#At least I’ve heard that she’s pretty worshipped in mexico

[fun-twisted-tales]

The virgin mary was a celebrated figure beyond being the mother of Jesus Christ.

(This is the oldest version of her in Rome) She is considered the holiest and greatest saint. She is very revered in Islam, she had a chapter named after her in the Quran, was called “the greatest woman to ever live”, held the title of al-Mustafia which means “the chosen”

She may have had a sister, Mary of Clopas. She is also the woman of the apocalypse or the "woman clothed with the sun".

Theonas of Alexandria consecrated one of the first places devoted to Mary but she had many more, such as The Church of the Seat of Mary. She was considered an intercessor in the the Byzantine Empire.

She was worshipped as a mother goddess in the Christian sect of Collyridianism. Ephesus is a cultic centre of Mary. It is the site of the first church dedicated to her and the rumoured place of her death and where she lived.

In the Orthodox, she is the most honored saints. She is considered "more honorable than the Cherubim and more glorious than the Seraphim". But she is not worshipped or considered “divine”. Despite this, she is seen as above all other creatures. Theologian Sergei Bulgakov wrote that the Orthodox view Mary as "superior to all created beings".

Our Lady of the Pillar is considered to be about her. She is often depicted in blue because it was considered the colour of an empress in Byzantine Empire.

The sad part is that she likely had Jesus as a teenager, possibly 12–14, and was likely still young when he died.

[nyadere]

Reposting this bc the link got messed up when I changed URLs!!

My all time favorite Destiel fics, in no particular order. (More to be added over time) {last updated 10/08/2019}

Too Much TV Will Rot Your Brain by EndlessRain Rating: G Words: 7397 Summary: “Angel?” John asked. He had been in Heaven for a pretty long time, and had been hunting even longer, and he never had heard of angels actually existing.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Ellen said, “That’s your kid’s boyfriend!”

Notes: A short, sweet fic with mostly humor and a bit of angst mixed in. – How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam). by Vera Rating: E Words: 69693 Summary: In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean’s angel rather sooner than intended.

Notes: This is a must-read, the writing is perfect and the idea is also perfect. Throwing Castiel into the boy’s lives from the start and the dynamic it brings is such an interesting take on the story.

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Destiel, Actually by Bloodism Rating: E Words: 15973 Summary: Picture your typical rom-com cliché. Now picture Dean stuck in that rom-com cliché. With Castiel. Because that’s what happening to him - a crazy whirlwind of your typical-and-not-so-typical cliché’s. He’s playing the main lead in all of them and Castiel’s his counterpart. Of course, the culprit is obvious. Gabe’s enjoying himself too much, lying back on his favourite cloud with a tub of salted popcorn.

It was about time someone kicked the two knuckleheads into gear.

“And… ACTION!”

Notes: Funny & light-hearted, featuring everyone’s favorite trickster.

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Angel’s Wild by LimonadeGaby, riseofthefallenone Rating: E Words: 389271 Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Notes: Another must-read. This fic is a huge, long and a bit of a slow-burn but its so worth it. One of the first destiel fics I fell in love with, an immersive AU with fanart included.

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Things Dean Winchester Loves by tuesday Rating: M Words: 3623 Summary: Castiel makes a list, Sam gives good advice, and Dean takes a while to catch on.

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In the Shadow of your Wings by Enochian Things Rating: M Words: 57268 Summary: Dean drains his bottle of beer, sets it on the table and gets up, heading for the kitchen. Maybe to fetch another, maybe to leave. But Castiel doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want to leave this conversation unfinished; he remembers his regret of just a few hours ago, that Dean had never known how he loved him.

“Wait,” he says and gets to his feet as Dean passes by. They’re standing close – close enough that Castiel can feel the heat of Dean’s body, the vibrancy of his soul brushing against his grace. “Dean, I have to tell you something…”

Set after the S11 finale.

Notes: another long, slow-burn. The buildup in this fic is fantastic, dealing with a jealous and in-denial Dean while poor Cas is dealing with his own feelings. This fic is so in-character I can see it happening in the actual show.

– Everything Comes Back To You by VioletHaze Rating: E Words: 32970 Summary: Dean knew better. Of course he did. But Cas seemed so charmed by the antique-filled bed and breakfast that Dean went along with it when the proprietor mistook them for a couple. Telling himself it gave them a strategic advantage to be so close to the crime scene, he agreed to the weekend special she offered them. When the case ended up being a bust, they stuck around anyhow because hey, the second night was free…

Notes: I love love loveeee this fic. Canon!verse with fake/pretend relationship. Dean in denial with mutual pining? Yes please. – Sam Winchester Sees the Light (And Dean’s Awkward Boner Face) by YamiTami Rating: G Words: 2447 Summary: Castiel is falling and he has to start doing human things to save energy. That means eating for sustenance, sleeping, and learning how to use a washing machine. This leads to a revelation.

Shamelessly inspired by a gifset of Misha putting a shirt on.

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The Mirror by cloudyjenn Rating: M Words: 24568 Summary: When Dean touches a strange mirror, he’s whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn’t take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

Notes: This. fic. is. amazing. I love reading about AU versions of the boys and this one has plenty of variety. Cute with a bit of angst mixed in.

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In Your Sweet Little Bungalow by annodominique Rating: E Words: 13680 Summary: All things considered, Castiel has a house. All things considered, Castiel has a life. Without Dean.

It has been seven years since Sam died, seven years since Dean left Castiel, broken and human, and disconnected from humanity. Cas had to cope on his own somewhere along the way. He chose a little town of Oregon to settle in.

Seven years, and Dean shows up at his door on a chilly February night, saying the stupidest set of words to ever be said to Castiel’s face.

“I was–just passing by the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by…to see you.”

And Cas doesn’t know what to do.

Notes: This fic is so angsty but so worth it.

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When the Bough Breaks by captainshakespear, deanisthesun Rating: M Words: 73963 Summary: Years after the Darkness has been defeated, Dean and Cas are living the apple pie life in small-town Kansas. They don’t hunt anymore, and would like to keep it that way, but some young hunters knocking at their door have different plans.

Dean, Cas and Sam reluctantly agree to help out, but what ought to be a simple case becomes way more complicated and dangerous than they counted on. And when the hunt starts to invade the normal lives they’ve carved out for themselves and their kids, Dean and Cas begin to wonder if escaping the hunting life altogether might have been wishful thinking.

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Home is Where by ChasingRabbits Rating: E Words: 15170 Summary: Casual vagrant Dean Winchester blows into Palo Alto to check on his little brother. What is meant to be a quick visit ends up drawing out when he meets and accidentally ends up clicking with Sam’s strange, grad student roommate Castiel.

Notes: non-canon verse AU where Cas has Asperger’s and is Sam’s roommate, this fic is very cute.

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Out of the Deep by riseofthefallenone Rating: E Words: 488608 Summary: Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep.

It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep.

Castiel should have listened better.

Notes: I cannot express how much I love this fic. Another huge AU with copious amounts of fanart and detail. Slow-burn, Merfolk AU. I will admit I was hesitant to read this at first as I don’t usually like mermaid/merfolk AUs but this story is so beautifully written and the attention to detail is amazing. Riseofthefallenone never ceases to amaze me.

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Going Postal by captainbarnes Rating: Not Rated Words: 6799 Summary: Castiel,

Hi. My name’s Dean, just Dean — that’s all you’re getting out of me.

I don’t really know what else to say, I’m not good at this and I really don’t want to talk much. But it’s for a grade, and I’m already flunking English, so I guess I don’t have a choice.

Your name is weird as fuck.

— Dean

Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak became pen pals because of a school assignment, and they tried not to get attached to one another. They really did. Sort of. Barely.

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King of the Road by loversantiquities Rating: E Words: 15890 Summary: Contracted out by the local police in Moriarty, New Mexico, Dean is sent to investigate the happenings around a church outside of town, the Angel-worshiping congregation reportedly flocking to the location in recent days. As it turns out, though, instead of snake charmers or devil worshipers, Dean finds an Angel crucified to the cross, said Angel unreasonably snarky despite being tied up against his will.

Turning over Castiel to the authorities, though, doesn’t work in Dean’s favor. With nowhere to go and Heaven having abandoned him, Dean agrees to haul Castiel across the country on two conditions–he doesn’t smoke in the car, and he doesn’t rob convenience stores in broad daylight.

God, Dean might actually kill him before this is over.

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Rock of Ages by winter_of_our_Discontent Rating: T Words: 7430 Summary: It starts because they need a rock. Not, of course, just any rock, but apparently this particular critter needs an Aztec-style obsidian-and-jade dagger right through its human-teeth-and-eyeball-eating heart to actually kill it.

In which Cas gets a ring, and Dean (finally) gets a clue.

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So There It Is, I’ve Said It All by PorcupineGirl Rating: G Words: 3898 Summary: “Why, do you have something you need to say to me that you don’t think I’ll like?”

I think I’m in love with you.

“Yeah. I guess so.“

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Receipts by surlybobbies Rating: T Words: 1391 Summary: He’s about to put the receipt down, no harm done, when something about it catches his eye. Pen ink, on the back. He flips it around and reads:

With Dean. He shared his pie with me. His smile was radiant.

Dean stares. Reads it again. Nothing’s changed.

What? -

The Fourth Wall by entanglednow

Rating: T-E (this is a series so different parts have different ratings)  Words: 40,339 Summary:  (There’s not an exact summary for the whole thing since its a series of 15 different works but basically the boys discover fanfiction about themselves and things get wild) I can’t believe I didn’t add this one before but its one of my all time favorites! I’ve read it multiple times because its just that good. Lighthearted and funny. This series also includes Samifer which I’m a big fan of (but if you’re not into that each part is appropriately tagged so you can skip over it). 

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Someone Who’s Feeling For Me by ellispark Rating: M  Words: 45,876 Summary:  Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight. Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away. Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.  Notes: Lots of pining, supportive Sam, angst with a happy ending, the good shit.  - Everyone is Trying to Get to the Bar by Balder12 Rating: E Words: 8,111 Summary:  Dean still has enemies in Heaven. True!form Castiel to the rescue!

Notes: I love true!form cas fics and this one is written beautifully, the ending seemed a little rushed to me but other than that I really enjoyed this fic.

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As You Pass Through Me by wannaliveindeansdimples Rating: E Words: 30,548 Summary: Cas has lived in this house all his life... and since his untimely death. The last thing he wants is a new roommate, but it seems he's getting one anyway.

Notes: a wonderful non-canonverse AU with ghost!Cas....but there’s a twist! This fic is incredibly cute and entertaining and makes me smile everytime I read it. There’s a little bit of what could be considered dub-con in a few chapters but before said chapters the author usually has a note at the beginning.

-

[restorerjourney]

Week 2/7 in Mazatlán

July 13, 2021

Buenos Dias Amigos~

This past week has been amazing and we’ve experienced so much already. Literally everyday we have something to do from 7am till 8pm and it’s a glimpse of what it means when the bible said that we are called to die to ourselves, this sanctification process. We have to surrender our freedom, control, and comfort being here. We agreed as a team to only spend our personal money on Saturdays and Thursday evening and for the rest of the week use only our team’s budget to buy coffee, drinks, or snacks, in the afternoon. We can’t conveniently go to the market and buy what we want, we can’t have our own personal time whenever or wherever we like, and during the day since we don’t have a/c in our room we would have to escape the heat and humidity to the small library or prayer room which is often crowded. The showers are cold, we have to put on strong bug spray and sunscreen daily  because we get cooked and eaten alive. We don’t even get cold water to drink here but we are grateful it is unlimited and filtered. But to be honest, I realized, as I entered a local’s home to use the bathroom that their living situation was so much worse. Us dying to ourselves was to be able to relate for the people we say we have come to love. This is a glimpse of what Jesus did for us by humbling himself from glory to a stinky, poor, dirty manger.  Every time I have a moment of grumbling and wishing to go back home, I am reminded that this time that I have, this privilege to serve the Mexicans here with my team at a time like this….it is a one time deal. I won’t get it again and I don’t want to look back regretting if I could have done more. I am so thankful for the leaders that we have that encourage us to have the freedom to hear from God. They truly walk in the fear of the Lord and not by their own agenda. 

Monday: We met with the Stone Island church plant team and pastor that we are partnering with. We trained them on how to start an Alpha course for the following week. Alpha is a great platform that allows others to know more about Jesus. Imitating Jesus’s ministry while he was on earth, it’s sole purpose is to build relationships and allow open discussion for anyone who is interested with, of course, food. Alpha is free and easy to use and is in multiple different languages so anyone who is interested can start an alpha course with a group of people. In this case for our Stone Island church plant, to help their church grow we are helping jump start it by creating flyers, creating the atmosphere with decoration and food, training, showing the video for each week, and helping to run it for the next 4 weeks. There are 11 weeks total and each week there is a video talking about different topics of who Jesus is and different aspects of the Christian faith. After the Alpha course is finished, the local church could take it from her discipling the people that started this course. This allows the local churches to be empowered and for this ministry.. to be self sustainable even when we leave. It’s exciting because it’s both our first time ever running it but our leaders have seen the wonderful outcome of Alpha and so we have faith this is what God is leading us to do. After training, we split into small groups and did our first street evangelism. I’m not going to lie, I felt like a cult sect and I’ve never done it this intentionally before and it was a humbling and eye opening experience. I had to overcome my fear of man and what they thought of me and remember that God has commanded us all to share the good news and the love of Christ. One of the highlights was when we actually saw a young teen wearing all black with a black mask from a far sitting on a bench. When we were walking towards him, as if he knew he got up and walked to another bench. I felt like he knew and I had a moment of feeling the fear of man rise of what he thinks of me, but we just pushed through and spoke to him. He was also with his sister whom we found out to be Jehovah witnesses. Surprisingly they were open to us talking to them as most Jehovah witnesses are pretty closed off. I felt they were curious and surprised how we didn’t try to shove the gospel down their throat and we were just wanting to develop a relationship and love on them. We even were able to pray for them which was a wonderful experience.

Tuesday: In the morning we were supposed to go to the dump ministry but we ended up only going to the market store that helps supply the food for the poor there. The market owner was this sweet old gentleman who always had a smile on his face even though in his store there were flies everywhere, it was dirty, hot, and smelly which was a humbling experience. It was evident that him and his fellow workers really loved Jesus and they were serving joyfully. In the evening we had ministry night and the praise band asked if our team would like to lead worship. We had so much fun leading the congregation and it was so touching to see how far our team members have come since the beginning of DTS, from broken..to being on fire for Jesus. I led a healing altar call and a girl named Trinity got healed by Jesus from chronic pain in her feet. It was just so amazing to see how we were activating all that we learned in lecture phase to outreach and seeing the fullness of what God wanted to reveal to us. 

Wednesday: We did bible distribution and in my group I was with Haya and yoonkyung. We went down the street that we were assigned and all the families we encountered were catholic and not open to the gospel but willing to receive the bible at least. We were able to thankfully pray for them and get to know them with our broken spanish. I just pray and trust that the word of God is powerful enough to impact their lives the moment they read it. One of the highlights there was a guy named Cezar who we saw in his front yard. He is in his early 20s and his prayer request was for his family during this pandemic since two of his relatives passed away from COVID. Haya felt the Lord saying to Cezar that God was near him and Cezar was touched by those words. On a side note, one of our team members was feeling bitterness and frustration since he felt left out and misunderstood.He is the oldest guy in our team and while in Kona there were other staff members around his age that were his community but being here alone with his family was difficult. As we did our team brief we unexpectedly had a powerful time of prayer for healing, vulnerability, honesty, and freedom for some of our team members. It was one of the most unifying moments for our team and was much needed. 

Thursday: This day is when we get to choose what kind of ministry we want to volunteer in. The options are skateboard/surf, children’s ministry, soccer ministry, hospital ministry, immigration ministry, Stone Island ministry, and Bible distribution. I wanted to do immigration ministry since it deals with the border issue and as an American I felt more obligated to know more however there wasn’t enough room in the car so I went to the hospital ministry. The hospital ministry used to be where we would go and visit the patients and pray for them. Due to COVID, visitors and family members have to stand outside the hospital gate. Family members of patients would come from all over since there aren’t many hospitals in the country and would sleep in front of the gate waiting for the news of their loved ones. We provided food and drink for the weary travelers, worship music to encourage them, the gospel to those who have no hope, and prayer. The highlight for this ministry was when we met a mexican missionary there who was recovering from COVID whose wife and nephew were in the hospital. As we prayed I felt just such grief and sadness hit me and that’s when I realized this was what Jesus felt for this missionary. He started to sob and we shared encouraging words that we heard from the Lord to him. He was so encouraged and felt convicted that he has been focusing on ministry more than intimacy with the Lord and he felt refreshed. Another highlight was the fact that there were so many mosquitoes there and we were getting eaten alive. I never experienced humidity, fatigue, heat, being tortured by mosquitoes while praying for someone and sharing the gospel and both I and the people that I’ve met were twitching. It is an experience I will never forget and despite us looking crazy slapping our legs and moving around to not get bit, I felt the patient’s families knew that God is real and He is love...otherwise why would we put ourselves through this torture.

Friday: Today was our weekly visit to Stone Island to do street evangelism and I particularly wanted to go to the home that I first visited last week. It was because I heard one of my friends who went to Stone Island last week visited the same family and shared that after we prayed for one of their family members, she got healed. We decided as a team to go visit them. When they saw us they invited us in and we all started to continue to build on that relationship that we started last week. We prayed for the grandpa who experienced a warmth sensation that he has never experienced before and his knees were healed. We prayed for a widow who lost her husband a month ago. We prayed for a woman whose son was in rehab due to a possible drug overdose and her grandson. ( We later find out that her son got out of rehab and is doing better! PTL)

Saturday we had our day of rest and Sunday we went to church on Stone Island and debriefed!

Prayer request:

1) Unity: The enemy is really attacking us through personal issues and it has been affecting our team unity and has been distracting us from focusing on outreach. Please pray for grace, obedience, and the fear of the Lord for all team members so that we would not miss out on what God has for us. 

2) For the people of Mazatlan and Mexico: God revealed to us that the field is ripe for harvest and we want to walk in obedience in faith to harvest what God has sown. Would we not let fear of man get in the way from us sharing the gospel out of love. We have started to establish some relationships so please pray that they would be connected with the locals here so that discipleship could be initiated.

3) Health: COVID cases are on the rise, and so is fear here in Mexico. Please pray that we would use God’s wisdom and discernment. Please pray that our team and those whom we have encountered would not get COVID. We’ve been taking turns getting diarrhea, dehydrated, and fatigue, please pray for protection and grace. 

Gracias! 

Alicia

[howyoutalktostrangers]

So,

I’ve decided to publish another story from my manuscript.

This one’s called “Post-funeral”, and the main character is named Joel Bishop. He’s a friend of my main characters Paisley Troutman and Neil Solomon, and in this story his older brother has just committed suicide after running for political office in Garibaldi. It’s the 10th story in Whatever you’re on, I want some.

It’s raw.

The Literary Goon

Post-funeral

by Will Johnson

FIRST WE swallowed bitter shards of MDMA, spent hours slip-sliding over each other’s bodies giddy and feverish. I’d been staying at my brother’s mansion with my ex-girlfriend Kylie, up in Garibaldi, for nearly two weeks. We wandered the streets shirtless, dove into foggy backyard pools that didn’t belong to us. We did blow off the toilet tank. We sipped mushroom tea, pinkies erect, then watched Jurassic Park while we waited, dopily dragging on cigarettes and ashing on the freshly installed carpet. We smoked salvia and hash, hot-knifed thumb smudges of tar-black ooze. We were doing okay, food-wise: salmon steaks, cheese-drowned Tostitos, frozen blueberries. We drank Black Label and Bailey’s-infused coffee. Some days we binged on Chinese food and pizza; more often we wandered the linoleum barefoot and mind-fucked, sniffling and twitching, having forgotten what hunger feels like.

And whenever we got bored we circled the neighbourhood spearing my brother’s campaign signs onto unsuspecting people’s lawns, just to fuck with them. Vote for Joshua Bishop, indeed. 

One night Kylie fled. I careened along shadowed boulevards in my brother’s minivan just after 3 a.m., wearing sweatpants and a pair of Santa Claus slippers, chain-smoking cigarettes to keep my headspace level. The night dew-misted my forearm hair from the open window. When my headlights slashed across a lawn three blocks over I glimpsed Kylie under an expansive, shadowed oak with thick, threatening arms. She was curled fetal, wearing red bikini bottoms, dollar store flip flops and my Garibaldi Elementary GRAD OF 2004 hoodie. As I lugged her limply off the grass a dog-walker in a peacoat paused on the sidewalk.

“She had a little too much to drink,” I explained. “We’re all good here.”

“And who are you to her, exactly?” he asked, cell phone palmed. “It looks like she needs some assistance.”

“We’re fine, honestly. I’m just taking her home.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

Kylie moaned in my arms as I lift-shoved her into the passenger seat. Her legs slackly dangled towards the concrete as I gathered up her feet and slammed the door shut behind her. Peacoat man flapped his arms, distressed and honking.

“If you fuck with me,” I said. “I’ll kill your little dog and drink its blood.”

I don’t remember what he said after that, but I do remember the electric surge of hatred that blood-dumped through my veins. This man’s banal existence, his uncomplicated morality, the look of fearful revulsion on his face—all of these offended some feral version of myself I’d unleashed during those weeks. I battered my chest, squeezing out wild tears, and roared in his face until he retreated with his little dog yipping.

Kylie wore a thick-padded bra with metal crescents scooping under each fleshy handful. She whined as I undressed her, paranoid of the oil-like substance pooling on the walls and overflowing into the living room ceiling. I worked my fingers under each goose-pimpled boob, inhaled her chest glister. Kylie wasn’t mine exclusively, but our experiences were our own. I took her earlobe in my mouth, her weight supported in my arms, and worked it with my tongue like a soother. We’d tired of our porn-inspired routines and were finding creative ways to exploit each other’s bodies lazily, gluttonously. A tweaked nipple on mushrooms is like a chest-explosion, while a firmly gripped dick on acid can change your life. Cheek to arm pit, sole to shin, elbow to pelvic bone, we chest-banged and hugged, childlike, in the trenches of our sweat-soiled blankets.

Then we slept.  

Sometimes I get brain whispers from my former self, little buried guilt yelps from the Christian kid I used to be. He’s horrified. Kylie struggles to believe I used to be religious, that I used to keep a prayer journal, that I was once scandalized by swear words. She can’t visualize it, can’t reconcile it with the version of me that she knows: a hipster rich kid with no moral code to speak of. She can’t understand that it’s all the same impulse, that God is nothing more than the Drug of all Drugs, that the hardest thing I ever had to kick was Christianity. Driving by St. Catherine’s I’ve got multi-year histories flashing across my vision. Our youth pastor Trent Stonehouse sings at the front of the sanctuary, takes kids on missions trips to Tijuana and Brazil and the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, and then there’s all the kids I knew—Amber, Turner, Paisley, Neil and Ty—they’re all memory-cached, worshipping with the Agape Soldiers onstage while I sway awkward in the pews and try to figure out how come I’m the only one who does’t seem to feel it. Sure, I’ve felt the Holy Spirit before—or at least I believed I felt it at the time—and I’ve been one of those ultra-pious kids seizing on the ground, overcome as the Church Moms lay blankets over our God-blissed teenage bodies. Slain in the spirit.

But spiritual awakenings wear off. Slowly, one day after the next, I felt the emotional intensity drain. Outside the context of the St. Catherine’s sanctuary all the meaning dribbled out until I had to go back, soul-hungry, for more. Being a disciple of Christ meant living this special type of life, meant elevating yourself from the mundanity. At Camp Evergreen, around the campfire, we sang “Jesus, I am yours” and two hours later Rachel Peachland gave me a hand job behind the girl’s cabin line, a frantic and gasp-filled spectacle in the shadows. I was a little perv, shame-soaked but undeterred, obsessed with girls but convinced that every lustful thought was a freshly disgusting sin, something to beg forgiveness for. Do you know how exhausting it is to be ashamed all the time? To spend your life hearing how sinful and hopeless you are without Jesus?

Turner used to say the whole point of grace is you don’t need to feel guilt, that God’s already forgiven you before you even dream up our next transgression.

But who said we need to be forgiven at all?

“If you could go back and be Christian again, would you do it?” Kylie asked, morning squinting in my brother’s bed, her voice grumbly from sixteen hours of sleep. I gripped sleepily at my dick while urine hammered into the shower drain.

“I think about that every day.”

“And?”

“Are we talking like a lobotomy-type solution here? Like would I have to give up part of my brain?”

“No, just say you believed again.”

“The thing is, to make that happen I’d have to give it up.”

“What?”

“My doubt. My fucking reason. I’d have to give up my whole personality.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yes necessarily. Unless God fucking prances in here and goes ‘hey, Joel, I’m fucking real’, this shit isn’t going to happen.”

I slump into her lap. Kylie was born in a Burmese orphanage, got adopted by white Canadians. Didn’t find that out until three months into our thing, when I met her crazy Mom. She kept all that to herself, and I understood why. People project shit, put labels on you. Who wants to be the starving kid from one of those World Vision commercials? She didn’t want pity; she just wanted to be Kylie.

I liked her way more than I realized.

“But what if the thing with Trent never happened?”

“It wasn’t about him. I stopped going to St. Catherine’s way before all that shit in Mexico, before any of those other guys.”

“Do you think he raped anyone you know? Like anyone in the youth group?”

“Fuck, what’s gotten into you?”

“I’m just so curious. I’ve never met someone who knew a real child molester.”

“You talk like it’s a movie star or something.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“So what do you think? Do you think he was doing like pervy, Catholic-style shit?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“But what do you think?”

“I mean they say he molested this Mexican kid, right? Or two of them? That’s why he got arrested originally, in Tijuana. But they never came up with any Canadian victims.”

“Who’s they?”

“Investigators or whatever. He was down there for eleven years years, and it’s kind of like why press charges and do all that work if he’s not even in Garibaldi?”

“Shit.”

“But eventually they figure he’ll be back, right? I mean, the Mexicans can’t keep him forever.”

“When is that going to be?”

“The system’s so corrupt down there. Guilty til proven innocent, all that.”

“Turner told me he got letters.”

“From Trent?”

“Yeah, a while back he was telling me stories about Trent. He told me the letter said ‘you can’t turn your back on God’ and ‘don’t let this be an excuse to lose your faith’, all this shit.”

“Are you serious?”

“From prison he was giving him a sermon!”

“Fuck.”

“I mean, we were smoking a joint but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth. Wasn’t he like Trent’s little favourite? Do you think it was him Trent messed with?”

I’ve considered that plenty of times, but it’s different to say out loud.

“Trent had a weird thing with Paisley Troutman, one of the girls in the worship band. People were gossiping about that for years.”

“But doesn’t he fuck little boys?”

“Yeah, but maybe he’s just like a non-discriminating deviant, right? Just raping whoever, wherever. Dudes’ fucking evil.”

“I heard there’s some people that think he’s still innocent.”

I light a cigarette, roll across the bed and go looking for blow.

“I’m not one of them,” I say.

Kylie sat cross-legged and hungover in the minivan’s passenger seat, reorganizing her purse while we descended the Sea to Sky. Cliffs draped with steel netting loomed to our left. To the right was nothing but open, cloudless sky. The road slalomed along the mountain slope, twist-rising and falling just as quickly. Ocean air swirled around us. A grey thumb of stone emerged in the distance, thrusted up hitchhiker-style, with a few stubborn bushes defiantly alive atop it’s wind-blasted summit forty feet above the road.

The mansions along the highway—stilted and gleaming in the trees—reflected the Pacific’s blue glow from giant mirrored windows. These were the people in my brother’s voting district, who had proudly displayed his campaign signs so they would be visible for commuters passing through the construction progress below. Vote for Joshua Bishop.

No more.

“The last shit we got from Turner was dirty,” Kylie mumbled. “Fucking weak.”

“That wasn’t his regular guy.”

“Says him.”

A bored, sunburned teenager wearing a Solomon Development Ltd. uniform waved us off the highway, past some pylons and orange fencing, and towards the razed shoulder currently being paved. Steamrollers grumbled a few kilometres further on, while in front of us six men guided a crane-suspended concrete median into place. I parked beside a line of trucks facing oceanward, overlooking Howe Sound, and texted Turner. Within a few minutes he appeared, knuckle-rapping the window, and Kylie unlocked the sliding door behind her.

“You two’ve been voracious lately,” Turner said. “You’re outpacing my coworkers, even.”

Kylie ignored him, sullen.

“I’ve got five hundred here, that’s two for last time and three for now,” I said.

“And you’ve got time for a couple lines now?”

An ice-blue sky populated with drifting gulls appeared as I took my first hit. Their beak-tips were dolloped with bright red. I thumbed a nostril for leverage, snorted with all my might, and sucked back. It filled me like sunlight. Wave-crests built frothing and burst into chaos amidst the rocks below.

“That feels better, huh?” said Turner. “I’m gonna fire through my afternoon.”

“I don’t know how you do this dip-shit job, man.”

“Whatever.”

“I would feel like one of those historical Chinese guys they used to dynamite the tunnels, you know? Like some expendable pawn they use for the hard labour. A slave they can just blow up whenever they feel like.”

“Yeah, so what’s your fucking job, Bishop?”

Kylie dabbed residue on her gums, sucking her finger. The world continued outside our windshield, introduced a dangling silhouette to our view-scape. It took me a moment to take this character in: parachuting past with some magical floating canopy, he was trailing an unfurled sign that read NO OLYMPICS ON STOLEN NATIVE LAND while filming with a camera strapped to his wrist. He was wearing those stupid shoes with individual toes, the ones rich men wear, and spandex head to toe—like some gravity-defying ninja spirit. I almost laughed.

How long had he prepared for this moment? What did he imagine he would see, hanging suspended and superior over us? The afternoon wind carried him sideways, tilting.

“Look at that piece of shit,” said Turner. “Look at him flying high.”

On the way back to town, Kylie asked if we could swing by her friend Lauren’s place. She lived in one of the new townhouses by the highway, Garibaldi Estates, on the fifth floor.

“This bitch owes me like a hundred bucks,” Kylie said as we rode the elevator up. “She’s always doing shit like this, and I can’t let her get away with it. You know what I mean?”

I shrugged.

The hallway hung silent following Kylie’s door-battering, but after a minute or two the door rattled and opened. A girl wearing a short pink bathrobe leaned into view, her bed-shagged hair streaked a similar hue. Her eyes were half-closed.

“Uh huh,” she said.

“You gonna let us inside?” Kylie asked.

“I’ll come out’n talk,” she said, pained.

I pretended to ignore them while they argued in the hallway, and watched as a dishevelled crow shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the roof, its talons clicking, just outside the window. Kylie paced shouting while Lauren listened bored with her beautiful brown legs.

Eventually Kylie turned back to me, exasperated. “Let’s go, Joel.”

Once we got back on to the Juan de Fuca Hill she held out her palm, two chalky pills cradled in the creases.

“This is supposed to be boss stuff. It’s K. She didn’t have any cash.”

How can I capture that moment? Kylie halfway-swivelled against the seatbelt, her forehead salmon pink from the sun and her white palm-skin outstretched. The grassy bluffs leading up towards the towering dominance of Mount Garibaldi were stretched out behind her, floating and blurred, while within the carpeted boundaries of our little vehicle we were safety-bathed by the air conditioning. I swallowed the pill. We hurtled towards our future.

“Will you put some more signs up with me later?” I asked. “After?”

“Of course.”

“There’s still so many, babe.”

“We can put up as many as you want, babe.”

Sixteen years old I thumb-dabbed my goggles, donkey-kicking, my headphones tucked under my swim cap. The finals heat for the 100 butterfly at provincial championships, and I was the one standing in front of Lane 4. Ty was there, Sketch and Neil too. I spat air, flailed, my feet splashing on the tiles. I expected to win my whole life, always anticipated easy victory—what does that say about me? I had this daily suspicion that I was a little more interesting than everyone else, a little more talented. My brother Josh was the same way, and all during the campaign I wonder if he had any idea how wrong things could go, how easily his future would evaporate. Vote for Joshua Bishop. I can see his temp’s bemused face, the self-satisfied sneer, as he ruined my family’s life with every fucking word he spoke. As soon as my brother’s news went public, our family scattered into our own grief trajectories, none of us sure how to handle the sudden scrutiny. And before we could decide whether we forgave him, before we could prove to him that being a part of the Bishop family means more than some sex scandal, some political campaign, before my father could even talk to him, he was gone. The ocean will take us all, I figure, but we were left with his body, shower-dangling, at his mansion in Garibaldi. That house! White carpets like cat fur underfoot. This is where I belonged, not slave-waging away in Vancouver.

Underwater is where I feel best, dolphin-kicking streamlined. Life made sense at 16, when my evening revolved around 58 seconds of frenzied exertion. Fuck real life and the future and the present moment too because I’m suspended mid-dive, dripping, while around me the bleachers erupt with cheering. Ice-wind slashes my cheekbones and stings my eyes shut.

Rotting clumps of mown grass collected on my boots as I worked my way up the St. Catherine’s lawn, past the youth trailer in the parking lot, up towards the stained glass window at the apex of the sanctuary. As kids we played this game called Gestapo where the youth leaders would chase us through the streets of Garibaldi with flashlights while we raced from Diefenbaker Park to the safety of the church. I scanned the treeline for spectators, but I was alone. I was thinking about this thing Turner once told me, about how we’re all just energy morphing from one form to the next. In reality, he was the first one to ditch on Jesus. He was braver than I was, less scared of the social consequences, or maybe he was just more honest.

“When I die and go to Heaven, I’m going to walk into the throne room of God and I’ll have three simple words for him: what the fuck?” Turner told me, perched in the Sky Train window, when I asked him about why he wasn’t coming to church anymore.

“If you had kids, what could they do to stop you from loving them?” he asked me.

“Nothing, I guess.”

“So why are we worshipping a deity who routinely condemns whole swaths of society to Hell? It’s so fucking arbitrary, Bishop! You’re born in India, you’re fucked. You’re born in China, you’re fucked. But if you’re a white Christian dude, everything will be fine and you’ll be a happy little saved boy.”

I didn’t know what to say then, and I still don’t now.

“A God like that doesn’t deserve my love.”

The way Turner talked, he didn’t miss religion. He didn’t miss understanding everything, having that communal reassurance. He liked to be an outlier, a rebel, a heathen.

“You can’t spend your whole life pretending,” Turner said. “Sooner or later you have to admit we wasted our teenage years on a medieval crock of bullshit.”

All that meaning, all those years of prayer, all that struggling and learning—for what? I speared the first campaign sign firmly beside St. Catherine’s front entrance, another one beneath its stained glass, and the final one at the top of their hilly lawn. My brother’s plastic face smiling from each one. Then I sat, butt-damp in the grass, and lit a cigarette. My brother was 33 years old when he died, the same age they nailed Jesus to a fucking cross, but he wasn’t dying for any reason. He didn’t get to close his eyes knowing he’d made some huge sacrifice, knowing that he left the world a better place than when he arrived. My brother died tormented and hopeless, kicking against the porcelain, and who deserves that? How come he got hand-picked for that fate? I felt personally robbed of decades of experience, of the chance to see his face wrinkle, his voice change, his hair go white like Dad’s.

“I really wanted to believe in You,” I told the looming, dark church. “If I had a choice, I’d still be here. You know that.”

I couldn’t believe I was praying. I was still high.

“If there’s something more to this, something I’m missing…I guess what I’m saying is if you’re going to keep me around, You’re going to have to do something.”

I sat there quiet, wondering what God could do, short of flashing across the sky in all His radiance, to convince me of His presence. I heard this quote once, attributed to a 16th century hymn writer: “a God comprehended is not God”. If that’s true, then why even attempt to grasp the mystery? Why call out to Him, why pray, why devote yourself to a deity who can’t (or won’t) respond? When I was a kid I used to make little faith bargains, sending mental requests for God to manipulate the circumstances around me. (“If you really exist, make that kid put something in the garbage can as he walks by.”) Sometimes it even worked. It was like having an Almighty, imaginary friend. But now I’m an adult, a real person, I’ve read fucking Nietzsche. I won’t be so easy to convince. A warm feeling in my chest won’t be enough, a whispered voice deep in my psyche was completely inadequate. I needed something tangible, a Burning Bush-style sign, and I would accept nothing short of a miracle. Maybe my brother could bound out of one of his election signs, let me know this was all an elaborate dream sequence, or maybe Trent would materialize in front of me and explain what happened down in Mexico all those years ago. He’ll tell me our youth group’s implosion was part of some larger, mystical scheme, that St. Catherine’s has some continued role to play in my life. 

Or what? An angel! A demon! Anything. These sorts of visions end up in sermons and heartfelt testimonies, in parables. These experiences alter people’s entire lives, give them purpose and direction. Why not me? Why couldn’t I, just once, be allowed a glimpse of something beyond all this? Why couldn’t I be the one with the faith, the one who understands the light while everyone else stands in the dark?

“Will You speak to me?” I said, my voice trembling. “Are You there?”