When I engage in active ministry with my project, dolour, I take on a pseudonym. It was suggested by a professional counselor, in order to better preserve my safety in the event that I inadvertently became the wailing wall of someone mentally deranged. He taught me a multitude of things, many of them cold, hard psychiatric facts, many of them pertaining to the legal repercussions my ministry constantly runs the chance of suffering. The first thing, however, was developing a pseudonym. An alias. One of my first cases was a girl named Skye who quickly developed an over-fondness for me and began stalking me, calling me dozens of time in an hour and attempting to get me to slip up and reveal where I live. Skye, my counselor informed me, is not a mere blip on the map of the sea of lost souls out there that I encounter daily. So I created a new persona that can more safely traverse the web. His name is Matt. I have not lost my belief in the importance of human conversation - being that it was how I talked down my first case, years ago, from the edge of suicide - but I encrypt my number and call them; they never call me. Matt may be only doing everything he can to daily save another, but he's not doing it without a bulletproof vest.

"what's wrong?"

"life. as usual."

My newest, and currently most important case is a girl named Jenny. A good family, attending a good school, a good girl. No revealed history of sexual trauma, no admitted abuse of alcohol or substances, in the beginning no appearance of medical depression, all things I look for as soon as a girl or guy begins to open up to me. My mentor has made me, if nothing else, a balanced yin and yang between compassionate counselor and cold, calculated psychiatrist. I observe silences, pauses, the rewording of sentences during online chats, changes of subject; I overanalyze away messages, profiles, MySpace pages, Facebook profiles, Twitter updates. I examine body language and the stories that photos tell on Photobucket albums. My cases will never know, but I fully understand that to help them, I need to pick their lives apart piece by piece, even if it is behind their backs.

"...my heart breaks so badly for you..."

"it shouldnt... im gonna break it more..."

Today is the day that Jenny moves to the top of my list. She has been longing for a guy that she knows she will never have, as she so confided in me. Love, however, is not something that can just be switched off, like a stove, and so when left to burn slowly it can have effects as devastating as a gas leak. She has been someone I had been watching for the better part of two weeks; I suspect she may have a history of medical depression, as she exhibits bi-polar and manic depressive tendencies, highlighted in times of distress and heartache. In the last fifteen days suicide has been mentioned in a more roundabout fashion three times, each after a night ending badly with her hopeful lover. While concerned, I let it slide for the moment, waiting for something truly alarming to catch my attention. Vague, brief passing words of suicide are disturbing, but not something to panic about. It's when the subject starts getting intentional and precise about their attempt that you start to worry. Today I start worrying.

"i am afraid of myself."

"i know you are."

"no, u dont understand... if i were given the chance, if i had the way out.. i'd take it, right now.. if i did."

"i know you would."

"then i guess this is one of our last goodbyes."

The last case I handled where the subject was verbally expressing a desire to commit suicide in the near future was three years ago. She was drunk and had a record of suicide attempts; the last one ended with the father finding his nineteen year old daughter bleeding to death in the bathtub, slashes deep into her wrists. She had an eating disorder, a drinking problem, and a boyfriend with a history of domestic violence. A fight and a breakup set her off; for some divine reason she grabbed on to me before she drowned herself in her own blood one last time. For some divine reason I kept her from drowning. I remember it took me the entire night to talk her down from hysteria to reason. Since then I have retained the commitment and passion to ministering and saving lives.

"promise me you won't do anything today."

"i cant."

"please, just for today."

"idk...i've put it off for too long."

"this does not have to happen."

"no, i think it does. i wish i cud have seen you. that wudve been nice."

At this point I begin to worry. Jenny is completely lucid and coherent, without alcoholic or drug influence. As the conversation progresses, more and more slowly reveals itself. After some prodding, she admitts she has a method in mind, although she refuses to tell me what it is. This changes the entire dynamic of the situation. All of a sudden, this is no longer simply emotionally charged ranting; if anything, she seems more drained of emotion than I have ever seen her. The words of my mentor flash into my head: "the instant your case turns from vague, unspecific generalizations to a quantifiable, processed train of thought, your involvement needs to immediately end. You're in over your head, especially with a case states away. Don't risk another person's life to pad your concept of yourself. At that point, this becomes much larger than yourself."

"stay with me jenny. stay with me. focus..."

"idk if i can..."

I fight a rising terror in my heart as I pull up my Google and her MySpace. Thank God she had up more personal information than you should give away online. Vanguard University is situated on the beautiful coasts of California between Los Angeles and San Diego. Thousands of miles away from Indiana Wesleyan in Marion, Indiana, halfway between Indianapolis and Fort Wayne. I pull up her school's page and dial the main number in Contact Information. As the phone rings, I keep typing. There is a light sheen of perspiration on my brow by the time the other end picks up. "Thank you for calling Vanguard University, how may I direct your call?" I swallow hard and say, in my calmest, most collected tone, "I need to speak to someone regarding a likely suicide on your campus."

"it hurts.. matty it hurts."

"i know it does."

"i want to make it stop. i need to make it stop.. and if thats the only way so be it."

"i know it hurts jenny, but i need you to stay with me. i need you to stay strong."

"BUT IM NOT IM WEAK... fucking pathetic."

"Hello?" a new girl, sounds about my age. "Uh, yeah, I'm calling because I have reason to believe there's a girl on your campus who poses a strong danger to herself. She's in class right now, but your classes are letting out soon. Her name is Jennifer [omitted]; I'm talking to her online right now, very much emotionless, she's saying her last goodbyes, she has a method selected of suicide." The girl I'm talking to is clearly shaken and disoriented: "Um, okay, I know who that is. We've been keeping an eye on her for a couple weeks now." Interesting. Roughly as long as she's been exhibiting heightened depressive behaviors. They're good. "Good," I reply. "She's in class at the moment, but I think whatever happened last night pushed her over the edge. Please keep this call anonymous." "Of course," she immediately responds. "Thank you so much for calling." I hang up and return my full attention to the chat window.

She has clammed up momentarily. While I attempt to coax words out of her, I review what she said while I was somewhat distracted by the girl on the phone. One line stands out above all else during the conversation.

"it hurts.. matty it hurts."

She's only called me Matty once before, following one of the worse exhibits of depression. For some reason, the name tugs at my heart. My alter ego has a pet name. It's times like this that I momentarily regret the Berlin Wall I have to put up around the real me in order to safely minister. To be effective and simultaneously avoid another Skye, I have to wear a mask along with my clergy collar. It's times like this that I wish above all else that I could be real to the ones to whom I minster. But then the words of my mentor come rushing back to me.

"There are legal repercussions when you're dealing with a potential suicide. If they die on your watch, you are very, very liable." We're in his office with the blinds closed; he is smoking a cigar and even in the dark I can tell his eyes are shut. He gets that way when he becomes one with a good cigar. There is a pause, and I suddenly feel his eyes open and drill me with all the ferocity and passion that he has. "If you walk away with nothing else, remember this. When a life is in danger, do not hesitate to step aside." The gaze that I can feel strengthens and I lock eyes with him in the dark. "Don't be a hero."

At approximately 12:32 on Wednesday, April 2, 2008, I turn Jenny over to Vanguard University and the state of California. They will now determine what steps need to be taken to keep her alive. As I continue to talk to her online, I finish detailing what I know about the situation to Vanguard University; now I'm talking to someone who has introduced himself as the head of Student Affairs. "She is lucid and coherent and has a method in mind. This is not the first time she's mentioned a suicide attempt but this is the first time she's gone into this much detail. She's saying her last goodbyes. Very little emotion." He finishes talking with me and hangs up.

"jenny?"

"matty?"

"hang on."

"idk..."

"please promise me you'll hang on for at least today."

"maybe..."

My heart breaks for you Jenny, and your sheer lack of hope. I went to work with a heavy heart, feeling the burden of her, and the burden of everyone I encounter in dolour, crashing down on my back. Her last words of the conversation stay with me the rest of the week.

"its funny...a whole school filled with people i actually know, and you...someone so far away...are the only one who wud actually care if i was there tomorrow or not."

"i'm not the only one who cares."

"if you weren't...i wouldn't be planning this."

I've never actually dated anyone. The closest I ever got to dating someone was last year and didn't last very long. Some of my lack of dating experience had to do with the fact that I was homeschooled my whole life and didn't get out much. Some of it had to do with the fact that I can be pretty introverted. Some of it has to do with the fact that I'm picky about who I want to date. A lot of it, however, has to do with the fact that I'm terrified to get hurt. I would rather live with the ache of not knowing whether or not my love was requited than with the pain of rejection. Beyond love, however, I think a lot of people live in a similar state of mind when it comes to emotions in general. It all essentially centers around a person's fear of rejection, a fear of failure. A life of unfulfilled desires may be hollow, but at least it's free of rejection.

Therein lies the rub. I recently reread Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom, and in one of the chapters Morrie, a very wise man, tells Mitch that you can't control your emotions, you can't live free of fear, until you embrace every negative and terrifying feeling that you feel creeping up. Embrace emotions. Turn on the faucet and bathe in them. Soak in them your whole life. Let love run rampant in your daily commute. Don't be afraid to let the ones you ache for know so; dive headlong into love, and dance in the ensuing rain of emotions, positive or negative. Life is far, far too short to live in fear of your emotions.

The closer we come to bathing in our most feared emotions, the closer we come to God. The more we enrich our lives with every facet of our psyche that God created us with, the more we find ourselves understanding our Father better and better. Our emotions are not to be feared; rather they are each individual gifts from God, and the understanding and acceptance of each of them are some of the first steps on the long path to understanding God better. God Himself experienced and still experiences, to some extent, every emotion we struggle with. He is an angry God, a jealous God, a passionate, loving God, a God who weeps, who feels abandonment, who understands pain and suffering better than anyone else. Too often we fall into the lie that there are certain emotions that must be suppressed. Nay, rather these are to be taken in with open arms.

The trick is not to let them overcome us.

The instant we let our emotions define us, we have have succumbed to our fallen nature. Our emotions are to be embraced, bathed in, but not ourselves. We can feel anger, we are not to BE angry constantly. We can feel pain and sadness, but we are not to BE in constant pain and sadness. Some might question if I would say the same to love, but love extends beyond raw emotion. Love is to be a constant state of being, not an emotion we experience. Love is not a high, not a rush, nor a thrill, although it can embody all of those. Our emotions ultimately define our love.

I have a feeling I'll reread this when I have some sleep under my belt and shake my head at how scatterbrained and skipping around this was, but it was laid on my heart. I trust the messages I attempted to get across will reach the ones they were intended to. Godspeed.

*warning: this entry contains some very brief discussion of online sexual dialogue*

For the unaware, two weeks ago I started an online ministry named dolour. dolour came about after I ventured into a chat room for the first time in my life, and what I found broke my heart in more ways than I ever imagined possible. It is a sad testament to what our culture has become when our youth find themselves propogating online bathroom walls, dispensing of names, ages, screennames, pictures, addresses and phone numbers. Our world has pushed the drive for sexual experimentation so deeply into the psyche of teens today that they have determined that love is determined by prowess and skill, whether it be in bed or across a dsl connection. As I began to haunt several online chat rooms, I was consistently approached with the opening statement:

"asl?"

To those who passed their SATs rather than their LOLs, "asl" simply stands for "age/sex/location." It's almost an obscene mating call. I would be asked that over and over again, much of the time with no other means of introduction, no "hey," or "hi," or "what's up." Simply "asl?" The directness, the determination, the frank desire for an online encounter floored me, and still floors me today. As I sit here in the dark of my room, the absurdity and patheticness of the whole situation has me scratching and shaking my head. At the same time, my heart bursts inside with sorrow and compassion for the people I've encountered. Assuming that everyone I've come in contact with has been truthful regarding their gender and age, I would suggest that the majority of people populating most chat rooms are girls between the ages of 14 and 18 and boys between the ages of 16 and 20. And for those who believe that it's only the males initiating a sexual encounter, they would be very wrong. I have had female users asking me about the size of a certain organ, sending provocative pictures and myspace links, propositioning me for sex both online and in person.

It has all been heartbreaking. After much thought and prayer, I hesitantly started trolling through chat rooms seeking out people that wanted to talk as friends. The idea that there was someone online who only wanted to talk to them for who they were was earth-shattering to many of these people, and I soon had a small ring of contacts who came to me to discuss their day, their boyfriend, and, in the cases of some people, pregnancies, abortions, self-injury and suicide attempts. I have met many amazing people, including a seventeen year old girl fighting with her boyfriend to keep her baby, currently seven months along in her womb. What I see are people who are searching for something, something that they've never really experienced, with the knowledge that what they engage in online will not fulfill them in the end. dolour attempts to show them what they're searching for, simply put, Jesus Christ.

dolour comes from the Latin word "dolor," which means "intense grief or suffering." I chose dolour because, to me, it's indicative of the unbearable grief the Father goes through when observing His children and what they do to each other and themselves in trying to find happiness. In turn, I attempt to convey the love and compassion that God has for each and every one of His children, providing them with alternatives and connections to God. I am in the process of securing numbers and sites for pregnancy and adoption centers, suicide prevention hotlines, and resources through which a teen can find the nearest church to connect with. I am in talks with several professors on campus and am setting up appointments with professional counselors employed by my school.

This ministry is not without its hazards. I made the amateur mistake of letting a contact have my cell phone number, and she began to call me incesantly, at one point calling me thirty five times in a day and a half. To me, though, the risks are crushed by the positive reactions I am beginning to witness in my contacts. Counseling is where I feel my greatest strength lies, in the intercession and loving of people that need to see Jesus.

I write all this to ask for any help you may offer. Prayer is, without question, the most important commodity, and any time set aside to pray for dolour is greatly appreciated. I am also, however, looking for volunteers to help me balance the load, especially female volunteers, as the majority of contacts I have made are female. I believe that females are far more likely to open up to another female, and it will also result in a healthier contact relationship. Before you commit to anything, however, I cannot suggest strongly enough that you devote days in prayer to this venture. This is a heady undertaking and it will require much of you. The results, however, have been nothing short of miraculous, and I praise God anew each day for the work I see Him doing through dolour in just its first few days of ministry.

Any questions or comments can be directed to my student email account at zach.huizenga@student.indwes.edu.

Godspeed.