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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 10 months

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13th September >> Mass Readings (USA)

Saint John Chrysostom, Bishop, Doctor

Wednesday, Twenty Third Week in Ordinary Time.

(Liturgical Colour: Green Year: A (1))

(Readings for the feria (Wednesday))

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

First Reading Colossians 3:1-11 You have died with Christ; put to death, then, the parts of you that are earthly.

Brothers and sisters: If you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory.

Put to death, then, the parts of you that are earthly: immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and the greed that is idolatry. Because of these the wrath of God is coming upon the disobedient. By these you too once conducted yourselves, when you lived in that way. But now you must put them all away: anger, fury, malice, slander, and obscene language out of your mouths. Stop lying to one another, since you have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed, for knowledge, in the image of its creator. Here there is not Greek and Jew, circumcision and uncircumcision, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but Christ is all and in all.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 145:2-3, 10-11, 12-13ab

R/ The Lord is compassionate toward all his works.

Every day will I bless you, and I will praise your name forever and ever. Great is the LORD and highly to be praised; his greatness is unsearchable.

R/ The Lord is compassionate toward all his works.

Let all your works give you thanks, O LORD, and let your faithful ones bless you. Let them discourse of the glory of your Kingdom and speak of your might.

R/ The Lord is compassionate toward all his works.

Making known to men your might and the glorious splendor of your Kingdom. Your Kingdom is a Kingdom for all ages, and your dominion endures through all generations.

R/ The Lord is compassionate toward all his works.

Gospel Acclamation Luke 6:23ab

Alleluia, alleluia. Rejoice and leap for joy! Your reward will be great in heaven. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Luke 6:20-26 Blessed are you who are poor. Woe to you who are rich.

Raising his eyes toward his disciples Jesus said:

“Blessed are you who are poor, for the Kingdom of God is yours. Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who are now weeping, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude and insult you, and denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of Man.

Rejoice and leap for joy on that day! Behold, your reward will be great in heaven. For their ancestors treated the prophets in the same way.

But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. But woe to you who are filled now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will grieve and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for their ancestors treated the false prophets in this way.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saint John Chrysostom, Bishop, Doctor

(Liturgical Colour: White: A (1))

(Readings for the memorial)

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

First Reading Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13 For the work of ministry, for the building up of the Body of Christ.

Brothers and sisters: I, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace: one Body and one Spirit, as you were also called to the one hope of your call; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.

But grace was given to each of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift.

And he gave some as Apostles, others as prophets, others as evangelists, others as pastors and teachers, to equip the holy ones for the work of ministry, for building up the Body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of faith and knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the extent of the full stature of Christ.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 40:2 and 4, 7-8a, 8b-9, 10, 11

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

I have waited, waited for the LORD, and he stooped toward me and heard my cry. And he put a new song into my mouth, a hymn to our God.

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

Sacrifice or oblation you wished not, but ears open to obedience you gave me. Burnt offerings or sin-offerings you sought not; then said I, “Behold I come.”

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

“In the written scroll it is prescribed for me, To do your will, O my God, is my delight, and your law is within my heart!”

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

I announced your justice in the vast assembly; I did not restrain my lips, as you, O LORD, know.

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

Your justice I kept not hid within my heart; your faithfulness and your salvation I have spoken of; I have made no secret of your kindness and your truth in the vast assembly.

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

Gospel Acclamation

Alleluia, alleluia. The seed is the word of God, Christ is the sower; all who come to him will live for ever. Alleluia, alleluia.

Either:

Gospel Mark 4:1-10, 13-20 The sower went out to sow.

On another occasion, Jesus began to teach by the sea. A very large crowd gathered around him so that he got into a boat on the sea and sat down. And the whole crowd was beside the sea on land. And he taught them at length in parables, and in the course of his instruction he said to them, “Hear this! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground where it had little soil. It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep. And when the sun rose, it was scorched and it withered for lack of roots. Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it and it produced no grain. And some seed fell on rich soil and produced fruit. It came up and grew and yielded thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold.” He added, “Whoever has ears to hear ought to hear.”

And when he was alone, those present along with the Twelve questioned him about the parables. Jesus answered them, “Do you not understand this parable? Then how will you understand any of the parables? The sower sows the word. These are the ones on the path where the word is sown. As soon as they hear, Satan comes at once and takes away the word sown in them. And these are the ones sown on rocky ground who, when they hear the word, receive it at once with joy. But they have no root; they last only for a time. Then when tribulation or persecution comes because of the word, they quickly fall away. Those sown among thorns are another sort. They are the people who hear the word, but worldly anxiety, the lure of riches, and the craving for other things intrude and choke the word, and it bears no fruit. But those sown on rich soil are the ones who hear the word and accept it and bear fruit thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

Or:

Gospel Mark 4:1-9 The sower went out to sow.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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whiteclericmaris · 2 years

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Greetings and welcome to thy pick a card. Now how this works is you choose one of the three options from above. If you can't choose by the plushes then choose by the pins.

Ready? Here we go.

Pile number one. Welcome! There appears to be some hesitation pile number one as I fickle with what I am gathering through the spirits. The first card that appeared from the deck I picked up reads "Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the LORD." Psalms 31:24. It sounds like there is an expextation you are holding on to. The Popplio plush had their ears going in a circular fashion with a bit of bubbles. Almost as if this Popplio is calling on you to help you move forward.

For your pile number 1 we have "I entrust you to GOD and the message of His grace that is able to build you up and give you an inheritance." Acts 20:32

Behind it the bible verse John 14:27 " i am leaving you with a gift - peace of mind and heart. So don't be troubled or afraid."

We also have from a Pocket Angel deck "Ask someone for help."

If you've been stalling on asking someone for help the time is now pile number 1. I get the image of a BEING that is sorrowful and weeping as the place their hand close to their heart. If you need to tell someone something you are called to ask them about the thing. There will be consequences for refusing to take action. Go seek a therapist or rather get in touch with the community. You'll start to feel better when engaging with BEINGs.

That's all for now pile number 1. Thank you for your reading!

Pile number 2

Woah you are shining pile number 2. There is "that special grace that special spirit" within you. Some of you are hiding but no don't let that light dissuade. It's the early season of fall and much learning to go by. Also quit it with horoscopes pile number 2. Listen to the signs around and there is so much more to life than them.

We have "Submit to GOD and be at peace with Him; in this way prosperity will come to you." Job 22:21

"Focus on what is most impotant" From the Pocket Angel deck. The bees are coming and going looking for nectar everywhere.

You don't have to look to the outside but rather inward pile number 2. Meditate on all the messages you have received so far and take some moments of silence whether it be going out for a walk or listening to relaxing music. You've got this pile number 2. That is all pile number 2. Bye!

Pile number 3

Welcome! We've been waiting! It's soon going to be Halloween and as the Pikachu wears the mega audino as a poncho remember the tradition of placing white apparel for Halloween as it was said that the spirits would come that day.

Speaking of spirits some have been calling out to you to listen. Some have deep regrets while you are still alive pile number 3. And don't forget that you can dress up as a saint if you have to as it is not all about costumes this Halloween.

We have the bible verse from Matthew 21:22 "If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer." Behind it a quote from Thomas Brooks "Prayer crowns GOD with the honor and glory due to His name, and GOD crowns prayer with assurance and comfort. The most praying souls are the most assured souls."

You also have "Patience. The problems you are facing are temporary."

All saint's day falls a bit after Halloween. Don't get caught up with the decorum and decoration outside the fall ones. It is the season of fall in the north and soon the nights will be longer. It's gonna be a bright season of reflection.

Some of you are deep into spirituality and are BEING called to light up thyself so you can help others too. Don't hold your heart and be closed but light it up, even what ails and troubles you. Know that it is temporary and change is inevitable.

That is all pile number 3!

#witchblr #pick a card

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thewahookid · 10 months

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Our Lady of Sorrows

September 15, 2023

Our Lady of Sorrows

Dear Family of Mary!

On this beautiful Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows, we are given a great gift. We can compassionate with Our Lady. We can think about her life, and all that she sacrificed and suffered for our sake, and we can thank her. On this day we can stop thinking about ourselves for a moment and think about Our Lady. We can wonder at her patience and humility, her constant selfless service to Jesus, Joseph, and all those who entered their lives. We can ache with her as Jesus was rejected and misunderstood. We can cry with her when Jesus was condemned by the leaders of the Jews, mistreated and reviled, scourged, crowned with thorns, and forced to carry the Cross. We can remain silent with her underneath the Cross as Jesus died for our sins. And we can weep with her at His tomb.

We may wonder how we could ever be like Mary, so able to suffer with love. In this message she gave us some advice that will help us:

February 2, 2016

"Dear children,

I have called you and am calling you anew

to come to know my Son,

to come to know the truth.

I am with you and am praying for you to succeed.

My children,

you must pray much

in order to have all the more love and patience;

to know how to endure sacrifice

and to be poor in spirit.

Through the Holy Spirit,

my Son is always with you...

His Church is born in every heart

that comes to know Him.

Pray that you can come to know my Son;

pray that your soul may be one with Him.

That is the prayer and the love

which draws others and makes you my apostles.

I am looking at you with love,

with a motherly love.

I know you;

I know your pain and sorrows,

because I also suffered in silence.

My faith gave me love and hope.

I repeat,

the Resurrection of my Son

and my Assumption into Heaven

are hope and love for you.

Therefore, my children,

pray to come to know the truth;

to have firm faith which will lead your heart

and which will transform your pain and sufferings

into love and hope.

Thank you."

If you have time today, pray this litany. May Our Lady's Sorrows teach us how to love.

Litany of Our Lady of Sorrows

V. Lord, have mercy on us.

R. Christ, have mercy on us.

V. Lord, have mercy on us.

V. Christ, hear us.

R. Christ, graciously hear us.

God, the Father of heaven, have mercy on us.

God the Son, Redeemer of the world, have mercy on us.

God the Holy Spirit, have mercy on us.

Holy Trinity, One God, have mercy on us.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.

Holy Virgin of virgins,

Mother of the Crucified,

Mother most sorrowful,

Mother most tearful,

Mother afflicted,

Mother forsaken,

Mother bereft of thy Son,

Mother pierced with the sword,

Mother consumed with grief,

Mother filled with anguish,

Mirror of patience,

Rock of constancy,

Joy of the afflicted,

Ark of the desolate,

Refuge of the abandoned,

Shield of the oppressed,

Conqueror of the incredulous,

Solace of the wretched,

Medicine of the sick,

Help of the faint,

Strength of the weak,

Haven of the shipwrecked,

Calmer of tempests,

Companion of the sorrowful,

Treasure of the Faithful,

Theme of Prophets,

Staff of the Apostles,

Queen of Martyrs,

Light of Confessors,

Pearl of Virgins,

Comfort of Widows,

Joy of all Saints,

Pray for us, most Sorrowful Virgin,

That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world.

Spare us, O Lord.

Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world.

Hear us, O Lord.

Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world.

Have mercy upon us.

Let us pray.

Imprint, O Lord, thy wounds upon our hearts, that we may read therein sorrow and love; sorrow to endure all suffering for thee; love to despise all love but thine; who lives and reigns, world without end, Amen.

In Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

Cathy Nolan

#love #jesus loves you #jesus christ #blessed mother mary #mary #peace #prayer #our lady of sorrows

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rodeo-boots · 3 years

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Heya! If your requests are open (if not ignore this) could you write up some fluffy date (sfw) hcs for Sean and Javier ( I just remembered how much I loved that fic you wrote and it really made me like that pairing) and/or for my boys Dutch and Arthur? Whatever you feel like ☺️

They're open rn, no worries!! But even if they weren't, writing for Javier and Sean is always a pleasure and therefore no problem at all <3 I've never written headcanons like these though, so I hope they turned out okay!

I'll keep everything under the cut, only so peeps don't gotta scroll all the way through if they ain't wanna read this

Whose idea was it to go out on a date in the first place? Javier's of course.

Sean probably laughed at him when he told him, insisting how the both of them weren't all that "cheesy" – but Javier is stubborn, and as soon as he had heard that Sean had never been taken out on a proper date in his life, he made it his responsibility to make up for that

Initially, they had wanted to do things properly, to go by the book; candlelight, a table for two and all. But since neither Sean nor Javier have the patience for rich people, or the money to afford a table at some fancy place in Saint Denis, they decided to keep things simple.

Instead of going out, they chose to have a picnic at the shore of Flat Iron Lake, just a couple feet away from camp (because, well, it's the best location they came up with on the spot, and Javier felt better not wandering too far away from the others)

Their proximity to camp wouldn't take any of the magic of a first date away, though, the both of them seating themselves upon a ratty blanket once the sun begins sinking, the fish Javier had caught in preparation of their dinner sizzling over the flames of their small campfire.

During their shared meal, Javier doesn't even complain about Sean's chewing sounds, sneaking him one adoring glance after the other, a little less inconspicuously than he might think.

And Sean? He basks in the attention, cracks one joke after the other, being his usual self while Javier tries holding onto some sort of romantic atmosphere. Truthfully, he doesn't mind a second of Sean's act, loosening up gradually as soon as he realizes that they don't have to pretend to be someone they aren't – and that there's no rules they have to follow when it's only the both of them together.

Because whenever they’re together, it’s hard for Javier to not get infected by Sean’s upbeat persona, finding himself smiling a lot more often than he would around most other people.

Sean regularly can't sit still, always moving at least one of his muscles wherever he is, but this time, it's him who asks Javier to admire the sunset with him, and him whose arm sneaks around Javier's shoulders. And no matter how differently Javier had thought their dinner would go, he couldn't have hoped for a better outcome, easily resting his own head against Sean's where they sit, murmuring one thing and the other once their conversation grows quiet and honest.

It's a surprise to Javier, when Sean raised his voice to speak his thanks; For the evening they had shared as well as his presence in his life. As such, he can't help himself but nudge him, and mumble something along the lines of, "Don't start weeping now, Macguire." In the end, the moment touched Javier just as much, however, even if Sean tackled him for what he had said, and tickled a more fitting response out of him until Javier begged him to stop.

At the end of the night, the both of them pass out contently, wrapped in one another's arms, but only after sharing another few sleepy kisses and mumbled declarations of love.

Maybe they awaken to Uncle stuffing his face with their leftover pieces of fish – maybe not, but the next morning, Sean greets Javier with a bright smile anyways, asking, "So, when're we doin' this again?"

#rdr2 requests #red dead redemption 2 #javier escuella #sean macguire #javier/sean #i genuinely hope those are alright #its a little short but i havent written in... long #head empty #my writing

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suburbanbeatnik · 3 years

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Françoise de Bernardy’s Alexandre Walewski: The Polish son of Napoleon- the first chapter

If I went to the (long and tedious) effort of translating the first chapter of Françoise Bernardy’s 1976 biography of Alexandre Walewski, I figure you guys should see it too. Enjoy!

* * *

MARCH 1810. Paris is moved by the preliminaries of Napoleon's marriage with Marie-Louise. In a few days, the archduke Charles has to marry in Vienna, in the name of the French Caesar, his yesterday's victor, the daughter of the German Caesars.

 At 2 rue du Houssaye, in the then aristocratic district of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, a small hotel of elegant appearance. On March 10, at the end of the afternoon, the Emperor brought a cradle decorated with silver laurel. The room where the imperial gift is deposited is hung with light blue. On the wall is a beautiful portrait of a woman by Gerard: blonde, with beautiful eyes and a fine, gentle face. The mirror of the fireplace reflects the charming features. Near the Boucaut armchairs, a Martin varnished chiffonier, behind, half-folded, a large screen of Coromandel lacquer.

A heroic fighter in the last wars of Polish independence, Mathieu Laczynski, staroste of Gostyn, died young and desperate, leaving a widow and six children who can barely live off the mortgaged land of Kiernozia.

The years pass, aggravating the ruin. The four sons are valiant but weak, spendthrift, covered with debts, whether they work on the land or fight in the Polish legions in the service of France. Only one hope, a rich marriage for the oldest daughter, Marie, born in 1786, who is beautiful and good.

An almost septuagenarian but very noble neighbor, Count Anastasius Walewski, offers this rich marriage when Marie has just turned seventeen. At first, the young girl rejects the idea of a union with an old man, twice widowed, whose son Stanislaus is already a made man. But Mme. Laczynska urges her daughter. She knows that he has a warm heart and a devoted soul. Count Walewski is generous. If Mary sacrifices herself, he will secure the future of her brothers and sister. How to resist seventeen years? At the beginning of 1804 Marie became countess Walewska. In June 1805 she had a son, Antoine, a fragile, weak, viable child, who was taken over by the count's sister, Hedwige, an abusive spinster. She leaves behind a distraught young woman with a sad heart and empty arms. Only the sense of duty and a deep passion, which lifts her out of herself, the love of the country, sustain her. Marie lives on the hopes that the victories of the imperial France over Austria, Prussia, and Russia, the powers that once shared Poland.

This patriotism and these hopes brought Marie Walewska to meet Napoleon in Blonie on the road to Warsaw on December 31, 1806. In the weeks that followed, this patriotism and these hopes persuaded the young woman to become the mistress of the French emperor, first forced, then willing, then in love. In the spring of 1807, she lived with him in Finckenstein, where the warrior spent some quiet hours preparing for the Friedland campaign.

Unofficially separated from her old husband, Marie Walewska came to Paris at the beginning of 1808. She remained there until the Emperor's departure for Bayonne. If the fever of the senses has subsided between them, if the lovers are often and for a long time separated, nevertheless Napoleon remains attentive and Marie attached. And then there is always Poland, whose destiny once more seems to be played out during the campaign of 1809. In May, Marie writes to Napoleon, reminds him of his promises, offers to join him in Austria, and on May 18, from Schoenbrunn, which he is about to leave for his headquarters in Ebersdorf, the Emperor replies to the young woman.

"Marie, I have received your letter. I read it with the pleasure that your memory always inspires me. The feelings that you keep for me, I carry them with me.

"Come to Vienna, I wish to see you and give you new proofs of the tender friendship I have for you. You cannot doubt the value I place on everything that concerns you. A thousand tender kisses on your beautiful hands and one on your beautiful mouth. "

A month later, back at Schoenbrunn, on June 20, fifteen days before the battle of Wagram, the Emperor sent Marie an affectionate letter.

"Dear Marie, your letters have pleased me as always. I do not approve of your having followed the [Polish] army in Cracow, but I cannot blame you.

"The affairs of Poland are restored, and I understand the anxieties you have had ... I acted, it was better than to lavish consolation on you. You don't have to thank me, I love your country and I appreciate the merits of many of your people.

"It takes more than the capture of Vienna to bring the end of the campaign. When I have finished, I will move to be closer to you, my sweet friend, because I am anxious to see you again. If it is at Schoenbrunn, we will enjoy together the charm of its beautiful gardens and we will forget all these bad days.

"Have patience and keep faith. "N"

After Wagram, Countess Walewska moved to Moedling, a few miles from Vienna, and throughout the summer of 1809, while peace was being discussed, the Emperor came almost every day to spend the evening, the night - with Marie.

Slow, sweet weeks which, if they seem to consecrate the liaison by the expectation of a child, however, by precipitating the divorce, also prepare the rupture. Indeed, Marie wishes to return to France with the Emperor, but Napoleon, now assured that he can procreate, determined to separate from Josephine, does not want to. The presence of the young woman in Paris would disturb him as he prepares his second marriage. He asked the Countess to return to Poland and on October 13 - the Emperor left Vienna the next day - Marie took the road to Warsaw.

On December 18 - the divorce was pronounced on the 15th - from Trianon where he went to his departure from the Tuileries, Napoleon writes to the countess Walewska. How the tone has changed since the letters of May and June, and how the young woman must have suffered. It is no longer a lover, but the sovereign who speaks, only the concern for the child still shines through. "Madam, I received your letter. All that it contains touched me much. I was pleased to see that you arrived in Warsaw without any unpleasant accident. Take care of your health, which is very precious to me, and put away dark thoughts, the future should not worry you. Teach me that you are happy and content, that is my greatest desire."

Unconsciousness of men. It is almost in the same terms that the Emperor tries to console Josephine...

Happy? Happy? Marie is not happy while she is waiting for Napoleon's child so far away from him, while Caulaincourt seems to be about to sacrifice the Polish hopes in Saint-Petersburg... In 1807, prince Poniatowski asked countess Walewska not to reject the sovereign on whom the fate of Poland depends. In 1810, he probably asked Marie to come to Paris to defend the cause of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and she agreed. Thus, she was in Paris at the beginning of 1810.

Marie Walewska looked sadly at the cradle. It is true that Napoleon welcomed her and spoke tenderly of the child she was carrying - a son, he had no doubt. But the young woman's heart is heavy. The Emperor had come the day before to bid her farewell. He would not see her again until she had given birth. What will Marie do? Stay in Paris? Retire to the country? To Warsaw? But can she return without the count's permission?

All of a sudden hurried footsteps, a panting courier. "A letter from Poland!"

The count's handwriting...

"Walewice, 21 February 1810

"Dear and honored wife,

"Walewice is more and more a burden to me, my age and state of health forbidding me any activity. I have come there for the last time, in order to sign the deed by which my eldest son acquires it.

"I advise you to come to an agreement with him about the formalities to be completed at the birth of the child you are expecting. They will be simplified if it is in Walewice that this Walewski is born.

"This is also his opinion, and that I write to you. I do so, conscious of fulfilling my duty, praying to God that he may have you in his care.

"Anastase Colonna Walewski".

Marie weeps with relief, with gratitude. Without wasting a minute, she claims her chaise de poste.

Poland is still under a blanket of snow when the Walewska princess arrives in Walewice. The young woman was pleased to see the long white house again, with its two wings covered by terraces and the triangular pedimented porch. This "colonial style" is surprising in the Polish plain: it is a memory of the veterans of the American War of Independence.

April soon brings its first greens, the buds burst in the woods. Marie Walewska takes long solitary walks. Her term is near. What will be the future of this child in whom Slavic and Latin blood are mixed? If it is a son, will he be a soldier, a diplomat? If it is a daughter, will she have fewer difficulties than her mother? What Marie wishes for her child is happiness...

On May 4, Countess Walewska gave birth to a son. At the end of his life Alexandre Walewski will write:

"My birth was accompanied by lightning and thunder, and it was predicted that my life would be stormy and even life-changing.

"To satisfy an old family prejudice, I was held at the font by two beggars, which was supposed to bring me luck... "

Three days pass, then on May 7 the priest of Walewice, acting as civil registrar, registers in the commune of Bielow that "Mgr Anastase de Walewski, staroste of Wareck, residing in Walewice, age of 73 years ", presented him "a child of the male sex, born in his palace on May 4 of the present year at four o'clock, by clarifying to us that he was born from his marriage with the lady Marie, nee de Laczynska, his wife . ... and that he intended to give her the following three names: Alexandre-Florian-Joseph. In view of this declaration, we have proceeded to the redaction of the birth certificate of the said child, in the presence of Mgr Stanislas de Walewski aged 30 years ... and of Mr. Joseph Ciekerski,doctor of medicine and surgeon deliverer ... which birth certificate was signed by us as well as by the above-mentioned and the required witnesses after reading made. "

Anastase Walewski thus fulfills all his duty towards a woman whose honesty and uprightness he appreciates. To this child who is nothing to him, he assures a name, a legitimate filiation, a heritage. This is a striking proof of the affection and esteem he has for Marie. Stanislaus Walewski is fully associated with this testimony by his presence in front of the priest of Walewice.

On his side the Emperor did not forget Marie.

On April 16 (1) he wrote to her:

"Madam, I receive with great pleasure your news, but the dark ideas that I see that you nourish do not suit you well. I do not want you to have any. Teach me soon that you have a beautiful boy, that your health is good and that you are cheerful. Never doubt the pleasure I will have in seeing you and the tender interest I take in what concerns you. Farewell Marie, I await with confidence your news."

(1) When it was published, this letter was dated February 16. This date hardly seems acceptable. First of all, it is clearly a reply to a distant person whom the Emperor will have "pleasure in seeing". Above all, Napoleon knew that the child was due at the beginning of May and he could not hope that he would be born "soon" - prematurely. Date of April, when the young woman withdrew to Walewice, this text takes on its full meaning.

Leaving a few days later for Belgium and Holland with Marie-Louise, he is informed by quick couriers and, as soon as he knows the birth of Alexandre, he sends for the child Brussels lace and twenty thousand gold francs, for the mother, a very special tribute if we think of Napoleon's admiration for the poet, the works of Corneille, printed in Rouen in 1648, in a beautiful binding by Trantz. Does the Emperor want to signify to Marie that she has the high and tender soul of a Chimene, that he remembers her faithful and generous love?

Napoleon called the young woman back to France on September 3. After thanking her for the news brought by her brother, Theodore Laczynski, he adds in effect: "If your health is well recovered, I desire that you come on the end of autumn to Paris where I desire very much to see you... "

An amicable agreement is then definitively reached between Marie and the count Walewski. The latter gives her a large part of his fortune and entrusts her with the custody of their son Antoine. In Paris Marie Walewska moves back to rue du Houssaye. The months pass. Marie lives far from the court, does not meet Napoleon who, all occupied with Marie-Louise, seems to be interested in the young woman and her son. Finally, in February 1811, the Emperor came to see little Alexandre. It is a beautiful blond child, but whose dark complexion recalls that of the Bonapartes. He has the round head of the Latins, the high and wide forehead of his father, his eyebrow, his mouth and his chin, but the eye does not have the deep blue of the Corsican, reflection of the Mediterranean, it does not have either the sparkle which had always to brighten in the imperial pupil, the brown eye of Alexandre is pleasant and merry. A second visit follows the first one, then it is the rupture, without clashes, without discussion, like a fruit that has reached maturity.

Napoleon, however, is very concerned about the material well-being of Countess Walewska, to whom Duroc brings ten thousand francs every month. Especially the future of his son. On the eve of leaving Paris for Russia, on May 5, 1812, he made the young woman come to the Tuileries and gave her a patent which instituted in favor of Alexandre a majorat of one hundred and seventy thousand pounds of income, with the title of count. The majorat is established on goods situated in the kingdom of Naples.

One evening in January 1813, Alexandre was awakened with a start. Dressed in a hurry, he was taken to his mother.

"Two elderly men were with him, one of whom took me on his lap and kissed me. His physiognomy made a deep impression on me; it was certainly the first memory of his life."

The Emperor's solicitude for his Polish son did not waver. In the middle of the dark hours of the French campaign, fearing that Murat would confiscate the first endowment, he charged his treasurer general, M. de La Bouillerie, to establish a new majorat of fifty thousand pounds of rent on the canals for the young Walewski; he also had a hotel at 48, rue de la Vicioire, bought in the name of Alexandre for 137,500 francs, of which Marie was the usufructuary (1).

Come the great reverses. In the defeated Emperor, abandoned by his former companions, Marie Walewska sees only the man who has loved her, whom she has loved. She runs to Fontainebleau and is announced. Napoleon, absorbed, does not see her again immediately, and then does not think about her anymore. Weary of body and soul, he looks for oblivion and rest in poison, but does not find it.

All night long, in an anteroom, Marie waits for him to call her. In the morning, she finally goes away, discreet, fearing to be unwelcome. The Emperor learns a few hours later of her apparent negligence. "The poor woman," he murmured, "will think she has been forgotten," and on April 16 he was anxious to reassure her. "Marie, I have received your letter of the 15th, the feelings that you have expressed touch me deeply. They are worthy of your beautiful soul and the goodness of your heart. When you have arranged your affairs, if you want to go to the waters of Lucca or Pisa, I will see you with great and lively interest, as well as your son for whom my feelings are invariable. Be well, think of me with pleasure and never doubt me.”

(1) On February 4, from Nogent, he writes in his own hand to La Bouillerie: "I have received your letter relative to young Walewski. I leave you carte blanche. Do what is convenient but do it immediately. What interests me is above all the child, the mother afterwards." A judgment of the court of the Seine, of April 4, 1818, will authorize the tutor of the "minor" Walewski it to sell the hotel of the rue de la Victoire and it to replace the funds produced by this sale in the purchase of Walewice of which Stanislas Walewski wants to get rid.

In August 1814 Marie Walewska travels to Italy with her son, her sister Emilie and her brother Theodore. The Emperor encouraged her again on August 9:

"Marie, I have received your letter, I have spoken to your brother. Go to Naples to arrange your affairs. On my way there or on my way back, I will see you with the interest you have always inspired in me, and the little one of whom I hear so much good news that I am truly happy and will be happy to embrace him. Farewell, Madame, a hundred tender things.”

On September 1 Marie arrived on the island of Elba with her son, Emilie and Theodore. Immediately a rumor spread among the population and the small garrison: Marie-Louise and the King of Rome had just arrived. The good people are mistaken. The Viennese woman of light soul and weak flesh is in Aix, already all in Neipperg.

Is Napoleon going to retain Marie who has come to offer him her life? Certainly he is moved to find her always so faithful and so generous. But the Emperor thinks first of the Empress, first of the King of Rome, and he fears that Marie-Louise, warned of the coming of the Polish girl, will take the pretext not to join him. Surprisingly, does he not guess that the choice is already made?

In any case, he receives Marie Walewska in a half-mystery, at the hermitage of the Madonna.

Leaving the countess the three rooms of the little house, Napoleon settles for the night in a tent under the chestnut trees. When he came out in the morning, he found Alexandre playing. He called him, sat down on a chair, took the child in his lap, then sent for Foureau de Beauregard, the doctor who had followed him to Elba, and the latter wrote to Alexandre Walewski on June 22, 1843: "You are that pretty little Alexandre that I saw, almost twenty-nine years ago, on the Emperor's lap near the Madonna delle Grazie on the island of Elba.”

“The Emperor wanted the child, who had no youngster with him, to be there," says Marchand. The Emperor placed Mme. Walewska's son next to him, he was very good at first, but it didn't last long and, as his mother reproached him, the Emperor said to him: "So you are not afraid of the whip? Well! I urge you to fear it; I have only received it once and I have always remembered it." Napoleon then tells how one day when he had mocked his grandmother's clumsy walk, Madame Mere had firmly corrected him. "The child had listened with the greatest attention, the Emperor said to him: 'Well, what do you say to that?’— ‘But I don't make fun of Mama,' he said with a little air of contrition which pleased the Emperor, who kissed him and said: 'That's well answered.’"

Rare picture of Napoleon with his Polish son.

That same evening, September 2, Marie Walewska took the road to Naples again in small steps. The endowment of Alexandre, confiscated on September 15 with all the other French endowments of the kingdom of Naples, is restored on November 30. Perhaps on the intervention of Caroline, who always liked Marie Walewska? Perhaps Murat had some shame to add a meanness to his betrayals? In any case the Emperor was satisfied and he told the King of Naples on February 17, 1815, adding: "I recommend her to you and especially her son who is very dear to me. "She came to Paris in the spring of 1838 and was ‘touched by the assiduous care’ that Walewski gave her during her stay. Caroline Murat wrote to him on November 23: "I am sending you the letter from the Emperor that I had promised you; you will see in it the proofs of the affection that he had for you... "

The countess Walewska lingers in Naples. Alexandre will keep a vague but pleasant memory of this stay, of the toys that he received there. At the beginning of 1815 the mother and the child embarked for France. Caught by a corsair, they escaped him in great difficulty.

Marie learned of the death of the count in Walewice on January 18, 1815. Now that she is free, what will she do with her life? To marry General d'Ornano, who has been courting her for a long time and for whom she has a deep inclination? Perhaps... She has hardly had time to decide when on March 1, 1815 Napoleon lands in Golfe-Juan.

It is the prestigious return, the intoxicating reception of Paris, the feverish days of work. Before the departure for the plains of Flanders where the imperial eagle will fall, Marie, always faithful heart, goes to the Elysee with her son. Alexandre found the visitor from the rue du Houssaye at the palace. He wears, as on the island of Elba, a blue uniform with a white lapel. "He told my mother that he was going to leave for a campaign. He asks me if I want to go with him. My mother refused. ‘Well madam, I will take him by force.’” These words still ring in my ears. "

Waterloo, the second abdication, the halt at Malmaison. Marie once again comes to the Emperor. So many bonds united them, gratitude for the resurrected Poland, and then love, and then the child. Without a doubt, she is ready to accompany him in this exile from which Napoleon's immense weariness, after a life so full and so ardent, awaits rest. But he does not accept, happiness is no longer for him, he enters the legend.

Despite the clear light of this beautiful summer day, everything is sad and gloomy on this June 26 and Malmaison is a kingdom of shadows: shadow of Josephine, unfaithful and charming, shadow of Duroc and Bessieres, shadow of the madman Junot, shadow of the absent ones too, Eugene, Murat, the companions of glory and youth, shadow of Talleyrand and Fouche who betrayed him, shadow above all of this young consul who took France in his arms and with a sincere effort straightened it.

Marie and the Emperor speak at length. Alexandre, serious and silent, listens to them without understanding. The countess is crying softly, she would like to retain Napoleon, to persuade him not to abandon himself to destiny. It is a vain effort, the Emperor does not hear her, nor does he hear Hortense. Marie finally decides to leave and Napoleon leans over to the child and gives him a long kiss. Later the man made, the wall man who became ambassador, then minister of the resurrected empire, will remember that he thought he saw a tear running down the cheek of the defeated of Waterloo.

Three more days the slow agony continues, three more days Marie returns to Malmaison and on June 29 she will be among the last faithful who, on the threshold of the house, will see the Emperor sinking with a firm step into the park, crossing the small gate, will hear the door of the heavy car slamming while the bells of the church of Rueil ring...

* * *

A long year... Europe catches its breath, gets used to the absence of the man who for fifteen years has dominated it and who disappeared at the bottom of the Atlantic.

On September 7, 1816 Marie Walewska married Ornano, who had been exiled by the Restoration, in St. Gudula in Brussels. Antoine and Alexandre Walewski stayed in Paris. Under the guidance of M. Carite, a friend on whom the countess entrusted the education of her children, and of an old valet, Andre, the two little ones join the Ornanos at the waters of Chaudfontaine near Liege. The new household moved soon after to Liege itself, in a charming house on rue Mandeville, today rue de la Fragnee. On June 9, 1817, a son, Rodolphe, was born. After his release from exile, Ornano returned to Paris with his wife in October 1817, but Marie died soon after, on December 11.

In her will Madame d'Ornano entrusted the guardianship of her Polish sons to her brother Theodore Laczynski, who was in Paris at the time. "He will have to report frequently to my dear husband on the state of Alexandre's health, to take his advice when this child will be of school age. Place him in a school where his father-in-law will be able to go and visit him sometimes and supervise his education... "

Laczynski takes the two orphans to Kiernozia in Poland. Alexandre likes this quiet and patriarchal life. Memories of the imperial era haunt the house. In the evening, Antoine and Alexandre linger in the living room. Theodore Laczvnski takes the lead in the conversation, he talks about the French Revolution, Paris, the imperial campaigns, especially about the Emperor. As Duroc's aide-de-camp, the Pole often approached Napoleon. The children, with bright eyes, listen "with indefinable interest". Laczynski's dream is to go to Saint Helena, to take his wards there...

After a few happy months in the country, Theodore Laczynski decides to settle in Warsaw and gives the children whose education cannot be neglected any longer a tutor. A strange choice. The times decidedly wanted it. While Queen Hortense entrusted Louis-Napoleon to the son of the conventionnel Le Bas, the young Walewskis, in their snows, were given to a certain Muller, a "philosopher teacher" as he called himself, of a very advanced republicanism. Laczynski quickly separates from the astonishing character and, in order to restore the balance, his pupils spend half a year in a Jesuit college in Warsaw, where Alexandre makes his first communion. Then they left for Geneva in 1820.

Napoleon's son stayed there for four years. After a happy, pampered life with the gentle and tender woman who was his mother, the child had two more easy years. Now here he is, thrown alone - his brother Antoine is leaving him soon (1) - in a new, even hostile environment, in a foreign city whose Protestant austerity must have clashed with the Catholic heredity of this Pole with Latin roots. And yet, as he himself wrote, it was from this period that his spiritual life began. The city of Calvin suits this calm, somewhat soft temperament. No flashes of anger or outbursts. Order, measure, a certain fundamental rigidity. In Geneva, one day in the summer of 1821, the child of Wagram, the one who prayed for the Emperor because he was his father, learns of the death of the captive of Saint Helena.

(1)Recalled probably by the tsar. Antoine Walewski died young, without children from his marriage to Constance Grotowska.

No trace in the memories of the imprisoned man of what he thought, felt... Did he ever know, except by the cold instructions to the executors of his will, that Napoleon, although absorbed by the concern for his imperial son, nevertheless thought of his Polish son, recommended him to Bertrand, expressed the wish that he enter a regiment of lancers, and above all that he become a Frenchman. "He is really of my blood, and that is also something."

Alexandre Walewski is a boarder at the Academy's rector's house, which receives about twenty young people. His lavish lifestyle, the apartment, the governor, the servant, attracted jealousy and bullying. In spite of his young age, Alexandre decides to avoid a situation which, if it goes on too long, will become painful. He gets the governor recalled, keeps the servant but puts him at the service of the community. He has easy money - his hands will always be wide open -, he lends to his comrades and shows himself to be generous. He is a serious, authoritarian boy, aware of his importance. The traits of his character, which we will find again during his life, are already marked: he is honest, upright, but he is neither cheerful nor fanciful. He evokes his life in Geneva as follows: "I was at twelve very tall for my age, and I considered myself a young man; so much so that I was already going a little into the world, to balls, to little parties... I stayed in Geneva for four years. I left Geneva on an order from the emperor of Russia."

* * *

On his return to Poland in 1824, Alexandre Walewski was emancipated by his tutor. He settled in Walewice, where he led a stately life. Princess Jablonowska, a sexagenarian cousin who had once been the friend and confidante of Maria Walewska, helped him to entertain. The house of the young man, of this so young man, is soon to be very sought after.

Precocious from a worldly point of view, Alexandre Walewski is also precocious with women. The Latin blood is hot, the Slavic blood as well. Judging by what he wrote in the first draft of his memoirs, shortly after his arrival in Walewice, Alexandre had an affair. He had an affair with a "vulgar girl" that left him feeling disgusted and that would keep him away from such promiscuity in the future. The numerous women who will mark out his life will be from now on women of talent or: women of quality.

On December 22, 1825, Alexandre sends to the General d'Ornano his wishes for the new year. This letter, green, charming, which confirms the impression of maturity of a boy who is not sixteen years old, also reveals the affectionate feelings that he feels for his stepfather.

“It is nearly three months since I wrote to you and many things have happened since I took possession of my land in Walewice. First of all, the castle was repaired, which was in great need of it, and then my good cousin wanted the whole region to hear, with loud trumpeting, that I had become its lord. More than a hundred people did us the honor of attending the magnificent ball that she gave. It was very cold outside, but fortunately there was no snow that night. I was celebrated and saw people from the past whom I pretended to recognize and who were charmed by it. The dowagers even kissed me, but not the young girls, which would have pleased me more. I made up for it by dancing with several of them.

"I must confess also that I fell several times into the sin of pride. I don't know who said anything about my academic successes, but I have been in the hot seat and have been made to take part in political, diplomatic, literary, and I don't know what else conversations. How many compliments have I heard about my intelligence, my reason, the power of my arguments, etc., etc., etc.? And then I noticed that the girls preferred me to many other dancers. As the lessons given to me were profitable, I remembered that it was especially necessary to court ladies of canonical age and they brought back to me very flattering appreciations on my modest person, expressed by exquisite mouths...

"General Zayonczek is one of my most frequent visitors... He rambles a little, but this does not affect his memory. He remembers very well all that happened in Warsaw when the Emperor came there before the battle of Eylau... He is very popular with the great Duke and even with the Czar's court. Some people criticize him, but I think it is good that we have our great men in favor. It can only be useful for us...

"We will reopen the Warsaw hotel in a few days. Ah! if we could see you there!

"Your tender and respectful Alexandre. "

Son of the patriot Marie Walewska, son of the Emperor, Alexandre attracts Polish hopes. He would gladly be taken as a standard bearer. Grand Duke Constantine, the skillful and often benevolent governor of the kingdom, wanted to neutralize him. He offers him to join the Russian army, to become his aide-de-camp. The young man "stubbornly" refused. He was put under police surveillance and told to leave the country. Tsar Alexandre had once recommended that Napoleon's Polish son should never be allowed to go to France: his brother remembered this.

Alexandre decides to escape. With a passport obtained at a high price, he goes to St. Petersburg and hides there, waiting for a favorable opportunity to gain more free land. He learns that the police are looking for him to bring him back to Warsaw where his fate will be decided. Four hundred leagues on foot, a probable prison do not tempt the Pole. He had to escape at all costs. He reached Kronstadt and boarded a steamer bound for England. The police have found his trail, and they launch an armed barge in pursuit of him, ordering him to stop: inadvertently or unwillingly, the captain does not obey the summons and, thanks to his superior speed, makes it to the open sea.

* * *

In London, Walewski received an enthusiastic welcome from the elegant society, the opposition. The Whigs, that is, the Liberals, have always regretted the treatment of the Emperor, and Lord Holland has protested in the House of Lords against the conditions of captivity. With Napoleon gone, the regrets became remorse...

In spite of the attentions of which he is the object, the young man does not linger in England. He will return there with pleasure and in 1828 he will spend several months: summer, autumn, making a long stay in Chatworth at the Duke of Devonshire, the most prominent of the great Whig lords. But it is in Paris that Walewski intends to settle down. He arrived there in the autumn of 1827. He found his father-in-law, with him Flahaut, Sebastiani, Gerard, veterans of the time. The salons of the Faubourg Saint Honore, of liberal tendency, receive him with great pleasure. He is charming at his entrance in the Parisian world, this young Walewski. Slim, slender, elegant, he has beautiful dark eyes and a dreamy smile. His slight accent adds to his charm when he courts a woman, and he waltzes divinely - like a Slav.

And then, isn't he called the natural son of Man? The Marechal de Castellane notes on November 1, 1827: "At Mme de Flahaut's, I saw for the first time a young M. Walewski, son of Mme Walewska and of the Emperor Napoleon. He has the eyes, the sound of his father's voice, he is taller than him and very well turned out (1)."

(1) Many years later Walewski pronounced the eulogy of the count of Rayneval. An old general of the Empire suddenly begins to cry. "I attended the farewell that the Emperor made to his guard at Fontainebleau and I just heard the sound of his voice.”

What is more surprising, the faubourg Saint-Germain, stronghold of the ultras, is infatuated with Walewski who becomes the darling of the "ultra-duchesses" according to Lady Morgan. Haussonville on his side confirms it to us. "The debuts of Count Walewski took place, singularly enough, under the auspices of what is most exclusive and purest in the aristocratic society of Paris. It was as if it were a watchword among the most sought-after ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain to give the most benevolent welcome to the young man whose features were strikingly reminiscent, but with a pleasant and gentle physiognomy, of those of a famous mask. The first of these was the one who was to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be of a man who was not a man of the world. He let the most haughtiest women, those who were about to consider themselves the prettiest or the wittiest, put themselves to the expense for him, either of brilliant toilet or of beautiful spirit, each one according to the means of seduction which suited her best. Thus, every evening in the fashionable salons, there was a real race to the bell tower between a learned marquise... who affected to speak to each ambassador the language of her country and a beautiful duchess [it seems to be the duchess de Guiche] who was then in Paris the type of the sovereign elegance. Between these ladies the bets were open and the chances seemed doubtful, Walewski taking care to share equally between them his discreet attentions...”

A cloud rises however on the horizon. Pozzo di Borgo, the Russian ambassador, a Corsican who had been in the service of the tsar, pursued with a Corsican hatred all that was Bonaparte. He asks for the extradition of Walewski, this "rebel, fugitive from the Russian Empire". By order of Charles X, who doesn't like Pozzo, Villele, on the eve of leaving the ministry, refuses it. Walewski could stay in France on condition that he avoided official circles and made himself forgotten.

Life is very pleasant in these last years of the Restoration. Lady Blessington has left us a pleasant picture of the society of the time. The manners are ceremonious and the young people surround the old women with delicate attentions, whether it is a flattering silence when the beautiful ones of the past are remembered or a lively eagerness to render them small services: handkerchief, bouquet or fan picked up, shawl placed on cold shoulders. France is the paradise of old women, especially if they are witty, England is the purgatory, says the Englishwoman without ambiguity. The amorous intrigues are discreet, hidden from the public, and those whose affair is best known affect the most reserved manners. Hypocrisy perhaps, but the Parisian world takes on an air of dignity and decency.

Once a week, the women of quality open their salons to a circle of intimates who meet like-minded people every evening in a friendly house. Small closed coteries, where strangers are not admitted. For them, balls, dinners and parties in full dress. For the regulars, the amiable negligence of the half-clothes and the free, unceremonial chat. “Yesterday I went to a small party at Madame de Jumilhac's [a sister of the Duke of Richelieu] where Walewski served as my introducer," said the Pole Andre Kosmian on November 7, 1829. “Without being rich, she received three times a week the flower of the Parisian world. Her small salon is only open to ten or twelve people at a time. It is very difficult to be admitted. I owed this favor to Walewski who is the gate child of these ladies."

Walewski likes this refined society as much as he likes it. He is linked with the due de Chartres. They are tall, one dark, the other blond, they look alike and for three winters they never leave each other. Walewski also met Thiers at Madame de Flahaut's house: their friendship will never be denied. He finally met Morny, the son of Flahaut and Queen Hortense. "They are both of distinguished and graceful manners, without support, gifted with an air as it should be which is in them as a native gift... "

Lady Blessington, a very good judge, noted in 1829: "The more I see Count Walewski, the more I like him. He has the spirit, intuition and perfect manners. I have always considered it a good sign for a young man to like the society of old people and Count Walewski marks the preference for men of age to be his father."

When the count d'Orsay and the due de Guiche create in 1828 the circle of the Union, Walewski joins one of the first. He found there many Englishmen, Lord Granville, the English ambassador who had married a sister of the Duke of Devonshire and whose son was to be a minister in 1852. Caradoc, the future opponent of Walewski in La Plata, Normanby. He also met Talleyrand... There is a lot of talk about horses, it is a passion of the time and also a fashion. The races begin to be very popular at the Champ-de-Mars and at the Bois de Boulogne. Walewski goes there with assiduity. He runs and plays...

“In the meantime, I attended horse races for the first time in my life," Kosmian said in November 1829. Unfortunately, they ended in a way that was unpleasant for Walewski, because Walewski was always doing crazy things, throwing money out of the window. In England and here in Paris, he lost at cards up to a hundred thousand francs. Having stopped on the slope, he no longer plays cards, but, which amounts to the same thing, he plays at the races. There is a very rich Englishman here, Lord Seymour [Milord l'Arsouille], who lives only for horses and for whom betting on races is a passion. He is the one who is constantly pestering poor Walewski. Last Saturday, they had only two, each on his own horse. Walewski rode an English racehorse; Seymour a hunting horse; but Walewski had to carry sixty pounds more! Everyone who knew anything about racing said in advance that Walewski was making a fool of himself and that he would lose. He wouldn't listen to anyone - and lost. The stake was five thousand francs. He has seventy-five thousand pounds of income; what a comfortable and pleasant life he could lead. Perfectly well seen in the world, universally loved... But one has to tell him the truth... he doesn't want to hear anything until now. It is a great pity because what a good and noble nature it is and of how much pleasure in society ... "

The year 1829 had been cheerful, the beginning of the year 1830 is not less. On February 9 a great masked ball was organized by Mrs. Alexandre de Girardin in the concert hall of the rue Taitbout. Mme. Alfred de Noailles intrigues during one hour Rodolphe Apponyi, the king of the cotillion leaders; on the other hand, he recognizes at first sight the princess of Lieven and both of them go in the box of Walewski so that they intrigue their turn.

Alexandre is twenty years old on May 4, 1830. He is a man. Will he continue to waste his life in frivolity, thinking only of the world, of women, of races, of gambling? Does he forget the hopes cherished by his mother, does he remember that his father wanted him to be a soldier? Will he, who is free, get bogged down in the pleasures of Paris like the Duke of Reichstadt, he who is a prisoner, in the soft life of Austria? Will the sons of Napoleon be only dandies?

Walewski was a calm observer of the Three Glorious Years, and the return of the tricolor flag, which his father had flown in Vienna, Berlin and Moscow, did not arouse any echo in him. Polish by mother, Polish by heart, Polish by nationality if not by language (1), only the tocsin of Warsaw is going to move him, to awaken him suddenly.

(1) Walewski was not fluent in Polish. Joseph Tanski tells that when he came to London in 1854 to talk to the ambassador about projects he did not wish to see revealed, he offered to speak Polish to Walewski, the valet being present in the room. The latter refused, admitting that he could not sustain the conversation.

#alexandre walewski #marie walewska #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #polish history #francoise bernardy #long post #translation #joachim murat #caroline bonaparte #d'ornano

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ghoulciifer · 4 years

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why i matched you:

» you want a man? of course kiri’s got you covered, he’s the whole package. he’s strong, courteous, and just the right mix of playful and mature that’ll make you wonder if he’s even a real person (not to mention handsome asf). this dude will do ANYTHING for you if it means he can put a smile on your face, and that includes driving you everywhere. and it doesn’t matter if you alternate between that sweet n’ salty attitude because, well, he is friends with bakugou so he has plenty of experience in dealing with both sides of you.

» the first thing that attracted kirishima to you was your humor, after that he made it his life’s purpose to hear you giggle when he can. absolutely loves the sound of your voice when you’re playful, and your laughter is literal music to his ears! there’s never a time where you can’t joke around with him, he’s always willing to have a good laugh and actually appreciates your ability to bring light to just about any situation that needs it. fun fact, the first time kiri met you you actually made him choke on his energy drink from an particularly funny punchline, and he swore then and there he’d make you his

» your pet names will 100% melt kiri’s heart every time you use them. he thinks it’s the cutest thing every when you call for him using one of his many nicknames, eyes widened slightly and brows furrowed inquisitively, using that slightly higher pitched voice to coo at him. and he adores it even more when you give him affectionate touching! he reciprocates both acts of love with just as much if not more energy. his favorite way of holding/cuddling you is pulling you into his lap, nestling you between his legs with his arms around your waist and chin on your shoulder - it’s the perfect position for him to whisper sweet nothings or absolute filth in your ear

» kirishima is a very patient man, it takes a massive amount of pressure to get this invincible hero to crack. like i said before, he’s friends with one of the MOST hotheaded people on earth, so he somehow manages to keep you two in check when you need it most. he almost admires your stubborm, headtstrong attitude, honestly. and somehow, he’s still able to differentiate when you’re seriously angry or just poking fun at him with insults, so be sure to count your lucky stars you’re with someone who can read you like an open book!

» if you wanna be manhandled for being a brat, kirishima is your man. even the patience of a saint can be tested when it comes to sexual tension. he’s got so much muscle on him that he could lift you with one hand if he tried, which luckily, he often does when hoisting you over his shoulder with a playful smack to the ass as he hauls you off to the bedroom. kirishima is a dom, for sure. he only switches from hard dom to soft when you’re a good girl for daddy, though <3

drabble:

Your mouth got you into trouble more times than you could count. Your lack of filter and not-so-humble approach to situations often ended in arguments arising between friends, family, whoever made the mistake to try you that day. The blame was almost always put on the poor soul who poked at your temper, but after some time reflecting and possibly even consulting your boyfriend on the matter, you made the conscientious decision to resolve the situation in whatever way was appropriate. And that’s exactly what you’re doing right now - making amends for your foul mouth as you choke on said boyfriend’s fat cock.

Your knees were burning from the friction of the carpet below you, but the feeling of your slick dripping from your weeping cunt down the innermost part of your thigh and the delicious ache of your jaw as you welcome Kirishima’s length against your eager tongue easily turns the pain to pleasure. His hands were gripping either side of your head firmly as he thrusts at a harsh pace, thumb occasionally swiping away at stray tears that prick below your lash line from the suffocating feeling of him fucking your throat without mercy.

“Don’t have much to say when you gotta cock down your throat, huh, princess?” Kiri hisses when your throat tightens around him at a particularly shallow thrust, your nose hitting the tuft of hair at his pelvis making his chest rumble with a deep groan. The gravel in his voice and the filth of his words sends another wave of heat down straight to your gushing core. You look up at him through thick, wet lashes, batting them sweetly but your taunting eyes convey a completely different message.

The almost playful look in your blown out pupils doesn’t go unnoticed. Kirishima pulls himself away from you quickly but before you can even catch the breath you’d been deprived of for the past 10 minutes, he kneels down to your level with a strong hand gripping your cheeks, causing your lips to purse between his thumb and pointer. His tongue juts out to lap up the drool leaking from your abused mouth just before he nips at the tender skin of your bottom lip.

“Almost looks like you’re enjoying this, babygirl… maybe I need to fuck that attitude outta ya, is that what you want?” He tilts your head from side to side a bit, inspecting your every move in search for that brattiness that got you into this mess before pulling your face dangerously close to his with a smirk, “You want me to fuck you stupid so you can’t even think about running that pretty little mouth of yours anymore?”

Hope you weren’t planning on walking tomorrow.

matchups are CLOSED! thank you to those who entered or have been keeping up with this event! remember you can check to see updates on matchups + if your matchup has been posted via the #tumplaysmatchmaker tag!

#tumplaysmatchmaker #tum’s babies #bnha matchup #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima oneshot #kirishima fic #kirishima smut

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defstolemyheart · 3 years

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ex - kim seungmin, park jinyoung pt i

tags: angst, , jinyoung x fem! reader, brother! seungmin, cheating trope

note: another one I cross posted from my instagram. this was my tribute for Seungmin’s and Jinyoung’s birthday, since they both share birthdate! I was inspired after listening to Stray Kids - EX.

word count: 2.5k

synopsis:

Kim Seungmin prides himself for being extremely patient, and for having the decency to never cuss at anything or anyone, no matter how intense his emotions are.

But Park Jinyoung deserves none of Seungmin’s groomed patience and decency.

Not after what he has done to you.

No.

Park Jinyoung can go fuck himself.

A ring. And another. And another one.

Again and again, the doorbell rings for over a dozen times before Seungmin drags himself out of the comfort of his bed, murmuring annoyance under his morning breath. He takes his time stepping downstairs to the living room, rubbing the remains of sleep off his eyes before glancing at the wooden clock on the TV stand. 7.14 AM.

It’s far too early on a Sunday morning to wake up and irritation begins to grow rapidly under his skin as the doorbell won’t stop ringing. Who would be so cruel and dumb as to visit people’s house this early on a rest day?

“Tsk.”

Seungmin’s face contorts to disgust as soon as he opens the front door of his house. Any trace of sleepiness in his being disappears as he slams the door shut, only to bounce back as the person on the other side of the door is forcing it to stay open. Their sneaker clad foot lodges between the teak door and the doorframe.

“Fuck off, Jinyoung. My sister doesn’t want to see your face.” Seungmin puts his body against the door, exerting as much force as he could to close it and paying no mind that the person outside, Park Jinyoung, asshole extraordinaire, is yelping in pain.

“First, address me properly, I’m older than you. Second, let my fucking feet go, it fucking hurts. And third, please, please let me talk to y/n, I’m begging you, Seungmin.”

“Ha!” Seungmin scoffs. “Don’t you think you got the order wrong? Beggars can’t be choosers, Jinyoung. You’re not welcomed here. Go home.”

Seungmin pushes the door again, but Jinyoung persists despite yelling out curses in agony as his toes are practically being crushed in his shoes. For a split second, Seungmin considers kicking on Jinyoung’s ankle until it breaks. Or should he just go get his baseball bat and beat the shit out of Jinyoung?

“I’m sorry Seungmin, please, please let me talk to your sister.”

“No! Fuck you! I’m not going to let you see her and just cause her more pain, you asshole!”

“I was wrong, Seungmin. Please, man…”

“You dumped her!” Seungmin’s patience is running thin, much like his strength now. Why couldn’t Jinyoung come after breakfast so that Seungmin would have a lot more energy than he is now? In fact, he could’ve just not come at all. “You. Fucking. Asshole. You threw my sister away, after she forgave you despite knowing you fucking cheated on her. You dumped my kind, loving sister, for some- some dumb ugly bitch.”

Jinyoung groans at Seungmin’s words. “Seungmin, I’ll tell you what really happened. Please let me in.”

“NO! I AM NOT LETTING YOU STEP INTO THIS HOUSE!”

“Please-”

“You hurt her! You fucking hurt her when all she’s ever done is love you.” Jinyoung flinches, all struggles pausing at the younger’s words, and Seungmin feels tears forming on the corners of his eyes.

His lids squeeze shut in an attempt to barricade the tears in, but it’s a vain effort because they eventually break through and Seungmin weeps as he tries his best to push Jinyoung out.

Call him weak and sissy for crying, but who wouldn’t be, if they were in his shoes?

Seungmin came home from school early two days ago, one of the off chances that a senior in high school like him rarely gets.

He was excited because he finally gets to sleep or play games or most likely sleep. Seungmin barely has time to sleep the past six months because of afterschool studies and late night classes, so he was looking forward to diving and snuggling in the soft comforter on his bed. But he threw his plans out the window the moment he opened the door and saw you, his older sister, slumping against the wall by your entryway.

You were crying- fists pounding merciless hits on your own legs as screams continuously ripped from your throat, curses he had never heard you say are targeted to yourself.

Seungmin flustered and panically asked you what had happened. The sight of Seungmin had you sobbing so mournfully. He scooped you up and carried you to your room, your trembling hands landing hits on his chest as you wanted Seungmin to just let you be. But how could he?

You were just fine in the morning, all bright smiles when you served him breakfast in place of your mother, who was out with your father, visiting your grandparents for the week. You were laughing as you chased after Seungmin who forgot his bus pass. You were giggling when his eyes widened at the ten thousand won bill you slipped in his hand, a pleasant surprise that had him thanking you with a wink which made you laugh louder.

And just mere hours later, you were all tears, and he was utterly confused but he did the best he could to comfort you. He wrapped you in your soft fuzzy blanket, and hugged you, rocking you back and forth in his hold as you broke down completely, like somebody just tore your heart out.

And somebody did.

Fucking Park Jinyoung did.

You cried for hours, with your brother hugging you through the hiccups and the hyperventilations, side effects of weeping your lungs out. He took all the hits you threw to his chest, all the while your trembling lips uttered your boyfriend’s name painfully.

Seungmin’s heart hurt, not from all the beating, but from witnessing you as your heart shattered to pieces. And he was angry. Even as he rubbed comforting circles on your back, rage pulsed through him in turbulent ripples.

He wanted to curse at Park Jinyoung.

Curse him and pummel to the floor him for making you cry, because Seungmin could already guess what Park Jinyoung had done to you, to cause you to weep this hard. Though he hoped for it to not be true.

And when you finally calmed down and told him what happened with stuttered words and a shredded voice, confirming his hypothesis, Seungmin wanted to find the man and kill him on the spot. The only thing holding him back is his conscience and the fact that your fragile self needed all the comfort you can get. He couldn’t let you be alone that night because right after the calm, the storm of sadness hit you again and your body shook violently as you cried and Seungmin was scared that if he left, worse things would happen.

So he stayed up all night that night, and last night he kept waking up every other hour because he was scared you’d break down again.

Now he’s crying, because he’s thoroughly tired, hurt, offended and enraged. His teeth sink in his dry, chapped lips, holding back more tears as he wipes the remaining ones off his eyes.

“Fuck off, Jinyoung!” He cries out as he pushes on the door with his knee, gritting on the pain erupting from the joint.

Your mother would have fainted if she heard what Seungmin said just now. She’d have a heart attack if she heard what his youngest child has been spouting for the last five minutes since Jinyoung’s arrival.

Never, in the relatively short time he’s been living on earth, has Seungmin ever uttered profanities. It’s something that his friends found to be rather baffling but he really likes about himself.

Kim Seungmin prides himself for being extremely patient, and for having the decency to never cuss at anything or anyone, no matter how intense his emotions are.

He was raised gently, by both of his parents, and you, his older sister. The three of you would speak to him softly, though stern at crucial moments. Your parents are saints. They never snapped at you and Seungmin, never letting their emotions take control of themselves.

Their patience is unwavering even when the both of you made the stupidest decisions. Their lips never once uttered curses, not at you, or him, not at anyone. They’d rather stay silent even in times of frustrations, while others would’ve rambled all the names of the animals in the zoo and come up with even more vile terms to say.

And his upbringing really, really shaped Seungmin to be the boy that he is now.

But Park Jinyoung deserves none of Seungmin’s groomed patience and decency.

Not after what he has done to you.

No.

Park Jinyoung can go fuck himself.

Better yet, maybe Seungmin should really grab his baseball bat and beat the older man to a pulp.

Seungmin’s heels dig hard on the cold floor, trying their best to hold his stance as Jinyoung won’t relent. “Just- Seungmin- please, give me five minutes, please.”

“No. Kindly fuck off please, Jinyoung, before I call the police on you.”

Jinyoung’s arm flails into the gap of the door, hand reaching around to grasp on the door handle the younger is holding with his life. Seungmin lands a particularly hard hit on the older’s hand and slams the door once more, positively bruising the older man’s arm. Jinyoung shouts in pain and retracts himself away from the door and Seungmin uses the chance to close and lock the door twice, for safety measure.

He slumps against the creaking wood, chest heaving as he tries to regain composure. But it’s hard to do so when Jinyoung is now banging fervently from the other side.

“If you’re not getting off our porch in two minutes, I am seriously going to call the cops on you, Jinyoung!” Seungmin yells, anger seeping out in every syllable he utters. “And we have CCTV installed on the porch last week. I will show them the tapes and tell them you’re harassing my sister if you won’t leave.”

Seungmin hears Jinyoung groaning, and his steps slowly fading away from the door. Through the small window by the door, Seungmin takes a peek of the world outside. Jinyoung is walking out of their gate, hand roughly ruffling his brown locks out of frustration. The steel gate closes with a loud bang as Jinyoung slams it close after him.

Rude, Seungmin mutters under his breath.

The boy stands up and decides he needs to hydrate his parched throat. All that cursing and screaming really took a toll on his vocal chords, but Seungmin thinks they’re worth the soreness and inability to speak loudly for the next few days.

He gets to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. He leans on the kitchen counter, closes his eyes and sips his water slowly. His whole body begins to ache, though it was no surprise because he was basically roughhousing the door to keep Jinyoung out. He pats himself in the back for doing such hard work so early on a Sunday morning.

“Good job, Kim Seungmin. You did very well-” He nearly chokes himself when he opens his eyes to you appearing silently next to him. “N-noona. You’re up already?”

It’s been a day since he’s seen you out of your room, and you’re not looking any better than he saw you last when you sat on the living room couch at 5 AM yesterday, crying as you finished a pint of the mint and dark chocolate ice cream he had saved for foreseeable moments of mental breakdowns that commonly plagued high school seniors in the country.

Seungmin didn’t protest like he’d usually do when you swiped his snacks away. He thought you needed the sugar boost more than him, and probably more, so your brother went out to the convenient store and got you another pint to finish.

He wondered if all heartbroken people can finish two pints of icecream in one sitting at the crack of dawn. He wondered if he’s heartbroken, will he become like this too? Or will he be the cause of someone’s cries and binge-eating.

He still wonders until now, how much people can hurt each other, as he looks at you.

His eyes study you with palpable worry. Your skin is pallid, with dry, tender patches around your nose, the effect of rubbing it harshly with tissues as you tried to soak snot and tears that pooled around it from hours of crying. Your eyes are bloodshot and tired, apparent from the bags under your eyes. You crack a feeble smile, and he smiles back, just as weak.

“Was that Jinyoung?” you ask hesitantly and Seungmin isn’t quite sure how to answer, the question feels almost rhetorical.

“Yeah. Jinyoung was here. He wanted to see you.” Seungmin sips more of his water, Jinyoung’s name gives a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

Seungmin grabs a clean mug from the upper cabinet and pours you warm water. You take it gratefully, though your hands still tremble and it doesn’t go unnoticed by your brother. You didn’t eat last night. He knows that because after the morning melt-down over ice-cream you asked to be left alone in your room and he hadn’t heard the door opening at all.

“Noona, I’m going to cook breakfast. What do you want?” Seungmin asks, wanting to get Jinyoung off and away from your mind and also genuinely worried for your well being. You shake your head lightly, though and he squints his eyes to you in hard judgement.

“I don’t feel like eating, Min.” you reply weakly.

“If you’re going to cry again, you at least need some energy to do that.” Seungmin huffs a tired sigh and you chuckle sorrowfully from your brother’s words.

“Okay then. Anything but pancakes.” you sip the water slowly, feeling the way it slides down your throat and warming up your stomach. “Your pancakes are horrible.”

“Just because I burnt them twice- nevermind. I’ll make toast and sunny side ups. Do you want bacon? Or sausage?” He makes his way to the fridge and grabs some eggs and bread.

“Sausage.” you sit down on the stool of the kitchen island, watching your brother looking for sausages from the freezer, brows furrowing as he’s considering between blackpepper or cheese sausage. “Do we still have salad-mix, Min? I think I need some vegetables in my system.”

He puts the ingredients he has in his arms on the counter and comes back to the fridge, hand rummaging the shelves for the clear plastic packaging he was sure to have seen last night. “We do. I’ll mix them with the roasted sesame dressing.”

“But you don’t like sesame dressing.” Your eyes widen, perplexed, and Seungmin clicks his tongue at your statement.

“Let me be a good brother for a day, will you?”

You laugh, albeit shaky, and it brings a smile to Seungmin’s previously scowling face.

“You’ve always been a good brother.” you say and Seungmin beams even more, feeling rather fired up to cook you the best breakfast he can fix.

In his excitement he hums and the kitchen is filled with the sound of him cooking and singing, that he fails to catch your whisper.

“Thank you, Seungmo.”

end notes: I feel like this is sort of cringe, but hey, baby steps, right? I’ll post part two tomorrow!

#skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz x you #skz series #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 x reader #got7 fanfic #got7 x you #skz fanfic #park jinyoung #jinyoung got7 #kim seungmin #seungmin stray kids #jinyoung #seungmin #man what did was I thinking writing this

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woven-in-christ · 3 years

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Joyless Heart --> Joy-Filled Heart

No one is without moments of deep grief, pain, and loss. From King David to the Prophets, to Jesus Himself, grief is an emotion that will overwhelm all of us in certain seasons of our lives. The theme in the book Lamentations is grieving. Verse 5:15 says, “The joy of our hearts has ceased; our dancing has been turned to mourning.” The prophet Jeremiah was known as “The weeping prophet” and said in chapter 8:18, “My joy is gone; grief is upon me; my heart is sick within me.” Grief is painful, but does it need to take away our joy?

Is it possible to experience joy while in mourning? Can we choose joy when walking through difficult trials? Isn’t the gut-wrenching emotion of grief the opposite of joy? Or, can they be felt in tandem with each other? All things are possible with God, even joy, after the most painful of circumstances. We just need to know how to find it.

James 1:2-4 says, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." James is challenging us to see our trails as a means of becoming more like Jesus. Though painful, God will transform us into His likeness. When we focus on Jesus, He will perfect our faith in trials and bring us hope. He modeled this when He faced the cross. His hope was set on His resurrection and sitting at the right hand of God having power over sin, Satan, and death. Hebrews 12:2 says, “Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” Our hope is that we are made righteous due to Jesus’ sacrifice. Becoming righteous is the only way we can be in the presence of God. Having this hope should bring us joy. Proverbs 10:28 says, “The hope of the righteous brings joy, but the expectation of the wicked will perish.”

Joy comes when we grasp the precious and costly gift of our salvation. Maybe, like King David, we need to pray Psalm 51:12. “Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.” No matter the circumstances around us, we can choose to rejoice in the Lord and actively take joy in our salvation. Habakkuk 3:17-18 says, “Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail, and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.”

Joy is a fruit of the Holy Spirit living inside of us. Galatians 5:22-23 says, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.” When we lack joy, we can ask the Holy Spirit to empower us to have joy in all circumstances and remember that there is hope. Paul prayed this for the church in Rome in Romans 15:13, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”

Jesus knew that there would be sorrows in life, but we can find joy in His presence. He said to His disciples in John 16:22, “So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” Jesus sent us the Holy Spirit so that we can continually fellowship with God on this side of heaven. It is the Spirit who guides us and fills us with joy. Psalm 16:11 says, “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

We experience God’s presence by reading His Word. When we hungrily devour the Word, we experience His love, gain proper perspective, and have hope, which brings us joy deep in our hearts. Jeremiah 15:16 says, “Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O Lord, God of hosts.” Also, Psalm 119:111 says, “Your testimonies are my heritage forever, for they are the joy of my heart.”

When we spend time in the Word, we want to obey God by keeping His commandments. Our love for Him and His love for us brings us joy in knowing we are in good standing with Him. John 15:10-11 says, “If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” Psalm 97:11 reiterates that there is joy in obedience. “Light is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart.” When we sin, we can rest assured that if we confess our sins and turn from them, God will forgive us, and joy will return. Psalm 30:4-5 says, “Sing praises to the LORD, O you his saints, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”

Nothing can steal our joy when we are thankful for our salvation, when the Spirit empowers us, and when we are experiencing His presence by being obedient to His Word. Joy will come in the morning if our hearts are focused on Him.

Take a Moment:

• How can you still focus on joy in times of trials or grief?

• What distracts you from going to the Word and experiencing God’s presence in times of trials?

Prayer:

Heavenly Father, thank You for the joy of my salvation. May I never take it for granted. Thank You for Your Word, where I can experience Your presence and learn how to obey You. Thank You for the Holy Spirit, who will give me joy when I ask. Amen.

Bible plan Inside Out

#bible teaching #prayer #scripture

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pamphletstoinspire · 3 years

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Saint Ignatius of Antioch, Bishop and Martyr - Feast Day - February 1st

Also called Theophorus (Theophoros); born in Syria, around the year 50; died at Rome between 98 and 117.

More than one of the earliest ecclesiastical writers have given credence, though apparently without good reason, to the legend that Ignatius was the child whom the Savior took up in His arms, as described in Mark 9:35. It is also believed, and with great probability, that, with his friend Polycarp, he was among the auditors of the Apostle St. John. If we include St. Peter, Ignatius was the third Bishop of Antioch and the immediate successor of Evodius (Eusebius, “Hist. Eccl.”, II, iii, 22). Theodoret (“Dial. Immutab.”, I, iv, 33a, Paris, 1642) is the authority for the statement that St. Peter appointed Ignatius to the See of Antioch. St. John Chrysostom lays special emphasis on the honor conferred upon the martyr in receiving his episcopal consecration at the hands of the Apostles themselves (“Hom. in St. Ig.”, IV. 587). Natalis Alexander quotes Theodoret to the same effect (III, xii, art. xvi, p. 53).

Saint Ignatius, Bishop and Martyr by Fr. Francis Xavier, 1877

St. Ignatius, a disciple of the Apostles, but more particularly of St. John, lived in the first century of the Christian Era. His surname was Theophorus–that is, a man who carries God in his heart. That he was a man of great piety is evident from the fact that he became Bishop of the city in which St. Peter had first established his See, in which he was succeeded by St. Evodius. I speak of Antioch, where the believers, heretofore called “disciples,” first received the name of “Christians.” For forty years this holy Bishop presided over the Church of Antioch, with so much wisdom and such unceasing solicitude, that he not only became widely known, but his counsel, on many occasions, was sought by all the Bishops in Syria. At the time of the persecution of Domitian, he remained with his flock, exhorting them to continue steadfast in the true Faith; but, for himself, he desired nothing so much as to shed his blood for Christ’s sake. Besides firmness in faith, he most earnestly preached to those committed to his charge obedience to the Bishops and Priests and the avoidance of heretics. “Be obedient to the Priests and Bishops,” said he, “but shun the heretics as wild beasts, that approach unawares, and wound you in such a manner that you cannot be easily healed.”

While St. Ignatius was thus anxiously occupied with the salvation of his flock, the Emperor Trajan came to Antioch, full of vain pride on account of the victory he had just won over the Parthians. Having been informed that St. Ignatius was the greatest enemy of the gods of the Empire, as well as the principal protector of Christianity, he had the Bishop brought before him. He asked if what had been reported of him was true. Undauntedly the Saint replied: “I pray to the only true God, and how happy would you and the whole Empire be if you believed in Him also! The gods whom you worship are devils: I cannot pray to them.” Trajan, interrupting him, said: “There is no time now to dispute;–sacrifice to my gods, and I will make you High Priest of Jupiter and a member of the Imperial Council. If you refuse, you shall die the most cruel death.” “I am a Priest of the Most High, to whom I daily offer a sacrifice,” replied St. Ignatius; “and blessed indeed should I consider myself were I to be sacrificed to His glory.” Trajan, enraged, immediately condemned him to die, giving this order: “Ignatius shall be conducted, bound, to Rome, and there become a prey to wild beasts.”

Never did criminal, condemned to die, manifest such joy on hearing that he was pardoned as did St. Ignatius when he heard the imperial sentence that doomed him to so dreadful a death. He exclaimed, with a loud voice, “I thank Thee, O Lord, for vouchsafing me the happiness of offering my life as a proof of my great love to Thee!” Having kissed the chains which were to deprive him of liberty, he joyfully extended his hands to be shackled. After praying with many tears for the Church, he bade farewell to his flock, consoling them most tenderly, and once more earnestly besought them to remain constant in their faith. Two deacons accompanied him to Rome. But what the holy Bishop suffered in his long journey over land and sea, from the brutality of the soldiers whose prisoner he was, words fail to tell. Neither can the heroic patience which he manifested be described, nor how unceasingly and ardently he longed to become a victim for his faith.

Whenever he approached a city the Christians, with their Bishops, came to meet him. He received them most affectionately, humbly entreating them to pray that God would give him grace to pass happily through his martyrdom. At Smyrna he was greeted by St. Polycarp, his most intimate friend, who had been a disciple of St. John with him. It will be more easy to imagine than describe the great consolation that these two holy men found in each other. From this city as well as from several other places, the holy Bishop wrote letters to the different churches, giving to all the most pious instructions, and declaring his eagerness to be immolated for his Lord’s sake. He found also in Smyrna several men from Ephesus, who were on their way to Rome, and as they would arrive there before him, he gave them a letter to the Christians living there, in which he most humbly besought them not to supplicate heaven for his life, and thus deprive him of the crown of martyrdom. Thus, in this letter, he again revealed his fervent desire to suffer and die for his God.

At length, after indescribable torments, the holy Bishop arrived at Rome. The faithful came in crowds to meet him, weeping bitterly while they saluted him. But he appeared more cheerful than ever, and, kneeling down in the midst of them, he prayed for the Christian Church, and offered himself as a sacrifice to the Son of the Almighty.

The Roman Book of Martyrs relates further that the holy Bishop was most barbarously tortured in Rome before he was thrown to the lions, but in what these tortures consisted is not known. Incontestible, however, is the fact that, on being brought into the amphitheatre, where innumerable people were present to witness his death, he addressed the multitude, saying that he, as a Christian Bishop, had been brought thither because he longed to suffer and die for Christ. Having said this, he prayed, and earnestly supplicated God not to prevent the wild beasts from destroying him, as had often happened to other Christians. As soon as the roaring of the lions was heard, he cried aloud: “I am the grain of Christ. I shall be ground by the teeth of these wild beasts, and so become the pure bread of Christ!” While he thus spoke they let the lions loose, which fiercely bounded towards the Saint, who while repeating the holy name of Jesus, was torn in pieces. The lions devoured him instantly, leaving only his bones, which were gathered by the faithful and brought to Antioch, where they were received by the Christians with the greatest honors. They were deposited with as much solemnity as circumstances would permit, in a sanctuary devoted to that purpose, and they were held in great honor by all believing in the true Faith.

St. Ignatius desired nothing more ardently than to suffer and die for the sake of Jesus Christ. The source of this desire was the Saint’s adoration of the crucified God, which he derived from contemplating the inconceivable love which moved Jesus to suffer and die for us. Therefore, was he often heard to say, “My love is the crucified God.” Can you likewise say, in sincerity, that the crucified God is your love, or the only object of your devotion? Ah! until now it most certainly has not been thus. A contemptible human being, a short-lived pleasure, a temporal profit, a sinful delight, you have loved more than your Saviour. Oh, shame! Has not Jesus, who loved so much that He suffered death upon the cross for you, deserved to be loved far above everything and beyond everybody? Devote yourself to Him from this hour, and show by your deeds that you love Him. This is done when you remain constant to your crucified God, and when you allow no sin to separate you from Him. Tell me who, at the time the Crucifixion took place, showed by deeds that they loved Christ? Certainly not the heathens, nor the Jews, neither Scribes nor Pharisees, not even the Apostles themselves, one only excepted. For the heathens crucified Christ, the Jews derided and scorned and helped to crucify Him; the Apostles deserted Him–yes, one of them even sold Him, and another denied him! These were no tokens of love. Only St. John, Mary, the Holy Mother, and a few other saintly women, showed by deeds their love for the crucified Christ. They did not leave Him in His hour of bitter trial, and much less did they deride Him, scorn Him, or assist in crucifying Him, as so many others. And just such tokens of love I require of you, especially during the time of the so-called Carnival, as being the time when your Saviour is not only again derided, scorned, and crucified by many sinners, but even, in many places, deserted and denied by His Apostles–that is, by those who, during the year, were zealous in serving Him. Remain, during that period, with your Jesus; do not separate yourself from Him by sin; leave Him not. In this way you can show by your actions that you love Him truly. The thought alone that Christ suffered so much for you should be sufficient to incite you to this. He has so fervently loved you, and showed so plainly His love in deeds: why will you not, in like manner, return His love, and manifest it also in visible deeds?

#st ignatius of antioch

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sastiel-is-my-serotonin · 4 years

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Falling In Love Is Easy, Dealing With It Isn't

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

The constant ticking of the clock was usually soothing as it was a constant, now it served as a frustrating distraction. With a flick of my wrist, it broke. No one cared for it anyway.

Rubbing my face through the disappointment of this morning didn't help as I wondered why words were absent from my mind. Every language in the world seemed to be extracted from my mind. Enochian included.

This needed to be addressed, the sorrow in his eyes, the obvious comparison to others and ridiculous belief he isn't enough, I hated seeing it. If one of us didn't hold up to the other it was me, I am not enough, Sam is well worth more than I ever will be.

Being this distracted almost made me miss the soft footsteps that were Jack joining me.

He came behind me with a hug, and I could tell he was expecting one from both Sam and me.

"Hey, Father. Where's Dad?" It was unusual for Sam and me to be separated since we've confessed our feelings for each other. Something that didn't come to my attention until I realized how much I currently missed him.

I patted Jack's arm, looked at him and set my pen, paper aside. "He's on a beer run. At least that's what he told Dean, I believe he's also getting some vegetables since your recent intake on candy has increased. Did Dean sneak you that candy?" I asked pointing to where he attempted to hide a bag of nougat. The flush on his face told me enough. I'll let Sam deal with Dean.

"No... So what are you doing?" Whether or not he's biologically mine, he lies terribly like me.

I handed him the rough drafts I had started but couldn't finish. None of them felt true, no matter how beautiful they sounded. "Poetry. From sonnets, odes, lyric, free verse, rhymed, to ballads. None of them are what I want." I sighed and looked at the mess surrounding me. Why was this task so difficult?

"I don't understand, they're well written. What's the problem?"

"That's the problem. They're all well written but meaningless. They don't capture how I really feel about Sam. No fourteen lines with ten syllables in each line are going to get all my emotions for him." Defeated and slumped in my chair, I wanted to cry. The only thing that kept my head up was the hand the was hiding my face. Why is this so difficult?

Jack was staring at me before he sat down next to me. "Then don't."

I looked up surprised, "Don't what?" He gestured to the poetry.

"Don't write a sonnet or a ballad, write from the heart. Isn't that what it's about? Not the form but the meaning?" He asked hands on the table, I nodded. Have I gone about this all wrong?

"Thank you, Jack. I think I got an idea." The pen I grew a hatred for as well as the paper, I apologized as I began to write.

My frustrations dissipated as the words filled my paper. I would describe it as talking rather than writing, I did mutter through parts where I became beat until I changed tactics.

Hours flew by as I wrote and rewrote this poem, it was vulnerable. Perhaps it didn't have the imagery or repetitive nature as the others before; however, the honesty it held outdid any flow from the other poems before.

In the end, at the last line, I stared. I've changed it twenty times already. I wasn't sure if it was my attempt at procrastination or if I simply didn't like it.

Sam had checked in with me when he got back hours ago, I begged him to not look quite yet. He's managed to keep to his promise even though I've seen him pop in to see if I had finished.

This is why it was no surprise to me he's attempting to stroll past me in a casual manner but is failing miserably.

"Love?" I called out and he stopped his "stroll" and was acting as if he wasn't excited that I was finally calling out to him. He's adorable.

He held onto the back of my chair, towering over and his eyes scanned the perimeter before focusing on me. "Yes?" I motioned for him to come closer.

When he did I plopped him down on my lap. Often it's the other way around, but I enjoy this way more than the other.

I smiled at the bounce of his hair, and the fact that he immediately embraced me into a hug which turned into a kiss.

There was an unspoken "I love you" that we held onto for a moment, it took me a moment to remember I had a surprise for him.

"Normally, I have no problem telling you how I feel. I don't know why this is different, but it is. I have a poem for you to read. I would like it if you could read it out loud. If you don't want to, that's understandable." I brushed Sam's hair out of his face as he nodded. It was difficult for me to reach over to the table and hand it to him, there was a built-up fear that I needed to push away.

Sam got a bit more comfortable on my lap and gave me a quick reassuring kiss before beginning,

"You deserve more than a sonnet

Or a loose free verse poem.

What I wish to bestow is theatrical,

To draw you with beautiful imagery,

Reel in emotions by deeper meanings,

Use a repetitive language as proof,

Whether it's synonyms, antonyms, metaphors, or smilies."

I saw his amusement at this is what I considered to be theatrical, and it was. I set my head into the crook of his shoulder. He continued on,

"Ignorance is to believe it would mean anything.

That I can pour my heart out in fourteen lines,

Perhaps about nature or humanity...

Not you, not when I want to tell you everything and more.

It would take me millenniums upon millenniums to perfect it.

And even then I wouldn’t be satisfied,

No rhyme scheme can help show how devoted I’ve become to you."

There was a slight shake to his hands. I could see he was trying to remain neutral but his facade was breaking with emotion. He had to clear his throat to continue. I closed my eyes and focused on his silky voice.

"Rhymed poetry or an ode,

A tune of a ballad or one of a lyrical poem,

How much more delightful my words would be,

Praising you in rhymes and lines of fours,

But it would deprive you of the trueness of my words.

Beneath the soft-sounding words,

The layers of beauty woven through imagery,"

I couldn't help but think Sam reading this made it sound beautiful, it was his voice and tone that made that so. I wanted to tell him that but I didn't. If I did he wouldn't finish reading the poem. Instead, I ignored the shaking emotion that was reeling off of him and focused on the words.

"Love is a mere word without meaning.

Trust, kindness, integrity, wisdom, patience,

These are what I’ve come to associate with you.

Love is an empty word to me,

Simply because it doesn’t describe anything,

I know I’ve fallen for you, my broken wings are proof enough,

Yet, the word love isn’t enough."

I could read the guilt that was rising and brought him closer to my chest, shushing away some of it away. I wanted to do more but knew to remain put. If I opened my eyes I would've lost control and kissed away his guilt, I closed them tighter.

"How does it describe the ease in my heart with you,

Or the tender moments that fleet faster than the light of speed,

The gentle kisses that I cherish more than air?

My wishes of peace for you go beyond our physical beings,

Existing is overwhelming with you,

The thought of the sun rising without you,

Words don’t belong to the anguish I feel."

His voice and breath were shaky and hesitant as he spoke. It pained me to be the one who made him feel that way, I had to remember it's not hurting him, it's overwhelming him. He needs to hear these words, he needs to see his worth.

"Dreadful days are imminent and groundless.

Death has no hold on me, merely the empty does.

Fear is an abandoned promise no one can hold against me,

Yet, here I weep from it at the thought of Death coming for you.

god is cruel to create such a being and make them human,

Simply another shameful act of his he couldn’t part within his rewrites.

his death and executor will be celebrated, praised, his wrongdoings won't be forgiven."

He let out an empty, hollow laugh at the mention of my father. I knew he didn't believe many of those lines but wouldn't invalidate them knowing they feel honest and true to me.

"Endlessly, I am grateful that you humor me.

Claim to love me as I do you, and more than I can know,

How you’ve come to forgive my multitudinous strings of mistakes and grievances,

Understanding will never come, not as it came to love you.

It’s troubling how much you swear upon god that you’re a stain to his creation,

Blind to see you’re a saint, and he is the hindrance to his work,

The only prayer I’ve sent to him is thanks for leading me to you."

He reached for my hand, and I nearly broke and swept him up into another hug at the feel of his hands shaking in my own. The emotion that was rolling off of him was drowning me into a stream of strange guilt. Seven more lines. I can comfort him after the last seven lines.

"I hope you listen, my partner, my love, my human, my Sam.

As I’ve cried to you before, nothing is worth losing you,

Everything is worth sacrificing to keep you here with or without me.

I’ve been lost since I was created, I would still be if it weren’t for the pain,

I was lost until I took on your pain, it isn’t just a claim,

But a truth I live with as I carry on through your wisdom.

Sam, my human, my love, my partner, love is empty, you make it full."

As the last word was uttered, I could feel Sam fall apart. The tears he had forced away broke into a sob while I wrapped him into my arms. I had to avoid apologizing knowing it isn't what he needs.

I couldn't think as I tried to blink away my tears, it stung to see Sam cry, it was complete agony to be the cause of it.

Sam turned himself to face me, straddling my lap, he was trying to calm himself down as he cupped my face. I couldn't ignore the quiver on his lips as he brought ours together.

I melted into it just as I do any other time, but this one felt different as I tried to hold him close. It was as if neither wanted to let go of the other. I couldn't help but keep my hands on his face and let him control the kiss.

He was chanting my name in between small breaks of our lips, the love he poured into his voice and kiss was more than overwhelming. I felt like I was drowning before, I knew I was now.

When Sam pulled away he gave me a sad smile as he wiped away my tears. He was still trembling.

"I can't- I can't tell begin you how I feel..." He was biting the inside of his mouth to avoid crying, even more, making more tears flow out onto my face.

"I- I love you, it hurts- it physically hurts how much I love you." He said and tore his eyes away as he tried to get his feelings in order, I reached for his hands and cradled them.

"You force me to see things I don't like to see, such as me being "worthy." You- you make me happy in ways no one else can, and I feel like loving you is such a privilege." The honesty in his eyes was powerful, I wanted to assure him that I felt the same way. I didn't say anything, I could see it in his eyes he already knew.

"I wish I could write my feelings or be more articulate as I say this, but Cas I can't. It's difficult to say you mean everything to me. That I fell for you and I'm more scared of losing you than I am of anything else." The tremble in his voice was still present, it was a small mercy that it wasn't as present as when he began.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do when eventually we're pulled away from each other. How do you or me even begin to cope with that? I know you love me, and I wish you didn't. I wish you didn't care because it forces me to care. Because I see that when I'm hurt you suffer more than I do." This guilt he carries is conflicting in the sense I know he shouldn't have it, but it keeps him stable. While I want to take it away, I'm afraid of what would happen.

He pulled his hands out of mine to hold mine. He held them close to him as he cried, "I- I try for you- I really do Cas. I hope you see that I'm taking care of myself, I'm trying to see myself in the way you see me."

"I know, Sam. I know." It almost stayed stuck in my throat but I had to force it out. He had to know.

"And I know you've been trying for me." I didn't mean to freeze but I hadn't expected him to notice. I had hoped it would stay in the shadows and would remain unspoken, but it wasn't.

Sam got up and pulled me to my feet, he guided us to a couch where it'd be more accommodating to his height. I laid down first and Sam followed, I wrapped my arms around his waist and he held onto my hands.

Sam leaned into my touch and I could tell by his heartbeat that he was relaxed enough to fall asleep.

"Can we just stay like this? In silence?"

"Yes, of course, love."

#you guys don't know how happy i am that i finished this #this was one of my main projects and i finally finished it #hopefully it's well written i only got a couple of hours of sleep so I'm a bit tired #castiel #jack kline #sam winchester #samstiel #sastiel #sastiel fanfic

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 2 years

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13th September >> Mass Readings (USA)

Saint John Chrysostom, Bishop, Doctor

Tuesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time.

Tuesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the feria (Tuesday))

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

First Reading

1 Corinthians 12:12-14, 27-31a

Now you are Christ’s Body, and individually parts of it.

Brothers and sisters: As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ. For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one Body, whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons, and we were all given to drink of one Spirit.

Now the body is not a single part, but many.

Now you are Christ’s Body, and individually parts of it. Some people God has designated in the Church to be, first, Apostles; second, prophets; third, teachers; then, mighty deeds; then gifts of healing, assistance, administration, and varieties of tongues. Are all Apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work mighty deeds? Do all have gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret? Strive eagerly for the greatest spiritual gifts.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 100:1b-2, 3, 4, 5

R/ We are his people: the sheep of his flock.

Sing joyfully to the LORD, all you lands; serve the LORD with gladness; come before him with joyful song.

R/ We are his people: the sheep of his flock.

Know that the LORD is God; he made us, his we are; his people, the flock he tends.

R/ We are his people: the sheep of his flock.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving, his courts with praise; Give thanks to him; bless his name.

R/ We are his people: the sheep of his flock.

For he is good, the LORD, whose kindness endures forever, and his faithfulness, to all generations.

R/ We are his people: the sheep of his flock.

Gospel Acclamation

Luke 7:16

Alleluia, alleluia. A great prophet has arisen in our midst and God has visited his people. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

Luke 7:11-17

Young man, I tell you, arise!

Jesus journeyed to a city called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd accompanied him. As he drew near to the gate of the city, a man who had died was being carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. A large crowd from the city was with her. When the Lord saw her, he was moved with pity for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” He stepped forward and touched the coffin; at this the bearers halted, and he said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. Fear seized them all, and they glorified God, exclaiming, “A great prophet has arisen in our midst,” and “God has visited his people.” This report about him spread through the whole of Judea and in all the surrounding region.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saint John Chrysostom, Bishop, Doctor

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

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

First Reading

Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13

For the work of ministry, for the building up of the Body of Christ.

But grace was given to each of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift. And he gave some as Apostles, others as prophets, others as evangelists, others as pastors and teachers, to equip the holy ones for the work of ministry, for building up the Body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of faith and knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the extent of the full stature of Christ.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 40:2 and 4, 7-8a, 8b-9, 10, 11

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

I have waited, waited for the LORD, and he stooped toward me and heard my cry. And he put a new song into my mouth, a hymn to our God.

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

Sacrifice or oblation you wished not, but ears open to obedience you gave me. Burnt offerings or sin-offerings you sought not; then said I, “Behold I come.”

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

“In the written scroll it is prescribed for me, To do your will, O my God, is my delight, and your law is within my heart!”

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

I announced your justice in the vast assembly; I did not restrain my lips, as you, O LORD, know.

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

Your justice I kept not hid within my heart; your faithfulness and your salvation I have spoken of; I have made no secret of your kindness and your truth in the vast assembly.

R/ Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.

Gospel Acclamation

Alleluia, alleluia. The seed is the word of God, Christ is the sower; all who come to him will live for ever. Alleluia, alleluia.

Either:

Gospel

Mark 4:1-10, 13-20

The sower went out to sow.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

Or:

Gospel

Mark 4:1-9

The sower went out to sow.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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orthodoxydaily · 4 years

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Saints&Reading: Sun., Aug

Commemorated on August 10

The Martyr ArchDeacon Lawrence (258)

The Martyrs ArchDeacon Lawrence, Pope Sixtus, Deacons Felicissimus and Agapitus, the Soldier Romanus, – Romans, suffered in the year 258 under the emperor Valerian. Holy Pope Sixtus, born at Athens, received a fine education, preached in Spain and was made bishop in Rome following the martyr's death of Holy Pope Stephen (253‑257, Comm. 2 August). these were times when a pope occupying the Roman throne, was known to choose death for the faith. In a short while Saint Sixtus also was arrested and put in prison together with his deacons Felicissimus and Agapitus. When the holy archdeacon Lawrence visited Pope Sixtus, whom they held in prison, he cried out with tears: "Whither art thou gone, father? Why hast thou forsaken thine archdeacon, with whom always thou hast offered the Bloodless Sacrifice? Take thy son with thee, that I may be thy companion in having blood shed for Christ!" Saint Sixtus answered him: "I have not forsaken thee, my son. I am old and go to an easy death, but yet greater sufferings await thee. Know, that after three days upon our death thou shalt follow after me. And now go, take the church treasury and distribute it to the poor and needy Christians". Saint Lawrence zealously did the bidding of the sainted-hierarch. Having heard, that Pope Sixtus had been taken to trial with the deacons, Saint Lawrence went there so as to witness their deed, and he said to the sainted-bishop: "Father, I have already fulfilled thy command, and distributed by hand thine treasury; forsake me not!" Hearing something about treasure, soldiers put him under guard, and the other martyrs were beheaded (+ 6 August 258). The emperor locked up Saint Lawrence in prison and ordered the chief jailer Hyppolitus to keep watch over him. In prison Saint Lawrence with prayer healed the sick gathered together with him and he baptised many. Astonished by this, Hyppolitus himself believed and accepted Baptism from Saint Lawrence together with all his household. Soon the archdeacon Lawrence was again brought to the emperor and commanded to produce the hidden treasure. Saint Lawrence answered: "Give me a period of three days, and I shalt show thee this treasure". During this time the saint gathered up a crowd of the poor and the sick, who ate only because of the charity of the Church, and bringing them he explained: "Here are the vessels in which is contained the treasure. And everyone, who puts their treasure in these vessels, will receive them in abundance in the Heavenly Kingdom". After this they gave Saint Lawrence over to fierce tortures, urging him to worship idols. The martyr was scourged (with a fine iron flail with sharp needles), they burned his wounds with fire, and struck at him with metal switches. At the time of the martyr's suffering, the soldier Romanus suddenly cried out: "Saint Lawrence, I behold a bright youth, who standeth about thee healing thy wounds. Beseech thy Lord Christ not to forsake me!" After this they stretched Saint Lawrence on a rack and returned him to prison to Hyppolitus. Romanus brought there a waterpot with water and besought the martyr to baptise him. And immediately after the Baptism of the soldier, he was beheaded (+ 9 August). When they took Saint Lawrence to his final torture, Saint Hyppolitus wanted to declare himself a Christian and die together with him, but the confessor said: "Conceal for now thy confession in thy heart. After some length of time I shall summon thee, and thou shalt hear and come unto me. Weep not for me, but rather rejoice, for I go to receive a glorious crown of martyrdom". They placed him in an iron cage, under which they set an intense fire, and the flames of the bon-fire flicked towards the body of the martyr. Saint Lawrence, glancing at the governor, said: "Here now, ye do burn only but one side of my body, turn over the other and do my whole body". Dying, he uttered: "I thank Thee, Lord Jesus Christ, that Thou hast accounted me worthy to enter into Thy gates", – and with these words he gave up the spirit. Saint Hyppolitus took the body of the martyr by night, he wrapped it in a shroud with ointments and gave it over to the priest Justin. Over the relics of the martyr in the home of the widow Kyriakia they made an all-night vigil and Divine Liturgy. All the Christians present partook of the Holy Mysteries and with honour they buried the body of the holy martyr Archdeacon Lawrence in a cave on 10 August 258. Saint Hyppolitus and other Christians suffered three days after the death of Saint Lawrence (13 August), as he had foretold them of this.

John 21:15-25

15So when they had eaten breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of Jonah, do you love Me more than these?" He said to Him, "Yes, Lord; You know that I love You." He said to him, "Feed My lambs."16He said to him again a second time, "Simon, son of Jonah, do you love Me?" He said to Him, "Yes, Lord; You know that I love You." He said to him, "Tend My sheep."17He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of Jonah, do you love Me?" Peter was grieved because He said to him the third time, "Do you love Me?" And he said to Him, "Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You." Jesus said to him, "Feed My sheep.18Most assuredly, I say to you, when you were younger, you girded yourself and walked where you wished; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will gird you and carry you where you do not wish."19This He spoke, signifying by what death he would glorify God. And when He had spoken this, He said to him, "Follow Me."20Then Peter, turning around, saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following, who also had leaned on His breast at the supper, and said, "Lord, who is the one who betrays You?"21Peter, seeing him, said to Jesus, "But Lord, what about this man?"22Jesus said to him, "If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you? You follow Me."23Then this saying went out among the brethren that this disciple would not die. Yet Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but, "If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you?"24This is the disciple who testifies of these things, and wrote these things; and we know that his testimony is true.25And there are also many other things that Jesus did, which if they were written one by one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. Amen.

Matthew 18:23-35

23Therefore the kingdom of heaven is like a certain king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants.24And when he had begun to settle accounts, one was brought to him who owed him ten thousand talents.25But as he was not able to pay, his master commanded that he be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and that payment be made.26The servant therefore fell down before him, saying, 'Master, have patience with me, and I will pay you all.'27Then the master of that servant was moved with compassion, released him, and forgave him the debt.28But that servant went out and found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii; and he laid hands on him and took him by the throat, saying, 'Pay me what you owe!'29So his fellow servant fell down at his feet and begged him, saying, 'Have patience with me, and I will pay you all.'30And he would not, but went and threw him into prison till he should pay the debt.31So when his fellow servants saw what had been done, they were very grieved,and came and told their master all that had been done.32Then his master, after he had called him, said to him, 'You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you begged me.33Should you not also have had compassion on your fellow servant, just as I had pity on you?'34And his master was angry, and delivered him to the torturers until he should pay all that was due to him.35So My heavenly Father also will do to you if each of you, from his heart, does not forgive his brother his trespasses.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #ancient christianity #firstchristian #holyscripture #gospel #sacredtext #spirituality #knowledge #wisdom

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makerof150papermasks · 6 years

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Hamlet Mariofied Act 4 Scene 5

Bolded names refer to the Mario characters playing the roles. The character role names remain the same in the context of the play and its dialogue.

Luigi = Horatio

Peach = Gertrude

Boom-Boom = 1st Gentleman

Wendy = Ophelia

Bowser = Claudius

Koopa the Quick = Messenger

Larry = Laertes

Act IV, Scene 5

Elsinore. A room in the Castle.

Enter Luigi, Peach, and Boom-Boom. Cue Pipe Maze tune.

Peach. I will not speak with her.

Boom-Boom. She is importunate, indeed distract.

Her mood will needs be pitied.

Peach. What would she have?

Boom-Boom. She speaks much of her father; says she hears

There's tricks i' th' world, and hems, and beats her heart;

Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,

That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing,

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;

Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them,

Indeed would make one think there might be thought,

Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.

Luigi. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew

Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

Peach. Let her come in.

[Exit Boom-Boom.]

[Aside] To my sick soul (as sin's true nature is)

Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt

It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Enter Wendy, distracted. Music screeches to a halt.

Wendy. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?

Peach. How now, Ophelia?

Wendy. [sings]

How should I your true-love know

From another one?

By his cockle bat and' staff

And his sandal shoon.

Peach. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?

Wendy. Say you? Nay, pray You mark.

Sings with Story Box Music from Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island playing in the background. He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

O, ho!

Peach. Nay, but Ophelia-

Wendy. Pray you mark.

[Sings] White his shroud as the mountain snow-

Enter Bowser.

Peach. Alas, look here, my lord!

Wendy. [Sings]

Larded all with sweet flowers;

Which bewept to the grave did not go

With true-love showers.

Bowser. How do you, pretty lady?

Wendy. Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at

your table!

Bowser. Conceit upon her father.

Wendy. Pray let's have no words of this; but when they ask, you what

it means, say you this:

[Sings] To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,

All in the morning bedtime,

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es

And dupp'd the chamber door,

Let in the maid, that out a maid

Never departed more.

Bowser. Pretty Ophelia!

Wendy. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't!

[Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity,

Alack, and fie for shame!

Young men will do't if they come to't

By Cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me,

You promis'd me to wed.'

He answers:

'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun,

An thou hadst not come to my bed.'

Bowser. How long hath she been thus?

Wendy. I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot

choose but weep to think they would lay him i' th' cold ground.

My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you for your good

counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet

ladies. Good night, good night. Exit

Bowser. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.

[Exit Luigi.]

O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs

All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,

When sorrows come, they come not single spies.

But in battalions! First, her father slain;

Next, your son gone, and he most violent author

Of his own just remove; the people muddied,

Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers

For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly

In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia

Divided from herself and her fair judgment,

Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts;

Last, and as much containing as all these,

Her brother is in secret come from France;

Feeds on his wonder, keeps, himself in clouds,

And wants not buzzers to infect his ear

With pestilent speeches of his father's death,

Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,

Will nothing stick our person to arraign

In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,

Like to a murd'ring piece, in many places

Give me superfluous death. A noise within.

Peach. Alack, what noise is this?

Bowser. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.

[Enter Koopa the Quick.]

What is the matter?

Koopa. Save Yourself, my lord:

The ocean, overpeering of his list,

Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste

Than Young Laertes, in a riotous head,

O'erbears Your offices. The rabble call him lord;

And, as the world were now but to begin,

Antiquity forgot, custom not known,

The ratifiers and props of every word,

They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!'

Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,

'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!'

A noise within.

Peach. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!

O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!

Bowser. The doors are broke.

Enter Larry with others.

Larry. Where is this king?- Sirs, staid you all without.

All. No, let's come in!

Larry. I pray you give me leave.

All. We will, we will!

Larry. I thank you. Keep the door. [Exeunt his Followers.]

O thou vile king,

Give me my father!

Peach. Calmly, good Laertes.

Larry. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;

Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot

Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows

Of my true mother.

Bowser. What is the cause, Laertes,

That thy rebellion looks so giantlike?

Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person.

There's such divinity doth hedge a king

That treason can but peep to what it would,

Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,

Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude.

Speak, man.

Larry. Where is my father?

Bowser. Dead.

Peach. But not by him!

Bowser. Let him demand his fill.

Larry. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:

To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil

Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!

I dare damnation. To this point I stand,

That both the world, I give to negligence,

Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd

Most throughly for my father.

Bowser. Who shall stay you?

Larry. My will, not all the world!

And for my means, I'll husband them so well

They shall go far with little.

Bowser. Good Laertes,

If you desire to know the certainty

Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge

That sweepstake you will draw both friend and foe,

Winner and loser?

Larry. None but his enemies.

Bowser. Will you know them then?

Larry. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms

And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,

Repast them with my blood.

Bowser. Why, now You speak

Like a good child and a true gentleman.

That I am guiltless of your father's death,

And am most sensibly in grief for it,

It shall as level to your judgment pierce

As day does to your eye.

A noise within: 'Let her come in.'

Larry. How now? What noise is that?

[Enter Wendy.]

O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt

Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!

By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight

Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!

Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!

O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits

Should be as mortal as an old man's life?

Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,

It sends some precious instance of itself

After the thing it loves.

Wendy. [sings]

They bore him barefac'd on the bier

(Hey non nony, nony, hey nony)

And in his grave rain'd many a tear.

Fare you well, my dove!

Larry. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,

It could not move thus.

Wendy. You must sing 'A-down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.' O,

how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his

master's daughter.

Larry. This nothing's more than matter.

Wendy. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love,

remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Larry. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted.

Wendy. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you,

and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays.

O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I

would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father

died. They say he made a good end.

[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

Larry. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,

She turns to favour and to prettiness.

Wendy. [sings]

And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead;

Go to thy deathbed;

He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow,

All flaxen was his poll.

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan.

God 'a'mercy on his soul!

And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi' you.

Exit.

Larry. Do you see this, O God?

Bowser. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,

Or you deny me right. Go but apart,

Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,

And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me.

If by direct or by collateral hand

They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,

Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,

To you in satisfaction; but if not,

Be you content to lend your patience to us,

And we shall jointly labour with your soul

To give it due content.

Larry. Let this be so.

His means of death, his obscure funeral-

No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,

No noble rite nor formal ostentation,-

Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,

That I must call't in question.

Bowser. So you shall;

And where th' offence is let the great axe fall.

I pray you go with me.

Exeunt

#Super Mario #Shakespeare #Hamlet #Bowser #Luigi #Koopalings #Larry Koopa #Wendy O. Koopa #Peach #Boom-Boom

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yellingmetatron · 7 years

Text

The Story of Nicholas the Wonderworker and Elijah the Thunderer

[See here for background]

Once upon a time in Russia, there lived a very pious peasant. He said his prayers every day with great punctuality, and never failed to thank God and His Saints for all good things that he received. Still, above all saints he loved Nicholas the Wonderworker. The prayers he said to Saint Nicholas always sounded the sweetest, and the candles he lit in honor of Saint Nicholas were always the biggest and most expensive he could afford. On Saint Nicholas Day, he was the happiest and most generous of men.

On the other hand, he never gave a thought to the Prophet Elijah the Thunderer, who of course was also a very important saint in his own right. Being a farmer, the peasant didn't think he had much to do with a saint of the wilderness, and so Elijah was never on the peasant's mind when he gave thanks.

Now, one day it happened that Nicholas and Elijah were wandering together, and their travels took them through the Russian countryside. Nicholas was eager to show Elijah the farmstead of such a pious man.

"See, brother?" Nicholas said, gesturing at the peasant's fine field of rye with his crozier, "This is as good and gracious as a fellow who ever lived in this part of the world. He loves God with all his heart, and never shies from honest work. And furthermore," here a note of pride crept into the saint's voice, "He lives by my example. He is renowned for his perfect generosity of spirit. He's certainly earned this fine crop."

"Pfui," muttered Elijah as he shielded his eyes from the sun. "I've never heard of him. That means he's never offered me so much as a single prayer! And you call him pious? Clearly he doesn't have the fear of God in him! Well, I can fix that. I'll send a hailstorm to flatten his crops, and then we'll see if he forgets the Prophet of the Wilderness!”

Nicholas tried to argue with the older saint, but Elijah was adamant. At last they agreed to part ways for a while, lest they lose their tempers with each other. And where did Nicholas go but straight to the peasant, disguised as a beggar?

When Nicholas knocked on the door, the peasant took one look at the poor bedraggled creature and insisted he come in for a meal at least. When they had finished eating, Nicholas offered the peasant a single silver coin. Thinking this must be all the poor man had in the world, the peasant refused.

"You are a good, God-fearing man," Nicholas said, "And I wish you well, so please heed my words: In the name of the Prophet Saint Elijah the Thunderer, sell your rye field to the priest who lives near you. I once failed to heed such advice when it was given to me, and that is why I am a beggar." He blessed the peasant for his kindness, and took his leave.

Well, the peasant was very perplexed! He went to bed, wondering what to do. When he awoke, he decided to take the strange old man's advice. The priest, who was known to be a rather greedy man, haggled and cajoled and demurred; but at last they agreed on a price, and the peasant went home with his cash.

Time passed-- not much, nor a little. Soon, great black storm clouds rolled in, and the peasant's old field was stuck with heavy hail and angry lightning, so that not one stalk was standing by the time the sky cleared. A few days later, Elijah called Nicholas to see what the old prophet had done.

"See!" Elijah said, striking the earth with his staff, "The peasant's field is well and truly, blasted! He'll be sadder and wiser now, I should think!"

"It's a testament to your power, brother," Nicholas said politely, "But I'm afraid you've made a mistake. This isn't the peasant's field."

"What? Talk sense!"

"Oh yes. The peasant sold this field to that priest over there--- see, the one who's weeping and ranting. Furthermore, the peasant sold it in your name!"

"This won't do," Elijah said, brow furrowed. "I'll send good sun and rain to the field. The rye will be twice as high as it was, and higher!"

After Elijah had ascended to Heaven to start his work, Nicholas once again took the shape of a poor beggar, and went to see the peasant.

"So," said Nicholas, "In the name of the Prophet Elijah, did I steer you wrong?"

"No, no, bátyushka," said the peasant, eagerly opening his door and showing the old man to his table, "You saved me from disaster!"

They ate together again, in good spirits. When they had finished, Nicholas took his leave, but not before giving the peasant another warning:

"In the name of the Saint Elijah the Prophet, you must now buy back your field from the priest. As it is ruined, offer him only half of what he paid you."

After what had happened, the peasant didn't need to be told twice. The next day, he made his offer to the priest. The priest thought the peasant was mad, but gladly sold the field back, somewhat consoled to have recouped some of his loss.

Again time passed. It takes much longer to nourish a field than to flatten it, but somehow the peasant's field righted itself. New shoots sprang up from old roots, and hearty rains fell down to nourish them. Wonderful new stalks grew up faster than anyone had ever seen, and not a weed could find purchase beside them. The sun shone on them merrily, so that soon the rye was warmed through and waved like a field of gold.

The priest, seeing all this, threw up his hands forswore worldly things all together. He became a hermit, and discovered that the vocation suited him. He soon became a very holy man, and even rose to Sainthood himself-- but that is another story.

Elijah called Nicholas to meet at the field once more.

“There,” the old prophet said, “You’ll not find a finer field from one end of this country to another. I never make a mistake that I don’t set right.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Nicholas, working hard to keep his face straight, “But, ah… did you intend that this blessing should be given to the peasant? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“…What? Which peasant?”

“That one over there—see, the one building all those fine ricks of rye. My, this certainly is a bounteous crop, I’m quite impressed.” Nicholas stoked his beard thoughtfully.

Elijah shouted ancient Hebrew curses that made the air crackle and boil around him, stamping his feet and yanking at his bushy white hair. Thunder rolled in the distance, though the sky was clear.

“This was meant for the priest! What in Heaven’s name happened!?”

“Well, the peasant must have felt sorry for the poor fellow; he bought the ruined field back from him—at a bit of a discount, naturally.”

“Let him enjoy his harvest now,” the scowling prophet growled, “For when he goes to thresh it, he won’t get more than six gallons from each rick!”

“If it pleases you, brother,” said Nicholas.

For a third time, Nicholas went to the peasant. “My friend,” he said, “Have you the patience to heed an old man once again?”

“Of course, bátyushka!" the peasant cried. Once again he invited Nicholas inside, and once again they ate and enjoyed themselves.

“Now then,” Nicholas said when they had finished, “I see you have built fine ricks for threshing. In the name of the Saint Elijah the Prophet, take them apart. Call each sheave a rick, and only bring one at a time to the threshing floor.”

And so, of course, the peasant did. It was tedious work at first, but he soon found that for each sheave he threshed, he got a full six gallons of grain. Soon his granary was filled up, and there was still much left over; he built fine new storehouses, and soon they too were flush with grain.

Nicholas arranged a little stroll in the countryside with Elijah, and they just happened to pass by the peasant’s property. When Elijah saw the new granaries, his bushy brow furrowed in confusion.

“Say, what do you make of that?” he said, “Why would a man build so many granaries with no grain to save?”

“Who says he has nothing?” Nicholas asked, “All of those storehouses are full up!”

“WHAT?” cried Elijah, “How!?”

“Well,” said Nicholas pleasantly, “It seems the fellow got it into his head to only thresh one sheaf of rye at a time. And true to your word, he got six gallons from each.”

Realization began to dawn on Elijah like a sharp winter’s sunrise.

“You,” the old prophet growled, “You told him. You’ve been going behind my back from the start!”

“Well, I didn’t want you to do something you’d regret,” said Nicholas, “I’m sure you’d feel just terrible about losing your temper over—“

“Don’t you tell me what I’d regret!” boomed Elijah, electricity crackling through his nimbus of hair. He struck his staff against the ground violently, and farmers for miles around were terrified by the little earthquake. “Fah! Well, your peasant shall have a parting gift from me, have no fear of that!”

“What are you going to do?” Nicholas asked.

“I’m not telling you this time!” shouted Elijah, and he stomped off in a terrible rage.

Very worried, Nicholas went to the peasant one last time. Wasting no breath on pleasantries, he told the peasant to buy two tapers: One that cost a full rouble, and one that cost just a kopek. Then, Nicholas gave him some very important instructions.

Well, a day later Elijah went down to earth, ready to work terrible mischief against the peasant. But as he tramped up to the peasant’s home in the guise of a wanderer, he noticed that the man was just leaving, hurrying on his way with two candles—a big one, and a little one. Elijah’s curiosity was piqued.

“Hold a moment, man,” Elijah said to the peasant, “Where are you off to with those candles?”

“Oh, to the chapel of course!” The peasant said, smiling, “I’m going to burn them for the Saints; they’ve been very good to me this year.”

“Oh?” Said Elijah, “And which saint is that rouble taper for?”

“For the good Prophet Elijah, bátyushka,” the peasant said earnestly, “By his name I’ve had so many blessings! He helped me avoid disaster when my field was flattened by hail and lightning, and after I bought the field back he gave me the best harvest I’ve ever reaped.”

Elijah began to feel a little guilty.

“Oh,” he said, “And who is the kopek taper for?”

“Ah, that one’s for good Saint Nicholas,” the peasant said. He excused himself, and hurried on his way.

Elijah stood there at the peasant’s threshold, feeling increasingly ashamed of himself. He wished that he had been even half as good as the peasant thought he was. He was broken out of his gloomy reverie by a tap on the shoulder—it was Saint Nicholas.

“So,” the younger saint, “It would seem this fellow’s learned to appreciate you after all.” Elijah glared at Nicholas half-heartedly, then sighed.

“It would seem so. Forgive me, brother; I have not acted like a true saint.”

“No harm done,” Nicholas said cheerily, “And that’s the important thing. You’re certainly forgiven. Now, would you honor me with a little walk together?”

And so it was that the dispute was settled. As for the peasant, he lived well the rest of his life, and always kept both Saint Nicholas and Saint Elijah in his prayers.

#out of voice

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coffeeselfies · 9 years

Photo

This is technically the “I think I need coffee,” selfie, but it’s been so long since I’ve posted that I figured anything was better than nothing.

I’m still trying to sleep through the inspiration of a very wonderful Bob Goff.

I. love. him.

But on to darker things, like my not-so-distant past!

Hahaha. So I was looking for an old assignment I e-mailed myself, and instead found a bunch of cryptic-heavy things I had texted one of my rarely used e-mails from my phone.

So of course I’m going to put them together, here, since I will probably just lose them otherwise. And because everyone on the internet loves reading the things I e-mail to, well, myself (WAIT, DO I NOT HAVE FRIENDS, WHAT IS MY LIFE). :p

4/12/12 - A veces no quiero hablar Por Nada con mis amigos. Solamente, "Hoy me dice ,estas loca, pero le esta loco a Juan!" Y mas Nada. Yo quiero hablar about cosas lejas. Ayer y Hoy hable con jean y veronika, solamente small talk primer. Pero despues, yo decido hablar about the things which I was.actually thinking about lately, the deeper layers. My thoughts were kind of awkward. Random. But I'm so glad I did, it lead to such good convos! As if, although my own thoughts or specific revelation (another one about love, of course), but led to true, sincere convos from the heart. Yes! Thank you, Lord. It's funny how I won't open up and ill get frustrated at the lack of depth in a conversation, yet really all I need to do in some cases is just jump right into the true issues. Ahh small talk kills me.

3/4/12 - He asked us a few questions: Who are you using?

How are you using them?

Physically. Sexually. Emotionally. Spiritually. Monetarily.

How can you restore that? Who's using you? Do you love money, and use people?

Or do you love people, and use money?

5/9/12 I think my id and superego are in conflict... I prefer that psychological term to saying that right vs wrong or my flesh is in rebellion, I guess. I just want to do all sorts of things that aren't of God, and i don't even know what to do. I think I need to just remember that life is short, and not about what I want. I'm getting too caught up in the worldly details, my visions going, my path, every time I think I'm expanding it, is getting more and more limited. Goodnight, from post Dave n busters with cartel, post umsl, going to school tmrw.

5/17/12 - "Can you keep a secret?" I should have realized by now that this question should be answered with fear and heaviness rather than curiosity.

5/29/12 - I dreamt that, after they thought I had left, my parents started fighting. Loudly, viciously, hatefully. I came down shouting, 'stop it, stop it!!' But their heads were already covered in blood, as I'd they were going to kill eachother. I never found out if they stopped or not, because dad called to me in real life from the other room. At first I wondered if I had really been shouting, and that's why he had contacted me, but no, it was just about bulk trash being today. Something sounds like its gnawing on something, I can hear and feel the vibrations of it through my pillow. Creepy.

6/4/12 - I have always been a compassionate person – making little houses for wounded snakes and worms – befriending the kid who’s got no one but himself for company, partnering with the girl who doesn’t really speak English. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve recognized that God has been faithful in granting me patience, mercy, and grace as well, and I know that these are not my own, but I am meant to share them with the very people God has give me a heart for – the downtrodden, broken, and outcast, and ultimately just humanity in general. This has, more or less, been my (more recent) life pursuit. To follow God’s Will for my life, regardless of where it takes me. So far that has meant giving hope to weary and often lost travelers of Amsterdam, mentoring at risk juveniles and raising awareness for human trafficking in Los Angeles, running English and Summer-School programs for Chinese immigrants in New York City, training and creating jobs for families in Haiti, as well as hosting events and creating opportunities for girls to leave brothels , learning how to run a business in Mexico while also helping out at various orphanages for disabled Children, and even just being there for my own family and friends when they’ve needed it most. It has meant months of Ministry Training schools, years of living in International Community Houses, working in roles that range from administration, to construction, to managerial, and an ever growing reliance on and relationship with Jesus Christ.I’ve been back in Saint Louis for a year now,

7/1/12 - Today started strangely, my head still a little blurry from the wine from the night before. I went to church, very late, where daren had a cupcake waiting for me. Why? Because Tuesday I had admitted I had experienced some downer bdays and he realized that it was my half birthday. Mom came, cried, we hugged, went to the church picnic.. I went home, told dad about her accident, and he just started weeping, so hard that his nose began to.bleed. I stroked his hair and.got a bit teary eyed.and then we got.on our knees and prayed... Later was feeling down and missing Luke, but jean got me out.

11/11/12 - And with your hands in the air, your feet barely touching ground, I take that smile to mean that life is finally turning 'round. And we laugh til we cry and we dance til we cant, and I feel free as can be each time I see that gleam in your eye. Then the secrets come out and its less about being blessed and more about a high. So when you're dancing I'm wondering if that's you, and when you're singing, I know you would be singing.the blues... But that gleam in your eye, well really its more of a glaze all along, I just saw what I wanted as you,strung me along.

12/20/12 -

Well the queens off her throne Hiding in a stairwell Feet strewn about the stairs Seeming barely aware That her kingdom awaits The king, divorced long ago He's crying Where's his iron fist? Seems he's traded it for sentiment "Pathetic!" He might self accuse If only his tears would let him Seems everything's a dream these days, Some hellish, some sweet But all

I used to find the idea of receiving a text in the middle of the night strange.

Now, after years of practice, I find it comforting, perhaps a reminder that I am not so alone as I would feel.

I hadn't realized this, of course, until now.

Now, when I wake up to nothing but darkness and my own thoughts.

Now, when, regardless of whether I toss myself awake at 2am or 4am, there is no message.

There's nothing to reassure me that there's another person in this world who is awake and eager to share a moment, even a small, electronic message with me.

1/11/13 - Today Gave my testimony. Adopt a block, played ninja. Eva likes hanging out with Christians. I break rules and have real convos with the disciples. Play bs. Go to angelus temple. Do food distribution. Met hosea who talked to us because he thought I was pretty, was super catholic, thought tim was my bf, etc etc etc

1/29/13 - Oh hi, I'm feeling cold and pathetic, and thought I would ... Email myself. That seems fitting. Somehow emailing yourself feels much more pathetic than just journaling. Right now I feel like I wish anyone, absolutely anyone , would sit down across from me. Even the old creepy man who, after asking a few non essential questions, left me for the warmth of the indoors, or... I don't know, a donut. Why do I feel like this.Lord? Is it because I am not so busy in school? Is it because Adam moved and despite the fact that I was barely hanging out with him last semester anyway, he was a crutch, and knowing that at 1am when I feel pathetic and lonely and confused, I can't even text someone I know would care? I mean. I know others would care. But we aren't exactly on that level just yet. What is my life? Why am I this way, and why do I want attention for it? Or why do I feel the need to find someone who would , what, save me ? From myself.? From my thoughts? Why am I seeking comfort in shallow things, the wings of friends and acquaintences and , frick, anything. Whywhywhywhy. I don't know. Is this what life is like for people? Lord, you are the one God, the only thing worth it, you are good when no one else is, am I getting caught up in things that I shouldn't, what am I even going on about? Life life life. It's all good, right

2/13/13 - (From a voice to text translator)

tomorrow I'm supposed to have an awkward cuddling session with my love scene manager and a love my phone from church I'm not sure how I get myself into these awkward situations but I definitely am good at it office tomorrow my uncle is moving in for a month but should be really awkward and I wish that I had a lock on my door and the house I'm learning that the things that I desire to have a find myself feeling empty when I do get them but I'm happy about it because it gets me clarity because it shows me that nothing else really matters is just kind of in my head really got the only thing that matters is the only thing I should pursue S I miss Adam I know you won't hang out that much before you left but now I guess I'm missing him double I don't know I don't know what I mean exactly but he's been gone a few weeks now and it's weird not having a best friend to talk to you about everything I have a lot of friends I have a lot of good friends but this is different it is different when you have someone who knows so much about you already and you don't have to tell the back story every time you tell them a new story because I already know who so I'm so is or why you feel that way or white was a bad idea that you did that so I'm also giving up ice cream and I'll call for lunch and I'm going to be time to eat a lot better subject tomorrow hopefully that I've also really just been wanting to be free of employment just live and everyday wake up and say what I want to do without help homeless people if I want to make something I want to sell another day love you babe I wanna go out with a friend I make my card I definitely don't want to spend 5 shifts a week at cartel but at the same time I don't feel like I'm self disciplined enough to not have a job I'm just getting tired of the creepers and the internet the kids off work as well as yeah I don't know ent from my HTC on the Now Network from Sprint!

8/18/13 -

Woke up really missing my dad. Go figure. Able to properly seduce emotions into a flat, shruggable denial ever since those first few days, and now, on the day I hoped to "stay strong" the most, I can't stop thinking of part of the song he wrote for Rachel, only now in regards to him - "I miss you, in the summertime.. I miss you, in the wintertime.. I miss you - all the time. I love my Rachel Sue." Only.. Daddy-o, or something. Ahhh.. Thank you, Lord, for such a kind father. Please help today glorify your name, run smoothly.. its so obvious we can't do it without you.

8/19/13 - I miss my dad. I am sad that I'll never have him burst in my room in November at three am with pancakes and lit birthday candles because he started thinking about some of the birthdays of mine he had missed, and wanted us to be able to celebrate together. I can't drink milk or even look at rootbeer without hearing him ask for some, so eagerly, and then sigh 'mmmm, now that's good,' so contentedly after his first sip. I miss that his crazy stories are not going to be things that I share in everyday conversation with my friends, because they're all old stories and it will seem out of place. who do i have to talk to about my dad? no one. it makes everyone sad. theres no one to just share his life with, aside from close family, and that will be limited. Everyone keeps telling me I'm so strong. What does that mean?I'm strong because I didn't start sobbing when I spoke? Because I'm smiling and laughing with you? Is that strength or disposition? Blake said that I was handling this better than anyone he's ever seen deal with death. What does that mean?

12/13/13

I see a sadness in your eyes.Behind the words, another message.The weight of your world becomes tangible, heavy, a thickness that weights me like a fog rolling in with, strapping invisible bricks to my body. Sometimes it's your words, blatant and straightforward, other times it's the sighs, the eyes that flash with emotion for just a moment, Did you know that's been seen? So many words, how can they be contained? I hear things you've never said, I see

1/03/14-

I've tried reflecting on 2013.. tried finding words which could somehow, miraculously encapsulate all of the growth, struggle, joy, depression, transformation, and experiences that it contained. It will be one of the most memorable years of my life, for many reasons, but it may also be one of those years that the full impact of may be lost on me for awhile now.In the past few weeks, I've been looking through journals, photos, and letters, remembering and realizing exactly how many changes this year has brought. Led my first missions trip, felt the loss of saying goodbye to one of my best friends, discovered what living with not just my dad, but my uncle Ken, five chickens, two cats, two ducks, a dog, and whoever else decided to stay over was like, became the missions director at middletree church, became an AUNT to the most beautiful little Emelia Skye, gained a new set of amazing and wonderful friends, played nurse/daughter/friend/staff member/sister/maid/hopsicecare/barista/student/leader to the point of confused identity and exhaustion, left cartel to become part of the Caife Caife family, DIDN'T leave the country for the first time in yeaaaaars, actually had to turn down exciting travel/jobs, speaking opportunities, and a leadership position with a non-profit (rather than seek them out, like usual), spent 7 months of the year experiencing the beauty, hardship, and love of caring someone who is dying in more and more ways every day, the trauma and release of my dad's actual death, the months following that are nothing but fog, sorrow, and blurred memories, the 14-state family road trip of a lifetime, moving to the Loop with Dani, experiencing being 'home for the holidays' without any actual family to be home with, and .. I don't know.. the Sara of today, who can look back on things only a year ago and find I have a whole new perspective on them. ..I only wrote one public (well, as public as it can be when I have a total of 8, predominately inactive followers) blog post in 2013, mostly talking about overcoming fear to become the person I feel I'm called to be. It was mostly inspired by revelations from the LA Dream Center trip, and I can't tell you how nice it is to be able to look back on the goals and dreams I wanted so desperately to become a reality, and to be able to say that, even through all the changes and sorrow of this year, that they were able to come to fruition. I'm not in to new years resolutions, but I do highly recommend kickstarting your year with an inspiring, transformative experience, which can set the trajectory for how you are going to live, what goals you will meet or fall short of (but still come closer to, which is still GROWTH, something to celebrate!) in the coming adventure of 2014. No matter what 2013 held, don't let fear of who you were just last month keep you from being who you want to be tomorrow. This little blog post is nice for me to re-read, because it reminds me of my fears, and what overcoming them, even one step at a time, can lead to. 2013 was a hard year for me, but it has also brought me to exactly where I feel I'm supposed to be right now.

1/29/14 - "I'm good" I wore the reassuring words like a blanket. Cover, no, smother whatever was beneath, within. Protect yourself from the cold, vulnerable words might slip thru the holes in the blanket... exposed means they can feel temperature of your meaning. Heavy, heat from the heart. you can feel their response. Pray for a warm touch, but there's always risk of icicle daggers

2/19/14

it's just that

I have a lot of thoughts

ideas, fears, ..a lot of places that I'd like to explore

But they feel so heavy when it's just me and them

feels like there’s a lot of trees to climb before i get to the clouds

and I'd like to share them with someone

who cares about them just as much as I do,

someone with just as much to risk,

who understands each side of the story.

And sometimes, I see planets in those eyes,

but have no rocketship to get me there

And I see that depth, but there's just no way to tap in

Im searching for someone to explore with

those infinite galaxies in your mind and mine.

Someone to make sense of it,

write poetry about it

but not get so caught up that it's just us - no

Always God first.

Always seeking his planets, his stars, his truth..

and maybe that's the adventure..

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