#I will give them that. my god did the vestments slay

[emjee]

Conclave review: legitimately interesting film that gets church politics (mostly) right and asks the interesting if (to me) far-fetched question: what if the College of Cardinals did the right thing.

[bumblewarden]

I recently played Jaws of Hakkon and am still fuming at the DLC’s burning intent to justify the March on the Dales. Obviously, there’s nothing that could justify Orlais’s invasion of the Dales and the subsequent genocide and that i could be massively missing the point by so much as constructing an argument to refute it as though it is something that could in some universe be justified, but i’m doing it anyway. 

Just from a logistical standpoint, how long can they (the writers) carry the excuse that elves don’t deserve sovereignty because they didn’t do enough against the Blight?

This is a lot of the distilled essence of the nothing ramblings of an old man, so i’m putting it under a readmore out of the common dignity i can afford. This probably qualifies as discourse or critical, so read ahead at your own risk, but as i’m half asleep writing this, i will not be taking criticism. These ramblings are posted only so as to not be left entirely alone to fester with my thoughts. Expect incoherence.

The origins of the Joining, just like everything else around it, are not exactly widely held knowledge, but surprise! Elven slaves contributed what they remembered of their ancient magical knowledge in exchange for the promise that after the Blight, the Grey Wardens would turn their attention to liberating the elves from slavery in Tevinter. Guess what didn’t happen. At least they kept the other half of their promise of letting elves join the Order as equals. I’m sure they kept their word on that half purely for altruistic purposes.

But as a quick aside that you may or may not deem relevant: Why should the elves of the Dales be expected to keep their end of the oath to combat future Blights when the Wardens did not keep their end of the oath to free them from slavery after the First Blight?

Now let’s go through a quick list of the Wardens who ended the Blight.

The Second Blight was ended by a Warden named Corin, and the Third Blight was ended by an unnamed Warden (DA2 Codex: Vestments of Sacrifice; DAO Codex: Thorn of the Dead Gods). Neither Warden’s race is specified to the audience. The Fourth Blight was ended by Garahel, who is famously an elf, and while forgotten by history but hopefully not the writing team, his sister Isseya was also hugely important to the effort. The Fifth Blight is of variable status, but because this ramble was sparked by a post relevant to my canon worldstate which boasts a Warden Tabris, i’m marking it as an elven Warden.

Skimming through Last Flight, because of the emphasis on Garahel as the one hero all elves across Thedas can look up to, we can assume the Wardens who ended the First and Second Blights were not elves. What’s not said is just as important as what is said. 

The Chantry is obviously not above erasing elves in their histories (ie. Ameridan and Shartan), but it’s simpler for this exercise to operate under the assumption that these Wardens were human, especially since their remains are at Weisshaupt. Whether or not their bodies decayed (heavily Blighted areas are known to halt the process of decay), the size and form of their armor would give some indication of the likelihood of them being elven or not.

The First Blight is a bit more of an asterisk. According to tertiary-level canon lore, nobody knows who slayed Dumat. The exact quote:

“The Order’s histories do not record which Warden gave up their soul to destroy the Archdemon, for many Wardens struggled against Dumat, and the dragon’s very death throes slew seven or more of the Order’s warriors.” (Dragon Age Roleplaying Game Rulebook, p. 253)

<Tangent> Personally, i think this is because the First Blight was ended with the same ritual Morrigan offers to end the Fifth which here produced the old god baby Andraste, whom i also headcanon to be an elf. She’s very invested in the welfare of her contemporary elves, the Tevinter slave caste of which she was a part was almost entirely comprised of elves in this period, and most damningly, it’s a suggested name for elves in the 5E PHB. Look me in the eye and say Dungeons & Dragons had absolutely zero influence on the development of Dragon Age. Is this not by the same company that developed the original Baldur’s Gate trilogy? But none of that is actually relevant at the moment! I just wanted to get that out there </Tangent>

And while she’s not a Warden herself, because she was in the post that sparked this, i do have to bring up Wenna di Ladia. She proved that elves will take an active role against the Blight in the first one after the Fall of the Dales. In the Third Blight, she played an important role in rallying Thedosian forces against the darkspawn because it’s okay when humans sit on their hands against a Blight. Or does she not count because elves would eventually use her name as a rallying cry themselves as they defended themselves from injustices granted to them by humans? (DAI Codex: Tenasarin)

Let’s revisit our abbreviated tally on major elven contributions against the Blight.

First Blight: Contributed as much as anyone and helped developed the Joining to create the Grey Warden Order. It is unknown if an elf, human, or dwarf slayed the archdemon.

Second Blight: Minimal contribution.

Third Blight: Wenna di Ladia inspired Thedas to arms.

Fourth Blight: Garahel killed Andoral, and Isseya fought by his side as a fellow Warden the entire time.

Fifth Blight: Tabris killed Urthemiel.

So: We have 2 out of 4 confirmed Blight-enders were elves themselves, and elves are mentioned at points to be vastly outnumbered in population by humans across the totality of Thedas. On top of that, they have even less access than humans to the martial training necessary to make an effective Warden. In many places, it’s forbidden by law for elves to wield weapons, and all Orlesian Chantry Circle mages are being suppressed in their combat abilities regardless of species. Yes, there are the Dalish, but they are a small percentage of the already-minority elven population of Thedas. Even if they produce skilled combatants at the same rate as humans, the total number is going to be tiny in comparison.

It’s of huge statistical significance that 40%, of Blights are confirmed to have been ended by elves. Yes, yes, small sample sizes and all, but these are the numbers we are dealt. Do we need another hundred Blights before this statistic can matter? The elven Hero of Ferelden, especially, is the one who coordinated the entire response east of the Frostbacks to the Fifth Blight after the massacre at Ostagar despite the active bounty on his head. 

If the elves lost their second homeland “because they didn’t do enough against the Blight”, have they not done enough to make up for that? 

Despite their presentation in Inquisition, the Dales are about the only major location in modern Thedas that has a majority elven population. It is true there are small human populations there that would have to either accept elven rule or leave for other parts of Orlais, but it’s not like there are massive swathes of people that will be forcibly displaced if the sovereignty of this hostilely occupied territory is restored.

Or was it never more than the chosen propaganda of a bloodhungry imperialist nation to excuse conquering and enslaving the nation of the oppressed Other refusing to involve themselves in the war outside their borders? 

The answer may (not) surprise you!

[gveret-fic]

A lil fic in which Gideon showers with her clothes on, changes in the dark, applies her face paint out of a manual, and doesn't touch herself ever. Well. Hardly ever.

HtN spoilers ahead!

---

A bit anticlimactic, if you ask me, after slaying brain melting horror bees and swimming right out of hell, for my next great big challenge to be trying to figure out how to take a dump in a prudish little nun’s body without compromising its modesty.

Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, my sombre bathroom break micromanager, but you really didn’t stick the landing on this one. You had a letter for basically every contingency, like you had one for if God sneezed really hard and blew out the sun, I’m pretty sure, and then mine was basically just ‘fuck you, return to sender’. You just went and parked your porsche in my landing pad with the blasters still on and didn’t even bother to leave the DRY CLEANING ONLY tag on the upholstery. I had to come up with a virtue-preserving game plan all on my lonesome, you know.

And I've been such a good girl, Harrow, you'd be proud. Well, at least you'd be such an unexpectedly small, tiny, miniscule, astonishingly negligible amount of pissed off that it's basically pride at that point, right.

Don't get me wrong, it was a logistical nightmare. Ever tried to shower in multiple robes plus what I must assume are, like, pantaloons? The sonic flaps it all the fuck around, and let me tell you, getting spanked by heavy Ninth vestments is now officially off my kink list. Now, the other option is wet dog trapped in straightjacket, and I'm not too keen on that one either. But I stuck with it. It takes like 20 minutes, no joke, to struggle out of all your stupid layers in the dark, with my eyes closed, without touching any of your most hallowed skin. But I've got a knack for it now, you know? If I ever get the chance to get a lil frisky, maybe with a hot ghost or something I don't know, I can totally impress her with my wild 100% contact free striptease skills.

What I'm saying is, I've been such a super duper chaste and meticulous and ephemeral little make believe nun it's like I was never even here. So you gotta take that into consideration, Harrow, when you pass your terrible judgment once I tell you how I've sinned.

So, it happened when I was putting your face paint on. It wasn’t half bad, either. Really, it was half good. I’ve been practicing. I found this horrible little book full of the gnarliest, creepiest, just most hideous skull faces, and they all had these pretentious titles like The Palm of the Storm or The Young Boy’s Booger. Just your style, basically.

But I was looking at your face in the mirror—that’s the way paint application goes, Harrow, don’t pout—and I got stuck on your pinched, bloodless lips for some reason, and I forgot for a moment that it was me in your muscles, and I just thought, wow, you looked so sad. You always looked so goddamn sad, and no one ever did a fucking thing about it, least of all you, and in that moment I was so angry about it, I could smack you.

So naturally I reached out and I brushed your knuckle gently over your cheek. And lo, I wasn’t struck down on the spot. That gave me a bit of a confidence boost, I suppose. I ran your thumb under your eye, just a little avuncular half circle while thinking just the purest fucking thoughts, and it came away wet.

Really got you going, that one little barely there swipe. You needed this real bad, Nonagesimus. I needed this, too. We were gagging for it. We were crying for it. I needed you to be touched gently, so bad, and I needed even badder to be the one doing the touching. I knew you wouldn't want that, of course, don't feel the need to defend your honor. This was my best compromise, okay? I didn't have a lot to work with. This way you wouldn't really be touched and I wouldn't really be touching, but maybe we'd both get a little something out of it anyway.

This is maybe a good time to confess those thoughts weren't so totally super pure. They were maybe a little muddier, a little earthier, you know. Harrow, listen, I've been thinking a lot about your body, what with living in it for months and having only the one made up magazine to look at and being balls to the wall in love and all. Sorry. So when I tell you I've been thinking about running my fingertip over your eyebrow from glabella to sphenoid, what I'm saying is I've fantasized about the texture of each one of your big black goddamn eyebrow hairs so much my finger's never not tingly anymore. And when I wiped your eye with a tiny knuckle and ran that smooth little fingertip along your real ass eyebrow, Harrow, there was a definite fucking tingle, and I didn't fucking stop.

I traced the smooth plane of your frontal bone, the proud arch of your brow ridge. I dragged your fingertips over your temple and into the mass of your sweaty, overlong hair. The side of your finger grazed the shell of your ear, and you shivered—your ears are so sensitive, Nonageaimus, I thought this stuff only happened in porn—and I felt the full, terrifying shape of your skull in my hand. I cupped the back of your sore-ass neck in a palm and I squeezed just a little, just to let us know we were held, and I worked our fingertips into those nonexistent traps that still somehow managed to be clenched tighter than a stoma that's munched down on one too many emperors. I kneaded them good until they loosened just a bit, and we were still crying like a little bitch.

I squeezed your shoulder, the clavicle pressing sharply into our palm, and I stroked down your bicep, which did not deserve the name, by the way, and I brushed the inside of your elbow and I dragged the underside of your bitten fingernails up your forearm and over that terrifyingly delicate wrist and your doll sized soft palm and then I held your fucking hand.

Yeah, I laced our fucking fingers together, Harrow. Eat me.

I could feel your heart beating in our interdigital folds, I was holding your hand so hard and so intertwiney. And we were definitely feeling some kind of way just then. I had to sit down on your bony ass, your eyes leaking, your shoulders shaking, as I was having just the most mortifying little breakdown over holding my own hand.

I'm sorry, Harrow. I wanted to hug you a lot, these past few months. There were so many moments I wanted to reach outside of you, all like blerghgrgh sudden gorgeous beefy arm bursting out of your stomach to smack Shittier Gideon in the balls or give Shittier Tridentarius a purple nurple. I wanted to give you a pat on the head, tell you've been a good good doggie and you can take a lil break now. Wanted to rub your shoulders and arms all over, force a bit of warmth into em even if I've given up on muscle. Wanted to brace the heel of my palm at the small of your back, squeeze your hips and pull em back, run a hand along that spine to make it proud again, just to give you some support, just to see you stand up straight. Wanted to rub the frown right off your brow, poke your lil cheeks and make you snarl, give you something nice and tough to bite on. But mostly I just wanted to hold you.

I wanted to wrap you tight, so that you'd become a compact little package with well defined edges and maybe then you could open it all up and let it out. Only in my big stupid arms, I'd think selfishly, like some sort of grand duke of self delusion, would you finally feel safe enough to cry.

Nah. Who was I kidding? It was me who was crying. It was me who wanted to be comforted, to be touched kindly, to have her hand held, and it was only me who was getting anything out of doing this stupid weird creepy bullshit. I wasn't giving you shit, Nonagesimus. I just wanted to hold your hand.

I didn't let go, though. Again, Harrow, sorry. Your body didn't care that it was only you, only me. Your skin and your flesh and all those bits you didn't care about wanted this too, probably. The pressure, and the warmth, the illusion or the weird roundabout reality of another person who cares about you. Maybe I'm making excuses again. But I care about you, Harrow. You'll believe that much, won't you? I care about your body. I care about all the non-skeleton parts of you, even. Baffling, I know.

So I sat on your ass, and I bent your head over our joined hands, and I cried, and I didn't let go.

[nervousalpacahologram]

Best of Best Friends

@swarmisazergling Hap Birth!

“Best friends are a rare breed. And you are the best of best friends.” 

One’s voice seemed to echo in the concrete chamber, reverbing over the ticking and hissing of clockwork. Seven turned in his direction, an expression close to surprise written on their features. “Close to surprise” because their was little more than several mouths slowly drifting across an expanse of smooth skin.

 When One made no attempt to to continue speaking, contemplating his reflection in a glass of oil, Seven responded.

 “I… I’m glad to hear this Old Friend.” They had no clue what to say, unfamiliar with such burst of emotion by One’s standards. Seven carefully inspected the Mekhanite, noting the nearly shell-shocked expression he wore. “What’s gotten you this… verbally free?”

 “It’s nothing Dear Friend. I merely thought it would be something worth saying.” He took a long draught of his oil, draining it to the dregs. His head slipped back, gently clacking against the merciless concrete behind him.

 He was in a sorry state, cloak of rags and bones thrown to the side, revealing pale skin and brass religious vestments beneath. Blue lines of lights scattered across his skin, pulsing and fading with his mood.

 “Does this have anything to do with what happened to Site-01?” Not a month ago the existence of Site-01 had been fed to the Chaos Insurgency by a member of the Red Right Hand. One and Three had been there, and One had almost died. Seven didn’t know all the details, but from the fact that Three had saved him from an entire battalion of Insurgents led them to believe they knew what had happened.

 “That old place? I had no love for it after all these years. It’s that…” He trailed off, glaring pensively at perfectly-timed clockwork.

 “I’m here for you Aaron. You can tell me.” They gently placed a hand on One’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

 “Thank you Teeth. It’s that I Failed. I failed to protect 3, 4, 8 or 9. They could have all been captured if not for Four. I was supposed to control 01. And I failed.” Seven could immediately tell that the prophet was lying, calmly tilting his face toward them. One’s slate-grey eyes made contact with Seven’s golden ones. And Seven saw all the truths and lies laid out in front of them.

 “It isn’t that which weighs on your mind. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying. Something happened with Three. Please, my friend, tell me what happened.” Tears had begun to form in the corners of One’s eyes, black and viscous. And then, with a quiet voice:

“He kissed me Seven. He kissed me.” The tears spilled over his cheekbones, dripping slowly down his cheeks. Seven gently wiped them away as he wept, years upon years of repressed emotions welling up past his façade.

 “But that’s not everything, is it One? Something’s wrong, and it’s making you Hurt.” He nodded briefly, shifting and accidently knocking over the crystal wineglass. It shattered loudly on the ground, reverberating in the empty air. A heartbreaking sound wrenched it’s way up from One’s synthetic lungs, something between a choke and a sob.

 “He’s a monster Seven.” Another choke-gasp, “He’s a monster, a beast that I’ve spent my whole life destroying.”

 “Tell me what happened One. Please, it will help.”

 “I was held at gunpoint by a dozen insurgents when the walls of the Site… Buckled. It was torn away and Three walked through. But it just… Wasn’t Him. His shirt and sweater were torn apart, and his chest was a gaping hole, like something had forced it’s way out. And It HAD.” One pitched forward, burying his face into Seven’s kimono.

 “Shh, Shh. It’s alright One. What had?” One of several hands extended from Seven’s back and stroked across One’s scalp soothingly.

 “His heart was beating, and it was Black. The veins and muscle extended from it, merging with the bone of his ribs. And these tendrils whipped through the air, cutting the Insurgency low with one fell swoop. Their bullets, their magic, their screams did nothing. He shrugged them off Seven! They ripped and tore but did Nothing!” He was growing manic, shivering and shaking violently in Seven’s arms.

 More arms unfolded, cradling One to Seven’s body. Seven whispered quiet nonsense to him, putting out as much of a calming aura as they could.

 “…When the screaming stopped, he gathered me in his arms and FLESH and held me. In those moments he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and he was a monster. I fell in love with a Sarkic abomination.” His struggling and weeping had stopped as he finally admitted it to himself, replaced with some sort of coldness.

 “It doesn’t matter what he is One. It could never matter what he is after all those years of unsaid love.”

 “He can’t love me. He’s a monster.” One sounded defeated, and in that brief moment of silence, Seven made a decision.

 “I knew he was a monster.” Six simple words. Just six, and One looked up at Seven as if they had just stabbed him in the back. The look broke Seven’s heart, but they persevered.

 “You… You knew?” Tears had begun to stream down his face once again.

 “He was anomalous. I aided his misguided attempts to sever that part of himself, to give that part of himself form and then slay it. But it was too strong. It became 058. He rejoined it to Save You Aaron. He needed to accept that part of himself, and circumstance finally, finally forced his hand. Don’t fear him One. Don’t fear him like you’ve feared so much.”

 “Why did you never tell me?”

 “Why? You know why One. You would have killed him, feelings be damned. You would have broken part of your own soul to uphold views you barely even hold anymore.” One pulled himself away gently. Even with the anger and betrayal coursing through his veins, he couldn’t bear to hurt them.

 Their were a million questions flying through his brain at terminal velocity, but he asked none of them. Instead:

 “Can he truly love me? Even as a monster?” Seven smirked, wiping away the drying tears from One’s cheeks. He looked broken, emotionally numb once again, but for an entirely different reason.

 “I’ve seen Mekhanites and Nalkites fall in love before. I wandered with Nadox and Derdekeas themselves. Nalkites can love. They feel it more intensely than any emotion, even as they deny it. The question isn’t if he can love you. It is: Can you love him?” One turned his grey eyes to the floor, squeezing them shut in pain.

 “I’m sorry MEKHANE. But by god, I love him.” Seven gathered him up in their arms, gently tracing the religious vestments that ran across his back. They held him until the sobbing stopped, until they felt the final stage of grief settle like a mantle over One’s shoulders.

 “That’s it Aaron. That’s it. Deep breaths in and out.” The minutes wound down into hours of silence, passed with the ticking of clockwork and the rhythmic rubbing of skin on “skin.” The “skin” on One’s back was close to warm from Seven’s hands by the end of it.

 “I need to talk to him. I need to apologize.”

 “Yes you do my Dear Friend. Talk can be a toxin or balm depending on the ways. Use it now as a cure. Treat this bitter resentment you’ve fostered.” They gently extricated One from their embrace, kimono stained with oil-tears.

 “Much needs to be done… Thank you Seven. For brushing the scales from my eyes.” He stood up, sweeping the Cloak around his shoulders once again. Bones and Metal clattered, a vivid windchime-like sound.

 “Anytime Aaron.” He left, leaving Seven to recline in the empty room with the satisfaction of a job well done.

[gospelmusic]

Catholic Daily Reading + Reflection: 1 December 2020 - A Shoot From The Stump Of Jesse: The Spirit Of The Lord Shall Rest Upon Him

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Readings at Mass for 1,December 2020

Tuesday December 1, 2020 First Week of Advent Year B Vestment: Violet Today’s Rosary: The Sorrowful Mystery

Entrance Antiphon cf.Zec14:5.7

Behold, the Lord will come, and all his holy ones with him; and on that day there will be a great light.

Collect

Look with favour, Lord God, on our petitions, and in our trials grant us your compassionate help, that, consoled by the presence of your Son, whose coming we now await, we may be tainted no longer by the corruption of former ways. Through our Lord. . (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

FIRST READING

“The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him.” A reading from the Book of Isaiah (Isaiah11:1-10) On that day: There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. And his delight shall be in the fear of the LORD. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear; but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; and he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt of his waist, and faithfulness the belt of his loins. The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall feed; their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The sucking child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. In that day the root of Jesse shall stand as an ensign to the peoples; him shall the nations seek, and his dwellings shall be glorious. The word of the Lord.

RESPONSORIAL PSALM Psalm72:1-2.7-8.12-13-17 (R.7)

R/. In his days shall justice flourish, and great peace forever. O God, give your judgement to the king, to a king’s son your justice, that he may judge your people in justice, and your poor in right judgement. R. In his days shall justice flourish, And great peace till the moon is no more. He shall rule from sea to sea, From the River to the bounds of the earth. R. For he shall save the needy when they cry, the poor, and those who are helpless. He will have pity on the weak and the needy, and save the lives of the needy. R. May his name endure forever, his name continue like the sun. Every tribe shall be blest in him, All nations shall call him blessed. R.

ALLELUIA

Alleluia. Alleluia. Behold, our Lord will come with power, and enlighten the eyes of his servants. Alleluia. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

GOSPEL

“Jesus rejoiced in the Holy Spirit.” A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke (Luke 10:21-24) At that hour: Jesus rejoiced in the Holy Spirit and said, ‘I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been delivered to me by my Father; and no one knows who the Son is except the Father, or who the Father is except the Son and any one to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.” Then turning to the disciples he said privately, “Blessed are the eyes which see what you see! For I tell you that many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it.” The Gospel of the Lord.

Today's Reflection

As we begin this new month, the prophet Isaiah has an encouraging message for us, “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots” (Isa 11:1). A stump is the last part of the tree that is left on the ground when the main tree has been cut down. Normally, it is expected that it should die off but a shoot rather grows from it. Can you see? From any seemingly hopeless situation you may find yourself, God is going to lift you up and make you stand out as a sign of his glory to the nations (cf Isa 11:10). Only try and dispose yourself for that by upholding justice in your little way and living in peace with others, and it shall be well with you.

Blessings for the new Month

We say ‘Thank You’ to God for bringing us to December, the last month of the year. It shall be a month of triumphant glory for us. May God be praised for all he has done for us and may we continue to see goodness and mercy in the land of the living. Open your mouth, praise the Lord and exalt him forever. May his praise be always on your lips and may greater good and blessings come upon you in abundance as we wrap up the year 2020. May no harm come upon you, your household, your work and business and may your journey and movement in this month be safe, fruitful and blessed. Amen. Have a fantastic new month of December. May Jesus open doors of blessings for you and your household and may his word be fulfilled upon your life. Amen.

Let Us Pray,

Lord, grant that in this liturgical year we may stay awake always in order to avoid evil and let your light lead us on our pilgrimage to heaven. Amen

Personal Devotional

He will always make you rich enough to be generous at all times, so that many will thank God for your gifts which they receive from us. For the service you perform not only meets the needs of God's people, but also produces an outpouring of gratitude to God. 2 Corinthians 11,12 - Dear Lord, thank you for the gift of this new day and new month. I adore you because of your goodness. Lord help me to fight to be at the top, but to allow the fullness of the operation of the Holy Spirit in my life. - O Lord, let me count greatness only by your standards and qualifications, and not by my own merits and achievements. - Holy Spirit of the living God, remain always with me. - Everything that has made the Holy Spirit to be away from me, depart now in the name of Jesus. Holy Spirit make me your dwelling place.

Let Us Pray

Lord Jesus, fill me with your healing power. Let the warmth of your healing love flood my entire being, so that my body will function the way it was created to be, whole and complete, renewed in your perfect health. I ask this through my Lord, Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen

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