By LV Hanson:

When we imagined Mariners Church launching a tangible, local expression of People of the Second Chance in Orange County last summer, we had no idea what to expect. But after a whirlwind of dreaming and planning, we launched weekly POTSC Gatherings at Mariners in January — and our community is being transformed before our eyes.

The past 8 weeks have been nothing short of amazing. Our community is no longer as it was, and we wanted to share a few real life quotes as highlights of this journey. We celebrate these stories!

• Through POTSC I have made honest and real friends.
• I am beginning to believe that codependence does not define me; my identity in Christ does.
• After believing that everyone is a liar for 20 years, I’m finding that integrity, authenticity, and trust are possible.
• I didn’t feel anything unless I felt pain. Cutting became a way to feel alive. But now I’m slowly learning how to feel again.
• I didn’t like my body. I had a love/hate relationship with food.  But now I’m learning how to take care of myself and celebrate how God made me.

Because of this movement at Mariners, we’re seeing topics like brokenness, addiction, pain, and failure demystified in church.  We are thankful, and continue to radically trust for more of what we’re already seeing – freedom, healing, courage, and hope.

HUGE thanks to the entire POTSC team and community for helping us in the journey.  We know there’s more to come, and we can’t wait to keep sharing it with you!

By Mohan Karulkar:

“‘I see trees“  were the last words of balloonist Ed Ristaino.

This past weekend, Ed’s hot air balloon crashed to the ground in Georgia after unexpectedly encountering a nasty storm. He had taken 5 skydivers up for a routine jump, and forced them to bail out when things were getting ugly.  Ed was left behind to ride it out, but he and his balloon didn’t make it.

He was calm and in contact with a ground crew the whole way down, and never expressed any regrets. His actions saved the divers, but at the expense of his own life.  Talk about sacrifice, right?

This story moved me deeply, and it made me think about the way we sometimes approach this whole thing we call second chances.  (“We” being a liberal interpretation of “me,” of course…)

I think we usually mean well, but sometimes, we can be downright selfish in the way we  interpret grace.   We either want credit for our actions, or we want to come along for the ride.  We want the gratification of seeing what happens next, and knowing that our actions saved the day.

But you know what?  Sometimes we don’t save the day.  Sometimes the second chance we give is squandered.  Sometimes the second chance takes the other person somewhere we can’t be.  And sometimes no one ever knows what we did — not even the recipient.

Even worse, sometimes giving a second chance can make us very unpopular.  Standing up for the bad guy isn’t exactly Superman material, after all.    But that sacrifice, given unconditionally — regardless of the consequences — is what makes a second chance so powerful. The greatest reward comes from loving the unlovely.

Ed Ristaino didn’t know what was going to happen when he forced out the skydivers — his only way off the balloon.  He didn’t know if they’d make it down safely, and he certainly didn’t know what would happen to him.

But that’s what you do when people are in trouble — you find a way to help them up and give them a shot at survival.  Even if it might not work, and even if it might come at a cost to you. Think about that next time you find yourself face to face with someone caught in a storm.

Talk about it below: has anyone ever gone out on a limb for you?

By Tom Zuniga:

Though blessed by a fantastic family with loving parents, my journey beyond their front door has been long and treacherous.  As an introvert, that’s okay some of the time, if not most. But it’s still hard.

I didn’t have many friends growing up. I was the smart, shy guy in high school. Forced to suffer through acne’s onslaught, I felt overwhelming shame from the attention that came with simply opening my mouth. Of course I wanted friends, but I wanted to be ignored too.

I wasn’t loud enough, athletic enough, funny enough, or vulgar enough for friends. This was my reality. My normal.  Needless to say, I was ecstatic to graduate and leave high school’s halls far behind.

Moving into the dorm of a small college drove me to tears, however; I had no idea how to connect with the other guys in my suite or with my fellow students in general.  And even after I eventually started experiencing friendship, I felt called to move closer to home after my freshman year. I was simultaneously saddened and relieved to cease the process of relationship-building and the stress that often accompanied it.

Returning home to a large state university, I retreated into a safe, secluded, relationship-less hole. Grades were my thing, not people. Scoring high on tests was how God had gifted me ─ how I found fulfillment. Not with friendship. Not with community.  And not with love.  I believed I wasn’t good enough for those things.

That inadequacy defined so much of my life from then on.  I sought out church groups, but my insecurities raged over my relational ineptitude.  I tried for a desperate change and moved two-thousand miles across the country, but was still left feeling isolated and incapable.

At 24, I felt like a pathetic infant unable to transition from milk to meals, from crawl to toddle.  I didn’t know where to find community or how to even do it. I was socially incompetent.

It took the love and grace of others to finally change things.   Last summer I worked with a youth missions organization and met some of the most genuine people I’ve ever met.  I experienced violent seesaws of relational hope and hopelessness, and was a broken mess by the second week.

One night my fellow staffers, sensing my turmoil, gathered around me, and I exposed the deepest, darkest chasms of my soul.  I wept bitter tears into each of their necks, feeling deeply loved by friends for the first time. Their support was immediate and constant, beyond anything I’d ever experienced with others. Beyond any semblance of love I’d ever thought possible for me.

For 24 years, I’d lived beyond the reach of community’s taunting ─ and loving ─ arms.   But I’m finally mending the scars of fractured friendship and embracing my desire to be sheathed in community’s arms once again.  With the help of community, I’m done with shame, and no longer believe I’m beyond the scope of friendship and love.

I am, indeed, good enough.

Posted by Mike Foster:

I have never met any one more passionate, heroic and dedicated as Jason Russell of Invisible Children. He and their amazing team have worked tirelessly to make this world a better place.

So this afternoon I started getting some texts about Jason. According to the IC website, he had been hospitalized after suffering from exhaustion, dehydration and malnutrition. These factors lead to an unfortunate incident that apparently a lot of people are talking about right now.

So a couple thoughts:

Here’s what I know. You don’t have to be scared or confused or worried or disappointed. Geesh! Jason is going to be just fine and so is IC. If you doubt that then you don’t know the courage and tenacity of these amazing people. Jason and Invisible Children have their best days ahead of them! And I will be gladly cheering them on.

Secondly, if you feel the need to say something then let me encourage you to raise your voice for grace. Add redemptive words to the conversation right now. For heaven’s sake, it’s not that hard but it does mean making a choice. Trust me, you won’t regret it.

But more importantly instead of talking about Jason…or the last 24 hours…and the TMZ video….and the blah blah blah….we continue to talk about the victimized children. We continue to raise our voice on their behalf. To make them visible and known. Don’t ever lose sight of that.

And if you feel the deep need to bash, throw rocks or to attack someone, let me direct you to Joseph Kony. The man who has wreaked havoc, and evil, and warfare on the most innocent victims. That’s worth talking about, tweeting about and reporting. Jason is not the story. It’s the kids of Central Africa and stopping Kony.

If you want to love on Jason, love on Africa. If you want support Invisible Children, then talk about Kony and the LRA.

Today we get to decide what’s truly important to us as a society. We determine our priorities. I’ve decided to talk about grace, compassion and the end of injustice. Why? Cuz that’s totally worth talking about.

By Laura Anne MacKay:

Murderer.

That’s what some people would call me.

After years of living in fear, years of having to be the strong one – I would soon be free. My ticket to freedom was a place at university in another city. I’d fought hard to have that opportunity. I’d stayed in school. I had studied diligently. I had overcome the obstacles in my way to get where I wanted to be.

And then the stick turned pink. Suddenly I found myself aged 17 and pregnant.

I still remember crying in the doctor’s office waiting to hear what my options were “It’s your own stupid fault” he told me, thrusting a piece of paper describing procedures for terminating a pregnancy.

What I needed was someone to listen. Instead I received judgment.

I listened to my head and not my heart. My heart ached to be a mother. My head said ‘You don’t want to be known as the straight A student who ruined her life because of some silly mistake.’

I sacrificed my first child so that I could gain freedom.

Only I wasn’t free. I was burdened by a guilty secret that I didn’t want anyone to know about.  That kind of sacrifice leaves scars that can’t be seen. It was scarring me on the inside — not being able to grieve a loss that you have chosen.

16th January 2002. That is the day my daughter was due to be born into this world.

8th February 2002. That is the day I discovered God and asked if He would please take the bad stuff that had happened in my life and to use it to help others.

He did.

These days you’ll find me counselling people through unplanned pregnancy, supporting people grieving after all kinds of pregnancy losses – whether they were chosen or not. I teach sex education in schools. And the secret is out. I have a child in heaven, and her name is Sophie. She gave me wisdom and compassion.

Second chances are there to bring good out of the first chance – no matter how badly you might have messed it up.

What’s your second chance story?