#Glitter afresh forever

[marejadilla]

Jason Mowry, “Glitter afresh forever”, 2020, watercolor and Gouache on Arches 300lb Watercolor paper. Was born and lives in Ohio.

[vyragosa]

"Whoever thou mayest be, beloved stranger, whom I meet here for the first time, avail thyself of this happy hour and of the stillness around us, and above us, and let me tell thee something of the thought which has suddenly risen before me like a star which would fain shed down its rays upon thee and every one, as befits the nature of light. - Fellow man! Your whole life, like a sandglass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again, - a long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process. And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole fabric of things which make up your life. This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things:- and for mankind this is always the hour of Noon".

[precursor-ao3]

Natural Selection Finale PT I is live

"Your whole life, like a sandglass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again - a long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process. And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole fabric of things which make up your life. This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things... And for mankind, this is always the hour of Noon." -Friedrich Nietzsche

[AO3] [Wattpad]

[father-of-the-void]

Whoever thou mayest be, beloved stranger, whom I meet here for the first time, avail thyself of this happy hour and of the stillness around us, and above us, and let me tell thee something of the thought which has suddenly risen before me like a star which would fain shed down its rays upon thee and every one, as befits the nature of light. – Fellow man! Your whole life, like a sandglass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again, – a long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process. And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole fabric of things which make up your life. This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things:– and for mankind this is always the hour of Noon.

Friedrich Nietzsche

[letusmeetagain]

"Whoever thou mayest be, beloved stranger, whom I meet here for the first time, avail thyself of this happy hour and of the stillness around us, and above us, and let me tell thee something of the thought which has suddenly risen before me like a star which would fain shed down its rays upon thee and every one, as befits the nature of light. – Fellow man! Your whole life, like a sandglass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again, – a long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process. And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole fabric of things which make up your life. This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things:– and for mankind this is always the hour of Noon".

Nietzsche

[adolphuslongestaffe]

Please Don’t Stop

Please Don’t Stop (Chapter 1)

It was half a grim joke to himself when he typed in the order. Gallows humor from a man who can’t die and how’s that for irony. Only the joke was on him this time. Rejected by death herself. Spit back out and left stranded in this wasteland, a ruined mockery of what he had been. What he’d thought he had been, anyway. Turns out he was just a fool.

He had awakened blind and disoriented, with the grit of sand between his teeth and jagged rocks digging into his body, cold water lapping his feet, seeping in through his boots. He laid there in a senseless stupor for he doesn’t know how long. Days. Weeks. Time is relative. At long last, with a herculean effort of will, he heaved up his heavy, cold-numbed body and rolled over onto his back.

It was then that he saw it. The chiral rainbow, arcing across the sky above him like a mocking smile. Not death. Not the Beach. Blackness swallowed his vision again. His body racked with rage and agony. He wanted to scream, curse, cry out so loudly she’d be forced to hear him, even across the impassable divide. But all his righteous fury was utterly impotent. His parched throat couldn’t even make a sound.

As his eyes and ears grew accustomed to the material world, he became aware of his surroundings. The debris-strewn bank of an ugly, black river, with huge, glittering dragonflies, darting about overhead like they had some urgent business in hand. Stupid goddamned bugs, what could they have to do that’s so all-fired important? He watched them perforce, until the whirring and buzzing of their ceaseless industry grew to an insupportable din, and irritated him to action.

With a muttered curse on all of insect-kind, he managed to rouse his leaden limbs to the task of dragging himself to his feet. Encouraged by this success, he set about clambering up the steep embankment, almost on all fours, till he reached the crest, where he stood panting for a long moment, as if steeling his will for another effort.

Then he began to walk. He had no idea where he was going, only away from the river and the interminable dragonflies. But gradually, as the mist over his eyes continued to clear, he was able to get a general idea where he was. Some stretch of desert in the Central Region. He knew it well. Pallid sand mottled with blasted, black rocks and split by treacherous crevasses. On the ragged lip of one of these, he came upon the first signs of civilization. Rusted-out cargo containers, abandoned by some porter and left to disintegrate in the timefall. A maudlin comparison to himself arose in his mind and he moved on.

For what felt like a life-age of the earth, he stumbled doggedly along, picking his way over time-gnawed terrain, until the white peaks of the mountain loomed into view, towering on the horizon behind their heavy, grey veil. Now he had his bearings. He turned sharply northeast and pushed on, half dead and more than half out of his mind, until almost by surprise, he found himself in his own home, staring at walls plastered haphazardly with papers and maps. Spiderwebs of crimson threads and photographs of…

In his delirious madness, he had a partly formed idea of tearing them all down and burning them, but his body was strained well past its breaking point. He turned and fell like a rock onto his bare cot, prepared to abandon himself to the black depths of sleep. But the rest he needed so badly seemed determined to evade him. He woke by fits and starts, wandering in and out of consciousness, sometimes panting and drenched in a cold sweat, gripped by terror that he’d been buried alive, sometimes taunted by echoes of voices, sometimes tormented by the tomblike silence.

In one of the fits, he saw Fragile, smiling and holding out her hand to him. As soon as he reached for it, her body began to warp and shrink, crumpling up like dry paper and withering away before his eyes, till only her disembodied face remained, still smiling serenely.

In another, he felt his uncle’s hands taking hold of him and dragging him roughly up from his cot. He made a weak attempt to twist free and escape the rain of blows that was certain to follow, but he didn’t even have the strength to open his eyes, let alone fight back. No blows came. A strong hand held him fast by the back of his neck, like a scruffed dog. Calloused fingers forced his mouth open and some tepid, sickly-sweet liquid was poured down his throat, making him choke and sputter. Then the hand released him and the blackness took him again.

When he emerged to a fragmented wakefulness the next time, the memory of this last fit was still heavy on him. He blinked blearily about, but he was alone, and nothing appeared more amiss than usual. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had really been there. He rose on shaky legs and crossed the room to his computer, to call up the security logs. Nothing. It had been one of the fevered hallucinations. Then his strength failed and he fell shivering and chattering into his cot.

Despite its having been a fever dream, the strong impression of that sweet liquid seemed to have had some salutary effect. When he came to, he found his mind clearer and his body less numb. The practical upshot of this turn in his condition primarily being that he was now intensely alive to pain. There was no inch of his battered body that was not aching and sore. He had just begun to muse on the unpleasantness of this sensation, when it was swiftly overwhelmed by a far more immediate and pressing sort of pain.

A deep, gnawing, biting hollowness, right smack in the middle of him. Hunger. Hunger like he had never experienced in his life, not even as a child, when he had been really starving. He rolled onto the floor and crawled to an ammunition container, from which he drew a cylindrical glass canister. Reluctantly, he unscrewed the metal lid, and with a grimace and a shudder, forced himself to swallow several of the canister’s fat, pink little occupants. The hunger pangs eased immediately, and he pulled a drab-green blanket out of the same container and fell into another fevered, uneasy sleep.

He woke again some hours later, skull splitting and hunger clawing at his insides with redoubled savagery. It was all he could do to crawl over and retrieve the canister, containing his few remaining cryptobiotes. Two managed to slip out and waft away toward the ceiling as he devoured the others. He didn’t have the strength to try and get them down, so he laid on the floor glaring up at them as they floated in slow circles, writhing and waggling their idiotic leg nubs.

“Y’goddamn weevils,” he croaked, between labored breaths. “You can’t…stay up there…forever.”

They squeaked blithely and looked immensely stupid.

After a few minutes, the throbbing in his head subsided and he was able to pull himself up to sit in his chair. He was half minded to capture the little shits, but he knew even those disgusting, floating larva wouldn’t help for long. He needed something else. Something to fill the void and warm the cold that was sinking deeper and deeper into the center of his being.

His heart lurched into his throat when the proximity sensors blared a sudden alert. He shook from head to toe, fumbling in his haste to call up the visual feed on his screen. His lip curled in a sneer. Two Bridges porters in white uniforms, with yellow odradek fins spinning like pinwheels over their shoulders. They were carrying cargo, but the tags were addressed to the distro center. Then what the fuck were they doing trespassing?

“…not abandoned, it was linked to the UCA a couple months ago,” one of them was saying, as the two ducked into the shelter entrance.

“Sam Bridges must’ve linked it, then,” the other remarked, taking a swig from his canteen. “He signed all the preppers out here.”

“Looks like he did, yeah. Let’s see. Registered occupants….uh…just one. Mr. Peter Englert. Oh. Missing, presumed deceased or traveling. I guess he won’t mind us waiting out the weather for a little while, then.”

“It’s too bad about Sam. Guy was a hero.”

“Still haven’t found him, huh?”

The other responded with a doleful shake of his head. “They’ve had the whole UCA searching for him for weeks and…nothing.”

“They say he’s dead.”

“Nah, not Sam. I don’t believe it. Hey, look. Timefall let up. We better get moving if we want to make it to the distro center before it starts coming down again.”

With that, they hurried away, heralded by the proximity sensor alert, informing them that weapon restrictions had been lifted. Inside the shelter, the ostensible Mr. Peter Englert sat stunned and listless, staring through his screen into the middle distance, till a sudden wrench in his gut set him panting and shaking afresh.

Still haven’t found him.

They say he’s dead.

Shows what they know. That fucking motherfucker isn’t dead. He can’t be dead. Sam can’t die. He can’t. He wouldn’t.

But…he might decide to disable his cufflinks and fuck off to god knows where without telling anyone. Wouldn’t that be a good joke. And it’d be just like Sam. And what if those Bridges morons had been moving heaven and earth to find him and he just showed up one day and took a delivery. And wouldn’t an order from the dearly departed Mr. Englert be just the thing to smoke him out.

So he ordered a pizza and laughed to himself. A dead, dry laugh that rang hollow even in his own ears. But just the thought of facing Sam again set his teeth on edge and got a flicker of the old fire burning in his frozen veins. Sam was worth fighting. The only man worthy to exchange blows and draw blood with the herald of the apocalypse. He clung to the idea with all his will. Buoyed himself up and sustained himself with it, and began to strategize.

He knew he was in no condition for a fight, but he would be if he could get his hands on a BT. A few of ‘em, if possible. That presented the first problem. Shrieking bastards knew a predator as well as any wild animal, and he doubted he could compel them to come and be devoured in his current state. The closest BT area was the former shopping mall and current crater outside the much larger crater that had been Middle Knot.

Even the smaller crater would be an impossible trek for a man who could barely drag himself out of bed to take a piss, so he had two options. Expend his last lingering bit of energy trying to summon a BT, or wait around for some more hapless porters to wander into his web and shoot them. Couple of voidouts to recharge the ol’ battery and he’d be good as new.

He was inclined toward this second option, but it only presented more problems. All the porters wore cufflinks now, so the deaths would certainly be noticed well before the voidouts. Bridges would send someone, then, and it wouldn’t be Sam. It’d be security men, with shaky gun-hands and soft, city-raised bodies, reeking of fear so strong the stench’d made him sick.

The order, though…that might be enough on its own to bring Bridges people down on his little shelter like a swarm of out-of-shape ants. But no, it wouldn’t. They’d have been down here to toss the place long time since if they’d known who Mr. Peter Englert really was. Sam was the only one who knew and it looked like the asshole had kept his secrets. Or he hadn’t got a chance to tell anyone.

No. Not that. Sam couldn’t be dead. Everyone thought he was dead too, and here he was as alive as…well, as alive as he could be. But if Bridges did know he was alive, at least there’d be some action. Something to wake him up out of this heavy, clinging numbness. Anything. God damn it, Sam, he’d give anything just to—but he swallowed the thought and raked his hand across his face, angrily dashing away tears that weren’t black anymore.

He almost wished he’d shot those porters, come what may. Christ knew he could use the energy now. He thought vaguely about the Demens, then dismissed the idea out of hand. They thought he was dead, too, and that was fine with him. He was as good as dead anyway, as far as this world was concerned. Cut off from his source of power and from the only person he’d stopped to give two shits about in his life. Alone.

Alone.

The word rang in his ears, mocking him as he sat waiting, staring at the screen till his eyes burned and blurred. When keeping himself upright was too great a toll on his decimated strength, he laid down on his cot and shut his eyes, still expecting every moment to hear the little confirmation chirp, notifying him that the order had been accepted.

Alone.

After a few hours, he became anxious and fretful. It was a pizza order with a timed tag. Someone should have taken it by now. Maybe…maybe this was a good sign. Maybe Sam had seen the order and had to travel some distance to retrieve it. He would come. He would. He had to.

Getting up to check the screen over and over again, he expended a degree of effort he could ill afford, and it ran him utterly ragged. At last, his body refused to obey him any longer. He collapsed on the floor and lay there like a dead thing. His mind began to drift in and out of fevered dreams again. Images warped and coalesced before him. Echoes of voices. Hissing whispers that became shrieking, hideous laughter and croaked in his ears.

Alone.

Sam is gone. You are alone. Alone forever.

Alone.

Sam. Amelie. Fragile. The dead captain with his skeleton soldiers. His uncle’s big, rough hands dragging him out of bed to beat him. But somewhere in his deeply submerged consciousness, he felt himself awaken and cry out in something that was not quite terror, but close kin to it. An icy, bracing thrill, that electrified his wandering mind and snapped it to sudden, painful awareness. He choked and sputtered, spitting out sickly-sweet liquid and pushing away the thing that dispensed it, as he tried in vain to twist away.

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” a voice growled.

A husky voice, with an irritating, high-pitched grate in it. A voice he knew as well as his own. The canteen was forced back into his mouth, and he swallowed the drink obediently until it was taken away. He finally managed to force his heavy eyelids open, then a ghastly smile spread across his pale and wasted face.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” Sam demanded, but with no real heat.

“Sam,” he rasped, tugging petulantly at a loose cargo strap. “Sam.”

“What, Higgs, what?”

“My pizza…better not…be fuckin’ cold.”

Sam let go of Higgs abruptly and he fell back on his cot, which elicited a hoarse, drunken laugh from the god particle.

“You are such an asshole,” Sam said, taking up his icy-cold hands and beginning to chafe them vigorously in his own. “What are you trying to do, get fucking locked up?”

“I’m just tryin’ to get pizza,” Higgs slurred. “I have to eat.”

“No, you have to lay low and stay off the radar. You know you’re the most wanted man in history, right?”

“But I knew…knew you’d come.”

“Of course you fucking knew, I told you I would when I was here before.”

Higgs attempted to open his eyes and failed. “You were here before?”

“Yeah. You don’t remember?”

“Thought I dreamed it.”

“I should’ve figured. You were out of your mind. Said they were gonna bury you alive and begged me not to go. I told you I had to go but I’d come back.”

“And you came back.”

“I said I would.”

“But…why?” Higgs managed to force his eyes open this time, and blinked up at Sam in the dim glow of the safety light.

Sam turned away and moved to stand up, but Higgs arrested his large, rough hands and held them in his pathetically weak grasp.

“Please,” he said haltingly, as if the word were unfamiliar. “Please…don’t stop.”

Sam frowned, hesitating for a moment, then resumed the futile occupation of attempting to coax circulation back into his enemy’s unresponsive limbs. Exhausted as he was, Higgs kept his eerily large, blue eyes tenaciously fixed on Sam, as if he feared he’d vanish the moment he lost sight of him. When they began to droop at last, he gave a jolt and they shot back open, with feverish intensity.

“Sleep,” Sam said, still not meeting his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why are you…why are you doin’ this, Sam?” Higgs asked, almost plaintively. “I killed so many people. Hell, I even killed you a few times. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve brought about the real end of the world.”

“I know.”

“So why? I know you said you would, but why’d you come in the first place?”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but even and clear. “Because one day—it doesn’t matter if it’s a thousand years from now or a hundred thousand—one day, you and I will be the only ones left. And when humanity has finally returned to the dust and the last city has crumbled into ruin, and it’s just you and me, left to wander the earth till the heat-death of the sun, this will all seem like pretty petty shit, won’t it.”

Higgs opened his mouth, but found his voice too choked with emotion to form an answer. Thus, he could do nothing but nod stupidly in response to this perfect, beautiful (as he thought it) speech.

“Good. Then we understand each other,” Sam said, glancing up at him, then away again. “Jesus, you’re so fucking cold. I’ll put up a safehouse in the morning and get you a blood transfusion and a proper hot shower.”

“There’s…materials and all that shit in the fabricator. Take anything you need,” Higgs mumbled drowsily, then his eyes snapped open with an expression of panic as Sam pulled away and stood up. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. I’m taking off some of this gear. I told you to sleep.”

Higgs dutifully shut his eyes, then opened them again and watched as Sam unfastened buckles and unhitched his pack, then stripped off the dark-blue jumpsuit, under which he wore a sleeveless, black compression shirt and black athletic pants. The skin that was exposed was marked all over with bruises of varying age and severity, bordering bizarre, flesh-white handprints, which his observer noted with a pang.

Sam kicked off his boots, then turned and put a knee on the cot, as if he meant to lie down in it, but Higgs gave a palpable start and shied away, wide-eyed and almost panting.

“What are—what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m keeping you warm,” Sam said flatly, rolling him onto his side. “Don’t be a fucking baby about it.”

Higgs gasped as Sam’s astonishingly strong arms encircled his torso like constricting snakes. “But you can’t touch people, you can’t—your aphenphosmphobia!”

“Not a problem anymore,” Sam said with a yawn, holding him fast against his warm, solid body. “Now, will you please shut up? I’m trying to get some sleep.”

[aquagustd]

I’m such a sucker for happy endings 😭 and idk if I can take an angsty end to atg, a series I’m heavily invested in. Ik jungkook still has some hold on mc’s heart and meanwhile we see yoongi be the bestest friend in existence to her (possibly because he loves her ? 👀). But with the way the story is set up, I’m assuming the worst 😩😖 especially with the “all that glitters isn’t gold” reference in the title— it makes me think that in the end, jungkook will never really be good for her (or anyone lmAo) but especially mc because his character is his ultimate downfall and mc will be forever heartbroken :-(

“All that glitters isn’t gold” doesn’t apply to the story entirely, just Jungkook’s character. An anon explained it here.

Jungkook had “broken” her heart multiple times in the story, yet she’s still trying to start afresh and pick herself back up. What could he do at this point that will hurt her even further?

You never know, things could change at the end. And it depends on your idea of a happy ending ;)

[kingdomofdiscord]

Your whole life, like a sandglass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again. A long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process. And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole fabric of things which make up your life.

This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things.

And for mankind this is always the hour of Noon.

--  Nietzsche

[libidomechanica]

Low above

Low above. Quoth a Muezzin unto Crested summer your lovers he is a mirror, “tirra lirra:”      while both sweet since it with his held, and in the web and casts and keepe. If you took desired,   grow by the child, what is the Rules, all potatoes she would have scaped the broad clean. Is, What until we cease it.

If you that I am drawn carol, mournful, holy, she seemd answer, glittering fill my coldness went betimes thine to war again to daunt you; take my side, you once her father, stillness; leaving page music of the air, and Echo there, she worlds bicycle goes the shall please in bigger note; these thing, with strain that hath some   there better seed without afar, while ’“t was from youth shy, the wonder where the rotten while love beyond it spry cordage of all my luve to knows what account of time so befell,   and barren bride, fixd soul.

Perfect knows, where Vertues the sun delight?

  That happens to sport the churls, and petals of talk; nothing somewhile he vomits (he call, save one, its her quivering house understand. Her Maiestie, where you had kiss afresh, and love (which stupidity, and without discrimination was possible,   and action never be; I will pay then what is crying Bess, to man, and much servitors.) Misted legge this come to please;   at last

  All that mystery of my beautiful forever as a marriage;   a smaller. and also with thee (if I really, too soft to show, the place taketh his dart: but if it were closer, ready thy teeth.   Sleepe again. Can warm until his sheets, do you know you like a sign, to make their crimson, and frownd in sleep twelve dance of thy infinite conscious stone, or thou leave to dark rain: yet in barren bride from the murderous band, and scandal hit.

Dawn against a rueful look bright of one of Separate cages,”   famous people chosen a charmd;   Philosophy,

  till he cannot be hard a voice to him, her face turnd to my hair falsely we. here is the whiles our bones to courtly troublesome fault—I kept that oppose it—inter with other, when only has but renown,) but no matter might fade nor less they only this of a garden those who should everywhere apace, no doubt thats a name, ambition, the conceals. “T was shoot out, and then am I, who was a couplings, and Italy (at least since had watched him down.” But care,   ill write,) to raise to eat the worlds due, by the deemd a horror of God, God acceptable and eke to some troubles me, knowing it) were near the cold ran from the urchin, and noble thou leave thought, the prove my Chloris mair  than their peer, shapes of advances, sweet to please a bore thou art may safely mined well connections—these Angels and kind?

And nature hearth, purple night,—without a strip there we are there hungry spell.

[hope-alamode]

Glitterin’ for His Glory (The Angels Edition)

Iridescence immersed Rockaway Boulevard. It wasn’t the iridescence of the makeup coated on the faces of the daughters of the King but rather was it the iridescence of His majesty radiating for over 10 blocks and for all the world to see.

The Hope NYC Christmas Parade has become a Christmas spectacle for Jamaica, Queens. Floats line Rockaway Boulevard and all for one purpose, to point to Jesus. This year’s theme was The Gifts of Christmas in which the Greatest Gift of All was, is, and forever will be Jesus.

All of the ladies adorned in the most gorgeous of colors were made up by the most extensive makeup team (Pastor Sharo, Hazel Phillips, Melanie Teejue, Candice Ramkhelawan, and Lois Fray)

Jodi was a walking firework as her eyes were gleaming and the most beautiful blue laid upon her eyelids.

Avajé was reminiscent of the brightest green emeralds that catch your eye from any direction.

Lorena was ablaze in a fiery orange that made the very night look like a bright summer day.

The richness of Keenya’s golden attire was undeniable.

A crimson shade upon Shenel was full of passion.  

Why do all of this? Why glitter for His glory?

Simply because Jesus is the Greatest Gift of All.

It was a wondrous and magnificent day in Bethlehem when Jesus, the Son of God was born of the virgin Mary. Unbeknownst to many that same baby boy would be the Messiah promised long ago from the Father, who had come to take upon our sins so we could be free and have a genuine relationship with God the Father. This gift may not have been in the most lavish wrapping or with the biggest bow but it was a gift that would keep on giving. The gift of Jesus would unleash to us the gift of eternal life. No longer do we have to live unforgiven or without peace because Jesus made a way that we would have mercy afresh to us every single day (Lamentations 3:22-23) and a peace that would calm us in every storm.

This Christmas don’t let the gifts underneath your tree make you overlook what the Greatest Gift of All is. Jesus came to save, not just me but you too. Whether you’ve unwrapped it or not, the gift of Jesus is yours this Christmas!