#john would love being cherished and faith would love being held

[kombuuuu]

yo could you do some domestic spot fluff???? asking for a friend (lie)

Spotty dog?

Spot x Gen!Reader

“This feels demeaning.” “It’s not! Look he’s cute!”

hes so adorable h my god. 101 dalmatian coded fr

June 28th — Your lovers birthday, and two days away. You woke this morning with a determination you knew both you and him held. To out-do your your last gift. Last Christmas, you had thought you'd won. Showing up to your shared home with a pair of matching shirts — reading "I ♡ My Boyfriend" and one equally matching for him.

Along with a multitude of other small things — all sentimental to your relationship. Like the mug that said "No.1 Bad Guy." or a card detailing how he would never just be the "Villain of the week."

But when he'd pulled out matching crocs, with Jibbitz of a goofy looking Dalmatian for him and a cute Bunny for you?

You had resigned as Loser for the months to come. Not without a cheering victory from your Spotty lover. Now though? A thought had been brewing for months— one that would never make you loser of the gifts ever again. What could possibly out-do a man willing to wear crocs branded with a staple of you on them? And a goofy looking bucket hat with your silly matching shirts?

A dog.

Something he's wanted for a while now, something to take care of. He'd lost everything, his friends, his family. With that much gone, he'd clung to you like a lost child. Mourning the losses he'd faced while cherishing his moments with you — feeling a constant sense of peril when faced with the fact that he *could just lose you too. He wouldn't, though. You would never do that to him. You loved him too dearly to cause him that pain.

—

You watched him slip on a blue coat over his "totally regular civilian" clothes. The complaint leaving his mouth going on deaf ears. He slipped on his left shoe, jumping a bit and tripping over himself before steadying himself on a coffee table. "Do we really have to go out today?—" His face-spot downturned, like a sad puppy.

",—Can't we just sit in and cuddle? We could watch Mean Girls and i'll make the hot chocolate you really like!" "Baby." He whined, Spot rolling into a displeased frown. "Where are we even—" "—Ask one more time." He snorted, pulling his last shoe on and tucking in the laces, then going up to you and leaning down to give your forehead a kiss. "Ready?"

He right about swooned at your domestic tone, admiring the way the softened gold lights highlighted your features. You were everything to him, and just the knowledge you loved him back had him tripping over himself. Falling through spots at the sight of you. "Yeah."

—

Jonn swayed as the bus came to a stop, avidly ignoring the curious glances given by other patrons, and focusing more on holding onto you.

"I'm gonna fall over!" "Maybe if you held the bar, and not me." He looked up at you from his waist bent position, arms wrapped securely around your abdomen, clinging onto you like you were the only person there.

"I don't need another lover baby, you're right here." "It's a pole, John." "And I am a faithful man." You giggled lightly at him and wrapped your free arm around him tighter.

—

"Just step off." "It's high!" John stuttered out his reply, dipping his foot down like he was testing pool water. 'I'll just—" He turned around, opening a spot and crawling through it and popping up again next to you. The bus driver gawked at you, paler than the villain walking Brighton's street.

You mouthed a 'sorry' to the poor lady, and grabbed your boyfriends hand, dragging him towards the street of your subject.

"You gonna tell me where we're going yet?" He trailed behind you, getting pulled by his left hand, and tripping over his own feet. Moving in that clumsy kind of dorkiness. 'Nuh uh."

His spot slanted at you, deadpanning. "You're being mysterious— I don't like it."

You side-eyed him, grinning in a glare. "I think it's part of the charm." He dragged his spindly legs farther forward, stepping in front of you and gathering your joined hand against his chest. He walked backwards with you, and his spot widened again. You smiled up at him, continuing on with walking, and waited for him to complain once more.

You hadn't have to wait long. "Are you sure you can't—" "We're here." He stopped walking when you did, spot slanting when he surveyed the shops and stalls around him, trying to read the signs. "a café date?—," He chuckled lightly, chest heaving lightly "'—You know you could have—"

"Not there, baby." You flexed your hands into his, he let one of his drop, and linked your fingers with his— squeezing your palm in interest.

You turned towards the animal rescue centre, giving your lover a mischievous grin and stepped beside him to open the door.

—

The spotted dalmatian looked up at you, glossy and doe eyed.

You cooed at it through the glass, the puppy wagging it's tail at the high pitched voice you were giving him.

"How come you never talk to me like that?" Your boyfriend had his hands on your shoulders, leaning on your crouched form and looking down at the small dog below him.

"Do you want me to?" You watched his reflection through the glass as he contemplated, spot shifting forms until it settled on a stretched thin line. "No." You snorted and continued sweet talking the puppy.

The dog-keeper smiled happily at the interaction between you and the small puppy.

"Would you like to take him outside?"

You turned your head towards her and nodded your head, sounding a pretty please — you put your hands on your knees and pushed up, standing straight again.

You turned to your lover, standing up on your toes, you smoothed your hands over his cheeks and giving his nose a little kiss.

"This feels demeaning." He pouted at you, hands grabbing at your coat.

You giggled lightly, resting the side of your face on his chest.

"It's not!," you gestured to the adorable puppy ",Look he's cute!"

John considered the tiny dog, slacking a bit under you, and conceding. "Yeah, yeah— whatever." You jumped up and gave his jaw a quick peck. "Exactly!"

You ran towards the back door, leading to the puppy playground.

Your lover called out to you— "I better still be your favourite Spot!"

"My number one, baby!" You called back.

He huffed despite his spot melting into a heart.

—

Two days later, when he woke up to a plethora of silly gifts, topped with adoption papers and a pink bow — He begrudgingly gave away his title.

—

+ bonus!!!

"You're just the most handsome spotty boy, aren't 'ya!" A squealing voice followed by a small 'ruff' caught your attention. You closed the door softly, and sneakily dropped your keys in the bowl, and snuck into your living room.

The sight of your loving husband cradling the puppy to his chest as he danced to an unheard tune greeted you. You smiled to yourself, biting your finger and watching him for a moment.

He spun slowly, and when his sight landed on you, he froze. He quickly, albeit gently, placed the small thing back onto the couch. The puppy rolling over and smiling up at you.

John cleared his throat, a closed fist to his throat, and after putting his hands on his hips to "act cool", he spoke.

"His name is The Dot."

You giggled behind your hand, going up and kissing his cheek, not before you pet Dot in passing. "Next time we're adopting a kid."

His spot widened and slid into a heart, blush coating his cheeks.

"And you're not naming them."

He laughed.

#the spot #spot atsv #the spot x reader #the spot x you #johnathon ohnn #johnathon ohnn x reader #spiderverse x reader #the spot atsv #jonathan ohnn #the spot spiderverse #atsv spot #atsv the spot #spot my beloved

[damonwrites]

Touching Stories Behind the Best Birthday Messages for Fathers

Happy Birthday, Dad: those three magical words have the power to touch the heart of even the toughest, hardest-working hero we hold dear: our fathers. Some families express this love in the simplest ways, yet each has a deeply emotional story attached. In this blog post, we celebrate the touching sagas behind the best birthday messages for fathers, showcasing how a well-crafted message can evoke memories and feelings that amplify the joy of their special day.

1. “To the man who taught me to dream.”

When a little girl named Lisa wrote this message on her father’s birthday card, little did anyone know about their heartwarming story. Lisa’s father was a carpenter and, despite his busy schedule and limited resources, would spend nights teaching Lisa to look beyond her immediate circumstances and dream big. This birthday message was her tribute to all those nights and her father's unwavering faith in her dreams.

2. “For being the lighthouse in the storm, Happy Birthday, Dad.”

This poignant birthday message was from a young man named John. His father was a Navy officer and the metaphor of a ‘lighthouse’ alluded to the support his father provided from afar. Despite being physically separated for long stretches of time, John's father had always guided him through every storm of life. For John, his father’s birthday was not just a date on the calendar, but a celebration of the unique bond they shared across the miles.

3. “Every wrinkle on your face tells the story of how hard you've worked to keep us happy. Happy Birthday, Daddy!”

This was a beautiful message from a 10-year-old girl named Emma. Her father was a miner who worked tirelessly to provide for his family. He would return home every night with dirt-covered clothes and a tired, yet contented, smile. Emma’s heartwarming message is a testament to children's ability to love and appreciate their parents’ sacrifices, even at a tender age.

4. "Dad, your guidance and love make me rich beyond my wildest dreams. Happy Birthday!”

This birthday message came from Daniel, a successful entrepreneur who had been through a fair share of struggles before reaching his dreams. Though his family was financially less privileged, his father’s wisdom and warmth instilled a rich mindset that fostered resilience and resolve. Daniel’s heartfelt birthday message encapsulates his father’s priceless contribution to his success.

5. "You held my hand when I was small, you supported me when I fell, and you inspire me daily. Happy birthday to my superhero, my Dad."

In every corner of the world, this message is echoed in beautiful variations. It speaks of our fathers' universal role as protectors, pillars, and inspirations in our lives. This particularly sweet message was penned by a daughter who often dressed as a superhero with her dad to have fun-filled weekends when she was little.

Fathers play an invaluable role in our lives, guiding us, supporting us, and continuously loving us. Their birthdays are the perfect opportunity to look back at the many ways they've shaped our lives. Each birthday message becomes a precious thread in the fabric of the familial bond, carrying with it a story worth honoring and cherishing. As we sign off, we hope these touching narratives inspire you to pen your heart's messages on your father's next birthday. Happy wishing!

[josephslittledeputy]

#far cry 5 #jacob seed #faith seed #john seed #joseph seed #jacob would bite if you tried to pat him #john would love being cherished and faith would love being held #joseph would throw your stuff away bc you do not need stuff in his new eden seorgjerig #wait why are you beating him with a bible- #far cry 5 meme #sorta

[ohifonlyx33]

nerd post alert

OK. Consider names for a second.

I've looked at various name sites and they all point to the fact that Leigh put some thought into her names.

Alina means "sun ray, light, bright, beautiful, fair, noble" And a derivative of Helen (from Greek, helios, the sun), the famous greek queen with a "face that launched a thousand ships" ...Okay so that's obvious, right?

But get this... a possible masculine variant of Alina that has been used is Alistair which is a strong derivative of Alexander (man's defender, warrior). Which is really interesting to me. Because I thought his name was pretty dumb until I realized how it connect to Alina. See, the general had a noble name like Alina, further solidifying that he may have once been good like her. But the difference is he abandoned his name for a title that held power and fear. Only a small part of him still remembered his true name. He was no longer a defender of man.

Malyen is a little trickier as it is a fantasy name and has several options as to where it came from. In Welsh, Mal is a short form of the name Maldwyn, a variant of the name Baldwin, meaning bold friend. Yeah, that checks out... But uh, Mal is also short for Malcolm, literally from 'Mael Coluim' (disciple of Saint Columba). Thus Mal means Disciple. THAT ALSO SUPER CHECKS OUT. Now once more, Mal can be short for Mallory which comes from 'malheure' meaning unlucky, unhappy... which is fitting given what he has to go through. And from Germanic, it can mean "army counselor" ...SO YEAH. Also Yan/Yen is a variant of John, meaning God is gracious/merciful which kinda also works with the whole ending of R&R. In Hebrew, "Mal" also means Messenger of God and in Irish it means Chief. Which kinda weaves into the aesthetic, I suppose. There's just... a lot to work with here.

Edited to add: how did I not notice Oretsev is very possibly a derivative of Morozova? Morozova -> Orozova -> Orozov -> Oretsev ...maybe?

After her martyrdom, Alina abandoned her name to live in peace and quiet with the love of her life. And Mal abandoned his. She was no longer a noble light, and he was no longer her suffering disciple.

All this being said, I want to know the names they picked. I know Misha came up with names of his own... but I like to think Mal and Alina picked out new names for each other.

For Mal, I looked at a few options. I tried to stay close to Slavic variants, but it's not an exact science. I thought about Damir ("provides peace") or Konstantine ("constant") or Lev ("lionheart") or Edmon ("guardian").

But I like to think she chose the name Maks ("the greatest of men") because it also sounds enough like "Mal" to be familiar and it's what she thinks of him. 🥰

Fun Fact: I briefly considered Anastas, which is a masculine form of Anastasia ("resurrection")... and I kid you not, that led me to look at diminutives of the name... Which lead me to Stacia (feminine) which led me to Eustacia which led me to the male form, Eustace, the patron saint of hunting who was converted when he saw a sign between the antlers of the stag he was hunting and later was burned to death for his faith. NO JOKE. 😯

...Which made me kinda like the name Stacia for Alina? Maybe? Just because it's a nod to the stag that connected them, and a nod to resurrection... ok no, really this name should be Mal's new name but it just doesn't sound right as a guy's name.

As for Alina, part of me likes to think Mal picked a name that still honored the light she had, such as Svetlana ("she who shines brightly"), while part of me likes to think he picked a name like Katia ("clean, pure, plain") to take her as she is and cherish her for being ordinary... But part of me thinks Alina wouldn't care for either of those names and Mal would pick something sweeter. For her, I really like a name meaning peaceful like Evania, or a form of Irene... Yarina even sounds close to Alina too. I also have a soft spot for Karina, meaning beloved friend. Beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart. 😭

Conclusion?

Malina -> Marina

if Mal become Maks and Alina becomes Karina that means the "greatest of men" and his "beloved friend" get married... 😭😭😭

and maybe they have kids. Anatoli [from the sunrise], then twins Evania and Stacia [peaceful + new life].

ahhhhhhhhhhhh

#malina #shadow and bone #alina starkov #malyen oretsev

[riiverflowsinyou]

“I could start fires with what I feel for you.” David Ramirez “I gasp, and I’m Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he’s the serpent, and I cannot resist.” E.L. James “Take off your clothes. Show me. Show me your edges. I want to see with my own eyes where you end and where I begin. I want to see where I fit, where you leave off being you and turn into me.” Peregrine “She knew she loved him when ‘home’ went from being a place to being a person.” E. Leventhal “He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.” Anais Nin “I cannot imagine a life in your absence. You are like the breath of air that I need to live, the drop of water in a thirsty desert.” Constantine Jake “I find the most beautiful moments of life aren’t just with you but because of you.” Leo Christopher “I am so in love with you that there isn’t anything else.” Ernest Hemingway “Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time.” Jorge Luis Borges “For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.” Stephanie Perkins “I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever.” Robert Browning “I know I am in love with you because my reality is finally better than my dreams.” Dr. Seuss “Every time you say those 3 beautiful words, I cherish that moment like a treasure.” Andrea Croft “Faith makes all things possible…love makes all things easy.” Dwight L. Moody “Giving someone a piece of your soul is better than giving a piece of your heart. Because souls are eternal.” Helen Boswell “Each day I love you more, today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.” Rosemonde Gerard “I love you, with no beginning, no end.” Coco J. Ginger “In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” Marc Chagall “I love you and that’s the beginning and end of everything.” F. Scott Fitzgerald “The water shines only by the sun. And it is you who are my sun.” Charles de Leusse “And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” Kiersten White “For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” Judy Garland “Chemistry is you touching my arm and setting fire to my mind.” Nayyirah Waheed “I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both.” Sarah Kay “When you trip over love, it is easy to get up. But when you fall in love, it is impossible to stand again.” Albert Einstein “I was, and I remain, utterly and completely and totally in love with you.” J.R. Ward “I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.” William Blake “A view of the ocean, mountains and the sunset. But yet, he was still looking at me.” Aly Aubrey “Holding you, I held everything.” Garth Brooks (“The Dance” lyrics) “I swear I couldn’t love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow.” Leo Christopher “All of me loves all of you. Love your curves and all your edges; all your perfect imperfections. Give your all to me. I’ll give my all to you.” John Legend (“All of Me” lyrics) “If I had to choose between breathing and loving you I would use my last breath to tell you I love you.” DeAnna Anderson “You had me at hello.” Jerry Maguire “Affection is responsible for ninetenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.” C.S. Lewis “I can’t promise you forever, because that’s not long enough.” Jasinda Wilder “My heart is and always will be yours.” Jane Austen “Ask me to define my love for you and I’ll say it’s captured in every beautiful memory of our past, detailed out in vivid visions of our dreams and future plans, but most of all it’s right now, in the moment where everything I’ve ever wanted in my life is standing right in front of me.” Leo Christopher “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” Lao Tzu “If I know what love is, it is because of you.” Hermann Hesse

[romeulusroy]

War Boy (John Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: John

Word Count: 1,682

Inspired By: Holiday by Dana Williams

Warning/s: abuse mention

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan

A/N: I think this is the longest fic I've ever written, which is pretty cool :) I never thought I'd be able to write something greater than 500 words. It's not my usual style, which is a little frustrating, but in the end I like how it turned out. I had no idea where it was going until the very end, and if that doesn't explain the writing process, I'm not sure what does! I'm super close to 200 fics/a third part of the fic masterlist and that's really exciting! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

Infidelity. Lust. Greed. Envy. He always wanted what wasn't his. A sin, if he believed in those kinds of things. If all the things he'd done in his lifetime weren't so much worse, he would have been afraid. But he wasn't. He should have been ashamed, guilty, pleading on his hands and knees to a bitter God for forgiveness, for understanding he wasn't deserving of, but he couldn't, he wouldn't, because he didn't feel bad. A man of crime, of impulse, sharing a bed with someone who slipped their ring off for him was the least of his worries. To anyone looking in, it would have seemed wrong, sick. It was. It should have seemed that way to him. But he watched from the inside, he knew what really was going on, the full story behind the locked windows and drawn curtains. There were things the rest of the world thought they knew, that they put their faith into, but only you and John knew what was really going on.

It wasn't about the sneaking, the secrets, it wasn't about revenge, getting back at him for all the things he ever did, all the things he put you through. It was about finally being wanted. It was about bloody fists. A heavy silence blanketed over the dinner table. A shove, a grin, a power dynamic. You loved him most when he wasn't around. Felt the most safe, the most adored when the space between you grew, the soil between you deepening, rotting. A man of war, who'd kissed her cheeks and cried when she fell instead of him. It should have been him in those trenches, in her arms. He'd told you that only once, his eyes restless, crazed, begging for one night of rest, too ashamed to admit in daylight. It should have been him, not the brave men beside him, not the innocent boys thrown into this without a second thought. It should have been his funeral, his shallow grave, his things distributed among friends, desperate for anything they could get their hands on. They'd be sad, of course, mourning another loss, but sad didn't matter when the world was ending.

It should have been him. And sometimes, you wished it was.

Someone you worshiped, someone you would have done anything for. That's what love made you believe. He was the light of your life, the reason of your very existence. A boy, then. Kids, you both were, blinded by something bigger than yourselves, something you thought could escape death herself, last a hundred lifetimes. Young, sweet, with summer in your veins. You were so naive. He was different before the war. Softer, tender, he was affectionate, drunk on the ideas of a future together. Married before he left, a ring around his finger when he stepped on that train. He'd lost it, somewhere along the line, and that should have been the first warning when he came back. They all changed, but not like him. The bombs, the guns, the shock of it settled in his gut, poisoning his blood. The fire of the explosives lived inside him. It slept when he did, but it was always looking for something to set it off.

The smallest spark would be enough.

Then it wasn't just anger, but rage. Wrath. A sea of red. Everything in his path needed to be destroyed regardless of the skin it wore. Shattered glass. Broken furniture. Holes in walls. Fabric ripped, or torn, or punctured. Even when he dreamed he clenched his fists, as if he were ready for a fight, a battle, that would never come. You were his favorite, though. Once a cherished item in his collection, sat on the top shelf for safe keeping, now you were nothing but a rag doll. Thrown around for his own entertainment. Bruised, bleeding, left to clean yourself up, mend your own wounds. Sometimes it was barely noticeable. Sometimes it wasn't. And that's when John came into your life.

An old friend, one he'd witnessed war with.

A visit. Simple, quick, a check up on someone he regretted losing contact with. Heard stories of someone special back home, someone who kept him going. From the second you saw him, though, you knew he was different. Careful eyes, all smiles and a wicked humor. He'd held on to that. With bloody nails, he wouldn't let her take that from him. He took notice of everything, whether or not you realized. The purple fingerprints in your skin. The badges under your sleeves. Your limp. The flinching, the bracing when a glass was set down too fast, too hard. John made a point to find his way in this part of Birmingham more often, knowing not only had the men changed, but their lives and families as well. It wasn't just the soldiers who suffered.

He became a source of comfort. Walking your husband home when he drank too much to remember where he lived, helping him up the stairs when his dead weight was too much to carry. It was his way of coping, his way of control. If he was too far gone to remember his own name, he couldn’t hurt anyone. Drown the demons in booze, forgetting how violent he could be when he was hungover. Passed out, leaving the two of you alone. You found yourself confiding in him, telling him things you never would have told anyone. Admitting to your own exhaustion, your own defeat, raising your white flag. You didn't have to explain the flinching, the hesitation to trust, all the little things he picked up on, all the things he'd seen too often. He was a man of destruction. Smashing his bottles, begging for a fight, starting them when no one else would. A form of self mutilation. Too many nights John spent taking care of the gashes in his face, of his open knuckles.

He was trying to beat the war out of himself. Scare it away. Make it rupture.

Sometimes he was unexpected. Knocking out of nowhere when your husband was at work. You should have known he wasn't looking for him. You should have known, but you didn't. And neither did he, inviting him for dinner, for drinks, any occasion. Before you knew it, you were spending every night together. Over the table, your laughs hushed, your words effortless. Learned more about him than you ever thought. A wife he loved, passed away. A brood of kids he fears he's not good enough for. A complicated family and a business with a license to kill. The thought of him, funny John with his quips and fast wit, with his endless supply of dirty jokes and filthy words, a father. You had a hard time picturing him reading bedtime stories or folding baby clothes. It was something you used to dream of, having kids. Not anymore, not with a man like that. You'd never forgive yourself, ruining an innocent life, raised in a field of landmines. It wouldn't be fair to them. You couldn't do that.

He brought them a few times. Pudgy fingers, toothless giggles, tales about school, about all the things they were learning, all the people they'd become one day. It did something to your home. Turned a lifetime of pain and fear into excitement, into joy. They didn't know what life had in store for them, the possibilities endless. Infinite. All of them wanting a piece of you, sitting on your lap, whispering all the secrets their father told them not to tell. He spoke of you often, or at least, that's what they said. John in his natural state, a child on his hip, another pulling him by the cuff. He was needed. That was more than you could say for yourself. A pain, an ache in your chest, watching your husband. Awkward, anxious, angry. Angry at little fingerprints across every surface. Angry at the noise, at the constant energy, the neediness. You knew he thought that was weak, to need someone. He couldn't stand to be near them.

He couldn't stand anything anymore.

John would have killed the man. If he were anyone else, he would have sliced him in half, make a godless man see heaven for himself. But he wasn't just anyone, they'd seen hell together. Walked through fire, spit in the face of the devil himself and lived to see another day. That was rare. It made a bond unlike any other. But that didn't mean he had to like him, that he had to approve of everything he did. Drunk together, one night, the last two at the bar. He never meant for it to get out. It was the whiskey talking. A single sentence, a threat in passing. If you ever hurt them again, I'll fucking kill ya. His words were slurred, and heavy between his teeth, but there was truth to them. He could have said something a lot worse. He could have told him he was undeserving of you, that he was fucked up to hurt you, to take you for granted. He could have said that he changed, that he wasn't the friend he was anymore, that he couldn't stand the sight of him. John could have admitted that he loved you, from the second he saw you, he loved you and he wanted to protect you, that he thought of you every single day.

But he didn't.

Instead he made a promise, an oath to you, to him. One he never wanted to go to through with. One he'd have to, he knew it. Now he was waiting across the street, ducking in the shadows, watching for him to leave, to go to the bar after another meltdown. The screaming could be heard through the neighborhood. It didn't matter who he used to be, this was him now. This was his fate. He should have listened to John that night, but he didn't, he didn't listen to anyone anymore, and now he'd face the end.

John just hoped you'd forgive him after all this.

#writing #john shelby #john shelby drabble #john shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #john shelby x reader #john x reader #x reader #john shelby fic #peaky blinders fic #drabble #oneshot #x gender neutral #gender neutral #x gender neutral reader

[slavicafire]

Kupala’s Night - Noc Kupały, old Slavic celebration of midsummer, love and happiness.

Kupala's Night - Noc Kupały, Kupalnocka, Kupała - is the Slavic summer solstice celebration, a night full of fires that reach the skies, magic, dances, divination - but most importantly, love. 

Kupala is celebrated during the shortest night of the year - which falls usually around the 21st-22nd of June - and is both one of the most known and studied practices of our ancestors, and the one that survived the strongest in our cultures, being celebrated today not only by Rodnovers (Slavic pagans, practitioners of reconstructionist slavic polytheism) but also by people far from the pagan path. In common Slavic culture, especially West Slavic - as that will be, as always, the main focus of my post - it survived in the rituals and beliefs associated with Noc Świętojańska (or sobótka, signifying the eve, day/evening before a sacred day) - St. John's Eve.

It is yet another old pagan celebration which was difficult to uproot as people held it dearly - it is up to debate to what extent it was the Christianised people deciding to incorporate old ways into their lives no matter the faith - or even to oppose it to some degree; the Church trying to cover ancient beliefs with new Christian retellings; or just one of the natural and more organic processes of cultures accepting and incorporating new faith with their beloved customs, as it often happens with folk traditions and Christianity. No matter the processes that Kupala's Night went through - most likely much less drastic that some Rodnovers would want to believe - the beliefs are still alive, not only in folktales and academic research but the common conscience of our people.

This post is meant to bring Kupala closer to the reader in tale-like form and simpler terms - as far as my sources are largely academic, I want to talk about my favourite holiday in a much more lively way. Bear in mind that my perspective - both as a Rodnover and as a person researching old Slavic beliefs - is mostly founded on West Slavic practices. Slavs differed in beliefs and approaches greatly, even from village to village, as you can read more here. Sources shall be listed at the very end of the post.

Let us break Kupala into three important parts: Love, Cleansing, and Celebration.

First, as always: Love.

Think summer solstice, warm nights of June, bonfires, mead, dancing, laughing, loving. Lives are short and soon we will leave this earthly place, so let us feel magic, and joy, and love. Let us dance around the fire til first light, and whisper spells that will bring health and happiness into our homes and hearts!  Did I mention love? Forget about responsibility for this one night - but also check if Gods already chose a husband or wife for you, or which of the young Slavs is the one destined for you!

A plethora of rituals and ways of divining were related to love - during Kupala the most important were wianki, so flower wreaths woven by girls, made of flowers, ferns, and herbs. They were believed to symbolise love and happiness, and young girls would set them upon the waters of a river or stream. Now, future was told twofold: if your wreath flows with the current and is carried calmly by the waters (and, later, if its candle does not go out) your future is long and full of love - you will find a heart to cherish. In other customs, if a young man catches your wreath, he shall be your future love - or love for that very night, at least. Still, you should rejoice knowing that fates favour you and love is by your side. 

However, if your wianek gets stoled by the current and drowns, or gets tangled and stops, or no one picks it up... It is not a good sign, and perhaps luck and love are capricious and abandonded you. Unless... someone else gets your wreath.

Ancient Slavs cared little for obssesive modesty or shame connected to love and sex - after all, they did not know “sin”, and they believed in a world and gods that were so naturally and lovingly guided by pleasures of the flesh and spirit alike, sexuality, fertility, and corporeal and spiritual unison of all natures. We know - partially thanks to accounts of a Jewish traveler Ibrahim ibn Yaqub - that virginity wasn't valued by Slavs too much: losing your wianek to someone - the euphemism for losing your virginity in Polish - was expected, and it would be strange for an adult woman not to know and have experienced intercourse. Moreover, a woman already with child would be desired as a wife, should she be unmarried - she knows the ways of the flesh and is fertile!

Kupala's Night was most likely a time when love not only ruled, but was also encouraged: it is believed to be the moment of sexual initiation for Slavic youth, and a time when consequence was largely disregarded. As far as it would be, of course, desired, for your Kupala lover to stay with you when morning comes, it was not expected - enjoying a pleasurable night was not marriage. We know also that as much as there was no shame in spending the night with a chosen person freely, there was also little taboo to dealing with the possible outcome of such pleasures: pregnancy. While some would keep the child - a blessing and sign of fertility - some would use herbs and folk charms to aid themselves and prevent from being pregnant and having a child. Such herbs were an old and constant part of folk medicine.

Another crucial part of love-connected beliefs was the Fern Flower - a magical flower that would bloom only during that one night. It is speculated that it was not only a folk tale about magic, luck, and a flower that would bring you good fortune and riches, but a reflection of love rituals: women might have use adder-tongue ferns on their body as a charm to make themselves more appealing - or, perhaps, encouraging youth to go "look for the fern flower" was simply allowing them to go into the forest and enjoy each other far from eyes of their elders and families.

Cleansing:

Kupala was believed to be a special and magical night - the shortest one, the wildest one, carrying with it promises of love and happiness, luck and good fortune. This also meant that a plethora of rituals connected to cleansing were carried out - ways to purify your soul and body, get rid of all old and stale and ill. Souls and hearts had to be cleansed as much as bodies: prepared for new, fresh, for love.

It is a common and crucial theme in Slavic celebrations, mirrored during spring and winter alike. Two ways of such purification were known and cherished: water and fire.

Water is believed to have special properties that night - in many places, especially among West Slavs, it was forbidden to swim in rivers and lakes before Kupala, as they would carry cold and illnesses, and evil forces (you could get dragged into the depth by a topielec, utopiec, or rusałki and boginki, and drown, sharing their terrible fate). 

But during Kupala, water would be the best way to cleanse your body and spirit - it would give your strength, and good health, and good fortune, - and good looks! - and ensure you will be strong enough to survive the upcoming winter, no matter how harsh it would be. People would jump into the waters, wade in rivers, swim, or throw water over one another to allow for such magical cleansing.

For Slavs, the most important property of water was this cleansing power - both of hearts and bodies. There are songs and charms preserved and discussed by scholars. where girls, in the morning of, or day after Kupala/St.John’s Eve would go to the river and bathe in it, singing: “water, dear water, as you run through rocks and roots, run through me and cleanse me of all evil” - sometimes adding the wonderful: “so I might be wonderful as spring, beautiful like the fair zorza, full like autumn and rich like earth itself”

Fire was also always believed to be sacred and cleansing - during Kupala big fires would be lit, reaching the skies and warming the bodies gathered around them. Men would jump over them - alone, as a both way of cleansing and a daring challenge fitting the joyful celebration, or with their chosen beloved in their arms, to signify their love and ensure future health and happiness. Couples would also jump together, holding hands - if their hands remained linked during the jump it would mean they have a happy and loving future together - if one of them let go, it was a sign that perhaps the lover should search for another heart.

Torches would be carried among singing and dancing, and carried from household to household, signifying also the power and importance of hearth and house fire - which for Slavs, at least at some point, began to be equally sacred as fire itself. This belief in sacred god-like fire - just as belief that fire is in fact a living being - transformed later on from fires or hearth into ovens and furnaces in households.

Celebration:

All aforementioned elements were crucial part of old slavic ritualistic approach to faith and everyday life. Celebrations were important ways of uniting the community and allowing people to not only rejoice and celebrate surviving harsh times (especially winter, which used to be often disastrous for Slavs) but also get closer to divinity, spirits, and ancestors. 

Magic was - and for many still is - an inherent part of life.

Whether it was various ways of divining the future (especially connected to marriage, children, love, length of life), cleansing through fire or water, enjoying each other's company - both through pleasures of body and soul, singing and dancing, telling tales - all of it was crucial, and a much needed time of joy.

Dancing was especially important for Slavs - a way of uniting people, but also understanding and praising their deities. It was a form of ritual prayer as much as it was a form of simply having fun, and rejoicing. Later on, dancing - especially wild folk dancing, accompanied by songs filled with innuendo and tales of sex and love - was frowned upon and forbidden by the Church as the shameful, heathen practices of superstitious masses.

And therefore, we have never stopped dancing and singing, and as it has always been a crucial part of celebrations, it always and forever will be. We have Marcin of Urzędów, a Catholic priest and botanist, writing in one of his herbals in 1562 that women in Poland, while celebrating St. John’s Eve “with their wild dancing, singing, and burning fires praised the devil himself and prayed to him”

Modern ways and ideas for celebrating Kupala:

Slavic pagans and people passionate about old customs want to celebrate Kupala - it is, after all, a joyful and wonderful celebration, carrying love and magic and luck.

One way to do it is simply join in celebration a Rodnover group, a reconstructionist party, or one of many passionate groups that organise events gaining popularity recently - with threatre, performance, tales about old traditions of our foremothers. Rodnover groups are usually very open and eager to show their traditions to respectful outsiders - but those celebrations are often intimate and complex, and you also should learn whatever you can about the group you’re approaching beforehand. We all know Rodnovery is battling a lot of nazi scum and general assholery.

But remember that you can always organise your own celebration - with friends, family, or even alone. While community is so crucial and dear to our hearts, it is obvious that sometimes our path leads us into places where we are alone - in life, or perhaps just with this passion of ours, this drive to pursuing old ways. Remember that neither Old Ones nor ancestors mind that you keep your faith or passion private.

- burn fires! - make a bonfire, it does not have to be big. sit around the fire with your friends, tell tales, jokes, and rejoice. dance if you want to - to the sound of music from your friend’s guitar, from your phone, or even just to the sound of wind and laughter. remember that invoking sacred cleansing fire is crucial - if you cannot make a fire, just light a candle or two. if you cannot jump over fires to cleanse your heart and soul(s), hold your palms above the candle flame, and feel the purifying warmth. just don’t burn yourself!

- take a ritual cleansing bath - go to a river, wild stream, or lake, and let the water wash over you. if that is not possible, take a colder shower or bath - let it wake you up, clean you, take away all worries and pains. wash your hands and your face, let the water embrace you. brush your hair, stretch, rest - feel anew.

- remember love! - this is the night when you celebrate life and love - and you celebrate yourself, too. treat yourself to something nice, something that would mean a lot to you. wear different clothes - for me it’s always a white dress. make a flower crown, or just go and pick some flowers, take a walk and soak in the sun, the wind, the life around you! read a book that feels you with sweet nostalgia. kiss someone underneath the starlit sky - or message your crush. listen to love songs, but those hopeful and sweet.

- rejoice! - dance, and sing, and laugh! talk with your friends, joke, tell stories of past. drink if you’re old enough to and if that gets you into a celebratory mood - make a toast for your own luck and happiness, and for the ancestors, and for all of us! watch a funny movie and favourite stand-up routine, do something that makes you genuinely happy.

- listen to music that brings you closer to the celebratory mood - whether sounds of old (folk songs and slavic inspired music) or something that brings you closer to both nature and your own heart. I shall be posting at least one Kupala playlist soon, so do stay tuned for that.

may your bonfires reach the sky and your songs reach the gods! a sleepless and amazing Kupala to all of you!

slava, your summer-loving slavic serpent, 

żmija

sources:

[ paintings and photos: Ivan Kupala - Fortunetelling on the wreaths by Simon Kozhin || Kupala’s Night in Lubań || Rusałki by Konstantin Makowski || Night of Ivan Kupala by Klavdy Lebedev || Kupala Night by I.I Sokolov ]

[books and publications: Mitologia Słowian by Aleksander Gieysztor (2006) || The Slavs by Marija Gimbutas (1975) || Kultura Duchowa Słowian by Kazimierz Moszyński (volume I and II, 1934) || Water in pre-Christian beliefs in Pomerania (...) by Kamil Kajkowski and Andrzej Kuczkowski (2017) || Ritual Dance among Western Slavs in Early Middle Ages by Kamil Kajkowski || Komentarze do Polskiego Atlasu Etnograficznego: Wiedza i Wierzenia Ludowe (2002)]

#slavic #rodnovery #summer solstice #kupala's night #noc kupały #folklore

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

5th May >> Mass Readings (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Tuesday, Fourth Week of Eastertide

    or 

Blessed Edmund Rice, Religious.

Tuesday, Fourth Week of Eastertide

(Liturgical Colour: White)

First Reading

Acts of the Apostles 11:19-26

They started preaching to the Greeks, proclaiming the Lord Jesus

Those who had escaped during the persecution that happened because of Stephen travelled as far as Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, but they usually proclaimed the message only to Jews. Some of them, however, who came from Cyprus and Cyrene, went to Antioch where they started preaching to the Greeks, proclaiming the Good News of the Lord Jesus to them as well. The Lord helped them, and a great number believed and were converted to the Lord.

The church in Jerusalem heard about this and they sent Barnabas to Antioch. There he could see for himself that God had given grace, and this pleased him, and he urged them all to remain faithful to the Lord with heartfelt devotion; for he was a good man, filled with the Holy Spirit and with faith. And a large number of people were won over to the Lord.

Barnabas then left for Tarsus to look for Saul, and when he found him he brought him to Antioch. As things turned out they were to live together in that church a whole year, instructing a large number of people. It was at Antioch that the disciples were first called ‘Christians.’

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 86(87)

R/ O praise the Lord, all you nations!

or

R/ Alleluia!

On the holy mountain is his city

cherished by the Lord.

The Lord prefers the gates of Zion

to all Jacob’s dwellings.

Of you are told glorious things,

O city of God!

R/ O praise the Lord, all you nations!

or

R/ Alleluia!

‘Babylon and Egypt I will count

among those who know me;

Philistia, Tyre, Ethiopia,

these will be her children

and Zion shall be called “Mother”

for all shall be her children.’

R/ O praise the Lord, all you nations!

or

R/ Alleluia!

It is he, the Lord Most High,

who gives each his place.

In his register of peoples he writes:

‘These are her children,’

and while they dance they will sing:

‘In you all find their home.’

R/ O praise the Lord, all you nations!

or

R/ Alleluia!

Gospel Acclamation

John 10:27

Alleluia, alleluia!

The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice,

says the Lord,

I know them and they follow me.

Alleluia!

Gospel

John 10:22-30

The Father and I are one

It was the time when the feast of Dedication was being celebrated in Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was in the Temple walking up and down in the Portico of Solomon. The Jews gathered round him and said, ‘How much longer are you going to keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly.’ Jesus replied:

‘I have told you, but you do not believe.

The works I do in my Father’s name are my witness;

but you do not believe,

because you are no sheep of mine.

The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice;

I know them and they follow me.

I give them eternal life;

they will never be lost

and no one will ever steal them from me.

The Father who gave them to me is greater than anyone,

and no one can steal from the Father.

The Father and I are one.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

————————————-

Blessed Edmund Rice, Religious 

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Acts of the Apostles 4:32-35

The whole group of believers was united, heart and soul

The whole group of believers was united, heart and soul; no one claimed for his own use anything that he had, as everything they owned was held in common.

The apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus with great power, and they were all given great respect.

None of their members was ever in want, as all those who owned land or houses would sell them, and bring the money from them, to present it to the apostles; it was then distributed to any members who might be in need.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 1:1-4,6

R/ His delight is the law of the Lord.

or

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

or

R/ The just will flourish like the palm-tree in the courts of our God.

Happy indeed is the man

who follows not the counsel of the wicked;

nor lingers in the way of sinners

nor sits in the company of scorners,

but whose delight is the law of the Lord

and who ponders his law day and night.

R/ His delight is the law of the Lord.

or

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

or

R/ The just will flourish like the palm-tree in the courts of our God.

He is like a tree that is planted

beside the flowing waters,

that yields its fruit in due season

and whose leaves shall never fade;

and all that he does shall prosper.

R/ His delight is the law of the Lord.

or

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

or

R/ The just will flourish like the palm-tree in the courts of our God.

Not so are the wicked, not so!

For they like winnowed chaff

shall be driven away by the wind:

for the Lord guards the way of the just

but the way of the wicked leads to doom.

R/ His delight is the law of the Lord.

or

R/ Happy the man who has placed his trust in the Lord.

or

R/ The just will flourish like the palm-tree in the courts of our God.

Gospel Acclamation

Matthew 5:3

Alleluia, alleluia!

How happy are the poor in spirit:

theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Alleluia!

Or:

Matthew 5:6

Alleluia, alleluia!

Happy those who hunger and thirst for what is right:

they shall be satisfied.

Alleluia!

Or:

Matthew 5:8

Alleluia, alleluia!

Happy the pure in heart:

they shall see God.

Alleluia!

Or:

Matthew 11:25

Alleluia, alleluia!

Blessed are you, Father,

Lord of heaven and earth,

for revealing the mysteries of the kingdom

to mere children.

Alleluia!

Or:

Matthew 23:11,12

Alleluia, alleluia!

The greatest among you must be your servant, says the Lord:

the man who humbles himself will be exalted.

Alleluia!

Or:

Matthew 11:28

Alleluia, alleluia!

Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened

and I will give you rest, says the Lord.

Alleluia!

Or:

Luke 21:36

Alleluia, alleluia!

Stay awake, praying at all times

for the strength to stand with confidence

before the Son of Man.

Alleluia!

Or:

John 8:12

Alleluia, alleluia!

I am the light of the world, says the Lord;

anyone who follows me will have the light of life.

Alleluia!

Or:

John 8:31-32

Alleluia, alleluia!

If you make my word your home

you will indeed be my disciples,

and you will learn the truth, says the Lord.

Alleluia!

Or:

John 13:34

Alleluia, alleluia!

I give you a new commandment:

love one another just as I have loved you,

says the Lord.

Alleluia!

Or:

John 14:23

Alleluia, alleluia!

If anyone loves me he will keep my word,

and my Father will love him,

and we shall come to him.

Alleluia!

Or:

John 15:4,5

Alleluia, alleluia!

Make your home in me, as I make mine in you,

says the Lord;

whoever remains in me bears fruit in plenty.

Alleluia!

Or:

John 15:9,5

Alleluia, alleluia!

Remain in my love, says the Lord;

whoever remains in me, with me in him,

bears fruit in plenty.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 5:1-12a

How happy are the poor in spirit

Seeing the crowds, Jesus went up the hill. There he sat down and was joined by his disciples. Then he began to speak. This is what he taught them:

‘How happy are the poor in spirit;

theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Happy the gentle:

they shall have the earth for their heritage.

Happy those who mourn:

they shall be comforted.

Happy those who hunger and thirst for what is right:

they shall be satisfied.

Happy the merciful:

they shall have mercy shown them.

Happy the pure in heart:

they shall see God.

Happy the peacemakers:

they shall be called sons of God.

Happy those who are persecuted in the cause of right:

theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

‘Happy are you when people abuse you and persecute you and speak all kinds of calumny against you on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

9th August >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Matthew 14:22-33 for Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A: ‘It is I! Do not be afraid’.

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Matthew 14:22-33

Jesus walks on the water

Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he would send the crowds away. After sending the crowds away he went up into the hills by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, while the boat, by now far out on the lake, was battling with a heavy sea, for there was a head-wind. In the fourth watch of the night he went towards them, walking on the lake, and when the disciples saw him walking on the lake they were terrified. ‘It is a ghost’ they said, and cried out in fear. But at once Jesus called out to them, saying, ‘Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.’ It was Peter who answered. ‘Lord,’ he said ‘if it is you, tell me to come to you across the water.’ ‘Come’ said Jesus. Then Peter got out of the boat and started walking towards Jesus across the water, but as soon as he felt the force of the wind, he took fright and began to sink. ‘Lord! Save me!’ he cried. Jesus put out his hand at once and held him. ‘Man of little faith,’ he said ‘why did you doubt?’ And as they got into the boat the wind dropped. The men in the boat bowed down before him and said, ‘Truly, you are the Son of God.’

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 14:22–33

Command me to come to you on the water.

After he had fed the people, Jesus made the disciples get into a boat and precede him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. After doing so, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When it was evening he was there alone. Meanwhile the boat, already a few miles offshore, was being tossed about by the waves, for the wind was against it. During the fourth watch of the night, he came toward them walking on the sea. When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. “It is a ghost, ” they said, and they cried out in fear. At once Jesus spoke to them, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter said to him in reply, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened; and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” After they got into the boat, the wind died down. Those who were in the boat did him homage, saying, “Truly, you are the Son of God.”

Reflections (5)

(i) Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I like the opening lines of an old Breton fisherman’s prayer, ‘Your sea, O God, is so great, my boat so small’. President John F. Kennedy loved those lines. They were inscribed on a plaque he had on his desk in the White House. Those lines express our smallness before the vastness of God’s creation. As a fisherman’s prayer, they speak of his vulnerability before the powerful and unpredictable sea. We are all aware of the unpredictability of life itself and our own vulnerability before forces that we cannot control. The Covid pandemic has helped to bring that home to us. A friend of mine who had been confined to bed for many years with a serious disease before she died had a poster on her wall which read, ‘Life is fragile; handle with prayer’. She knew from experience life’s unpredictability and her own smallness and powerless before it. She was also a woman of extraordinary faith and prayer.

I was reminded of the opening words of that Breton fisherman’s prayer by the scene in today’s gospel reading. There we find the disciples in a small, frail, boat, struggling with a heavy sea and a strong headwind. The Sea of Galilee is surrounded by hills and strong winds can come down the valleys and stir up the sea. In all sorts of ways we can all find ourselves struggling with a heavy sea and a strong headwind. We sense our frailty and vulnerability; the odds against us seem stronger than our resources. In today’s second reading, Paul seems to be speaking out of that kind of overwhelming situation. He says, ‘my sorrow is so great, my mental anguish is endless’. What was threatening to engulf him was the realization that his own Jewish people, in whom he took such pride, were rejecting Jesus as their long awaited Messiah. He felt helpless before their refusal to believe and he almost sank under the weight of it all. Those we love and cherish don’t always take a path we believe would be life-giving for them. Our sense of helplessness before such a situation can cause us great anguish and sorrow. It can threaten to drag us down.

As the disciples in today’s gospel reading struggled with the elements, they may have wondered, ‘Where is Jesus?’ He was the one who had made them get into the boat and sail across the sea to the other shore. The answer to their question was ‘Jesus was praying’. Having sent his disciples across the sea in a boat, he went up into the hills to pray. He was alone in prayer, and, yet, his prayer did not remove him from his disciples. While praying, he became aware of their struggle in their small boat with the great sea, and he came to them in their struggle. In our own struggles with what life can throw up, we can find ourselves asking, ‘Where is the Lord?’ At such times the Lord is never far from us. In his letter to the Romans, Paul speaks of Jesus as one ‘who is at the right hand of God interceding for us’. It is reassuring to think that the Lord is always praying for us. He is prayerfully present to us in our struggles, as he was prayerfully present to the disciples as their boat was tossed about. When the disciples first had a sense of the Lord’s physical presence to them in the storm, they thought he was a ghost, and they were terrified. Yet, there is nothing ghostly about the Lord’s presence to us. It is not the kind of presence that generates fear. His presence to us at those moments when we sense our frailty is always a supportive, loving presence, and, as Saint John says in one of his letters, ‘perfect love casts out fear’. Even after we have become aware of the Lord’s presence, we can still feel ourselves sinking. Like Peter in the gospel reading, having called out to the Lord, we begin to lose sight of him again and we sense that we are going under. At such times, all we can do is to pray the prayer of Peter, ‘Lord! Save me!’. We have all prayed a version of that prayer. It is a prayer out of the depths. One of the psalms in the Old Testament begins, ‘Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord! Lord, hear my voice!’ The gospel reading suggests that this is a prayer the Lord will always answer. As he did for Peter, the Lord will put out his hand and hold us.

A question that today’s gospel reading prompts us to ask is, ‘What keeps me afloat when life is a struggle?’ We could answer that question in different ways – our family, good friends. As people of faith we would add, ‘knowing that the Lord walks with us on the stormy waters, which he alone can calm’. The Lord comes to us in the noisy, tumultuous, storm, but today’s first reading suggests that he also comes to us in the calm, in what the reading calls, ‘the sound of a gentle breeze’. The Lord whispers to us in silence. If we can learn to hear him whispering in the silence, we will become more attuned to his powerful voice in the storm.

And/Or

(ii) Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 We all need to take time out from our day to day routine. We need to find ways to relax from time to time. Different people relax in different ways. One of the ways I relax is by walking, either on my own or with someone. Walking has its own rhythm, and it can take you out of other rhythms that can be experienced as stressful. I am not a very adventurous walker. Steep climbs through difficult terrain are not my idea of a relaxing walk. I prefer reasonably level ground that is firm under foot, whether that be in a city, in a pleasing landscape or along by the sea. Others prefer more of a challenge when they go walking. They head for the hills, and the higher and steeper the better.

 In today’s gospel reading, Peter goes one better than most in terms of being adventurous. He steps out of his boat and begins to walk towards Jesus across the water. Walking on water is not something any of us would attempt. We need solid ground under us, even if it is steep solid ground. Yet, at a more symbolic level, Peter’s walking on water can be an image of our lives from time to time. There are times in our lives when we can feel that the ground on which we stand is not all that solid. We often use expressions related to walking or standing to express this. We sometimes say, for example, ‘I’m not sure of my ground’ or ‘I don’t know where I stand’, when we are perplexed or confused about something. You hear people saying that it was like ‘walking on egg shells’ to describe a difficult conversation or meeting that they had with someone. Others speak about feeling as if the rug was pulled from under them to describe some deeply hurtful experience. Most of the time, we try to avoid these kind of experiences that leave us feeling vulnerable. We often feel the urge to seek out solid ground and stay there at all costs.

 Yet, there are times when we may need to step off our solid ground onto something that appears less secure. In the gospel reading, in response to Peter’s invitation, Jesus called Peter to step out of the boat and to come towards him across the water. Surely it would have been safer for Peter to stay in the boat, even if the sea was rough and the wind was strong. Why would Peter want to step out of the relative safety of his boat and to walk towards Jesus, and why would Jesus encourage him to do so, calling on him to ‘come’? Was this not a little foolhardy? Perhaps the evangelist is reminding us through this story that following Jesus, walking after him or towards him, will sometimes mean stepping out of our boat, the place where we feel relatively secure, and launching out into the deep, as it were. Paul is a very good example of that. He was very secure in his Jewish religion, In today’s second reading, he speaks of his brothers of Israel in very emotional tones. Yet, in response to the Lord’s call, he left the security of the Jewish tradition, where he was completely at home, and he headed out into something that must have seemed much less secure. Paul stepped out of the boat, like Peter, in response to the Lord’s call.

 Today’s gospel reading invites us to reflect on the ways that the Lord may be calling us to take some new step in our relationship with him. When it comes to our faith, to our relationship with the Lord, it can be tempting to stay put, to keep to what we know, to hold on to what is familiar to us. Yet, the Lord is always calling us to ‘come’; he is constantly inviting us to grow in our relationship with him, to offer ourselves to him in new ways, to step out of our familiar boat and to test the water, so to speak. The Lord’s call to ‘come’ will take different forms for different people. It may be an invitation to grow in our understanding of our faith through reading, reflection and study, or to use our gifts in a new way within the parish community. It might take the form of a call to become more prayerful, more attuned to the gentle breeze of the Lord’s voice, referred to in today’s first reading, or a call to take some step to become reconciled with someone from whom we have been estranged for a long time.

 When we respond to that call of the Lord, when we step out into a new domain, our experience can be a little like that of Peter in the gospel reading. We might sense that we are now out of our depth; we can begin to feel that we are sinking. We wonder why we ever left the boat in the first place, why we did not just stay put. Today’s gospel reading, however, assures us that whenever we respond to the Lord’s invitation to ‘come’, he will be there to support us when the journey becomes difficult. Even when we show ourselves to be people of little faith along the way and begin to doubt him, the Lord does not loose faith in us. He will hear us when we cry out to him, ‘Lord save me’, and he will reach out to hold us firm and prevent us from sinking. The one who calls us to journey towards him does not then leave us to our own devices when we respond to his call. He journeys with us, and if we keep turning towards him, we too, like Peter and the disciples, will find ourselves exclaiming, ‘Truly, you are the Son of God’.

And/Or

(iii) Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 We can use a great variety of expressions to refer to people who take on more than they are able for. We speak of someone biting off more than they can chew, or of someone going out on a limb. Any of us can find ourselves in that situation. We stretch ourselves too far and come bang up against our limitations, and then we have to make some readjustments. However, in many ways it is better to stretch too far and discover our limitations than not to have stretched ourselves sufficiently and, so, never to have really discovered the extent of our abilities. It can be better to have striven for something without gaining it than never to have striven for it at all, because it is often in the striving, more than in the attaining, that we learn and receive most.

 In stepping out of the boat to walk towards Jesus, Peter, in a sense, overreached himself. In the midst of a storm, Jesus had come towards Peter and the other disciples across the lake of Galilee. Now Peter wanted to come towards Jesus across that same lake. Surely what Jesus did, he Peter could also do. However, he had no sooner set out on that precarious journey than he faltered. Feeling the force of the wind, fear took hold of him, and he began to sink. We perhaps fine it easy to identify with Peter in this scene. The image of Peter sinking beneath the waves can perhaps speak to us in a variety of ways. We have all known our own versions of that sinking feeling. We start out on some journey, some enterprise, with great enthusiasm, and before long we reach the point where problems threaten to overwhelm us. When Peter reached that point, his immediate response was to pray. ‘Lord, save me!’ is the prayer of a desperate person. It is the prayer of all of us from time to time. Peter instinctively realized that he needed help from outside himself if his sinking was to be reversed, and he knew that such help could and would come from the Lord. In our own desperate situations, we can find ourselves resorting to prayer, the kind of prayer that Peter prayed, ‘Lord, save me!’. Even if we do not have the habit of regular prayer, we will reach for that prayer of Peter when we sense that we are falling beneath the waves. We can be assured that we will experience the same response from Jesus that Peter received, ‘Jesus put out his hand at once and held him’. The prayer of the desperate person does not go unanswered. When we cannot hold ourselves, the Lord will hold us if we reach out towards him.

 At the beginning of the gospel reading, we are given a picture of Jesus going up into the hills by himself to pray. While Jesus was praying among the hills, his disciples were struggling out on the lake. It was out of his prayer that Jesus came towards his struggling disciples. Jesus’ prayer did not remove him from his disciples; it made him more aware of their plight. Jesus was praying for his struggling disciples, and his prayer for them made him present to them. The risen Lord is praying for all of us. St Paul in his letter to the Romans speaks of Jesus as one who ‘is at the right hand of the Father, who, indeed, intercedes for us’. The Lord is always praying for us, and, out of that prayer for us he is always present to us, especially when we find ourselves struggling with a strong headwind, like the disciples in the boat. The Lord’s praying for us is always prior to our prayer to him. Before we cry out in prayer, ‘Lord, save me’, the Lord has been prayerfully present to us. Our prayer then is not a desperate effort to catch the attention of someone whose attention is elsewhere. Rather, it is an opening of ourselves to the Lord’s prayerful and attentive presence to us.

 The Lord who is present to us in the storms of life is, of course, equally present to us in the calm of life. In the first reading, Elijah experienced the Lord’s coming, not in the great wind or in the earthquake or in the fire, but, rather, in the sound of a gentle breeze. In a very hot climate, a gentle breeze can be wonderfully invigorating, just as strong wind at sea can be terrifying. The Lord is with us in those gentle, quiet times when we feel very much alive and at peace, just as much as in those disturbed times when we feel we are sinking. Our prayer will be different in those quiet and peaceful times. It will be like the prayer of the disciples in the gospel reading, after the storm had passed. We are told that they bowed down before him and said, ‘Truly, you are the Son of God’. The earlier desperate prayer of petition had given way to the quiet prayer of wonder and awe in God’s presence. That kind of prayer too can be part of all of our lives. It is the prayer of recognition, a form of prayer that very often needs no words at all.

And/Or

(iv) Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 We have all known discouragement in the course of our lives. We attempt something and it doesn’t work out for us. The efforts we put into something seems to give very little return. We hear a lot of negative comments about ourselves or what we are engaged in. For all sorts of reasons we can find ourselves loosing heart. When that happens, it can be a struggle to summon up the energy to engage with the day to day tasks of life. Elijah the prophet finds himself in that kind of a space in today’s first reading. He had been meeting with a great deal of opposition in the course of his work of proclaiming God’s word, in particular from the wife of the king of Israel, Jezebel. His reaction was to take flight and to head out into the wilderness. Eventually he came to the holy mountain, Mount Horeb. There he had an experience of the Lord, not in the wind or the earthquake or the fire, but in what today’s first reading calls a ‘gentle breeze’. It was in that moment of stillness that Elijah found the courage to head back into the work that the Lord had asked him to do. Very often the circumstances of our lives do not allow us to head off into the wilderness or towards some holy mountain. Yet, we can all find moments of stillness in our lives and where the Lord can speak to us. It is in such moments that we can bring our weakness to the Lord and experience his strength. We may find such moments of stillness in a church, or perhaps walking by ourselves along by the sea or in some park or other. These are moments when we can turn to the Lord in our hearts and say in the words of the response to today’s psalm, ‘Let us see, O Lord, your mercy and give us your saving help’.

 If Elijah was discouraged in the first reading, Paul expresses great sadness in the second reading. He is sad because his own people, the people of Israel, have not welcomed the gospel. Paul understood himself to be the apostles to the Gentiles, but his hope was always that the people of Israel would hear the gospel and accept Jesus as the long-awaited Jewish Messiah. However, by the time he wrote the letter to the Romans it was becoming clear to him that this was not likely to happen, at least to any great extent. He had a great sadness of heart about this, as he says in that reading. ‘my sorrow is so great, my mental anguish so endless’. We can often find ourselves sad for similar reasons to Paul. We want something for others that we know will serve them well and yet they do not seem open to it. We make a gift to someone, perhaps the gift of our friendship, and it is not received. We realize that for all our good intentions towards the person, we are helpless before the mysterious exercise of their freedom. If we care about the person deeply that can leave us sad. Parents can be saddened by their apparent inability to pass on to their children the gift of faith which has meant so much to them in their lives. As such times we simply have to live with that sense of helplessness that Paul experienced before his own people. We have to leave matters in God’s hands and trust that God will work in the lives of those we seem incapable of reaching in spite of our best efforts. This was Paul’s own eventual response to his frustration with his own people. He simply surrendered himself to the mysterious workings of God. ‘O the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God... how inscrutable his ways’.

 If Elijah is struggling with discouragement and Paul with sadness, in the gospel reading the disciples, and, in particular, Peter, are struggling with doubt, as powerful forces threaten to destroy them. The gospel reading says that the disciples in the boat were ‘struggling with a heavy sea, for there was a headwind’. Then as Peter started walking towards Jesus, ‘as soon as he felt the force of the wind, he began to sink’. Jesus addresses him as a man of little faith, and asks why he doubted. At certain times we too can sense that we are battling with a headwind. Like Peter, we may even have a sense of ourselves as sinking beneath the waves. Like Peter, we might feel as if we are losing our faith. In the gospel reading, the Lord came towards his battling disciples in the boat, and he put out his hand and held Peter as he was sinking. The gospel is telling us that when our faith seems weak, because of the storms and waves that threaten us, the Lord is there to keep our faith alive. When we cry out like Peter, ‘Lord! Save me!’, we can be sure of a response. A more elaborate version of Peter’s prayer is traditionally associated with Saint Brendan, ‘Help me, O God, for my boat is so small and your sea is so great’. That is a prayer we can all make to the Lord in the assurance that it will be heard.

And/Or

(v) Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 I always think it is a great shame to see churches closed during the day. Our own church is open every day until 6.00 pm at the earliest. Not a great deal happens in the church from mid morning onwards. Yet, people are constantly coming into the church to pray. They kneel or sit in silence; they light at candle at one of the shrines. The church is a place of peace and quiet in the midst of the busyness of life. To step into the parish church during the day is to step into a space where the rhythm of life is different. The Lord is present to us in the Blessed Sacrament which is contained within the church’s tabernacle. The silence of the church invites us to enter into that presence in a very personal way. It calls us to share our hearts with the Lord present to us in the Eucharist.

 I was reminded of that role the parish church plays in our lives by this morning’s first reading. Elijah fled to Mount Horeb from the murderous anger of Jezebel, the wife of the king of Israel. On the mountain, Elijah experienced a mighty wind, an earthquake and fire. These were traditional ways in which the Lord was understood to be present to his people. However, Elijah sensed that the Lord was not present to him in any of these extraordinary phenomena. There came the sound of a gentle breeze and it was in that sound that Elijah immediately sensed the presence of God. The ‘sound of a gentle breeze’ is often translated as ‘the sound of sheer silence’. In that gentle, wordless, sound that Elijah heard the Lord call out to him. He experienced God not in the loud statements of nature, but in nature’s silence.

 It can be very difficult to find spaces and times of silence in our busy world. It is even more difficult than it used to be because of the tremendous expansion of social networking. Yet, we all need silence in our lives, and as followers of the Lord, we need the kind of silence that is charged with the Lord’s presence, the kind of silence that you often find in a church. The silence of our own particular parish church during the day has a special quality to it. Our church is nearly one hundred and eighty years old. The generations of people who have prayed here over those years has given the silence a special prayerful quality. We sense the Lord is near to us in this place.

 During his short public ministry, Jesus was constantly approached by people in need. The day was never long enough for the work that came his way. Yet, he regularly sought out times and places of silence so that he could be nourished by his Father’s presence to him. This is what we find Jesus doing at the beginning of this morning’s gospel reading. He had just spent the day with a huge multitude in the wilderness. Afterwards, our gospel reading tells, he headed off by himself into the hills to pray. He sought out that sound of silence which touched Elijah so deeply, just as we might call into our parish church in the course of our day. Our time of silent prayer alone before the Lord does not cut us off from others; it does not turn us in on ourselves in any unhealthy way. Indeed, when we go to some silent place to prayer, people invariably flood into our hearts and minds. We find ourselves praying not only for ourselves but for others, lighting a candle for them perhaps. In a similar way, when Jesus went off by himself to pray in this morning’s gospel reading, he soon became aware of his disciples who at that very time were struggling in a boat on the lake, battling with a heavy sea and a headwind. As he opened himself to God’s presence on the mountain top, he became aware of his distressed disciples on the sea. Genuine prayer does not isolate us or remove us from others.

 Out of his prayer, Jesus came to his struggling disciples, reassuring them with his words, ‘Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid’, and keeping a firm grip on Peter as he felt himself slip beneath the waves. The disciples discovered that the Lord was present to them in the storm. The Lord is present to all of us in the storms of life as much as in the calm of life. Sometimes when the storms of life batter us, like Peter we focus on the storm and lose sight of the Lord and we sense ourselves going under. Yet, the Lord never loses sight of us and is always there to hold us when we need him. Our attentiveness to the Lord in the calm of life, in the sound of silence, will help us to recognize his presence more easily in the storms of life.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[lukeskywaker4ever]

Phillipa of Lancaster: Queen of Portugal

Philippa of Lancaster did not marry until she was twenty-six years old, quite late for a princess of her rank. Her father, John of Gaunt, arranged a splendid marriage for her in conjunction with an alliance with King Joao I of Portugal. Philippa and King Joao had a large, well-educated and accomplished family that came to be known as the “illustrious generation”.

Philippa was born on March 31, 1360 at Leicester Castle, the first child of her parents. Her father was John of Gaunt, one of the many sons born to King Edward III of England and his revered Queen, Philippa of Hainault. Princess Philippa was named after her grandmother. Philippa’s mother was Blanche, the daughter of Henry of Grosmont, Earl of Derby who distinguished himself at the naval Battle of Winchelsea in 1350 by saving John of Gaunt and his brother the Black Prince as their ship was sinking. Edward III awarded him by giving him the title of Duke of Lancaster. When Henry of Grosmont died of the plague ten days after receiving his title, Blanche inherited his wealth and John of Gaunt became the Duke of Lancaster.

Many of Grosmont’s castles went to Philippa’s parents. She was to spend a great deal of time at the Savoy Palace on the Thames in London as well as the castles of Hertford, Tutbury, Kenilworth and Bolingbroke. She had her own nurse named Maud. When she was three and a half, a sister named Elizabeth arrived. When Philippa was six years old, Geoffrey Chaucer married one of the Queen’s ladies, Philippa de Roet and began to work in the Lancaster household. Philippa de Roet had a sister named Katherine who also worked for the Queen. Katherine was to marry Sir Hugh Swynford and would come to have an immense influence on the life of Philippa of Lancaster. When Philippa was seven, her brother Henry was born.

John of Gaunt had gone to Spain to fight. While he was gone, the Black Death swept England. Blanche of Lancaster moved her children and household to Bolingbroke Castle in Lincolnshire in hopes of avoiding the disease. Unfortunately, Blanche succumbed to the Black Death on September 12, 1369. On the day she died, Katherine Swynford was there to visit Blanche. Katherine immediately took charge of Blanche’s three children. John of Gaunt returned to England in November. He had Blanche’s body transported to London and she was buried in St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Before she died, Blanche herself had begun to teach her daughters to read and write. Geoffrey Chaucer began to improve on these lessons. Chaucer had a deep interest in science, astrology and navigation. He even wrote a treatise on the astrolabe and taught Philippa how to use it. He also wrote an elegiac poem honoring Philippa’s mother. In addition to the teachings of Chaucer, she was taught poetry by Jean Froissart and philosophy and theology under John Wycliffe.

By 1371, Katherine Swynford had become the mistress of John of Gaunt. She was officially appointed governess to Philippa and her sister that same year. As governess, Katherine would have been responsible for teaching the girls courtly accomplishments and the ability to administer their own households. She probably taught them dancing, singing, conversation, good carriage and games. Many offers for marriage were considered for Philippa but nothing ever came of them.

John of Gaunt was acutely aware he would never inherit the crown of England so he sought a crown of his own. He contracted a marriage with the Infanta Costanza, the rightful heiress of the crown of Castile in September of 1371. From the day of his marriage he and Costanza were called the “King and Queen of Castile”. Within a year, Costanza had a daughter named Cataline.

In June of 1376, the Black Prince, heir to the throne died and in June of 1377, King Edward III died. The Black Prince’s son Richard became king at the age of ten. The Lancaster family was present at the coronation on July 16th. John of Gaunt was to take a large role in the government of the young king. That same summer, Philippa, her sister Elizabeth and her stepmother were all elected to the Order of the Garter and took part in the induction ceremony.

In 1381, the reign of Richard II was not going well and the people rose up against the government, with John of Gaunt being the object of their anger. An irate mob burned down his magnificent Savoy Palace in London. It was after this that John of Gaunt broke off relations with his mistress Katherine Swynford. Philippa lost her governess and significant change began in her life. She became closer to her stepmother and stepsister Cataline.

In 1385, the English Parliament approved the sending of an army to Portugal to support King Joao I and to enforce the claims of John of Gaunt to the kingdom of Castile. He took his family to await the arrival of the Portuguese fleet to transport the English army overseas. They sailed in July and arrived in Portugal and King Joao came to meet them. Joao and John admired each other immensely. Discussions ensued on the terms of the armies helping each other to attack Castile. They also discussed a marriage of Joao to one of Gaunt’s daughters. Most of the nobles were promoting Cataline as the wife of King Joao. But Cataline had ties to Portugal’s mortal enemy, Castile. Gaunt left the decision up to Joao to choose between Cataline and Philippa. He chose Philippa.

Philippa said goodbye to her family on November 10, 1386. She had to wait until papal dispensation arrived which it did on February 2, 1387. The marriage ceremony took place at Oporto on February 14th. The marriage was to be successful although Joao had two children from another woman called Inês Pires before he met Phillipa, after he married he was faithful to his wife, even after she died, he never re-married or had any other children, he stayed widower for 18 years until he died on August 14th 1433. He left to fight in Castille and Philippa proceeded to organize her court. She had an impact immediately. She was described as discreet, pious and modest, walking with her eyes lowered and her neck covered. She had a profound sense of duty. Many writers admired her behavior, if not her beauty. She was praised for her fair skin, blonde hair and blue eyes.

As far as possible, Philippa and Joao went everywhere together. They put forth the image of a loving and happy family. They agreed to name their first born child a Portuguese name if it were a boy and an English name if it was a girl and then alternate names, irrespective of sex. Their first child, born in 1388 was named Blanche after Philippa’s mother. They are recorded as having a total of eight children of which six survived childhood. These were the “illustrious generation”.

Edward Duarte was born in 1391. He was a writer and intellectual who succeeded his father as King. Peter was born in 1392. He was the first Duke of Coimbra and a well-traveled man who served as Regent during the minority of his nephew Afonso V. Henry the Navigator was born in 1394. He became the first Duke of Viseu and guided Portugal through the great era of The Discoveries. Isabella was born in 1397. She married Philip III, Duke of Burgundy and was one of the most powerful and admired women in Europe. John was born in 1400 and became the Constable of Portugal. The final child, Ferdinand, was born in 1402. He was known as the “Saint Prince” and died as a prisoner of the Moors.

Philippa supervised the education of all her children and Joao taught them riding, hunting, hawking and the art of the tiltyard. Philippa made an effort to be a friend to the common people and no part of the kingdom was too small for her to visit. Joao relied on her to administer his kingdom when he was away. In 1396, John of Gaunt finally married Katherine Swynford and their children were legitimized. In February of 1399, John of Gaunt died and Philippa traveled to England for the funeral. In September of that same year, Philippa’s brother deposed King Richard II and became King Henry IV. In August of 1400, King Joao was elected to the Order of the Garter, probably as a reward for being one of the first to recognize Henry as King of England.

The middle years of Joao’s reign were years of consolidation and growing prosperity for Portugal. In 1409, Philippa and Joao visited England. Peace was concluded with Castile in 1411. Philippa began to encourage her husband to act against the Moors. Joao was inspired to attack the fortified town of Ceuta, across from Gibraltar on the African continent. He discussed it with his sons and they all agreed to the expedition.

Ships were being readied to carry the troops in the hot summer of 1415 when plague broke out in Lisbon and Oporto. Philippa had succumbed to the disease. Joao had Philippa moved to the convent of Odivelas, high in the hills to the north of Lisbon in hopes she might recover. Philippa had three jeweled swords made. Her most cherished wish was for her husband to knight her three elder sons in her presence. She soon realized this wouldn’t happen. She made Joao promise he would knight them and presented the swords to her sons herself. She blessed them all. She called Isabel to her side. Isabel kissed her mother’s hands and received her blessing. The King arrived and sat by her side. On July 18, 1415, Philippa died at the age of 55. She was the first and only English Queen of Portugal.

Because of the extreme heat, the children advised that Philippa be buried immediately and secretly. She was temporarily buried in the convent of Odivelas and a funeral was held the next day. The whole Portuguese nation mourned their Queen. Joao and his sons sailed to Ceuta and easily conquered the town.

#philippa of lancaster #queen of portugal #king john i of portugal

[grind-pantera]

Camera Shy. [ John Deacon Oneshot ].

Look at me mom, no self control!!!

Title: Camera Shy. Pairing: John Deacon x Reader. Words: 1,727. Rating: K. [ Complete and utter flUFF ]. Summary: John loves to take pictures of you, but you very seldom take any of him. You finally mention it and he gives in, letting you take a shot of him.

READ IT ON MY AO3.

It’s a warm 1971 day, a breeze rolling in and shuddering through your body and reminding you that yes, it is the summer time but there’s always the possibility of a cold rain shower later in the afternoon as you perch yourself on the grass, looking up at John who bent down on one knee in front of you, eager now more than you had seen him in a while. Well, this was the first time you actually had seen him in a while, after all, Queen was picking up, he was spending more time with the guys, touring, recording, drawing up bigger and better plans for the bands future, than he was with you. Which, ultimately you understood. It just made moments like this--- the odd off days when he wasn’t needed in the studio or needed by the rest of Queen for anything, that you cherished more than before because it allowed the two of you to be a conventional couple, next to each other, rather than aimlessly placed on two different continents while he played to thousands of people and you were left to go about your daily life as if he were still there, crinkly eyed smile and all to greet you when you got home. Gazing up at him through the light of the sun, you raised a hand to cover your eyes and give you some shade as John said, “The sun is hitting you just right.” But, his words didn’t seem to matter. You were so preoccupied swooning at the man you had so luckily nabbed and were able to call your own. So beautiful, you think to yourself as his thick, brown hair softly cascaded down to his shoulders, some of it shrouding your view of his face as he was leaning so intently into the eyepiece of the camera, shoulders hunching in on themselves as he rests his elbow onto his knee, getting into a proper position to take a stunning photo of you lounging.

“I need this picture, (Name).” John has got his eye to the eyepiece of his camera, one eye closed, nose crinkled cutely and a charming half-grin spread across his cheeks as he tells you to flash a smile. “Just one more,” He urges you forward, “I promise, this is the last one for today and then I will,” You watched the bassist adjust a knob on the camera, almost as if it were second nature to John. But, you knew better--- it was his bass that was second nature, photography, or in his mind just taking pictures of you in the most mundane of moments, came third in nature. “Then I will put the camera down and look at you with my own eyes instead. Just smile for me.” You do smile for him– it’s faux, unnatural and you were posing for it, but John still thinks you’re one of the most beautiful things he’s ever laid sights on as the camera is lightly rested on the ground beside him, the brunette leaning in and pressing his lips against your cheek sweetly. “Thank you. Now I’ve got a picture of you really cheesing it up for the camera.”

“It was my pleasure to cheese it for you, Deaks.” You grin and turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss as he sits down beside you, grunting as he lands on the hard ground before falling onto his forearms and tilting his head back. There’s a moment or two of silence between John and yourself before you take a leap of faith and ask him softly while your fingertips lightly rest on his chest, spidering their way along the buttons on his shirt, “Why do you never let me take any pictures of you, Deaky?”

“I’m camera shy.” You tilted your head at that reply and pucker your lips at the speed of which he gave it to you. Understandable. Even with Queen he liked to stay out of the center of attention and off to the side like some sort of blur. But, even though he strove to do that and stay out of the limelight, you only had eyes for him and made it abundantly clear as you trickled your touch up, caressing his neck tenderly before allowing your fingers to expand along his cheek and jawline, holding his face. 

“One picture, for me?” 

You almost heard him groan next to you, but it came out more as a sigh than anything. Turning his head to the side, he looked down at his camera and contemplated his options. His very, very limited options. John didn’t like to say no to you and though you wouldn’t press if he did say no at this particular moment, he would feel guilty that he denied you such a simple pleasure as taking his photo. You, still holding onto the side of his face lightly coaxed him into look back at you, John’s usually pouty lips parting as he gazed into your eyes for a split second before nodding carelessly, his wall of brown hair following that movement. He’s not going to know how it turns out until he gets it developed, so maybe if he doesn’t look that great, he can toss it out before bringing the rest of the pictures to you so the two of you can look together with the excuse of ‘it was very blurry, I’m sure you didn’t want that’. That seemed like a plan, he figured and held out his camera for you to take. “One picture, nothing more, (Name). I will smash the film if there’s more than one picture of me on there.”

The smile that you give him is extraordinary, it’s gentle and it’s… Well… It’s perfect…. Just like you, he thinks to himself and lays back on his forearms as you play around with the camera a bit, figuring out the calibrations needed as you lightly place yourself onto his lap. Caution was so swept away when you straddle your boyfriend, not caring that you were in a public park as you were desperate to get the perfect picture of John. He gave you one chance and you weren’t going to waist it. A cheeky grin is rolling onto your cheeks as he reaches down and grabs your hips to keep you steady while you look into the eye piece. “Really, in my lap? In public, love? Never thought you to be into that sort of---”

Heat rushed across your cheeks as you lightly pat his chest, falsely offended that he was even be thinking that. But, it was hard not to. Even for you, the dirty image did run across your mind vividly as your legs readjusted themselves so you were more comfortably seated on him. John remained on his forearms, laying back but not completely. Almost as if he were asking for you to come straddle him, asking you to sit on his lap, lean in and give him one of those filthy kisses where you dived right into his mouth with your tongue. That would make him want to take a picture, he was sure. “A photographer’s got to do what a photographer’s got to do, right?” John couldn’t argue with that logic. “To get the perfect pose from the perfect muse.”

“Ah, you’re pushing it. You’re meant to flatter me as a model, not flirt with me.” “Tell me the difference.”

“Oh,” He squeaked in a high pitched tone of voice, very obviously mocking you. Imitations were not his thing, you quickly realized as he continued, “Deaky, you’re so perfect, so pretty, wow, I think I’ll just lean down and kiss you.” Covering your mouth with one hand, you leaned the camera against your chest and laughed. “Was that supposed to be me?”

“Flirting, yes.” He laughed along side with you, throwing his head back while doing so. You were tempted in that moment to take a picture then, but his face wouldn’t be in focus enough for you to enjoy the picture once it was developed. You wanted a picture of him, face forward with that classic Deaky smile, tooth gap on display, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, eyes crinkling, eyebrows raised, mouth almost sore from smiling. That was your favorite expression of his, you realized when you were falling in love. The way he smiled--- the way it formed against his rather gentle features. While some people smiled with just their mouths, John smiled with his entire face and he beamed like a ray of sunlight.

“I’m a smooth talker.” You wiggled your eyebrows cutely and raised the camera once again to get ready to snap a photo at any given moment. “I’m glad I’ve got that on my side because I am shitty as a photographer.”

“I can give you lessons.”

“Free?”

“Hm…” John balled his face up and shook his head playfully, “I’ll charge you, one kiss per shot. Sound fair?” He smiled then, but not the sort of smile you were expecting. This was the relaxed smile that he gave you when the two of you were in bed together in the wee hours of the morning, just basking in the glow of being next to one another. The sort of smile he’d give you after having sex, lazy and uninterrupted of any emotion other than complete and utter love. You were breathless, your pointer finger falling and snapping a picture right then and there. That’s what you wanted. You wanted no poses, no unnecessarily prompted smiles by saying ‘smile for me’. You wanted a natural picture of John, something you could look at while he was on tour and remember when you took it, how you felt when you were taking it and how you wanted to take another one. And another, just for safekeeping.

“I’d charge more than that,” Putting the camera down lightly besides the two of you, you finally closed in on John’s face and pressed your lips against his. Nothing overtly sensual or sexual, just a mild, run-of-the-mill sort of kiss that still managed to get both of your hearts racing. “Two,” You peppered your lips onto his, barely but still managed to catch the breathless way he chased after your lips, “three kisses per shot sounds more adequate for you sharing your skills with me…”

//PERMANENT QUEEN TAG LIST// ( if you want to be added, send me a message ): @flyforeverfree @adonais @brianandthemays @attatchment-issues @wine-and-bread @fixedonroger @filmvinyls @p-eaach-es @bucket-of-kittens @im-just-me-darling @wonderless-screwup @instantezra @rvndyscousegit @queensavedmylife@sleepretreat @dove-turned-destroyer @rogers-wristbands @brianmay-rogertaylor @annistrashbin @that70skiwi @storm-howlett @pablo-thiccasso @chonkyhambs @obsessedwithrogertaylor @truthdaze @perriwiinkle @benhardyownsmyass @spacedeacon @heartsforhoran @queenattheopera

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon imagine #queen #Bohemian Rhapsody #joe mazzello #emmy writes #fanfiction #fanfic

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 24

POV: John Deacon x reader; this is a Roger chapter, FYI.

Notes: Masterlist? We have one! Tag list? Got that covered, too. Sorry it took so long for this chapter! Life, you know?

Warnings: idk philosophy?

Abstract: My new purple shoes...

----------------------------

What is color? Roger knew there was some schmaltzy science behind it. No matter how many times it was explained to him, color wasn’t anything scientific, and it never would be. Those kinds of definitions were too rigid. He was instinctively suspicious of anything or anyone lacking feeling, and clear-cut scientific definitions were at the forefront of his misgivings. It was probably why he made such a poor biologist himself; not that he wasn’t smart enough for it; no, rather, he didn’t trust anything that painted the world in such black and white terms. He didn’t trust anything that was merely black and white. Black and white.

He just didn’t trust it.

Wouldn’t trust it.

Couldn’t.

For Roger, color was art, feeling, expression. For Roger, color was life. Color was living. It was inherently alive. You couldn’t look at a rose and think it wasn’t alive, as bursting with it as it was the color red. You couldn’t think of a single color and not link it to a specific memory. For Roger, he couldn’t think of the color orange without thinking of a dress his mother wore when he had been a child, which led him to the shape of her hands, and how she always smelled of vanilla, and how she would bring him cookies while he did his homework, and would always help him prank his father. None of this had to do with the color orange; and yet, all of it had to do with his memory of the color orange. So, in a sense, when he thought of color being life, what he meant was that color made up the interior of our memories like our words make up the interior of books. Each color had a feeling, and those feelings linked to whatever memories those colors inhibited for each of us. It was life. Color was life.

Color was emotions.

Color was his emotions.

Color was memory.

Color was the physical embodiment of the metaphorical heart. Of his heart. Not the heart muscle, no; but the heart we associate with love, with falling in love, with passion, with life, with exploration.

Color was love.

Color was falling in love.

Color was falling…

Color was his lifeblood. His eyesight had always been sub-par. Despite any qualms, Roger saw with his heart. He trusted his heart above all. It was an intuitive trust built on no scientific facts, or calculated numbers. It boiled down to a faith in himself; Roger believed in himself. Trusting himself, and his excessively accurate and discerning perceptions had always been easy and right. Sight had nothing to do with seeing, but it had everything to do with feeling; sight was interpretation, interrogation, and inclination. Color and texture were merely the tools of predilection and empathy linked entirely to the sensation we call seeing. Color and texture were his gateway into seeing, which he did with his heart and his eyes, which for Roger, were one the same. Those two aspects ruled his heart, and he let them sway him in whatever direction they’d take him.

Color and texture made him the clotheshorse he had become when unlimited funds cascaded his way. Everything needed to look good and feel good; after all, when you had such a flawless canvas to accessorize, you might as well as use the best to adorn it. Texture was the physical embodiment of feeling good. What felt good made him feel good. It was as simple as that. This, however, caused most people to mistakenly assume he was a creature of the surface pursuits, of banal Epicureanism, of being dastardly shallow. This couldn’t be farther from the truth; Roger swam deeply into people, their desires, and their motivations, and because he could do this, he found himself happily succumbing to the conclusion that everyone was beautiful. Roger would try anything once; it was just the kind of man he was. Just because he surrounded himself with beautiful objects, objects of color and light, didn’t mean he did the same with people; to him, everyone was beautiful, everyone glowed with colors, memories and feelings of their own, unique to them and formed from a core of colors, sculpted in the past, all wrapped up in one scrumptious vessel, which was entirely knowable if you had the charm to whisk the colors, to whisk the words from somebody; if you could do this, you could know them in totality.

For Roger, the deeper he had to search for your beauty, the harder he had to work to acquire it, the more intrigued and interested he would be; not that he’d drop you the second he found your shining core, but that his interest was driven by one’s ability to keep him guessing, in suspense, in the chase. The chase could last forever, with the right partner. Beauty started outwardly and rarely would contain itself to those boundaries. The stronger your inner beauty was, he was convinced it would spill out of a person like an overflowing well. Un-containable, unapologetic, inconsolable.

Inner beauty made him full.

Inner beauty was color.

Inner beauty was the core of all emotions.

Inner beauty was what Roger did his best to hide from the world; that was the consecrated ground he attempted to keep for himself alone. Perhaps that was why he cherished it in others so much, and was always looking for it, hoping you’d surprise him with inescapable beauty. And, well, the inherent chase inner beauty brought to the game was an insurmountable attraction for him. Roger was always playing games. And the chase was one of his favorites.

The chase was immediacy.

The chase was color.

The chase was feelings.

The chase was his heart; it presented the secret desires of a person better than asking them, at times. People could lie; but Roger didn’t think memories could. Lies were words, facts, but perverted facts. Memories had little to do with facts and everything to do with feelings and impressions. Memories were personal, subjective, kernels of emotions painted in colors. Chasing the truth was a pointless waste of time; it was unobtainable for Roger; but chasing memories, was much more fascinating, fun, and entirely more telling than facts.

Inner beauty was worth the chase.

Sex was worth the chase.

Harmonic memories were worth the chase.

Really, anything was worth the chase for Roger.

Besides people and their hidden emotions, which would always be the sexist thing about a person for Roger, he also enjoyed chasing music and cars. Both of these were also inextricably connected to Roger’s emotional core and needs. If color—emotions—were Roger’s lifeblood, music was his livelihood. In music, Roger gave color to the world. It was through this medium he shared his heart most freely. It is easy to share your heart when you can hide it behind art. Look at this shiny trinket, it might contain my heart, but focus on the glowing parts, and ignore the truth. It was just, as it always was, another game. A game of misdirection.

Misdirection was the flip-side of denial. For you typical did one to others and one to yourself, and Roger was living in both, inflicting both upon himself simultaneously. He was in denial about his heart, and his misdirection for himself was his denial, and his denial was color.

And he tried to not think about her.

And colors didn’t exist anymore.

And he felt empty.

Roger didn’t know what time it was. Did it matter anymore? Probably not. Blimey. Time was just elongated memory, wasn’t it? Memory was her. Memory was her.

Memory was her.

But he didn’t want those memories anymore. He wasn’t completely sure what day it was, to be completely honest. To be completely candid, for he was a transparent fellow if there ever was one, he wasn’t sure he cared he didn’t know what day it was. He should care, he knew that at least. He should care about what time it was and when it was on the timeline of the week. But he just didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

I have obligations, he thought, mainly that horrid dinner about the disaster trash that is the album they’re all writing. He didn’t want to think about it. And he didn’t want to think about her.

Roger rolled over in bed.

At least he thought it was his bed. It smelled like his bed. It felt like his bed. The pillows all had the same weights he remembered from before? The heavy damask blankets were in the same patterns he recalled picking out. This had to be his bed. And yet...

And yet.

All of the coverings were grey.

They hadn’t been before. Had they?

No. They hadn’t been.

This isn’t right, Roger thought. He reached a shaking hand past his actual glasses (they had a thin layer on dust on them) and flicked on a sleek lamp resting on the bedside table. The light flashed on.

He turned it off again.

Then he turned it on again. The lighting change in the room was almost imperceptible. The room seemed brighter? Yes. Definitely brighter.

He turned the light off again.

It made no sense. He’d rather not see it.

Everything was greys.

Everything was blacks.

Everything was whites.

He sat up in bed. He looked at the lamp distrustfully.

He turned it on again. Roger ripped the futuristic-looking lamp from the table, unscrewed the light-bulb from it, and flung it across the bedroom. The bulb hit a seven-foot tall sculpture that could be best described as if Kandinsky had ever made a statue, this is what he would have made: all prismatic shapes, sublime chaos, and whirling colors all held together by lines and light. It used to be his prized possession; however, now, it felt like it was screaming at him from across the room. Maybe it was, he thought. Maybe it was moving towards him right now. Screaming. In black and white.

He held the lamp up, more useless now than ever, like a sword at the sculpture.

Of course, it’s not moving, he thought, laughing to himself.

Roger hurled the lamp across the room, just to be safe. What use was light when there was no color, he moaned.

He went over to his bay-window, and felt the familiar warmth of sunlight; light was streaming in, he figured, and it was day. It smelled like day. He sat at his vanity. He turned on the Tiffany lamp.

Nothing really happened. Brightness, but no color. He picked up the rare lamp, thought about tossing it out the third story window, and settled for putting it in the closet. He kept his eyes closed while doing so; he couldn’t bring himself to look at his clothes.

He sat back down at the vanity that used to be his favorite color, and began pulling open its drawers. He began taking out pair after pair of sunglasses. He had quite the prolific collection. Every color, every shape imaginable resided in his collection. All perfectly matching his prescription, even. Just so he’d never have to wear his actual glasses.

Her coat was on the chair. He could feel it. Her black fur coat. He stood up again, and put it in the closet next to the lamp, on the top shelf. He resumed his seat, he picked up the first pair of tinted sunglasses, and he put them on. Everything was darker, but not colored.

He put the pair back on the table, and he tried the next pair.

And everything was sharper, but not colored. He removed that pair, placed it upon the table.

Roger picked up the next pair, shoved it on his face, opened his eyes, and yelled. He ripped the glasses off, and slammed them on to the vanity. And everything was removed from time.

From memory.

From color.

From heart.

Breathing deeply, shakily, he picked up the next pair, and put it on.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

Everything was grey.

He picked up the next pair--

He picked up the next pair--

He picked up the next pair--

He picked up--

An arm grabbed him, suddenly, spun him around, and Brian May said, “Rog, what in bloody hell are you doing!?”

--------------------

Tag List:  @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love@partydulce@richiethotzierz@sophierobisonartfoundationblr@psychostarkid@teathymewithben@smittyjaws@just-ladyme@botinstqueen @mydogisthebest@little-welsh-wonder@maxjesty@deakysdiscos@yourealegendroger@marvellouspengwing@molethemollie@deakysgirl@arrowswithwifi@tardisgrump

#john deacon x reader #Roger Taylor #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy #brian may #gwilym lee #bohemian rhapsody #queen #queen x reader

[pamphletstoinspire]

Spiritual Powerhouse: Mary’s Rosary

The Rosary is principally composed of the Prayer of Christ, the Our Father, and the Angelic Salutation, the Hail Mary. In his 2002 apostolic letter Rosarium Virginis Mariae (On the Most Holy Rosary), Pope John Paul II develops this dynamic further:

The Rosary of the Virgin Mary, which gradually took form in the second millennium under the guidance of the Spirit of God, is a prayer loved by countless Saints and encouraged by the Magisterium. Simple yet profound, it still remains, at the dawn of this third millennium, a prayer of great significance destined to bring forth a harvest of holiness. It blends easily into the spiritual journey of the Christian life, which, after two thousand years, has lost none of the freshness of its beginning and feels drawn by the Spirit of God to “set out into the deep” (duc in altum!) in order once more to proclaim, and even cry out, before the world that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior, “the way, and the truth and the life” (Jn 14:6), “the goal of human history and the point on which the desires of history and civilization turn.”

The Rosary, though clearly Marian in character, is at heart a Christocentric prayer. In the sobriety of its elements, it has all the depth of the Gospel message in its entirety, of which it can be said to be a compendium. It is an echo of the prayer of Mary, her perennial Magnificat for the work of redemptive Incarnation, which began in her virginal womb. With the Rosary, the Christian people sits at the school of Mary and is led to contemplate the beauty of the face of Christ and to experience the depths of his love. Through the Rosary, the faithful receive abundant grace, as though from the very hands of the Mother of the Redeemer. (Rosarium Virginis Mariae, n. 1)

I ardently testify that the Rosary is a spiritual powerhouse of prayer. Twenty-three years ago I had a profound conversion of heart through the Rosary, a reversion to the practice of the faith after seven years of spiritual mediocrity with little or no prayer. When I took up praying the Rosary it unlocked my mind and heart to an authentic experience of Jesus. The Rosary was an instrument of inner healing that helped reorient my mind to Christ so that I could leave behind the worldliness I had chosen for a time. When I began praying the Rosary daily for serious family situations, the fruit was miraculous in every case.

Never did the Rosary fail as intercessory prayer for my family as we went through a long period of intense suffering. Sometimes, it would take a year of praying the Rosary for a particular intention, but in the end the grace would come for every trial. Through the Rosary, peace and courage enabled me to carry my cross not with bitterness but rather abandonment to God. My family suffered a very heavy cross for many years but instead of being crushed by its weight, Jesus and Mary helped me trust that God would bring great good out of every suffering that is united to His Passion. The greatest solace came when I contemplated the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary before the Blessed Sacrament. I would see that my suffering, seemingly so great, was actually small in comparison with the Lord’s Passion. I was not crushed but transformed by suffering. But I needed an arsenal of prayer: the Mass, Holy Hours (sometimes many hours before the Tabernacle) and the Rosary (prayed as often as possible). Mary taught me to keep my eyes on Christ by meditating on the mysteries of the Rosary, pondering the Lord’s life, death and resurrection. There is not enough room here to share all the miraculousstories that came to our family through the prayers of the Rosary!

Pope John Paul II was often seen and pictured with the Rosary in his hand. I wonder how many thousands of Rosaries he gave to the faithful who came to his papal audiences? I know many people who cherish the Rosary he gave to them! The Polish Pope continues, writing from the heart about the personal impact of the Rosary and how it ties in with his pontificate:

I myself have often encouraged the frequent recitation of the Rosary. From my youthful years this prayer has held an important place in my spiritual life. I was powerfully reminded of this during my recent visit to Poland, and in particular at the Shrine of Kalwaria. The rosary has accompanied me in moments of joy and in moments of difficulty. To it I have entrusted any number of concerns; in it I have always found comfort. Twenty-four years ago, 29 October 1978, scarcely two weeks after my election to the See of Peter, I frankly admitted: ‘The Rosary is my favorite prayer. A marvelous prayer! Marvelous in its simplicity and its depth!… Against the background of the words Ave Maria the principal events of the life of Jesus Christ pass before the eyes of the soul. They take shape in the complete series of the joyful, sorrowful, and glorious mysteries, and they put us in living communion with Jesus through—we might say—the heart of his Mother. At the same time our hearts can embrace in the decades of the Rosary all the events that make up the lives of individuals, families, nations, the Church, and all mankind; our personal concerns and those of our neighbor, especially those who are closest to us, who are dearest to us. Thus the simple prayers of the Rosary mark the rhythm of human life.”

…How many graces have I received in these from the Blessed Virgin through the Rosary: Magnificat anima mea Dominum! I wish to lift up my thanks to the Lord in the words of his Most Holy Mother, under whose protection I have placed my Petrine ministry: Totus Tuus!” (Rosarium Virginis Mariae, n. 2)

Pope John Paul II’s devotion to the rosary was deep and influential, and in 2005 was personally witnessed in a powerful way by none other than Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, who we know today as Pope Francis:

If I remember well it was 1985. One evening I went to recite the Holy Rosary that was being led by the Holy Father. He was in front of everybody, on his knees. The group was numerous; I saw the Holy Father from the back and, little by little, I got lost in prayer. I was not alone: I was praying in the middle of the people of God to which I and all those there belonged, led by our Pastor.

In the middle of the prayer I became distracted, looking at the figure of the Pope: his pity, his devotion was a witness. As the time drifted away, and I began to imagine the young priest, the seminarian, the poet, the worker, the child from Wadowice… in the same position in which knelt at that moment, reciting Ave Maria after Ave Maria. His witness struck me. I felt that this man, chosen to lead the Church, was following a path up to his Mother in the sky, a path set out on from his childhood. And I became aware of the density of the words of the Mother of Guadalupe to Saint Juan Diego: “Don’t be afraid, am I not perhaps your mother?” I understood the presence of Mary in the life of the Pope.

That testimony did not get forgotten in an instant. From that time on I have recited the fifteen mysteries of the Rosary every day.

Mary, pray for us sinners who have recourse to you. Amen.

BY: KATHLEEN BECKMAN

From: https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/

#spiritual powerhouse #mary's rosary

[prophesyr]

WEEK ONE: CREATION, OCTOBER 4TH   /   if good things come to those who wait, but all good things must come to an end, where do we find our purpose if not in faith?           word count :   1,496           trigger warnings :   violence, language, gendered slurs.

          HOPE COUNTY—a place so isolated that its collective population still looks the thread count of a cheap pillowcase. Settled between the heights of the Whitetails, the winding Henbane, and the vast scape of Holland Valley ;  this place is exactly as its name states. It resembles true  h o p e . Scattered though it may be, it still holds an unmatched strength in its fists and its hearts.           It was not with ease that the Project could integrate among the existing members of the community, but Hope was as good a place as any to start. With the offer of help from the Seeds and their extensive family, the county did welcome them. What they had was mutualistic. In exchange for free labor and access to an arsenal they’d only seen in their dreams, Montana’s rural citizens offered food, temporary housing, and their understanding.           ‘   —It’s on the house,   ‘     Gary Fairgrave once told Joseph over a cup of coffee. Falls End was small, sure, not much more to speak of than its church and bar. What they lacked in commodity, they made up for in kindness.           Among the generous was Pastor Jerome Jeffries, a weary man who still found a way to hold his head high after all which he had seen. Come the physical war of their faulty nation or the unseen war fo the human SOUL, struggling to find salvation, Jerome knew it all. Just as he could sling banter with Jacob, he found his place  e a s i l y  at Joseph’s side as they both lost themselves in the profound debate on what it meant to see a life beyond the end.           If the end would ever come, as Jerome always said, never out of spite.           No one knew the same creation, the same GOD. And no more than that should they be expected to shake hands and admit that either one of them could be wrong. Belief is only a part of it. Their shared faith is what formed that bond, that friendship Joseph would cherish long after Collapse.           Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jerome allowed the Project the use of his church. The congregation  d w a r f e d  his own, soon taking up too much space to be held within those walls. It drew attention ;  how could it not? Before long, partisans of the Catholic faith began to show up in attendance to the sermons of both. The Project grew every day—larger, stronger, louder. The noise they made was a glorification which overwhelmed the town. A few short months later, and they had to move again.           Eden’s Convent was quaint. It held twice as many and those who could not fit within his chapel were still granted the space and privacy to shout praises to their hearts’ content without disrupting daily life. Joseph loved it for its VIEWS. Perched in the side of one of the many hills, it overlooked the geothermal springs to the South. To its East, the Henbane flowed freely beneath the looming mountains. On a clear day, the Whitetails could be made out in the distance, a jagged line of violet and amber against the sun and sky. And to its West stood the gradual central slope which overlooked all of Hope County.           There, would someday stand Joseph’s Word.           In the beginning, only a hut of a church stood in its place—another small piece of the region that the Project could visit and privately converse with whichever Almighty they in which believed, FACE TO FACE under the stars. Here, they could be closer to some form of Heaven.           Perhaps that’s what started the initial fight. The land belonged to the Project. Thanks to John, a handful of properties already did. What they built on it was their own business, just as the folks of Hope County stressed about their own rights, but that was an argument which seldom worked once word leaked out about what was being built there.           A MONUMENT LIKE NO OTHER. They planned to plant the cross of Eden’s Gate atop that mountain, large enough that it could be seen from every corner of the county. If the Christians could do it to romanticize and immortalize the crucifixion of their savior, a peaceful community could have something to gaze upon in the loneliest depths of life. But it was too much. Between the shift from one congregation to the next, the shameless ruckus they made in the name of the coming Collapse, the choice to call their own leader The Father…           Something was destined to break. And when it did, it splintered.           Just as any other sermon, he stood before his congregation, arms outstretched beneath the morning sun. They sang with him, rejoiced with him, and even wept with him. His children LOVED him, and how he loved them in return. He knew each by name and the sins which they carried, the ones they washed away in the river.           This man, of course, he knew as well. But not for the things he had confessed, no. For the things he would never admit. For the way his son, Nick, hid his face.           Joseph welcomed him forward. No matter the sin, no matter how the Father’s own past rose within him in a bitter wave of RESENTMENT, anyone can be forgiven.     ‘   You are not beyond saving,   ‘     Joseph told only him. Both hands rested upon the man’s shoulders.           The man smiled, teeth bared like a wild animal. His eyes were dry and bloodshot and distant. Before the congregation, he swayed in the father’s grasp, chuckling to himself, and he mused for the gathering to hear,     ‘   You really think I need saving?   ‘     He reeled for a moment, found his balance.           And he  s p i t . In the face of the Father and before all who cared to see, Rye spit.           There was no collective gasp in shock, but a nearly instantaneous uproar from the crowd. Every voice raised in disdain. They threw back his threats and slander, and one or two grabbed for the man’s clothes as Jacob dragged him away.           ‘   Fuck you and this goddamn cult,   ’     Rye screamed until his face turned red.     ‘   You can lie and swindle your way into these dumbfucks’ pockets, but you’n keep your goddamn Project pussies out of this community. You come into where I drink? Where I SHIT? Your “god” is a fuckin’ fraud, just like the rest of ‘em.   ‘           The Father’s children cursed in return. They rushed after him. A few left him bruised and bloody, and Joseph, his face still dripping, stood in shock.           After that, Jacob pushed for security.     ‘   All it takes is one asshole,   ‘     he tried to rationalize.           Joseph argued,     ’   My church is open to anyone who wants in.   ‘     This was not their first disagreement, and it was far from their last. Ultimately, the Father would win out.           With his congregation on edge, it was three months before things began to settle again. With the threat of old man Rye in the wind, the worst Joseph had seen was the strain in his visits with Jerome. It was just as well ;  the pastor had enough on his plate without Joseph’s help. Eden’s Convent once again became a place of tranquility, where one could feel the presence of something greater than the here and now. His family once again smiled as though they had never known pain.           They joked and played like school children, even as they helped clean the church after his Wednesday sermon. Laughter drifted on the Henbane breeze that night, carried out beneath the stars to  d a n c e  among them. One by one, his family excused themselves. A restful and dream-filled sleep called. The last was one of his most FAITHFUL, an older woman by the name of Ginger. She came from a past where a black eye meant she did something to deserve it, and miles she has traveled to work through that.           ‘   Go home,   ‘     Joseph beseeched.     ‘   Get some rest. I can handle it from here.   ‘           She nodded and hugged him tight around his waist.     ‘   You know I love you, don’t you Father?   ‘     Her voice was muffled against his vest and the curve of his arm as he returned her embrace.           A smile could be heard within his words, bright as the twisting Milky Way above,     ‘   Of course. You have already MORE than proven that.   ‘           Her shoulders shifted ;  she was sobbing.     ‘   I’m... I’m so sorry, Father.   ‘           There was no chance granted for him to ask what she had done. The pain felt like a pinch at first, before descending into a throbbing burn. Once the knife pulled from his side and sunk in again just two inches lower, he felt both nothing and everything. She took the knife with her—that much he remembered with clarity, alongside the feeling of betrayal and the realization that Jacob had  a l w a y s  been right.           If Hope County could no longer coexist, SO BE IT.

#hope county gothic 2018 #joseph seed #far cry 5 #; okay to reblog #*& look out at the world on fire ; look at the people frozen in fear — ( indepth. )

[updcbc]

June 3, 2018 - “Jesus and a Royal Official” John 4:43-54

Click KEEP READING to read the full sermon.

Introduction

Our faith in God blooms out of our deep crisis in life. A life crisis is a divine appointment for us to embrace the gospel of Christ and dwell in his all-sufficient grace. In our pain we come to our senses in our need of God. In our grief we nurture the solidarity amongst us. In our sorrows we become more human and humane. In embracing the cross of Christ we learn to give more of ourselves for our neighbors and become healer of wounded souls. If crisis strikes our home we share the pain with every member of the family. We affirm our need for one another as we rest upon the grace of God. We cherish our vision of God and nurture our divine calling. In befriending any given crisis in life we allow God to transform us in the image of our Lord Jesus Christ.

When Jesus came down from heaven to earth, he revealed his glory full of grace and truth. In the fullness of his grace he came to save sinners. In the fullness of his truth he made himself known to the world. It was John the Baptist who introduced Jesus as the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Anchored upon this divine truth of the redemptive grace of God, Apostle John testified that those who believe in Jesus Christ receive the bountiful blessing of God. The greatest blessing in life is to know Jesus Christ as our God, Savior and Lord. Jesus is the eternal God the Son who became fully human. He alone is the Savior of humankind. And he is the sovereign Lord of all. Anyone who yields his life to him finds the wholesome rest and fullness of life.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is no respecter of persons. He welcomes anyone who comes to him in faith, humility and sincerity. Such is the case of a Roman royal official. He made a humble pleading to Jesus to heal his son (Jn. 4:43-50). Jesus honored his petition (4:51-52). And the royal official and his household believed in Jesus Christ (4:53-54).

A. The Petition of a Nobleman (4:43-50)

In the gospel narrative written by John the Beloved, he intentionally recorded that the miracles of Jesus which addressed particular crises in life served as signs in revealing Jesus Christ as the Son of God so that whoever believes in him will have eternal life (Jn. 20:31). God can use any unsettling crisis in life to deepen our roots of faith in Jesus Christ. This was true to a Roman royal official who pleaded to Jesus Christ on behalf of his beloved son who was sick and on the point of death.  

1. Jesus Revisited Galilee

After Jesus celebrated the Jewish Passover in Jerusalem, he traveled with his apostles back to Galilee by passing through Samaria. In Samaria, Jesus encountered a Samaritan woman and stayed among the Samaritans for a couple of days. The Samaritans believed in Jesus Christ as the Savior of the world. Then Jesus went back to Galilee where he grew up and launched his itinerant earthly ministry.

“After the two days he left for Galilee. (Now Jesus himself had pointed out that a prophet has no honor in his own country.) When he arrived in Galilee, the Galileans welcomed him. They had seen all that he had done in Jerusalem at the Passover Feast, for they also had been there.” (4:43-45)

It was in Nazareth where Jesus declared that he was the Messiah. His countrymen did not believe in him and rejected him. It was in his own hometown where Jesus declared that no prophet is honored in his own country. There was however an increasing gathering of Jesus among the Jews because of his authoritative teachings and miraculous signs. To the Galileans who celebrated the Passover in Jerusalem and who had witnessed the amazing works of Jesus inside the city, they welcomed him when he returned in Galilee. The increasing popularity of Jesus as a Jewish Rabbi and a miraculous worker spread to the region both to the Jews and Gentiles. And a Roman royal official heard about him.

2. The Pleading of a Nobleman

It was in Cana in Galilee where a royal official approached Jesus.

“Once more he visited Cana in Galilee, where he had turned the water into wine. And there was a certain royal official whose son lay sick at Capernaum. When this man heard that Jesus had arrived in Galilee from Judea, he went to him and begged him to come and heal his son, who was close to death.” (4:46-47)

In the gospel account of John, he was particular in recalling the miracle of Jesus in a wedding in Cana where he turned the water into wine. This was the first miracle of Jesus as recorded by John. In citing this miracle, John reinforced his message about his intent in presenting Jesus as the Son of God and calling his readers to believe in him. The reinforcement to his gospel message was further established by narrating another miraculous sign. This time was about the movement of God in answer to the pleading of a Roman royal official to Jesus on behalf of his son who was sick and on the point of death confined in the house of the official in Capernaum. Capernaum was the most important city in the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. The royal official could be a Roman magistrate who held great administrative and political authority and power over Capernaum.

In biblical times, the travel route from the city of Capernaum was 18 miles (29 kilometers) to the remote town of Cana. The royal official could have had traveled on foot through a winding, rugged and uphill terrain. A normal travel on foot on the plain takes an hour for every 3 miles (5 kilometers). For the nobleman to have traveled on foot from Capernaum uphill to Cana could have taken him at least 6 hours.  

The nobleman wasted no time upon hearing about Jesus and he traveled in haste along the road to see him. Definitely, he traveled in haste without the luxury of refreshing stopovers. When the nobleman arrived in Cana, he earnestly pleaded to Jesus for the healing of his dying son.

It is in the heart of a father and mother to do everything for the well-being of his or her beloved son or daughter. The royal official did just that. He had only one thing in mind—the life of his beloved son. The royal official who could be a Roman magistrate was a man of great authority and power over the people in Capernaum. Yet as a father he was helpless to save his own dying son. For the sake of his child, he personally pleaded to Jesus to heal his beloved son.

3. Jesus Granted the Nobleman’s Pleading

Jesus listened to the desperate cry of the nobleman with a firm rebuke.

"Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders," Jesus told him, "you will never believe." The royal official said, "Sir, come down before my child dies." Jesus replied, "You may go. Your son will live." (4:48-50a)

Jesus unveiled the inner struggle of the nobleman which is common to us all. Like the royal official, we all have the tendency to believe in Jesus Christ if we can witness his miracles. There are those who choose not to believe in him despite of all his miraculous signs and wonders. On the part of the nobleman, the seed of faith in Jesus was evident in his heart driven by a great crisis in his life. He held onto Jesus as the ultimate lifeline for his dying son. He pleaded to him to come down from Cana to Capernaum and attend to his son before he dies.

Jesus had a different response. Instead of coming down to Capernaum as the official pleaded for him to do, he spoke of the healing of the son. Jesus said to the father, “You may go. Your son will live.” This was an avenue for the nobleman to exercise his faith in Jesus.

 4. The Nobleman Believed in Jesus’ Word

Amazingly, “the man took Jesus at his word and departed” (4:50b). What motivated the nobleman to heed the word of Jesus? The royal official himself was a man of authority and he understood the power of the word of anyone who is in authority. The nobleman yielded to the authority and power of Jesus. With his high regard to those in authority, the father humbly took Jesus at his word for the sake of his son. And he went home with confidence that his beloved son will be spared from death just as Jesus said.

Likewise we remind ourselves, God has his own way to nurture the seed of faith sown into our hearts. God allows crisis to come into our lives to deepen our roots of faith in him.

B. The Healing of the Nobleman’s Son (4:51-52)

The royal official hurried home. We could imagine him running from the hillside downward to the seashore. On his way homeward he had a great hope to see his son alive having taken Jesus at his word. Yet, the battle between trust and doubt became real as ever as he made his haste journey homeward. Indeed, would he see his dear son alive?

1. The Good News

Here is the good news! “While he was still on the way, his servants met him with the news that his boy was living” (4:51).

It appeared that the royal official had traveled alone to have met Jesus and personally pleaded with him at Cana. As he was on his way toward Capernaum his servants met him on the road. They could not contain the joy to themselves that they rushed in travelling toward Cana to deliver the good news that the beloved son of their esteemed master was much alive. Down the road the nobleman found great relief. Oh, his son was alive! And such great joy of a loving father was unspeakable indeed!

 2. The Confirmation

A defining discovery all the more astounded the royal official.

“When he inquired as to the time when his son got better, they said to him, "The fever left him yesterday at the seventh hour.” (4:52)

In Jewish time, the seventh hour is one o’clock in the afternoon. This would suggest that the nobleman had traveled early morning on the previous day and was able to meet with Jesus late past noon. And at one o’clock in the afternoon, Jesus had given his word to the father that his son was healed. Since the nobleman was informed about the healing of his son the next day, he could have had traveled homebound early the next day. We could only surmise that prior to his coming home, the royal official could have chosen to have spent more time with Jesus as he listened of his teachings to the crowd who followed him. The Bible is silent on this possible flow of events between the hour when Jesus spoke on the healing of the son and the time when the father heard that his son was healed as reported by his servants. One thing for sure, it was confirmed that his son was healed at the exact time when Jesus had spoken of his healing.

C. The Salvation of the Nobleman’s Household (4:53-54)

The amazing discovery about the definite time on the healing of the son who was at the point of death caused a deep impact on the royal official and his entire household. What was the response of the nobleman and his household when they discovered the precise time of the healing?

1. The Faith of the Nobleman and His Household

It was a defining moment for the royal official to have had ascertained the circumstance of the miraculous healing of his son. And as the father in his home and the master to his servants, his decision had a great bearing over his entire household.

“Then the father realized that this was the exact time at which Jesus had said to him, "Your son will live." So he and all his household believed.” (4:53)

The son of the royal official got up from his waiting deathbed at one o’clock in the afternoon which was the same hour when Jesus said to the nobleman that his son would be healed. For the father to know that his dying son was healed and that he was healed at the exact time as Jesus said, the faith of the nobleman had taken its roots on solid ground. And he believed in Jesus Christ and yielded his life fully to him.

It is interesting to note that the entire household shared the same faith of the nobleman. The gospel narrative gave a remarkable turn of event, “So he and all his household believed.” What did they believe? All of them believed in Christ because of the great miracle which they themselves had seen with their own eyes. And their faith was reinforced when they have ascertained that the healing took place at the exact time as Jesus said. It would not be hard for us to entertain the thought that prior to the coming of the royal official to Jesus to plead for the healing of his son, he had referred the serious matter to his household as a big step of faith and asked for their earnest prayer which every member of the household did. So when the boy was miraculously healed, the entire household believed in Jesus Christ. What did this mean for the whole household of the royal official to have believed in our Lord Jesus Christ? Salvation rested in every member of the household of the nobleman.

There is a parallel event in the Scriptures that speaks about the salvation of an entire household who had believed in Jesus Christ. In the apostolic ministry of Paul with Silas, they were imprisoned inside a jail in Philippi. At midnight while the two were praying and singing hymns to God, a violent earthquake had shaken the foundations of the prison. The jailer woke up and when he saw that the prison doors were opened he thought that there was breakout and that the prisoners had escaped. He was devastated for he knew that according to the Roman Law, the escape of any prisoner would mean for his death sentence. In this desperate moment he drew his sword to take his own life. Apostle Paul spoke from inside the prison and assured him that all prisoners were in their respective prison cells. The warden was amazed that there was no breakout amongst the prisoners despite the given opportunity to escape.

In great fear the warden asked Saul and Silas, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved” (Acts 16:30)? The apostles replied, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved—you and your household” (v. 31). Amazingly, every member of the warden’s household believed in the Lord Jesus Christ and the entire family was saved. That night he and his household were baptized as a testimony of their salvation in Christ. The jailer “was filled with joy because he had come to believe in God—he and his whole family” (v. 34b).

This was the same experience of the entire household of the royal official whose son was miraculously healed by our Lord Jesus Christ. And should it be not our personal desire for the salvation of our own respective families? Anyone of us who had personally believed in Jesus Christ shares the same burden that every member of our own family will also come to the saving knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. To this noble cause we make our earnest petition to God.

2. The Second Miraculous Sign 

In light of this great salvation of the household of the royal official, John the Beloved was so particular in narrating this specific event in his gospel account.

“This was the second miraculous sign that Jesus performed, having come from Judea to Galilee.” (4:54)

Jesus’ first miracle as recorded by John was the turning of water into wine to grace a Jewish wedding in Cana. The second one was the healing of the nobleman’s son. John made this gospel account with a clear purpose. The miracles of Jesus served as signs to reveal Jesus and his plan of salvation. John testified that the miraculous signs of Jesus were written so “that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (Jn. 20:31). This is the clear message for Jesus to have healed the son of a Roman royal official. We are called to believe in Jesus Christ and be saved.

Conclusion

The royal official was a true father to his son. He could hardly imagine losing his beloved son who was at the point of death. When he heard of Jesus he wasted no time and pleaded for the life of his son. Jesus probed his heart to refine his faith not to trust God simply based on miracles. Yet Jesus spoke for the healing of the son. The nobleman took Jesus at his word. The son was miraculously healed at the exact time that Jesus said. And the Roman royal official with his entire household believed in Jesus Christ. What does this miraculous story have to do with our lives?

Life crisis is a channel of grace. It draws us closer to God as we see our desperate need of him in our painful circumstance in life. The royal official saw his need of Jesus and begged for the life of his beloved son, “Sir, come down before my child dies.” Here was a nobleman with great authority and power who humbled himself before our Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus extended his grace upon him. And Jesus extends his grace to us.

Jesus nurtures our sincere faith. The pleading of the nobleman was a desperate act with a seed of faith in Christ. Jesus saw the sincerity of his faith though it had been initially based upon a miraculous sign. Jesus said to him, “You may go. Your son will live.” And “the man took Jesus at his word.” God honors our sincere faith small as a mustard seed. And he nurtures our faith when we treasure Jesus’ word into our hearts.

We pray for our home to be saved. Jesus miraculously healed the dying son. A greater miracle happened. The nobleman and his entire household believed in Jesus Christ and they were saved by the grace of God. Their crisis inside the home brought them closer to one another and led them to Jesus Christ. May God have mercy on us and save our beloved home.

#sermon #sermons #God #Christian #church #dcbc #updcbc #Jesus #John #Bible

[dfroza]

Love is a protest against the world’s madness and deception.

(Love is Light)

it is True illumination.

and as people made in the image of our Creator we are meant to be like God, yet we are never to try to be God. people in this world are naturally tempted to go against Love’s truth, just as many children tend to disobey their parents as they grow. and we’ve been given a conscience that speaks within but not all listen. we have the Spirit as a friend who guides us to see but only as we embrace the courage of humility.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 16th chapter of the book of John:

“I’ve told you these things to prepare you for rough times ahead. They are going to throw you out of the meeting places. There will even come a time when anyone who kills you will think he’s doing God a favor. They will do these things because they never really understood the Father. I’ve told you these things so that when the time comes and they start in on you, you’ll be well-warned and ready for them.

“I didn’t tell you this earlier because I was with you every day. But now I am on my way to the One who sent me. Not one of you has asked, ‘Where are you going?’ Instead, the longer I’ve talked, the sadder you’ve become. So let me say it again, this truth: It’s better for you that I leave. If I don’t leave, the Friend won’t come. But if I go, I’ll send him to you.

“When he comes, he’ll expose the error of the godless world’s view of sin, righteousness, and judgment: He’ll show them that their refusal to believe in me is their basic sin; that righteousness comes from above, where I am with the Father, out of their sight and control; that judgment takes place as the ruler of this godless world is brought to trial and convicted.

“I still have many things to tell you, but you can’t handle them now. But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is. He won’t draw attention to himself, but will make sense out of what is about to happen and, indeed, out of all that I have done and said. He will honor me; he will take from me and deliver it to you. Everything the Father has is also mine. That is why I’ve said, ‘He takes from me and delivers to you.’

“In a day or so you’re not going to see me, but then in another day or so you will see me.”

That stirred up a hornet’s nest of questions among the disciples: “What’s he talking about: ‘In a day or so you’re not going to see me, but then in another day or so you will see me’? And, ‘Because I’m on my way to the Father’? What is this ‘day or so’? We don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Jesus knew they were dying to ask him what he meant, so he said, “Are you trying to figure out among yourselves what I meant when I said, ‘In a day or so you’re not going to see me, but then in another day or so you will see me’? Then fix this firmly in your minds: You’re going to be in deep mourning while the godless world throws a party. You’ll be sad, very sad, but your sadness will develop into gladness.

“When a woman gives birth, she has a hard time, there’s no getting around it. But when the baby is born, there is joy in the birth. This new life in the world wipes out memory of the pain. The sadness you have right now is similar to that pain, but the coming joy is also similar. When I see you again, you’ll be full of joy, and it will be a joy no one can rob from you. You’ll no longer be so full of questions.

“This is what I want you to do: Ask the Father for whatever is in keeping with the things I’ve revealed to you. Ask in my name, according to my will, and he’ll most certainly give it to you. Your joy will be a river overflowing its banks!

“I’ve used figures of speech in telling you these things. Soon I’ll drop the figures and tell you about the Father in plain language. Then you can make your requests directly to him in relation to this life I’ve revealed to you. I won’t continue making requests of the Father on your behalf. I won’t need to. Because you’ve gone out on a limb, committed yourselves to love and trust in me, believing I came directly from the Father, the Father loves you directly. First, I left the Father and arrived in the world; now I leave the world and travel to the Father.”

His disciples said, “Finally! You’re giving it to us straight, in plain talk—no more figures of speech. Now we know that you know everything—it all comes together in you. You won’t have to put up with our questions anymore. We’re convinced you came from God.”

Jesus answered them, “Do you finally believe? In fact, you’re about to make a run for it—saving your own skins and abandoning me. But I’m not abandoned. The Father is with me. I’ve told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I’ve conquered the world.”

The Book of John, Chapter 16 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 6th chapter of the book of Ecclesiastes:

Teacher: I have seen another injustice under the sun, one that is a real burden upon humanity. Sometimes God gives money, possessions, and even honor, so that we have everything a person might desire; nothing is lacking. But then, for reasons God only knows, God does not allow him to enjoy the good gifts. Rather, a stranger ends up enjoying them. This, too, is fleeting; it’s a sickening evil. If a person has one hundred children and lives for many years but finds no satisfaction in all of the good things that life brings and in the end doesn’t have a proper burial, I say that it would be better if that person had been stillborn because the stillborn arrives in a fleeting breath and then goes nameless into the darkness mourned by no one and buried in an unmarked grave. Though the child never sees the sun or knows anything, it still had more rest than the person who cannot enjoy what he has. Even if a person were to live one thousand years twice over, but could find no satisfaction, don’t we all end up going to the same place?

Teacher: As the saying goes, “All of our toil is food for our mouths.” We eat; we drink, and yet deep down we do not feel satisfied. What good is it to be wise? Are the wise better off than fools? And what do the poor know that others do not when they conduct themselves before the public? It is better to enjoy what our eyes see than to long for what our roving appetites desire. This, too, is fleeting, like trying to embrace the wind.

Whatever exists has already been named. Human nature, as it is with its strengths and limitations, is already known. So no one dares to dispute with One so much stronger than he. The more a person speaks, the more breath is fleeting; and what advantage do a lot of words bring us? For who knows the best way for us to live during the few days of our fleeting lives? After all, we pass through them like shadows. For who can say what will happen under the sun after we are gone?

The Book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, may 25 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks at True hope in a temporal world:

The Scriptures declare that though the “outward self” (ὁ ἔξω ἡμῶν ἄνθρωπος) inevitably wastes away (διαφθείρω), the “inner self” (ὁ ἔσω ἡμῶν) is being renewed (ἀνακαινόω, i.e., “raised up in newness of life”) day by day (2 Cor. 4:16), which implies that we have nothing to fear regarding our perpetuity and acceptance as God's beloved children. Therefore we do not “lose heart” (lit., act badly, from ἐκ, “out” + κακός, “badly”). Despite the shadows of this world, we take hold of the words of our Savior, who said: “I give you eternal life, and you will never be destroyed (ἀπόλλυμι), and no one will snatch you out of my hand” (John 10:28). And in another place he likewise said, “Everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die (οὐ μὴ ἀποθάνη)" (John 11:26).

God has redeemed you, friend, and he has called you by your name; he knows you intimately, and you belong to Him. God does not call groups, but rather individuals. The Spirit calls out, “follow me...” The Lord never leaves nor forsakes those who trust in Him, even if they should face waters that seem to overwhelm or fires that seem to devour and consume. [Hebrew for Christians]

5.25.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

May 25, 2021

Instruction Contrary to Knowledge

“Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that causeth to err from the words of knowledge.” (Proverbs 19:27)

One of the saddest realities in the modern world is that many of the leaders of evolutionary and humanistic thought were raised in Christian homes, where from an early age they were exposed to the truths of Scripture. Testimonies without number have been chronicled of Christian students going to universities where they were taught to doubt and then to disbelieve the faith of their parents. Perhaps all these students ever knew of Christianity was a set of rules; maybe they never understood the reasons their parents held certain views or the basis for these beliefs. Certainly the foundational teaching of creation has been missing in many Christian homes and churches.

Our primary goal as parents should be to establish a godly heritage—to teach the truths of God in such a way as will be believed and cherished by our children so that they will “keep that which is committed to [their] trust, avoiding profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of science falsely so called” (1 Timothy 6:20).

Certainly a more effective way of teaching is to continually point the child or student back to foundational principles rather than to list a set of dos and don’ts. We must teach those under our influence to be grounded in the Word so that they can make sound judgments when away from our watchful eyes. No greater aid to serious study, no better primer in careful reasoning exists than in Scripture. Using it and other supportive materials, a child can learn to think carefully and critically. Not only will they learn information, but here they can learn wisdom and knowledge and understanding. “For the LORD giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding” (Proverbs 2:6). JDM