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potatocrab · 4 years

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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (14/18)

Chapter 14: A Face and a Number

After a few weeks of preparation, Nick, Madelyn, and Deacon make their way to Fort Hagen undercover, searching for information on their suspect. At the agency, the group is joined by Piper and Hancock to discuss their findings. Madelyn makes a solo, impromptu visit to Concord. Later, at her apartment, Madelyn is faced with the realization that this time, she may have dug too deep.

“To me, you're a face and a number, and let's keep it that way.” - Cody Jarrett as played by James Cagney (White Heat, 1949)

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

Just south of Concord, situated between the highway to the east and the hills to the west, was Fort Hagen, a sprawling command center for the United States Armed Forces. The military base was a township in itself—amongst the soldier’s barracks and administration buildings was a gas station, medical clinic, corner grocer, preschool and playground. But this wasn’t like any other town or city in Boston that could be visited while on a scenic drive-by. The satellite arrays, relay towers and other military equipment required the upmost of security measures. One did not simply walk into Fort Hagen.

As much as Nick wanted to storm the gates and follow-up on the lead they had discovered while snooping around Kellogg’s apartment, that was a sure-fire way to find himself locked up in a military prison. No amount of Madelyn’s charm or connections at city-hall would get the detective out of a court martial. And so, the two spent nearly two weeks carefully researching and organizing, coming up with the perfect plan that would get them onto the well-fortified base. A few weeks was nothing in comparison to how long the Eddie Winter investigation dragged on—they knew how to be patient.

Piper was still busy hunting down anything and everything she could about the Institute, so Madelyn and Nick made use of the rest of their resources and contacts throughout the city. MacCready had sweet-talked his way to receiving blueprints of the fort from the registrar’s office downtown. Like most of the files they had, it was heavily redacted, but still provided some clarity on what the two might find inside—if they ever got a chance. Preston and his so-called Minutemen monitored the Parkview Apartments in case Kellogg decided to make an impromptu visit. It was a longshot, but Nick didn’t want to take the risk in allowing the elusive man to slip through anybody’s fingers if there was even the slightest chance he could be caught.

Meanwhile, Madelyn and Nick poured over their case-notes and files, working in tandem with Tinker Tom who had continued to decode and reconfigure redacted report from Railroad cache sights. It was a slow process that ultimately yielded nothing the agency didn’t already know about Fort Hagen or their investigation. A breakthrough didn’t come through until Deacon revealed he’d gone through the old Switchboard files and discovered long-forgotten Defense Intelligence Agency clearances. At first the credentials seemed too good to be true—tucked away in some catacomb just waiting to be found at the opportune time—but Madelyn wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. They had their saving grace—all the more fitting that it was found in the basement of a (mostly) abandoned church.

That’s when the real planning started.

Even though the DIA wasn’t technically part of the military, they still belonged to the Department of Defense—the credentials were sure to get them past the security checkpoints at Fort Hagen. All they needed was a plausible reason for being there. Seeing that he was a master of disguise and skilled in the art of lying, Deacon was tasked in creating their personas and cover-stories, while Tinker Tom worked on updating the clearances to match their profiles. It was collectively decided that the best time for their visit would be right before Decoration Day, with the theory the base would be scant of soldiers, the top brass busy with coordinating celebrations elsewhere. The entire operation was full of unknowns and would require a healthy mix of luck and skill to navigate the variables. But this was their only shot if they wanted answers—only time would tell if their plan would work.

May 29th, 1958

Madelyn could tell from her spot in the backseat of Nick’s Cadillac that the detective wasn’t entirely pleased with his role in what Deacon had dubbed Operation ‘Lapins de la Mort’—jaw set tight and gloved hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he drove the trio west towards Fort Hagen.

“Remind me again,” he began in a measured tone. “Why I’m being ousted from my own investigation?”

Perhaps Nick was being a little over dramatic—he wasn’t being removed from the case, but he didn’t necessarily have a starring part in the grand scheme of their undercover operation. Simply put—he was the driver—the go man in the getaway car, on standby in case anything went awry. Safe to say he wasn’t happy about being resigned to wait around while Madelyn and Deacon snooped around inside the facility.

“No offense Valentine,” the Railroad spy mused from the passenger seat. “But since you won’t even try to wear a disguise, you’ll only stick out like a sore thumb.”

Deacon wasn’t wrong. Madelyn glanced up through the rearview mirror to observe Nick’s appearance—his stubble had grown out in the last week and a half, and for once, he’d swapped his tattered fedora and trench coat for a newer, cleaner set. But any Bostonian with a brain and a recent copy of the Boston Bugle or Publick Occurrences would likely be able to recognize him as the hardboiled detective that took Eddie Winter down. Not to say Madelyn hadn’t had her fair share of recognition lately, but it had always been easier for her to blend into the background as Nick’s nameless partner—the broad—she only hoped it would benefit her that day. That, and the long, brunette wig and glasses would help disguise her features.

She was also trying to settle into her undercover identity, chosen to play the part of a DIA investigator, who travelled between military sites to inspect operations and ensure they were running smoothly. Deacon—with a differently styled wig and his signature shades—would act as her second-hand-man. At first, she thought it would be better if their roles were reversed—he was the better liar and showman by far. She was reminded then, that she possessed what neither of her partners did—female persuasion. Madelyn would need to rely on all her skills in order to be successful—litigation, intrigue, investigation, and a whole lot of charm.

“This plan of yours better work,” Nick muttered as he turned down the private road towards the Fort Hagen security checkpoint.

“Our plan,” Deacon corrected, reaching up to adjust his tie. “Little late to start having doubts. I had you pegged as a man of faith.”

“I used to be.”

While Nick’s somber tone worried Madelyn, she didn’t have time to console him the Cadillac slowed, compelled to stop as they were flagged down by an approaching soldier. Another watched the exchange from a small, but well-fortified building, and his expression made it clear he had no intention on raising the barricade—not without knowing their business first.

“This is a secure area,” the armed soldier expressed as soon as Nick rolled down his window. Madelyn peered through the glass to see the name-patch and insignia on his uniform—Specialist Rhys. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to turn around and leave. Immediately.”

Deacon leaned over to address the man on the driver’s side. “Don’t you recognize a DIA agent when you see one?”

He wiggled his badge for the soldier, who bent in to try to get a better look at both his and Nick’s credentials. Madelyn straightened in her spot, attempting to look as dignified and important as she thought a government agent should.

“Just got in from DC this morning,” Deacon continued. “Hagen is our first stop today, best not to keep us waiting. Miss Kitty doesn’t like to be late.”

Madelyn gave Specialist Rhys a pointed look for good measure when he glanced to the back seat, and just as quickly diverted his gaze away. Still, the soldier didn’t look wholly convinced.

“We don’t have any scheduled visits for today, on account of the Decoration Day preparations,” he explained, looking over a logbook on a clipboard. “Are you sure you’re at the right facility?”

“Are we at the right facility, he says…” Deacon mumbled, lightly tapping Nick on the shoulder in mock amusement, though the detective was clearly on edge, eager to get moving. “That’s the thing about the DIA, we like our secrets and surprises. Like to keep the rest of you army types on your toes—”

Nick made an uncomfortable sound—something between clearing his throat and a groan—hinting that he was growing increasingly frustrated by Deacon’s posturing. Madelyn remained silent, only wishing he’d had the chance to see the spy in action prior to this little excursion—maybe then he wouldn’t be so anxious. The Railroad didn’t call him the best for nothing. Before anybody could speak, Specialist Rhys signaled back to the man standing guard in the building, and the road gate lifted.

“Sorry about the confusion, sir,” he nodded, pointing up the path. “We’ll radio ahead to have a delegation meet you at the command post in front of the main building.”

Deacon flashed a beaming grin. “Thank you kindly! I’ll be sure to put in a good word back at—”

The car lurched forward as Nick pressed on the gas, causing Deacon to tumble back to the passenger side. The detective let out a soft chuckle, and Madelyn had to hide her own amusement. “Don’t want Miss Kitty to be late.”

The streets and buildings of the Fort Hagen military base were already lined with Decoration Day fanfare—banners of red, white, and blue, flags waving on every lawn and from every storefront post. Between the many ribbons, streamers and balloons, however, was a noticeable lack of military personnel—dismissed for the holiday weekend or sent to other sites in preparation for the next day’s events. Madelyn knew it was tradition for soldiers to plant flags on the gravesites of former soldiers, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d leave one for Nate. A sobering feeling washed over her as she thought about finally visiting the Concord cemetery where he was buried, but the idea fell away as quickly as it materialized. She didn’t have time to be melancholy when they had a job to do.

As they pulled up to the command post outside the main building, it was clear that delegation meant two, well dressed, uniformed men. Their attire and insignia signified that they weren’t the average enlisted private, either. Nick pulled up to the designated spot along the curbside and released a sigh.

“Here goes nothing.”

Deacon and Nick exited the car in near synchronization, the detective rounding the vehicle to meet the spy as he opened the back door for Madelyn to step out. She silently thanked the two with a polite nod, steadying her composure as she approached the waiting soldiers, gripping the briefcase in her hand tightly as if to ground herself. There was a slight hesitation, as she nearly defaulted to a handshake before remembering to salute.

“Special Agent Catherine James of the Defense Intelligence Agency,” she flashed a demure smile. “Gentlemen.”

“Colonel Kells,” the man in dress uniform introduced himself, extending his arm for a handshake—finally a gesture something she was used to. He politely motioned to the taller man standing to his left. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Danse. To what do we owe the pleasure of such a visit?”

Madelyn could sense the tension in his tone, but it was filled with more irritation than suspicion as he eyed both her and the men she’d arrived with. She continued to smile, not wanting to waver or show weakness. “You know as well as I do that the government doesn’t hand out grants without proper inspection. We like our ducks shiny and all in a row, so to speak. And what better way to ensure everything is running smoothly than to show up when you least suspect it?”

“In war, the enemy never gives you a fair warning,” she added, with a wink.

While the Lieutenant seemed taken aback, nervously glancing away from her face, Colonel Kells appeared impressed. “Right you are.”

“As you can tell, we are in the middle of Decoration Day preparations,” he further explained. “You’ll have to forgive my absence, but I’m needed elsewhere. Lieutenant Danse will escort you through the premises and answer any questions you may have.”

Without further clarification, Colonel Kells saluted the Lieutenant. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered, copying his superior’s actions.

The Colonel silently nodded to Madelyn before walking away to his own escort, and she didn’t dare to move or say anything until the officer’s vehicle was moving away from the outpost. She turned to face Lieutenant Danse, offering her hand in greeting. The man was tall, husky—built like a damn wall—fitting for the United States Army. With dark hair and dark eyes, he was handsome too, all the more easy to charm. But with the Colonel gone, his expression had shifted, and he eyed her with much more skepticism than before—she’d need to change that, fast.

“Agent James was it?” he asked, one eyebrow arced high. He reluctantly shook her hand, as to not appear rude, but she could tell he wasn’t completely comfortable with the action. Madelyn wondered if it had to do with her sex rather than her presence—something she could use to her advantage. What was it with military men and being unable to act rational around women?

“You can call me Kitty,” she grinned, letting his hand go as she noted the subtle flush of embarrassment on his face. She turned towards the waiting duo just a few feet away. “Agent Johnson will join us,” she gestured to Deacon, who was already hiding his amusement at the names he had chosen. She almost dared to go off script, just to spite him for being so smug. “Agent Johnson will monitor the perimeter.”

Nick barely maintained his composure, sighing at the Lieutenant’s brief confusion. “No relation.”

“Right,” Lieutenant Danse answered, clearing his throat. “If you’ll follow me. We’ll make our way through the visitor’s center to the main offices.”

Madelyn shared once last glance with Nick, who stared back, expression stuck between a pout and a scowl—he wouldn’t be happy until she returned, evidence in hand. She only hoped the fort actually held the secrets they were after.

The interior of Fort Hagen was not unlike the Switchboard—a state of the art government facility, technology tailored for the times and to their specific branch of the military, albeit functioning and filled with a moderate amount of personnel, even with the approaching holiday. As Lieutenant Danse led Madelyn and Deacon through the halls of desks and offices, she kept a careful eye out for anything out of the ordinary, or anybody familiar. A shiver ran up her spine as she thought about the probability of running into Kellogg himself.

“Is there anything in particular you wish to observe during your visit?” Lieutenant Danse asked, his voice pulling her back to reality.

She scanned the room, pretending to observe the military staff with a keen eye, silently nodding to Deacon as if it was part of their secret code. It was and wasn’t at the same time, mostly used to confuse their guide. Madelyn knew they needed to play their cards carefully. Ask for the goods too soon, and the jig was up—she didn’t want to think of the consequences.

“Can you give me an update on daily operations?” she questioned, looking back to the Lieutenant. He was carefully watching her movements, hands clasped behind his back. “Our last report showed this facility was performing live training with protectrons in accordance to military contracts with RobCo.”

“That is still accurate, ma’am,” he answered with a firm nod. “The robots Mister House provided may move slower than your average soldier, but they certainly pack a harder punch.”

Madelyn raised a curious brow at his phrasing. “Concerned about being replaced by technology, Lieutenant?”

“N—no, ma’am,” he hesitated in answering, turning away as he led on through the offices to an observatory area. Below, army specialists were hunched over a spread of diagrams and blueprints, the charts too far away to discern.

She tilted her head, thinking back to the dossier Tinker Tom had compiled based on all the information he’d been able to drudge up on the fort’s activities. “And here I thought we’d stopped production on MK-1 turrets.”

“We have,” Lieutenant Danse confirmed, his eyes darting across the various people through the tinted glass. “Truth be told, I’m not privilege to everything that occurs within these walls. You’d have to speak with General Maxon, and I’m afraid he’s currently off-site.”

Madelyn wondered if he was holding something back, eyeing the soldier’s body language for any tell-tale signs. Not that she felt comfortable interrogating him for more information, but if there was even the slightest hint something sinister was occurring behind the scenes, she wanted to know. But whatever anxiety the Lieutenant appeared to be showing was more indicative of her close proximity and not some big secret he was trying to hide about Fort Hagen’s operations. With a disappointed sigh, she gave another nod to Deacon, who tapped his nose in return.

“Director Gould was explicit that we inspect the records room,” she spoke, driving the conversation and tour forward. “She has quite the reputation as being the most organized member of the DOD. Her demands aren’t to be trifled with.”

“Yes, of course,” Lieutenant Danse agreed, motioning with his hand towards a long hallway. “This way.”

In the next corridor, there was a secure door that required a keycode for entry. She was polite enough to look away as the Lieutenant entered the passcode, but she knew Deacon snuck a peak, unable to resist the forbidden knowledge. The room itself was enormous, akin to a library with tall shelves of books and binders, metal cabinets filled with files and paperwork.

“We’ve been following Director Gould’s suggested methods ever since she sent out the new directives two years ago,” Lieutenant Danse explained, walking them past the front desk where a lone clerk flashed a curt salute. “Every piece of intelligence is properly archived within these walls. Only authorized personnel are permitted to remove records, and all requests must be logged with the clerk.”

As she looked around, listening to his explanation, it started to sound and feel more like Fort Knox than Fort Hagen. “Would we permitted to perform an audit?”

The Lieutenant’s stern expression hadn’t changed much, but even then she felt like she might have crossed the line, shown their hand too soon. After a few moments of silence, he slowly nodded.

“I believe that would be…permissible,” he agreed. “What would you like to assess?”

Madelyn paused, even though she had her answer long before they’d made their trip that day. “K—for Kitty.”

The three navigated through the rows of shelves and cabinets until they reached a section, little flags with black lettering blocking off every few feet. Ka—Ke—Yes, that would do. She set her briefcase down by her feet and pointed to the cabinet she wanted to inspect. “This may take a while.”

Lieutenant Danse didn’t seem phased at first, content to watch her as she clicked open the drawer and began filtering through the various files. Under his watch, she had to at least pretend to be slowly inspecting that the paperwork was in order, humming under her breath and smiling to herself as if she enjoyed playing secretary.

Deacon decided it was time for him to shine. “Catch the game last night?”

“Excuse me?”

“The game,” Deacon clarified, earning the Lieutenant’s attention. “Baseball. Ya’ know, America’s pastime. I swear, it was a close one—”

Madelyn tuned them out as soon as she confirmed her partner had managed to engage the soldier fully, rambling on about player statistics and the next day’s game against Baltimore. A part of her was humored, imagining Deacon studying up on the Red Sox players before wondering if he was actually, secretly a fan of the sport. God willing he never dragged her to a game. She quickened her pace, lest she become distracted by whatever the hell Vito’s save was.

The entire infiltration of Fort Hagen was a long shot. So, as Madelyn skimmed through the folders, she didn’t expect to find much, if anything of consequence. But then, right as she reached the back of the drawer, she saw lettering typed out in a bold font, displaying a familiar name—C, Kellogg. She almost gave herself a papercut yanking it out to inspect, refraining from opening the folder at the last moment when she thought about how to get the file into her briefcase. Deacon’s distraction wouldn’t be enough.

The idea struck her instantly and without a second to overthink her next movements, she tugged on the metal cabinet, shouting dramatically as the entire structure came toppling over. As hundreds of papers flied out, she swiftly captured the one she had been searching for, tucking in with a few others as she knelt to the floor, feigning collapse. Lieutenant Danse and Deacon were by her side in an instant, the two quickly lifting the cabinet back into place. Madelyn took the opportunity to stuff the handful of files into her briefcase, clicking open and shutting it closed again like a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it magic trick. By the time Deacon leaned to assist her, the job was done. Her hand in his, she gave him one last signal—three quick squeezes.

“Agent James, ma’am,” the Lieutenant’s concern was evident, even if he also appeared worried about the mess of files. “Are you alright?”

“While your files are organized Lieutenant,” Madelyn explained, breathing a sigh of relief—genuine, but only because their real task was complete. Well—so far. “They don’t appear to be structurally sound.”

The soldier frowned. “I apologize.”

“I appreciate it,” she answered, with a broad smile. “I will be kind in my report. You may lead on.”

For the following hour Madelyn and Deacon continued to follow Lieutenant Danse through the fort, her hand squeezing the handle of her briefcase so tightly she thought her fingers would snap in two. As confident as she had felt about securing supposed evidence on Kellogg, it was quickly dwindling the longer she was subjected to a farce of a tour. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep the façade up, pretending to be interested in what constituted as military secrets. Thankfully, Deacon appeared to be engaged and as collected as ever, silencing maintaining their cover.

When they were finally back outside, Nick was still standing by the Cadillac where they’d left him, left foot twitching as he tapped it against the sidewalk impatiently. When the group was close enough, she flashed him a wink, twitching her nose as she subtly glanced to what she was holding. The detective was barely able to hide his surprise, eyeing them as he eagerly awaited their return. Madelyn wouldn’t share in the excitement until they were far away from the military base, certain they had completed their operation without detection.

Lieutenant Danse turned to them near the curbside, never relaxing from his rigid military posture. “Agent James, Agent Johnson,” he nodded to both of them. “I hope your visit to Fort Hagen was satisfactory.”

“Very,” she answered, glancing to Deacon. “Johnny boy and I have a few more stops before we return to D.C, but I believe you’ve set a precedent.”

The Lieutenant, for once, showed the slightest bit of reaction—pride. He offered a salute, and parting words. “Ad Victoriam.”

“Defendam hoc,” she replied, copying his gesture. “Until we meet again.”

It shouldn’t have been surprising that Piper was waiting for the trio when they returned to the agency that afternoon, as the reporter had a knack for occupying the space even though she had a perfectly suitable office on the second floor. Madelyn hadn’t visited the Publick Occurrences suite in a long while, but assumed it was just as cluttered as the last time she saw it, covered in newsprint, photos and paperwork. That day, Piper wasn’t alone.

“Nicky boy, good to see you.”

It had been over a month since Madelyn last saw Hancock, when she paid him a visit at the Old State House during Nick’s hospitalization. He hadn’t changed much, not that she expected him to, still wearing his red coat and golden pin—of the people, for the people. He was leaned back in Nick’s chair, ankles crossed with his feet on the desk, flashing a lazy grin.

“Been a while,” he mused.

The detective was less than enthused by the sight, walking over to shove Hancock’s boots back to the floor, hovering intimidatingly until the other man finally moved. This time, he perched himself in an armchair, lounging back without much decency or care that there were others in the room. Even though Madelyn barely knew him, she understood the behavior aligned with his reputation. She crossed through the room to sit opposite of their guest, while Deacon followed to settle into his usual spot against the back wall.

He smiled at her, offering a low whistle. “Love the look, dollface.”

She returned the expression but couldn’t wait to slip into her office and remove the wig and return to her usual self. How did the saying go? Gentlemen prefer blondes—well, so did Madelyn, at least when it came to her own hair.

“What do you want, John?” Nick finally asked, removing his hat and coat before practically collapsing into his seat. Within seconds, he struck a match and lit a fresh cigarette, ignoring Hancock’s request for a spare. After a long day at the military base, it was to be expected—especially if they were about to reconvene on what they’d discovered.

“Miss Wright and I were just discussing the fascinating attributes of one, Mayor McDonough,” Hancock answered. “Otherwise known as my sleazy, good-for-nothing brother.”

Piper had never agreed with the mayor’s policies, or ethics—read any article she’d written on the subject and you’d get a clear understanding of her stance within seconds. She had McDonough pegged as corrupt before half the city knew what corruption was, only learning it was possible after Eddie Winter’s dirty laundry was left hung out to dry in the papers after his death. But that investigation hadn’t been able to link the mayor to anything nefarious. It seemed now that Piper was after the Institute, she was determined to root out McDonough’s secrets once and for all.

“He hasn’t been seen since the MIT demonstration,” she noted, and even Madelyn had to admit that was strange for a government official. The mayor of Boston couldn’t just disappear for two weeks without suspicion—thank God for intrepid reporters. “Even Hancock can’t get an audience.”

“Shut out by my own flesh and blood,” he mocked offense, holding a hand over his heart. “Guy has always been a pain in the ass, but hell, even on our worst days he’d still call me up on holidays and birthdays. Shake my hand in public. And on rare days, join me for a scotch in the Old State House.”

Nick was listening, but his focus was clearly on the briefcase Madelyn had situated on her lap. Piper sighed, resigned to the fact that the detective had his priorities. Until the Shaun Perlman case was solved, his interest in her investigation was limited. With all eyes on her, Madelyn took the cue to click open the case.

“I might have grabbed more than necessary,” she said, shuffling through the extra files before leaning over to place one on Nick’s desk. He read over the typewritten name, confirming it matched their suspect—Conrad Kellogg.

The group continued to sit in relative silence as Nick skimmed through the paperwork, tracing his finger across redacted lines and mumbling under his breath with a furrowed brow. “Most of this reads like any military dossier.”

“So your man really is a soldier,” Hancock suggested, inferring he’d been brought up to speed on their cold-case.

“Looks like it,” Nick muttered, but his eyes continued to scan, flipping through page after page of information. Suddenly, he blanched, and momentarily flicked his gaze to Piper as his mouth twitched. “MIT is mentioned.”

“What?” the reporter yelped, rushing to the desk and practically yanking the file from Nick’s hands. He didn’t resist, leaning back in his chair as he thoughtfully rubbed at his chin. Piper gasped as she read over the text. “This is his medical history. It says that in 1945, after returning home from the war in Europe, he received experimental brain augmentation in an attempt to cure a traumatic head injury.”

Her voice was shaky, clearly alarmed by what she’d recited. Madelyn sat in stunned silence, unable to believe was she was hearing—could it be possible Kellogg was linked to the Institute after all? “As far as these reports indicate, MIT considered the operation a success.”

“I’ll say,” Nick muttered, shaking his head. “This goes back to your theory on Institute experiments. Who’s to say they didn’t implant something while rooting around, only for it to backfire?”

Piper reluctantly nodded. “That means we were right. MIT has been hiding secrets for years. Decades even.”

An eerie silence filled the room as Nick stared down at his right hand—the prosthetic that he’d received after returning from the war, courtesy of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Similar circumstances to Kellogg, and yet set on entirely different paths. Madelyn knew there was little she could do to settle the questions that were likely running through his mind.

“Could this explain his crimes?” she asked in a hushed tone. “Any of his actions?”

Nick didn’t answer, so Piper took the initiative. “Anything is possible. The Institute has made that much clear.”

“Maybe they put one in Guy’s brain too,” Hancock joked.

At first, his statement didn’t resonate with the others, but Piper’s expression quickly shifted, her interest piqued. “That—that would make sense. It would explain everything about his actions.”

“Gives a new meaning to government puppet,” Hancock muttered.

Madelyn focused on her partner, and his continued silence. “What do you want to do, Nick?”

The detective didn’t answer for a long time, still focused on his hand, studying the hard lines of his palm. Only when his cigarette was burned down to the filter did he let out a deep sigh. “Only one thing left to do.”

He lifted his head to stare at the others. “We go after MIT.”

They’d managed to infiltrate Fort Hagen—how hard could sneaking into the Institute be?

There was something to be said about the dangers of women walking the Boston streets alone at night. Even though Eddie Winter and his crime syndicate had been shut down, and the corruption within the police department and government had been culled, there was always an underlying threat when living in the city. Between rumors of a so-called Fens Phantom and the Cola-Killer, or worries of running into a crazed, scarred gunman—there was always the possibility of running into something sinister behind every dark corner.

Madelyn wasn’t afraid, and it wasn’t because of the pistol strapped to her thigh-holster under her dress, or the backup stored in her purse for good measure. For all the potential danger lurking about after sunset, nothing was more terrifying than the idea of what she was about to do. Since the visit to Fort Hagen and subsequent discovery of evidence linking Kellogg’s involvement with the Institute, she’d had the overwhelming desire to return to Concord. Not with Nick to follow-up on their investigation, but to visit a place she thought she’d never come back to—the church. Perhaps something within her snapped when the connection had been made at the agency. Nick would sort out their leads, coordinate with Preston’s Minutemen on surveillance for the university. Piper would work with Hancock on locating Mayor McDonough in an attempt to shake him down for answers. Deacon would return to Railroad headquarters so Tinker Tom could mine the redacted information from the smuggled Fort Hagen files. Madelyn would rendezvous with the others in the afternoon, after she paid a visit to city hall to research caselaw and any court documents on file for the Institute. Their plans were set into motion without a moment to lose—the totality of it all, frightening.

Then again, she’d been delaying the visit for months—years—best not to fool herself into thinking some wild event had finally pushed her over the edge. If trauma was what she needed, Madelyn had plenty of opportunities in recent memory to travel north to Concord, and to the little church cemetery in which her husband had been laid to rest for all eternity. It was better late than never. If ghosts, spirits—guardian angels, were real—she hoped he could forgive her for the delay.

Madelyn stood at the gates for a long time, before musing to herself that if anybody were watching her, how strange it must be for a young woman to be staring longingly into a graveyard. Even then, her movements were slow as she navigated the tombstones and tiny monuments, paying them no attention. Underneath a shady tree near the back corner was her husband’s grave, the inscription easy to read thanks to the dedicated groundskeeper who worked to maintain the site, even when nobody visited.

Nathaniel James—Devoted Son, Husband, and Soldier

Madelyn swallowed back the flood of emotions that threatened to knock her down to her knees and released a shaky breath. “Hi honey.”

What? She shut her eyes tight, groaning at her own frustration. A year and a half, and all she could think to say was that? Instead of flowers, she fumbled with the most expensive bottle of whiskey she could find at the corner store and turned it in her hands, showing off the label as if he could see.

“I brought the good hooch,” she attempted to tease, but the words felt forced. Finally, with a defeated sigh, she slumped. “I—I don’t know how to do this.”

Tears prickled her vision and she gripped the bottle in one hand, reaching up with her other to wipe at her eyes. “I don’t know a lot of things. How to feel about you being gone, for starters. Guilty for the slightest bit of happiness? Sad and wallowing in self-pity? Nick doesn’t think so.”

A breeze shook the branches of the tree, startling her. She glanced around in the darkness before deciding to sit down on the ground, uncaring of the dirt and grass that would likely stain her dress—Codsworth would have words with her on laundry day. After some consideration, she unscrewed the bottle of whiskey and carefully poured a little out onto the ground in front of his headstone.

“Is Heaven a dry county?” she joked, smirking as the liquid disappeared into the earth. “They don’t teach such blasphemy in Catholic school.”

She took a sip straight from the bottle, wincing at the smooth burn as it travelled down her throat and radiated through her chest and gut. “Everybody always wants to offer unsolicited advice,” she lamented. “I know Nick means well, he always has. And maybe I shouldn’t give him such grief after—”

Madelyn broke off when she thought about her partner’s own, recent loss. “At least you and Jenny have each other now.”

The only sound—or response—were the rustling of the leaves in the oak tree. She sat in the quiet for a while, alternating between pouring more whiskey onto the ground and into her mouth until her skin felt tingly.

“All I know is—” she steadied herself as the tears clouded her vision again. “Damnit Nate, I miss you.”

“I have Nick, and Piper and—” her breath hitched, unable to prevent herself from crying. “I activated Codsworth. He’s such a sweetheart, for a robot with artificial intelligence. Worries so damn much. I—we—have a dog too,” she softly laughed, thinking off all the times she’d seen the Mister Handy walking Dogmeat outside her Cambridge apartment, much to the confusion and wonderment of her neighbors. “But I miss our house, I miss our life. Our plans. I miss dates at Shelly’s—they tore it down last summer—”

Madelyn stopped cold, realizing she’d gone on an emotional rant to an inanimate object, admitting more to empty air than she had to any living person. Remorse trickled through her mind as she realized there was one name she’d omitted, perhaps purposefully. She wasn’t lying about the way she felt—not in the slightest—but her feelings went beyond that of her late husband.

“I have more bad news,” she hushed, side-eyeing the grave like it could come to life and take his form at any moment. Maybe she’d taken too many sips of the whiskey. “I—I met someone. Maybe. Still trying to figure out the circumstances of our paths crossing. He might’ve stalked me. Might be stalking me now.”

She glanced up to the nearby church steeple window, looking for a looming shadow. “Despite the warning signs, and odds, and…cons list, I—”

Madelyn’s face felt warm, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. Why was she unable to admit how she felt, even though she’d made peace with the realization time and time again? Maybe it was the absurdity of expressing it aloud, to her deceased husband’s grave—I’m in love with somebody else.

“I’m a fool,” she sighed, tipping the whiskey bottle so more amber liquid spilt onto the ground. A little moved to dampen the edge of her dress, but she was beyond caring. “To want something after all the death and destruction—not to mention explosions—it’s new and exciting and terrifying.”

“And I’m still carrying around all this guilt and shame,” she tossed her head back, grimacing when her skull thumped the hard stone. “We’ve been busy with this case, but I’m afraid my apprehension is obvious. Even if I started it.”

“Was I always this stubborn?”

Madelyn shook her head. “Don’t—I know you can’t, but—don’t answer that.”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she continued, quietly. “I don’t know why I finally decided to come see you. Like I said—I don’t know a lot right now, but I’m trying. Waiting for the next big break—though, I guess that’s already happened. Don’t suppose you can tell me if Nick and I are on the right track?”

Silence. Well—what did she expect?

“I need a sign,” she mumbled, gesturing to her surroundings. “Something a little louder than the wind in the trees. You know I’m not a fan of subtlety.”

Madelyn wasn’t sure if she was asking for divine intervention on the agency’s investigation, or for something else. Maybe both. Regardless, it didn’t hurt in asking for assistance from the other side. Unable to drink anymore, she capped the bottle of whiskey and tucked it safely against Nate’s gravestone, digging it into the soft dirt so it wouldn’t topple over so easily.

“There,” she sighed. “Now you can get shitfaced with the apostles.”

A sad little smile pulled at her lips as she wondered if her husband would’ve found the joke in poor taste. Somebody else she knew would’ve laughed like she was Lenny Bruce performing in New York. She pushed away the thoughts of another man and the associated guilt that ensued, focusing as she ran her fingers across Nate’s engraved name.

“I love you,” she whispered, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “No matter what happens next.”

Madelyn didn’t linger for long, unsure if she wanted to know what could possibly occur in a cemetery after midnight. However, as she left the Concord graveyard and stood on the sidewalk to hail a cab, she couldn’t shake the sense that she was being watched.

It was late when Madelyn managed to haul herself up the seven flights to her apartment door, the hallway quiet and dark save for one flickering, fluorescent light near the stairwell. She wondered, as she fished the keys from her purse, if her neighbors were fed up with her late-night escapades or were suspicious of her line of work. If they hadn’t seen the fruit of her labors plastered across the newspapers, she was sure they’d probably think of her as some kind of floozie. Maybe when the Shaun Perlman case was closed, and Kellogg was captured, she could settle down and return to practicing law at the District Attorney’s office downtown.

Laughter bubbled in her throat—first at the assumption there would be no more cases to solve, that the work would ever truly be gone. Second, that she’d ever leave the agency and Nick behind. Or anybody behind. To finally be part of something larger than oneself as she assisted not one, but two organizations—Nick’s partner with the agency by day, Deacon’s partner with the Railroad at night. Settle down? Never.

Deacon’s parting words at the office suddenly echoed in her mind and she turned on her heel to face Drummer Boy’s door. She hesitated before knocking, not wanting to disturb him at such an odd hour. But Railroad agents were habitual night-owls, and not a moment after tapping, the lock clicked open and she was greeted by a familiar, kind smile.

“Just checking in. Doctor’s orders,” she pursed her lips in thought. “Not Carrington, but—”

“Deacon called ahead,” he explained, cutting her off.

While Drummer Boy would never come out and interrogate her, the way he was eyeing her with one raised brow told her he’d been listening for her return. She liked having the Railroad agent nearby, but she didn’t need to be on surveillance—something she’d need to remind her partner of the next time she saw him. It was bad enough she had a Mister Handy unit that was likely ready to report her missing if she didn’t walk through the door in the next ten minutes. The last thing she needed was a babysitter.

“Late night?” he simply questioned.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she sighed, cutting him some slack—he was just doing his job. Madelyn’s head still felt dizzy from drinking all that whiskey at Nate’s grave, and exerting herself on so many stairs didn’t help the unsettling feeling in her stomach. Maybe some food would help. “Did you have dinner yet? Thursday…I’m sure Codsworth has some kind of casserole in the oven.”

“Rain check,” he grinned, even as he shook his head. She was remined that despite his duties to the underground organization, they had managed to form a good friendship. It was only natural, seeing as they were neighbors. “I’ve got a stack of dead drops to sort through and run to their next location before dawn.”

Madelyn didn’t take offense to his rejection, understanding that his Railroad obligations came first. “I’ll save a piece for you,” she said. “Well, if Dogmeat doesn’t lick the pan clean.”

The two shared a laugh before bidding each other goodnight. Keys in hand, she stepped through her door to find her apartment unusually dark. She tossed her purse and coat over the back of her couch and reached to turn on the lamp on the table, but even after a few tugs on the chord, no light shined through the bulb.

“Codsworth?” she called for the robot, and heard his buzzing from the hallway, but only Dogmeat came bounding out into the living room to greet her. “Hey boy, is the power out?”

She patted his head and looked around the room, trying to remember where she’d last stashed a flashlight or some candles. Curiosity filled her mind when she thought about the fact she’d seen light coming through Drummer Boy’s door—had she forgotten to pay her electric bill amid the chaos of recent investigations? Dogmeat barked, and Codsworth finally appeared from the hallway.

“Miss Madelyn, you’re finally home.”

She moved to meet him halfway near the kitchen island, ready to crack a self-depreciating joke about the circumstances when something shot through the nearby window, whizzing so fast in front of her that she barely had a chance to react or realize what it was—a bullet. A second shot caused the glass of the window to shatter and Madelyn was unable to hold back a frightened shriek. A third flew by, ricocheting off the kitchen counter and into Codsworth’s chassis. The Mister Handy didn’t seemed phased, brushing off the attack as he rambled off threating phrases to the phantom assailant, hovering closer towards the window.

In the next second, Drummer Boy burst through her front door, gun drawn. With quick strides he was at her side, colliding with her body as another bullet whistled by. They fell to the floor in a heap, Drummer Boy scooting them out of sight from the window and behind the kitchen counter to best of his abilities. Muted gunshots continued to echo through her apartment until finally—there was silence. Madelyn’s adrenaline continued to rush for a long while, and neither her or Drummer Boy dared to move, unsure if it was really safe. Judging by the way Codsworth was moving around the room, celebrating their survival, the coast was clear—for now.

It was only when she felt a dampness seeping against her chest that panic started to bloom and she thought to move—had she been injured? Her thoughts shifted as Drummer Boy flashed her a pained expression, breathing out through gritted teeth as he pulled away if only to collapse flat against the tiled floor.

“Robby?” Madelyn knelt over him, uncaring of Railroad protocol on codenames. Blood soaked through the side of his shirt where he’d obviously been shot. “Jesus, you’re—”

He shook his head and forced a smirk. “I’m fine.”

“Just a flesh wound,” he assured in a hushed tone.

Madelyn had a hard time believing it, considering the painful expression he was struggling to hide. He slowly gestured to her arm, and she realized she really had been injured—blood trickling down her arm from a tear in the shoulder of her dress. It was a small graze, as far as she could tell. Considering the wound could be worse—and that she’d suffered worse before—she wasn’t fazed. The shock would likely catch up to her later, as it typically did. All she cared about in that moment was finding out why she’d been shot at in her own home—who wanted her dead? Her sense of security was shattered, all over again.

“On second thought,” Drummer Boy mumbled, catching her attention. Madelyn found his hand and gripped it tightly, listening as the sound of police sirens wailed outside the apartment building and filtered in through the busted window. At least somebody had the decency to call for help. Tears began their silent roll down her cheeks as she wondered, how much more harm would come to those she cared about?

He barely squeezed her fingers in return. “I’ll take that slice of casserole now.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #deacon #madelyn hardy #nick valentine #paladin danse #piper wright #hancock #drummer boy #...and other spoiler characters #more easter eggs than your body can handle!#...and a cliffhanger!#longest chapter yet jfc

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enterinit · 5 years

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Remnant: From the Ashes and other games coming to Xbox One this week

Remnant: From the Ashes and other games coming to Xbox One this week. Pirates of the First Star (August 19, 2019) A puzzle adventure game where you'll have to explore and battle the locals to solve the mystery of the First Star treasure. Described as an old school style adventure where exploration and discovery rule the day. Hunt for treasure, garden, gamble, battle locals, or dig deeper into the history of the First Star treasure. Remnant: From the Ashes (August 20, 2019) The world has been thrown into chaos by an ancient evil from another dimension. Humanity is struggling to survive, but they possess the technology to open portals to other realms and alternate realities. You must travel through these portals to uncover the mystery of where the evil came from, scavenge resources to stay alive, and fight back to carve out a foothold for mankind to rebuild... Remnant: From the Ashes is a third-person survival action shooter set in a post-apocalyptic world overrun by monstrous creatures. As one of the last remnants of humanity, you’ll set out alone or alongside up to two other survivors to face down hordes of deadly enemies and epic bosses, and try to retake what was lost. Explore dynamically-generated worlds that change each time you play, filled with over 100 varieties of deadly enemies and 20 epic bosses to battle using a wicked arsenal of weapons, armor, and special modifications you can use to adapt to any situation. PREPARE FOR THE ULTIMATE CHALLENGE As one of the last remnants of humanity, you’ll set out alone or alongside up to two other players to face down hordes of deadly enemies. With over 100 varieties of enemies, 20 epic bosses, and endless possible combat scenarios, it’s going to take everything you’ve got to make it out alive. ENDLESS FANTASTIC REALMS AWAIT Explore dynamically-generated worlds that change each time you play through them, creating new maps, enemy encounters, quest opportunities, and in-world events. Each of the game’s four unique worlds is filled with monstrous denizens and environments that will provide fresh challenges with each playthrough. Adapt and explore… or die trying. SCAVENGE. UPGRADE. SPECIALIZE. Overcome tough-as-nails enemies and epic bosses throughout hostile environments to earn experience, valuable loot and upgrade materials you can use to build a wicked arsenal of weapons, armor, and modifications to approach each encounter dozens of unique ways. STRENGTH IN NUMBERS. Invading other worlds to seek an end to the Root is dangerous and survival is far from guaranteed. Team up with up to two other players to increase your chances of survival. Teamwork is necessary to make it through the game’s toughest challenges… and unlock its greatest rewards. Rad (August 20, 2019) RAD is a 3D action rogue-like set in a post-post-apocalyptic world, where humanity has faced armageddon not once, but twice. Playing as a teenage protagonist, you must venture into the Fallow — an ever-changing, radioactive wasteland filled with unknown and unspeakable creatures. It is here that you will find the solution to heal the world, and transform the cracked, barren landscape into a lush source of new life. But humanity’s future comes at great personal cost, as the deeper you journey into unknown lands, the more you will expose yourself to gnarly toxins which will wreak havoc on your fragile human form. The fate of the world depends on you, your trusty bat, and whatever strange new abilities you gain as the world around you ravages your body — twisting and mutating you into something far less than human, but far more powerful. But forget all that — go grab that sweet bat and help save the world…or what’s remaining of it anyway! Rex Rocket (August 21, 2019) Inspired by the glorious retro days of 8-bit gaming, Rex Rocket is a traditional 2D platformer that pays tribute to classic NES games like Mario, Mega Man, and Metroid. Old-school fans and platformer newcomers alike will find Rex Rocket an enjoyable and rewarding experience thanks to one-of-a-kind handmade pixel art that makes up over 100 handcrafted levels connected in an expansive starship-- each filled with a wide variety of puzzles, enemies, hazards and bosses. An original chiptunes soundtrack by Saskrotch, captivating setting filled with quirky characters, and ability to choose the gender of your hero is only a handful of the many awesome features in the game. Set in Earth's distant future, Rex Rocket alludes to the classic conflict of Man vs. Machine. You play as either Captain Rexford or Rexanna, a former war hero who now transports scientists throughout the universe in the epic Star Ship-- S.S. Montana. The game begins on Earth as the crew prepares for another routine mission for the Council of Science that involves transplanting bio-engineered Terra-Oozlings onto an uninhabited planet on the other side of the galaxy. While the ship's crew are in cryo-sleep, all heck breaks loose when the dangerous specimens escape and cause the ship's main AI computer to go insane. It's up to Rex Rocket to stop the rogue AI, rescue the crew, and take back control of the ship! Features: Classic 2D platforming with shooting, wall-jumping, and more-- all combined with innovative gameplay twists like shooting your laser downward for a handy aerial boost with each jump!Amazingly detailed pixel art and animations make up hundreds of unique characters as well as over 100 hand-crafted levels that all connect within the expansive starship!Awesome retro sound effects coupled with an amazing chiptune soundtrack by Saskrotch! Choose the gender of your hero/heroine as you step into the boots of either Rexford or Rexanna 'Rocket' Rexington on this epic space adventure!Collect powerful weapons and useful upgrades by defeating bosses and solving clever platforming puzzles!Learn more on the backstory and details of characters, weapons, enemies, and more by collecting Info Nodes throughout the ship!Get lost in an expansive starship as you explore the various routes that may offer a better path to your destination, lead you to a treasure trove of collectibles, or take you on a deadlier course!A captivating narrative with plenty of light-hearted humor and goofy characters to brighten your adventure!Prepare for a tough yet rewarding space adventure where you'll face giant flame-throwing machines, swarms of Oozling-possessed crew members, and a berserk AI computer that never runs out of clever way Smoots Summer Games (August 21, 2019) Get ready for Summer Games!! Play athletics events from your sofa. Prepare yourself for the next season. Smoot Summer Games is a sports arcade game for 1-4 players where you can play 18 athletics events. Play with your favorite Smoot character in practice, Special Challenge and Championship game modes. Smoots Summer Games is the perfect game to play with your friends and family. Features: AthleticsDashHurdlesLong jumpTriple jumpHigh jumpSwimmingBackstrokeCrawlBreaststrokeButterflyShot putHammer throwPole vaultDiscus throw Pato Box (August 21, 2019) A surreal boxing quest with a duck! Test your reflexes as you fight your way through an evil corporation in search for retribution. Uncover their deepest secrets by exploring thrilling 3d environments with a graphic novel/comic book art style. Mekabolt (August 21, 2019) Players take the role of a theme park technician that needs to collect batteries to repair the haywire robots. With your handy Mekabolt, use the out of control robots to your advantage to overcome obstacles and obtain the batteries across 100 puzzle platforming challenges. Shoot your trusty Mekabolt to deactivate the robots, use them as platforms, ride them to new heights, and burn pesky underbrush to reach the battery at the end of the stage. The robots can be manipulated to help you reach your goal. Watch out for dangerous traps, waiting to impede your progress. Only you can save the day! Features: 100 levels of intricate puzzle platforming challengesColourful 2D artUnique robot manipulation gameplay Gift of Parthax (August 21, 2019) Follow the story of the purple-cloaked runaway wizard, Arif, on his quest to save his friend’s life. In a world where wizardry is outlawed, the magicians, Arif and his companion Veleus, were captured by a group of agents during their escape from the Kingdom of Duredyll and thrown into the dungeons. One day, Veleus, was sentenced to fight for his life in Atixa’s Grand Colosseum, run by a powerful mage by the name ‘Parthax’. Veleus fought valiantly, but was severely injured and incapacitated following his defeat. Arif heard rumors of his condition and knew the only way to save his friend would be to surpass any opponent standing in his way of attaining the champion’s prize, his friend’s only salvation, the Gift of Parthax. Features: Create and combine your own spells: Discover 6 magical elements and use some of the 29 spells and 37 powerful spell-enhancing runes to create your own style of play.Increase your power and knowledge: For every challenge you complete as Arif, your knowledge of magic will increase,Unlock and learn powerful ancient magic: Based on the morality system’s result of your fights against bosses, you will be able to unlock either Light or Blood magic.Fight in epic arena battles: Survive 5 Seasons consisting of 25 challenges with mythological and magical creatures in Atixa’s Grand Colosseum.Dive into a gripping story: Interact with the colosseum's characters and objects to discover more about the lore, find loot or learn more about magic.Shape the ending of the game: Your moral choices made during boss fights will lead to one of four different storyline endings. Life is Strange 2: Episode 4 (August 22, 2019) Purchase the Complete Season and receive the ‘Arcadia Bay’ patch bundle to customise your in-game backpack. The award-winning Life is Strange series continues with an all-new story from DONTNOD Entertainment. After a tragic incident, brothers Sean and Daniel Diaz run away from home. Fearing the police, and dealing with Daniel's new telekinetic power, the boys flee to Mexico for safety. Suddenly, sixteen year-old Sean is responsible for Daniel’s safety, shelter, and teaching him right from wrong. As Sean, your choices shape the fates of the Diaz brothers, and the lives of everyone they meet. The road to Mexico is long and filled with danger. This is the trip that could bond Sean and Daniel forever… or tear their brotherhood apart. Gnomes Garden: Lost King (August 23, 2019) Gnomes Garden - a fun fantasy strategy game about a world of gnomes. Save the king and return prosperity to the kingdom! A bunch of quests, over 40 levels in four unique worlds – all this awaits you right now. Restore ancient buildings, collect magical harvests, carefully distribute resources. All this is the key to success. Simple controls and a helpful tutorial will allow you to easily grasp the game’s basics. If you get in a tough spot, don’t forget about the princess’s mighty magic! Gnomes Garden – find the king and return prosperity! Strength of the Sword Ultimate (August 23, 2019) A Fighting game combined with a BRAWLER! With a huge sword, rocket launcher and a FLAMETHROWER! The game is a 3D, third-person, arcade-style, action-game that combines the tactical and skill-based combat of a Fighter with the progression, overwhelming odds, and awesome boss battles of an old-school Brawler! Features: Arcade3DCombatBossesOld-schoolBrawlerHuge swordRocket launcherFlamethrower Path of Sin: Greed (August 23, 2019) It was supposed to be a simple suicide case – a quick inspection and lots of boring paperwork. But the more you delve into this secluded island and the twisted family relations of the owners, the more complicated and unclear this case becomes. A rookie inspector on her first assignment and her experienced copartner arrive at the scene – a luxurious island in the middle of the ocean owned by a young millionaire, who wants the matter concluded as quietly as possible. The question in this case appears simple enough: was a security guard's death a suicidal plunge, or maybe an unfortunate fall? The residents of the island - the Bradford family - at first seem cordial and beyond reproach, even shocked by the death of a friendly employee. But upon closer inspection it becomes clear that they harbor animosities and deep hidden motives. The more you delve into this secluded island and the twisted family relations on it, the more complicated and unclear the matter becomes. A seemingly routine case turns into a tale of machinations driven by greed and a suicide investigation reveals multiple murders. Is anyone innocent? Will you be able to predict the assassin's next step? Features: Enjoy over 39 mysterious locations!Challenge yourself with 36 riddles and Hidden Object puzzles!Find out more about the enigmatic family members!Get 16 challenging achievements!Find 28 collectibles! Read the full article

#Games #XBOX

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4hisglory · 7 years

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Which one are you?

There are many types of church-goers. Which one best describes you?

The Comer

These are the attenders. Their appearance is motivated by coercion, duty or guilt. They may be loud or quiet, young or old, a party of one or a family of many. They deliberately show up late to avoid any situation where they might actually have to speak to or shake hands with another person. They sit in the back, talk among themselves so as to disrupt the worship of others, text during the teaching, and are out the door before the pastor can say, “Amen.” They will never, ever place an offering in the bag or thank the Sunday School teacher who just spent the last ninety minutes loving on their children. Comers make no friends, establish no connections, engage no one in conversation and do everything in their power to ensure it stays that way. They come; they leave; end of story.

The Watcher

These are the observers, mere spectators, often demanding entertainment as recompense for their presence. They often come to church to experience some new “move of the Holy Ghost”. They come hoping to see miracles, hear people bark like dogs, or if they are lucky, observe otherwise sane human beings roll on the floor like wild animals. They may be drawn by a charismatic guest speaker or the hottest new sounds in Christian music. Feigning allegiance to true, Spirit-led worship, they close their eyes, sway with the beat, and move their lips in sync. At times, they may even release a well-placed, “Hallelujah!” in public demonstration of their authenticity.

Watchers often come to check out the dating/mating scene or assess potential financial opportunities. But if the crowd proves non-receptive, the mood turns quickly sober. And if the preacher dares to talk about personal sin, these individuals begin looking for the nearest exit sign. They smile and shake a few hands as they make a bee line towards the door, confident God is well-pleased with such devotion and will surely lead them to greener pastures.

The Consumer

These are the takers. They enter the sanctuary doors for one reason and one reason only: to devour the resources of the saints. Believing the church exists to meet their every need, satisfy their every whim, and, God forbid, never challenge their selfish lusts, Comers set about to systematically strip the body of Christ of all means and resource. They are inordinately obsessed with the idea that it is somehow their right to possess all things sanctified to God and the church’s obligation to humbly comply with their selfish demands. At the first sign of resistance, they are quick to take offense, point judgmental fingers at anyone in range and cry, “Foul!” loud enough to wake the dead.

After accumulating whatever mobile assets they can stuff in their pockets, they exit the holy place with the same arrogance they entered, leaving behind empty shelves, lighter wallets, and exhausted servants. Then, as vagabonds devoid of any sense of gratitude or loyalty, they simply regroup and move on down the road.

The Investor

These are the sanctified givers. They recognize nothing belongs to them. All they are and all they’ve been given has been consecrated to God. Silently they come, without trumpets or fanfare, ready and grateful for the opportunity to invest in the work of the ministry. Whether treasures or talents, possessions or passions, the total of all they touch is offered in sweet surrender to the Maker of all things.

These do not seek position, power or prestige. They are not self-promoting, but others-oriented. They come not to be served but to serve. They come prepared to defend the weak, restore the fallen, and rebuild lives destroyed by sin. They die daily to their own desires so others might truly live. They understand the role of a slave and are not ashamed to be seen washing dirty feet. Behind the scenes, virtually invisible, they heal the wounded, mend torn nets, and set captives free. They know where true riches are stored and God knows the love in their heart.

The Worshiper

These are the genuine saints of God. Together, they come to personally and collectively encounter the Ever-Present Great I Am. They boldly enter into His presence with thanksgiving and are enraptured with the glory of His majesty. They turn their eyes towards Heaven and Heaven responds. Their faces radiate His beauty. These have little time for selfish ambitions, carnal comparison or self-centered endeavors, in or out of church. They have enjoyed intimate, personal fellowship with the King of Kings, the Lover of their souls, and realize there’s nothing sweeter, in this life or the life to come. The name above all names - Jesus - alone is on their lips and they ever live to declare His praise.

The Redeemer

These are the evangelists. Having surrendered all, having counted their lives as lost for the sake of the gospel, these live with a single focus: to redeem a lost and dying world. So grateful for the salvation they have received, they can do nothing less. For them, nothing else compares; nothing else satisfies; nothing else matters; nothing else is worth living for. They will suffer long, pray without ceasing, never give up and never let up until all have heard of God’s redeeming love.

These are the heralds; the prophets; the proclaimers. These understand time is short and the enemy of our soul is real. Putting on the full armor of God, they will press on and never cease to declare the good news of God’s redeeming love until, one way or the other, either by death or the Rapture of the saints, the Lord takes them home.

Which one are you?

#church attendance #spectators #church observers #evangelists #givers #worshipers of Jesus #Jesus Christ is Lord #Christianity #Redeemer

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ivy72376 · 4 years

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LISTENING EARS - July 11, 2020

When I lined up for the kilometers-long counter queue during the weekly grocery run late this morning, some of those in my line—maybe because it is lunch time already and they were probably hungry—got frustrated with our slow movement and were very vocal in calling the attention of the cashier and the grocery store security personnel. Well, I am a bit hungry too, and my lower back is killing me, but I just listened, and excused for a while (asking the one next to me to look over my grocery cart) and dashed to the toilet to pee.

It is indeed true that because of the pandemic and people are not that free anymore to go to wherever establishments they want, the supermarkets are always (still a bit) packed on weekends. But one has to consider that indeed, we did the shopping around lunchtime, and of course, cashiers and other grocery store personnel have to take their lunch breaks too, so that only about 3 or 4 of the dozen check-out counters are open, making the queue longer and slower-moving. As advised over the supermarket broadcast system, we have to “make sure to take note of our grocery lists, so that we will not have to take a long time lingering around the aisles wondering what to buy, and to give time to those outside waiting to enter the store (which now still admits a limited capacity according to square meter area) and do their shopping”.

I wonder how often many of us are likewise impatient too. Not only because during this time, we fear too much exposure since there are scientific studies being cited now that says the virus is airborne, but also because of the added stress, we want to get our way, be first, and be inconvenienced in the least time possible. Now, I do not know what are the circumstances for each of us, for I have no doubt that many of it are justifiable, but one has to admit that there are times when we simply want things to go our way and forget that there are other people whose needs and plans must also be met, and whose rights or entitlements we may have violated or deprived too.

This post is rather long, because the Word today seems to focus on Jesus Christ preaching people to think properly and judge themselves rightly, so that they do not have to overestimate themselves, to the point of underestimating and disregarding other people, and stepping all over them just so they could have their own way.

In the fourteenth chapter of the gospel of Luke, the first six verses tell us that Jesus healed a man of dropsy during the Sabbath day, when He was eating bread at the house of one of the chief Pharisees. Dropsy is an alien word to me, and when I looked it up in the dictionary, it is indeed an old word which is now known as edema, or a condition where the body has excess fluids. It is a disease because it hampers the proper circulation of our bodily fluids, leading to various complications, organ breakdowns and even death. It seems that GOD, who is fond of teaching us about nature and showing that such things have profound implications for our souls and our humanity, is telling us that a person who seems to be too full of something is actually sick. Dropsy or edema involves fluids, but in real life, there are many people who are full of something worse—it could be pride, love of self, love of money, love of fame, greed for attention, greed for wealth and power, ambition at the expense of peace and contentment, and even cowardice which leads to excessive escapism like being too immersed in social media or games or even pornography. Dropsy as the disease of the body mirrors the diseases of our minds and souls that are too full of our own selves that there is no more room for GOD. And GOD is telling us that He can and He will willingly heal us from that too, even during those times we think that we are beyond redemption, or even if others think that it is not right or proper.

The next eighteen verses talks about wedding banquets, and in it, Jesus Christ said that He is inviting one and all, no matter our stations in life, to partake of His salvation and to dine with Him in the banquet He has prepared for His people. But even if this gift is free, we have to dress up for it. Like we wear our “Sunday Best” in going to church, we also must wear our “Everyday Best” when we partake of GOD’s kingdom and behold His glory, for it is not a light thing to live as a Christian. More than looking the part once a week, we really have to live it inside out daily. Otherwise, we would just be mocking the One who invited us so graciously.

In the next three verses we learn what Jesus wants us to remember as the costs of following Him and of living the life He has laid out for us. The KJV uses the word ‘Hate’ for everything that might hinder us in becoming the kind of people He planned for us to be—whether family or relationships and all the other things in this world. It actually just means that we must not be tied down by material and physical things, and not be enticed by the opportunities this world has to offer, so that we lose out on the greater things He has prepared for us. He capped this part by saying a famous and timeless verse, thus: “Whoever does not bear his cross, and come follow after me, cannot be my disciple.” I know many who can relate to bearing a daily cross, be it their families, or their work, or their studies, but one must remember that the cross must be borne because we chose to follow GOD and His leading, and not because of our own irresponsible actions.

In verses 28 to 33, He tells people that like a builder who estimates the materials and labor costs and other incidental expenses before building a house, we too have to budget our time and financial resources, our abilities and talents, and our emotions and psychological state well too, so that we can still fulfill our obligations to Him and the work He has ordained here on earth in the form of our churches, and so that we will also not neglect our obligations to our families and loved ones, our work and our community too. Also, like a king who goes out to battle and employs all kinds of strategies to win considering his resources and ammunitions and the capacity of his army, we too must use the same strategies to navigate among all the challenges we face in life daily.

In the last two verses Jesus talked about salt being good, but if it has lost its flavor it becomes useless and is only thrown away. I wonder if many of us know that during His time on earth, the Roman army which guarded over their nation during their time was paid salt as part of their wages, hence, according to etymologists, the word “salary” because it came from “sal”, the Latin word for salt? Indeed, salt is a very precious commodity, one where ancient kingdoms went to war for. It is so precious considering that one slight moisture can liquefy it and it loses its primary use. Even in our lives today, we would die without salt, because no food (except maybe, cereal) would be palatable without it.

I believe that this is a clearer expansion of what Jesus Christ preached on the mount, that we His children, are the salt of the earth. As such, we must try our best to make every situation in life be for the good of all, and not only for ourselves. It is true that we often times get tempted to think only for ourselves, especially in times of want, war, tragedy, when supplies run low, when living conditions are harsh, when the natural elements are against us, and when opportunities to earn a decent living are disappearing. In such cases, He has warned us not to lose our flavor. We must still believe in faith, and we must still inspire others to do the same. Even in darkness, we must still light His light in our lives. Even in times when life has lost its sweetness for many, we must not lose our saltiness so that whatever happens, we can still be content and joyful and have hope that one day, things will get better. He knows and He wants us to remember that joy and hope are contagious too.

The chapter concluded this message of Jesus with the words He often uses when teaching people how to think and how to live, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Indeed, it is not the time to deaden ourselves from the attacks of the enemy, or to escape from our difficulties, and to deafen ourselves from those things that may be inconvenient for us or hurtful for our ego. We need to listen with our two ears well, we must not lose our focus, we must still continue the good fight.

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coreymichaelsmithson · 6 years

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An Imperfect Mirror

Pamela and I were rocketing through the big empty dark of southern Utah … a darkness broken only the moonlit silhouettes of the Wasatch Range … happily blasting Led Zeppelin and scaring off all the jackrabbits, when her gas warning blinked on. Over the last several hours of driving, the needle had been dropping too close to E for my comfort, but we hadn't encountered a single gas station for hundreds of miles. We had no choice but to press on. This wasn't a matter of forgetfulness; I'd made sure to fill up Pamela's tank before we climbed the twisting passes leading away from Bryce Canyon. But when the dreaded yellow symbol finally appeared, inevitable as a utility bill, we were still 69 miles from salvation, and running on reserves. We had no cell phone reception, no other traffic to speak of besides the occasional horn-blaring big rig, and nothing to assuage the feeling that we were in real trouble.

I tried to remember what to do in situations like this. Should we just try to coast through? We were, after all, in very hilly terrain, with lots of steep grades and long slopes … maybe we could just roll through most of the remainder? I tried to position myself behind trucks, following in their wakes to lessen our drag, but that didn't seem to make much difference. I put my hazards on whenever we climbed a hill, as I didn't dare give her too much gas, and I braked sparingly. But the yawning desert darkness remained, thick and menacing, and now it was being interrupted less frequently by porch lamps or distant feed lots or ... well ... anything. We were in the high desert now, the real deal, nothing but rocks and sagebrush and, presumably, the skeletons of stranded motorists.

Desperate, my thinking veered towards the magical. I prayed, I cursed, I bargained. I even changed the music I was playing, as if any particular genre or sound might tax Pamela's resources too heavily. "Nirvana? Nah … too intense. Gotta stay calm. Calm, calm, calm. WE'VE GOT TO STAY CALM. Sondheim? Too wordy. Nat King Cole? Perfect."

The moon rose from the horizon, looking sanguine and engorged. There were only a handful of hamlets on this stretch of road, and not a one of them offered gas. Town after town had "NO SERVICES" emblazoned on their exit signs. Assholes.

But somehow, by dumb luck or the grace of benevolent angels, we limped back into civilization. Just barely. We coasted into the gas station, sputtering as we arrived at the one vacant pump. I'm convinced that Pamela wouldn't have made it another fifty yards. It is a staggering miracle that we landed where we did, when we did. All of the tiny decisions I made (or didn't make) on the road, all of the accidental delays … like the open-range cattle plopping themselves on the highway, the recklessly leaping deer, the long traffic light, the occasional photo opportunity … everything came together so perfectly, like the tiny wheels of a fine watch, just so that Pamela would cough out within feet of a pump.

I shouldn't be so surprised, though. Utah has been challenging me with such suggestions of perfection, over and over again.

I had started out my day in a completely different but equally spare environment. After a stunning sunrise over the Bonneville Salt Flats, one of the weirdest ecosystems on our planet, I chugged down a bunch of bad gas station coffee and drove a considerable distance to reach Bryce Canyon, one of my biggest "bucket-list" items. Between the Great Salt Lake and the upper edge of America's Grand Staircase lie hundreds of miles of cattle ranges, broad mountain valleys, and abandoned mine shafts. When you see a car commercial … you know, the kind of commercial where throaty rock music and vaguely pornographic narration lends some machismo to a gas-guzzler, the kind with plenty of helicopter shots and acceleration, all for an SUV with the name of a desert town or a Native tribe … this is the landscape they're driving through. Long stretches of the road were almost cartoonishly perfect, with fluffy white clouds in the blue and just the right number of horses prancing across the sagebrush. I enjoyed some of the longest stretches of empty road I've ever seen, right up until I arrived at the touristy zoo of the park.

The dramatic forms of Bryce Canyon were formed by not only the usual suspects of wind and water, but also by the expansion of ice. Water seeps into existing fissures, and then it freezes, which helps to pry the cracks further open. This unrelenting freeze/thaw cycle acts as a giant chisel, whittling away the softer rock layers and leaving weird stacks of the hard stuff behind. The same thing happens over and over again: a protruding plateau gets weathered down into a fin, which is then undercut by a number of small holes, holes that slowly grow into windows and arches, and the lashing rain and howling winds continue to do their work, until eventually you're left with only a freestanding tower … a hoodoo. In this particular area, where the process seems to have been magically sped up, the collective results of all this sculpting are simply mind-blowing. Thousands of these pinnacles are clumped together, standing in such close proximity and order that they have the organized look of soldiers, or sentinels. Some of their forms seem architectural. With a little imagination, your mind transforms these shapes into the components of a fantastic castle: spires, turrets, crenellations, a portcullis.

As I stood at the rim, gazing down with absolute astonishment at the natural amphitheater, an elderly woman standing next to me whispered, reverently, "It's just so perfect." And she was right. The canyon feels like a living sculpture. Studying its spatial complexities, color palette, and fine balance of space and density, one might struggle to grasp how it's all just one big geological accident. It just looks so … designed.

Beyond the seeming perfection of the landscape, though, I was struck by the perfection of my arrival time. I had somehow managed to get there when the horde of tourists … pink noses and plastic visors and big woven purses and sunglasses with the stickers left on … had thinned down considerably, leaving me alone for long stretches on the rim trail. The weather could not have been more pleasant, not too hot and not too cold, but occupying that wonderful Goldilocks zone of "just right". The ratio of clouds to sunlight meant that my view was full of roving shadows and dazzling beams. I had rolled in just as the giant buses were rolling out, at the hour when the ponderosas provided some shade but the canyon remained brilliantly lit.

On the surface of things, my time at Bryce Canyon might seem utterly distinct from what I experienced earlier at Bonneville. It's hard to believe these two different environments could occupy the same planet, much less the same state. But their spiritual impacts were quite identical: first there was awe at the visual grandeur, and then there was a deepening appreciation for the forces at work, and then there was a profound gratitude for the timing of our arrival.

Let me take you back a little, to the night before.

The Bonneville Salt Flats, as the name suggests, is a broad, flat expanse of hardened salt, the compressed remnants of a long-evaporated inland sea. The crust of crystals is so thickly packed that it makes a surface durable enough to drive upon, even at high speeds; as a result, Bonneville has become a world-class destination for racing and speed trials. Many world records have been broken on this stretch, and many movies have been filmed before its fantastic backdrops.

For much of the summer, the flats are bone dry, swept clean by the winds coming down off of the Silver Island Range. Occasionally, though, some water collects on the surface. It's never much, maybe only two inches deep or so, but the whiteness of the salt, and the water sitting atop it, are enough to create the effect of a huge mirror. Throughout the day, the atmosphere and mountains are reflected, creating a spectacular symmetry at the horizon. As visitors wade across the shallow pool, this sight gets disrupted in a jarring way … everybody seems to be tiptoeing across the sky.

The flats are supervised by the Bureau of Land Management, which allows the public to visit and explore the region at will. It's a pretty sweet spot for camping, though everything you own will get encrusted with salt, and the brackish solution will totally rust out your vehicle's undercarriage if you don't promptly wash it out. The single road that leads onto the crust only goes about three miles or so, and then it kind of peters out. Everyone leaves their shoes behind at this threshold, and for good reason … take just a few mucky transitional steps beyond where the asphalt ends, and your feet are standing on the hard salt.

After a few hours of wandering about, I struck up a conversation with an angelically beautiful engineer from Illinois. He was traveling through the West, wandering at will, camping in his pimped-out van and filling his phone with neat pictures of national parks and monuments. Together, we decided to venture out a mile or so across the waste, watching the light change as the sun sank behind the mountain peaks. The salt crust was hell on our bare feet … really, just murder on our poor soles … but the water felt soothingly warm, the breeze remained refreshing, and the total scene was electrifying. A faint haze on the horizon, the fuzzy edges of which blended into the deepening blue of the water, got tinted the most delicate salmon pink by the sunset; it was so particular a hue, so subtle, that no photograph could ever do it justice. It was the kind of evening light that manages somehow to be both gentle and vivid, the kind of light that makes your eyes feel really alive. It cast a special mood over things. Our voices remained quiet, though our shared amazement rose. I was happy to share this walk with someone else.

This liquid mirror never remained entirely smooth. The wind would skim across the surface, creating lots of little chevrons and moirés. And as my new friend and I walked, and chatted, our ankles sent more ripples outward, ripples which encountered various small obstacles … pebbles, forgotten bits of tire tread, a rusty nail, irregularities in the salt surface … and then these got split into other, lesser waveforms, which in turn further fragmented the clouds and mountains. The crust would sometimes slough off a few flakes or clumps, which whirled and bumped each other like tiny rafts caught in opposing currents. But, somehow, all of these imperfections served only to heighten the sense of unreality, the surreal and dreamlike quality of it all. It felt like we were two bold explorers, traversing an alien landscape for the first time. We watched in awe as the twilight deepened, and the stars emerged, and then the moon, nearly full and orange as a pumpkin, rose above its shimmering counterpart. At one point, as the last of the sunlight dimmed behind the peaks, the color of the sky/water precisely matched the engineer's eyes, so much so that it seemed like he was of a piece with the environment, or that he was perhaps an embodiment of the experience itself. And it is this collection of odd details that I will remember most fondly from my hours at Bonneville … the smile of the stranger with sky-colored eyes, the unexpected flowering of friendship in a flowerless place, a shallow lake that twinned the moon and doubled the stars, a reflection with plenty of compelling flaws, an imperfect mirror, the essence of perfection.

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betsyhavekost91 · 7 years

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“If you get more of Me, is that enough?”

Usually, starting a new year leads to reflecting on the past year. (I’m only a month behind in posting about 2017, don’t judge). For most, a new year brings excitement for the “new-ness” ahead and anticipation of all that is to come. This year, and other years, too, I dreaded the calendar turning from 2017 to 2018.

Why? Because I allow my attitude to be far too impacted by culture and by the expectations that I feel weighing on me. I look at life in 2017 compared to the year prior, and I see: same job, same roommate, same relationship status, same city, same bedspread, same wardrobe, same car, same struggles…same same same. So what did I really accomplish this past year, anyway? What do I have to show for that time if everything is the same as before?

If I let myself judge my life by external measures of success-- by society’s view of how my career should progress, by how close I am to accomplishing my “5-year goals,” or by whether my circumstances match the plan I would have envisioned for my 26 years of life-- it seems like I am failing. Because the few external changes and resume-worthy accomplishments of my past year only include adding a few letters behind my OTD, paying off a chunk of grad school debt, and joining a Relay for Life team.

God challenged me in the midst of this “new year funk” to look deeper. To reflect on how I had used my time intentionally and faithfully. To shift my perspective from “What did I accomplish?” to “Was I faithful?” And to reflect on what He taught me in the 525,600 minutes of 2017.

In 2017, I attempted to love people well, use my freedom with time and my resources purposefully, understand more deeply what rest looks like, capitalize on my gifts and use them for His glory, pursue adventure, deepen my walk with the Lord, bake a lot and sew some stuff, grow professionally, take risks, pursue vulnerability, and watch “Friends” with my roomie.

God was good to remind me that 2017-- though by external, worldly standards seemed uneventful--was not in vain.

Almost ironic, because the word I chose for 2017 was “perspective.” Not only was it a theme throughout the year, but God also challenged my perspective on the success of the year as it came to a close. Good one, God. (Insert high-five emoji here).

Reflecting on 2017, there were two key truths that I relied upon, clung to, and came to understand more deeply:

That I don’t walk through any circumstance alone, and

That nothing God walks me through is in vain; He uses it all for good.

Both are relatively straightforward truths that I felt like I had learned already. But, as a good friend once told me, it isn’t that we didn’t learn it well enough the first time or that we have to re-learn a truth. Rather, God chooses to go deeper, to the next level, with the truths we have already begun to grasp. So here are some of my (somewhat disorganized) thoughts on those two truths.

1. I don’t walk alone. (You don’t either.)

God started working on my heart with this one during OT rotations in 2015, and He has continually brought more depth to this truth.

I can give an exposition of verses on the Lord’s faithfulness in this, but to keep it short and sweet, check out the verse I often share with my patients:

“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” -Deuteronomy 31:8

He Himself, not just an angel, goes ahead of and with me.

One of my favorite women (and arguably one of the most wise and godly women in my life) told me this year how she had been comforted by the line “I am never the first one to arrive on the scene; God is always there first.” And it’s been one of my favorite things to remind myself, too.

In every unexpected schedule change at work, every season of waiting, every adventure, every minute of time spent in the Word, every relationship: He is present. He is near. He is with me in it. And the details- messy or good- don’t surprise Him one bit; He was there before I ever stepped foot into it.

2. Nothing is in vain: He uses it all for good. (Yes, even that thing.)

(Here’s where I will get wordy.)

I was in Argentina the summer before my senior year of college, and one of the missionaries there said that it would be vital to have an understanding of the sovereignty and goodness of God in order to walk through life’s trials well. How wise she was.

By the grace of God, He has used Scripture and the circumstances of my past 5ish years to bring me to a greater and deeper awareness of His sovereignty and goodness. Of the way in which they dance together and are both entirely true of His character. That He is in complete and utter control and has power to orchestrate any circumstance as He deems fit, yet He also loves me enough to ordain that whatever occurs is for my good. (Side note: my definition of “good” is often not congruent with His. His ‘good’ usually involves growing me and refining me, which is far from enjoyable a lot of the time.) Isaiah 40 and Romans 8:28-29 are just a few passages which have deeply impacted me in this area.

Understanding (minutely) the balance between His sovereignty and goodness had led me to look at situations in which I have felt disappointment, rejection, or loss and ask “Why that, God? I know You are sovereign and good, and I know you are doing something here, so why did You allow that? What was Your purpose in this thing? How are you getting glory through that? Why not? Why so? Where are You at in this, and what are You doing?”

My black-and-white, “everything has a purpose” mind leads me to try to discern the ‘whys’ behind my circumstances and justify them by listing ways God has worked in or through them. Just steal my journal someday and you’ll see lists and lists as evidence of this. It was sure the case for 2017.

And yet many times this year, as I tried to glean out of situations the tangible answer to how God used it for good, I heard God say, “But Bets, you got more of Me through that situation; was that enough of a reason? Do you need more of an answer to ‘why?’, or is knowing more of Me enough? The good I gave you was deeper dependence on Me, greater understanding of My character, and greater knowledge of the depth of My love for you.”

Talk about convicting.

So in that “new year funk” of mine, I started reflecting on the faithfulness of God. I landed on Lamentations 3 in a passage I’d memorized in the past, but this time it hit with new meaning as God connected some dots. The question above that I heard Him asking me was backed by His Word.

Skip to verse 25 if you don’t want to read my rambling, because that’s the verse that really got me.

Lamentations 3:19-26

“I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”

At this point, I could just type the word “boom” and stop writing because that passage says it all itself. Read it again and you’ll agree. But here are a few ways it spoke to me.

“I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope.” -v. 19-21

I can understand this bit about his soul. Life can stink. My soul gets downcast, too. (Hence, my “new year funk.”)

What do I call to my mind when I am in the midst of affliction? When my soul is downcast? I know myself well enough to know that my mind goes somewhere and dwells on something. So what do I call to mind? What do I dwell upon? It is an active, intentional thought process to call to mind that which brings hope.

“Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” -v. 21-23

Jeremiah called to mind that which brought hope in the midst of a downcast state. What brings hope? Remembrance of the Lord’s great love, the Lord’s faithfulness, and the Lord’s compassion. Because of His love, I am not consumed by sin or fear or worry or doubt or lies or insecurity. Because of His love, I remain. And when do His compassions fail? Never. They are new every morning, they reset daily.

Call that to mind, Betsy. Reset your perspective to my unchanging, unfailing, unshakeable character. I love you recklessly and relentlessly, I am entirely faithful toward you- I don’t reject you or change my mind about you- and I have great compassion toward you. Dwell there, rather than on your affliction and unanswered questions.

“I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ -v. 24

ˆWhat do I say to myself? I don’t have multiple personalities, but I do talk to myself throughout the day. What things am I telling myself? Do I speak truth to myself or speak down to myself? Do I speak discontentment and self-reliance, or claim the sufficiency of Christ? Do I remind myself that He is enough, even when my heart doesn’t feel it to be true or when my soul doesn’t see it? Do I claim Him as my portion? Do I wait for Him?

And finally, verse 25:

“The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.” -v. 25-26

I used to read this verse and view it through the lens of “The Lord does good to those who hope is in him, to the one who seeks him.” That very well may also be true. But in reading it this time, God opened my eyes to something different. It reads “The Lord IS good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him.” Re-read that slower. Then track with me for a second, cause this is more difficult to communicate through writing than in person.

Those who hope in and seek the Lord, to those ones, the Lord makes Himself known as good.

Those who hope in and seek Him see His goodness firsthand, all because they see and know Him. Those who hope in and seek Him get Him, the ultimate good. They grasp, they perceive, they comprehend--they GET-- His goodness. In the seeking and hoping (note that the seeking and hoping is a vital part of the deal), they get a deeper understanding of His character, a bigger view of His faithfulness, a clearer glimpse of His unfathomable love. They get a deep, personal, intimate, fulfilling, sustaining relationship with Him. Those who choose to seek and hope in Him see just how stinking good He truly is, in every way. They grasp that in its fullness in the midst of pursuing Him. (How many other ways can I try to say it?) But truly, what a gift.

And grasping His goodness shifts everything. At least, it should. For even when circumstances may be far from desirable, God is faithful, gracious, sure, merciful, just, constant, unfailing, near, forgiving, sovereign, true--- and thus He is good.

The next line in my journal was: Let my greatest good in this life be knowing You.

Followed by the same idea in question form: God, is my greatest good in this life knowing more of you?

I pray that question challenges you as much as it does me. Because He keeps bringing it up again and again and again. And if I’m honest, most of the time the answer isn’t ‘yes.’

Most of the time, I want God AND “(fill in the blank).”

Betsy, Is knowing me a greater “good” and of greater worth than anything else? Greater than being respected at work? Greater than marrying a like-minded laborer? Greater than being known and loved? Greater than paying off grad school loans? Greater than having and raising little munchkins? Greater than your reputation? Greater than your success? Greater than your self-image? Greater than being wise or faithful?

Talk about a kick in the gut.

In light of that, my prayer for 2018 is for God to continue to deepen my understanding of these two truths- of His constant presence and His sovereign-goodness. I pray that I would see God as the greatest good I can attain, that I would pursue Him as my greatest good, and that doing so would lead me to actually treasure knowing Him as my greatest good.

The greatest gift God can give you is more of Himself.

And a side note: When adventuring leads to spiritual analogies.

Ask my adventure buddy Em, and she will tell you that I come up with analogies during every backpacking trip we’ve taken. I’m like on the struggle bus to catch my breath hiking uphill (while she is trekking along with her heart rate in the 80′s) and I am thinking up analogies. (Things like how we miss beauty in life when the going gets tough because we get so focused on the rough terrain in order to prevent tripping and faceplanting- and how we need to stop and take a minute to look up at the beauty surrounding us. Stuff like that.)

Well, we went snowshoeing in January, and trekked 7 miles and 2,500 feet up into the Colorado mountains to a remote cabin. Gorgeous and totally worth it. Up there, I saw the most incredible stars I have ever witnessed. I am so not exaggerating here- those stars were brighter and more numerous than I have ever seen before- and likely will ever again experience. And the reason they were so incredibly visible and beautiful? It was because our cabin, though up a mountain, was surrounded on three sides by massive rocks and was removed from any outside source of light.

In the darkest places, light shines the brightest.

I think the same can be true in life.

Yes, it is in the hoping and seeking Him that I truly get Him and see Him as good. And often the times when I am most aware of the depth of my need for Him, the times when I hope most and seek most-- those can also be the toughest times. The darkest times.

But take heart, because in the toughest times, His nearness, love, sufficiency- and ultimately His goodness- can be most evident. I know this from experience. Let that be a truth to cling to in the midst of the trial. In the ‘whys,’ in the midst of the struggles of this life, in the darkness, choose to see the light. Look for Him and how He is drawing you close, revealing Himself, and going before and with you.

I love quotes, so here are some of my faves from the year on this concept.

I know now Lord why you utter no answer; you are yourself the answer. -C.S Lewis

God will only give you what you would have asked for if you knew everything He knows. -Tim Keller

The one aim of the call of God is the satisfaction of God, not a call to do something for Him. -Oswald Chambers

One does not surrender a life in an instant. That which is lifelong can only be surrendered in a lifetime. – Jim Elliot

His goal is not to make you happy. His goal is to make you His. -Max Lucado

We are restless until our hearts find their rest in thee. -Augustine

Waiting upon God is an evidence of love to him. -Matthew Henry

“You are entirely faithful.” Psalm 89:8 NLT

“How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you.” Psalm 31:19

I also love John 9:1-3 and John 11 for seeing God’s purpose and plan behind the circumstances I am so quick to question.

Here’s to seeking the greatest good in 2018.

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