#Godly Counsel

[kdmiller55]

The Suffering Need God, Not Guilt

1 Then Zophar the Naamathite answered and said: 2 “Should a multitude of words go unanswered,     and a man full of talk be judged right? 3 Should your babble silence men,     and when you mock, shall no one shame you? 4 For you say, ‘My doctrine is pure,     and I am clean in God’s eyes.’ 5 But oh, that God would speak     and open his lips to you, 6 and that he would tell you the secrets of…

[afaithfulsower]

The Importance of Wise Counsel

Life tends to flow smoother when we act on sound advice, but how quickly it can spin out of control when we act on bad advice. Click/Tap below to read about what the Bible says about seeking wise counsel?

But his delight is in the Law of the Lord, And on His Law he meditates day and night. Psalm 1:2 Have you ever been misled or made a poor decision based on what proved to be bad advice from someone? More than likely, we all have at some point in time, but here is a more interesting question: Have you ever given someone lousy advice? Again, more than likely, we all have and for some, perhaps…

[awideplace]

No wisdom, no understanding, no counsel can avail against the LORD.

Proverb 21:30

[mishwanders]

I charged up my ancient tome of a kindle and it feels like I’m holding a Nokia in my hands - this mf stills works!

[thinkingonscripture]

God Alone is My Rock - Psalm 62

Psalm 62 is a picture of confidence in the Lord as David faces a threatening situation and counsels his own soul to operate and abide by divine viewpoint. God and His Word give David stability in his soul.

Introduction: Psalm 62 is a psalm of David in which he is experiencing unjust attacks and feels threatened by enemies who seek to topple him. In this psalm, David counsels his soul to trust in God alone. When anxious fears arise, he is conscious to turn to the Lord and not people or riches. Trusting in the Lord alone, and waiting in silence, are key features of the psalm. The Psalm is broken into…

[dwuerch-blog]

A Wisdom Diploma

What if all those students who recently graduated had taken “wisdom” courses that gave them the keys for a life of success — no matter what profession they chose? For sure, those wisdom courses would have helped us avoid the School of Hard Knocks! That’s a school we go to without realizing we enrolled. Despite all our time and effort, we still haven’t graduated. Why? Because we haven’t tapped…

[igate777]

[world-prayers]

Prayer For Divine Counsel: Godly Advice and Sacred Direction

Lost in the labyrinth of life, tangled in thorny anxieties, we often fumble for the map. Advice pours in, yet clarity remains elusive. But what if the most profound guidance exists beyond human whispers, nestled in the wisdom of the heavens? This is where the transformative power of prayer for divine counsel steps in. Weaving Light Through Confusion: When confronted by crossroads, when shadows…

[pastorkevinc]

What Every Christian Should Remember about Jeffrey Epstein and His Story

What Every Christian Should Remember about Jeffrey Epstein and His Story Hundreds of pages of documents begin to be released related to Jeffrey Epstein and those who were named in the court filings from a defamation lawsuit brought against Ghislaine Maxwell by Epstein victim Virginia Giuffre in 2015, after she branded her a liar over her claims that she was sexually abused as a minor. Over the…

[midnightprayertroops]

Daily Devotional "Giving Godly Counsel"

Daily Devotional “Giving Godly Counsel”Be different!October 15, 2023 “Concerning you, my brethren, I myself also am convinced that you yourselves are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, and able also to admonish one another” (Romans. 15:14). Scripture is the source of godly counsel. In recent years the question of who is competent to counsel has become an important issue in the…

[the-harvest-field]

Prayer for a Flourishing Career: Finding God's Guidance and BlessingsPrayer and Career

In our journey through life, our career plays a significant role. It is more than just a source of income; it shapes our identity and impacts our overall well-being. As Christians, we believe in the power of prayer, and seeking God’s guidance for our career choices is essential. Let us explore how prayer can be a powerful tool in aligning our career paths with God’s purpose and…

[kdmiller55]

Too Wise for His Own Good

23 “If there be for him an angel,     a mediator, one of the thousand,     to declare to man what is right for him, 24 and he is merciful to him, and says,     ‘Deliver him from going down into the pit;     I have found a ransom; 25 let his flesh become fresh with youth;     let him return to the days of his youthful vigor’; 26 then man prays to God, and he accepts him;     he sees his face with…

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[genderkoolaid]

As a teen, a friend got them interested in evangelical Christianity, which seemed to offer the promise of ­transformation. They joined a church youth group and began studying the Bible. Soon after, Markham found an online forum for a ministry that supports “those affected by unwanted homosexuality.” Markham didn’t identify as transgender at the time, but to their mentors in the conversion therapy program, Markham says, sexuality was inextricable from gender identity. “A woman being attracted to women—she was confused about her gender identity, confused about what it means to be a godly woman,” they explain. “And so what they end up doing, therapeutically, is attempting to police and reform your gender presentation.” [...] The worse Markham’s anxiety got, the more they became convinced that only God could save them. They enrolled at a small Christian college and found an outside church that offered group therapy. Other members of the group were there to overcome a variety of issues: eating disorders, alcoholism, or depression. “I was there talking about ‘gay,’” Markham recalls bitterly. The counselor, in training to become a licensed practitioner, told Markham to “write out every single same-sex ­attraction or ­gender confusion–related thought, dream, action, behavior that had ever materialized in my life per my memory, and describe the way that it hurt me, it hurt God, and hurt other people.” When they sought help from college administrators, they required Markham to attend biweekly sessions with a women’s chaplain who counseled them on “biblical womanhood” and made them read a book called God’s Little Princess.

Markham is also quoted in this article on the same topic.

[ditoob]

Counsel to the Young Prince of Ithaka

“You see, Odysseus,” my grandfather shifted his weight on the unsteady branches of an old olive tree. We were far outside of the palace, away from the view of the royal guard and my father. He loved these places, trails that wouldn’t necessarily lead you anywhere in particular, and there were many in Ithaka, though it was a small island. He plucked a small bunch of olives from the branches, cupping them neatly in his hand as he came back down towards me. He passed me one — purple, soft and overripe. I grimaced as it fell on my hands, mother always said they were bad for you. “You wouldn’t eat one of those would you? They’re much too old now”, he dropped the rest of the purple olives on the grass.

“Oh don’t make that face!”, he said as he reached into his old leather bag, “Here! You’ll prefer this”. His arm outstretched toward me, holding an apple, an ugly, rotten thing. It seemed to crumble every time he swung his arms around to speak — which he always did. “Appearances are very important, young man, aren’t they?”, he said confidently, Grandpa Autolycus always knew what he spoke of, he had lived a life full of experience. “You wouldn’t eat this, would you?” he held it nearer to me. “No! Eww”, I grimaced, it smelled even worse than it looked. “But what if I…” he held my attention as he passed the rotten apple behind his back, from his right hand to his left, and out came a shining, almost golden, apple. They said it was his gift, as the son of lord Hermes.

“How did you do that!” I was shocked, my eyes filled with wonder at the gleaming fruit in front of me. It seemed to glow as the sun struck it through the leaves of the olive trees that surrounded us. It almost looked godly, like something Lady Athena or the mighty Lord Zeus would dine on. I inched ever closer towards it, its beauty mesmerizing me. The smell of rot and disgust hit my nose the moment the apple was up to my young face, and I darted back as the horrible stench approached me. “Appearances can be deceiving, wouldn’t you say?” he laughed as I attempted to get rid of the smell that had now plagued my nose and would disappointingly remain with me for the remainder of the day.

“But one can change their appearance” I saw the apple transform with a snap of his fingers, crumbling back into the rotten mess it was before “Even the mightiest of men can look poor and wretched if given enough practice. Even you, Odysseus!” He said as he ruffled my hair, laughing as the strands began to cover my gray eyes. In between laughs I stammered, “Stop!”. He managed to pick out some better olives, green ones, which we ate as we watched birds fly over Ithaka. I laid by him as Helios traveled below the Earth and night came. Nights were quiet in the island, only the sound of the crashing waves and the leaves of olive trees being rustled by the wind could be heard, perhaps the sound of a boar if you were unlucky.

“I taught Herakles how to wrestle, you know?” he laughed as he lifted me above his shoulders, “You’re lying!” I shouted with doubt as I laughed along. He stopped for a second, an almost imperceptible second, “I lie to everyone else, young man”, his face turned serious, “but not you. You’re too clever for that”. It was the first time he’d spoken to me without the hint of a chuckle in his voice. “Do not forget this, Odysseus. You are more clever than you know”. I did not understand him then –most of his words fell on attentive, but deaf ears— he spoke to me as though I were an older man, after all. A man such as he, bearded and full of experience. But I was not an old man like him, I was young, spry, and endlessly energetic. Though his words stuck with me even more than the scar that marks my thigh, and I would understand his counsel. 

As we reached the castle, and he ignited my imagination with tales of monsters and gods — how lord Hermes stole the cattle of great Apollo, or how Perseus slayed the terrifying Medusa — until I fell unconscious on his lap and Eurycleia lifted me to my bedchambers.

“He loves you more than anything else in Ithaka,” she said as she tucked me into bed, “You were named by him you know, not your father”. I had heard the story before, my father and Eurycleia had brought the young boy, the heir to the throne of Ithaka, to the lap of his grandfather. He looked at the boy with joy, his young, gray eyes reminding him of adventures of his past. Eurycleia recommended the name Polyaretos, “most wished”, she said with tears in her eyes, “we have prayed much for this young boy”. My father seemed pleased, though my grandfather disagreed. “Odysseus” he told him, “hated one, that shall be his name”. He did not laugh, Eurycleia maintains that she could see tears welling up in his eyes. My father was opposed to marking the next heir to the throne with such a bad omen, yet my grandfather persisted. “Give me this, young man” he said to King Laertes, “this boy will be far more than all of Ithaka, I will assure it”. He stood, holding the baby softly to his chest and walking towards the young king, “name him Odysseus”. 

No one is quite sure why I was called Odysseus, some don’t even believe it is of our native tongue. But it was important for my grandfather, regardless of what it meant for my future. I was important to him, perhaps he saw me as a second chance for the actions he regretted. “He was a haunted man” some would say, but they did not know the beaming, grinning Autolycus I knew. The old man who would run through the rocky hills of Ithaka with an infant on his shoulders who could not contain his excitement, or would involve his grandson in his many mischievous plans, to the delight of the young boy. He was a man who would do anything for his family.

I am older now, 22 years of age, expecting a young boy, Telemachos. I will do all I can to see him grow, to advise him and show him the beauty of our kingdom. I will be there for his first steps, for his first words, for the first time his beard begins to grow. He will be my pride, my joy, my world. I understand now, perhaps, why that young, gray-eyed boy meant so much to the old man.

-Odysseus, father of Telemachos

[thisisnotthenerd]

bigger and better things

an exploration of the bad kids as children and what it means to be destined for greatness

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ii. kristen applebees

kristen applebees is born ordinary, a healthy child with a rosy glow about her.

they name her with the hope that she will be devout, that she will walk in the light of sol through helio's cornfields.

pastor amelia anoints kristen's forehead with blessed corn syrup as she chants blessings for kristen's life and afterlife in soft cadence and waits for the word of helio. she watches as a soft glow shines from kristen, innocent and peaceful as the congregation rejoices, knowing helio has chosen this child.

"this child is meant for great things. she will bask in the light and is destined to join helio in the great fields of heaven. she will be a shepherd to the flock of believers, a force of goodness and godliness."

(she is shepherd to a flock of one, renewing her devotion through doubt and an understanding of the mysteries of the universe)

when she is young there is no doubt that she is the chosen of helio; she reads her holy book every day, reverent and pious. she prays for the good of her family, for her younger brothers, for her friends from church camp, that they all might be safe and protected in helio's loving arms.

kristen looks up to pastor amelia, listening to sermons with an open mind and heart, singing hymns with every ounce of her being. she attends the harvest festival, bright and loving, even as others fall to temptation beside her, and face the punishment of their teachers. she inspires with her recitation of the holy word.

she learns the meaning of the archaic elvish from each psalm she reads and feels a sliver of doubt enter her heart.

if kristen is chosen for the great cornfields above, why then are not all believers? there are many stories of sol's wrath against sinners--is it fair that they cannot repent in the light of helio's mercy?

what defines those others as sinners? what condemns those who worship other gods to an eternity of pain and suffering? if one can do good all their life and yet still be punished for a single moment of temptation, but others are simply promised a place beside helio, what makes them different?

she listens to her mother and father speak words of hatred against nonhumans, against nonbelievers, and thinks, are we not all meant to do as what has been done unto us? to love one another and share in bountiful harvest? to seek the growth of the flock in every moment?

if helio ascended for the sake of humanity, why guard his blessings so closely? why not cherish every being who steps forth into his light?

she speaks to him in daily prayers, wishing and pleading for answers.

she receives a feeling of warmth, a confirmation of divine presence but little else.

(there will come a day when kristen speaks to deities as an equal, each seeking her worship and counsel in a moment between death and resurrection)