#Hezekiah is everything to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eboneeblak · 7 months ago

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Touched (Short Story)

A supernatural Southern Gothic tale. (6 minute read)

CW: Ableism, Murder, and Domestic Violence

Everything is black, an endless pit of nothingness. In the void, where no constraints exist, I gleefully experience many sensations. The sound of ambiance lingers around me. The air feels…fuzzy on my skin. The cool grassy earth beneath me sinks. Gravity weighs down on my shoulders, rendering me still. I wince. There is a sharpness that pokes at my flesh. Annoyed, I clench my hands and pull!

Go away.

GO AWAY!

“Ophelia, baby!”

I hear a voice from outside, and the comforting blanket of nothingness passes away. Finally, I open my eyes; it is my mother. Her eyebrows furrow with concern. Her velvety, well-manicured hands clasp mine. I see a clothing tag in it.

Stupid itchy tags.

“Baby, Sister Inez was askin’ how

speech therapy was goin’?”

It was dark now, and we were still alone in the church's parking lot. Choir practice only lasts two hours. However, in my mother’s usual fashion, her chatting forced us to stay late. My eyes glaze over Sister Inez, and I notice her scowl. Her burgundy lipstick lips tighten.

“It’s going okay.”

I look down at my shiny black shoes that Mother bought, notice the cute bows, and excitedly squiggle my toes inside.

“Ophelia has only been in it a few

weeks; the therapist says it can take a

while for her to catch up to regular

kids.”

Sister Inez’s judgmental eyes gawk at me, sharp enough to pierce a gaping hole.

“That daughter of yours reminds me of

someone; she was also a little…

different.”

For a woman who proclaims to be so holy and sanctimonious, Sister Inez has barely mustered an ounce of empathy and kindness towards me and my mother since we arrived several months ago.

“We’ll pray and hope she turns out

better.”

Mother and I had to travel across four states to escape my father’s abuse; the place where we are supposed to be safe has yet to make us feel welcomed.

“I’m afraid we can’t pray away what

Ophelia got goin’ on.”

“What a shame.”

My mother’s soft palms began to feel clammy and tense; I must escape this conversation.

“Water.”

I make a beeline for the church.

“Ophelia, don't take too long, dear.”

Cold water splashes into my mouth. A creaky air conditioner buzzes above, and the sound is deafening. I look around, continuing to quench my thirst. New Hope A.M.E. has seen better days; vinyl walls peel away, revealing the 200-year-old frame. Beneath the wooden floors is a mismatched array of new and old bark, with small cracks cascading across the floor, each getting larger and larger….

“What is that?”

It’s a shadow. My eyes lift, revealing a dark figure of a woman. I blink, and she vanishes. A chill shivers throughout me. My body stiffens; a deep scream traps itself in my throat. Slowly, my eyes search the room. Passing the wooden doors, there's a loud creak; instinctually, I follow the sound.

Moonlight beamed through the colorful stained windows, accentuating the dusty pews. As I inch down the aisle, the old floor bends under my weight with each step.

Demons?

My eyes examine the small, quaint church back and forth. The pulpit sits steeply above the congregation. “Minister Hezekiah Thomas” is embellished in gold on an oversized dark cherry chair. It stands tall like a throne directly in the middle of the pulpit.

A foggy memory clouds my mind.

Evil…

Minister Thomas’s boisterous sermon lingers in my head.

“Demons often disguise themselves as human and come to earth to harm us good Christian folk.”, so he says.

But why didn’t that woman hurt me?

Could she be something else?

Gravity rushes past me, I'm suddenly falling. Bracing my hands, I strike the hard floor, wincing in pain. I had just fallen on the edge of a staircase. The red carpet is beaten and worn. Flustering, I push myself up. There's a shrill, almost childlike cry from above, then I see her…

Her eyes glowing…

Her face was veiled in black.

She stands still…

Watching me…

“Who are you?”

Before I could utter the last syllables, she vanished. Footsteps run above me. I dash past the staircase, loudly creaking as I stomp my way up.

At the top, there’s a small corridor. A small bulb dimly lights the hallway. To the right, a door is wide open. Hanging from it is a sign that reads “Minister’s Office.” I catch my breath. A cold breeze brushes past my body. Trembling, I tread inside.

The smell of mothballs burns into my nostrils. Minister Thomas’s office is quaint but heavily decorated. White curtains cover a large window that overlooks the church’s parking. A worn bible is on his desk, and a family portrait is next to it.

I pick it up; it's Minister Thomas; he wears large silver-wired glasses that match his salt and paper hair. Next to him is First Lady Thomas and his four teenage sons; they all smile except for her. I place the framed picture down and notice an open drawer below.

I persist through piles of paperwork until I notice the back of a photo. I turn it around and see a couple, but I could hardly make out their faces.

Quickly, I pull the curtains back and re-examine the photo.

The woman’s smile is bright, her coily hair is pulled tightly into a French roll, and her eyes shimmer with colorful eye shadow. Next to her is a visibly younger Minister Thomas.

“Could this be her?”

I look out the window; Mother and Sister Inez are gone. The office doors slam behind me! A familiar chill touches my skin; a strong force holds me still. I look down and see no arms. My heart palpates. Slowly, I turn my head, quivering in fear.

Large, black, and socketless eyes stare back; a decaying black veil covers her face. What should be her mouth widens, and an ear-splitting cry erupts.

The scream wrestling within me explodes. There's a loud banging on the door. I shut my eyes.

“Ophelia!”

I cry out in terror, stricken with fright.

“Please don't hurt me, demon!”

I am held tighter.

“Ophelia, open your eyes, baby!”

It’s my mother's voice. I open my eyes to see her warm almond ones staring back. Relief washes over me, and I collapse into her arms.

“This girl has no business being in

Minister Emmanuel's office. It is

strictly off-limits!”

My mother's soft, plush skin calms me.

—————————————————————

“What scared you back there,

honey?”

I squeeze Mr. Charlie, my stuffed bear. The old Honda Civic bumps over the dirt road leading away from the church.

“Was Minister Thomas married to

another woman?”

My mother has a stunned look on her face.

“Why do you ask that, baby?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“Just curious.”

She sighs.

“He was a long time ago, according to

Sister Inez. Her name was Violet. She

was quiet, kind of like you.”

“Do you know what happened to

her?”

My mother stares at me through the rear-view window; she grips the steering wheel harder.

“Well, Sister Inez says Minister Thomas always seemed angry at her. Said she couldn't bear any children for him. After a while, she stopped showing up at church. Then, one day, Minister Thomas announced to the congregation that the poor girl cracked her skull on a gardening hoe and died. There was no funeral; she just disappeared, everyone moved on, and he got a new, pretty wife, First Lady Thomas.”

I look down at the photo studying Violet’s face.

“What you got in your hand,

baby?”

I stuff the photo into the pocket of my velvet dress and lean back into my seat. I watch the maze of trees pass us by.

“You saw her poor ghost, too,

didn't you?”

I stare at my mother through her rear-view mirror; slowly, I nod my head.

"I don't believe a garden hoe killed her,

Mama."

My mother rolls down the window and lights a cigarette.

"Me neither, baby."

I sink back into my seat and close my eyes, waiting for a pool of darkness to embrace me and retreating into nothingness. Instead, a pair of large socket-less eyes gaze back at me.

Demons ain’t the only ones harming us.

THE END.

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focsle · 2 years ago

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Whaler Living Quarters

Good morning! As promised last night, here's a Post about the different living quarters on a whaleship.

On an unnamed whaler in 1850, Charles Nordhoff and his friend ‘Bill’ boarded the ship that was to be their home for years. Upon passing the captain’s quarters they were surprised to see, scrawled in large chalk letters above the door, “Hezekiah Ellsprett’s berth”. Hezekiah was not the captain, but instead a greenhand who had quite a trick played on him.

When a whaleship first put to sea, men clambered into the ship with their belongings to claim their preferred bunk. Nordhoff discussed Hezekiah’s search, writing “after a deliberate scrutiny of the premises, fore and aft, [he] had arrived at the sage conclusion, that a certain state-room contained more of the elements of comfort, than any other place which had met his eye”. Unsure if such a room was his to claim, Hezekiah asked the ship keeper if it was available to him. The ship keeper, apparently in the mood to do a bit of mischief, wryly told the new sailor that “he had an indisputable right to choose whatever berth suited him best - and advised him for further security to write his name upon the door, and place his bedding in the bunk or standing bed-place - which he immediately did.”

“One can imagine the Captain’s surprise, on coming on board the next day, to find himself a trespasser in his own domain,” Nordhoff wrote. “But words would fail to describe the unaffected look of astonishment displayed in Hezekiah's sapient countenance, when he was informed that that was ‘not his end of the ship.’ “

So, let us begin at the part of the ship that was truly set aside for Hezekiah and his fellows. Everything else under a readmore so people don't hate me because there are many pictures and journal entries. And also cw for some of the descriptions being Gross.

The Forecastle

The forecastle (fo'c'sle) was the home of the ordinary sailors and greenhands. Located at the forward part of the ship—where the pitch would be most greatly felt—was the home of some 20-odd men. It was incredibly cramped, lined with bunks and hammocks and, once everyone’s seachests were brought in, very little floor space. Still, this is where men would sleep, eat, and pass their leisure, and would be their enduring home for 3-4 years.

It was the space on the Charles W. Morgan (now located at the Mystic Seaport Museum) that, along with the blubber room, felt most visceral to me when I visited. Even on a cold day when I was the only one there, the humidity and closeness of the air was palpable. But even standing among that network of bunks, the reality of that space couldn’t be fully understood without also bringing back those 20 sailors who shared it, and all the sensory elements their presence entailed. Whalers wrote frequently about the terrible living conditions on their ship, but in my opinion none wrote so grotesquely of his quarters than greenhand William Abbe aboard the Atkins Adams in 1858. He discussed the first night:

“I turned in + spite of the close air of the forecastle I slept soundly for two or three hours — By this time the forecastle was filthy in the extreme. The sick men vomited on the floor and the vomit ran down between the chests or collected in heaps on the floor. To this was added bits of meat and bread—onion skins—spilt coffee—tobacco spittle—forming in all a disgusting compound.”

Even when the seasickness abated, the filth of the forecastle didn’t improve. A year in, he described the olfactory quality of the whalers’ home in his characteristic prose:

“What habits we have? Cleaning our pans with a rinse of coffee or tea in the bucket — wiped off with some chance oakum — coffee bucket sometimes mistaken for slop bucket or — “prodigious” Domine Sampson would swear—for the — barrel—[referencing the communal urine barrel] meat kids [wooden mess tubs] kicking about forecastle, molasses kegs the haunts of the cockroach, our bunks + heads the established homes of vermin of decidedly enterprising genius — hands — faces — + backs in a state of very dirty nature + our clothes patched like a fancy quilt — + still further variegated by the various stains of tar — slush + oil — or not sweetly but strongly redolent of the barrel or the mingled fragrance of lye and oil soap — + lastly the forecastle — unlike Coleridge’s Cologne — filled with a combination of lesser stinks that would defy analysis — but presided over + overpowered by “one grand Monarque” — the audible — sensible — almost visible Mephitis that selects the forecastle for its peculiar abode + the theater of its loudest speeches + the display of its wildest + most fantastic tricks — Bah! What an idea! Personifying a —whew—! My faecal fancy is worse than the forecastle.”

The hygienic challenges experienced in the fo'c'sle took on a particularly gruesome quality compared to other sailing vessels due to the nature of the job. Ultimately, a whale ship was transformed into a massive slaughterhouse and oil refinery. The tryworks to render blubber down was located almost right above the fo'c'sle, and the heat of it when fired up would not only radiate downwards to where everyone had to live, where all that grossness could REALLY simmer, but it would also send all the vermin scampering out of the woodwork and across the bunks and belongings of those men to escape the heat. The blubber room, where large strips of blubber were hacked up into smaller ones, was just outside the threshold of the fo’c’sle. As a result, oil and gore would be tracked all over the ship, and most definitely into the crews quarters as well. It would find its way into every corner of that living space. Men would turn in wearing clothes soaked with it, hands soaked with it, everything they touched becoming tainted with the work.

“Yet strange to say, with all this I could get along quite well." Abbe wrote. "The Sea air and sea work gives one strange courage and endurance."

Steerage

Moving aft, just through the blubber room, we would find our way to another space set aside for living quarters: steerage.

Steerage was where the boatsteerers—who essentially operated as petty officers—would live. ‘Idlers’, such as the cooper, carpenter, cook, blacksmith, or steward would also call a place in steerage their home. While still a shared space, it didn’t have the same chaos or density of the forecastle, with fewer bunks to a room that were arranged uniformly along the walls rather than in a labyrinth of hanging fabric and seachests.

Still, descriptions of steerage didn’t fare too much better than the fo’c’sle. In 1904, Clifford W. Ashley of maritime fame joined the whaler Sunbeam for part of the voyage. He was there to research for writings and illustrations he was going to make about the work. Even in the final days of the industry, the ships were virtually unchanged from their golden era. The owners of the ship set aside a place for Ashley in steerage, the captain allowed him free use of his own cabin, and suggested that, as far as sleeping was concerned, Ashley ask the Cooper if he might set up a bunk for him in his room.

“The steerage that night was not an inviting place in which to sleep. On a clutter of chests and dunnage the boat-steerers sprawled, drinking, wrangling, smoking.” Ashley wrote. “The floor was littered with rubbish, the walls hung deep with clothing; squalid, congested, filthy; even the glamour of novelty could not disguise the wretchedness of the scene. The floor was wet and slippery, the air smoky and foul; often a bottle was dropped in the passing or an empty one was smashed to the floor. Through it all was an undertone of water bubbling at the ports and a rustle of oilskins swinging to and fro like pendulums from their hooks on the bulkhead. Roaches scurried about the walls. A chimneyless whale-oil lamp guttered in the draft from the booby hatch and cast a fitful light over the jumble of forms sitting on the chests beneath.”

After two nights in steerage Ashley decided to take up the Captain’s suggestion of putting up with the cooper. This was a small room that was once a sail pen located off the steerage quarters, later turned into a small cabin for the cooper and steward. Of this room, Ashley said:

“It was scarcely larger than a good-sized drygoods box, and an average man could not stand erect in it. Here I had a fore-and-aft berth, the upper one. Our only port opened directly into it, and, worse than its leak, the stench from the bilge reeked up through the trap. It was a simple matter after I turned in for the night to span with one hand the distance from my nose to the deck planking. Hard by my head slept Cooper; beneath me slumbered Steward. In the slight floor space remaining reposed our several seachests.”

Mate Cabins

After steerage came the cabins for the mates. Depending on how many there were, a mate might get his own cabin, but between 2nd, 3rd, and 4th mates they were often were shared as well with two bunks to a room.

It’s important to note that, for all the filth of a whaleship, it was still ultimately home at least for as long as they voyage lasted. Some men found these spaces their refuge, such as 2nd mate of the Arnolda, Benjamin Boodry in 1852. Perhaps because he didn’t share a sleeping space with dozens of others, his room became a bulwark of sorts from the whaling life that made him so miserable and homesick.

“all the comfort I take is when I get in my state room shut the doors and think or imagine myself at home or get to reading and then one half of the time my eyes are on the book and my mind is some wher else”

Often his mind turned back to his shore life, and his cabin became a reflective space for that.

“here I set in my state room the door shut and my whole family of Daguerreotypes around me and my Accordion in my hand and I try to imagine myself in old Mattapoisett but it is far from the reality”

Captain's State-rooms

Lastly, we have the best berth aboard: The captain’s cabin. Unlike in the forecastle where men simply ate sitting on their seachests, there was a mess table available in this general area for the Captain and officers. Sometimes boat-steerers and idlers would share this table too, eating in a shift after their superior officers. Sometimes they’d have a second table of their own. In the photo below, the two doors to the left are the rooms for the mates' berths. The door to the right of those leads on into steerage.

Beyond this, the Captain’s quarters often consisted of a stateroom for sitting, receiving, and working. If his wife was aboard as well, this often also became her domain (though sometimes a captain would build an additional little sitting room for his wife above deck in the hurricane house). Henrietta Deblois, who accompanied her husband on the Merlin in 1856, described some of the pieces in their cabin:

“In the after cabin with have a green Brussels carpet with a tiny red flower sprinkled all over it, a blk walnut sofa, one chair, a small mirror with a gilt frame — over this is the Barometer — at the side of this hangs the thermometer. Under the mirror is a beautiful carved Sofa. A Melodeon, Music books work baskets and bags, give this room quite a home-look.”

When five Japanese fishermen—Fudenojo, Jusuke, Goemon, Toraemon, and Manjiro—were wrecked on the uninhabited island of Tori Shima, they were eventually rescued by an American whaleship called the John Howland. In an 1841 account written by a Japanese scholar interviewing the castaways, of the captain’s quarters they recalled being “brought inside the ship to the captain’s quarters. Here they saw a row of rooms furnished gorgeously enough to serve as a small shrine for Buddha. The rooms looked so dignified that the castaways were awed and could hardly approach them.”

Mary Brewster, who joined her husband on his ship Tiger in 1845, wrote of the ways she tried to brighten up her rooms throughout the voyage.

“William the cabin boy brought a bunch of flowers amongst them Nasturtiums which remind me of my home. If my friends could look in my rooms they would see a large bundle of herbs, Spearmint and balsam which have perfumed the room, several bunches of green grapes.”

Beyond the sitting room was where the captain would sleep, the most private room on the ship. There was also an instance of one captain of the Charles W. Morgan, Thomas Landers, creating a gimballed bed for his wife Lydia when she joined him in 1864. This was done in an effort to make things more comfortable for her and spare her from seasickness. The bed would swing on a gimbal system, thus remaining level no matter how the ship rolled.

The captain also had his own private Head too; no such Barrel which Abbe called to mind in the fo’c’sle or going over the bows.

But for all the room’s privacy, it was still a whaler.

“I am obliged to stop below all the while decks are full, grease and smoke in an abundance and my own apartments often bear some such footmarks but I have it cleaned every morning and Steward scrubs the stairs and cabin. So we keep tolerable clean below,” said Mary Brewster.

Other whaling wives expressed anxiety over how the oil was finding its way down below end edging towards the threshold of their rooms, hoping that it wouldn’t infiltrate there too.

Charles Nordhoff described it as inescapable regardless of the hierarchy of living conditions:

“From this smell and taste of blubber, raw, boiling, and burning, there is no relief or place of refuge. The cabin, the forecastle, even the mastheads, all are filled with it, and were it possible to get for a moment to clean quarters, one would loathe himself—reeking as everybody is, with oil.”

When I made my pilgrimage to the Charles W. Morgan, there was something profound standing in the last wooden whaler in the world. But she survived all her crews and she survived her industry. The paint is clean, the rooms feel oddly cozy. Superimposing within those beams the lives of everyone who called her home (and the hundreds of other vessels like her now long gone) really takes the space to a different level. Even though so many men were writing about the dreadfulness of it all, their words populate the space that’s now so vacant without them, and truly makes it real.

#awhalin #vomit //

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sage-lights · 2 months ago

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hello, this is the final update from the sword af closure anon that has also been on a dread journey. things have been so stressful at work so i haven't had time, but decided to spend the past 2 days just watching smosh vs zombies. and it's perfect.

dread, i love u. smosh and shortform ttrpgs, u were made for each other. 😔💔 i love dread. it's got EVERYTHING- queer coded courtney, queer coded amanda, amanda having palpable tension w spencer, spencer misogyny but for haha hehe, and the return of reuben?? WHAT MORE COULD A GIRL WANT??

even the recent sponsored dread- that was so silly goofy- arasha lalani in ttrpgs is so fun, fresh, innovative, and sexy. arasha pretending she knows what afk is? iconic, showstopping, genius, brilliant, life-changing. trevor being a brooding leader despite being the silliest goose in the pond? an awe- inspiring choice. trevarts from hezekiah's beautiful ur mind is sooooo vast i wanna know how it works.

idh anything smart or retrospective to say other than dread was such a good and fun series that filled a void for me. and i also enjoyed george's smosh mouth episode! glad to know he cared ab sword af, too!

i do agree w you though that i'd love to see more gms on dread other than george, but i do really like him! i'd actually love to see aabria iyengar on it! ik she did something w smosh during the pandemic but she's such a delight and i'm genuinely so fatigued by smosh's videos lineups lately being SO man-heavy because i think arasha and angela should be in EVERY video. any time it's all boys, it de-yassifies trevor and i hate it. but anyways, yes, aabria. smosh is also in DESPERATE need for more than one woman of color in a room at a time. (unrelated: idk why no one wants this as much as i do or at least no one's talked about it- i know that she's white but elyse willems and angela NEED to do a video together. i NEED it. elyse is delightful, even tho she's white lmao im kidding i love white ppl 💖😬🤭)

whoever on smosh games pitched dread deserves to get their ass ate. not by me but by someone who'll do it.

hello again!! happy to hear from you 🤗 i'm really glad you're liking dread and decided to give it a shot! smosh vs zombies was super duper fun, but i think aliens could've been longer and they could've explored the world more. i think three eps is a good length for dread. i haven't watched the sponsored dread all the way through because i haven't had time and i kept missing details and rewinding it. but i hope to finish it soon!

love george!!! he's hella fun as a dm and is a wonderful story teller. and yes, it was nice to know he was involved and supportive of saf! AABRIA WOULD BE WONDERFUL (you also just gave me new info to update my agcu with LOL because i didn't know she'd been on smosh before)!

i don't know much about elyse and james willems besides what they've done on smosh, but i'm manifesting elyse and angela for you 🫶🫶🫶

#smosh #asks!#george primavera #aabria iyengar #smosh vs zombies #smosh vs aliens #smosh games

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 5 hours ago

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Seek God's Blessing as You Parent

by J.C. Ryle

Lastly, train them with continual prayer for a blessing on all you do. Without the blessing of the Lord, your best efforts will do no good. He has the hearts of all men in His hands, and unless He touches the hearts of your children by His Spirit, you will wear yourself out for nothing. Therefore, water the seed you sow in their minds with unceasing prayer. The Lord is far more willing to hear than we are to pray; far more ready to give blessings than we are to ask them—and, oh, how He loves to be petitioned for our children. And I set this matter of prayer before you, as the capstone and seal of all you do. I believe the child of many prayers is seldom cast away.

Look upon your children as Jacob did on his; he tells Esau they are "the children God has graciously given your servant." [Genesis 33:5] Look on them as Joseph did on his; he told his father, "They are the sons God has given me here," [Genesis 48:9] Count them with the Psalmist to be "a heritage from the LORD. . . .a reward from Him." [Psalm 127:3] And then ask the Lord, with a holy boldness, to be gracious and merciful to His own gifts. Note how Abraham intercedes for Ishmael, because he loved him, "And Abraham said to God, "If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!" [Genesis 17:18] See how Manoah speaks to the angel about Samson, saying, "what is to be the rule for the boy's life and work?" [Judges 13:12] Observe how tenderly Job cared for his children's souls, "He would sacrifice a burnt offering for each of them, thinking, ‘Perhaps my children have sinned and cursed God in their hearts.’ This was Job's regular custom." [Job 1:5] Parents, if you love your children, go and do likewise. You cannot name their names before the mercy-seat too often.

And now, friends, in conclusion, let me once more press on you the necessity and importance of using every single means in your power, if you would train children for heaven.

I well know that God is a sovereign God, and does everything according to the counsel of His own will. I know that Rehoboam was the son of Solomon, and Manasseh the son of Hezekiah, and that you do not always see godly parents having a godly offspring. But I also know that God is a God who works by means, and I am sure, that if you ignore the suggestions I have mentioned, then your children are not likely to turn out well.

Fathers and mothers, you may have your children baptized, and have them enrolled as members of the Church—you may send them to the best of schools, and give them Bibles, and fill them with head knowledge but if all this time there is no regular training at home, I tell you plainly, I fear it will go hard in the end with your children's souls. Home is the place where habits are formed—home is the place where the foundations of character are laid—home gives the bias to our tastes and opinions. Be sure, I beg you, that there is careful training at home.

Fathers and mothers, I charge you solemnly before God and the Lord Jesus Christ, make every effort to train your children in the way they should go. I charge you not merely for the sake of your children's souls; I charge you for the sake of your own future comfort and peace. Truly it is your best interest to do so. Truly your own happiness in great measure depends on it. Children have always been the bow from which the sharpest arrows have pierced man's heart. Children have mixed the bitterest cups that man has ever had to drink. Children have caused the saddest tears that man has ever had to shed. Adam could tell you so; Jacob could tell you so; David could tell you so. There are no sorrows on earth like those which children have brought upon their parents. Oh! be careful, lest by your own neglect you should store up misery for yourself in your old age. Be careful, lest you weep under the ill-treatment of a thankless child, in the days when your eyes are weak, and your body is dying.

If you ever wish that your children would be the restorers of your life, and the nourishers of your old age—if you want them to have blessings and not curses—joys and not sorrows: if this is your wish, then remember my advice, train them while they are young, and in the right way.

And as for me, I will conclude by saying a prayer to God for all who listen to this sermon, that you may all be taught of God to feel the value of your own souls. This is one reason why baptism often is a mere form, and Christian training despised and disregarded. Too often parents are not concerned about themselves, and therefore they are not concerned about their children. They do not realize the tremendous difference between man’s natural state and the state of grace, and therefore they are content to leave their children alone.

Now may the Lord teach everyone of you, that sin is that abominable thing which God hates. Then, I know you will mourn over the sins of your children, and strive to get them off of the road to hell.

May the Lord teach everyone of you how precious Christ is, and what a mighty and complete work He has done for our salvation. Then, I feel confident you will use every means possible to bring your children to Jesus, that they may live through Him.

May the Lord teach everyone of you your need of the Holy Spirit, to renew, sanctify, and quicken your souls. Then, I feel sure that you will urge your children to pray without ceasing, and never rest till the Holy Spirit has come down into their hearts with power, and made them new creatures.

May the Lord grant this, and then will I have a good hope that you will indeed train your children well—train well for this life, and train well for the life to come; train well for earth, and train well for heaven; train them for God, train them for Christ, and train them for eternity. Amen.

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anastpaul · 2 months ago

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SECOND POINT. King Hezekiah wept and said: “I have cut my life off like a weaver; . . . from day even to night, wilt Thou make an end of me.” (Isa xxxviii: 12) Oh! how many who are busy weaving, that is, planning and executing their worldly designs, which they have undertaken with such care, are overtaken by death which cuts off all. At the hour of death, all the glory of everything which is worldly, vanishes away, applause, amusements, pomps and grandeur. Great secret of death! which makes us see that which the lovers of the world do not see. Fortunes which have been envied, the grandest dignities, the proudest triumphs, lose all their splendour, when they are reviewed from the bed of death! The notions of certain false happiness which we have formed in our own minds, these are changed into exceeding great indignation against our own folly. The black and gloomy shadow of death covers and obscures all dignities even though they be Royal. Our passions now, make the things of this earth appear different from what they really are – death unveils them and makes us see, what in truth they are, nothing but smoke, dust, vanity and misery. O my God! of what avail are riches, possessions and kingdoms, in death, when nothing is needed but a coffin and a simple robe to cover the body? Of what avail are honours, when nothing remains of them but a funeral train and a pompous burial which will assist the soul in no way if it be lost? Of what avail is beauty, if nothing remains of it but worms, corruption and horror, even before death and afterwards, nothing but a little foul dust? “He hath made me also a byword of the people.” (Job xvii: 6). That rich man dies, that minister, that captain and then, he will be spoken of everywhere ; if he has led a wicked life, he will become a byword of the people and he will serve as a warning to others, being an example of the vanity of the world and also, an example of Divine justice. In the grave, his ashes will be mingled with the ashes of the poor. “The small and great are there.” (Job iii: 19). Of what use has the beautiful form of his body been to him, if now he is only a mass of corruption? What has the authority he possessed availed him, if his body is now thrown into a grave to corrupt and his soul has been cast into hell to burn? Oli ! what misery to be the object of these sad reflections to others, instead of making them for his own profit.

(via Thought for the Day – 4 September – CONSIDERATION III: Second Point “For what is your life?” – AnaStpaul)

#anastpaul #catholic #catholicism #christianity #death #st alphonsus ligouri

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scribeforchrist-blog · 2 months ago

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Letting The Light Change Me

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

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+ 1 Corinthians 13:3 If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.

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VERSE OF THE DAY

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+ Luke 12:35-40 “Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning, 36 like servants waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet so that when he comes and knocks, they can immediately open the door for him.

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SUBJECT: Letting The Light Change Me

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** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM WALKING IN THE LIGHT

I AM LISTENING TO GOD

I AM CHANGING THROUGH HIM

I AM NEEDING JESUS

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READ TIME: 8 Minutes & 10 Seconds

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THOUGHTS:

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I remember when I was younger, New Year's would come in. I would stay up all night watching the clock, playing video games, and waiting for the year to ring in because I was young and energetic. As I got older, I would drink the New Year's in and then drink it afterward; it was something I did every New Year sometimes I would be so dunk I would fall asleep.

As I got older and gave my life to Christ, I spent my New Year's night bringing it in with prayer. I will pray from 7:00 pm to midnight, praying and giving God thanks and being grateful for another year; you see how life changes and how when you give your life to God, your goals and your perspective changes.

I couldn’t stay up because I wasn’t being watchful when I was in the world. I didn’t care about my time but when I gave my life to Christ. I wanted to spend those hours with him. I wanted to be watchful and pray; a lot of times, Jesus is asking us to be watchful over our time and what we do; we talked about Hezekiah the other day and how he was praying for God to give him more time and a lot of us are losing time because we aren’t being watchful and considering our time with him. Still, today, we are going to talk about this parable.

In this parable, he tells us to stay ready, not to be servants with no oil, and to be ready for service. Many of us aren’t ready because we are too busy doing things we shouldn’t do daily. He allows us to get it right and the oil we need, but we must bring our lamps to God.

Verse 38: It will be good for those servants whose master finds them ready, even if he comes in the middle of the night or toward daybreak.

The verse even says even if he comes in the middle of the night, we must be ready. If Jesus comes back right now, will you be ready? A lot of us can't say we are; a lot of us are unprepared because we feel we have the time, and we don’t, and age doesn’t have anything to do with it; the young are dying, just like the old, and if we keep saying the phrase I’m young, I’m young we are going to look up, we will be older; God is calling us to be ready. Is your lamp ready?

Verse 39 But understand this: If the house owner had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into.

I can tell you precisely what I would do if I were robbed, and just because I can tell you doesn’t mean I'm ready; a lot of times, we aren’t ready because we think this can't happen to us, but when we set a life of prayerfulness in order , when we set a life of mediation and fasting we are getting ready by placing our time with God. A lot of us don’t want to sacrifice the time to pray to God because we feel God understands we have a lot to do, and he does, but he expects us to want to spend time with him.

Do you want to spend time with Him to get ready? It's just like anyone that goes to the gym, and they go every day, day in and day out, whether it rains, sleets, or hails; their at that gym giving it everything they got, and we must do the same every day because we never know when its going to be our last day , the person that’s going to the gym is going for a purpose what is your purpose for prayer time with God , I hope it's not to ask for things but to spend time with God, to soak in his presence.

Verse 39-40 But understand this: If the house owner had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. 40 You also must be ready because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”

We must be ready not to spend our time being idle but spending time waiting for Jesus and his return; no, we won’t know the time, and that’s why, at all times, we need to do what he asks of us and obey his word and treat others with pity and mercy a lot of us don’t want to do the things he’s asking us to do but to say we love Jesus we must follow His commands , in his word it says if you love me keep my commandments.”

• Luke 13:3 I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish

•Luke 13:5 I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.”

He says this two times within this chapter: repent unless we all will perish. A lot of us haven’t completely repented; some of us think repentance is just words, but it’s action, our actions must say: I repent of this or I am sorry, but some of us go back to doing what we are doing with no true change; change comes when we turn away from what we are doing and truly see that what we are doing isn’t good. We see people who sin, and we say, oh no, they're wrong, but what about us , some of us are constantly going back to our old ways? To be ready, we must spend time with God and ensure our hearts is in the right position .

***Today, we talked about changes; sometimes it happens because of the season. Sometimes changes happen because we become older and we see that we can’t do what we used to do, and what we used to do in the world was something we did because we were blind, but now we see, and we see that Jesus is the light of the world and the light in our life without this light the word says we are blind.

•Ephesians 5:8 For at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light

• John 12:35 So Jesus said to them, “The light is among you for a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness overtake you. The one who walks in the darkness does not know where he is going.

Without Christ in our lives, we don’t know where we are going , every day we have a chance to change what we are doing, and I know changes are tough mainly if we are used to doing things outside of what God wants for us, but when we start God will help lead us the rest of the way, let him lead you today .©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

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PRAYER

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Heavenly Father, we thank you for today and for never leaving or forsaking us. Lord, we need you so badly today; we ask that you give us peace and continue to show us the way we need you in our lives; we ask you to be with us daily as we carry our cross. Lord, we don’t deserve mercy, but we ask you for it today in our lives; in Jesus Name, amen

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REFERENCES

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+John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

+ 2 Corinthians 4:6 For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

+ Matthew 4:16 The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.”

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FURTHER READINGS

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Proverbs 3

Leviticus 3

Genesis 5

1 Samuel 7

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jubjubbird · 1 month ago

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Yggs’ Magtober List

I made the first half of a personal MAGtober list for this year! I based most of the prompts off of the number’s significance in my culture, which is why some of these are very specific or random! I hope you enjoy, because I sure enjoyed making this list!

1. (Un)Whole: “[T]he form of a single human being…[or] three different, equally terrible, but very distinct assailants?” — Jurgen Leitner, MAG 80

2. Better in Pairs: “‘S not right, on my own.” — “Breekon,” MAG 128

3. Inheritance: “Gertrude Robinson, the last Archivist at the Magnus Institute, and my predecessor, was murdered.” — Jonathan Sims, MAG 40

4. Compelling Case: “You know, even Gertrude never properly tried to compel me.” — Elias Bouchard, MAG 92

5. Book Collection: “The only English seemed to be a bookplate at the front that read “From the library of Jurgen Leitner.”” — Dominic Swain, MAG 4

6. Insomnia: “When I don’t sleep the days and nights just bleed together.” — Lydia Halligan, MAG 74

7. Rest and Repose: “I will often lie myself down on that soft earth, and I will sleep.” — Hezekiah Wakely, MAG 152

8. Hurt: “And don’t you say a word, or I’ll cut him open.” — Trever Herbert, MAG 176

9. Realms and Residences: “[T]hese places I saw were the Powers themselves, expressed in their truest form.” — Robert Smirke, MAG 138

10. Control: “[N]o one can ever really see everything that controls them.” — Annabelle Cane, MAG 147

11. Parallels: “What interests me is the paralleling of Father Burroughs’ climactic hallucination with reality, and the fact that at no point did he perform any actions that might be analogous.” — Jonathan Sims, MAG 20

12. Family Ties: “Still, to be cut off from one’s family is its own very special sort of loneliness, isn’t it?” — Peter Lukas, MAG 159

13. Powers of Hope: “There aren’t any god-like powers of hope, or love.” — Gerard Keay, MAG 111

14. Allies or Enemies: “[I]t hates you. It hates what you are and what you do. And if it hates you, then maybe you can help me.” — Jane Prentiss, MAG 32

15. Lanterns and Lights: “Don’t turn on the light.” — Nikola Orsinov, MAG 97

16. Creatures and Critters: “Hello Admiral, how’ve you been? I’ve missed you too.” — Jonathan Sims, MAG 93

#magtober #tma #the magnus archives #october art challenge #october writing challenge

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gnattyplayssims · 3 months ago

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1965 Pt1 - Nightmares

TW//Panic attack

"I can't believe your parents allowed it."

"Why cause I'm a boy?"

"Well yeah. Earrings are for girls."

"What about you?"

"I want to...but I'm scared. Doesn't it hurt"

"It's not that bad. Just a little pinch and it's over."

"Okay...I trust you."

On the other side of the door, everything seemed to freeze for Sofia. In an instant she had been transported back 15 years. Mathias had her pressed against the fence again.

"I trust you...I'm just scared...won't it hurt."

She stumbled back down the stairs. "Mommy?"

In her mind there was a room devoid of color. A place filled with the things Don had once whispered in her ear.

"No matter where you go...I'll always be there. In your mind, consuming your body. Keep your eyes on me, My Dove. Satisfy only me and you will never have to worry."

"You're too trusting Sofia...You walked right out of the lions den into the snake pit. You want to think you're worth something? You're not...your own mother didn't even want you."

"Please stop."

"How old is Ava now? 16? 15? The same age you were. Watch how they break her."

Sofia barely managed to stumble down the steps "MOM!" Thomas yelled for her but Sofia couldn't hear him. In that room in her mind only one thing mattered and it wasn't her. In that room she was nothing but a body, a slave to man's desires...and she could never escape.

"Please stop...please..."

Thomas covered his ears trying to block out his mom's crying. She calmed a bit at his voice "Mommy?"

Thomas couldn't know what was happening in his mother's mind or why a gentle touch would send her over the edge. "I'm sorry!"

He ran from the room.

In that room Don and Jameson had their way with her. Again and again she was used by them. Again and again their lies sunk deeper into her broken heart. And everytime it ended the same way...her on her knees...the door opening...a detective walking in...

"Sofia?"

Nikolas sat in front of Sofia and pressed his hands gently to her neck but she jerked at his touch. "Please don't Nikolas." She was shaking.

He tipped her head back but her eyes weren't focusing on him. "Sofia? Take my hand. Keep your eyes on me. That's it. Come back to me."

"Nikolas?"

He let out a breath of relief. "You had me worried there. Your dad said that would help but for a second..."

"My dad?"

"Your mom used to have attacks too...after she gave you up. Sofia, when did the nightmares start again?"

"They never really stopped."

"What? Sofia that's 5 years. You told me things were getting better."

"They are. I can control it now. Like when the kids are at school or asleep. The smoking helps...and the alcohol."

"Sofia," His voice broke, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't want you to see me as broken."

While Sofia showered, Nik called Hezekiah and made arrangements for Sofia to move back home and helped the kids pack their things. Two hours later she still hadn't come out and he got worried.

"Turn it back on!"

"No. Water costs money and you've used enough for today."

"So do you want to talk about it?"

Sofia shook her head. "They're just stupid dreams."

"Clearly not stupid. Was it Don?"

She nodded, "And Jameson...I dream of them both now...you're in my dreams too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah...you come in while I'm...well...and you always join them."

"Oh..." silence settled over them for a moment. "Damn...I'm even messing up in your dreams."

"You didn't mess up today...I...felt safe when you touched me. I'm sorry I know it doesn't make sense."

"No it's okay. You've been through a lot. Your brain is still figuring it out."

He took her hand and she jerked when his fingers traced her scars but he held firm. "There are other ways to release pain." She was staring at him "What?"

"You're touching my scars"

"Yeah."

"Jameson never did"

"The scars are a part of you Sofia and I accept all parts of you."

He stood to his feet suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifting him towards thoughts he didn't want to entertain. He grabbed a towel and pulled her to her feet, draping it over her shoulders. "I'm taking you to your parents. I know you didn't want to but..."

"Thank you, Nik."

Later that night after an exhausting day of moving their things and settling in at grandma and grandpa's Ava found Thomas in her room. "Tommy what are you doing in here?"

"I want to sleep with you."

"But why? You have your own bed. Grandma set it up just for you."

Thomas didn't respond and Ava sat next to him. "What's going on?"

"I made mommy upset and that's why we had to move here."

"Thomas. No. That's not true at all. Mom...it's hard to explain but what happened today was not your fault. You did exactly what you were supposed to."

"I got to sit in a cop car!"

"Wow just like a real criminal. Maybe next time they'll take you to jail."

"No, Nikolas would never take me."

She grabbed his neck and tousled his hair. "You don't think so? I think you're the perfect culprit. No one ever suspects the nice ones."

"Ava?"

"Yeah."

"I hope you have your defenses ready cause...attack!" Thomas squirmed out of her arms and began tickling her.

"No fair! I wasn't ready!"

"You have to be ready at all times! You left yourself wide open."

"I thought we were having a moment."

Thomas just grinned.

"When I get older, I want to be an officer just like Nikolas."

"You can be whatever you want." She pulled him into a hug. "Tommy, you and I had some pretty crappy dad's and they hurt mom a lot but never doubt that she loves you very much and would do anything to protect you."

1965 Pt2 - Hannukah Confession

#mizrahi legacy #dandy generation #decades challenge #sims 4 storytelling #ts4 storytelling #ts4 legacy

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lycanlovingvampyre · 2 years ago

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MAG 152 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: apple cutting.

An old statement... Couldn't remember this one at when I heard it the first time, as always with statements older than 100 years. Even now, I only remember the basic premise.

Looked into the name Wakely, since it contains "wake" which I find a bit poetic given the fact that he has trouble sleeping. However, it seems like it means "damp meadow" and has its roots in Norman culture. Damp meadow kind of makes me think of dirt...

"Those days I spent digging graves in the churchyard – on those nights I sleep, if you’ll forgive the joke, the sleep of the dead." Buried-End overlap here?

"He was never buried, was he? Not truly." Ahhhahaha, is this the 1800s version of "not really"? xD

The thing about the Buried is I don't think I have a problem with tight spaces in general. What gets me about being buried alive for example is the fact, that I have can’t escape. And there are many others ways to have that escape taken from you. A lot of the horrors in TMA come from the inescapability of these situations.

JON: "Perhaps to anyone listening to these tapes I sound remarkably similar to Hezekiah. Or to Manuela. Or to Jane." Until now, I don't think Jon has sounded like any of these. However, at the end there, when they reach London, he actually does more and more. Though I don't think it's just the desire of Knowing and taking the position as the pupil, but also his guilt driving him to this martyr complex.

JON: "The worms must have been down here for – weeks, months maybe, spreading… growing. They could have spread all the way through these tunnels, but they didn’t. They didn’t find Leitner down here, didn’t find Getrude’s body, didn’t find… whatever else is here." Oh yeah, finally this gets addressed! Somehow I can't believe Leitner wasn't aware of the worms and with the Seven Lamps of Architecture he was very well able to just cut himself (and Gertrude perhaps?) off. Though I'm not sure why he wouldn't have grabbed all the tapes if he actually knew where Gertrude's body was. Still, Leitner didn't mention any of them. So is there supposed to be even more to the tunnels? Is there some limit to them being controllable? Like, would Leitner have been able to find the Panopticon?

JON: "I can’t See things properly here. I thought it was just me, something interfering with my connection to the Eye, but… I’m wondering: maybe it affects everything else? Like this place is some kind of – universal blind spot. Everyone gets lost down here." That’s perhaps an explanation for Leitner, Gertrude's remains and Jane never meeting each other? I'm not so sure about the "universal" blind spot. The worms seemed to have an advantage in the tunnels. The NotThem didn't seem handicapped in any way.

JON: "I’ve been thinking a lot about Jane. She was the first, you know. The first I actually encountered like… (tiny, resigned ‘heh’) like us." Meeeh, talking about something like this to Helen doesn't seem healthy...

HELEN: (leading) "It is astounding the sort of thing you’re willing to choose – given an unpleasant-enough alternative – isn’t it?" Hm, yeah. Brings back the question of free will. There are all kinds of outside forces which are very likely to herd us in a certain direction.

Helen is just soo... urgh. Implying that Jon absolutely will feed again and it's just a matter of time. Saying that the others don't need him...

HELEN: "Sharp enough to pull out worms," A friend of mine recently started to listen to TMA and Eye-aligned me wants to hear all his experiences and thoughts of course. And he said something which made me think. He gave very much thought into Sasha not feeling the worm that burrowed into her shoulder when she went with Michael to see Timothy Hodge. So my friend then thought, maybe Martin did not leave his flat unscathed and was just not aware because the worms seem to burrow without the victim noticing. Which made me think, because I didn’t have the impression, that getting bitten by a worm would be all that painless. Did Michael really pull out a worm? Or did it grab a worm and stab Sasha with it to create the illusion of being helpful and saving her! The Distortion is lies, delusions, it could very well be the case I think! But also, considering this exact nature of the Distortion, we very well will never know. Could be, that Helen lied here to Jon as well. She still wants to be on his good side, otherwise she can't get to him in a way she does now.

JON: "When does it stop?" HELEN: "What?" JON: "The guilt. The misery. All the others I’ve met, they’ve been – cold, cruel. They’ve enjoyed what they do. When does the Eye (inhale) make me monstrous?" That seems to be a curse that works very well with the Eye (or maybe also the Web... or Vast). Hyperactive Default Mode Network. A lot of the time we get Jon sulking, which is nothing else than constantly thinking about things, mind-wandering, rumination etc. I guess this is one of the reasons I love TMA so much, this highly speaks to me. And then I like to think about this even more and what it means to me, or for me.

HELEN: "You’ve sworn of other people’s trauma for now because you’re caught. Because continuing would endanger you. But other than that, when has your discomfort ever actually stopped you walking the path of the Beholding?" Yeah, right now it would probably be more dangerous to take live statements than trying to survive on the old statement diet, so it seems that she's right there. But other than that. Difficult. How much is Jon actually to blame for his fate? How much is this actually him seeking answers and knowledge and where do influences of the Web and the Eye begin? Simon said last episode he hears "the song in this dreams". So I'm guessing, there is something similar going on in Jon. Yeah he was a real prick and yes he was always very curious but is that enough to say it's actually his fault that he stumbled onto this path? He may not be the friendliest of fellows, but he certainly isn't unkind. And exactly this, caring so much about others and often specific people, is driving him to get all 14 marks. Gertrude didn't care about people, not per se. She cared about the state of the world, but not individuals. Uhm, what was I saying? Ah yes, Helen is an awful "person"! (But just like Simon, such an amazing character!)

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 152 #tma #tma spoilers

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thelambthatkilledthewolf · 4 months ago

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Simon Fairchild headcanons because he's everything to me

- autism autism so much autism he is the autistic guy ever

- also ocd and bipolar I

- he doesn't actually need his cane, he just really likes the sound it makes when it hits the floor

- of all the Vast avatars, Mike was his favorite. He was very sad when he died

- no concept of gender or sexuality. He does not care. Trying to police his gender presentation will result in a trip to the Vast

- sometimes he just lays down and stares at the ceiling for hours. It is not possible to get his attention during these times

- the only time he's ever been in love was during the 1800's when he knew Hezekiah Wakely

- Hezekiah gave him a ring and he still wears it, however asking about it will also result in a trip to the Vast

- he thinks his own emotions are hilarious, no matter what they are. It's so funny to him that he feels so intensely despite the fact that everything is so unimportant to him. He very rarely cries, but when he does he laughs through it because he finds it ironic how upset he is about something that Does Not Matter

- he's very adept at picking up slang, and sprinkles it into his vocabulary just to fuck with people. Jonah, who is not as good at picking up slang, does not find this amusing

- fond of children because they're so impressionable

- probably the only person that can communicate easily with the Distortion because he's just Like That

- he has contamination ocd, and cannot stand the Corruption. He hates John Amherst

- not my headcanon, but looking directly into his eyes will give you severe vertigo

- no one knows shit about his backstory and he thinks it's hilarious. Jonah tries to Know it, but he just gets vertigo every time

- he has never been serious about anything in his entire life. Sometimes he just lies because he can

This man is so silly, as a collective we don't talk about him enough. Please talk to me about Simon Fairchild I am actually begging

#also if anyone would like to ask me about simon/hezekiah....#👀#im so normal about them i swear #when i say buried/vast ship i do NOT mean mike y'all can have that twink #give me my silly old men #anyways.#simon fairchild #tma #the magnus archives #shut up mori

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anyatomy · 1 year ago

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TOP 5...................... tma fears :3

this is so difficult because like. these are abstract concepts i have so many different thoughts on that just sorting them on pure opinion is DIFFICULT and so subject to change (even though there is a consistent cast at the top of my list but like… gahrgehrha theyre all COOL!!!!!!!)

but. ok. take all this with more than a grain of salt bc these all shift and also IDK. IDK. but:

1) the flesh: gore of any kind from medical to Fantastical both utterly fascinates me and also makes me so incredibly queasy. i am a very queasy person im easily grossed out. but GOD. GOD. the flesh is SO COOL. conceptually the flesh garden is my absolute favorite episode. God i wish we had a cool avatar people think is hot instead of the fucking homophobe

2) the buried: hezekiahs statement. does something to my brain. i dont know. im so terrified of being buried alive and the statement about the guy being stuck in that box for 4 days freaks me out Utterly but its just. Being crushed is so cool. And it can be used more metaphorically in SUCH INTERESTING WAYS!!! GRAHHH

those are the entities i hold the most tangible feelings on. after this it becomes even MORE nebulous

3) the slaughter: associating music with violence is literally so fucking cool that was such a smart move. i wish there was more canon exploration of things in the vein of grifters bone instead of just. war. but its just SO COOL and how melanie experiences the slaughter is so >{~£]^~*]€~*]£ ITS SO COOL

4) the corruption: bugs freak me out so much in ways i cant describe so this isnt as high up bc i jsut Cant deal with it BUT. Associating love with bugs and rotting on a cosmic scale is so fucking sick. winslow really got me thinking abt the corruption man

5) the stranger: i dont have many thoughts on the stranger this is here because i think the circus and nikola and just the whole plot of season 3 is the best the show ever was and i feel like ive gotta rank it high for my pure enjoyment of that storyline

final tidbits on entity opinions under the cut ^__<

the spiral, eye, desolation, and lonely are cool but they are so overused and often interpreted in ways that just make me mad. youre not a lonely avatar because youre alone you would be taken by the lonely. youre a lonely avatar if you cultivate it. eye avatars arent just curious they are curious to a fault to the point of pain and disaster and destruction. GERRY ISNT A DESOLATION AVATAR BECAUSE HE BURNS THINGS. Their whole purpose is to hurt people as deeply as they can and make them loose everything in the worst way possible. Gerry sweeps up the ashes of a desolation avatar he kills and apologetically hands them to a nurse while covered in burns that should be deadly

i wish i could like the hunt bc its cool conceptually but its too tied to cops for me to like it.

extinction scares me too much. so does the vast kinda and the dark a little. but the darks also boring to me Sorry manuela dominguez 🙏

the end and the web are cool enough but i like their avatars more than the conceptual Entities so they dont score.

#gasks #i love opinions i love explaining things

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hailsantabook · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1: Baptism

Chapter 1

Baptism

My palms were pouring sweat like I had fire hoses implanted in my pores. My heart was racing so fast it could put Secretariat to shame. My mouth felt dry, I wanted words to come out but they wouldn’t.

“Kai,” My father’s voice sputtered out from beside me, “is there a problem?”

“No, I’ll say it, just-”

“You’re baptized now, Kai. Can’t just be freezing up when asked to say a prayer.”

My sister rolled her eyes, her plate of chicken curry steaming up her glasses as she waited on me, “can you hurry up? I’m starving.”

I gulped, sat up straight and bowed my head. “Dear Jehovah God in heaven, we come before you,” I huffed a quick sigh to relieve the swelling feeling in my chest. I hated this. Why did I have to do it at all? Why can’t they say their own damn prayers?

“We come before you,” I repeated, gave myself some time to come up with more words to sacrifice on the altar of my tongue before God, “to thank you for these meals you have provided us, and for the companionship you have provided us, and for, uhhh,” I stammered, gulped again. Dad cleared his throat intentionally, like he was trying to get me to remember something.

Oh yeah. I got baptized today.

“Thank you for bringing me closer to you today, Jehovah, for, um,” I couldn’t find the words. Thank you for baptizing me? Thank you for letting me get baptized? Thank you for letting me sign over my life to your earthly organization?

“For being my shepherd, and guiding me to the waters in which I was baptized today. Amen.”

I looked up quickly, Loretta already had her fork in hand, her best friend Patricia was unfolding her roll of silverware right beside her. I looked to her side at a tall man, with the kindest brown eyes opening wide behind his black glasses.

He gave me a sweet smile. “That was beautiful, Kai.”

“Thank you.” I looked to my father, who was less impressed.

“When we get home, remind me to teach you how to say a proper prayer.”

Mom hushed him. “It was his first time saying a prayer for a group, Tim.” She turned to me, a soft grin on her lips, “you did great, sweetheart.”

“Thanks Mom.” I slouched back down, started picking at my food.

I glanced at my dad who was obnoxiously staring at our waitress. She was helping another table, her body facing ours as she handed a fist-full of straws to some thirsty patrons. Dad tsked, he had clearly found something objectionable about her, he always did.

“That little striped heart on her blouse, it’s the trans flag, isn’t it?”

I looked at her, Alan turned around too out of curiosity. “Yeah, blue, pink and white.”

“So our waiter is a man masquerading as a woman? Lovely.”

“Maybe she's just showing support.”

“The more you change your body, the more you disgrace God, Hezekiah. Nobody should support that.”

“How’s everything going over here?” The waitress in question appeared before us, checking in with one of her hands holding a nearly empty pitcher of iced water.

“Everything is fantastic, thank you.” Alan smiled at her, showing human decency, something Dad couldn’t afford regardless of the cost.

The older man suddenly raised his hand, and my heart sunk believing it to be the start of a confrontation. I was right.

“Actually yes, could we get a basket of bread please?”

“Right away!” She walked off in the direction of the kitchen, and I gave dad a quizzical look.

“Dad, why do you want more bread?”

“Shhh, this is a chance to leave a witness, son.”

“Oh God, Dad please, don’t do what I think you’re gonna do.”

“We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses, and we speak out in fearlessness, son.”

“Dad, I just want to have a nice dinner with you guys, we’re supposed to be celebrating, not preaching to the public.”

“If nobody knows we’re here on Jehovah’s behalf, then we may as well not be here at all, Kai.”

I turned to my mom, the slightly more level-headed one when it came to matters like these. “Mom, stop him, please.”

She shook her head. “You’re not actually going to do the bread thing to her, are you Tim?”

“Margret, it’s a fantastic analogy and it gets the point across. Ah, here he comes now.”

The waitress showed up with a brown woven basket full of freshly heated bread buns and cups of butter.

“What’s this?” Dad looked to her with mocking irateness. “I asked for bread!”

Her calm and professional demeanor quickly flashed into confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“Well this is clearly a basket full of steak!”

Her confusion only sunk more. “I beg your pardon?”

Dad grabbed one of the buns and held it up. “This, it’s a big juicy steak, is it not?”

Her eyes were wide as dinner plates as she crossed her palms over one another and tried to comprehend the situation. She subtly shook her head.

“What is it, then, if it’s not steak?”

“It’s bread, sir.”

He smiled at her. “Now you’re getting it.” He put the bun back into the basket, “when we see something differently from what is true, we are right to be called out on it, correct?”

She seemed to be getting the point my dad was getting at. And she didn’t look too flattered by it.

“Is this about my pin?” She shrugged the shoulder that housed the offending object, furrowed her brow as she waited for Dad’s response.

“Just remember this, God made you a man. Men are among the strongest and most intelligent of God’s creatures. Women were meant to subject themselves to men. Why would you choose subjection if it is not what was meant for you?”

“I was born a woman.” She crossed her arms, her face flush with controlled anger. “I wear this pin in honor of my best friend. He died three years ago.”

She was nearly shaking, I could tell she wanted to slap him. Every part of me was wishing she would.

Instead though, she stifled a tear and walked away quickly, making a beeline for the bathroom before chatting with another waiter and pointing in our direction. Handing off the torch to someone who could handle our table, it seemed.

“Dad, that was-” I wanted to say unbearable, embarrassing, stupid, hateful. Dad was too much of a narcissist to fill in the gap with something accurate.

“Right, right. Remember, son, we all make mistakes. What counts is having the bravery to speak up for what’s right, whether it’s taken the right way or not.”

“You made a woman cry for no reason.”

“But Jehovah is smiling down, and a seed has therefore been planted.”

“Tim, could we just eat out once without you trying to teach moral lessons to random civilians?”

“Margret, it is our duty to guide sheep towards Jehovah. No matter what that shepherding may look like in the moment. She could come to our Kingdom Hall one day and thank me for calling out her out from the darkness of her path and towards Jehovah’s guiding light.”

“If that’s what you wanna think, Tim, go ahead.”

“Mom, you don’t support what Dad did today, do you?”

She sighed, lifting up a pair of fluffy blue pajama pants out of the laundry basket beside her. “I don’t approve, no. I don’t like the way he goes about things like that. I think it does far more harm than good.” She dropped them to her lap, looking around for a moment to find the words. “But, he’s my husband. Whether I approve of his antics or not, I have to support him. All I can do is give him a push in the right direction.”

“But, being so harsh like that is bound to turn people away from us. From God, right?”

She breathed in harsh, knowing this was the millionth time in her life that she was facing scrutiny on Dad’s behalf. “If that woman is actually one of Jehovah’s future sheep, she’ll find her way to him. Remember that everyone has free will, Kai.”

“But if Jehovah’s sheep will always find him eventually, why do we witness at all?”

“Well, we witness to call the sheep towards God. It’s their choice if they want to follow.”

“But-”

“Kai, it’s past your bedtime. Go get some sleep, alright?” She was talking to me, facing my direction and giving me the command. But I knew in reality, she was talking to herself.

Alan’s bedroom was always so immaculate compared to mine. Despite barely having room for his dresser, he had two simple bookshelves, one filled with JW literature, the other containing books of poetry and novels of the greats, Oscar Wilde, Edgar Alan Poe, Robert Frost, and dozens more.

Alan loved reading, especially poetry and short stories. He loved writing too. He held his own work in a little blue book on his desk that he wrote in during his free time, what little of it he gave himself.

I had always been tempted to take a peak inside and actually read the words of my best friend, but he never let me. He’d always snatch the book away when he caught me being nosy, and he’d change the subject.

“So how’s baptized life treating you, Kai?”

“Don’t really know. Feels like nothing’s changed.”

“Well, you can pioneer now.”

“I know, I just, I thought it would be like being born again. I thought I’d physically feel my old self shedding away when I rose up out of the water, that I’d suddenly have the zeal and drive to do more for God.”

Alan shook his head. “I could’ve told you that wasn’t going to happen. The change is gradual, not immediate.”

“It was immediate for Jesus!”

“Jesus was a perfect manifestation of God’s love for mankind, not a teenager from Greenville.”

“Good point. Well, least I got baptized at all, I was starting to think it’d never happen.”

Alan chuckled in his year-older wisdom. “You’re only 18. Jesus was in his 30s!”

“Well, you got baptized at 11. Dad always shoved that in my face, ‘you’re such good friends and yet you don’t even follow his example.’”

“You weren’t ready. Every flower blooms in its own time. Your dad should know that, didn’t he get baptized in his twenties?”

“Well yeah, but to him it was different, his side of the family is all agnostic. He wasn’t raised a Witness, he said I should take advantage of the fact that I didn’t have to go looking for the truth, that I was born into it so I had more time to dedicate to God.”

“You’re still your own person though.”

“I don’t know, am I? I feel like I didn’t even do it for me. I feel like I just did it to get everyone off my back.”

“If that were the case, Jehovah wouldn’t have let you get baptized.”

I shrugged. “You really believe that?”

“Of course. If you weren’t sincere, the elders would have picked up on that. They would have told you to wait. You’re here now, and you’re baptized, so that alone implies that you were ready for the plunge.”

“I don’t know. If you can only get baptized when you’re ready, then why are there so many apostates?”

“Well, that’s the worst thing about apostates, Kai. They were ready, they had the truth, and they had God’s love. Then they allowed self-righteousness to bubble up within their hearts, they let Satan in. The Devil breeds his strongest warriors out of those who were once loyal to Jehovah. It’s a reminder to guard our hearts with vigor.

“You’re baptized now, Kai. You have to be careful, Satan is going to do his best to take you away. Temptations will soon latch onto you unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.”

“Heh, and what temptations did Satan latch onto you when you got baptized?”

He blushed. “Well, you’re my best friend, so maybe it’s time I told you.” He grasped his own arm and nodded to the side, like it was extremely uncomfortable to even consider what he was about to tell me. “I, I struggle with homosexual tendencies.”

I blushed in return. Of all the things he could have told me, I really didn’t expect that.

“You’re gay?”

“No!” He corrected quickly, nearly shouting it before vigorously shaking his head. “I struggle, yes, but I won’t accept the label. I’m not gay. I’m, I’m straight with extra steps.”

“Yeah, I mean, I think I get it. I’ve thought about other men too, before. Just never really thought it could be something I’d struggle with. I barely even think about girls that way.”

“Don’t let it in, Kai.” He shook his head. “I let it in, and it’s been eating me alive ever since. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t struggle with unclean thoughts about men. Never let that curiosity get the best of you.”

“Well, why is it wrong? Jesus really never talked about it.”

“Jesus never talked about a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong. We shouldn’t focus on what Jesus didn’t say. It’s been very clear since the dawn of man that homosexuality is wrong.”

“But why is it wrong?”

“Well, the pieces don’t fit. When men… do things… with each other, they have to go through a whole process. They have to decide who’s going to pretend to be the woman, they have to have lubricant since their… entrances aren't meant to have anything go in there, they have to clean themselves out first so they don’t cover their partner in fecal matter. It’s disgusting, it’s a disgrace to God’s perfect arrangement of intercourse.”

I nodded along, hoping he couldn’t see through my ambivalence. Lovemaking being more messy or difficult just because it was between men didn’t seem like a reason for it to be an undoubtable sin.

“What about love, though?”

“What about love?”

I shrugged. “What if two men are in love but they just don’t have intercourse? Would that still be wrong?”

Alan raised his eyebrows. “Well, I don’t,” he scratched at his neck, “I don’t know.”

“It could be possible, right?”

“But love should lead to intimacy, that’s how Jehovah intended things to be.”

“Well, how about this. A man and a woman, they’re in love, they’re married, but they’ve never slept together because they’re both asexual. That’s not wrong in the slightest, right?”

“No, of course not. But if they were to be intimate, they could, and that’s what counts.”

“Okay, maybe the woman and the man are both disabled and can’t be intimate. Specifics aside, it could happen, right? They can’t be together that way.”

“Jehovah would understand a situation like that, I’m sure.”

“Well then, intimacy aside, what makes two men being in love wrong?”

Alan looked away, his features falling still. “I don’t know.”

I felt bad. I had used my reasoning for wrongdoing. I had enlisted doubt in his mind, and as a result I was assisting Satan in corrupting my best friend.

“Alan, I don’t mean to tear down your walls or anything I just, I wanna understand it too, and I never have.”

“The bible is clear enough that I don’t have to fully understand it to respect it. God says men should not lie with men, I have to obey that.” He looked melancholy, like he was somehow hoping the opposite could make sense to him.

“Right. But, you could love a man.”

Alan smiled to himself and looked at me tenderly. “I already do.”

Automatically assuming he meant his brotherly love for me, I smiled in return and went to put a hand on his shoulder. But then he looked up.

“Three men, actually. Jehovah, Jesus,” he opened his mouth, then turned back to me, “and you.”

Well, at least I was included.

Mornings in my home were rapid and unwavering. Monday through Friday, Dad would be getting ready for work while Mom prepared for taking the remainder of our family, namely me and Lorretta, out in service.

Regardless, we began every morning with the daily text before we scuttled away from the dining room table, Lorrie and I would bicker about who got to take a shower first and Mom would retreat to the bedroom to finish picking service clothes and say her private morning prayer. She told me it helped her wind her emotions down before the day began, and I believed her. Every day she’d walk out of the bedroom fresh as a daisy with a pleasant smile on her face.

I wished prayer had that effect on me. I figured it was something that would come with age, a result of getting to know Jehovah over a multitude of years. I thought that maybe now that I was baptized, praying would start affecting me more.

I tried it that morning once I finally got into the shower, a private prayer, nobody but me and God and the pitter patter of water falling from the shower.

When I finished, I opened my eyes, and…

Nothing.

It will happen, I reassured myself. Eventually it would fall into place. Eventually my eyes would open up and I’d see what exactly I got baptized for, I had complete faith in that fact.

And until I could find joy in the mere act of walking into a Kingdom Hall before field service, I could at least find joy in seeing Alan there, waving at me, ready to take on the day together as we knocked on doors and performed our deliveries of spiritual food.

Alan was smart, incredibly smart. He was the most put together and brainy person I knew. While more than half of his brilliant mind was filled with Jehovah’s Witness exclusive biblical lore, scriptures, and a bible based sense of right and wrong, the remainder of his brain power would often bewilder and dazzle me.

In particular, his uncanny talent for gaming.

For a guy who didn’t give himself much free time, Alan had this ability to pick up and master almost any videogame instantly.

A couple seconds of watching someone on an arcade machine later, he’d step up for his turn and fuse to the controls, his nimble fingers testing each button and knob a handful of times before pressing play and blowing the fellow patrons away. Racking up scores so fast and with such ease you’d swear he was a cyborg designed for mastering the digital art.

I can’t even describe the rush I’d get from watching him, something about witnessing a man in his element, distraction free, his eyes dancing across the screen rapidly, open and inhaling information like a computer. His fingers tapping, clicking, swiftly knocking around and about as though they had minds of their own and jobs they knew how to do by heart. All while his body stayed perfectly still, a suit on, separating his elegant, formal figure from the rest of the arcade-goers around us.

That suit was a constant reminder of the reality of our lives, we weren’t just two teenage boys out at the mall having fun on the weekend. We were two spiritual brothers who got dropped off at the mall after going in field service for the whole morning with Alan’s family, waiting for my mom to reunite with me, pick us up and take us home.

It was a routine we had down pat, but field service meant formal wear, and thus, my reminder.

Alan rocked it though. His tall stature only added to the elegance of his outfit, his black wavy hair perfectly framed his face and his dark brown rimmed glasses gave him not only an air of intelligence but one of melancholy and mystery as well. One look at him and his savant-like skill with his fingers and you’d instantly want to know more about him.

After all, if there were ever a man who I could see myself falling for, it would be Alan.

#ex christian #ex jw #ex believer #ex catholic #exjw

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redcarpetview · 2 years ago

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Official Statement Regarding The Passing Of Kevin Lemons

Photo courtesy of JP Designs Art | Brand Agency.

It is with deep sadness that we join the family of Kevin Lemons in announcing his transition January 7, 2023. Kevin Lemons was not only an extraordinary, highly respected songwriter, artist and choir director, he was a devoted and loving husband, a trusted leader of his music ministry and a pillar of gospel music’s vital choir scene.

Details about memorial services will be announced soon.

Bishop Hezekiah Walker is heartbroken, saying “Kevin Lemons was one of the kindest, most humble artists that I know, even though his gift and talents were enormous. His love for God seasoned everything that he did, and his palpable love for people was an extension of that. Kevin Lemons was just a beautiful human being and he will be sorely missed.”

Kevin Lemons. Media image.

Lemons’ HezHouse Entertainment labelmates are also devastated by his sudden passing:

Vincent Bohanan says: “I am in total disbelief concerning the untimely transition of my labelmate Kevin Lemons. Kevin has been a light in the gospel community for many years. His stance, leadership and command over the choir was like none other. There are many things in life we may not understand, but we trust the sovereignty of God. My prayers are with the family and Higher Calling. The Gospel Choir community will forever remember the life and legacy of Kevin Lemons.”

Mark Hubbard says: “My heart is broken! You were more than just my labelmate. You considered me to be your uncle, and one of the mentors that you grew up listening to in the industry. I (we) will miss you in the physical, but your impact, legacy, and spirit will live on forever in our hearts. My Prayers are with Lady T, the family, and Higher Calling. Rest Well Nephew.”

Patrick Riddick says: “My heart is heavy and full of sadness. From the moment the phone call came in, until now, I have been speechless. Maestro Kevin was our Thomas Whitfield and made up a third of OUR generation's Brat Pack. Our friendship was so genuine, we would challenge one another musically and share our unfiltered thoughts/critiques of each other in a way that only we could. The brotherhood went beyond music; we held each other accountable and integral. I am going to miss my brother. I am praying for Lady T, Higher Calling and every friend, artist, and colleague who will feel the impact of this loss.”

Kevin Lemons. Media Image.

Kevin Lemons was the founder and director of the extraordinary chorale Higher Calling, who will have been together 27 years this year. Their most recent recording, Third Round, garnered Dove and Stellar Gospel Music Award nominations as well as robust acclaim at radio and on social media. Their breakout single, "For Your Good," accumulated over 100,000 streams and reached #3 on the Billboard Gospel Digital Sales Chart. Additionally, Lemons served as the vocal director for the celebrated Netflix film Come Sunday.

“Lemons’ passing is a huge loss for the gospel music industry,” says Bishop Hezekiah Walker. “We are keeping Kevin’s wife of 15 years, Tiunna Lemons, in our heartfelt prayers, along with his family, extended family, members of Higher Calling and all those who knew and loved Kevin Lemons.”

Kevin Lemons & Higher Calling was founded when Kevin and a group of young singers came together for a special music event created by Kevin’s father, Wilbert Lemons. Kevin’s father was the director of the historic Atlanta Masonic Choir, which was founded by Kevin’s grandmother Annie Ruth Lemons. The group enjoyed singing together so much that they decided to stay together. Kevin Lemons & Higher Calling became a 100-member ensemble with 50 Atlanta-based singers and 50 additional singers from California, Virginia, the DMV area, New York, New Orleans, Texas, North Carolina, Florida and Alabama.

Kevin Lemons & Higher Calling have taken their mesmerizing vocals and energetic performances to stages around the world. They have recorded three albums: Their first album, Destined for Greatness, was released to critical acclaim; its title track caught the attention of choir maestro Ricky Dillard, who later recorded it with his ensemble New Generation.

Their second album, The Declaration, peaked at #10 on Billboard’s Gospel Albums Chart. Their third album, Third Round, was released in 2021 and featured the breakout single “For Your Good.” Kevin Lemons & Higher Calling is a staple in Gospel music, and have performed with Gospel greats including Kirk Franklin, Bebe Winans, Donald Lawrence and Hezekiah Walker.

Lemons was vocal director for the celebrated film Come Sunday, and has been the choir director for How Sweet the Sound and BET’s Sunday Best.

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