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suntrastar · 4 years

Text

abstract: chapter 3

chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh. And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

41 notes · View notes

onaf · 3 years

Text

Of Dogs and Children

Believers in Christ have their hang-ups, their own theological baggage when it comes to the faith. This doesn’t always come in the form of outright denial of the core tenets of the Christian religion. But it can mean there are teachings that are quick to be absorbed mentally, yet slow to penetrate the heart.

For me, one of the most difficult things to understand at heart about Christ is how He condescends to sinners like myself. When I read Matthew 11: 28-30, Christ’s character takes on a peculiar timbre:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

To some, this may be an inconsequential passage. But I wonder how one can think that! What is easier for me to understand is that Christ - the One through whom the universe was created - has authority to judge the living and the dead. It isn’t hard for me to accept how He performed miracles, for what is difficult for the Christ? Theophanies? Old Testament prophecies about Jesus? Awesome!

But a Christ that is lowly? A savior that is gentle when with but one word He could annihilate all that is unholy (namely myself)? A King to whom I am - by rights - condemned forever, but gave Himself as a ransom for me? More food for thought from Hebrews 4:14-16...

“Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

I think many of us can understand that God would be a righteous judge against ungodliness, that He has wrath against sin, that He wields great power, and that He is holy. But I hope I’m not alone in finding His closeness to the downtrodden, the fallen, and the broken as being really hard to wrap my mind around!

This is a deeply practical problem. You can’t divorce theological conviction from how you live your daily life. Finding Christ’s meekness a difficult concept to absorb, I sometimes lean toward an imbalanced life. Without meditating enough on Christ’s mercy and sympathy to the struggles of a wicked man like myself, I gravitate more toward what I believe I do understand: my wretchedness.

What do you get when you have a believer who understands that he is a sinner deserving of eternal judgement but struggles to accept that he is a recipient of mercy? Though his heart yearns for Christ and His righteousness, a lie makes the honest truths seem beyond reach. The lie is: your redemption is insignificant.

A heart in this condition is divided. The honest hope of this man is truly in Christ, and his salvation has been secured already by the grace of God. But a pernicious untruth has craned the neck of this believer to look inward at the remaining filthiness of sin and to believe this to be the most accurate representation of his state. The Spirit-led part of his heart hopes for the Kingdom of God, but - since his focus has been on the irredeemable sin of his flesh - he has been convinced that the honest hopes of his heart are actually born of self-deception. It is a confusion of the highest order, one that prevents a Christian from living out his true calling with his undivided attention - and a confusion with which I am well-acquainted.

In short, instead of believing that I am a child of God by grace, a fallen part of me condemns me as if I was not. So, in my weaker moments, my heart resorts to an unholy compromise: that perhaps I am welcome in the house of God, but only as a dog. I may be in the dining room, but I only lay on the floor and eat the crumbs from the table while others more worthy garner God’s more rapt attention.

Matthew 15:24-28 says...

“He answered, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’ But she came and knelt before Him, saying, ‘Lord, help me.’ And He answered, ‘It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.’ She said ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.”

There’s a theme there that I grabbed onto a long time ago. I knew that I had been bought with a price, the Lord wouldn’t let me forget that. But my heart refused to unfocus from my sinful nature. It instead used this passage in Matthew and keep me where I didn’t belong. The mistake in my thinking was that Christ redeemed me who was dead in my trespasses and sins (Eph. 2:1) and made me a dog - a second rate, quasi-Christian. For the hopeless, going from being dead to being a dog isn’t that bad of a deal. Unless you know better, it’s a great deal. From being cast into outer darkness to at least being in your gracious masters’ dining room is a worthy trade! Everyone knows, however, a dog has no share in the inheritance of the master's children.

But this falls short of what the Bible teaches. To settle for being a dog is a tragedy when, in reality, you’ve been adopted as a son or daughter! The obsession with relegating oneself to the station of a cur is to, in reality, choose to disbelieve the promises of God. It is a tacit allegation of dishonesty on God’s part - saying that He is either not that mighty to save or that your sin makes you an exception to the redemptive rule. This is faithlessness hidden under the veil of fake piety.

Consider the following:

“For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” Luke 19:10

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death.” Romans 8:1-2

But most importantly, this:

“What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died - more than that, who was raised - who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:31-39

To say to your own soul that the best God did for you was to bring you from death to a grudgingly-awarded spot on the floor in His general vicinity (with the unspoken threat of expulsion for the slightest mistake) is to do violence to His mighty ability to bring about your salvation (Zeph. 3:17). Why does my heart insist on its own harm by attempting to shackle God’s redemptive work?

One of the greatest resources I’ve encountered lately in dealing with this struggle is found in The Bruised Reed, by the Puritan Richard Sibbes. A great quote here:

“If Christ should not be merciful to our weaknesses, He should not have a people to serve Him. Suppose therefore we are very weak, yet so long as we are not found amongst malicious opposers and underminers of God’s truth, let us not give way to despairing thoughts; we have a merciful Saviour.” (pg. 58)

Even to those who are in Christ but find themselves in sin - as we do all too often - there is hope. Sibbes continues:

“What course shall such take to recover their peace? They must condemn themselves sharply, and yet cast themselves upon God’s mercy in Christ, as at their first conversion. And now they must embrace Christ the more firmly, as they see more need in themselves; and let them remember the mildness of Christ here, that He will not quench the smoking flax.” (pg. 60)

Through these struggles, I have learned some things:

Christ is indeed lowly enough in heart so as to understand our weakness and not despise it.

The redemption that true believers find in Him is no lie, it is not done by half measures - since it is with the death and resurrection of Christ’s whole body that we have been purchased. Thus, the redemption is total, to be fully seen in due time.

To doubt one’s standing with God after being redeemed by Christ is to accuse Him of being less than He is. Do you believe Him to be an effective Savior? Then you must trust that He is qualified to save!

When a sinner is saved by grace, it is to no small and insignificant station. Consider the following:

“For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.” Romans 8:15-17

Where, then, is there room for God’s children to act as though they are just dogs at the dining room table?

#Christianity church puritan puritans salvation doubt bible scripture dogs children despair hope Jesus Christ

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primedirection · 5 years

Audio

Needy

Harry thinks Y/N is needy

Weeks go by and almost all has been swept under the rug. As far as you knew Harry had been completely oblivious to the event he missed. Only ever asking questions about it when seeing the trophy and although it made you furious. Very furious. You made the conscious decision to pretty much pretend it never happened in order to save yourself the grief.

Why get so worked up over something that wasn't even a blip on his radar? He probably wouldn't react the way he's supposed to, therefore causing more drama so there was really no point.

Especially since he gets swept into a mania of his own and things are a little tense. Four different performances this week, a televised album release party slash live show, not including other TV appearances, and the perfectionist in him is running wild.

Okay so actually.. things are super tense these days.

The late rehearsals and early sound checks were meshing together. Cutting into the limited time that you two barely had to spend together. Since he was bound to start his international promotional tour in the following weeks.

Today it was Harry's idea to come out and spend the day with him and yet you wished to be anywhere he wasn't.

While in the backseat of a town car on the way to the venue, Harry was completely and utterly glued to his phone. Scowl on his face and stress apparent in the tension of his shoulders. You thought that it would help if you loved on him little bit, maybe with a warm squeeze around his tummy and chaste kiss to the cheek. So you did just that. Smiling an encouraging, "Love you," up at him and waiting for the returned gesture.

But you couldn't have been more wrong.

Harry flinches instinctively, startled more or less and when you smile at him he frowns thoroughly irritated, "Can yeh give me two bloody minutes to breathe? I literally feel like I'm suffocating!" he snaps.

Hurt, you deflate immediately muttering a quick, "Sorry," before sliding back on your side as close as possible to the window. Trying to give him the space he needed.

Harry kills all hope of the ride becoming pleasant again when he huffs a grim but satisfied, "Thank you." Then occupies himself with his phone again.

He doesn't say another word until you arrive at the venue, and it's to a production manager. You get a tour of the backstage area and then of the enormous arena itself. In that process your previous inner turmoil was put out by empathy and pride. All at once you understood why he was so on edge but you were also extremely proud of him. Jeff had just informed him that it was a sold out show too. That all these empty seats would be filled up just to see him.

Filled with enamor, you couldn't help yourself when you catch him coming off the stage. Quietly discussing a delay in the equipment set up with Jeff. A playful pat on his butt instantly grabs his attention and you smile excitedly, "You would be the one to sell out this massive place, I'm so happy for you babe!"

Jeff quickly makes himself scarce and for the lack of an audience your grateful. But perhaps you should've taken note because once again Harry startles in an irritable way. The muscles in his jaw taught as he suddenly and briskly ushers you by the upper arm to an unoccupied area backstage, "Jesus Christ, why are you everywhere I turn? You do realize that I'm working right now, right? I don't have time to deal with this needy shit all day."

Though this time around you struggle to just take it on the chin. Harry was literally treating you like some burden that begged to come and not like you had to clear your whole schedule of things that were actually top priority just to be here. "Needy? I'm just trying to be supportive!"

"Okay and you can't do that from the stands? You're not some sort of puppy that needs to be wrapped round my leg Y/N! Look, I know I invited you but the point is to enjoy the ride and go with the flow not stand in my way." The fact that he lowers his voice and yet his tone is blaring really hits you in the feelings.

It wasn't just because he was stressed but he genuinely felt that way.

Suddenly, you didn't want to be here nonetheless anywhere near him. You hoped that he detected your new jilted attitude, "Sorry, you're right. From now on you wont even know I'm here." You smile so overtly sweet it bleeds of sarcasm.

Harry doesn't even realize the lack of sincerity in it anyway. Stalking off after a surly, "Perfect." Leaves his lips.

With that you go to sit in the stands as he wanted, but on your way theres commotion coming from the same direction Harry just went. In the distance you spot him greet one of his opening acts with the most enthusiasm in the world. Hugging her and laughing with her like there wasn't a care in the world. When literally less than a minute ago he was yelling at you. Suddenly you couldn't get away from him fast enough. Only finding solace in the nosebleeds rather than the enticing idea of going home altogether.

This is disturbingly new. You'd been to plenty of Harry's shows where his moods often ranged from amped to sometimes getting nervous enough to maybe make him a little frustrated. But even then it wasn't unleashed on you, and like that. How could he treat you one way and in the next breath switch it up? You didn't like that one bit.

Watching his set was too difficult to enjoy anymore due to bias, unable to stop playing his words in your head. Needy? Was it really needy to show him some love in times he was obviously anxious? Definitely not, and even if it was it didn't give him an excuse to be an asshole about it. Especially since he wanted you to come in the first place.

Rehearsals drag on for what feels like eternity. Costume changes and numerous sound checks later, lunch is offered in the catering area but you politely decline. Hanger seemed like such a small price to pay in exchange for being subjected to his unnecessary attitude. In this case distance was best for the both of you.

Proven when he doesn't even bother to come look for you, or say anything really, at least not until he's ready to go home. Even then it's only a text.

On the ride home his mood has done a total 180. In the greatest mood to talk about his band mates and opening act's hijinks. You honestly tried not to take the way he acted personally but the complete personality flip made it impossible. How could he be that unfair?

Making it a point to avoid any and all contact with him by sitting in the same position as you had when you arrived. He uneasily takes notice, "Alright?"

"Yeah, just tired..." Of your bullshit! You mentally add on glaring out the window. Conveniently he received a phone call anyway.

Once you get home you decide to cure your possible hanger and make something quick to eat. Missing Harry reappear in the room in the process, "I guess catering doesn't count as dinner huh?" He attempts to be playful with you to check your temperature. Your unusual silence naturally made him uneasy.

"I didn't eat. Didn't want to risk overcrowding so I stayed in the stands," Like you wanted! You ached to add but held your tongue.

He doesn't dwell on it anyway. Chirping and fluttering about behind you as you make your way around the kitchen and to the table. "Love, guess what... I get to do a funny skit with James in a couple days!"

"That's great," you reply sitting down and albeit with forced enthusiasm.

He wordlessly follows suit practically singing, "Do yeh wanna come watch? It'll be fun."

Your sarcasm comes instinctively with a sharp roll of your eyes, "Like today? Hard pass, enjoy yourself though."

Harry's eagerness melts away like an ice cube on a hot summer sidewalk. No longer in the mood for elusiveness, "Alright I'll bite, what's going on with yeh?"

"With me? Nothing." You shrug shoveling around the food on your plate, loosing your appetite more and more by the second. Impending doom so palpable you could damn near taste that instead.

"Doesn't seem like nothing," he retorts with a brow cocked expectantly.

He could go to hell with the explanation he thought he deserved, "Doesn't matter," you sigh pleading to the high heavens that he'd leave it alone so that once again you could save yourself the agonizing grief.

Just as stubborn as you are he continues to push, "Based on how you're acting, it apparently does. So what is it?"

"Just drop it Harry," you groan agitated. At this rate you'll definitely be staying in the guest room tonight.

"No," This time he takes it a step further and moves your plate out of reach so that there was nothing to distract you. "Tell me." He demands.

Though the manner in which he does it is not to simply just to get to the root of the problem and solve it, but seems to be just for the confrontation. To point fingers at you being the problem, and so you snap, "Okay fine! You treat me like shit and it's not okay."

Unsurprisingly his face contorts into total confusion, "Where's this coming from?!"

But you're all too thrilled to remind him, "In the car and in rehearsals. One minute you're snapping at me for being needy when I was just trying to offer support, and in the next you're giving all the love and admiration to your opener and everyone else you work with!"

The frown etching on his face told you that he was going to deny everything and he did not disappoint, "No I wasn't, yeh were all over me,"

"Yeah okay, because reminding you that I love you and how proud I am is smothering?" An incredulous dry laugh summons itself, "Really?"

"When I'm in the middle of a conversation with Jeff! Obviously at that moment I was frustrated." Harry argues.

"You weren't frustrated when you hugged Kacy and joked around with Mitch right after! It's like everyone else gets a pass except me, but you know what it doesn't matter. Just keep that same energy so that I can properly navigate you. Because if I was suffocating then then I must be suffocating all the time." You glumly add, standing up and grabbing the plate you no longer had any interest in eating anymore.

In response Harry sighs loudly, and for a moment you start to believe that he's beginning to come to his senses but a quick glance reveals the most condescending and patronizing eye roll with it. Eventually he stands too, restoring his chair the way he found it. A passive yet aggressive, "Just forget I fucking asked," muttered under his breath.

Irking you enough to toss the plate absentmindedly into the sink, "Or just be a man about it and fucking own it!" You shout at him angrily.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I can't own something yeh literally made from nothing!" He shouts back.

"From nothing are you kidding me?! Why the hell is it so hard for you to admit when you're wrong! I am so tired of sweeping everything you do under the rug! I let that stupid fashion show slide but today-" Before you can get the words out properly its like something literally clicks in Harry's head. Making him angry as well.

His fingers rake frustratedly through his silky mane, "So that's what this is really about hmm? Why you've been acting so-" He exhales heavily through flared nostrils. You stare annoyed but patiently wait for him to make his point, "For fucksake how many times do we have to go through this? She is just a friend! Ken needed me-"

It's a combination of things. The way he says it and the gall of what he actually says that makes you feel three words short of a brain aneurysm. You explode, "She needed you? Harry, I needed you!" Your chest heaves from the exertion of shouting, "I made an absolute fool of myself that night! That had almost nothing to do with her and everything to do about us! The one fucking time I ask you to put me first, I'm last on your list. I know it's not the Grammy's or the Met Gala but it was important to me."

His head shakes in denial as he forces himself not to roll his eyes again, "Yeh miss things that are important to me all the time Y/N and I never whine about it!"

"If I'm whining about it its because there's a huge difference in not being able to catch a flight across the world at the last minute and not showing up to something on a whim— something I've been talking about for the past three years now!" You yell, so angry that it's actively getting harder to see straight. Apparently the wound had been fresher than you both thought.

"That's not fair," he argues. In his mind the situations were like comparing oranges to apples.

"Exactly." You concede folding your arms across your chest. Getting him to see the error in his ways was something like playing chess. Though the point wasn't to defeat but to enlighten. "How am I supposed to feel when you still don't even seem all that sorry or remorseful about it?"

Defense takes reign over Harry's better judgment as he starts to feel like this unethical argument is not meant for him to win, "Really? Over a bloody office party?!" He scoffs incredulous and somewhat amused at the same time. "I could understand if I did something actually wrong and horrible but this doesn't equate-"

At that another agonizing explosion erupts within and hits hard mentally and emotionally. Starting out as a fit of rage when you slam your hand down on the counter in reflex but rapidly that dwindles down into crushing defeat. It wasn't just the attempt in basically talking to a brick wall but the fact that he didn't want to accept what he did wrong. Maybe ego or even his foolish pride is to blame, either way he just wasn't going to.

Obviously you were wasting your breath but there was just one important fact that your very own pride wouldn't allow you to leave without getting it off your chest first, "Stop calling it that! Stop trying to diminish what it was! Because even if it was a lemonade stand it wouldn't have made the slightest difference — it was important to me Harry."

His gaze passively transfers to kitchen floor and for a few moments you wait for him to say something—anything. But when nothing comes you give up, heading straight to the guest room a total mess. So overwhelmed with frustration and emotions.

(AN: Come share your thoughts with me!xx)

Next Part

#Harry styles angst #Harry styles imagines #Harry x reader #Harry styles #one direction imagines #Harry Styles one shot #One direction one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #all me #I write I guess #SWGALW

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elderxprice · 4 years

Text

(#bom10daychallenge - day 1 - I’m fine. Let me see your face.) Kevin lingers in the aircraft, toying with the strap of Arnold’s backpack, until he is all but ushered out.

“Take care of yourself,” the attendant says, clasping her hands behind her back. Her name is Emily. Kevin knows, because she told him when he could not stop throwing up on the ascent. She had kneeled in the aisle beside him, soothingly rubbed his back, and told him everything would be just fine. He made her promise, and in doing so made her a liar.

“Yeah,” Kevin says, offering her a tired smile. “Alright.”

He wishes things could have been different. If they had been, perhaps he would be coming home a hero and not an abject failure, earning piteous looks as he trudges through the airport. Not that he can blame anyone. Kevin knows he looks disgraceful, because that is how he feels: exhausted and filthy and full of regret. Still, he walks with his shoulders squared and head held high. He has to be brave; it’s all he can do.

The airport is a myriad of joyful reunions and tear-filled goodbyes. Missionaries being hugged by their mothers; children being hugged by their parents; friends reunited after years and years apart. Their love is almost palpable, and Kevin finds himself wishing he could reach out and touch it, for just a moment, to remember what that feels like. It’s been so long since his parents have hugged him and said they were proud. One year and a handful of days. The memory is blurred at its edges, yet as he steps onto the escalator it all comes rushing back in a bouquet of abstract flowers.

His mother’s favorite perfume.

A sob escapes his throat at the realization that he’s home. He’s home, and his mother is here. She came for him. They all did.

“Kevin!” His sister runs to him, tears streaming down her cheeks regardless that she’s smiling. Kevin drops Arnold’s backpack and meets her halfway, hugging Debbie so tightly her feet lift from the ground. “I missed you, Kevin.”

“I missed you, more. The most.” It’s the truth, because she is the only one who wrote him. “Gosh, you’re heavy.”

She laughs, legs wrapping around his waist so Kevin cannot put her down. “I’m ten, now,” she says, proud of that fact. “I’m not so little, anymore.”

“Boy, I’ll say,” he says, leaning back so he can see her. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”

Debbie nods, but she grins as if she doesn’t care. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe his being here is enough; maybe it’s all that she wanted. The thought incites a genuine smile - his first in twenty-six hours.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his nose against his sister’s. “Let me say go say hi to everybody else, then we can hug again right after.”

The rest of his family, sans Jack, stand just a few feet away. They do not seem as excited to see him as Debbie had been, but his mother dabs at her eyes with a tissue and his father rests a hand on Kevin’s shoulder once they’re close enough to touch. It’s more than he could have hoped for. “It’s good to see you, son,” he says. Kevin isn’t sure he believes him. “Boys, isn’t it nice to see Kevin?”

At their father’s unsubtle encouragement, Ben and Sean move to hug him.

“You smell bad,” Sean says, pulling away with a scowl.

“He doesn’t smell that bad.” Ben hugs Kevin a second longer, as though to prove this point. “Just kind-of bad.”

Kevin sighs, ruffling Ben’s hair before turning towards his mother. She is still dabbing at her eyes as she motions for him to come closer. He’s really missed her. For all his father’s countless shortcomings, his mother far more than makes up for them. She loves him, Kevin knows. Even now.

“I’m real hungry,” he says, once her arms are wrapped around him. The cotton of her sweater is soft against the sunburn of his cheeks. “Mom.”

“Well, we’ll get you some food on the way home, how does that sound? There’s a lot to talk about, but it can wait until tomorrow. Can’t it, Michael?”

Kevin has never heard his mother refer to their father that way, before. It was always husband or honey or something equally nauseating, but never his name. It makes him a little bit nervous.

“We can’t go anywhere with him looking like this, Katherine.” His father sweeps a hand towards Kevin, putting him on display. People are staring. Kevin feels his throat constrict; “McDonald’s is fine,” he interrupts, earning a pointed look from his father. “Just for tonight.”

“…Just for tonight,” his mother agrees. “Just this once.”

His siblings look excited. Sean thanks him for smelling bad.

They were never allowed to eat McDonald’s, because it isn’t real food or good food or anything Heavenly Father would want them to put into their bodies. The only time Kevin ever got to, was when he had his license and could go without anyone knowing. He brought his sister the day before he left for the Missionary Training Center. They had strawberry milkshakes and french fries and sat on the hood of his car at the airport watching all the planes take off. It was something special they shared; a secret between them she could keep once Kevin was gone.

Kevin orders three double cheeseburgers, two large fries and a diet Coke. The family’s entire order comes to over fifty dollars, and their father has a conniption as he pulls back onto the highway; and while that normally would have provoked an apology out of Kevin, it’s hard to care once a piping hot bag of actual food is placed upon his lap. And, see, Kevin knew he was hungry; he just didn’t realize how much, until the first, salty fry touches his lips. “Oh, gosh,” he says, in an almost obscene euphoria, before stuffing a handful into his mouth. His siblings watch in amusement, laughing at his pitiful display. Kevin is happy to entertain them, so long as it means he can eat.

His parents, however, are not so entertained. Kevin can see the disapproval in his father’s eyes as he casts the occasional glance in the rearview mirror and hear it in his mother’s voice as she scolds him about his lack of manners.

“I bet you ate this crap all the time in Africa,” Ben says, lifting his chin as though he isn’t enjoying it just as much. “Dad says you probably did all kinds of awful stuff once you shut out the Lord.”

“Yeah,” Sean agrees, licking ketchup from his fingers. “Like sin with girls.”

“Boys!” Mrs. Price reaches behind her to gently slap Sean’s knee. “We aren’t going to talk about Kevin’s mission,” she scolds. “We discussed this.”

Kevin supposes he ought to be glad they don’t want to talk about it, or else he’d be sat in an Olive Garden somewhere, feeling like he has to when Kevin really, really does not want to. He especially does not want to sit across from his parents and talk about Arnold, or the way he loves him, or how he did sin – a lot. Nor does he want to talk about the General; or Kimbay’s husband; or AIDS; or watching his friends die; or starve; or about any of the countless other horrible things he’s been witness to over the past year and a half. Kevin does not even want to think about it.

The guilt of that realization weighs heavy on him, and the food turns sour in his stomach. His father pulls over, so he can throw up outside.

“Well, then,” his father frowns, rolling down the window once Kevin’s heaves have subsided. “Are you quite finished?”

Kevin wishes he was; but this is not going to go away, just because the food is out of his stomach. In fact, the guilt over having just wasted food on the side of the road sticks to his ribs and makes it hard to breathe.

Immediately upon returning home, his parents send him upstairs to clean up.

There is a letter on his pillow from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Kevin is not surprised by its presence, only by how it has already arrived. He told his parents he wanted to leave Uganda four days ago and has only been back for one hour. His parents must have personally picked it up. Kevin would not be surprised if his father helped write it.

Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Kevin stares at the letter for almost an hour. He knows the second he picks it up, this in-between will be over. Kevin will need to make a choice: to stay, or leave, the church.

It was easy to turn his back on this life in Uganda, because his parents weren’t there and his college wasn’t there and the reality he was living, is not the one he’s living now. His mother said she loved him; his sister hugged him; his dad put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. It made him happy. He wants to be happy. Kevin reaches for the letter.

“Dear Elder Price,” he frowns at the sound of that name. “The stake presidency is considering formal disciplinary action in your behalf, including the possibility of disfellowshipment or excommunication, because you are reported to have participated in conduct unbecoming a member of the church, namely apostacy. You are invited to attend this disciplinary council to give your response and, if you wish, to provide witnesses and other evidence in your behalf.”

The council date is set for the day after tomorrow. Kevin wonders what evidence he can scrounge up in that time, before realizing he is evidence enough. Kevin is not an apostate. Priesthood holders have a responsibility to become like Christ and love as He loves and serve as He serves and Kevin did that. All the evidence he needs, he wears as scars and cuts and angry bruises. It would be inappropriate, perhaps, to open his shirt in front of the stake president, but Kevin will if that’s what it takes to prove what he did was in Heavenly Father’s example; and not because he wants to stay in the church, necessarily, but because he knows in his heart he did nothing wrong. None of them did, and for some reason, he needs the church to see that. He wants them to.

“Kevin?” Debbie lingers in his doorway, hair braided in a crown around her head.

“Hey, you.” Kevin tucks the letter beneath his pillow; “Let me get changed, then you can come in, alright?”

She closes the door, and Kevin stands from the bed. He stretches. Everything hurts, deep into his bones. If he was still in Uganda, Kevin is almost certain Arnold would rub his shoulders and his neck and his back, without even asking for a thing in return. Arnold is selfless. Kevin is not.

Pulling open his dresser drawers, he notices there is not much left in them. One pair of temple garments, and a pair of sweats from high school with Provo down one leg, and Bulldogs down the other. It seems like his parents culled his room while he was gone, as though they were not expecting him to come home, or just weren’t going to let him.

Clothes on, Kevin opens the door for his sister, who is holding a blanket and pillows. “Mom said I could stay in here tonight, if it’s okay with you?”

“You know it is,” he says, motioning for the blanket. She hands it over, watching as Kevin folds it once and sets it on Jack’s bed. “You can take mine. Mom say’s you’ve been sleeping in it, anyway.”

Debbie almost looks embarrassed, like she wants to lie and deny it, but she is a good Mormon, Kevin remembers, which is probably why she doesn’t. Instead, she climbs onto Jack’s bed, curling up beside her brother.

“What was Africa like?” she asks.

“Awful.” Kevin presses a finger to her nose, and Debbie smiles. “Wonderful.”

Debbie nods, as though she understands or can tell he does not want to get into it, beyond that. “Dad said you look sick,” she says, in a whisper. Kevin imagines she must have overheard this conversation. “You’re not, are you?”

“No way,” he says, offering her a tired smile. “Just tired. Dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Debbie’s eyes widen then, and Kevin presses a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him I said that, though, okay? Promise?”

“Promise.”

A comfortable silence falls over them, then, and Kevin lets his eyes slip shut. It’s weird, being in this house, again. It’s warm and familiar. Same walls, same windows, same family he left behind.

The only thing different, is Kevin. And it must be more apparent in the daylight, he thinks, because his mother gasps when she sees him the next morning. She is standing by the kitchen window, exactly where Kevin left her over a year ago, holding the same chipped mug of orange juice.

“…Mom?”

“I’m fine,” she responds, almost automatically. Kevin wonders who’s been asking her. “Oh, Kevin,” she breathes, when she finally gathers herself. “You look absolutely dreadful. Come here, let me see your face”

“Gee. Thanks, mom.” He bites his tongue as she touches her hand to his forehead. She must think he’s sick, like Debbie said, but in a physical way. She couldn’t be more wrong, but Kevin doesn’t have the heart to tell her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s true. I thought you said you were eating?”

“I was,” he admits, easing away from her worry. “Just - not a lot.”

“Clearly, Kevin!” She sighs, bringing a hand to her chest as she composes her thoughts. His mom looks older; more tired. “Thank God, Jack was called to Quebec.”

It is not just an expression when his mother says it. She means it, and Kevin finds he wants to mean it, too. Thank God, his brother is in Canada, and not some war-torn, impoverished, dangerous country. Thank God; thank God; thank God. He wonders if she thanked God when Kevin called to say he wanted to come home.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” Kevin asks, curious.

Mrs. Price shakes her head, turning back towards the window. “Your father’s bringing you,” she says, taking a sip of her juice. “He said it would be best if there weren’t any distractions.”

“You’re not a distraction, you’re my mom,” he points out, crossing his arms. “I want you there.”

“And we wanted you to succeed on your mission, Kevin,” she says, setting down her mug. “I just don’t understand what happened.” Mrs. Price turns back around, motioning for Kevin to come closer. He does, stepping right into her open arms. She smells like lavender soap. “But I need to trust that the Lord knows what He’s doing with you, and that He can accomplish it for your eternal good even though I can’t even begin to understand how He can do it, after all that’s happened. The stuff your Mission President told us, Kevin! I very nearly passed out. Your father had to hold me up.”

Kevin sighs, but does not doubt it. His mother has passed out for less; like when Ben came home from school with Saturday detention for kissing a girl behind the gym, during lunch. He was sixteen.

“It was one misstep, mom, and it wasn’t even mine. It was Elder Cunningham’s.” It feels weird placing sole blame on Arnold, like this, but Arnold isn’t here and Kevin is pretty sure he’d forgive him for it, anyway. “He thought he was doing the right thing, and you know what? He did, in the end. We really helped those people, mom. I really helped them.” Not enough, maybe, but the fact remains.

“I don’t doubt you think that, Kevin, but you’ve always been arrogant. Now, why don’t you help me make breakfast. I’m too upset to manage it on my own.”

After, regardless of the food that’s waiting for him downstairs, Kevin takes his time washing up. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and traces a finger from his bruises to his scrapes to his cuts. His body has become a roadmap of hard work and dedication, of pain and suffering, and of triumph – slight as it was. There are deep discolorations beneath both of his eyes, and dirt beneath his fingernails. He cannot get them clean, no matter how hard he tries; though, he must admit he doesn’t try much.

His mother will be displeased, he thinks, but so what? She already is, as is his father, who will probably want to talk before tomorrow. Kevin doesn’t want to talk.

What he wants, is to take a shower – and not a hot one, like he thought he might. In Uganda, he used to dream of them, but the second the bathroom fills with steam, he feels guilty. So, he turns it to freezing, instead; gets in, gets out, and feels better. He shaves, brushes his teeth, and pulls on his clothes without garments. Out of habit, he reaches for his name tag. It’s Elder Cunningham’s. Arnold’s. His best friend’s. His – everything.

It ends up in his pocket, the corner digging into his thigh while he sits at the table and pokes at his food. It’s nine-thirty. Three-thirty in Kampala. Arnold is probably digging in the dirt, planting crops, or laughing too loud or too much or…

Kevin wonders if Arnold misses him.

He hopes so.

#bom10daychallenge #bom10daychallenge - day one #bom #have it anyway #book of mormon #kevin price #headcanon

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ladywinchester1967 · 5 years

Text

Shape of my Heart:

Chapter 2

Pairing: (eventually) Billionaire!Jensen Ackles x Allie Edwards (OFC)

Warnings: first date, fluff.

A/N: Here is the second chapter in my series, Shape of my Heart, **THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION and we’ll pretend Jensen is single** Per usual, unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, pics are not.

Wanna catch up?

Chapter 1

Date night finally arrived and Allie arrived at her dance class early so she could change out of her work clothes and into her ballet instructor's outfit, which was pink tights, a black leotard with a matching skirt and pink ballet shoes. She warmed up in the studio and checked her watch for seemingly the millionth time that day,

“Four hours to go,” she thought “then I'm gonna meet Jay.”

They had talked on the phone and texted nearly every day since setting their date, both of them expressing excitement about the day's impending arrival. Allie had teased Jensen about his lack of profile picture and then said

“Come on, send me a picture so I at least know who to look for.”

“Just ask for the Ackles party,” he told her “I already made the reservation.”

They had settled on a local steak and fish place that they both liked and she huffed into the phone.

“Come on Jay, just one picture?” she pleaded.

“I rarely take pictures of myself and even when I do, I looks stupid in them.” he told her.

“Fine,” she teased “you be that way, grumble puss.”

He laughed at the name and he said

“You'll see me soon enough, I promise.”

Through out her class, Allie did her best to keep her attention on the kids. It wasn't easy teaching ballet to five and six year olds who really just wanted to run around and look at themselves in the mirror. But she did her best to keep them engaged by playing games that also involved learning the dance moves. The kids would have their first recital at the dance studio's annual showcase so that all the kids had a chance to perform in front of an audience. When class ended, the parents picked up their kids and once the last kid was gone, Allie shut her room down and then headed home.

After a quick shower, Allie got dressed, did her hair and makeup and was out the door with twenty minutes to spare. When she arrived at the restaurant, Allie went to the hostess stand and said

“Hey, my party is all ready here, I’m supposed to ask for the Ackles reservation.”

“Of course,” the tall brunette hostess said “right this way.”

Once they entered the room the hostess left and the guy standing by the window turned around. He was wearing a sharp black suit that looked like it was tailored to him, nice shoes and an even nicer watch. He has short, brown hair; a red and brown beard and intense green eyes. When he smiled, he revealed perfectly straight, white teeth.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” She thought “this dude is HOT. This can't be him, there's not WAY this is him.”

“Allie?” He asked, looking hopeful.

“Are you Jay?” She asked as her blood pounded through her system.

“I am,” he said and extended his hand “but you can call me Jensen.”

She shook his big, calloused hand and smiled. Jensen’s throat was dry, her pictures were deceitful; she wasn’t pretty, she was gorgeous.

“Nice to finally meet you.” Allie said, not able to believe her luck. The voice and guy she was intensely attracted to was equally and alarmingly good looking.

“Likewise,” He said, even her voice was attractive, and let go of her hand “you wanna sit down and we’ll order drinks?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” Allie told him and they did just that. While they waited for their drinks to arrive Jensen asked

“How was your drive in?”

“Not bad at all,” Allie said “traffic wasn’t horrendous.”

“Good, glad to hear that.” He said

“What about you?” She asked him

“I had a full day before this, which is why I’m in the suit,” he said “normally I’d be dressed a little more casually but I didn’t have time to change.”

“It’s okay,” She told him “you look really good in it if that’s any consolation.”

“It is,” he said with a smile and a nod “I have to say, your pictures didn’t do you justice.”

“Really?” Allie asked and he nodded.

“Even more beautiful in person.” He said and her cheeks flushed deeply.

“Well thank you,” She said “that’s very sweet of you.”

Jensen smirked, the color in her cheeks only made her more adorable. She wore a black blazer, which she was currently taking off, a sparkly top, dark jeans and matching high heeled sandals.

Their drinks arrived as they looked over the menu trying to decide what to eat as they each chatted about their day.

“So you’re a legal assistant right?” Jensen asked.

“More like the office bitch,” she told him and he laughed “I just do the shit that no one else likes to do. Order office supplies, send out UPS and FedEx stuff, answer the phones, make copies, do faxes; that kind of stuff.”

“You’re the catch all girl huh?” Jensen asked and Allie nodded

“Yeah, you could call me that.” Allie said “It’s hard work, but I love it. There’s always something different and interesting coming up.”

“And you teach ballet on top of that?” he asked, amazed as he took a sip of his beer. She nodded through her sip of wine and said

“Teach is a loose term,” she told him “some of the kids get it, and learn the steps, but other kids just want to play, so I try to mix in a little bit of play time WITH the dance.”

He sat, listening intently while she spoke, his eyebrow raised and his mouth pursed, if she didn't know what a goofball he really was, she would have been intimidated. Her heart pounded harder and then she said “Well, enough about me, what about you? What exactly do you do?”

“I wear a lot of different hats so depends on what you feel like hearing about.” Jensen said.

“What’s your main job?” She asked.

Jensen thought about this for a minute and he said “I make sure the products we put out are the best at the best price.”

“What do you make?” She asked him

“Technology,” He told her “we make parts for phones, computers, different types of software, from anti-virus to the most effective operating system on the market.”

Allie blinked, blown away. None of this had been mentioned to her before and she was blown away.

“Wow,” She said “that sounds like a lot.”

Jensen shrugged

“I’ve been doing it for so long, it isn’t a big deal to me. Being competitive and fairly priced in this field is a hard balance to find.”

“And you do that?” She asked him.

“My team and I do,” he told her “I call it the shark tank because everyone on my team is ruthless and they love a challenge.”

She laughed and said

“I do too, keeps things interesting every day, am I right?”

He nodded and said

“You’re absolutely right.”

They drifted in and out of easy conversation as their meal went on; Allie eventually excused herself and called Natalia in the bathroom.

“So what's he look like?” Natalia asked when she picked up.

“Dude,” Allie said “he is SO hot. Like surface of the damn sun hot.”

“You gonna fuck him?” Natalia asked

Allie groaned

“NO! I don't do that and you know I don't.” Allie told her as she finished up her business and then walked to the bathroom sink. She had a personal rule about not sleeping with a guy on the first date, but if anyone were to challenge her rule, it would be Jensen.

“If he's as hot as you say he is, you need to lock him down ASAP.” Natalia told her.

“You jackass,” Allie told her as she washed her hands “I'm not gonna do that. Yet anyway.”

“Call me later if you do!” Natalia exclaimed and hung up.

When Allie returned to the table, she and Jensen settled back into an easy conversation as their meal arrived. They both mentioned how good the food was. Once the meal was wrapped up, they kept talking, laughing and drinking. Before they realized it, it had gone late into the night.

“Wow, I can't remember the last time I had this much fun at dinner.” he said as they stood.

“Likewise,” she told him “it's just been a really nice evening, thank you for dinner by the way.”

“You're very welcome,” Jensen said as they made their way out of the restaurant, his hand on her back. Once they were outside, they walked to the parking lot adjacent to the restaurant and Jensen asked

“Do you have anywhere else you need to be tonight?”

She looked at him, smiling.

“I could go for some coffee, if you want some.” she told him.

“I'd love some.” he said

“Great, I know this little place around the corner and we can walk if you want.”

“Sure.” he said and offered her his hand. She took it, lacing her fingers through his and smiling as they walked around the block to a coffee shop.

Once there, they both ordered cappuccinos and kept up their lively conversation. Once they had shut the coffee shop down, they walked back to their cars and Jensen said

“And this is where I leave you.”

“I have to tell you,” she said as she looked at him “this was one of the best dates I've been on in a long time. I really had a good time and want to see you again.”

Jensen gave her a heart stopping smile and said

“I'd like to see you again as well.”

We stood there for a second before leaning in and kissing. His lips were soft, yet strong on hers as he captured her chin in his hand, holding her in place as he opened his mouth and kissed her again. She wrapped her arms around his midsection as they kissed. He pulled back, grinning and then asked

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

She nodded and said

“I'd love that, I really would.”

“Call me later tonight?” he asked “And let me know what your schedule is so we can make another date?”

“I will.” she told him with a nod as we kissed again. Part of her never wanted to leave his arms, never leave this moment. When she pulled back from the kiss, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She walked away slowly, her hand falling from his and he smiled as she did this.

“Be careful.” he told her as he squeezed her fingertips.

Meanwhile, Jensen felt a tug; something in his gut felt the need to hold back, to not fall for her right away. He hid that feeling behind a smile and a small wave to her as she climbed into her car and drove away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hope you liked!! Don’t forget to like and share with your friends, smash that follow button if you wanna see more content from me! All my boxes are open so if you wanna chat or get on any of my tag lists, let me know!

The Squad:

@waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @familybusinesswritingbro @ain-t-bovvered @mrswhozeewhatsis @unholyqu33n @dacleverfox @emoryhemsworth @bobasheebaby @myinconnelly1 @mogaruke @imma-winchester-addict @purpleskiesandcherrypies @dean-winchesters-bacon @animerose96 @roonyxx @snffbeebee @ezilyamuzed @srsllydunnodoncare @latetothewinchesterparty @emilyshurley @atc74 @midnightsilverafterdark @adoptdontshoppets @biawol @spaceystacey123 @bella-ca @clo-heda @closetspngirl @thekatherinewinchester @maddiepants @idreamofplaid @love-those-boys-in-flannel @flamencodiva @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog @sandlee44 @tumbler-tidbits @rainbowsinthestorm @deans-baby-momma @algud

Dean/ Jensen:

@spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @deanscarlett

#lady winchester writes #Jensen Ackles #jensen ackles x ofc #single!jensen

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cherry-slushie-cosplay-blog · 5 years

Text

Freshman Year Quotes

Ok so I did a list of all the stupid shit I heard in my Freshman year of high school. Enjoy.

(T) - Teacher (AP) - Freshman Assistant Principal

FRESHMAN YEAR ----

"Any weeb brethren, see me after class I want to be friends." *class is totally silent* "*loudly* I have a seven inch penis." "I'm a farmer bitch I will throw my crops at you." "You can teach tiny cil- chilr- chilud- chiluden, wait what?" "I'm telling Jesus!" "Jesus already knows." "(T) Use your 5 sols! Haha, get it? Like soul?" "Bold of you to assume I have any at all." "HE CALLED ME THE N-WORD, HE CALLED- oh shit you're a girl my bad I'm just messing around trying to get someone in trouble. Have a nice weekend!" "Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht...FUCK!" "How do you make an equilateral square?" "I think my back has scoliosis." "I've got a bag of chicken." "Why do you have a bag of chicken?" "Because. Why do you have a bottle with mangos on it?" "This- this is mango-flavored tea!" "AND THIS IS CHICKEN-FLAVORED BAG" "...and some condoms have spermicide which kills off the sperm. Don't ask me how I know all that, Mrs. ********." "Are you from Russian?" "Sit your ADHD-filled ass down." "If we were in hell, do you really think I would be here?" "(T) Yes." (T) "Is stupid written on your forehead?" "I don't know, is it written on yours?" "His forehead's big enough for it." "That looks like an orgy pile over there." "Why do you guys always sit behind me?" "If we want to kill you, you won't see it coming." "Is this what Julius Caesar felt like?" "You're so tiny! You look like a doll!" "And you look like a cock-riding motherfucker." " Technically, time is a construct." "Technically, none of this matters and we're all gonna die soon." "Will you two shut up please?" (T) "My 2019 has been completed, I made a student cry." (This was January 10th btw) (T) "As long as you do your best and turn that in, you'll be fine." "What if my best sucks and I get a bad grade?" "Ok that was good I'm gonna give you that." "I'm gonna put on black lipstick and go to sleep." *Aggressively singing Dream Daddy For Me* "What's that?" "A grapefruit." "Bitch that ain't a grape." "No, grapeFRUIT." "It looks like you put Kool Aid in an orange." "Dude it's called a grapefruit." "No, fuck you and your Kool Aid orange." "I ate a mouse dongle." "Why the fuck would you do that?" "I don't know, I just did." "Racism is my bitch. I bend racism over and take it from behind." "A function is an input and a function...oh wait hold on I messed up- stop laughing at me I got this." "James Charles did one of Bob Ross's tutorials on his forehead." "So he has a big forehead-" "Shut the hell up ***** no one cares." "The answer was D! D as in 'Dinosaur chicken nuggets'!" (T) "What are the first ten amendments?" "I know the ten COMMANDments." "No one cares, we're not in Christian school." "YES WE ARE HAIL MARY" (T) "Do your work or the Lord may strike you." *this was at the religious girl from the previous quote* "What time is it?" "It's fuckin uhhhhh noon o 5." "Noon o 5?" "I forgot the word twelve." "I SEE HEADLIGHTS" "Hm?" "Headlights is nipples." "If this is a test I'm gonna throw myself out the window. I was about to go to the hospital this weekend and I'm still gonna make it happen." "I won't T-Pose for dominance but I will screech and make your eardrums bleed." "Does anyone remember Llamas With Hats?" 4 people: "caAAARRLLLLL" "Pagans terrify me." "Why?" "Every pagan I know of is a furry." "sKeDaDdLe SkAdOoDlE yOuR dIcK iS nOw A nOoDlE" "NO NOT IN MATH CLASS" "Doodlebops." "shUT THE FUCK UP" "I watched that yesterday, I have it on DVD." "WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE DOODLEBOPS ON DVD" (T) *random Chewbacca noise* "My brain is smaller than my dick." "If you feel stupid, you should." "What about King Solomon?" (T) "What has Solomon ever done for America?" "What have YOU ever done for America?" "Nothing should be in your mouth unless it's a banana." "What type of banana?" "A yellow one, duh." *laughter* "Or a green one, whichever you like more." (T) "For the people who I'm signing these for: are you going to the farm-" "YES WE FINNA BE COWBOYS" (T) "What y'all playing over there?" "Chess." (T) "I hope you lose." (T) "If you're stupid, it's your fault." (T) "Let's go guys!" "hoLD ON I'M SAVING MY POKEMON GAME" "There's people taking pictures down there - should I pour Monster on them?" "When you gave me my pencil I was like 'I like Zoe, she's nice' in my brain and then my brain somehow connected that to 'You tryna smash?' and another part of my brain said 'No, stop, she'd cut your dick off'." "That's the strangest intrusive thought I've ever heard from a friend." "How many of y'all think I'm gay?" *about 6 people raise their hands* "Ok then." "May I please go to the bathroom?" (T) "You just have to get out of here at any chance you get, don't you?" "I'm serious, I'm really hungry, does anyone have any food?" "I have lotion." "Fuck you." (T) "OH MY GOD SHE HAS TAP SHOES CAN YOU DANCE???" "...no" (T) "YOU STILL LOOK GOOD" *watching Sorcerer's Stone* "Who's at the window?" *ta-da it's Malfoy* "Oh it's a blonde-headed lesbian." "Shit fuck goddammit bitch pussy fucking Jesus Christ." "I have ibuprofen, you know." "Nah, I'm good." "I'm a lil loli short and flat~ My head is for pat- wait fuck what was it" "Hello~ my fuCKING HIP OW" "Are you ok?" "I popped my hip...Hello, my name is Elder Price~" (T) "Here, it's legal to marry your 2nd cousin twice removed." "I'm doing it." (T) "******** no-" "Fuck (insert name of school district), man. On my mom." "I wanna fucking die I hate this class." "No. I look like Jesus, I'm telling you no. Therefore, Jesus says no and you're not allowed to die." (T) "How else could we have solved this?" "With a calculator." "Did Diego steal his money from Dora?" (T) "I don't know, moving on." "All y'all talking about how your souls are dark black, mine is baby blue. It's brighter than your hair." "uwu my stomach hurts" "I'm serious I'm not on my phone." (T) "Oh really?" "I swear to GOD she wasn't!" (T) "Oooooohhh" "Holy shit Zoe you're gonna send **** to hell." "You were staring at me for like 20 seconds before calling on me!" (T) "No, my glass eye was staring at you. My real eye was over there seeing that stuff, and over here I didn't see sHIT." "I heard there's G-Spots in your ass, why don't you shove it up there and have some fun." "How about no?" "Suit yourself." "I don't like raw fish — it makes me sad." "100 senators!! Come ON, Sen - a - tors!" "Shut up go stick your head in a dick." "I want that Mormon Milk." "I'm begging you to stop talking." "I'm salivating for that salvation." "Shut the fuck up."

BONUS: SCHOOL'S POWER OUT

"My god that sun is brighter than Kirishima's smile." "Zoe is turning into Trina." "I'm breaking down~" "Come over here anyone who wants to take 'Golden-Hour Mental Breakdown' selfies and/or get Pocky." "Anyone who refuses to let their anxious child come home will be personally smacked by me with Zoe's copy of 'Half-Blood Prince'."

NORMAL SCHOOL

"Stab me in the ovary or whatever you said." "CORRODED ARTERY YOU ARE MALE" "Same difference." "Perfect boy lookin-ass- no homo." "What the fuck" "People think that Sherlock Holmes isn't real because he was written in a book. God was too but you don't see people denying HE exists, do you?" "Ok do a burpee." *burps loudly* "No a- you're a fucking idiot." "Heyyyyy Zoe, can we- holy shit is that Pornhub?" "How do you make a baby crawl in a circle?" "I don't fucking know." "Ok...do you know how to make one stop?" "When did you get here!?" "Couple minutes ago." "???" "I'm quiet and people generally don't notice I'm here." "...do you need a hug?" (T) "What'd you do this weekend?" "Some sewing." (T) "What'd you sew?" "Robes…" (T) "For what?" "*increasingly embarrassed* A costume." "From what?" "*very red by now* Harry Potter…" "Which character?" "*wanting to crawl into a hole* Draco Malfoy…" "*polite clapping from entire class*" (T) "He's on the road to alcoholism." "I'm doing a 21-Day challenge of not talking, if I do - punch me." (T) "Oooohhh this is gonna be fun." *knock at door* (T) "*presses face against door window* What's the password?" "bitCH GIVE ME BACK MY CAPRI-SUN" "It's not Capri-S-" "IT'S BOOTLEG CAPRI-SUN GIVE IT BACK" "Holy shit you turned the Jesus-freak gay." "What happens if you don't deletus the fetus?" "Then the abortion isn't completus." (T) Can you see where I'm going?" "To hell." "Oh look, a wasp." "KILL THAT SHIT" "Oh man I can't hear my eardrums." "How the fuck would you hear your eardrums?" "That's the POINT." "I like a p p l e s ~I like 'em big and juicy-" (T) "NO." "Everyone raise your hand if you want Mr. **** out of the room." *80% raises their hands* (T) "Even you?" "What do you mean 'even me'!?!?" "******? ******!!" "What?" "If I ask you a question will you be a douche?" "Probably." "Understandable." "What the hell am I reading?" "Words." "Mr. **** do you like donkey ducks?" (T) "I'm not even going to answer you." "I'm scared of homophobes." "Homophobophobia." "If gay is a slur does that mean that African American is a slur?" "Who has my mcfreaking phone? WHOMST HAS MY PHONE" (T) "Ooh free charger! *wraps cord around neck like a scarf*" "Whee whee mone me jam apple laff-yeti" "If someone is being homophobic, give them dyslexia." "Troom Troom life hack: if someone is harassing you — eat them." "Troom Troom banana hack: if someone is harassing you — shove a banana up their ass." (T) "Take that hat off." "I'm a gangsta." "I'm never gonna use this shit. Do you think I'm gonna go to McDonald's and say something like, I don't know, 'Oh riddle me dubious'? NO." "I'm gonna meticulate you until you get dyslexia." "What the fuck does that even mean?" "I'm gonna meticulate your rectum." "Please stop." (T) "See that girl? She likes bad boys." (T) "Ask her, she has tape." "What the hell has made you think I have tape?!?" "I don't care if you have 106% in this class, you can kiss my fat ass!" "No, PICasso." "I like Costco-" "No." "Holy shit *points at red train in movie watched in class* it's the Hogwarts Express." "Stop it." "Choo choo bitch we goin' to magic school." (T) "Guys Mr. ***** is in here, quick make it look like you're doing math." "3 + 7 = 9!!!" "Are you serious?" "MOVE IT, MUNCHKINS!" *shoves us apart and runs off* "Excuse-moi, I'm gonna beat her ass." "Oh my god someone's weave is on the floor." "Only at (insert school name here)." "THERE'S MORE THEY THREW IT OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW" "*handing out books* Take this dick, *throws book on student's desk next to me* and here you go. *places book gently on my desk*" "waIT TAKE THAT BACK I WANT A 'HERE YOU GO' WTF" (T) "-and so the corn salsa would be 20...thaaaat's not one of the answers oh no." "You fucking whore, happy birthday." (T) "How do you know you are college and career ready?" "Because Jesus loves me." "Last time I shit my pants was in middle school." "rePEAT THAT?" "I'm gonna show up tomorrow with AIDS." "Did you just say you'd show up with AIDS?" "Yeah." "Why??" "Cause HE put his spit on me." "I'm borrowing your chair. To sleep." "I'm straight as a line." "Oh? *makes loop-de-loops in the air* You mean THIS line?" (T) "I will decimate you. I will wipe your name from the earth." "Is the government making us take this test?" (T) "No, the district is making us take it." "Well the district can suck my ass." *calling every white person in a certain scene of Ernest Green a toothpick* "Is it just me or does ******** seem like he'd end up having a job at Chuck and Dale's?" "GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE I WANNA WATCH MERLIN" (T) "You boys don't know how to chop down a tree, do you? You wouldn't be able to do that." "Yes I would, I do it in Minecraft all the time!" (T) "Ok, remember to put your name on your paper." "No. I have no name. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Voldemordita." "Stop it." "Shut up, both y'all gay, always smackin' each other's asses in class." (T) "Easy, Luigi, we're not watching a movie." (This was a sub for Civics class and he had just walked in 2 minutes prior. The student's name was not Luigi) "Hold on I'm gonna be Oprah: YOU GET A CALCULATOR, YOU GET A CALCULATOR!" "Y'know ***** still needs one." "F R I C K" *girl walks into a desk* "There's a desk there ****." "I KNOW fuck OFF" "I feel like we need to warn her about everything when she walks." "Watch out for life, ****." "Can we do it on paper?" (T) "No, this is not Burger King." *leaving the room* "Remember, cocaine is not your friend. I'll kick your ass." (T) "Wow! It's Good Friday, and you're talking about your baptism and stuff like that, and you said 'oh my fricking god'? For shame." (T) "I'm on a lot of drugs and alcohol right now and I can't feel anything." "Oh my GOD USE A YARDSTICK" "No." "MR. ******** I'M GONNA HURT HER" "Gonna stab her with the yardstick?" "I need bail money." "I need money PERIOD." "DRAW. A STRAIGHT. L I N E." "NO, FUCK YOU" "You know you're gay when it takes you 3 tries to draw a straight line." "DON'T TAKE MY JOKE" "You definitely know you're gay if it still isn't straight after 3 tries." (T) "What would you do if someone came into your neighborhood?" "Who's neighborhood? Mr. Rodger's?" "I have 15 pets." "I have 13 siblings, does that count?" "No but it does mean that your parents need to learn how to use a fucking condom." "Hi my name is J. Michael Tater Tot welcome to the Dairy Dome." "Dyslexia? I thought you said...cannibalistic tendencies." "What?" "I couldn't think of anything that rhymed." "You need to flex seal your anus closed." "If you don't fucking shut up I will shave off your eyebrows using my toenail as a razor you cunt." "Sippy Cup looks depressed." "Sippy Cup, you going through some shit?" "Hit or Miss, I guess they never miss, huh? You got a boyfriend-" "Yep." "I bet he doesn't kiss ya!" "Haha nope." "Ew I look like Casper." (T) "...and we're going to write a paragraph." "Oh you're FUNNY." "I think I'm switch. Like, I'm good with being sub, but I'd like to dominate my bitch too. Like F.B.I get on the ground open your legs." "Ms. ******* that's really bright-" (T) "YOU'RE bright." Video: *talking about how important this song is to them* (T) "I don't care stop talking." "I peed on the desk again." "Key word: AGAIN???" "You should send ****** and I to get them." "That is a HORRIBLE idea." "What do you mean it's a horrible idea? You don't know me!" "What do you mean 'I don't know you?' We have gone to school together for almost 4 years." (T) "Look, I know you're obsessed with me, GET TO WORK." "He's harassing me." "You harassed me first. It's not harassment if you do it in self-defense." "You can have the benefit of my middle finger." "It's the progression of the climb of the rocket." (T) "Oh my GOOODDDD JUST SAY IT LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING" "Fine. The speed." (T) "ExACTLY." "Oh look a firetruck's outside." "Whee whoo whee whoo- oh my god you're serious. Oh god it's (crappy fire department) jesus christ." "I think we need to potty train our classmates again." "AGAIN???" "Well, yeah. They're supposed to be." "'Supposed to' and 'are' are two different things." "Mr. **** can I put mascara on you?" (T) "No." "Whyyyyy?" (T) "Do I look like a Barbie doll?" (T) "Mascara girl is the one who's talking." "You act like I don't have a name!!!" "Do you?" "What the hell are you doing?" "It makes your eyelashes look nicer." "Yeah; easy, breezy, beautiful: Covergirl. Get with the program." "James Charles is QUAKING." "Sister shook." "Give me my paper." "Bitch I'm gluing my fingers together, I didn't fucking take it." "Do you have a charger?" "No, but I have a notebook full of English notes." "I don't have any round characters, all of mine are gay and sad."

BONUS 2: BIRTHDAY

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you for your birthday all I have is Reese's and duct tape." "Wait it's your birthday??? HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO-" "NO STOP SHE DOESN'T WANT THAT" "Thank you." "You're welcome." (T) "Pay attention my dudes." *collective groaning from entire class* "*asking for tampons*" (T) "*holding a marker* I can throw another red one at you." "I don't get it. *sudden realization*" (T) "***** pick your jaw up off the floor, I was joking." "I'm tired of the word 'domain'." "Oh yeahhhh me too, cause we hear it a lot in physics now." "Domain, domain, domain; I hate it." "I'm in a domain of hating myself." "I'm joking, I love you." "I'm not joking, but I love you too anyways." "**** don't lose your Crocs again." (T) "Get that earbud out of your ear." "No, this is keeping me sane." "Why is my name 'desire'??? I put it as 'pee pee poo poo'!"

NORMAL SCHOOL

"I've finally done a fraction! I flipped it over, turned it around, smacked its ass and had it call me daddy." "PARDON???" "What?" (in Physics talking about electricity) "Ok positive top, negative bottom-" "ME?" "He said you can't learn if you burn but you do learn. You learn fire is hot. Also the sensation of being burned alive as you are consumed by flames." "*shows Thanos smut* Spoilers for Endgame that no one asked for." "Legend has it that if you work at the Dairy Dome, you get free tickets to Domegame." Have a marvelous Monday, a Terrific Tuesday, a Wonderful Wednesday, a...Thesis Thursday. I couldn't think of anything." "You look like a frog." (T) "And you look like a squid." "Someone today said I looked like a drug dealer magician. Would you like *sweeps off hat* MARIJUANA??? Or...*pretends to pull something out of hat* COKE??? Perhaps some *flourishes* *whispers* acid???" "I'm gonna Detroit Smash him to hell." "LGBT, let's get this bread." "My hero academia as in Aizawa can shove my ass up his head- wait hold on" "*talking about Ariel* She's hot but that doesn't excuse the fact that she put her entire species in jeopardy for some dick." (T) "Does anyone not have medicine in their bag that ******* cannot have while I look down at the floor because I dropped my pen?" (T) "*reaches for paper*" "Ah ah **** no swipin'." *in science class* "Nothing's happening but I saw that bitch SPARK and I'm terrified." "I'm basically teacher today, your assignment is to do nothing. YOU get an A." "SHUT UP MOTHERFUCKER I'LL EAT YOUR ANUS THEY DON'T CALL ME RECTUMUS PRIME FOR NOTHING" "EXCUSE ME" "What was the word again?" "David Hasselhoff?" "What, no???" "This is why you shouldn't scratch yourself, here." "*instantly shoves necklace in mouth*" "I wouldn't use that as a chew fidget, I got it off the ground in Louisiana." "*chews even more aggressively*" (T) "Don't mess with me I will throw something at you, I played softball for 14 years." "Really???" (T) "Yeah. I was the captain biatch." "James Charles looks like the dragon from Shrek." "***'s touching my wenis." "Gay fantasies don't really matter." "Yeah, I mean, did you see the way that Tony and Cap looked at each other in Endgame?" "When he was, a young boy, his father, took him to the dark lord, to kill the principalofawizardachool" "He said son when, you grow up, will you b-" "HE SAID WILL YOU, GETSHANKEDINABATHROOM-" "Watch out: I have peanut butter and a knife!" (T) "All you need is at least a 60% to pass the test-" "BOI I GET 40S AND 30S IN YOUR CLASS AND YOU KNOW IT" (T) "So you used to go to (other school name)?" "Yeah. But people growling and barking at me was a little much." (T) "Were they furries?" "Dude, tornadoes in Kansas are no joke." "But you go to Oz." "THERE AIN'T NO YELLOW BRICK ROAD AFTER A TORNADO" "Uh, yeah! Yellow brick road to HEAVEN." "Toto isn't god” "You awakened something you didn't want to awaken." "Is it god??? Is it Totoro? Remember to pay your taxes or Hong Kong will come eat you." "Today's weather is cloudy with a chance of rectal prolapse." (T) "Who's at the door?" "It's ***." (T) "Who's ***?" "***. Your student." (T) "*opens door* Who are you?" "I'm nobody." "Who is commander in chief of the military? My p e n i s" "Are those grandma shoes??? Can I e a t them???" "She sounds like a fetus screaming for extra guac at Chik-Fil-A." "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN" "*singing the Boku No Pico theme off-key in a loli voice*" "I will hit you." "I'd feel bad for you but you have a 69% and that causes you to get a D and I can't look that over." "Do you ever wonder where babies come from? Cause I don't. All you have to do is pee into a lady's Digornio." "rePEAT THAT??" "Don't forget to degrade your dog." "Imagine a world: where you have 2 fetuses hanging from your eyebrow."

BONUS 3: GIANT, END-OF-THE-YEAR CIVICS TEST

"Why the fuck is Christmas a national holiday???" (T) "Ok, the president during WWII was...Roose-" "-A PARKS" (T) "Are you even paying attention?" (T) "What happened on September 11th, 2001?" "9/11!" (T) "We're gonna need you to be a little more specific, buddy." (T) "What's a state that borders Canada?" "I deadass was about to say Arizona, I need sleep." "WHAT is your name?" "*****." "WHAT is your quest?" "To clap the best pussy out there." "*through laughter* What is your favorite color?" "The color of the next pussy I'm gonna crunch." "I got a Voltage from the ROTC room, and I dropped it and someone said 'OOH', picked it up and yeeted with it." "WHAT THE FUCK I'D SHIT ON THEIR HOUSE" "Can we play a song after our presentation?" (T) "As long as it's not like 20 minutes like an Allman Brothers song." "Huh?" (T) "You know how when you have an acid trip, people tell you to listen to the Allman Brothers?" "..." (T) "I'm old." (T) "If this eye starts drooping, there was something in the brownie." (T) "*teaching us Piccolo Mini*" "You just made me feel dyslexic." "YOU GUYS WANNA KNOW THE TEA??? I'M THE REAL HOE" *applause from class* "BITCH WE BEEN KNEW" "*unintelligible*" (T) "What?" "*still unintelligible*" (T) "I still didn't hear you." "You talk like your handwriting." "I WILL THROW THIS CROC AT YOU" "I will literally pay a dollar for one." "I will literally eat these." "Petunia is not a phone." "Electronic device, then." "She's not an electronic device, I gave birth to her." (T) "**** that's the whitest you've ever sounded." "My dingaling is messed up." "Mine too." (T) "Ok so say you wanted aides-" "I DON'T WANT AIDS WHAT THE HELL" (T) "IN THE CLASSROOM. CLASSROOM AIDES. HELPERS. "Can we talk while doing this?" (T) "No, this isn't Burger King." "What is your obsession with Burger King????" "HE'S SPRAYING IT DOWN. HE'S SPRAYING IT DOWN. HE'S PUTTING THE WHITE NECTAR ON THE RAMEN SINK" "Have you ever seen a 14 year old looking badass?" "Have you ever seen a beaver chomping down on a carrot? Cause I wanna see that." "I don't wanna go to Papa Louie's Arcade, Papa Louie can pop a cap in your ass." "Micheal does a Thanos Snap in season 14." "Cas, I don't feel so good." "NO" "Your Crocs are in sport mode." "My cock is hard." "THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID" "It's ok lil diglett I'm gonna evolve you." (T) "Stop it." "I'm gonna evolve you it's fine, you're weak but you're gonna get better. *throws stress ball at teacher*" (T) "******* looks like Ted Bundy" (T) "He's falling asleep. Hey, ****, are you sad you can't have an abortion?" "What???" (T) "If you don't like high school relationships, who's that guy you keep making out with in the hallway?" "*pointing at random places on the map in the civics classroom, threatening to deport each other to random places*" "You're jiggling my titties." "*half the class is singing I Write Sins Not Tragedies*" "I love you!" "Shut it, I'm doing a presentation." "I love you!!" "Stop." "I love you!!!" "God damnit, *******, I'm gonna hit you." (T) "If you drop any f-bombs during the presentation, I'm gonna kill you." "Bottom, take the apple." "I'm not black, I'm O.J." "Balls. That was the word." "HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET 'BALLS' FROM 'THE BUCKS ARE WINNING THE FINALS'??" "Who's this? Tom? No I don't wanna streak with you. Stranger danger." "Why is it called Field Day if it's only 2 periods?" (AP) "I- That's actually a good question." "ALRIGHT THIS IS WHAT WE NEED TO DO-" "*gets literally kissing distance from him* *salutes* Yes sir?" "We're playing cornhole." "Stop laughing, how is cornhole inappropriate?" "Mr. **** this is the type of yardstick that could take your kneecaps. Do you want me to take yours?" (T) "I'd like to see you try." "Is that Ratatouille?" "Ratatouille isn't the rat. That's Remy, you insolent fuck." "I'm gonna call you the 'G' word." "What's the 'G' word?" "Jew." "That's…porny." "...send it to me." "Where you going?" "To hell." "WHY" "*shrugs* Seems fun." "You see, this is why I need to work with you. I'm your insurance."

BONUS 4: FIELD DAY

(T) "Are you part 1 or part 2?" "Uh…" (T) "Top line or bottom line?" "Bottom- no, top- uhhhhh…" "He looks like a top." "I still don't understand why we fucking dropped Bohemian Rhapsody for a song from fucking T W I L I G H T." (T) "*throws a marker at the Assistant Principal*" *various cheers and "OHHHHHH"s from the class* (AP) "Are you actually serious." Not a quote but in the 2nd to last week of school, we spent almost the entirety of 4th period Algebra (including the teacher — he started it) throwing dry-erase markers at each other and didn't even stop when the AP (seen above) came in. (T) "*walks through the middle of the room*" "FIRE" *8 people pelt markers at him* "Wait you guys realize he's gonna throw all of those back, right?" "I have a D I'm hanging on the edge my dudes." "I did a math? I did a math!!!" "You did meth?" "YES!!!" "*gets head shoved out of window* OW! FUCK, ****** MY TIT" "You exude strong Kenny energy." "Why?" "Cause you die a lot? Cause your heart was replaced with a baked potato? Cause your family's poor?" "*laughing so hard we can't breathe*" "*leaves the cafeteria to calm down from laughing too hard*" "I'm having elementary school flashbacks." "Shut your social justice warrior ass up." "You ok?" "I stabbed myself." "Sorry, only girls get it. Also, this is my last customer today." "Hold on, if it's only girls, why does HE get it?" "Hi." "OH SHIT YOU'RE A GIRL MY BAD"

NORMAL SCHOOL

“Did I just witness a drug deal?” "Why do you look like a dad?" "I need some weed in my system again, I'm fucking drained." "There's a fucking big-ass run in my tights — I'm gonna eat my own ass and then some." "Hi I'm ***** and Mr. **** can suck my 13 inch dong. My Long John Silver." "This ignorant pickle of a person can die." "This cashew of a long dong. Cashews look like telephones." "A shirt says Mr. **** can suck my magnum horse, my stallion." "His mom should've fucking swallowed." "Spit his ass in a Dixie cup." "I will tattoo my eyes shut." "I'm talking about this mongoose man that's called Mr. ****." "Can you speak some Spanish?" "Hola, como estas, sugma." "Sugma?" "Suck my fuckin' balls lmao" "It's your sugar daddy. *shows picture of Andrew Jackson*" "It's Mr. **** as a woman." "That's fucking Christopher Columbus." "*howling laughter*" "I was just thinking 'have it stop raining so that I don't have to walk in it', but then I remembered I have work today so it should keep pouring. The more the sky cries, the less I cry. Unless I'm on drive." "Excuse me sir, *raises leg* my penis has fallen off." "I pray you get AIDS." (T) "Please throw away your sheet music, it's illegal to copy sheet music and I don't wanna go to jail." "*loud smack* I am so sorry, I didn't mean it to be that loud! Come here baby boy, let me give you the sweet taste of my mother milk." "It's not mother anymore, it's daddy now." "Dude what if you were born with a set of words that if said, would implode your testicles." "Bomb go boom, Mormons go extinct." "MR. **** YOU TOOK OUR NOODS" "DON'T TAKE THE NOODS" "NOT THE NOODS!!!" "****, I thought you were Catholic." "The pencil's black." "Like my ass-cheeks." "Someone stole it!!!!" "Like ****'s virginity."

BONUS 5: WATCHING INSIDIOUS (FOR SOME FUCKING REASON)

*kid falls off ladder* *various banshee screeches from students* "They're kissing AGAIN. This movie is NOT appropriate." "I'm hearding weeeesssst~ I don't know what to dooooo~ " That's not how you make a superpowered baby. You kill the mother and put her on the ceiling." "Wait, pause. What the hell?" "F.B.I, open up." "IT'S DALTON." "PUT A CHAIR ON THE DAMN DOOR" "HOW WOULD A CHAIR WORK AGAINST THE DEMON" "He's in a deep sleep. Wake him up with true love's kiss." "It's a pedo-demon! Everyone run!" "He's cheating on her." "What if this was linked to Supernatural?" "Ooh she's echoing now." "My legs are shaking bruh." "Is that blood on the window?" "No, it's a tree." "SMACK THE CHILD"

NORMAL SCHOOL

"I figured out why I'm so quiet today." "Oh, really?" "Yeah, *shows trembling hands* I'm on vibrate." "I can't wait to go to church."

BONUS 6: LAST DAY OF SCHOOL

"The first thing I ate when I came to this country, it was in the airport and it was Doritos." (T) "They gave me the shortest teachers' gown they had. I have a baby gown." "That isn't a happy little bush." "IT'S. TREE." "Hello ladies, *winks* *blows kiss*" "I'm GAY." *I Will Survive playing really loudly* "******* you're not in our friend group so get the FUCK OUT." "Now I can swear! FUCK Y'ALL BITCHES I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR KNEECAPS" "Oh shit it's an end of the year fight!" Four kids got into a fight at the same time and one got tazed."

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moniquesmusings · 6 years

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Did God Really Say..?

I've been married for a total of almost 7 months (come July 9th). Within our entire relationship, especially when we were engaged & now married, a LOT of insecurities were uprooted from me. My husband loves me so much that dealing with these insecurities matter so much to him. Not just for our marriage's sake, but for my personal growth in Christ.

Some insecurities I knew about..And some felt like what came out of nowhere! BUT. Here they all are. Seen & prayed about.Called out. Not tolerated. Counseled through. Held Accountable about.

Insecurities are ugly.

By Google's definition, it means: uncertainty or anxiety about oneself. And since the beginning of time, insecurities have been a contributor to a woman's downfall.

Let's take it back to Genesis.God created Adam & Eve.They were living their happy sin-free lives in the Garden.God commanded them to work, take care of creation, and don't eat of that ONE tree.

Then the drama beings...The cunning serpent spots Eve.. "and he said to the woman: Did God really say...."

And the rest is history!

Through one man, SIN entered the world.

Through one man, insecurities entered the world too.

The serpent made Eve doubt:

- Who God is

- What He commanded

- Where she stood in light of God

And that is exactly what Satan tries to do with believers every single day. Now, I'm a woman and can't speak on behalf of men in this regard.. But I definitely know that in general, women struggle with insecurities. Yes, even & especially women that follow Christ. I'm sure that at the beginning of your relationship with the Lord, you felt a sense of peace and security. YAY! The Creator of the universe ordained that before the foundation of the world.. He would choose ME to His forever.And that motivated you to live for Him. But then..life happens. And sin + life + trials can = insecurities, worry, fear, distrust in God.

And that can look like a variety of things:

- Fearing what career path you should take

- Not feeling ready to be a mother or worrying about the child in your womb

- Being insecure in your looks, friends, style, "godliness" compared to so & so

- Fighting/struggling so hard with a specific sin that you can't seem to conquer

- Drowning in thoughts/lies that make you stray from the truth

- Anxiety attacks and restlessness because your mind is racing thinking about the "what-ifs"

It always goes back to Satan probing you...

Did God Really Say:

- That your husband loves you and won't leave you? You sure about that? Because so & so got a divorce..

- That you were meant to pursue this career? Do you really think God gave you the talents to do this? Because I can see you're struggling...

- That you are beautiful and loved? Because just a couple minutes ago.. you sinned pretty bad and that's super ugly

- That you will conquer that sin because Christ already has? Because I don't think you really believe that..you keep doing it

- That He sustains you and the child you're bearing? Because statistics say....

- That your life has any meaning? Because I don't see you contributing anything really...

- That He can restore your relationship with so & so? Because at this point, you've screwed that relationship up pretty bad

Sister.

STOP. Do NOT make the mistake that Eve made.

She forgot Who God is.

She forgot what He commanded.

She forgot her stance in Christ.

Her security (in God) was broken when she took of the fruit. She ran. She hid. She blameshifted. Ashamed. Naked. And desperate for covering.

Sister. We have been given Scripture. And that is our daily bread. It is filled with dozens of reminders, prayers, stories about our God and Savior and Holy Spirit.REMEMBER and reflect on WHO God is. Remember His commands!!! He's called us to love Him with all our heart, soul, and strength & to love our neighbor. Remember Who YOU are in Christ.You have no guilt in this life and no fear in death.THIS is the power of Christ that is IN YOU.You have been bought with a price, fully forgiven, and daily being made more like Jesus. We don't need to run or hide.Someone already took the blame for us.We can walk boldly before the throne of grace and know that the High King hears & listens & sympathizes with us and our insecurities.

God Really Did Say:

- He is the sustainer of your marriage

- He holds your life and the life of your child in His hands

- That if it His will, you will be successful in your pursuit of this career (as your work heartily unto Him) and He will give you the wisdom, knowledge, patience to do so

- That your sins are fully forgiven and He will complete the work He's already started in you

- That He can restore any relationship that may be hurting and broken right now

- That your life in Christ has meaning & a purpose to be lived out for His glory

- That you can rest in His peace and assurance instead of dwelling on the "what-ifs"

All those insecurities that you may have is Satan trying to steer you away from Who God Is, What He's commanded you to do, and who YOU are in Christ. Fight those thoughts. Fight those temptations. Fight those lies. Fight REAL hard. Fill your mind with truth. Do good deeds in love for the edification of the saints and the glory of Christ. You have the Spirit working in you and you have the strength of Christ to conquer these fears and insecurities!!!! And as you fight your own battles, let us also learn to come alongside our sisters and help them fight as well! _____________________________________ Hebrews 4:12: For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.

Philippians 1:6: For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-9: Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

1 John 4:18: There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

Matthew 6:25-34: “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ...

Romans 12:2: Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.

Romans 8: There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. ..

. Romans 5:1-5: Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

#insecurity #security #God #Jesus #HolySpirit #women #struggle #pain #anxiety #Genesis3 #Eve #Hope #Grace #Peace

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gaudeixcc · 4 years

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Peloton News – Chicken & Pork

Sitting in my kitchen about to start the usual factual tour documentation, I look out of my French doors and into the garden.

Literally, as I am about to punch finger to keyboard, a pigeon flies straight into the window.

20 miles to the South (my internal compass still accurate to within a few degrees) and one Captain Mark McEvoy sits cross-legged on his new yoga mat. He is, I suspect, in a deep meditative trance, communicating with the birds…well, one particular bird. He sees through third-sight the motion of digit towards MacBook and he seizes his opportunity.

There is a loud thud as the feathered fox food clumps against the glass.

Undeterred, I press on though. This is an important story to tell.

Munich really is a beautiful city. It has an unhurried feeling about it. Not too much hustle and bustle, but just enough. Clean and tidy everywhere and a sort of low-rise architecture with church spires scattered about the place, London this is not.

Sitting in the city-centre roof garden sipping beers with Macca, overlooking the city was a lovely start to this mini cycling trip.

We chatted about this and that. Furious disagreement on Coronavirus not even in the air, let alone the conversation at this point. (I believe that we need to be careful and manage the infection as the human price is significantly larger than the financial one. Macca believes that we should inject everyone in the eye with the virus and that the strong will survive and the weak will be thinned out nicely).

The drama of the evening was the arrival of Tommy Trusler with an arm in a sling (his own arm I should add). An outrageous rugby manoeuvre had seen him hit the deck and pain arrive with a jolt. Within 2 minutes of the news landing Macca had completely diagnosed both the problem and the rehabilitation period, had put the Truslers’ collective minds at ease and then laid out a spread of complementary peanuts to settle everyone down.

Next morning, the drive to our first port of call was largely uneventful. Deep into Italy and with a further 2 hours still to go to get to the eventual destination of lake Garda, we stopped for the day 1 ride.

The Sella Ronda. 42 miles and nearly 7,000 foot of elevation. This was going to be tough. JT lead the pack out and immediately into the first tunnel. Somehow, I had found myself in second position. With this group, this is not a position which I belong in.

I didn’t know James had an uneasy phobia of tunnels. Why would I? Within 100 yards of setting off we entered an uphill sloping tunnel. There was a faint parping sound from the rear of James bicycle and he was off. For the first 15 seconds I thought it was just me getting used to the normal pace. I started panting. By 30 seconds my legs had started to squeal at the pace of the relentlessly pedalling Trusler. By the time we exited the tunnel my lungs were burning. They took 30 mins to lose that feeling. Seriously. 30 fucking minutes. We were less than 10 minutes into the toughest ride of the trip and we’d effectively started our marathon with a flat-out 400 metre race. I don’t remember Mo Farah ever adopting this tactic in the Flora 26….

Most tours I’m middle-to-lower Peloton. This mini-tour and I knew I was going to be at the back.

JT and Macca were known quantities. I’d also ridden with Neal and knew he was up there in the Macca-sphere somewhere. Andrew was an unknown quantity. JT had described him as ‘liking to get out front early before settling in to a rhythm. Strong rider’.

Over the course of the 3 rides I would describe Andrew a strong rider who likes to get out front early before settling into a rhythm.

What is particularly unusual is that in this instance James displayed some genuine human assessment to his rider categorisation. Normally his brain places people into 3 buckets.

‘Bucket 1, riders who are the same as, or better than I am. Bucket 2. Shit riders. Bucket 3. Riders ability unknown as mentally feeble.’

I know he sees me as firmly having two feet in bucket 3 with aspirations to climb into bucket 2. Macca has me pegged at the pre-bucket stage.

The ride finished with over 40 miles under the belt and nigh on 7,000 foot of climbing. That’s punchy in my book.

Friday’s ride was not much easier either. In fact, with the mileage in the legs from day 1, it felt the toughest of the days by a good measure. The climb after lunch was fairly relentless with a big high-teens ramp toward the end.

Whilst on the climb I came across a stationary JT. A few weeks earlier he had allegedly been severely injured in a freak accident at Center Parcs involving a waterslide and the wrangling of a small child. I didn’t like to probe. This injury however, whilst not apparent at the time (nor visible…. Nor complained about….or even talked about it seems) suddenly re-appeared on the ascent. A grudging acknowledgment of the severity of day 1 along with the unrelenting nature of the back-to-back-ness of day 2 was murmured.

Thrilled to have company at the back, I chatted light-heartedly until we arrived at Andrew, stationary on the steepest part of the climb so far, looking pretty fed up.

The sight of him stopped gave my brain all the excuses it needed to deploy the old executive decision to down-tools and break out the food.

I sat down under a tree.

I quite like sitting down.

The other two then buggered off.

I remained sat down.

The crest was only about 200 yards away as it turned out. When I got there, I felt done. Not since the last time, the fountain at Malaga I think, I had a little lie down. Again, not what you expect your average cyclist to be doing whilst out on a ride. I breathed deeply whilst listening the chitter chatter of the fellas discussing James’ alleged knee injury.

After the ‘CenterParcs vs small child’ explanation, Macca dwelt.

He narrowed his eyes.

There was complete silence.

His semi-sentient neural connection to the world wide web had latched on to a local wi-fi hot-spot and he had deployed a legion of web-spiders all armed with binary details of all of James’ symptoms onto the net.

His eyes lost all focus momentarily.

After a few seconds I think the first of the spiders returned as Macca suddenly arrived back in the present, eyes squeezed into a defined narrow gaze.

‘I think you have a damaged meniscus and in all probability a cyst on the inside of your knee’.

James pondered this for a moment. ‘You’re probably right’.

Behind Macca’s eyes, the fire raged. Fury and bile broiled in the pit of his stomach as adrenalin coursed through his arteries and soaked his brain.

Deep in his mind his basal ganglia fired messages to all parts of his thinking system and from the cold dark recesses of a structure billions of development years in the making, a dark, deep, cold voice uttered a single word……’Probably?’

Macca wanted to grab James by the throat and lift him off the floor and squeeze… his mind’s favoured Darth Vader manoeuvre. He wanted to lean in to him. Nose nearly touching nose. And quietly, in spittle filled words say ‘Probably?’

What he actually did was imperceptibly shrug his shoulders and gentle raise his eyebrows a couple of millimetres and softly said ‘seems likely’. The web spiders had started fighting amongst themselves. Macca calmed them down.

The rest of the ride was smattered with stops for food and some post-lunch ridiculousness in the form of immediate 20% climbs out of the town.

By the time the day had ended, we’d caught 2 cross-lake ferries, ridden a brutal 50 miles on top of the previous days efforts and were back at our lovely apartment for after-ride chitter chatter.

Saturday was nearly with us and general consensus was a rest day was required. All agreed.

The conversation slid to another climb which both Neil and James had done in the local area. Both riders had not managed to conquer this particular beast.

Massive gradient, brutal in a way that Mortirolo was…. but worse.

Brilliant. This was my chance. I’d been dying to put the needle into someone at some point. I was fed up of being the shit rider, now was my chance to lash out at the talent.

‘Wow….. I bet Macca could do it’.

That little bomb-shell deployed, I thought I’d settle back and watch it all unfold.

Whilst there was plenty of chatter about it, the white glove was not picked up off the floor. This was terrible. If Dripping had been here, the moment it was suggested he would have had a foot in a pink Rapha shoe, gels quickly thrust into jersey pocket, car keys in mouth, ready to go.

He would have failed of course, but Jesus H Christ he would have given it everything….!

Macca wouldn’t have failed. He is in phenomenal shape at the moment. Low on weight, big on power and with a ‘I will not be fucking beaten’ mindset, he would have crawled through broken glass to come out on top.

Still, I couldn’t convince him to give it a go. If he would have, I would have gone too. I would have given it a go. I would have failed. My mind, on seeing the ridiculous uncomfortableness of it all would have replayed the fact that Neil and James had failed, therefore there’s no shame in stopping, sitting down and having a bite to eat.

‘You know what today is don’t you?’ I parried in one last attempt to make the great seem mortal.

‘Chicken Saturday’.

It was a cheap shot. It was a final shot.

It didn’t work.

A great rest day followed where we swam in the lake, ate amazing food, sipped Negronis and generally relaxed in the loveliness of it all. Even went on a tour of a vineyard where unbeknownst to us, a small rodent-like creature ate half of James’ under-bonnet Jaguar.

The final day of riding was an early start and a just beautiful ride up and around the lake. Amazing scenery and some really lovely climbs.

What I came to realise during the course of the trip is that the Peloton needs its fair spread of performers. Being slower than the rest meant I rode pretty much every climb alone. Whilst Macca, Neil, Andrew and JT managed to broadly cycle tighter (I am assuming…didn’t actually witness much of this with my own eyes), I was at the back. Pushing against no-one. The other fellas had some competition. One trying to drop the other etc. This meant they all pushed hard, very hard at some point. At the back, a push resulted in the same thing as just grinding it out. Progress up an empty climb. It was not an easy 3 days of cycling by any means. 40 miles and 7,000 feet of climbing never would be. But did I ever empty the tank? No. Did I track someone down, hold their back wheel and then fuck the hell off when I sensed weakness? No.

For that sort of cycling in general, I need to rest of the lower-order Peloton and in particular, Dripping. I fucking hate being beaten by him. He has more capability and more sheer determination to suffer pain than I do. I beat him because the one thing I do focus on with a bit of bloody-mindedness is training. The day he does the longer training efforts, sharpens the weight, then I’m fucked. In the meantime, I keep plugging away and am just about keeping my nose in front…..just.

Cycling is different things to everyone. This trip also underlined the sheer beauty of the world we live in. Whilst cycling up the climbs I contemplated what was around me. I even took the odd photo. Competition and personal performance have their place. But…. and it’s a big but, for us mere mortals who don’t do this for a living, more eyes on the scenery and less on the heart-rate is probably a good thing. Perhaps in time as our performance inevitably wains the balance will shift a little and we won’t mourn the loss too much as we’ll appreciate the gain.

The white Jaguar piloted its way back toward Munich and made its way closer to my absolute tour highlight… ‘Pork Knuckle Sunday’. What a way to follow the disappointment of ‘Chicken Saturday’. Along with gravy, chips and a massive fucking pint of lager (technically not a pint, I know, but you get my drift).

James, not a driver for any of the world’s slow lanes, gave the cat a fair thump away from the service station following the pit stop. Pulling out (at velocity) onto the motorway, he snagged a yellow ‘engine warning’ light and the car went in to limp mode.

Macca’s eyes hazed over.

‘Please tell me the symptoms’ said Macca (whose voice tonality had suddenly gone all Alexa).

After James’ incoherent babble I casually thought for a moment ‘probably an emission thing after you hoofed it’ said I, not really caring as we still seemed to be moving and pork knuckle appeared to be at no particular risk.

There was a very quiet snort from the back-seat. Almost as if Holmes had just heard Watson’s completely amateur explanation of the what had happened to the murder victim in the hours preceding his grisly death.

‘I suspect’ started Sherlock McEvoy, ‘That an air and/or vacuum hose of some variety has become dethatched leading to the engine switching quickly into a self-preservation limp mode. Likely cause? The Bavarian crested marmot. They like to digest rubber in the confines of a warm bonneted car’.

As dusk approached, the web-spiders where shepherded back to their pens and a calm quiet settled into the car.

In what has been an incredibly unstable year, I feel lucky that a flight to Munich booked pre-pandemic for some cycling in Germany ended up in Italy and played out exactly as it had. 2021 seems an awfully long way away. Success would be a full Peloton tour and narrow squinted eyes towards Dripping’s rear wheel.

Get out and ride my little schweinshaxe.

Hoppo

#PelotonNews

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codyboolman · 4 years

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amadeakevala · 4 years

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I’m Sorry for Christians that Hurt You

This is something that I feel like sharing right now as I just found out a video online on a christian street preacher who's having I guess a good intention of preaching the gospel but doing it in a very disturbing, almost hostile kind of way.

As a Christian myself, I just don't understand why these people are talking about Jesus yet almost portraying hatred and hostility. And I feel like these are the kinds of people that make us Christians look like we're against certain groups of people, we're intolerant about their unique differences etc.

The truth is, Christians are not perfect people. Christ is PERFECT. Christians ARE NOT. We're sinful humans like everybody else. We need grace and forgiveness like everybody else. There's nothing in us that should make us feel boastful or better than other people of any group, any sexuality, any background or any kind of faith, in our own strength and righteousness.

The Bible says we all fall short of the glory of God. No exception. Even Christians fall short. We don't need MORE GRACE than unbelievers do. WE ALL fall short. No exception, whoever you are. WE ALL sin. There's no space for boastfulness when it comes to the righteousness of God.

Nobody can jump high enough to reach the height of the moon except God Himself. If you're a Christian, you should stop deluding yourself that you are any better than say a nonbeliever or anybody else, cause you're not. You and I, we deal with the same struggles, same sins like nonbelievers do. Let's not be a hypocrite about it.

Nobody is a Saint, even Christians, even pastors, even preachers. WE ALL fall short. We break the laws. We break the commandments even when we don’t realize it or want to admit it. And until we realize that we're truly saved by grace through faith of the finished work of Jesus Christ and NONE of ourselves, we will always be deluding ourselves that we're better when we're not.

If you are a Christian (I guess this is more for my believer friends), remember that the delivery is as important as the message.

Here's what I think:

You can't expect a person who has no idea of who Jesus is and tell them in a very disturbing, annoying way and expect them to take it gladly and be saved. Even I, as a Christian, will feel so weirded out by people telling me harshly to believe in Jesus. I honestly would flee from that person.

It's like selling a Hermes scarf which can cost millions of dollars by shouting out loud hanging it in the air like it costs $5. Even if the scarf is truly expensive and is truly branded, nobody is going to believe that it costs that much because of the way that you sell it.

Jesus is real. He did pay the price of your sins and my sins. He is a great Savior. He is the BEST "product" anyone could ever have. The most important, most expensive One indeed. So He deserves the right way of marketing that is on par with who He really is. He is such an expensive product that you can't just sell it like it's some sort of normal commodity.

Treat it with love, with respect, with kindness. If a brand like Hermes cares so much about the way it is branded and marketed, why can't we care about the way JESUS is promoted? He is the ultimate best thing and you're selling it like he's a $5 dollar worth of egg.

It honestly annoys me so much when people do that. When you want to speak about Him, know that you carry the weight of being His ambassador. You can't just do things without thinking,

"Is what I'm doing going to effectively help people understand that Jesus is truly a powerful, loving and gracious God?"

Because if the answer is no, then think again before doing it. I know you want to do it out of a good intention and I respect that. But if you're just gonna make Jesus looks like He hates non-christians or certain groups of people, then you might as well not do it. Take time to understand who He is and then promote Him in the way He deserves to be promoted.

Because He is not judgmental, He is not unkind, He is not harsh, He is not boastful. He is humble, He is kind, He empathizes with our weaknesses, He is a fountain of hope. If your way of promoting Him does not portray any of these, then what you're doing is you're mismarketing Him.

He deserves more than that. Also understand that when you speak to the skeptics and unbelievers, they are babies. You can't expect a baby to be able to eat a bagel no matter how good it tastes. Babies don't have teeth to be able to consume bagel that hard.

There's going to be time to talk about the hard stuffs, just as there is going to be time for the baby to be a grown up one day and be able to eat the bagel. But now even if he wants, he can't. Be on pace with his spiritual walk.

Don't feed him bagel when he can only consume milk. I'm not asking you to pick and choose the truth but there's time for everything.

“I had to feed you with milk, not with solid food, because you weren’t ready for anything stronger. And you still aren’t ready.” - 1 Corinthians 3:2 (NLT)

You can’t give them solid food when they’re not ready for it. Give them milk instead.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” - Ecclesiastes 3:1

They're not gonna understand the "repentance" part unless they understand the "redemption, love, grace, and forgiveness" part. Let babies be babies. When it's time for them to grow, they will grow. All you have to do is love them. Understand them. Empathize with them. And speak truth, but speak truth in a genuinely loving way, because people don't just remember what you say. People remember how you make them feel.

So if you are one of the victims of Christians who seem like they discriminate or inappropriately accuse you, I'm so sorry on behalf of Christians. The truth is Jesus loves you, Jesus is for you and He wants nothing but the best for you. Let not our misdemeanors hide you from finding who Jesus really is. Cause He is SO WORTH knowing for.

Friends, don't just talk about Jesus. Love Like Him. That is the only way that would best describe Him because He is LOVE.

#jesus is love

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sammy24682468 · 4 years

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Quote for your delight

[6/29, 6:34 AM] Albert: “Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? for ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's.” 1 Corinthians 6:19

The health reform is one branch of the great work which is to fit a people for the coming of the Lord. It is as closely connected with the third angel's message as the hand is with the body. The law of ten commandments has been lightly regarded by man; yet the Lord will not come to punish the transgressors of that law without first sending them a message of warning. Men and women cannot violate natural law by indulging depraved appetite and lustful passions, without violating the law of God. Therefore he has permitted the light of health reform to shine upon us, that we may realize the sinfulness of breaking the laws which he has established in our very being. Our heavenly Father sees the deplorable condition of men who, many of them ignorantly, are disregarding the principles of hygiene. And it is in love and pity to the race that he causes the light to shine upon health reform. He publishes his law and its penalties, in order that all may learn what is for their highest good. He proclaims his law so distinctly, and makes it so prominent, that it is like a city set on a hill. All intelligent beings can understand it if they will. None others are responsible. To make natural law plain, and to urge obedience to it, is a work that accompanies the third angel's message. CTBH 9.1_9.1_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/14.23#36

[6/30, 5:56 AM] Albert: “And put a knife to thy throat, if thou be a man given to appetite. Be not desirous of his dainties: for they are deceitful meat.” Proverbs 23:2-3

God wants men to cultivate force of character. Those who are merely timeservers are not the ones who will receive a rich reward by and by. He wants those who labor in His cause to be men of keen feeling and quick perception. They should be temperate in eating; rich and luxurious food should find no place upon their tables; and when the brain is constantly taxed and there is a lack of physical exercise, they should eat sparingly, even of plain food. Daniel's clearness of mind and firmness of purpose, his strength of intellect in acquiring knowledge, were due in a great degree to the plainness of his diet in connection with his life of prayer. 4T 515.4_515.4_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/114.2519#2540

[7/1, 6:27 AM] Albert: “And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed: and all the world wondered after the beast.” Revelation 13:3

Romanism is now regarded by Protestants with far greater favor than in former years. In those countries where Catholicism is not in the ascendancy, and the papists are taking a conciliatory course in order to gain influence, there is an increasing indifference concerning the doctrines that separate the reformed churches from the papal hierarchy; the opinion is gaining ground that, after all, we do not differ so widely upon vital points as has been supposed, and that a little concession on our part will bring us into a better understanding with Rome. The time was when Protestants placed a high value upon the liberty of conscience which had been so dearly purchased. They taught their children to abhor popery and held that to seek harmony with Rome would be disloyalty to God. But how widely different are the sentiments now expressed! GC 563.1_563.1_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/132.2545#2546

http://catholicherald.co.uk/news/2018/06/21/pope-calls-for-christian-unity-in-protestant-heartland-of-geneva/

[7/2, 6:17 AM] Albert: "And after these things I saw another angel come down from heaven, having great power; and the earth was lightened with his glory...And I heard another voice from heaven, saying,

Come out of her, my people,

that ye be not partakers of her sins,

and that ye receive not of her plagues." Revelation 18:1,4.

It is true that there are real Christians in the Roman Catholic communion. Thousands in that church are serving God according to the best light they have. They are not allowed access to His word, and therefore they do not discern the truth. [Published in 1888 and 1911. See Appendix.] They have never seen the contrast between a living heart service and a round of mere forms and ceremonies. God looks with pitying tenderness upon these souls, educated as they are in a faith that is delusive and unsatisfying. He will cause rays of light to penetrate the dense darkness that surrounds them. He will reveal to them the truth as it is in Jesus, and many will yet take their position with His people. GC 565.3_565.3_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/132.2545#2558

[7/3, 6:17 AM] Albert: "And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet. For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, which go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty." Revelation 16:13-14

Through the two great errors, the immortality of the soul and Sunday sacredness, Satan will bring the people under his deceptions. While the former lays the foundation of spiritualism, the latter creates a bond of sympathy with Rome. The Protestants of the United States will be foremost in stretching their hands across the gulf to grasp the hand of spiritualism; they will reach over the abyss to clasp hands with the Roman power; and under the influence of this threefold union, this country will follow in the steps of Rome in trampling on the rights of conscience. GC 588.1_588.1_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/132.2635#2659

[7/4, 6:09 AM] Albert: "And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon. And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him, and causeth the earth and them which dwell therein to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed." Revelation 13:11-12

When the leading churches of the United States, uniting upon such points of doctrine as are held by them in common, shall influence the state to enforce their decrees and to sustain their institutions, then Protestant America will have formed an image of the Roman hierarchy, and the infliction of civil penalties upon dissenters will inevitably result. GC 445.1

The beast with two horns “causeth [commands] all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads: and that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.” Revelation 13:16, 17. The third angel's warning is: “If any man worship the beast and his image, and receive his mark in his forehead, or in his hand, the same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God.” “The beast” mentioned in this message, whose worship is enforced by the two-horned beast, is the first, or leopardlike beast of Revelation 13—the papacy. The “image to the beast” represents that form of apostate Protestantism which will be developed when the Protestant churches shall seek the aid of the civil power for the enforcement of their dogmas. GC 445.2_445.2_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/132.1960#2014

https://www.ncronline.org/news/politics/key-evangelical-players-trumps-advisory-board

[7/5, 6:11 AM] Albert: “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; And shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments.” Exodus 20:4-6

How the Roman Church can clear herself from the charge of idolatry we cannot see. True, she professes to worship God through these images; so did the Israelites when they bowed before the golden calf. But the Lord's wrath was kindled against them, and many were slain. God pronounced them impious idolaters, and the same record is made today in the books of heaven against those who adore images of saints and so-called holy men. RH June 1, 1886, par. 12_12_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/821.7316#7316

[7/6, 6:09 AM] Albert: “And when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove them all out of the temple, and the sheep, and the oxen; and poured out the changers' money, and overthrew the tables; And said unto them that sold doves, Take these things hence; make not my Father's house an house of merchandise.” John 2:15-16

Christ was a protestant. He protested against the formal worship of the Jewish nation, who rejected the counsel of God against themselves. He told them that they taught for doctrines the commandments of men, and that they were pretenders and hypocrites. Like whited sepulchers they were beautiful without, but within full of impurity and corruption. The Reformers date back to Christ and the apostles. They came out and separated themselves from a religion of forms and ceremonies. Luther and his followers did not invent the reformed religion. They simply accepted it as presented by Christ and the apostles. The Bible is presented to us as a sufficient guide; but the pope and his workers remove it from the people as if it were a curse, because it exposes their pretensions and rebukes their idolatry. RH June 1, 1886, par. 14_14_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/821.7316#7316

[7/7, 5:53 AM] Albert: "And all the king's servants, that were in the king's gate, bowed, and reverenced Haman: for the king had so commanded concerning him. But Mordecai bowed not, nor did him reverence." Esther 3:2

The decree which is to go forth against the people of God will be very similar to that issued by Ahasuerus against the Jews in the time of Esther. The Persian edict sprang from the malice of Haman toward Mordecai. Not that Mordecai had done him harm, but he had refused to show him reverence which belongs only to God. The king's decision against the Jews was secured under false pretenses through misrepresentation of that peculiar people. Satan instigated the scheme in order to rid the earth of those who preserved the knowledge of the true God. But his plots were defeated by a counterpower that reigns among the children of men. Angels that excel in strength were commissioned to protect the people of God, and the plots of their adversaries returned upon their own heads. The Protestant world today see in the little company keeping the Sabbath a Mordecai in the gate. His character and conduct, expressing reverence for the law of God, are a constant rebuke to those who have cast off the fear of the Lord and are trampling upon His Sabbath; the unwelcome intruder must by some means be put out of the way. 5T 450.1_450.1_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/113.2223#2228

[7/8, 6:36 AM] Albert: “Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.” Matthew 16:24

Self-denial means to rule the spirit when passion is seeking for the mastery; to resist the temptation to censure and to speak faultfinding words; to have patience with the child that is dull and whose conduct is grievous and trying; to stand at the post of duty when others may fail; to lift responsibilities wherever and whenever you can, not for the purpose of applause, not for policy, but for the sake of the Master, who has given you a work to be done with unwavering fidelity; when you might praise yourself, to keep silent and let other lips praise you. Self-denial is to do good to others where inclination would lead you to serve and please yourself. Although your fellow men may never appreciate your efforts or give you credit for them, yet you are to work on. 4T 521.2_521.2_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/114.2556#2567

[7/9, 6:03 AM] Albert: “For thus saith the LORD, Ye have sold yourselves for nought; and ye shall be redeemed without money.” Isaiah 52:3

The enemy is buying souls today very cheap. “Ye have sold yourselves for nought,” is the language of Scripture. One is selling his soul for the world's applause, another for money; one to gratify base passions, another for worldly amusement. Such bargains are made daily. Satan is bidding for the purchase of Christ's blood and buying them cheap, notwithstanding the infinite price which has been paid to ransom them. 5T 133.4_133.4_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/113.658#666

[7/10, 6:05 AM] Albert: “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much. If therefore ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your trust the true riches? And if ye have not been faithful in that which is another man's, who shall give you that which is your own?” Luke 16:10-12

There are few who realize the influence of the little things of life upon the development of character. Nothing with which we have to do is really small. The varied circumstances that we meet day by day are designed to test our faithfulness and to qualify us for greater trusts. By adherence to principle in the transactions of ordinary life, the mind becomes accustomed to hold the claims of duty above those of pleasure and inclination. Minds thus disciplined are not wavering between right and wrong, like the reed trembling in the wind; they are loyal to duty because they have trained themselves to habits of fidelity and truth. By faithfulness in that which is least they acquire strength to be faithful in greater matters. PP 222.3_222.3_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/84.901#940

[7/11, 6:07 AM] Albert: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom: and the knowledge of the holy is understanding.” Proverbs 9:10

It is a law of the mind that it gradually adapts itself to the subjects upon which it is trained to dwell. If occupied with commonplace matters only, it will become dwarfed and enfeebled. If never required to grapple with difficult problems, it will after a time almost lose the power of growth. As an educating power the Bible is without a rival. In the word of God the mind finds subject for the deepest thought, the loftiest aspiration. The Bible is the most instructive history that men possess. It came fresh from the fountain of eternal truth, and a divine hand has preserved its purity through all the ages. It lights up the far-distant past, where human research seeks vainly to penetrate. In God's word we behold the power that laid the foundation of the earth and that stretched out the heavens. Here only can we find a history of our race unsullied by human prejudice or human pride. Here are recorded the struggles, the defeats, and the victories of the greatest men this world has ever known. Here the great problems of duty and destiny are unfolded. The curtain that separates the visible from the invisible world is lifted, and we behold the conflict of the opposing forces of good and evil, from the first entrance of sin to the final triumph of righteousness and truth; and all is but a revelation of the character of God. In the reverent contemplation of the truths presented in His word the mind of the student is brought into communion with the infinite mind. Such a study will not only refine and ennoble the character, but it cannot fail to expand and invigorate the mental powers. PP 596.2_596.2_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/84.2786#2810

[7/12, 6:04 AM] Albert: “For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” Hebrews 4:15

The obedience of Christ to His Father was the same obedience that is required of man. Man cannot overcome Satan's temptations without divine power to combine with his instrumentality. So with Jesus Christ; He could lay hold of divine power. He came not to our world to give theobedience of a lesser God to a greater, but as a man toobey God's Holy Law, and in this way He is our example. The Lord Jesus came to our world, not to reveal what a God could do, but what a man could do, through faith in God's power tohelp in every emergency. Man is, through faith, to be apartaker in the divine nature, and to overcome every temptation wherewith he is beset. OHC 48.3_48.3_https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/81.306?#309

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ccorneliast · 7 years

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A Heart In Barcelona - Chapter 3: A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: M Summary: Carrie and Harrison go on a weekend getaway to Barcelona during filming of The Empire Strikes Back in the late seventies. Something happens on that trip that changes their lives forever. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I’m not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). I did take some creative liberty on what concerns the timeline, so stuff that is mentioned/places they visit may not have existed in the seventies, I apologize in advance; I do use/paraphrase some parts from Carrie’s books, as a way of making it feel more like them. A/N: Jennifer, my love, this third chapter is for you ( @jennydehavilland ), for your constant love, friendship and excitment over these two. Big thanks to my girls over at the carrison groupchat, y’all are the best.

On AO3 (tumblr was being stupid so it ate my italics, so i’d recomend reading on AO3 this time!)

I hope you enjoy this new story of mine and don’t forget to reblog and tell me your opinion!

You’d think that an afternoon of such intimacy and years of accumulated tension would be enough for them to keep their hands on each other. Instead, as they make their way to the España Square, Carrie’s eyes rarely meet Harrison’s. Truth be told, it just dawned on the two actors that they rarely had this much time alone as is, and they don’t quite know how to deal with it.

Soon enough, if they weren’t careful, Harrison would start to get annoyed at Carrie’s mood swings and, in turn, she’d begin to resent him for his frustratingly unconcerned demeanor.

They walk side by side, though miles apart psychologically, until they reach it. The square is momentous in itself, it’s huge fountains dominating most of the space. Up above, almost sky high, they could observe the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya, an enormous classical edifice, much too different from Gaudí’s architecture.

Harrison glances at his wrist watch and mumbles: “Maybe we should get something to eat.” She nods.

They walk up the steps (more steps, ugh) until they’re by the bigger, more crowded fountain. Carrie spots some street food and urges Harrison, with little to no words, to follow her lead. They pay for some delicious, though unreasonably priced, meaty sandwiches.

“You wanna sit there?” Harrison’s questions, uninterested.

She does. She sits down on the grass, right in front of the fountain. He sits next to her with some difficulty, for the area’s overflowing with tourists and natives alike.

“Harrison,” she says, but it’s barely audible. She tries again, this time turning her face towards his. “Harrison.”

He continues eating, but nods.

“What was that earlier?” she asks. He keeps chewing, but it’s not a way to divert the attention from the conversation. He doesn’t try to deny it or change the topic. Instead, he says:

“That thing was jam-packed.” He takes another bite. “I couldn’t breathe up there.” On top of the rooftop of La Pedrera.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?” she chews on the straw of her drink absentmindedly.

“Didn’t want to worry ya, kid.” His eyes focus on the still dormant fountain instead of on hers.

“Bullshit.” She sets the cup down in front of her and brings a hand to his face, turning it towards her.

“What?” he’s shocked by how quickly her tone turned aggressive.

“You heard me.” She repeats, her hand falling to her lap. “You weren’t trying to be selfless.”

“Then what was I doing?” his tone is dangerous.

“Can’t crack that up yet.” She ponders it for a few moments.

“I have that problem sometimes.” He confesses. “When things aren’t the way I want them to.” He finishes his sandwich and puts away the wrapper in his backpack.

“When things aren’t the way you want them to be…” she echoes. He’s unbelievable.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.” People start cheering, but they remain absorbed in their conversation.

“Afraid?” she runs her hands through her hair and successfully makes a ponytail.

He keeps quiet.

“That’s it, right?” she smiles, pleased. “You didn’t want me to see you scared?” the fountain rises and water starts splashing around in various colors. “You didn’t want me to think you’re what? Human?” she presses. His eyes reflect the pinks and blues and yellows. “Tell you a secret, I don’t. Never have.” That’s a lie, a big one. Big movie star, Harrison Ford, fearless and manly as can be. That was her mindset and, frankly, it was scary to think otherwise.

He turns around, effectively shutting her up. His mouth clashes onto hers, his tongue slipping inside her, demanding and expecting nothing but her very best. She obliges, of course. The music in the square is nearly deafening, but it doesn’t throw her off. Her hand grips the hair on the back of his head, tugging him closer and closer. Their lips slide on each other until he’s breathless. As they part, she sits back up in her place, their skin barely touching.

Then, softer:

“You kiss like a poet.” The words barely reach her.

“Kissed a lot of poets in your life to know how they go about it, Harrison?” she laughs it off, uncomfortable.

“You know what I mean.” He says, their eyes never meeting.

She does. Because every time he looks at her, suddenly flowers grow in her chest.

The morning sunlight accompanies them on their way to La Sagrada Família. The map easily leads them to the closest transit station. The metrotakes them directly to the cathedral, as they exit the station. And then they see it, through the waves of tourists and countless bright green trees. La Pedrera and Casa Batlló may be Gaudí masterpieces, but Sagrada Família?

It’s a monster.

Its height is unfathomable and the exquisite sculpture work on the facades is unbelievable. Portraits of Christ’s life cover the entirety of its outside and its shape is eerily reminiscent of sandcastles on the beach. It looks like a fantasyland castle – wet sand dripped through fingers, both sharp and soft.

Carrie and Harrison circle the entire structure, taking in the seemingly unorganized order of the figures carved into every inch of the front. So much is happening, everywhere, that the overall style defies categorization. The west side is austere and tormented, drawing their attention to an emaciated Jesus on an iron cross. Stone women wail beside a pile of skulls at his feet. However, the east side is an abundance of life – humans and angels and animals and wheat – and topped by a green tree covered in white doves. Carrie inhales at its beauty, and they’ve only seen the outside.

As they enter the cathedral, they’re aware of an absence of noise. Organic figures intertwine with colorful and intricate stained-glass windows. On the right side, windows dyed with blues and greens and purples bid goodbye to the sun, whereas on the left side, where the sun rises every morning, warm colors like oranges and yellows welcome it.

“Fuck, this is beautiful.” Harrison whispers, only to Carrie. She nods.

And then, an overwhelming need to pick up her notebook pops up. An entire storyline occurs and she wants desperately to write it down. She tugs on Harrison’s shirt’s sleeve and he looks down at her: “Harrison,”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” they keep walking through the columns.

“I want to write.” Her voice is tight.

“What, now?” his eyebrow creases.

��Please,” she tugs harder, more urgent.

“Okay, okay.” He looks around. “Sit down there, huh?” he points to one of the columns farther to the left.

She walks towards it, slumps on the ground and leans against the warm stone, hot from the sun rays. She fumbles inside her bag, fishing out her little grey notebook and a black ink pen. Words flow out of her and onto the paper, energy turning into energy. Harrison observes curiously, taking note of the way her lip curves when she’s thinking of what to write next, the way her teeth bite into it when she knows she’s got a good idea. Her back is curved over her ink-stained hands and the yellowed-out pages.

It’s a mesmerizing sight, even amongst all of Gaudí’s beauty.

A while later, her head rises and she smiles. His body, his soul, fills with the most pleasant adrenaline he’s ever felt. The sight of her proud smile imprints a crescent moon on his lip, and the desire of capturing this moment and savoring it for more than these mere seconds is overpowering. He sneaks out his camera and snaps the swiftest shot he’s ever taken, her lips and sparkling eyes forever inside his jeans’ pocket.

I wish the world would swallow us whole, in this moment. This, it hits me, feels like falling in love.

The afternoon train is already speeding out of Spain and it’s warm-colored buildings, en route to reality, also known as grey old London.

“When are you gonna show me one of those things you write?” Harrison mumbles.

“What?” Carrie’s eyes are cloudy from tiredness.

“Will you ever show me?” his eyes are the smallest hint of hopeful.

“Someday, Harrison,” she responds. “Someday.” She smiles, though not very convincingly.

“What is it exactly that you write?” he thought of letting go of the subject, but he’s too invested now to stop.

“Whatever I feel like.” She replies. It doesn’t seem enough to satisfy him. “Sometimes, it’s journals. Others, poetry. Rarely prose, though I do have a million ideas for it.” She laughs, suddenly nervous for having his undivided attention.

“Interesting,” he looks at her like he’s studying her. It’s intimidating. “Very different writing styles, then.” She nods. “Does it feel different?”

She lets her hair loose from the pony tail and it falls down onto her shoulders. “When I write a diary, I do it to listen to myself, not to communicate.” He nods in understanding, inciting her to continue. “It’s sort of like I’m cloning myself in an effort to try to understand myself.” She chuckles. “Just trying to get to the edge of my personality.”

“And poetry?” her gets up and makes his way across the table, sitting down beside her. As if this conversation couldn’t get any more daunting.

“Oh, poetry is a lousy lousy way of communicating.” She explains. “But such a great way to find yourself.” His lip curves upward in the most endearing smirk.

“So, your words mirror you.” He tries. When she doesn’t react, he bites his bottom lip in anticipation. She melts a little bit inside.

“My words burn.”

If only he knew every hurtful, confused, venomous words she’s written about him.

“It’s ironic how artistic we become when our hearts are broken.” As she says this, she realizes how truly powerful her words are, because it looks as though his face shut down. His eyes look glassy and dark, his facial features very harsh, as though they were hand-painted with coal. She almost regrets them. Almost.

“All art comes down to love and heartbreak, isn’t that so?” she’s enjoying the effect she has on him. He must understand. Her smile is wicked.

He plunges into her, dives into her, drowns. His lips are hers, his bottom lip trapped in between his. Her hands on his soft, brown hair, pulling him closer, as close as she pleases. In her waist, she feels his fingers digging perfect oval holes on her skin. His slight stubble rubs against her sun-kissed skin and it feels nothing short of exciting. These days, it feels like he only kisses her to shut her up.

As the train breezes through the French countryside, Carrie and Harrison kiss. The kiss doesn’t quite feel the same, though. Her air leaves her body and enters his, enters her spirit, enters her life.

#carrison #carrie fisher #harrison ford #fanfiction #rpf #carrison fanfiction #tita writes #a heart in barcelona

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years

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10/07/2019 DAB Transcript

Jeremiah 8:8-9:26, Colossians 3:1-17, Psalms 78:32-55, Proverbs 24:27

Today is the 7th day of October. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I’m Brian. It is wonderful to be here with you today as we get going into our week here and get back and into the rhythm of the workweek. And we’ll pick up where we left off. That's what we do every day no matter whether it's weekend or weekday or holiday or whatever, we have a rhythm that we keep that allows God's work…His word to speak into our lives every day. So, this week we’re reading from the New International Version. Today, Jeremiah chapter 8 verse 8:29 verse 26.

Commentary:

Ok. Let’s talk about our diet for second or let’s at least use our diet as a metaphor. So, let’s say we’re hungry, we walk in the kitchen, there's two big bowls full of things and we gotta pick what were gonna eat and in one bowl is sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires, greed, idolatry, anger, rage, malicious behavior, slander, filthy language and lying. And then we look over in this other bowl, there's tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, forgiveness, peace, and love, right? Those two bowls are full of very different things. If they were foods, they are so non-complementarity that if we tried to mix them on a plate and eat them, they would clash, it would not be a good meal and yet mixing from those two bowls is likely our normal diet. Ouch or ewe, which ever one we prefer. Paul had a conviction and his conviction was that Jesus actually transforms us into a completely different person with a completely different appetite. So, think about these two bowls that we just described sitting on the kitchen counter full of stuff that we’re gonna consume. Which bowl you can go to? Which bowl is going to be more healthy for you? Right? It’s like having two bowls, one full of candy and one that's a nice salad, right, with maybe some seeds and berries in it, right? Everything in that bowl, as soon as we eat it our body is going to know what it is and know what to do with it and it's gonna turn it into energy and muscle and bone and everything that we need to stay alive or we can turn to the candy and kill ourselves slowly. And the irony, because we just talked about this spiritually, the irony is that we are…our diets are probably of those mixed bowls. So, for everything that we put in our mouth that helps our body we put something in her mouth that hurts our body. So, can we walk up into the kitchen to these two bowls and take a nice bite of rage, then reach over and grab a piece of patience and try to consume them together? Or can we reach into the bowl and grab a bar of slander and then reach over into the bowl and get up slice of forgiveness and throw them into our mouths at the same time? We have some things to consider because we are trying to mix these things up, whether in spirit or in body. And in both cases, we are not being led to perfect health. And in this day and age it's a busy, busy, busy world, right? So, we don't necessarily always think about the bowls that we’re choosing from, what our source of food might be. We’re running and grabbing whatever we can because we’re too busy to pay attention, but it doesn’t matter the same effects happen in our body. We’re still going to get sick. We won’t be able to say, “well I was just too busy to be healthy. I was too busy to pay attention to my spiritual health and so I was just grabbing whatever I could grab and not paying attention to the fact that I was getting sick.” Paul gave us a little…a little tool that we can carry around with us, but we’ll have to slow down enough to at least have a pause to know that we’re making a decision toward health spiritually or physically or toward unhealth. Paul says, “look, whatever you do, whatever you choose to do, whatever you choose to say, however it is that you're going to conduct yourself, understand that you're representing the Lord Jesus. Do everything that you do in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father.” So, if our life is too busy and we’re not paying attention to our health in any kind of way, we can…we can look in the mirror that the Scriptures gave us today and consciously understand what we’re feasting upon because that's what we’re going to turn into. So, this tool just lets us say, “Can…like can I say this in the name of Jesus? Can I…am I representing Christ if I walk down this path?” If we go back to Paul's lists or if we go back to those two bowls on our counter, it's crystal clear which one of them represents Christ, and which one doesn't. And, so it kind of boils down to what are you going to eat today because that's what you are going to become eventually.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into that because if the metaphor holds true then we do have to admit that we eat things that are not good for us and we eat things that are good for us and we do this in our Spirit and then we wonder why we’re week or why we’re spiritually starving or why things aren't working. And it's because we’re making ourself sick. And, so, Holy Spirit come. We want to feast upon tenderhearted mercy and kindness and humility and gentleness and patience and forgiveness and peace and love. We don’t even have to watch ourselves. We can consume as much of that as we want until we’re full up. And we pray Holy Spirit that we would be full up so that it would spill out of our lives and affect the world and all of our relationships. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website and its home base, its ground zero for what's going on around here. And, so, that’s why I mention it every day. It's the place to go and get connected, stay connected. Pray for your brothers and sisters at the Prayer Wall and just stay connected.

So, a few days ago I mentioned this new resource that has just become available called the God of Your Story. And I’ve begun sharing all the pieces of that story. I mean fundamentally what it is is a 365 day devotional that contains the kinds of commentary, the kinds of things that we talk about as we move through the Scriptures because the question was, “could…could what we do every day in spoken form, could that be written down?” And it can and it has been, but it came at…I was gonna say at high price. That's probably the wrong terminology. It was a very big, big mountain to climb. And it took longer than expected. It took me 600 days to do it, but it's done and it's beautiful and it's a memorial to this community and it's like standing stones in the Bible for what has come about here over this seven-day rhythm every single day for the last 14 years. So, it was created for us and even though it's going all over the world it represents us all over the whole world. And I'm just…I'm praying that everyone…everyone in this community will have this resource, not so much so we can sell a bunch of books and so I can make a few dollars. I'm not. I'm donating everything. Like I donated 600 days of my life to creating this because I felt invited to do it. It felt it was time to try but it was born out of this daily rhythm that we share together. And, so, it felt right that it is of us and for us. And, so, every single copy that gets sold through the Daily Audio Bible Shop, all of it is going to support the ministry efforts and the further and future development of…just all that it takes to make this happen every day. So, I hope you will check that out. You can find it at dailyaudiobible.com. In the Initiatives section there is a God of Your Story and you can read about it there. It's in the shop or you can visit godofyourstory.com and it will just take you there. And if you haven't had a chance to get a copy yet, I pray that you can.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, if what we’re doing here is bringing good news and hope and light and direction and clarity into your life, well then thank God, thank God for the power of His word and thank you for your partnership and all of…all that goes into making this happen. There is a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request a comment you can press the Hotline button in the app, the little red button up at the top and off you go, or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey, DABbers this is Slave of Jesus in North Carolina. Alright Holy Spirit let’s roll. Boy, I had a lot of problems. I’m using an old school phone number to call in. The app was telling me I had the wrong password even though I had the same password. So, I had to reset it, it still wasn’t working. The enemy does not want me to make this call. That’s why I gotta make this call. I was hoping tomorrow was going to be 40 days of my fast and I was gonna tell you about my great struggles and how we’re getting to that and instead I am in the emergency room parking lot getting ready to deal with my daughter who was brought here the of the police. So, I hope my wife forgives me for using female names. I have an agreement not to use it but I ask you to pray for my daughter Jordan and my wife Deborah and that the guardian angels, I know you won’t get this after, that they just surround her and that the enemy would not give her the horrible ideas that it tends to give her from time to time. And, so, Lord we ask this in Jesus mighty name, and I know you guys will be praying. Alfaio, I’m like two weeks behind in my DAB and listening there. It was good to hear you call my name out as I was pulling up to the hospital here. So, perfect timing as usual. Love you all. Have a great day.

This is the first time I’ve ever called. I’m calling to ask for prayers for my daughter, her husband, and their family. They’re talking about separation and I’m just praying against it and hoping that you pray with me that the Spirit will convict each one of them to look inside of each of them instead of pointing fingers at each other. They have two young daughters under 10 and also a grandson under 10.

Hi family this is Serah from Nebraska. Lisa from Michigan, I cannot tell you how comforting and how much I was filled with hope when I heard your message. I was brought to tears. It truly gave me hope. So, thank you so much. Casey is officially in remission as of Monday, today is October 3rd. As of Monday, he was officially in remission. Tomorrow, Friday, they’re doing a spinal tap just to make sure like none of the leukemia is in his spinal fluid. It’s just precautionary. I’m trying not to let my anxiety get the best of me and so far, I’ve been doing really good with relying on God and just letting Him handle it. I just want to thank everyone on here. I know that there are people who have called in, prayed for Casey and myself and there are people who have done what I do and just prayed while hearing it. And I just want to thank all of you. We have seriously been so, so blessed and it has amazing to see and hear. I’ve been having Casey listen to all the prayers that are for him and he is just in so much awe. We love you and we thank you. Bye-bye.

Good morning DAB family my name is Jeanette and I’m calling from Canada. DAB was introduced to me by a very good friend of mine and I have been so blessed. Now, I have two prayer requests. __ radiation and chemotherapy for breast cancer, I am having severe neuropathy, which produces frequent periodic sensations, which make life sometimes unbearable. Second request. My daughter is into her second year following her master’s degree in healthcare management graduating with honors but after numerous interviews no one will give her a chance because of her inexperience. How can she gain experience without being hired? A mother’s heart is breaking for her daughter as these disappointments just lowers her self-esteem. We need your prayers. We’re desperate for my body and a job for my daughter. God bless you all as you continue to intercede for others. And Brian and Jill, you are such a blessing to me. And, you know, I’m a more recent listener because of my friend but I’ve never had anything so inspirational enter my life as this DAB. And, so, family thank you for praying for all the requests that come into you and I pray too. So, have a blessed day today all of you. God hears your prayers and He answers because He said he would. So, we believe Him and we trust him. You all and have a great day.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family this is Carl also known as the Forgotten One since it seems like I’m forgotten about anyway. I’m pretty sure this prayer won’t get played it either. Today’s 3rd of October. I’m calling because we…we really do need a breakthrough. We’ve been looking for jobs and we’ve been getting turned down here, here and there, here and there, getting promises that we’ll get the job and then next thing you look around we get an email saying something totally different. Unemployment didn’t fall through and we live in a hotel and we pay by the week. And I know they’re gonna want us out of here if we don’t have the money. I’m very frustrated right now because I really don’t know what else to do. Everybody keeps saying pray, pray, pray. God already knows what I need. God already knows what I need. Everybody keeps saying pray pray pray. God already knows what I need. I have prayed but I don’t want to keep bugging him with the same stuff. I don’t want to keep going back bugging him and bugging him over and over and over again. He heard me twice before. I don’t wish this on nobody. Earlier this year we were sleeping in cars and stuff even though we were working until we found out that we could stay in a hotel and pay weekly. We were sleeping in cars. I don’t wish this on nobody. I don’t wish this on nobody. I don’t wish this on nobody. I already feel like I’ve fallen...I’ve fallen from grace anyway. I just recently came back in…into the fold because I was…I left God three years ago because of some things that somebody did to me…

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family I am Claudia from London England. This has been a blessing to me. This is my first time for me to call. I’ve been __ part of this family and please pray for me as I am going through a lot at the moment as I come back from __ legs to walk __. So, there’s a lot going on there and I’m hoping and believing that God will bless me with favor __ a job soon. And I’m so happy to be part of this family. I tend to listen every day and I’ve been listening for like nearly a year now and this has been a blessing to me and I’m also trying to get my friends and family also to listen to be part of this wonderful family. Thank you, Brian for this community that you…you…God has used you to bring us together, people all over the world. Thank you, so much Daily Audio Bible. I’m happy to be a part of this. Thanks. Bye.

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pamphletstoinspire · 7 years

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April, the month dedicated to the Holy Eucharist

TRUE STORIES OF EUCHARISTIC MIRACLES (See Link Below)

Link: http://www.olrl.org/sacramen/ihsmrcls.shtml

We who hold faithful to what the Roman Catholic Church teaches, believe that Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, is truly present in the Most Holy Eucharist. We believe it on the words of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who promised to give us His flesh to eat and blood to drink, at the lakeside of Galilee (John 6, 48-60), and who fulfilled that promise at the Last Supper (Matt. 26: 26-28; Luke 22: 19-20; Mark 14: 22-24; 1 Cor. 11: 23-25). We have also the divine, infallible testimony of the Catholic Church which He established. The Holy Synod (the Council of Trent) decreed in Canon 1 on the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist: "If anyone denies that in the sacrament of the most Holy Eucharist are contained truly, really and substantially the body and blood together with the soul and divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ, and consequently the whole Christ, but says that He is in it only as in a sign, or figure or force, let him be anathema."

Over the centuries, Our Dear Lord has seen fit to work over 100 miracles confirming His real presence in the Most Blessed Sacrament. What is the purpose of these miracles? To prove what He said is true as the scripture says: "The Lord confirmed the word with signs that followed." (Mark 16:16) He wants us to believe His teaching and threatens us with damnation if we do not. "He that believeth not shall be condemned." (Mark 16:16) God is willing to give extraordinary means to help our faith because He desires our salvation. Jesus goes so far as to say: "Though you will not believe Me, believe the works." (John 10:38) "They give testimony of Me."

Related below are four wonderful Eucharistic miracles confirming Our Lord's real presence in the Most Blessed Sacrament.

1. For a long time the parish priest of Moncada in Spain had celebrated Mass without any scruples of conscience, when suddenly he became the prey of a violent doubt as to whether he had been rightly ordained. In his distress, to allay his doubts he determined to put his case before his bishop. He immediately set out on foot and journeyed to Valencia, the seat of the diocese. In this place it pleased Almighty God to deliver him from his trouble, and to give him light and peace by means of a very remarkable miracle.

The priest had been appointed to say Christmas Mass. He had reached the awful moment of Consecration, and with trembling hands took the host and pronounced the words of transubstantiation with a quivering voice. As he raised the Sacred Host aloft, and knelt again in trembling adoration, the cry of a little five-year-old child rang out from the congregation: "O Mama, what a lovely child! See there, Mama! He is up on the altar." A little lad nearby, apparently forgetful of everything else, stood upon the chair and clapped his hands with joy. The boy's mother was embarrassed and bade him hush, for no one else had seen the vision of beauty; only the innocent child saw it when the Sacred Host was raised on high. Again and again he entreated his mother to look. "Such a beautiful child, Mama," he whispered, "just like the little baby over there in the crib."

The mother and child awaited to hear a second Mass which was said by the same priest at dawn, and again at the Elevation the little boy exclaimed, "Oh, there he is again, Mama, don't you see? The priest is holding him up in his hands and now he has laid him on the altar!" The mother bade the child be silent; she could not see anything, the great grace being granted only to her little son.

The priest completed the Christmas offering by saying the third Mass. At the Elevation the boy was all excitement, and the same scene was enacted as before. The happy mother repeated this strange occurrence to others, and through them it reached the ears of the priest himself who, it may be believed, was greatly comforted thereby. However, his scruples were not entirely removed. He doubted whether the child might not have been deceived, and therefore he requested that the little boy be cross-examined by him. But the answers of the child were so accurate that he found no reason to doubt the reality of the manifestation. Full of joy and filled with gratitude towards God, he invited the little boy and his mother to be present as often as possible at his Mass, and on each occasion the miracle was renewed. As doubts still lingered in his mind, he resolved to receive a final convincing proof. Taking three particles with him to the altar, he placed two upon the corporal and consecrated them, leaving the third one unconsecrated but within reach. After Holy Mass was ended he called the little boy to the altar, and asked him if he saw the divine Infant in either of the particles, and, if so, in which. "Oh yes, Father," said the boy, "there He is! See, He is stretching out His hands." The little fellow seemed quite ravished with delight. On pointing to the other host the priest asked: "And what about it? Is the Divine Infant also in that other host?" The child answered, "No." "But are you sure?" queried the priest. "Oh yes, Father, there is nothing there." At the last manifestation the peace of the good priest returned to him. Unrest and scruple vanished from his mind forever, and for the remainder of his life he served God with greater love and piety.

PRAYER: "O Sacrament most holy! O Sacrament divine! All praise and all thanksgiving be every moment Thine.

2. In Valpariso, Chile, at the beginning of the 20th century, Fr. Mateo Crawley-Boevey SS, CC., well known as the great Apostle of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, was a young priest. Fr. Mateo told this story wherever he preached and he found that where people were prepared to earn "three golden coins" with love, many graces were obtained and many conversions followed.

He relates that one day an 8 year old girl told him that Jesus spoke to her every time she received Holy Communion. Father was somewhat skeptical and requested her to ask Jesus to give him proof. The proof Father requested was the sudden conversion of a certain man who was a big sinner, a fallen away Catholic, and enemy of the Church ... and also that this man should come to him for Confession.

About a week later when Fr. Mateo was hearing confessions, the young girl told him that this sinner was coming up to the church. As the priest was leaving the confessional, the fallen away Catholic came into the church and walked over to Fr. Mateo and asked him to help him with his confession. He said that it was the first one since he was baptized. He did not know what came over him that morning but he suddenly understood the necessity of going to confession. Father realized that he had received the proof he requested.

The young girl told the priest that Our Lord revealed to her that He would give the graces to repent and mend his ways to this fallen away Catholic, and also to many other souls. He said, "Always ask Me for souls and I will give them to you, and tell Father Mateo to ask Me for souls. I will give them to him, too, but first you must become My missionary."

She thought she was too young to be a missionary. Our Lord assured her that He would make her His missionary and that she would have to pay a certain price for souls. "I want you," said Jesus, "to earn three golden coins a day." Our Lord then explained what He meant by golden coins.

1) The first golden coin was her prayers to Him for souls.

2) The second golden coin was her little sacrifices, especially acts of obedience.

3) The third golden coin was a promise: "never to miss Mass or Holy Communion through your own fault and to visit Me often in the Blessed Sacrament."

3. On the 17th of December, 1899, the fast mail on the way from Bordeaux to Paris met with a collision. In the mail car was Gabriel Gargam, a 30-year-old post office express clerk. At the time of the wreck the train was going at the speed of fifty miles an hour. By the crash Gargam was thrown fifty-two feet. He was terribly bruised and broken and paralyzed from the waist down. He was barely alive when lifted onto a stretcher. Taken to a hospital, his existence for some time was a living death. After eight months he had wasted away to a mere skeleton, weighing but seventy-eight pounds, although normally a big man. His feet became gangrenous. He could take no solid food and was obliged to take nourishment by a tube. Only once in twenty-four hours could he be fed even that way.

Gargam's condition was pitiable in the extreme. He could not help himself even in the most trifling needs. Two trained nurses were needed day and night to assist him. Previous to the accident, Gargam had not been to church for fifteen years. His aunt, who was a nun of the Order of the Sacred Heart, begged him to go to Lourdes. He refused. She continued her appeals to him to place himself in the hands of Our Lady of Lourdes. He was deaf to all her prayers. After continuous pleading of his mother he consented to go to Lourdes. It was now two years since the accident, and not for a moment had he left his bed all that time. He was carried on a stretcher to the train. The exertion caused him to faint, and for a full hour he was unconscious. They were on the point of abandoning the pilgrimage, as it looked as if he would die on the way, but the mother insisted, and the journey was made.

Arrived at Lourdes, he was carried to the miraculous pool and tenderly placed in its waters -- no effect. Rather a bad effect resulted, for the exertion threw him into a swoon and he lay apparently dead. On the way back they saw the procession of the Blessed Sacrament approaching. They stood aside to let it pass, having placed a cloth over the face of the man whom they supposed to be dead.

As the priest passed carrying the Sacred Host, he pronounced Benediction over the sorrowful group around the covered body. Soon there was a movement from under the covering. To the amazement of the bystanders, the body raised itself to a sitting posture. While the family were looking dumbfounded and the spectators gazed in amazement, Gargam said in a full, strong voice that he wanted to get up. He got up and stood erect, walked a few paces and said that he was cured. The multitude looked in wonder, and then fell on their knees and thanked God for this new sign of His power at the shrine of His Blessed Mother. For two years hardly any food had passed his lips but now he sat down to the table and ate a hearty meal.

On August 20th, 1901, sixty prominent doctors examined Gargam. Without stating the nature of the cure, they pronounced him entirely cured. Gargam, out of gratitude to God in the Holy Eucharist and His Blessed Mother, consecrated himself to the service of the invalids at Lourdes. Fifteen years after his miraculous cure he was still engaged in his strenuous and devoted work. He was for years a living, visible testimony of the supernatural.

PRAYER: May the Heart of Jesus in the Most Blessed Sacrament be praised, adored and loved with grateful affection, at every moment, in all the tabernacles of the world, even to the end of time.

4. Some years ago, a young man was unhappily led astray into the paths of Jewish infidelity. While still in the flower of youth, his heart was filled with dreams of glory to be attained as a distinguished musician. One evening he was asked to play the organ in one of the principal churches in Paris; there in that church God awaited him, and prepared for him, not a triumph of his self-love, but a humiliation a thousand times more glorious. Already the roof of the sacred edifice re-echoed the sound of the solemn chants, and the melodious tones of the organ had filled all hearts with recollection and prayer; every head was bowed and the God of the Eucharist had blessed His children prostrate in lowly adoration. The unbelieving musician, alone, dared to raise his haughty brow before that God despised by his forefathers, but in vain. A mysterious and invisible hand bowed his head and humbled him to the ground. A miracle of grace was effected; the young man was conquered; he knelt down a Jew; he rose up a Catholic. His heart wounded by the Real Presence in the Sacred Host, he left the church; soon the waters of Baptism were poured upon him, and exchanging his fashionable attire for the coarse serge of a monk, he bade an eternal farewell to the pleasures of the world. A living example of the power of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, he went from city to city, and from village to village, proclaiming the love of God, repeating again and again: "The days of grief are departed. I have found peace of heart since I have tasted the delights of the tabernacle of the Lord." If you would know the name of this privileged soul, ask it at the cloister of Mount Carmel, and they will tell you it was Father Augustine of the Most Blessed Sacrament. If one single visit to the God of the Eucharist transformed an obstinate Jew into a good Catholic, what may we not hope to obtain by devout visits to the Blessed Sacrament?

PRAYER: O my Jesus, I adore Thee in this Holy Sacrament, as my Lord and my God, as my Redeemer and Savior.

5. About the year 1599, in the city of Posen, a very remarkable incident took place in connection with the Blessed Sacrament. A servant girl, who was bribed by some unbelievers, stole from the chapel of the Dominicans three small Hosts, wrapped them in a linen cloth, and carried them to the house of the wretches who had hired her for the deed. The unbelievers treated the Sacred Hosts in a most sacrilegious and shameful manner. They threw them on a table and cut the Sacred Particles. Blood spurted out on the first one of the sacrilegious creatures and left a stain that could not be removed. The report of this strange occurrence soon spread abroad and crowds ran to see for themselves. A blind woman insisted on being led to the scene of this marvelous incident. Divinely inspired, she cried out: "If Thou art the true God, He whom our ancestors nailed to the Cross, restore to me my sight!" She was immediately cured, and went away proclaiming the miracle. The guilty profaners, fearing the just punishment of their heinous crime, wished to dispose of the desecrated Hosts, and after several fruitless efforts buried them to a great depth in a swamp.

One day on the octave of the Blessed Virgin, two herdsmen, father and son, brought their cattle to pasture near this place. The father went to a church not far off to hear Mass, while the son guarded the herd. To his surprise the boy saw the cattle approach the swamp and kneel down with their heads bent low. The shepherd raised his eyes and saw in the air over the swamp three shining objects. In amazement he perceived that they were three Hosts, and he instantly prostrated himself and profoundly adored the God who revealed Himself by so great a prodigy.

In the meantime, the father returned from Mass. As soon as the boy saw him he ran to meet him. "Father," he shouted, "our oxen are adoring the Blessed Sacrament!" "Nonsense!" replied the parent, shrugging his shoulders, "what folly is this!" "Come and see for yourself," protested the boy, "that I am telling the truth." While proceeding on his way the old man suddenly paused, with feet fastened to the ground and with eyes entranced as he beheld the astonishing scene. There at the farthest end of the marsh three little lights hung in the air, while the dumb beasts knelt with heads bowed to the earth. The old herdsman, all doubts gone, knelt in adoration before the three consecrated Hosts profaned by the unbelievers.

After a moment's prayer, the old man ran to the city and proclaimed the wonder to all whom he met. The people, however, looked upon him as a fool, and even cast him into prison. And now a new wonder occurred -- the prison door opened and freed the prisoner. This startled the authorities and they began to investigate. The Bishop and the clergy were informed and went in procession to the place indicated by the herdsman. Then the Sacred Hosts, which had remained suspended in the air, slowly descended and rested in the hands of a saintly priest. They were taken back to the city amidst great pomp and splendor. Then the authorities began to debate what disposition to make of the miraculous Hosts. While they were arguing, the Hosts rose from their hands, ascended into the air and returned to the marsh. The wish of Our Lord was evident. So they erected an improvised sanctuary on the spot, and this in turn was soon followed by a magnificent basilica founded by Ladislaus Jagellon, King of Poland. Needless to say, thousands of pilgrims have visited the famous shrine to adore the miraculous Hosts.

PRAYER: O sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore that I may love Thee more and more. Jesus meek and humble of Heart, make my heart like unto Thine.

Only through the Catholic Church does Our Lord become truly present in the Holy Eucharist - one of the many proofs that the Catholic Church is the One True Church.

#eucharistic miracle

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