, “Well great. Here’s a pamphlet for water therapy you should sign up for.”

So that clenched it, me and the doc wouldn’t be friends. He’s talking curve progression and I’m daydreaming about how to celebrate my birthday in two weeks. I had almost made up my guest list when I tuned back in.

The doctor spoke, “So yeah, we definitely need to operate.”

I was silently expecting my parents to cut in and let him know that wasn’t in our plans. Instead, questions started flying and they just started making crazy notes.

My dad asked, “What time frame are we looking at?”

The doctor responded, “Really, as soon as possible. Needs to be in the next year at least. Since this case is so advanced, I’m going to recommend you to a specialist surgeon.”

The situation seemed to be getting out of hand. Someone really needed to shut this down.

I responded with a quick, “I’m not having surgery.”

The doctor looked at me like I was an idiot, “If you don’t have surgery, your spine will crush your heart and lungs. Paralysis will set in and this will kill you.”

I wanted nothing more than for him to take those words back. Crying in front of my parents was rare for me. It never ever happened in front of strangers. There didn’t seem any point in holding back now though. I didn’t even avoid eye contact, just started crying a river. I couldn’t have stopped to speak even if I’d had words.

The doctor just looked at me with an incredible lack of emotion, “I can tell this is upsetting you.”

Inside my head, there was a voice screaming, “Way to go Einstein.”

Between my world spinning and wishing this day did not exist, I was searching for evil ideas on how to make this doctor feel the pain he’d just inflicted. My parents somehow got me home.

This was the beginning of where I began to question everything that I’d been told and began to deal with my bitterness.

Being home schooled allowed me to isolate from my friends and put on a cheery face for those times when I was forced to socialize. I felt like life was just flying by, but I was afraid to enjoy it freely because I imagined it would soon be ripped away. I would spend time praying and crying myself to sleep at all hours of the day. Those were some very dark months.

My parents were struggling in their marriage and the issue of my spine condition was a point of serious contention. My mom and I searched the internet for alternative medicine. Reality began to set in as I realized that even if these mildly sketchy options could work, we were out of time. My relationship with my dad was nonexistent. Though I was very wrong in this belief, I was convinced that this push for surgery was his attempt to legally remove me from his world.

By this point, I was seventeen years old. My priority was to either drag this issue out until I was eighteen and could get away from home or convince my mom to deny medical consent for my surgery.

Even though we were on a long waiting list, the months passed too fast. March brought a visit to the specialist surgeon. We met with him to discuss the details of the surgery that everyone except for me was planning. After taking his own x-rays and an MRI, Dr. Horton (the specialist surgeon) was confident of a few things. He was sure that the surgery needed to happen; it would have to be soon; he needed to be the one to operate.

My parents asked a lot more specific questions which he answered. My dad was happy because the other surgeons we had spoken to had refused to operate on me due to the severity of the curve.

The only thing I remember saying was, “I don’t want to have spine surgery. Can you operate without my consent?”

Dr. Horton gave me the answer I wanted but it didn’t give me the warm, fuzzy feeling in my soul that I expected. “No, we cannot make you go through with this. However, if you don’t have the surgery, things will not be good. If you’re still alive at forty, you’ll be in a wheel chair. Your lungs and heart will be crushed. You’ve probably lost lung function already. You have to decide what to do.”

I felt like a bowling ball of responsibility had been dropped in my arms.

My questions to Dr. Horton were always blunt and he responded in kind. He was open with the risks of spinal fusion which included paralysis, non-fusion, and infection.

Still, I did not trust anyone once I was unconscious. Dr. Horton said, “Our team won’t leave the operating room until every screw is in place.” I believed he meant it though I doubted if he could make that promise.

At the very root of it, I did not trust God.

I thought He had it in for me. Despite the best intentions of doctors, I knew God had more power. I was struggling to give anyone else control of my life. I saw God as this impersonal being who was creatively punishing me. In the midst of this, trust began to creep into my heart.

I held onto one particular promise/command. Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”

Another obstacle worth mentioning was my fear of needles. Shots and blood tests made me faint, nauseous, anxious, my heart race, and hands clammy since I could remember. I had been through it many times and each time was worse.

I thought I would die. I thought I would pass out. I thought I would throw up. I focused on how much I could feel the needle in my arm. So even if I could trust the doctors on the day of surgery, it would have to be without any needles. Well, the good doctor assured me that there would be lots of needles. In fact, a needle would have to be in me for the duration of my hospital stay so they could do blood tests.

So my surgeon sent me to a psychologist for systematic desensitization. This is a process where you list the reasons for your fear, the possible outcomes when facing your fear, the likelihood of each outcome, and how you would handle each outcome.

Those weeks of meeting with the psychologist in the spring of 2009 changed how I saw the world. It did not become some warm, safe place. In the end, I realized, my eternal future is secure. Do I believe that my life on this earth will always be safe and pleasant? No, I have seen too much of pain and suffering in my own life and lives of those I have encountered to expect that I would be spared from all future pain.

What I believe is that God sent His son, Jesus, who lived, died, and rose to redeem me not simply from bad circumstances but from my own sin.

No one else could do that. In the words of the apostle Peter, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)

I wavered between moments of peace and moments of fear. One afternoon while my parents were gone, I decided to watch a video of another patient undergoing the same surgery on YouTube. Let me tell you, that was not a great idea. The video was just a little too graphic. I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling incredibly nauseous and weeping on the couch.

In those moments of peace, I knew that God was giving me strength because I knew I had none of my own left to carry me.

I remember meeting with a second psychologist who worked closely with my surgeon to ensure that patients were mentally and emotionally prepared to undergo this type of surgery. He gave me an hour long written psychological test. When we met to go over my results, he was actually concerned because my test results showed a lack of stress over the situation.

He was concerned that I might be in denial. In the end, while I was so very aware of the risks, the results of my surgery didn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that I began to trust God to direct my life.

I had spinal fusion surgery on June 2nd of 2009. Dr. Horton moved my spine from an eighty-five degree curve to a 20 degree curve and attached two stainless steel rods and about twenty-two screws to my spine.

The recovery was the roughest thing I have encountered in my twenty-four years of living. My scar is fading and the physical evidence that I ever had scoliosis is so very slight. I hope though that I will never forget the truths that I held so close to my heart in those times.

What has made the biggest difference in my life has been the knowledge that God loves me and He has a plan. I believe (as presented by my favorite author C.S. Lewis) that life is a series of peaks and troughs, and it is a ridiculous assumption for us to believe that it would be all peaks.

Though God certainly uses the peak times to help us grow, I believe that there’s something special He does in us in these trough times that give us character and develop us into who He wants us to be. My story is a testament to this.

When I was seven, my Dad’s job transferred. As a family of six we packed up and moved across the world to Istanbul, Turkey. At the time, reassured by the fact that there would still be Barbies wherever we moved, I wasn’t too concerned. However, growing up in a country away from your birthplace has its challenges.

I began school at an International school, but when I had not picked up the Turkish language by fifth grade, my parents gave me the option of transferring to a local school. Without giving it too much thought, I took them up on it.

The first week was incredibly rough for me. I spoke little Turkish, and I was placed in a classroom with 53 other students.

I couldn’t communicate and was out of my comfort zone. I came home crying after school every day the first week. However, through this God showed me that He was my refuge, and He would take care of me regardless of my circumstances. Through this tough time also came the ability to speak Turkish, in addition to some amazing friendships that have continued through college.

Another tough transition for me was moving back to the United States. After graduating from high school I decided to attend the University of Georgia, Go Dawgs! However, my friends from high school scattered across the country and world, so apart from my aunt and uncle. I knew no one in this new place. In addition, there was once again a cultural difference, despite no language barrier.

Growing up overseas meant that although I am shaped like an American on the outside, inwardly I am shaped quite differently.

Once again, I was really hurting, and I didn’t feel like I had anyone to cling to. Everything I had known and grown up with was 5,000+ miles away, including my family. Once again, God showed me His faithfulness. He showed me that when He brings me to something,  He’s also going to bring me through it. He showed me that He is with me no matter what. He showed me once again that He wants to have a relationship with me, and that all I have to do is come to Him.

Though this was a challenging time, I’m stronger because of it. Though it might have been easier for me not to move back to the US. for college, God brought me closer to Himself through this, and once again has given me some amazing relationships.

Today, God continues to show me His faithfulness and how He uses the tough times in my life to make me more like Himself. As an aspiring journalist, I interned with a news agency this summer. Confronted with the headlines of international news stories each day has been challenging. Through this too God has shown me more of who He is. When I see how truly broken the world around us is, I recognize the world’s need for a savior.

How fantastic it is to learn that God loved us enough to send His son to die for our sins and to give us hope. What an amazing realization that we have a God who understands suffering, and who promises us His presence through the peaks and the troughs.

I’m so thankful for a God that makes life delightful no matter where in the world we live, as He has promised his presence to us through it all and uses what seems like the toughest times for our good.

The man who went where none should go and saw what none should see,

Had his knowledge wrapped around an eternal mystery.

He witnessed many glorious things, and many heinous too,

Yet ev’n his stores of knowledge failed to reveal something of the truth.

Then one day the man encountered a knocking at the door,

And he who swayed in spirit failed to do so anymore.

‘Find rest old man’, it whispered, defying all he knew.

‘Find rest and you shall find’, it said, ‘your soul has been renewed!’

The man was filled with joy as the shackles vanished from his mind;

He had unintentionally discovered the true eternal kind.

“Never again!” he proclaimed to all, in regards to past pursuits.

“Never again!” he called again, so that some would hear the news.

Yet none desired to listen to what the old man said.

“Fool!” they called him, unaware

Of their own inflicted heads.

First, the man was troubled, unsure of what to do.

But soon enough he found the Way, earning interest for the truth.

Rather than preach a message, he began to act the part.

Instead of looking for the end, he rested at the start.

The people marveled at him, not comprehending why.

“How can you live this way?” they asked the passerby.

“Now you see the truth,” he said, “what I had tried to tell.

But because you did not listen, you’ve found yourselves in hell.”

“What is this that you speak of?” the people asked, astounded,

Refusing to comprehend knowledge so unfounded.

“I will tell you once again,” he said, hoping for the best.

“Never again should you or I seek to leave His rest.”

Finally they understood from witnessing his ways,

This man had found a secret which brightened up his days.

But still he tried to tell them: “My secret’s free for all!

The light is all around you

Waiting for your call…”

I am a 22-year-old college senior who is about to graduate. I am a funny, smart, beautiful, kind and caring woman with a bright future. I am a Christian. I have very strong values and morals. I am a virgin.

Every single one of these traits has been tested in the past 4 years I’ve been at college. Gossip and drama has tested my ability to be kind and caring. Hard classes and long clinical days have tested my intelligence and perseverance. Nothing, however, has been tested more than my morals, my values… my virginity.

Ever since I learned about sex I knew I wanted to wait until marriage.

It wasn’t the church or my parents pushing that ideal in my head, in fact, I never even had ‘the sex talk’ with my parents. It has been 100% my decision to wait. Now, the bases of my decision is religious. I believe that my body is a temple created by God [1 Corinthians 6:19] and I believe I need to treat it that way. I want to bring Glory to the Lord in every way that I can, and this is just one of those ways.

Just because I don’t have sex doesn’t mean I don’t want sex. I am not perfect. I have messed up, I’ve given into temptation, and I’ve gone further than I should have sometimes. But every one of those times I stopped, I didn’t give into my needs and wants because in the back of my head, in my heart were those strong convictions

College is a very difficult place to practice abstinence. I have never been made fun of or picked on because of my beliefs, but it definitely sets me apart from others. I cannot begin to count the number of boys who as soon as they found out I don’t have sex, couldn’t get away fast enough. Boys don’t even give you a chance and it hurts.

Having this strong conviction in my life has not been easy. I’ve gotten depressed and felt exiled. I have felt insecure and embarrassed. There have even been times I have almost said ‘screw it’ and just given in to stop the hardship.

Most recently I was talking to a boy. It was a very new thing, but I quickly found that he was someone that I knew I really was going to like and truly care about. He was over one night and when I stopped and told him I was a virgin, that I wasn’t going to do anything with him, he stood up, shook my hand and walked out.

Shook my hand, and walked out. I have never felt more worthless in my life.

I felt like all I was good for was my body, that because I wouldn’t put out that I was completely worthless. It was in that moment that I felt the worse I have ever felt.

I felt hurt and sad and mad about it for about a day and then it hit me. I should be damn proud. I stood up for myself. I didn’t back down. I help firm in my beliefs, in the Lord, and didn’t let anything change me. I realized at that moment, how important it is to stay true to yourself. I know how easy it would have been to just give in, to forget my conviction and have sex. But where would that have led me?

Every belief, conviction, and value that you have make you, you. It is so important to stay true to those. Be you. Don’t let what is supposed to be the ‘normal’ change those, change you. I promise it’s so much better this way. Living for your own beliefs leads to such a fulfilling life. Regardless of what your beliefs may be, make them, keep them, and be proud of yourself.

(Written by Margaret Coleman)

Broken I come. Empty. My cup is full of tears. Yet you are so faithful to show me where you were in the past years, The years of abuse, the years that the locust came and my life was changed. Numb and broken I stood. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t understand. Yet you tell me now, that you were with me.

YOU WERE WITH ME.

You were holding my hand. You were my strength, you enabled me to stand. You were the sustaining grace that has brought me to stand here today. You are with me and you are faithful. Again I say, YOU ARE WITH ME, and

YOU ARE FAITHFUL.

You are here to stay. You are constant and true, You are healing the broken places- the black and the blue. I was hiding. Hiding from who you are and always have called me to be. Caught up in an endless sea of insecurity. Searching for satisfaction, while knowing you are the only one that satisfies. Not believing the truth but rather lies.

Not seeing myself through your eyes. Seemingly walking on thin ice of others words and judgments, Too often finding myself broken by their words, and not by your Word. Hiding so often from fully being with you, Because I was scared to be held by you. The depth and vastness of your loves is so overwhelming and deep. Often times in your presence I find myself undone as I begin to weep.

So I stay surface level, with others and with you O lord, Yet you know me, you know me through and through. You see my heart, and you long for me to HIDE myself in ONLY you. Surface is comfortable it doesn’t ask much, Or really tell much either. Surface never really gets to the point, it just casually talks around it. Surface is the typical response to, “Hi, how are you?”… “Good, good!”

Lord I confess I cry out, not everything is good, Not everything is okay all the time, Oh, but YOU ARE. You Father, are the bright Morning Star. You break through the darkness and you speak life.

You hold me safely, as my tears fall at night. Father you are good, always faithful. So draw me out of myself, my sin, Set my feet upon you and show me where to begin, Begin walking in security and assurance. To no longer hide but to be hidden. Hidden in who you are and always have called me to be. Caught up in an endless sea of security and mercy. Drowning in endless grace, captivated by you, Eyes locked, looking unto your glorious face.

The Creator and Captivator of my heart. Forever. For your voice is louder and sweeter than any other, Your truth penetrates my heart and it shows me who I am. It reminds me that when I feel like giving up- When I find myself saying, “I can’t…” that Jesus..

YOU CAN!

“I can, because I am” I am your sufficiency, I am your Healer; I am your Father, I am your Helper, I am for you, I am with you, I am merciful, I am just, I am faithful, I am patient; I am your refuge, I am trustworthy, I am fighting for you, and I am always with you.

MY STEADFAST LOVE ENDURES FOREVER.

He can and he will, so today I pray you feel. Feel his sweet love that conquers all fears. I pray that you see the endless grace he has poured out on your life, over the past years. I pray you feel his comfort in the midst of your pain. And I pray today that things would never be the same. That you would leave His presence radically changed. That you would believe God’s truth, rather than lies. I pray that you would take off your disguise.

It is okay to cry, you can come rest He says, you don’t have to try. Don’t try and hold it all in, bring it to me and let it shatter at my feet, Come into my arms, come and meet. Meet with me, abide with me, look to me, and confide in me. I am safe.

When you dance, I dance along with you. When you cry, I am there crying and comforting you. When you try to hide, I am the one that is your refuge and safe place. When you are scared, I am the one, who takes your hand, And lifts your head with peace and assurance. When you are too weak to fight, I am fighting for you- On your behalf and I will never stop.

When you throw up your hands and want to give up, I am the one that lifts your hands and your eyes. For I am your Helper. When you are frustrated, I whisper, “I understand, tell me more.” And I tell you of my sweet promises. When you are tired and weary, I am your strength. When you have been going and going, I am your resting place. I am here. So come near. When you find yourself full of questions and doubt, I am the answer, I will give you faith. When you are reminded of who you were…

I am faithful to tell you…WHO YOU ARE!

You are mine and you are loved, So loved that I would send my one and only Son, From Heaven above, He lived a sinless life and bore all your sins, He longs for you to come to Him. So freely come. Come and be forgiven and take hold of life. Life, He is life, I pray you all take hold of that tonight. He is restoring the years the locust have stolen. And he is making you whole. Whole, and holy, He is making you more like him.

The Lord is making you new, Yes you He is making you new. HIS steadfast LOVE ENDURES FOREVER, through and through!