Knocking on my Door


, , , ,


You’re welcome to come knocking on my door, explaining how our Christianity is the same. Come. Tell me how we’re all gods to come. Come. Tell me about the revelations of the prophets to the Americas. Your book is not the Bible, no; but close, yes? Close enough… to be truth? Remember the static definition of truth. I have history in the realm you tread, though it is only a cult similar to yours. “…a special, mystical knowledge, reserved for those with true understanding,” as Gonzalez describes. Do you not feel the pull of all things called mystical? Do you not hear the arrogance of superiority? Of the “club” mindset? So childish! Gnosticism, as called in early church history. “Christian Science,” as known today. So come to me with your bits and pieces of mangled truth. The world you’re creating before my eyes has all the right elements of a fantasy novel. But I’d have to disguise myself as an angel wrapped in light to write it. But you’re such nice young men. One, so closed to negotiation, and to add to this–annoyed, with the points I make. And the other? Perhaps I have won him over. I neither attacked nor conceeded–this barefoot girl standing before two well-dressee men in starched shirts and ironed slacks. Perhaps this girl has planted a seed for the Redeemer to grow as He sees fit. Perhaps I have set before him a new path for his feet. Perhaps, perhaps.


Twisting Truth (or “The Bible According to Humans”)


, , , , , , , ,

Love does not create waves

Love seeks always to please others

The purpose of love is to do what others want

Love does not create arguments–it avoids them

Love is an obligation–what is meted out must be returned

Love means always a happy smile toward the world, pretense or no. Allow no bad days to show

Love means serving others, but they will owe you later

Love is the work you do, and everyone else must match you labor for labor

Love means not being an embarasment to others

Love means doing everything perfectly to avoid reproach

Love means living inauthentically–what you present will match how much acceptance you receive


Love is boundless–and without boundaries

Love means to forgive–and forget

Love means a new life, with no acknowledgement of the past

Love in others is carefully watched to measure how much you mean to them

You feel loved when they do things your way

Love to others is an obligation that must be met, or else you are not being a good person

Love is given, and the person loved, kept; so your world feels stable

Love is expecting others to live a certain way

Love is control, because if you do not control them, they may hurt you



Redeeming the Wasteland


, , , ,

A kind mother talks to me about, many things? She mentions that her older son is twenty. He flashes me a smile as she says this. I want to squash that thought before it grows. A few sentences later, I slip in that my little brother is twenty-three. That will make the mother think.

In a way it is flattering to have this sort of attention. Like moths to the flame, I often say. In many ways, it makes me feel claustrophobic and panicky. It’s not the first time this has happened. Churches are excellent ground for matchmaking. What parent doesn’t want their son married off to a fine, Christian woman? If she’s beautiful, that’s a bonus. I wish they would just leave it up to the Holy Spirit. They are well-meaning, but misguided, I think?

There is one young man who always tries to be friendly and say hi when he sees me. I don’t dislike him so much as I dislike what he stands for: a single, Christian man whom I know only in the context of “another single.” Seeing him makes me feel panicky. I rehearse in my head what I’d say if he asked me out on a date. In my mind, I tell him no and never to ask me again. In real life, I doubt I would be able to say it to his face. Perhaps he’s just trying to be friendly, but I feel like a cat with all her fur on end.

Sometimes God whispers to me when I least expect it. I was walking through church, feeling frustrated with young men, when God said quietly to me: “You have a decision.” Relief washed over me. I did not have to say yes to the attentions of this young man, or any other. Being in relationships with several controlling men, I have had my own will taken away, or hurt when I exerted my will.

God is giving me back my “no.”


Check out my book! A little bit of God, love, common sense, and hope for the day.

“Following Your Feet, A Young Woman’s Journey”

Page Count: 287 (Second Edition)

Price: $13.95

Following Your Feet


The Solitary Place


, , , , , , ,

I lay on the floor, listening. Sometimes I do this, when I am all alone. It’s a good feeling. My long hair spreads out behind me. My cat hovers near the shades, wondering what has gotten into her playmate. I listen, in the shadowy darkness of a rain hushed day. I hear water falling on my roof. I see trees out my window. And I keep asking, will God provide for me?

It’s a silly thing to ask. I had a Starbucks coffee today, a rare treat, and went to a bookstore and browsed the shelves. I visited a grandma I feared I would lose months ago. She told me stories. Stories about the Swedish Hospital, and about the Alaska boy she met there. She told me of tapping on the wall between their rooms, and him and his roommates tapping back. She told me about the swimming pool and how the water held her up so she could walk. That was after the polio came.

So. Yes. God has provided. I look up at the popcorn ceiling. It’s empty and white. My life isn’t empty. Not anymore. So. God does work miracles. But I need Him to fill up my home. I need another miracle.

God, will you come?


The Saturday Before Easter

Do you remember what the worst day of your life felt like? I do. I felt like I would never sleep again. I felt humiliated and shamed. The world looked gray, as if a sheet had been dropped over my vision. My whole body felt sick and without health. I felt as if my soul was exposed and everyone could see how foolish I had been. My joy and hope were gone–shattered, crushed underfoot.

That’s what I think the disciples felt on the Saturday before Easter Sunday. Can you imagine how long that day lasted? They didn’t know when the horror would be over. Their hopes had been snuffed out. They were confused. They were in shame. I’m sure Peter just wanted to say he was sorry, but now it was too late. Grief, fear, and an aching hollowness were their closest companions.

Jesus had promised hope. Where was that hope now? It was there, they had just forgotten His words. He promised that Friday–the day of His death–was not the end. We honor Jesus’s death, but we celebrate Him coming back to life. God didn’t leave Jesus dead, and neither will He leave you in a place of deadness.

Dr. Del Tackett


, , , , , , , ,

“The Truth Project” had a huge impact in my life. We did the series with our homegroup (all the girlz, and my scout brother family) the years before I left for the hellish environment of university. It gave me one of the foundations I desperately needed to keep my faith off at college, and to lovingly combat with the professors and show the truth. And, I believe, it even ended up saving the life of one of my classmates.

Years later, after my second boyfriend had broken up with me (he had a past in porn), I was watching it again. And Dr. Del Tackett mentioned that if we knew who God really was, then men would not look at porn. That intrigued me. So, I Facebook messaged Dr. Del Tackett, telling him my writing goal, and asking for his input.

Here is an extract from our conversations:

Dr. Del Tackett:

Hi, [Arielle]. I don’t really do Facebook, but happened to log on and saw your note. What questions do you have?

My reply:


“You made some statements about pornography in the first or so lesson (I’m paraphrasing, but you said you’d talked with some men who struggled with it, and if they believed God was always watching them, they’d not be living that lifestyle). I’ve heard similar testimonies and have been blogging about the topic, for the purpose of offering wisdom and hope to those struggling, since it is such a great evil. How do you address it with people? (If you don’t mind).

“Thanks! I’m sure you’re super busy, and I appreciate you taking the time.

“Have a blessed Christmas!”


A later reply of mine: 

“I feel like God brings me into various people’s lives for a reason. And He’s gifted me as a writer, so I’m trying to address this topic of pornography. I hate what pornography has done to people, and how the church sometimes addresses it, and I want to write about God so that they can see His heart for them and find freedom, if they want to get free.”

One of his most powerful quotes: 

“It is important to note that when God created man, He made them male and female, so sexual issues go to one of the most basic designs of mankind.

“Pathologies here can become so deep that they require professional help. By that I primarily mean those kinds of programs that are required by those trapped in any addiction, possibly month-long programs. Alcohol addiction requires not only that but a life-time commitment. Sexual addiction, I believe is even deeper.

“I applaud your desire to help in this area. It is one of the toughest to deal with, but we live in a culture that is awash with sensuality. Because of how we are made, this is especially devastating to the male, but it is increasingly effecting the female.

“All of it is the enemy’s attack on the image of God, which he hates, that has been forged into the essence of man. I am, by no means, an expert in this area. You may wish to seek advice from those who are. Dr. Juli Slattely is one.

“May the Lord bless you in your efforts. Soli Deo Gloria! Del”

(Me again)

Dear Reader,

After I dated the second time, I asked God that the next guy He sent would not have a past in pornography. God answered “no” to that request of mine. But He’s giving me a bird’s eye view, and I feel I can see (a part) of His plan. And man alive, am I blessed to be a part of this plan. “Be strong and courageous,” is one of my favorite verses.

My goal is to destroy pornography at its roots, and to help set free the church (by God’s might, not mine. Because I am constantly running out of strength, and having to constantly turn to His). And I know, because I’ve seen this happen over and over, that as soon as this ministry becomes about me, it will fail. May that never happen, by God’s grace.

Here is some advice. I am but a child, as many keep telling me. I am young, yes. But that doesn’t mean that God cannot use me mightily.

Women: Seek God. Honor Him. Choose to act as Jesus would act. But listen for His Voice, because He will not tell you all the same thing He told me. My first boyfriend was living in evil, and to continue to date him would have been, I believe an abomination. Each story is different. Walk in whatever path God calls you to.

Men: You are heroes. You can beat this, with God’s strength. You can “lick it,” as us country folk say. Dig deeply into God. See yourself through His eyes. If you do, you’ll already have beat the devil at his own game. For the devil’s goal is to destroy you. Lift up your head, and see God’s love, and what He did on the cross.

Men: Here is another point that Dr. Del Tackett made in his communications with me. I think you will find it powerful.

“Another key thing to study is the design for marriage and the desire God has placed within the man towards his wife and his desire to please her. He cannot do this through pornography and will therefore always be left unfulfilled, though the lie takes him back there over and over again.”

Don’t let porn into your life. And if you do, repent, and know God’s forgiveness. Don’t let it be the “secret sin.” I don’t care how ashamed you are of it–have the courage to seek out godly help. You will meet many Christians who will condemn you, but God will bring you more that will love you as you need to be loved. He will provide you with the support system you need.

And if there’s a woman in your life, don’t put it on her shoulders. Porn gives us women horrific pain, and attacks our identity. We will need help and support as much as you yourself do. Don’t make your woman fight alone. Cut off, you both will die.



In Which God Teaches Me a Lot about Myself

I’ve been struggling with the concept that God gives us grace to fail. You see, I’m a perfectionist (which the devil has often used against me).

Definition of a perfectionist: Someone who holds themselves to high, perfect standards, and then beats themselves over the head when they can’t (or don’t), meet that self-imposed requirement.

Today, I taught dance class to a five-year-old and her three-year-old sister. The elder girl is a perfectionist. It’s like looking in a mirror, honestly. Her face falls when she doesn’t “do it right.” And when she sees an eight-year-old do a dance she doesn’t know, she thinks I expect her to be able to dance it (boy, is God teaching me a lot about myself).

The thing is, I don’t expect any form of perfection from her. I know her capabilities (she has a real talent. I knew that from our first dance class, and it’s been a joy to teach her), and I encourage her to become a beautiful dancer. But I’m never disappointment if she doesn’t “get it right.” I’m just so proud of her that she’s trying so hard.

She and her sister are such a joy to me. I always look forward to teaching them.

But, that perfectionism… When she doesn’t do the dance movement just right, I don’t beat her up verbally (which is what I used to do to myself for years, until God showed me the verse: “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and I realized that I needed to love myself). When my dancer messes up, I just help her, and show her what I want (“turn out that foot a little more,” “move your heel,” “push your knee back,” “eyes up,” etc.).

She’s only five. She’s still a little one. She’s still learning.

God loves me so much. Each and every day, He’s been showing me that more and more (and God knows, I need it. I’ve had a rough life these past few years. Been a tough road). Now I know how He sees me and feels about me.

And that dance class? That was my God-kiss for the day.

Family History (Dad’s Side)

Papa (my grandpa) flew a P-47 Thunderbolt in WWII. He was about twenty-two at the time, during the War. He even has this amazing story of when he got shot down in the China Sea, and the Chinese helped him escape the Japanese. We have a copy of his story of it he wrote (typed up on a typewriter).

My main memory is when he told us he was flying, and an enemy plane was right beside him, and he looked across (as did the other man) and they looked at each other. And you know what? They were both human beings. When Ian was eight or so, Papa gave him his dog tags.

Papa met Mimi in Hawaii (Dad thinks). They stationed Papa there after the whole being-shot-down thing, to recuperate. Mimi was from California. Papa was from the Boston area. They fell in love and married, and they had three children (my dad is the middle child). Dad and Forrie were born in Cali.

There are several things I remember about Papa (both from my own memories, and from stories told me). He had a TON of integrity. He was super outdoorsy. He was an amazing photographer. He was extremely competitive (my dad is too). Dad says it was never a “win no matter the cost,” but he did say that Papa always “played his A-game, and never let me win by doing poorly.”

Me? I’m a perfect blend of Mimi and Papa, honestly. And yet, I am so much like my mom’s side of the family that it’s not even funny. When us gals get together… oh dear. We laugh loud, tell hilarious stories, don’t fret about table manners, and just generally have a blast. I fit right in with my mom, my grandma, my aunt, etc. They were work-with-their-hands type of people (Grandpa built his own house with his own hands). Grandma Eva was a very can-do woman, despite her polio.

Papa was very involved in both his families (he and Mimi divorced when my dad was eight or so). About a year later, and a friend of a friend mentioned Nani to him, and they went out on a date. The rest, as they say, is history. I grew up loving both my families, and both our extended families. That’s one thing I love about my family: We love each other a lot. Do you know how rare that is? My family is marked by a legacy of love.

Mimi was a Christian Scientist. Papa was a Methodist, though not a practicing one at the time. A lot of their disagreements were over religion.

He and Nani got saved later, and that’s when they started walking with Jesus. Nani gave me some of the best life advice I’ve ever received: “Stay very, very close to Jesus.” It was Nani who gave me my first Bellingham church, those years at WWU. The pastor of Grace Church had spoken at her church, and so she recommended that church to me. And that was my home church for my first year or so at WWU. I started my church-hopping because a gal friend needed to find a good church, and she didn’t want to go alone.

There are only two Allard boys in our family–my brother, and my cousin Kyle. Mom always said that if her kids turned out half as good as Forrie and Nancy’s kids, she and Dad would have done well. I agree, in a lot of ways. My cousin Kim is someone I really love, and I love my cousin Kyle too. It was because Elora (my writing group gal friend) reminded me of my cousin Kim that I chose to trust her and go to her for help. Kim just has this really sweet heart, honestly.

My other favorite cousin is my cousin Jody (she’s married to my immediate cousin, Nate). When I see her, I think: “That’s what my mom was like as a young adult.” She’s sweet, and tough, and strong, and tomboyish but perfectly feminine. I love watching her and her husband parent their kids. Their daughter looks a lot like Nani did as a little child.

Papa gave me my Scotland trip when I was fifteen. Did you know that? I remember that beautiful, hot summery day. I was fourteen. I came back from a walk, and heard: “We want to send you and Nani and your mom to Scotland.” And my heart swelled so happily, I was giddy for days. It’s what gave birth to all my dreams of visiting the Celtic lands.

I wanted to go to college at Aberdeen University (they have a great Celtic history program, and excellent classes in Gaelic). But it was too expensive, and I didn’t want to be that much in debt (and I couldn’t find any decent scholarships). Instead, I chose my Celtic trip (the one I took this past summer). My God is a good God. WWU was where I was meant to be.


A Dancer Reborn

I am a dancer on the stage of life. I am graceful, and poised, and confident. How, you ask? Simple: Jesus is my Lord. He is the source of my confidence. He is the reason for my beauty, inside and out. He is the root of my courage. He is the cry of my heart.

I am a dancer on the stage of life. A beautiful thing you will have never before seen. To see me dance, is to see perfection incarnate. I am more beautiful than the most beautiful, air-brushed model. I am more beautiful than the cold beauty of a heartless queen. To see me dance, is to see LIFE, and life more abundantly. How, you ask? Because God is AMAZING.

I danced in a wind tunnel today, a sky diver up in Seattle, dressed in her flight suit. I knew exactly what to do. I’d been observing carefully. And like a graceful dancer, I soon mastered it and flew. I defied everything. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I was fearless. The instructor said I twisted too much, and didn’t keep my form well enough. I didn’t tell her it was because I was testing out lowering and raising myself in the tunnel, by changing form. She was my safety net, but I was my own teacher, in many ways.

I stood in a wind tunnel today, and I danced, and watched others dance. And I told myself: I can do that. Every spinning turn, every moment of upside-down spinning, every movement of Peter Pan flying–I can do that, I told myself. I can do that.

That’s me and life, I realized. That’s how I live my life: I can do that.