Meet the Author's Author

Meet the Author's Author
Live for Jesus! That's what matters! That you see the light in me and come along! :)

Sunday, April 29, 2012


I've had nothing to say for a long while. Kinda long while, anyway.

I just want to take some excerpts from a few emails and chats and pray God they encourage you.

"While you are alive in Christ, you still have a sin nature - a dead weight, a dead body, that you're chained to, much like a Siamese twin. That burden you carry around for the rest of your earthly life. And to prevent us from thinking of ourselves as gods, I think He lets us have the weaknesses to try and make us rely on Him more.

All of us struggle with idolatry in every shape and form. It's not even as simple as a graven image. And any addiction when submitted to becomes Idolatry.

And yes, the sin is big and black and monstrous in the eyes of a pure and holy God. But what we forget is that He's looking at us through the red blood of Christ - and we're already pure. The biggest struggle is what you're enduring - getting up and going again.

The righteous man falls seven times and rises again. You can't. Because you're not righteous. And that's where your gaze is focussed. Your righteousness is in Christ, and He is PERFECTING you. Not perfectED, perfectING. You're growing. Changing. Into Him. Don't let Satan's traps hinder your longing feet.

You can do this. You will fall. It will be hard. But lift your head from the chain holding your feet to the Hand with the key. And carry on limping forward. You love Him more than this, because He will give you strength to.

You need to keep going. Back to God. Over and over. Because if we don't seek Him...He's not some easy go thing in the sky. You
have to knock, and knock and knock and knock and keep on trying. He answers. He just has to know your heart - if you think He's worth it.

What do you do when you start wanting to die?

You...make sure you live. Oh, do we do it?

The only way I know how, is to call out to God, and to force yourself to take another step. And another. And believe in the total unseen, that there will be a future that others will be blessed because of the pain of the now.

What if the pain of now is a curse, not a blessing? It is because of the curse. And it can be used as a blessing. It may not seem like it can...but there will be one day, I promise you, that faith will be sight."

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Prayer for Healing

Oh Lord. How much longer?

I've just pulled off the bandage to expose an arm of itchy, inflamed skin. The inside of my top is splattered with blood. My entire epidermis is so fragile that two small rakes of my fingers to relieve the endless irritation causes blood to either ooze out or spurt out. Then my skin dries up because of the blood and the scratches and it feels like parchment being stretched.

My shoulder is so raw from hand foot and mouth that I can't put anything on it without a bandage. My back is bleeding and Lord, I can't see.
I took the liberty to wear an ankle length - more like floor length - skirt today with no socks.

And Lord, my legs are now a mass of inflamed, swollen bleeding red flesh. Burning so bad I could cry. And have.


I asked You to use this for Your glory. Then show me how.

Patience through pain, physical and emotional?

I'm guessin' You know all this. You know what it feels like, far, far more, to be splattered and stinking of blood. To have people not wanting to be around you, not just cause you don't look fashionable and classy, but because you're...disgusting. You know the pain of torn skin, the burning, the jerks of pain, the icy sharp stabs of it. The ingenuity of trying to find a new position to a) let the air get to it, b) not let the cold air get to it, c) not to keep it too warm, d) not to let material touch it, e) try and prevent the blood from back, arms, legs....touch...anything...levitation? The horrible feeling as you see the keys go white and dusty from all the skin dropping off, and the mounds of it on your clothes... *shudders*

Oh God, even Job didn't last forever, and this has been eight months and the thought of it getting all worse again after June is making me cringe...this cold, cold country.

Lord, see my tears...

I want to beg and demand and sit here and cry until You heal me. I want to remind You that it feels terrible being an outcast without being a leper on top.

But You know all of this. You've lived it. To a greater extreme than I ever could.

So You've given me this trial.

So You're waiting for me to use it.

Use it - how? Simply through tears and crying and helpless little blog posts like this? (And there goes another drop of blood on my quilt...great.) Simply by smiling bravely at work when people say how brave I'm being and tell them it could be worse - at least You've spared me my face?

Because if that's what You want, then I will. Show me how to do it so it glorifies You the best way I can.

Because You have granted me mercy. You have spared my face.

And I can't tell You how grateful I am.

Father, I deserve nothing. I don't even deserve that mercy. So I'm asking - Please. Don't. Let. This. Pain. Be. For. Nothing. I'm asking for mercy again. And I'm asking that please, Father God, please, when Your time is full - please don't let me be like Lazarus with the dogs licking his sores for the rest of my life. (And thank You that it's not that bad!)

But if that's what You choose - then help me to praise You.

And please make the washing easier on Mom. :P

In Jesus' Name,


Sunday, April 15, 2012


Tweet earlier: I stink of alcohol. And blood. Not mine. Will explain later. Please pray for my new friend Noel. Thanks. :)

Walking home from the X51, I was heading to the 404 when I approached these three dark-skinned kids (you know the type, baseball caps, etc) around this older white man on the floor.

At first I thought they were beating him up, but one was offering his hand and another attempting to help him stand, which didn't quite make sense.
On asking what was going on, they said that they'd seen him collapse and were just trying to help him back up again.

Two community support officers (kinda like police backup but without much power) came up to us then, and they told me (I'm going to tell it you all in one bunch so you don't have to try and piece it together like I did) basically, that he'd been drinking (Noel claims he hasn't drunk all day, he's just on a hangover) and that he'd walked into a window earlier uptown, and that he'd been crashing into buildings and onto the floor ever since.
You should have seen him rolling around, sometimes walking with his upper body almost horizontal before he'd reel to the floor again.
I think something that hurt more than that were the people that were trying to help him, good humouredly laughing at him, teasing him about being drunk. He is someone that Christ died for. But then..He died for them too.

He was a pitiful sight...prematurely aged, he has grey hair sticking out all over his head and unkempt stubble on his face. He's wearing a red shirt...used to be bright red, but it's now engrained with grime and dirt. His jeans have stains and are also covered with dirt. He didn't smell of body odour but the smell wasn't pleasant.
His body was young, his carriage that of a drunk, his face old. I'd say roughly he was in his mid/late forties.

What (as usual) struck me the most was the expression of his eyes. The overwhelming expression had to be one of - emptiness. All the time, all the time I spoke to him...they were confused, and empty.

However, what was causing the boys and the CS officers the most alarm was the massive gash above his eye. It looked like he had been bleeding for hours, if not more than a day. Dried, brown blood covered the skin on the side of his face, and had matted his beard, eyebrow and eyelashes. Smears of it were streaked on his arms, stains covering his t-shirt, jeans and occasionally dripping onto the floor or his white trainers.

His speech was slurred like a drunk, but I didn't think his eyes weren't. (Having been drunk, I ought to know...) I thought it might be drugs, but Noel said he didn't take drugs. So - unsure.

The PCS officers told us that they'd been trying for a while to get him to go in an ambulance to hospital, but on hearing that, Noel said very loudly that he'd been in the hospital all morning and he just wanted to go home. Where did he live? they asked him. The Yew Tree estate - where I live. So he pulled away from the boys and reeled down the street. I followed rather tentatively. And sure again, outside another shop, almost parallel to the floor, he overbalanced and fell, striking his head off a wall.

By now, other people around the bus stops were asking if he was okay, trying to help him up, someone even phoning the ambulance.

The community support officers got him to sit down at the bus stop. I attempted rudimentary first aid, giving him tissues and telling him to press them to the wound and not to let go, but he would only hold it there for a few seconds and fold it over, reuse it and drop it to the pavement, stooping to pick it up if it started to bleed into his eye again.

We tried to persuade him to go to the ambulance, and then just to wait until one of them came to clean up his wound. When the paramedic came though and spoke to Noel, he explained that it was a bad cut and needed some stitches. Noel asked if he could do it there, and the paramedic replied no. At which point Noel just kind of shrugged and threw his hands in the air in a kind of "what's the point in going any further" expression. (Yes, OYANers, I know, he didn't REALLY throw his hands up.)

Poor man, he'd been trying to get on at least five buses while we tried to convince him to go to hospital. No buses would take him, though, and the PCSOs kept making him sit down.

On telling the paramedic once again he wasn't interested in going to hospital since he'd been there all day and had to wait five hours (no idea how long that cut has been bleeding), he wandered off and the PCSOs and I kind of gave up. I headed to the bus stop for the 404.

We'd got on the bus and were waiting for the final few passengers when Noel came out of the Piri-Piri chicken shop. He was walking a little more upright, so the rest had apparently done him some good. To get his bus fare, he slipped his sockless foot out of his right shoe...he kept all his money in his right shoe. I got him to sit down on the disability seats and stayed next to him.

That was when he opened up a little. Showed me the holes in his arm where they'd put the needle in earlier. He said they'd bandaged his head, but he had torn it off. He kept picking at his arms, trying to get the blood stains off. Again, as before, he would hold the tissue to his head and take it away. He'd got a roll of kitchen roll in his bag (paper towels) that I think he had been using. He dropped them on the floor of the bus, but picked them up and put them in the bag before he left. Which I was thankful for! :P

He asked me my name, what I did for a job and my phone number. (Since he thought I was kind.) I wrote it out for him and put my name, and on the reverse of the paper, I wrote "Jesus loves."

No matter whether he rings me or not, or texts or keeps in touch or whatever - the one important thing is that if he remembers me as being kind - I want him to know why. Because Jesus loves.

I know some people would criticise my giving my number out (and colleagues at work did, when I gave it to my tramp friend Chris) but I think that that's...not important. These people need to know...that Jesus loves.
Need an arm around their shoulder and no fear of the blood, the dirt, the smell.
They need a person to speak to, someone they know loves them anyway.
And that will love them anyway.

Because the one thing that changes time, changes minutes, changes days, changes years, changes pasts, changes futures, changes lives and changes eternity - is the eternal love of Jesus Christ.

Love He is. Love we must be to those around us.

So pray for Noel.
Pray matter whether he remembers to call or not, that he will be okay. That someone will love him. And that he will be lead to Christ.
That he will remember and know that someone was kind, because Jesus loves.

In Christ,
~Mademoiselle Siân

(Written 13-04-12)

Thursday, April 12, 2012


I received a letter this morning from my sister Juliet. In it, she told me a story. Now it is my turn to tell a story.

This is for you, Juliet.

Once upon a time.

No, that is the beginning of a fairytale.

Once there was a small bird. He was brave, bold, reckless and fearless. Everywhere he went, he brought a song, a note of joy into someone's heart.

This bird had an unusual tale. He was raised up by his mama and papa birds in their safe nest, with all his other siblings. He was taught to do all the things that he should do. How to sing beautiful praises to their Creator, how to fly, how to eat nourishing food, and many other birdish things.

But in his heart, he rebelled against doing all the normal healthy things that a bird should do. He wanted to be different, and he felt his heart calling him away. But at the same time, he knew that it was bad for him to want to be other than what he was made to be.

So one night, he flapped his small wings and flew away...far, far away...until he found a canyon where two vultures were sitting.
Look at their shiny black feathers! Their great powerful wings...the food stock in the canyon below was proof that they never went hungry.
How often had he admired them, soaring so great afar!

"Ha! Look who's here!" cackled one. "We'll have him for dinner!"

The bird ruffled his feathers, a sudden wisp of uncertainty dancing over him.

"No! Don't...I want to join you."

"Think twice!" hissed the second. "If we take him under our wing and pamper him a little, it will cause great sorrow to the Creator, his mama and papa birds, and - we still get to eat him in the end!"

So they were kind to the little bird. They gave him delicate morsels at first from their larder, which changed into the out-and-out ravenous devouring of any kind of disgusting, rotten meat.

But he still went home every night, that little bird. He would clean his beak and have a small bath in the pond by home, come home and pour out his heart in song to the Creator, dutifully help his siblings, eat bird seeds and small, annoying bugs. But his heart was not in it.

Until one day the vultures saw he was fat enough. And he looked up from his ravenous devouring of the rotten meat to find them hovering over him, holding a metal cage in their talons.

"What...? No, wait!" he cried.

They only laughed raucously as they dropped it over him and flew away to their old dead tree, to wait for him to die amongst the rotten carcasses he had loved too well.

It didn't take long for his mama and papa bird to find him.
They had guessed for some time that all was not well, but now it was all revealed. They could do nothing, but weep and sit on top of his cage all day and all night, taking turns, singing their hearts out in the hope that Creator God would hear and set their little bird free.

But He didn't.

Not until the little bird looked about him and finally saw what a mess he was in. And remembered the good food and the secure place he had been. As he moved his tiny claws amongst the stinking, sodden meat and noticed he was sinking, he looked up and saw his parents. And looked past them.
He knew he couldn't get out.
He'd tried for days.

He opened his small beak and he trilled out a song to Creator God. It was a cry. A pleading for forgiveness. A begging for help. A plea that God would make him into the bird he was meant to be.

Quietly, Creator God reached down and removed the cage. With a tender Hand, He picked up the little bird and brought him with his parents back to their nest.

But he had lived so long in the rotten meat that its taint was still on him. The smell of it hung around him, wash as he might, and tiny particles clung to him.

He was free, he was home, he was being made into the bird he was meant to be. But his past still hung onto him. It made him sad. But he battled on.

He did many good things. He lightened many hearts with his songs, cheered the broken, helped heal the sick, pointing them all the time to Creator God. Bit by bit, the smell began to fade, the particles to drop off. The memories were still there, still taunting him, but he gave them to the Creator, and used their unique pain to tint his songs with many strands and tones of variety which were not found in the songs of the normal birds.

But someone else didn't forget either.

The vultures were angry that they had wasted so much time and meat on one little bird that they never got to devour. But they bided their time patiently and waited.

And one day it happened.

He came back into their vicinity. He was flying over part of the land to meet some birds that he had cheered and blessed with his songs frequently, and knew there was still a danger from the vultures. He figured they were pretty old by now and but he trusted the Creator with them and flew.

And they dropped the cage over him as he flew, crashing him to the ground. He struggled upright, out of the ground, and climbed onto the bars. He was on the ground, not on the carrion. On dry, dusty, sandy ground.

He was alone.

He was locked down.

And then it happened.

The presence of Creator God came swirling down, wrapping around him, holding him tight. For the first few lonely days, he was lost, absorbed in the joy of the comfort of the Creator near and around and in him.

Then the second came.

The beautiful haunting melodies of all the other birds he had reached and helped. They came, floating out of the distant forests surrounding the canyon. Notes that he had taught them - his own music from his pain came back, echoing, multiplied, surrounding him to comfort him in the only way they could.

The vultures made up lies about him. Said that he had gone and killed the carcasses for them to eat and stole the best parts for himself.
They reported him to Aquila, the king of their world, and he had not much time to spare on the case.

So he ordered the little bird to be guarded where he was. Few birds could manage the long and arduous flight into the wilderness to see him, for the short time limit that was allowed. His mama and papa birds lived too far away to come to him now, since he was on the far side of the canyon.
And the little bird was left, apart from his guards, on his own.

But even there, he learned new notes. He learned new songs. And he felt the Creator's grip tighten, holding him firmly, gently, cleaning away the dirt even in the midst of it.
Sand in the desert would make a pearl in a bird.

It was the Creator's way of changing him, ready for what was coming.

Soon it was the date when Aquila turned his attention to what he considered to be one small, troublesome bird. But he didn't know how troublesome that Bird was going to be. Because he couldn't see the gentle hands of the Creator folding ever closer around His special bird.

The birds in the forests for miles around joined together to sing that one song in chorus. Pleading, begging, crying out to the Creator to shape Aquila's decision, to soften his heart.

But that one Birdie knew, that no matter the decision, whether to set him free to go back to the forests or to keep him chained down in the desert for some years to come, that it was God's doing. And he was calm, peaceful - and still singing.

And Satan, I don't care who you think you're messing with, but God has our Jay-bird. Nothing you can do will stop what is coming. Because God is on his side.
My bird has lost his wings. But he hasn't lost his song.

Sing back to him. Sing to the Creator. Sing for Jay.

In Christ,
~Mademoiselle Sian

Wednesday, April 11, 2012



I figured out why I'm so busy online! makes me happy cause I've figured it out. Are you curious?

Now I can manoeuvre stuff to make time, so I don't feel so bad about never being on Holy Worlds, OYAN or the Rebelution.

Here's a comprehensive list of my online activities - social networking, etc.

Walk With Us - my personal blog

Poema - my poetry overspill blog

Snapshots - a collaborative story that isn't going very well at present, on a girl with a broken family that suffers with abuse.

In the Footsteps of Hymns - a blog on the meanings behind the dear, getting-forgotten old fashioned hymns.

Rejuvenating the RAFA - my newest blog coming out on becoming a member of, growing into and starting recruitment for the Royal Air Force Association, and my ideas on how to get younger people involved.

MademoiselleSJ - my Twitter handle

Sian Garner-Jones - my profile on G+

Sian Garner-Jones on Facebook

On Tumblr

LilCorpJanie18 on YouTube

Jane Johnson's Poems on Zoomshare.

And Singleness For Christ

....yah. Wow.

Add in the chats. Five email accounts. And belonging to three forums I rarely go on. ...I told you I was busy!! *is laughing*

Saturday, April 07, 2012

Quotes and Thoughts of the Day

I want to heal. Not because I want to be pain-free. Because I expect to feel pain in the future. If I don't, I'll be worried. No, I want to heal so I can minister to others without being focused on and blinded by pain. I want to use that pain - to USE it. Not to be lost in it. God can use everything - and that is why He has safely brought and is bringing me through. I want to use it to reach out to others - to know the pain in their broken hearts and not to guess at it. To give, love and live the love of Christ and be a vessel to bring healing to them.

If you don't have any pain in your Christian life; be worried. If there is no pain, no matter how small or large - if you're just gliding along on a peaceful smooth trail - start praying.
For whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth.
It doesn't have to be cyclonic. Just see if there's somewhere God is testing you or growing you. Even if it's trusting Him with school scores. ;)

It's not because you haven't got imagination. It's because you haven't had the imagination to stretch it.

Sometimes it's hard to blog. To blog something right out of your heart - like starting to write a new story. It's a baby, a child; a small, helpless, growing thing that you are very careful of and sensitive to.
Especially when you are different. But not - different enough. Popular. But not popular enough. (Not in the bad sense. :P)
When you want to reach hundreds of people for Christ through your life - and struggle with the knowledge that you're failing almost 24/7. And you're not really reaching a vast audience, you're just...reaching out.
But then three people read it. Four, or five.
Someone comments that it's caused them to rethink - and then you realise, it's done just what you wanted it to. Your situation has spoken to someone in their situation and pointed them up to Christ.
And you realise...
Other people might be called to reach the world that never wanted to.
You might be called to reach the few, though you wanted to touch the world.
In God's eyes, they're equally important.

And He commands us to let our little light shine.

Jesus bids us shine
With a pure, clear light,
Like a little candle
Burning in the night.
In this world of darkness
So let us shine—
You in your small corner,
And I in mine.

Jesus bids us shine,
First of all for Him;
Well He sees and knows it,
If our light grows dim.
He looks down from Heaven
To see us shine—
You in your small corner,
And I in mine.

Jesus bids us shine,
Then, for all around;
Many kinds of darkness
In the world are found—
Sin and want and sorrow;
So we must shine—
You in your small corner,
And I in mine.

(Credits @CyberHymnal)

Outta 'Arm's Way

It's painful.

And it's sore.

It's so sore I spend washtime dabbing water on portions of my skin because if I shower properly, I end up crying with pain.

It's inherited genetically.

I remember Daddy telling me his started when he was 19. It went all over his entire body - including his face. He had the wet kind - weeping, they call it - on his face. He had to go to work every day like that. And he said he felt disgusting, like a leper. Until he took aloe vera tablets, which reduced his eczema to some kind of controllable level.

It started when I was a kid. Behind the backs of my knees and in the crooks of my arms.
Then it faded until I only had it occasionally on the elbow of my right arm.

Last year, it flared up again. REALLY bad. On my arms.

Then I went to America. It was bad when I arrived. Came back a little in Oregon due to the dryness of the air. But otherwise, it was cleared. I forgot I had ever had eczema.

Then I came home.

And started work.

And it started. All over my body, wrist to neck to the calves of my legs.

And I'm terrified. Terrified it'll reach my face, like it did Daddy's. I've begged and cried and prayed on my knees in tears that God will spare my face.
Because there's something mentally scarring about your face being affected.
And probably even worse for a girl than for most guys.

Today is a bad day. My arms are covered with red, inflamed eczema; extremely dry, flaking white skin - dusty masses of it; open bleeding holes from eczema and raised hard spots oozing yellow pus. Masses of them, up and down my arm. Majorly on the right, although I have scratches and a few spots on the left.

Yes...I have contracted hand foot and mouth on top from my baby niece. For the second time. Adults aren't supposed to catch it, but low and behold the family's usual contradiction. *bows*

I'm lying here now in a catch-22 case. It is very cold, and I need to keep warm because otherwise, the eczema worsens. My back is oozing blood, and if I do put something warm on, it will irritate it and make it worse. I can't cover my arms with bandages as they're sticking but if I don't, then the infection can and will spread.

I feel. totally. disgusting.
My body feels and looks disgusting.

I'm looking at my arms now as I'm typing. But am I supposed to look at the framework...or what they can do?

There are hands, attached to arms with bends at the elbows, attached to my shoulders. They're exactly the right length. They're created of a delicate framework in perfected proportion of bone, muscles, nerves, skin and the blood circulatory system. The joints are perfect for how to use my hands. And the hands. Five fingers rapidly tapping away at keys as I blog and chat eight people.
Small fingers. Wrinkled, thickened red skin.
They type.
Type - what?
Descriptions. Attitudes. Emotions. Feelings. Fears. They express the thoughts of my heart. Which can be praising, or complaining.
They. Are. Amazing.

God gave me an amazing body. For His glory.

And...yes, I am under the curse on my physical body.

But I've preached something often on here and I want to proclaim it again, but in a different way.

God. Uses. The curse.

God uses pain. To pull us towards Himself. He doesn't create it - He uses it.

God can use ANYTHING. God can use EVERYTHING. God can even use an eczema covered, pus oozing, bleeding 19 year old curled up on her bed not wanting to move.

So, Father. I'm holding them out. These wonderful arms that You gave me. You gave them me. I'm giving them back to You. You lead me through the pain of a hundred hurting girls so that I can use it to reach them one day. To show them Your love. To live them Your love.
Physical and emotional abuse, self harm, scars, fear and the normal battles of a teen girl.
You've brought and are bringing me safely through every one.
So, God, I'm looking up at You. And offering You my arms. My disgusting, perfect arms.
You didn't just give them to me. You gave them me with a purpose. To reach out, share Your encouragement and Your love. To praise You in the storms.
So what can You do with my eczema covered, pus oozing arms, Lord?
Because I know You can do something wonderful.
So I give You my arms - as well as my body. Use them.

In Christ,
~Mademoiselle Siân

Thursday, April 05, 2012

Perfect Love ~ Bethany Faith

A thousand novels could be written and still not all could be explained of the complex, intricate creation of love…

Where care meets protection there must be a balance. Love never hurts in the name of care. Love has self-control. Love stays through hurt. Love breathes. Love is gentle.

Like a friend with patience that abounds, love listens. Love does not condemn.

Love looks at others before itself. Never does love find blame in others to clear its name. Love is merciful, pure, kind, and forgiving.

Love remembers the past, but does not let it damage the future. Where love stands, all can be overcome.

Love should be calming. Like a blanket that keeps you warm and a roof that stops the rain. A sword for protection though not wielded against you. Love is safe and sound; calm and peace. A refuge from the storm of life.

Love is not prejudice. Love is free from seeing self and viewing image or one’s own safety. Love sees what is and not what is wanted.

Love does not change over time; alter in circumstance; dim through trials. Love stays with you. Love is dependable, reassured, promised, and given.

Love is air to the suffocating. Love is what can hold you up or bring you down. Love is breath, heartbeat, and blood.

Love sacrifices not only items, but emotions, feelings, thought, trust, and comfort. Love is a promise of reassured gentility, regardless of blinding anger.

Love is not yet perfected by humans. Love has been faltered before.

But love is still meant to be security and trust.

Love should not make up hell, but instead strive to give heaven. Love is unbiased of what its flesh and blood want or feel.

Love sees through the eyes of care. Love feels other’s pain before it feels its own. Love tends to others wounds before it tends to its own.

Love does not find fault in cracked and broken hearts. Love repairs and rebuilds; only hate demolishes and destroys.

Love is good. Love is kind. Love does not slander. Love does not snap in anger. Love does not protect its pride. Love accepts truth. Love does not lie. Love is not secretive. Love does not stay in what is comfortable for only itself. Love goes against itself. Love fights for integrity and innocence. Love bandages and heals. Love lasts.

Love has been around before space and earth. Humans cannot perfect love.

Love, though, is good. God is good. Love is God and God has perfected love.

-Bethany Faith

Wednesday, April 04, 2012

"To Turn Back Time"

It's an interesting title.

For a blog post.

It'll be even more interesting as a film - if it gets made.

“To Turn Back Time” is the story of John, who has just graduated college, when he wakes up one morning to discover that his long deceased father is alive. After getting to know his father—something he’s longed for his entire life—he discovers his dad’s presence isn’t the only thing that’s different. The rest of his family has changed too, along with his own ability to help his girlfriend Alyssa through the death of her mother.

In the end, he’s faced with a terrible choice: to stay in the world where his father lives and lose the man he’s become, or give it up for the sake of the love of those around him.

The story of “To Turn Back Time” is intensely personal to writer / director, Keifer Lucchi, who lived through the death of his father at the age of seven. As memories and buried emotions started to resurface, Lucchi allowed himself to deal with what had happened for the first time in his life, and the story for “To Turn Back Time” was born.

Lucchi has felt a call to make the movie since its inception, as a memorial to Michael Lucchi, the father he never got to know. Lucchi also wishes to create an emotional offering to all those who have lost loved ones, and who may still find hope even in the pain and death, while creating a story that will allow others to stand by and support those who’ve gone through something similar.

But he’s already not the only member of the cast and crew to share a personal affinity to the story.

Christina Espiritu, the actress slated to play the part of John’s girlfriend, Alyssa, witnessed the death of her own mother, Melissa Espiritu, to cancer just over two years before principle photography. Christina’s experiences were eerily similar to what Alyssa experiences in the film, which is dedicated to her mother as well. It’s our honor to have such an actress on-board to bring life to a character that represents so many who have lost loved ones in a similar way.

By the grace of God, so much has already come together toward this film. During the pre-production process we’ve already been blessed in so many ways! However: the time has come for the final pull before production can begin, and to really get the ball rolling we need $10,000. We need money to rent and purchase top-of-the-line film equipment to make this idea a reality.

- The Cast and Crew of “To Turn Back Time”

The guy who’s directing this (and some of the cast) are personal friends of mine.

Keifer Lucchi is an OYANer (Regano the Bard) who I have seen grow and change, struggle and suffer and fight hard battles for Christ - and come through victorious, especially when he appears weakest. I would appreciate it more than I can say if you could back his project with even a few dollars.

This is his dream.

His vision.

His passion for Christ.

And more than anything, he needs backing.

If you follow this link, you can donate however much or little you feel lead to help support the people who this film means so much to.

With prayers for your open hearts, open hands and willingness to hear and support,
In Him,

~Mademoiselle Siân