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saltysultry · 3 months

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Untouched: Part Two

Pastor Lemuel Childs x OC

Synopsis: Pastor Childs has been lost this past year after what his family and the parish went through. But when a young woman comes into town, aimless and without guidance, the Pastor takes it upon himself to be her shepherd, and lead her out of the darkness... And into his arms.

Warnings: older man x young woman, religious exploitation (kinda), religious trauma, eventual smut, angst, OC is a virgin, Pastor Childs is not a great person but he sure is hot as hell, I apologize for any spelling errors

@justme12200 @its-in-the-woods @hiddlebatchedloki

Word count: 5.5k

Lemuel hung back after the service, thanking everyone for coming and catching up with some parishioners while Virginia waited outside the church. She was still reeling from the emotions that had flowed through her during the service. It was a rush unlike anything else and Lemuel was there at the center of it all, guiding her through the motions with a steady hand.

“Alright, let’s close ‘er up.” Lemuel appeared at the exit with Hank and a girl no older than eighteen with long brown hair and dressed in a puffy coat. She slid the church door shut and locked it. “G’night Hank, see ya ‘round.” The two men shook hands and Hank bid the other three goodnight.

Virginia was lost in thought when Lemuel touched her elbow, bringing her back into reality. “You alright there?”

“That was an incredible service, Pastor.” Virginia said.

Lemuel smiled proudly, looking down at the muddy ground beneath him. Was he blushing? “Well, thank you, Miss Godwin. Before we head home, I wanted you to meet Dilly.”

“It’s nice to see a fresh face at service.” The young girl said with a polite smile. “You’re new to town?”

Was this girl Lemuel’s daughter? She was young enough but it was strange that Lemuel hadn’t mentioned her already.

“Yes, Joshua Godwin was my uncle. I inherited his house and your pastor was kind enough to invite me to your church.” Virginia said, extending her hand out to Dilly, who bashfully took it and shook it. “Call me Virginia.”

“Alright, Virginia.” Dilly repeated, looking between the newcomer and her pastor. “Well, we best get home for dinner. I prepared chicken.”

“I told Dilly you was joining us for dinner. She’s spoiling you.” Lemuel said before the trio made their way to his truck.

Dilly rode between Lemuel and Virginia, awkward and quiet. She seemed nice enough, but there was something that put the girl on edge. Virginia wondered if it was her presence, maybe it was Lemuel, who seemed to put off other members of the community. She still didn’t know the relationship between Dilly and Lemuel. Father and daughter or husband and… Really young wife? Virginia had met couples with extreme age differences when they belonged to remote churches.

They arrived in under five minutes, pulling up to a house in a clearing. Inside, it was rather normal-looking. It had all the comforts of home, was well lived-in, and neat. Dilly excused herself to the kitchen quickly, leaving Lemuel and Virginia alone in the living room.

“I’m real pleased you enjoyed the service, Miss Godwin.” He said, taking a seat on his armchair while Virginia took the couch.

“I had never felt so close to… I don’t know, it was as if God’s arms were lifting me up.”

“You felt the presence of the Holy Ghost.” Lemuel said. “He’s always there, you just need to look for him and let him in. You let him in.”

“I did.” Virginia smiled. “The others really respond to you well.”

“It ain’t about me, though.” Lemuel affirmed. “It’s about the Lord and their relationship with him. I only guide those who seek guidance.”

A stranger in a new place, far from home and without any family to go to, all Virginia wanted was some guidance. And ever since he had come to her rescue that night on the road, it seemed that the Lord was telling Lemuel that he was meant to guide her to him, into his parish and at his table. A lost sheep in need of a shepherd.

Lemuel hadn’t forgotten her when he preached to the congregation. He saw her as she raised her arms up, praising Jesus’ name and welcoming him into her heart. She had gripped at her own chest, hand over her heart while she whispered her praises. He couldn’t deny, she looked so beautiful in the dim light of the church. So alive. So vibrant.

“She your daughter?” Virginia asked.

She hadn’t noticed any photographs of Dilly anywhere in the house. In fact, there were barely any picture frames, just crosses, clocks, and paintings. Nothing that indicated family.

Lemuel sighed, leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees. Virginia didn’t know she had asked a touchy question, but he understood why she assumed as such.

“She’s my ward. Her mama ran out on her ‘bout a year ago. She was alone for a month before I took her in.” Lemuel said. “Her mama don’t know what she left behind.”

“Poor thing.” Virginia frowned.

The more Virginia learned about Lemuel, the more fascinating he became. He was a generous man who took those who needed help under his wing. He was also brave, or stupid, enough to handle poisonous snakes on the regular and firmly believed in God’s will. He was tough as much as he was tender. Much like God’s love, Lemuel instilled both hope and fear within Virginia.

“Tell me about your family.” Lemuel said, changing the subject. “You close with your folks?”

“Haven’t spoken to my folks in years, not even at uncle Joshua’s funeral.” She said, leaning back against the couch. “My father left my mother when I was ‘bout five, and she, well, she was a God-fearing woman. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, but she…”

Lemuel listened closely, watching as Virginia’s face furrowed then rested then furrowed again.

“My mother had her own ways of expressing faith.” Virginia spoke slowly, taking care with how she revealed her past to the pastor. “It often resulted in physical correction.”

“Your mama beat you.” Lemuel said plainly.

Virginia’s mouth tightened into a straight line. She nodded, breathing in heavily through her nose. Suddenly, the room was hot. Virginia’s struggle with finding her faith was made all the more clearer to the pastor. He didn’t blame her for her aimless wandering, especially now after learning of her history.

Lemuel himself believed in correcting children, but to strike a child often enough to instill a fear far greater than love wasn’t Christ-like. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Virginia sniffled, fighting back the tears. She didn’t want to cry, especially not now in Lemuel’s home. She hated crying in front of people, especially those she barely knew longer than a day.

“I used to think that whenever she swung her Bible at me, the scripture would knock itself into my skin.” She admitted. “Mother said everything that happened was the Lord’s will. So, if she was hitting me, it was because God wanted me to be hit.”

“Your mama forgot that man was given free will and that our actions are sometimes just our own.” Lemuel commented. “No child deserves to live in fear of their mama.”

Virginia was surprised by the pastor’s words. Most religious types, especially ones as serious as Lemuel, were quick to excuse such behavior. Claiming that her abuse was meant to strengthen her, test her faith, and make her a stronger believer. Lemuel validating her frustration against her mother lifted her spirit all the more.

“Mothers…” Virginia chuckled, making Lemuel smile. “Anyways, I ain’t spoken with her since I was eighteen. She didn’t wanna talk to me anymore.”

“Blood’s meant to be with blood.” Lemuel said. “But given she chose to abandon you, just like Dilly’s mama, you’re now destined to search for your own kin. That’s a hard road to journey down.”

Virginia didn’t know what family meant anymore. It was a strange, foreign word to her. Was it an affectionate term that implied anyone who stuck together was a unit? Or was it simply biological? Was it both?

“I would like to belong somewhere, Pastor.” She confessed softly, looking down at her hands which were folded in her lap. “I’d like to find my own tribe.”

Lemuel felt moved enough to stand from his chair and go to Virginia. He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, looking up at the sad, lonely woman. She stared back at him, waiting for something to happen.

“God has brought you to us, Virginia Godwin. It was by his hand that you were delivered to this mountain and into our lives.” He told her, squeezing her hands.

“Pastor…” She breathed, looking into his hazel eyes.

She believed that was to be her lot in life, to be lonely and without a family. Virginia had accepted her uncle’s house without question because at least it meant a step in any direction away from where she was before. And now, she was in Lemuel’s home, with him on his knees, asking her, no, telling her that she should stay because she belonged.

Virginia could’ve sworn his eyes drifted down for a second.

“I want to belong.” She whispered, rogue tears streaming down her cheeks. The pastor wiped them away with the pad of his thumb, making Virginia freeze from the intimate touch.

“A lost sheep in need of a shepherd.” He told her with a sad smile.

If Virginia had given into herself, let her heart pull her forward and into Lemuel, she would’ve kissed him. But she didn’t. She just let him hold her hands and look at her.

He brought her to the dinner table where Dilly served them chicken and sweet potatoes, ignorant of the change between them. The trio joined hands and Lemuel said grace. During dinner, Dilly filled the silence by speaking of her excitement for graduating high school, the first in her family to get a diploma of any kind. Lemuel said some words of encouragement every so often, as did Virginia, but in truth, the pair was thinking about Virginia’s future.

She had a choice to make. Virginia very much wanted to belong somewhere, and with Lemuel voicing so much faith in her, it was hard to consider the alternative. But then came the question that plagued Virginia when she went home and lay awake in bed. Would she be choosing to become a Pentecostal because she was a genuine believer in their ways of worship? Or did she just not want to be alone anymore?

Or maybe it was simply Lemuel.

The next morning, Virginia went grocery shopping at the local market, saying hello to familiar faces that she had met the previous night at worship. Not too long ago, she was a mere stranger not worth saying anything more than “good morning” or “my condolences” to. Now, she was a welcomed woman. Virginia learned that morning that Lemuel’s approval of her held weight with the parishioners.

Only two days in town and Virginia was already in so deep. She began to worry that there wasn’t a decision to be made after all but acceptance of the inevitable. That she was destined to become one of them just as Lemuel said the previous night.

I want to belong, Lemuel.

The next few days were spent sprucing up the house, making it seem like an actual human being lived in it. She put up paintings, bought a coffee table, and even found a cute vintage tea set at the antique store for her dining table. Virginia hoped that by being away from Lemuel and having more time to settle by herself, she would feel more decisive about what to do.

As lonely as she felt, Virginia wasn’t entirely afraid of being alone. She enjoyed having her own space and freedom. But it made her all the more hungry for attention once a little was given to her.

As she knelt by her bedside and prayed, her thoughts drifted back to the service.

“I’m still lost, Lord. I still feel like I’m wandering ‘round in the dark. I want to feel your presence the same way the others in this town do. And yet something’s keeping me from fully accepting their ways.” Virginia pondered, leaning her head against her neatly folded hands. “I know I have no right to ask you of anything when my resolve has been weak. But please, Lord, help me decide what to do. Give me the strength to find out what it is I’m meant to live for.”

...

“Have you given some thought to our last conversation?”

Lemuel walked beside Virginia along the river bank. She was bundled up, her nose and cheeks rosy from the nipping cold. He wanted to show her where the congregation occasionally went when the service took place outdoors. There were logs and carved crosses in a small clearing underneath a canopy by the water, a beautiful place to preach.

“I’ve prayed on it.” She said,

“Was starting to think you was avoiding me.” Lemuel confessed with a sheepish smile. “Thought maybe I scared you off.”

“You don’t scare me.” Virginia lied. In truth, Lemuel terrified her from how much power he held in his words. It made him all the more appealing to her, and incredibly dangerous. “Just wanted to look for answers on my own.”

“You’ve been looking on your own for years now, Miss Godwin.” Lemuel said. An honest statement, yet it stung Virginia. “Did you find what you was searching for?”

Virginia stopped in her tracks and looked down at her boots. Lemuel stopped beside her, waiting. “I think, what I believe…” She suddenly found herself incredibly shy. Virginia couldn’t even look up at the pastor. “I find it hard to say.”

Lemuel stepped closer, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I found you, Miss Godwin.” He said with a smile. “In the dark on the side of the road. God was guiding you to my hand so I could pull you out of the dark. I think that means something.”

Again, Lemuel was seducing her. He didn’t know what kind of an influence he had over Virginia. They barely knew each other, only had met less than a week ago, and yet there was a gravitational pull between them.

He wanted to guide and Virginia wanted to be guided.

“Lemuel… This is all so fast for me. I mean, I don’t know how things are done here.” Virginia said, finally looking up at him. “I’m not sure if I’m so deservin of what I want.”

“There are ways to tell if you are, Miss Godwin.” Lemuel said, reassuringly. “Let me take you to the church. Prove yourself to our Lord and then be baptized.”

Virginia’s heart sank into her stomach. She knew what he was implying. In his church, to prove one’s self was to face the serpent and pray that you’d be spared.

We respect them but we do not cower before them.

“If your intentions are pure, Christ will know and spare you from the serpent.” He said.

Intentions… Virginia wasn’t sure what her intentions were even now. All she knew was that she wanted to be wanted and Lemuel wanted her. Was that enough for Christ to accept her and spare her a painful bite from the snake? Was it pure enough?

“I don’t know.”

Virginia wasn’t ready yet, so she left Lemuel at the river bank and went home, feeling defeated that she had let Pastor Childs down. She had failed to prove herself to God once again, just as her mother had predicted.

Virginia was alone in her living room, wrapped in a quilt while she sat on her couch, thinking about her first week on the mountain. She missed the touch of Lemuel, his calloused hands holding hers while he told her how special she was. Just a few days with an older man who paid some attention to her and she was already spilling tears over him.

Am I really so pathetic? Virginia thought to herself. Am I really so inexperienced in the ways of the world that everything must confuse and scare me?

*Knock knock knock*

Virginia perked up from the couch and looked to the front door. Late at night, who could it have possibly been waiting on the other side? She knew no one in town except…

“It’s me.”

Lemuel. Of course it was.

She wiped her tears away and walked slowly to the door, the quilt still wrapped around her shoulders as she opened it. Lemuel looked antsy, shivering in the cold.

“May I come inside?”

Virginia didn’t want to be rude, so she stepped aside and welcomed him in, closing the door behind him. “So, what d’you want, Pastor? You didn’t bring a snake, did you?”

“Not this time.” He joked. “I just wanted you to know that…” Lemuel paused, his head shaking in thought. “You don’t know what life’s been like for me and my church this past year. We’ve been praying for something good to come to our mountain. Then you came to us.”

Virginia almost laughed, sitting herself back down on the couch while Lemuel stood before her. “Don’t think I’m as special, Pastor.”

“You were an answer to our prayers.” Lemuel affirmed. “You’re whole, pure, and good-natured.”

“You don’t know me that well.” Virginia said coldly.

“I know that you’re lost. It ain’t a sin to feel uncertain during hard times.” Lemuel continued, sitting down next to Virginia with his body turned towards her. She scooted back. “You was trying to tell me something by the river today. What was it?”

Virginia sighed, pulling her quilt closer to her body. “Your service moved me in ways I’ve never felt before and I felt that maybe, for the first time, I had found a place where I belong. But honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready.”

Lemuel understood that people were always hesitant to change their faith. It would be suspicious if she just did it without question.

“What makes you hesitate?” He said, genuinely interested. “It ain’t just the snakes, is it?”

“No.” Virginia shook her head. “It’s you.”

Lemuel’s brow furrowed. “Me?”

“When I said you don’t scare me… I was lying. You frighten me.”

“Frighten you?” Lemuel tilted his head.

“You could make me do whatever you wanted me to do just by using your words. I felt it during service, and again the other night at your house.” She shuddered at the memory of his thumb wiping away her tears. How much she wanted to kiss him. “If I were to join your congregation, it wouldn’t be out of pure intent. You understand what I’m saying?”

Lemuel leaned up, the truth settling into him. He did understand. He now knew why Virginia kept herself at a distance. It was out of restraint. He respected her self control. It was the Christian thing to do, to deny one’s self what one wants because they knew it was wrong to get it. But then Lemuel wondered… Was it really so wrong?

“I hear what you’re telling me, Miss Godwin.” He said, standing from the couch. “I only meant to be a spiritual guide for you-”

“And you didn’t mean to give me false hope, I understand.” Virginia interrupted.

“But, I have grown to have tender feelings towards you as well.” Lemuel finished with a look of uncertainty. He too was now afraid, afraid of his own heart. But being the Holy Ghost man he was, if he felt moved to speak, he would do so. “You’re right, I don’t know you well. But I feel I already understand you. I may be the shepherd of my parish, but I too have felt lost.”

Virginia watched him, surprised by his vulnerability. He looked different, as if his usual cool and certain demeanor had faded into a shell of defeat and confusion. Was this the real man underneath the mask of the preacher? Just as human as the rest of them? Just as flawed and sinful?

“You don’t know of my sins, Miss Godwin. What they cost me.” He continued, his fist clenching and unclenching, like he didn’t know if he should keep talking. “I had a wife once. And a daughter. So beautiful and full of spirit. And now they’re both gone. One gone to Heaven and the other to God knows where. Along with my grandchild.”

Grandchild? Virginia’s face fell. She couldn’t imagine the grief this man carried with him every second of the day. “I’m so sorry.”

“I let them down. I let Sister Slaughter down by nearly getting her son killed.” Lemuel said, his face contorting into an expression of anguish. “I told my daughter that once she left, she would never be welcomed back. I don’t know why I said that to her… I didn’t mean it.”

Virginia wondered if her mother felt the same way when she rejected her. That she actually regretted her words and actually wanted her to come back into her life.

“I thought with Dilly, I would do right by at least one soul who needs protection. Raise her in God’s love and keep her pure.” He was now fighting back tears, clenching his teeth as he continued. “But I know she’s hurting. She misses her mama, misses her best friend. I can’t help but feel like it won’t be long until she leaves too.”

Virginia pulled the quilt off her body and stood from the couch. She slowly approached him, her arms barely lifting by her sides to reach for him. She wasn’t so sure he wanted to be touched, but he didn’t seem to reject her sudden closeness.

“So, hear me when I tell you I understand what it’s like to feel lost.” He said, looking down at the shorter woman, who stared back up at him, listening intently. “Because I do. I really really do.”

“When you said you believed God brought me here to this place… Did you mean God brought me here for you?” Virginia asked, their faces inches apart.

Lemuel swallowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. They both knew the answer to that question.

“So, Pastor Childs… What happens now?”

For once, Lemuel didn’t know what to do next. He knew he cared for Virginia. He still desired for her to convert to his faith. But now that she stood before him, still close to him even after he confessed his past to her, he felt compelled to.. To..

Lemuel closed the distance between them with an uncertain kiss, their lips meeting in a sloppy, unexpected clash. She didn’t back up or push him away. Instead, Virginia kissed him back, her arms reaching up and looping around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

He would’ve excused his actions as being moved by the Holy Spirit. It was what motivated anyone to do something so bold according to his faith. But in truth, it was Lemuel’s own desire to feel Virginia against him, assuring him that his wish to start over was real. That she was real.

To hell with everything else. She was brought here to me.

Lemuel held her face in his hands, tasting the flavor of her mouth, sweet and tart. Such a pretty young thing, so pure and lost, and she wanted him, an old man who drove his family away.

He never felt handsome. Lemuel didn’t care about looks. God didn’t either as vanity was a sin. But when Virginia grabbed at him and held him tight, kissing him like he was the only thing that mattered, he felt beautiful. He felt needed, like he used to feel when his daughter Mara was around.

“You’re my shepherd, Pastor Childs?” Virginia whispered, breaking apart from his mouth with a trail of spit dangling between them. “Guide me.” She took Lemuel’s hand and placed it against her breast, next to her beating heart.

Lemuel looked down at Virginia. She once looked so innocent and naive. Now before him stood a woman who knew what she wanted. And it scared him back into reality.

Lust was a deadly sin and he had just given into his desires. He had done wrong by Virginia already, making her believe that they were just about to lay together. The idea that he, the town pastor, almost spoiled an unmarried woman made him sick. And at the same time, it excited him.

“I can’t.” Lemuel retracted his hand and let Virginia go, backing away in shame. “We can’t, I-”

Virginia followed him. Lemuel raised a hand, stopping her. “But you kissed me, I thought-”

“To go even further would be…” He hung his head, angry with himself for acting so recklessly. “I’m sorry, Virginia. Please, forgive me.”

Before she could stop him, Lemuel turned and rushed out the front door. She didn’t embarrass herself by chasing after him, but Virginia still felt very foolish.

She knew better than to expect a pastor to give into his desires. A man so used to denying himself the freedoms that others indulge in without fear of hellfire must’ve felt the flames licking at his heels when he kissed the young virgin.

Virginia only hoped that their little accident wasn’t enough to deter him from wanting to see her. Because after that night, all she wanted to do was to be with him again.

She dreamt of Lemuel again. He was touching her, kissing her, telling her all the dirty things she longed to hear in that rustic voice. It was sinful. It was pleasure. It was her forbidden fruit. And when Virginia woke from her dreams, she’d be in heat and in need of relief.

It was shameful, working on herself while she thought of Lemuel. And she regretted it every time after she was finished. She knew that if she were brought before the serpent now, God would surely strike her down and send her to Hell. Virginia had been infected with the devil’s lust, a bitch in heat without a man to ravage her. She didn’t recognize herself anymore after that night, feeling as if she were blossoming into something new, something dark and twisted. Was this the evil her mother had warned her about all those years ago?

Lemuel had taken care to avoid running into Virginia when out and about. He confined himself to the church or wherever he was called upon for house visits. Distracting himself with his work, serving God and adoring Christ in his own way in an attempt to erase the memory of Virginia’s lips.

Sometimes when reciting a sermon, Lemuel would feel a tightness in his chest. It was as if the Holy Spirit knew he was guilty, that he wasn’t worthy to preach to others the word of Christ when he himself had sinned severely.

A kiss was a kiss, innocent enough that praying for forgiveness was enough to wash it away. It was the fact that Lemuel couldn’t stop thinking about it, that when he was alone at night, he thought of Virginia, naked and pale before him on his bed, opening herself up to him in a cloud of white and blue sheets, virginal and coy.

He imagined himself taking her softly and slowly, then roughly with vigor and abandon. He imagined himself thrusting into her, relishing her sweet moans before stifling them with a kiss. Then, Lemuel would open his eyes and see nothing but the dark ceiling above him, reminding him of his own solitude and that Virginia wasn’t there at all.

Virginia showed up to the next service, dressed modestly and outwardly demure. She didn’t sit up front like the first time but towards the back. Lemuel was grateful that she didn’t want to make a show of herself while he preached, for he was already struggling with simply existing within the same room as her.

He even hesitated to open up the crate and bring the serpent out, fearing that God would surely have him bitten. Lemuel had thought about it every second of the day ever since he kissed Virginia.

But he wasn’t bitten. Lemuel was spared. The creature merely slithered up and down his arms and around his neck, docile and quiet before it was returned to its home. He swallowed and gasped after the service concluded, grateful for God’s mercy.

Virginia remembered when Lemuel told her that facing the serpent was a way of proving oneself to God. Maybe this wasn’t an act of mercy but a sign of encouragement. Perhaps a blessing from God himself. She only hoped that Lemuel saw it that way too. But he didn’t say anything more than “thank you for coming” and “good night” after everyone left.

For three weeks their little dance of avoidance continued. The only time they would see the other was during service. And each time, Lemuel believed that that night would be the night the snake would bite. The snake never did. He was spared again and again.

Over time, Virginia was slowly making her way towards the podium where Lemuel preached, and with every service, her fear of the beast weakened. Sometimes she felt like reaching out and touching the animal herself, feeling brave enough to invoke God’s judgment. If Lemuel was clean, then why couldn’t she be as well?

“It is natural that humans fear snakes. They are dangerous creatures, capable of harm, capable of killing. We know very well just how scary they can be.” Lemuel said on the fourth night. “But these material creatures are just that… Material. We can touch them, pick them up, cast them out and confine them in a crate. It’s easy to put away that which we can touch. We can stifle their rattle with walls and locks.

“But the rattle within our souls, that’s hard to stifle. Even harder to confront. When we’ve done something wrong, be it a little white lie or a deadly sin… That is the devil rattling within us, trying to shake us up and lose our way. We cannot simply put that away in a crate and lock it up, hoping that by simply ignoring it, it’ll disappear.

“By confronting these rattles, we take power away from the devil. Because then we find our control and that’s what sets us on our path to redemption. And from redemption to paradise. Do you feel the rattle? Does it stir you up?” Lemuel addressed the congregation, which remained quiet.

But then, a soft voice spoke from the very front.

“I feel it, sir.” Virginia said. Lemuel looked at her, his brow furrowed and mouth open in awe. “It’s rattling within me.” She stood from her seat, her hand over her heart.

Lemuel never felt this scared since Mara’s last night in the church. Virginia helped herself up to the stage and extended her hand out to the pastor, her expression dead serious.

“A child of God… Is brought forth to us tonight.” He said.

“He is calling.” Virginia said, her head held high as she looked into Lemuel’s hazel eyes. She seemed somehow more sure than he.

“Are you ready to submit yourself before the Holy Ghost?” He asked.

Virginia inhaled deeply through her nose, maintaining eye contact while she prepared herself for what was to come. “I am.” She said,

Lemuel prayed that no one else could see his shaky hands when he knelt down to the crate and opened it up.

Neither saw it, but Hope Slaughter was there in the middle of the congregation, clutching at her husband’s hand while they watched as Lemuel raised the snake out of its crate and held it out towards Virginia.

“Please, Lord.” Hope whispered, closing her eyes. “Please Lord, spare the child.”

Virginia looked at the creature as it slithered before her, its jet-black eyes peering up at her as its tongue wiggled out every now and then. For a dangerous animal, it was rather innocent looking.

“Praise be to God.” Lemuel whispered as he handed over the animal.

Virginia was surprised by how heavy it felt. Of course it was heavy, it was all muscle. The skin was rough and scaly but the warm coloring was beautiful.The serpent was slow and tame, a good sign for Lemuel. It started to venture up her arm, then to her shoulder where it stuck it’s tongue out, almost tickling the underside of her jaw.

This isn’t so bad, Virginia thought to herself. It wasn’t quick or hostile like she thought most snakes were.

Lemuel was pleased that she had remained so calm while handling the animal. It was funny, Virginia almost appeared natural with the thing around her neck. “Praise be, thank you, Jesus.” He whispered, admiring the scene before him.

The rest of the congregation raised their arms to the ceiling and whispered praises and “hallelujah” while Lemuel kept his focus on Virginia. The snake slithered up and down her arms before coiling itself comfortably in her hands, it’s head pointed right up at her face.

She looked at the creature and smiled. Virginia smiled! She didn’t know why she did, but it felt right. Maybe she was thanking the snake for sparing her. Maybe she was rejoicing in God’s approval. Whatever the reason, she felt happy.

Lemuel never saw a woman look so beautiful before.

“Praise be to God, we welcome new blood into our house of worship.” Lemuel announced to the congregation.

The others sang their praises and thanked Jesus for bringing another soul to them, blessing Virginia’s name. Lemuel gently pulled the snake off of her and returned it to its crate. She exhaled, relieved that it was over. Now, Lemuel was holding her hands again, just as she dreamed, and officially welcoming her as a new member of the Church of the Holy Ghost.

Virginia Godwin was one of them now.

Notes: I apologize if the religious elements come off as inaccurate or weird. I did my own research as well as played off what was shown in the film, but if you're reading this and thinking "wtf this isn't right," that's why lol. If you wanna be added to the tag list, just lemme know! Thank you for the kind comments and reblogs, they're very much appreciated.

#walton goggins #them that follow #lemuel childs #cooper howard #fallout #the ghoul #justified #vice principals #the unicorn

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pupsmailbox · 5 months

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COWBOY ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abeline. adeline. alfred. anderson. annie. archer. arthur. ash. aspen. austin. automata. axel. barett. beau. beckett. belle. bennett. betty. billy. blaise. boone. bree. brooks. bryce. cade. caleb. callen. callie. calvin. carson. casey. cassidy. chance. chase. clayton. clementine. clint. clyde. cody. colby. cole. colt. colton. connor. coraline. county. cree. cyrus. dagger. dakota. dallas. dalton. damon. darby. darla. delta. denver. dove. east. easton. edgar. eliza. elliot. ellis. emmett. emmylou. everett. everly. fallon. fang. farmer. fletcher. flint. flynn. fritz. gage. georgia. georgina. grant. graves. hank. harrison. harvey. hattie. hawk. hayes. heidi. holster. hudson. hunter. ida. jace. jack. jackie. jackson. james. jed. jesse. jessie. john. jolene. josh. joshua. jude. knox. leroy. lewis. loretta. lucille. luke. luther. lyle. maple. marshall. mason. maverick. meadow. millie. misty. myra. nash. nell. nina. oakley. oscar. otis. owen. pace. pamela. penelope. phoenix. pierce. pollyanna. prairie. quinn. ray. reed. reid. rhett. rhys. riley. river. rochelle. rory. roscoe. rosie. rudy. ryder. rye. sadie. savannah. sawyer. scarlett. sedona. selena. shep. shepherd. sienna. sierra. silas. skye. spanner. sparky. sterling. stevie. stormy sullivan. sundance. tallulah. tate. tess. todd. tucker. twila twyla. verily. wade. walker. walt. walter. waylon. wayne. weston. wilde. will. willa. willow. winona. wren. wyatt. zachariah. zane. zeke. zinnia.

PRONOUNS ⌇　ace/ace. aim/aim. badge/badge. bandana/bandana. barrel/barrel. boot/boot. boy/boy. brash/brash. buck/buck. bull/bullet. cattle/cattle. clad/clad. clash/clash. colt/colt. cow/boy. cow/cow. cowboy/cowboy. cy/cyborg. denim/denim. dirt/dirt. dive/dive. drive/drive. fang/fang. farmer/farmer. fence/fence. fire/fire. foal/foal. gold/golden. gra/grass. gun/gun. hat/hat. herd/herd. hill/hill. hit/hit. hold/holdem. holdem/holdem. hoof/hoof. horse/horse. iron/iron. jack/jack. jump/jump. kick/kick. lasso/lasso. law/law. lawful/lawful. lone/lone. mech/mecha. metal/metal. mount/mountain. mustang/mustang. noon/noon. officer/officer. out/out. outlaw/outlaw. poker/poker. protect/protect. pry/pry. punch/punch. punish/punish. ranch/ranch. ranger/ranger. rev/rev. rev/revolver. rev/rev. revolvers/revolver. river/river. ro/ro. robo/robo. rug/rugged. run/run. rust/rust. ry/ry. save/save. sharp/sharp. sheriff/sheriff. shoot/shoot. shot/shot. shot/shotgun. shout/shout. spark/spark. spur/spur. star/star. steed/steed. steel/steel. sun/sun. thief/thief. tumble/tumble. weed/weed. wheat/wheat. wood/wood. yee/haw. yeehaw/yeehaw.

#⭐️lists #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #western

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walkswithmyfather · 25 days

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“Jesus in the Old Testament” By Bible Love Notes:

“Don't miss the wonderful list that shows how God was "whispering" about Jesus in every Old Testament book!”

“After His resurrection, Jesus met two disciples walking to a village called Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35). They didn't recognize Jesus, but "beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself" (Luke 24:27).

Christ's redemption was part of God's plan from the beginning (Genesis 3:15). When we recognize this important truth, it enhances our understanding and appreciation of both Old and New Testaments.

Enjoy this list of "whispers" (clues, foreshadowings) that God placed in each Old Testament book, preparing us for the coming of Jesus.

In Genesis Jesus is the Seed of the Woman

Exodus…………………...Our Passover Lamb

Leviticus……………………..Our High Priest

Numbers........Guiding Pillar of Fire and Cloud

Deuteronomy……….The Prophet Like Moses

Joshua………………..The Mighty Conqueror

Judges…...…....………....…...Our Rescuer

Ruth………………...Our Kinsman Redeemer

1 & 2 Samuel……......…..The Seed of David

Kings & Chronicles…….....….Our Mighty King

Ezra & Nehemiah…..Re-builder of Our Broken Walls

Esther………………….....Our Way of Escape

Job……………...Our Hope in Times of Trouble

Psalms…………..…..Our Shepherd and Sacrifice

Proverbs & Ecclesiastes…….…..Our Wisdom

Song of Solomon…Our Lover and Bridegroom

Isaiah…………………...Our Suffering Savior

Jeremiah……………....The Righteous Branch

Lamentations…..…Prophet Who Weeps for Us

Ezekiel………..The Watchman Who Warns Us

Daniel……..The 4th Man in the Fiery Furnace

Hosea………………….Our Faithful Husband

Joel…............Our Baptizer in the Holy Spirit

Amos……………………..Our Burden Bearer

Obadiah……………..The One Mighty to Save

Jonah…………....The Sender of Missionaries

Micah……..The Messenger of the Good News

Nahum………..The Avenger of the Righteous

Habakkuk……....The One Crying for Revival

Zephaniah & Haggai….Giver of Another Chance

Zechariah…….…………...The Pierced Son

Malachi.........Sun of Righteousness w/ Healing in His Wings

As you read through the Bible, remember that you are reading the greatest story ever written—the story of mankind's inexcusable fall and God's Unreasonable Love.

💙💙💙

I did not create this list. I compiled and edited it from various non-copyrighted lists.”

There are a lot of links to devotions on this webpage. Check them out!

#bible #christian blog #god #belief in god #faith in god #jesus #belief in jesus #faith in jesus #bible study #jesus in the bible #encouragement #keep the faith #make him known

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 7 months

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Wrestling with the Bible's war stories

Spend any solid amount of time with scripture and you'll run into something that perplexes, disturbs, or downright horrifies you. Many of us have walked away from the Bible or from Christianity in general, sometimes temporarily and sometimes permanently, after encountering these stories. So how do we face them, wrestle them, and seek God's presence in (or in spite of) them?

In her book Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again, the late Rachel Held Evans spends a whole chapter on the "war stories" of Joshua, Judges, and the books of Samuel and Kings. She starts with how most teachers in her conservative Christian upbringing shut her down every time she tried to name the horror she felt reading of violence, rape, and ethnic cleansing; I share an excerpt from that part of the chapter over in this post.

That excerpt ends with Evans deciding that she needed to grapple with these stories, or lose her faith entirely.

...But then I ended the excerpt, with the hope that folks would go read all of Inspired for themselves — and I still very much recommend doing so! The whole book is incredibly helpful for relearning how to read scripture in a way that honors its historical context and divine inspiration, and takes seriously how misreadings bring harm to individuals and whole people groups.

But I know not everyone will read the book, for a variety of reasons, and that's okay. So I want to include a long excerpt from the rest of the chapter, where Evans provides cultural context and history that helps us understand why those war stories are in there; and then seeks to find where God's inspiration is among those "human fingerprints."

I know how important it was to Rachel Held Evans that all of us experience healing and liberation, so it is my hope that she'd be okay with me pasting such a huge chunk of the book for reading here. If you find what's in this post meaningful, please do check out the rest of her book! A lot of libraries have it in print, ebook, and/or audiobook form.

[One last comment: the following excerpt focuses on these war stories from the Hebrew scriptures ("Old Testament"), but there are violent and otherwise disturbing stories in the "New Testament" too, from Herod killing babies to all the wild things going on in Revelation. Don't fall for the antisemitic claim that "The Old Testament is violent while the New Testament is all about peace!" All parts of scripture include violent passages, and maintain an overarching theme of justice and love.]

Here's the excerpt showing Rachel's long wrestling with the Bible's war stories, starting with an explanation for why they're in there in the first place:

“By the time many of the Bible’s war stories were written down, several generations had passed, and Israel had evolved from a scrappy band of nomads living in the shadows of Babylon, Egypt, and Assyria to a nation that could hold its own, complete with a monarchy. Scripture embraces that underdog status in order to credit God with Israel’s success and to remind a new generation that “some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God” (Psalm 20:7). The story of David and Goliath, in which a shepherd boy takes down one of those legendary Canaanite giants with just a slingshot and two stones, epitomizes Israel’s self-understanding as a humble people improbably beloved, victorious only by the grace and favor of a God who rescued them from Egypt, walked with them through the desert, brought the walls of Jericho down, and made that shepherd boy a king. To reinforce the miraculous nature of Israel’s victories, the writers of Joshua and Judges describe forces of hundreds defeating armies of thousands with epic totality. These numbers are likely exaggerated and, in keeping literary conventions of the day, rely more on drama and bravado than the straightforward recitation of fact. Those of us troubled by language about the “extermination” of Canaanite populations may find some comfort in the fact that scholars and archaeologists doubt the early skirmishes of Israel’s history actually resulted in genocide.

It was common for warring tribes in ancient Mesopotamia to refer to decisive victories as “complete annihilation” or “total destruction,” even when their enemies lived to fight another day. (The Moabites, for example, claimed in an extrabiblical text that after their victory in a battle against an Israelite army, the nation of Israel “utterly perished for always,” which obviously isn’t the case. And even in Scripture itself, stories of conflicts with Canaanite tribes persist through the book of Judges and into Israel’s monarchy, which would suggest Joshua’s armies did not in fact wipe them from the face of the earth, at least not in a literal sense.)

Theologian Paul Copan called it “the language of conventional warfare rhetoric,” which “the knowing ancient Near Eastern reader recognized as hyperbole.” Pastor and author of The Skeletons in God’s Closet, Joshua Ryan Butler, dubbed it “ancient trash talk.”

Even Jericho, which twenty-first-century readers like to imagine as a colorful, bustling city with walls that reached the sky, was in actuality a small, six-acre military outpost, unlikely to support many civilians but, as was common, included a prostitute and her family. Most of the “cities” described in the book of Joshua were likely the same. So, like every culture before and after, Israel told its war stories with flourish, using the language and literary conventions that best advanced the agendas of storytellers.

As Peter Enns explained, for the biblical writers, “Writing about the past was never simply about understanding the past for its own sake, but about shaping, molding and creating the past to speak to the present.”

“The Bible looks the way it does,” he concluded, “because God lets his children tell the story.”

You see the children’s fingerprints all over the pages of Scripture, from its origin stories to its deliverance narratives to its tales of land, war, and monarchy.

For example, as the Bible moves from conquest to settlement, we encounter two markedly different accounts of the lives of Kings Saul, David, and Solomon and the friends and enemies who shaped their reigns. The first appears in 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 and 2 Kings. These books include all the unflattering details of kingdom politics, including the account of how King David had a man killed so he could take the man’s wife, Bathsheba, for himself.

On the other hand, 1 and 2 Chronicles omit the story of David and Bathsheba altogether, along with much of the unseemly violence and drama around the transition of power between David and Solomon.

This is because Samuel and Kings were likely written during the Babylonian exile, when the people of Israel were struggling to understand what they had done wrong for God to allow their enemies to overtake them, and 1 and 2 Chronicles were composed much later, after the Jews had returned to the land, eager to pick up the pieces.

While the authors of Samuel and Kings viewed the monarchy as a morality tale to help them understand their present circumstances, the authors of the Chronicles recalled the monarchy with nostalgia, a reminder of their connection to God’s anointed as they sought healing and unity. As a result, you get two noticeably different takes on the very same historic events.

In other words, the authors of Scripture, like the authors of any other work (including this one!), wrote with agendas. They wrote for a specific audience from a specific religious, social, and political context, and thus made creative decisions based on that audience and context.

Of course, this raises some important questions, like: Can war stories be inspired? Can political propaganda be God-breathed? To what degree did the Spirit guide the preservation of these narratives, and is there something sacred to be uncovered beneath all these human fingerprints?

I don’t know the answers to all these questions, but I do know a few things.

The first is that not every character in these violent stories stuck with the script. After Jephthah sacrificed his daughter as a burnt offering in exchange for God’s aid in battle, the young women of Israel engaged in a public act of grief marking the injustice. The text reports, “From this comes the Israelite tradition that each year the young women of Israel go out for four days to commemorate the daughter of Jephthah” (Judges 11:39–40).

While the men moved on to fight another battle, the women stopped to acknowledge that something terrible had happened here, and with what little social and political power they had, they protested—every year for four days. They refused to let the nation forget what it had done in God’s name.

In another story, a woman named Rizpah, one of King Saul’s concubines, suffered the full force of the monarchy’s cruelty when King David agreed to hand over two of her sons to be hanged by the Gibeonites in an effort to settle a long, bloody dispute between the factions believed to be the cause of widespread famine across the land. A sort of biblical Antigone, Rizpah guarded her sons’ bodies from birds and wild beasts for weeks, until at last the rain came and they could be buried. Word of her tragic stand spread across the kingdom and inspired David to pause to grieve the violence his house had wrought (2 Samuel 21).” ...

The point is, if you pay attention to the women, a more complex history of Israel’s conquests emerges. Their stories invite the reader to consider the human cost of violence and patriarchy, and in that sense prove instructive to all who wish to work for a better world. ...

It’s not always clear what we are meant to learn from the Bible’s most troubling stories, but if we simply look away, we learn nothing.

In one of the most moving spiritual exercises of my adult faith, an artist friend and I created a liturgy of lament honoring the victims of the texts of terror. On a chilly December evening, we sat around the coffee table in my living room and lit candles in memory of Hagar, Jephthah’s daughter, the concubine from Judges 19, and Tamar, the daughter of King David who was raped by her half brother. We read their stories, along with poetry and reflections composed by modern-day women who have survived gender-based violence. ...

If the Bible’s texts of terror compel us to face with fresh horror and resolve the ongoing oppression and exploitation of women, then perhaps these stories do not trouble us in vain. Perhaps we can use them for some good.

The second thing I know is that we are not as different from the ancient Israelites as we would like to believe.

“It was a violent and tribal culture,” people like to say of ancient Israel to explain away its actions in Canaan. But, as Joshua Ryan Butler astutely observed, when it comes to civilian casualties, “we tend to hold the ancients to a much higher standard than we hold ourselves.” In the time it took me to write this chapter, nearly one thousand civilians were killed in airstrikes in Iraq and Syria, many of them women and children. The atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki took hundreds of thousands of lives in World War II, and far more civilians died in the Korean War and Vietnam War than American soldiers. Even though America is one of the wealthiest countries in the world, it takes in less than half of 1 percent of the world’s refugees, and drone warfare has left many thousands of families across the Middle East terrorized.

This is not to excuse Israel’s violence, because modern-day violence is also bad, nor is it to trivialize debates over just war theory and US involvement in various historical conflicts, which are complex issues far beyond the scope of this book. Rather, it ought to challenge us to engage the Bible’s war stories with a bit more humility and introspection, willing to channel some of our horror over atrocities past into questioning elements of the war machines that still roll on today.

Finally, the last thing I know is this: If the God of the Bible is true, and if God became flesh and blood in the person of Jesus Christ, and if Jesus Christ is—as theologian Greg Boyd put it—“the revelation that culminates and supersedes all others,” then God would rather die by violence than commit it.

The cross makes this plain. On the cross, Christ not only bore the brunt of human cruelty and bloodlust and fear, he remained faithful to the nonviolence he taught and modeled throughout his ministry. Boyd called it “the Crucifixion of the Warrior God,” and in a two-volume work by that name asserted that “on the cross, the diabolic violent warrior god we have all-too-frequently pledged allegiance to has been forever repudiated.” On the cross, Jesus chose to align himself with victims of suffering rather than the inflictors of it.

At the heart of the doctrine of the incarnation is the stunning claim that Jesus is what God is like. “No one has ever seen God,” declared John in his gospel, “but the one and only Son, who is himself God and is in closest relationship with the Father, has made him known” (John 1:18, emphasis added). ...So to whatever extent God owes us an explanation for the Bible’s war stories, Jesus is that explanation. And Christ the King won his kingdom without war.

Jesus turned the war story on its head. Instead of being born to nobility, he was born in a manger, to an oppressed people in occupied territory. Instead of charging into Jerusalem on a warhorse, he arrived on a lumbering donkey. Instead of rallying troops for battle, he washed his disciples’ feet. According to the apostle Paul, these are the tales followers of Jesus should be telling—with our words, with our art, and with our lives.

Of course, this still leaves us to grapple with the competing biblical portraits of God as the instigator of violence and God as the repudiator of violence.

Boyd argued that God serves as a sort of “heavenly missionary” who temporarily accommodates the brutal practices and beliefs of various cultures without condoning them in order to gradually influence God’s people toward justice. Insofar as any divine portrait reflects a character at odds with the cross, he said, it must be considered accommodation. It’s an interesting theory, though I confess I’m only halfway through Boyd’s 1,492 pages, so I’ve yet to fully consider it. (I know I can’t read my way out of this dilemma, but that won’t keep me from trying.)

The truth is, I’ve yet to find an explanation for the Bible’s war stories that I find completely satisfying. If we view this through Occam’s razor and choose the simplest solution to the problem, we might conclude that the ancient Israelites invented a deity to justify their conquests and keep their people in line. As such, then, the Bible isn’t a holy book with human fingerprints; it’s an entirely human construction, responsible for more vice than virtue.

There are days when that’s what I believe, days when I mumble through the hymns and creeds at church because I’m not convinced they say anything true. And then there are days when the Bible pulls me back with a numinous force I can only regard as divine, days when Hagar and Deborah and Rahab reach out from the page, grab me by the face, and say, “Pay attention. This is for you.”

I’m in no rush to patch up these questions. God save me from the day when stories of violence, rape, and ethnic cleansing inspire within me anything other than revulsion. I don’t want to become a person who is unbothered by these texts, and if Jesus is who he says he is, then I don’t think he wants me to be either.

There are parts of the Bible that inspire, parts that perplex, and parts that leave you with an open wound. I’m still wrestling, and like Jacob, I will wrestle until I am blessed. God hasn’t let go of me yet.

War is a dreadful and storied part of the human experience, and Scripture captures many shades of it—from the chest-thumping of the victors to the anguished cries of victims. There is ammunition there for those seeking religious justification for violence, and solidarity for all the mothers like Rizpah who just want an end to it.

For those of us who prefer to keep the realities of war at a safe, sanitized distance, and who enjoy the luxury of that choice, the Bible’s war stories force a confrontation with the darkness.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

#joshua #biblical interpretation #texts of terror #rachel held evans #inspired #wrestling god #reading and studying the bible #bible tag #long post #quote tag

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nubbims · 2 years

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This is how it should’ve went 🙄

#silent hill homecoming #alex shepherd #Joshua shepherd #lmfaoooo #I’ll draw Alex crying tomorrow cause fuuuuck the sickness is getting to me #doodle

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hannahhook7744 · 18 days

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Descendants Background Characters Names (Redone) Part 4;

Crysta (Blonde girl), one daughter of Arista (Ariel's sister) and Dylan. Seaside High was in serious danger of overcrowding, so quite a few students were encouraged to attend Auradon Prep instead.

Brian Robinson (glasses guy), son of Lewis and Franny Robinson.

Aqua, one daughter of Aquata (Ariel's sister) and Nexar.

Sitara, daughter of Mowgli and Shanti.

Trevor, the son of Big Nose and Assunta.

Prince Henry (the guy behind Mal and Lonnie), son of King Richard the Lionheart. He's supposed to go to Sherwood High, but he got expelled.

Shira (girl behind Evie), daughter of Ariel's friend, Gabriella. One of the Seaside students who transferred.

Leon du Lac (guy beside Evie) son of Lancelot du Lac and Elaine of Astolat (he's an exchange student).

The girls behind him are Mary and Dorothy, daughters of Tiana's friend, Georgia.

The red head girl under him is Sigrid, daughter of Kai and Gerda.

Adonis Jr aka AJ (right next to Lonnie), son of Adonis and Helen of Troy. His older siblings attend Olympus High, but his father thought he was too nerdy to compete.

Silvie (behind AJ), daughter of Sharma.

The girls below him are Princesses Noelle and Natasha, daughters of Cavin and Princess Calla.

Guy in stripes is named Prince Rowan, son of Wee Dingwall.

Girl in yellow beneath him is Celestina Potts, youngest daughter of Mrs. Potts.

Guy in a blue T-shirt is named Samuel 'Sammy' Sweet, son of Joshua Sweet.

Guy in a yellow T-shirt is named Makaio Bubbles, son of Cobra Bubbles from Lilo and Stitch (Bubbles adopted him from an unsuitable home).

The guy below them is Prince Ajax, son of Prince Thor and Pearl. One of the Seaside transfer students.

The guy next to Makaio is Prince Reynard, son of Princess Willow.

The girl next to him is Princess Wenhua 'Wen', daughter of Yao and Princess Mei, who flat out refused to go to the Imperial Academy.

Guy below her is Johannes Little, son of Little John.

Salvatrix Mim aka Sad Sally Mim, granddaughter of Madam Mim.

Elphaba West, daughter of Theodora (aka the Wicked Witch of the West).

Orlie, daughter of Orddu.

Owena, daughter of Orwen and Bill Jukes (she's the youngest member of Uma's crew).

Morven Mim, aka Mimpathy Morven, grandson of Madam Mim.

Farley-Fletcher Fflam, son of Fflewddur Fflam.

Maureen 'Goo' Yagoobian, Michael 'Goob' Yagoobian.

Murky Maggie Mim, granddaughter of Madam Mim (she has four legs. This may or may not be Dorothy Tremaine's fault).

Ula and Uziel, daughter and son of Uliana.

Shepherd Scaremonger, Aka the Boy Who Cried Wolf.

Ichabod 'Icey' White, son of Snow White and Prince Florian. Along with Princesses Noelle again and Audrey.

Princess Natasha again.

The girl next to her is Rebecca, daughter of Safi.

Felicidad Daniela Ruíz, she's the daughter of one of the Encanto villagers. The boy next to her is Prince Ajax again.

Jonas again.

The girl below him is Adda Slim, daughter of Alameda Slim.

The guy next to Jonas is Morven Mim again.

Dizzy Tremaine.

Guy next to her is Abner, son of Captain Gantu.

Girl next to him is Tara, daughter of King Trevor.

Guy behind her is Blaise, son of Morgie.

Guy in the pirate hat is Sean, the son of the Sherriff of Nottingham (He's a member of Uma's Crew).

The girl behind him is Susan Finkelstein, Dr. Finkelstein.

The girl next to him is Quinlynn Hearts, daughter of the Queen of Hearts (and member of Harriet Hook's Crew).

Axel, son of the Huntsman.

Bathsheba (girl with the bandana), daughter of Ammand the Corsair.

Rummy Bloodbeard (boy behind bandana girl), son of Captain Bloodbeard.

Kevar (Kid in pirate hat next to Bandana girl), son of Marquis de Bouillabaisse.

Daang (First kid in goggles), son of Ed.

Niki (Red Head Girl), daughter of Hecate.

Birger (Kid with green hat), son of Loki.

Desmend (2nd kid with goggles) , son of Ed.

Harlan Alan Never, son of Arika the Mermaid.

Vidal Pezmuerto, son of Señora Pezmuerto.

The girls in the pink dress next to Uma and Elle are Annika and Raylene Jenkins, the daughters of Coach Jenkins.

------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks @igetthedisneybox and @casinotrio1965 for the help.

#descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #disney #descendants au #wicked world #disney descendants au #background characters named #headcanons #etc

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uss-edsall · 5 months

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Iraq was never from the sky what cable news tried to convince us it was on the ground. On the supposedly bloodiest day of Operation Iraqi Freedom, I flew over Baghdad at 200 feet, looking down into the streets. I saw nothing more than people going to market, children playing, people on cell phones, and a shepherd herding his goats through the city. At the end of a long, quiet day, I returned to Balad Air Base to catch cable news reporting bloody battles erupting in the streets of Baghdad, and flashing to scenes of dusty desert warfare. They never showed the plush, green side of Iraq’s agricultural belt, or excited children running into the meadow waiting for another candy drop from American helicopters, or a solitary shepherd in the middle of a peaceful plain with his flock. They preferred to show brown dirt, American troops in body armor and kevlar, the aftermath of a roadside bomb, and some added footage of an old firefight. I found myself thinking, ‘Wait a minute; I flew over that spot all day at 200 feet. I didn’t see anything!’ There were times when I thought maybe the Army had paid the media to glorify what happened day by day, but the media needed no help with that. There was already enough ambiguity about why we were in Iraq.

War & Coffee: Confessions of an American Blackhawk Pilot in Afghanistan, by Joshua Havill

#Iraq War

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mariacallous · 1 year

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(JTA) — When I was 18 years old, like many American Jews, I spent a gap year in Israel. At a right-wing army-prep program called Mechinat Yeud, located in the illegal settlement of Efrat, I learned Torah, went on hikes and practiced krav maga. I fondly look back at this year as a positive experience and a time when I matured as a young adult.

I also saw the daily mechanisms of the occupation, though I didn’t have the vocabulary to articulate this.

Over that year, I saw Palestinians whose cars bore different license plates than those driven by Jews. I saw a checkpoint between Israel and the West Bank that was a formality to Jews like my friends and me but very real to the Palestinians living right next to us. Though I finished my year in Yeud with a strong desire to live in Israel, I also knew that I couldn’t be complicit in Palestinian oppression.

I eventually moved to Israel and threw myself into anti-occupation activism, spending weeks and months at a time in Palestinian communities in the West Bank. In addition to the bureaucratic oppression that Palestinians face on a daily basis, I saw — and sometimes was a victim of — the settler violence that plagues the West Bank.

During the American civil rights movement, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel famously referred to his protesting as “praying with his feet.” This past Yom Kippur, when the rabbis of the Talmud tell us to fully prostrate ourselves during prayer, I asked for forgiveness with my whole body by spending the Day of Atonement in Ein Rashash, a Palestinian Bedouin shepherding community located 22 miles northeast of Ramallah. Its residents had requested a 24/7 presence from solidarity activists due to threats from the nearby Israeli outpost of Malachi Hashalom.

According to a United Nations report released on Sept. 21, 1,105 Palestinians fled their homes and villages in 2022 and 2023. The report stated that settler violence is at a record high since the U.N. began documenting the trend in 2006.

This report includes the villages of Ein-Samia, Al-Qabun, al-Baqa and Ras al-Tin. All of these villages were located near Ein Rashash, and like Ein Rashash, the communities all relied on shepherding for their livelihood. Settler attacks in the Palestinian towns of Huwara and Turmus Aya, frequently described as pogroms, have received attention within Israel and internationally.

Ein Rashash has faced similar settler violence and harassment. Shortly upon entering the village, one can see where settlers shattered the windows of homes and destroyed an outhouse in an attack in June. The community is considering leaving their land just like the community of Ein-Samia and many others have done.

In response to this violence, a group of activists, most notably Rabbi Arik Ascherman, is spending long periods of time in Ein Rashash — located north of the ruins of Ein-Samia — to use our privilege as a de-escalating presence. When non-Palestinian activists are around, settler violence is less likely. Ein Rashash and the nearby villages are all located in Area C, the portion of the West Bank under full Israeli control as per the Oslo Accords. The Palestinian residents do not have Israeli citizenship, and they are subject to military law as opposed to the civil courts through which Israeli settlers are tried. “Protective Presence” activism is utilized in other communities in Area C that face regular threats of settler violence and home evictions, such as Masafer Yatta. I have done several shifts already, and I volunteered for the Yom Kippur shift.

I was accompanied by five other activists. The first thing we did was assign roles in case settlers came. Who would call the police or other activists? Who would film? Who would stand in front of a settler’s car if he tried to enter the village or drive through a flock of sheep? These are normal conversations in this line of work.

There is no break during Protective Presence activism. Either there’s an immediate incident, or you’re waiting for the next one. Every unfamiliar car or person in the distance can be a settler coming to attack or harass or bringing soldiers to force Palestinians off their land. A drone from the nearby outpost hovered overhead for around 30 seconds, and I was on edge for the next hour. You sleep with one eye open. Jewish holidays often bring with them right-wing violence in Israel and the West Bank. Hate crimes were carried out in Bat Yam this year and last year, and in 2021 there was a settler pogrom in the Palestinian village of Mufagara.

This is exhausting and emotionally draining. Unlike many other Protective Presence shifts I have participated in, Yom Kippur ended without incident.

After 25 hours, I had the privilege of going home to Jerusalem. Palestinians do not have this option. This is their life.

According to Torah, on Yom Kippur the Israelites are told to “afflict themselves.” The rabbis concluded that self-affliction must refer to fasting, reasoning that “affliction” refers to something that, when taken to a certain extent, can lead to death.

Life under occupation can, and does, lead to death. One look at the statistics makes that all too clear. Since 2000, 10,667 Palestinians in the occupied territories have been killed by Israeli soldiers or civilians.

Protective Presence is my self-affliction. And yet, in homage to Yom Kippur’s imagery of being sealed in the Book of Life, life goes on. Activists laughed with and got to know each other and our Palestinian hosts. We read and we ate delicious homemade food. We didn’t embrace misery as a form of repentance. We embraced the full spectrum of life.

I believe fasting is mentally, physically and spiritually unhealthy. The only self-affliction I find meaningful is in sharing the pain — and the joy — of my fellow human beings, particularly in a way that lightens their pain and suffering. The people of Ein Rashash have told us that our presence is making their lives easier and helping them stay on their land. The children are laughing and playing in a way that they were not when we first started these shifts. This has been the most meaningful Yom Kippur I’ve ever had.

In Mishnah Yoma 8:9, we learn that repentance on Yom Kippur only allows us to atone for the sins between ourselves and God. For a sin against another person, one must “satisfy their fellow.” We don’t need to ask God for forgiveness. We must stand with the Palestinians suffering under Israeli rule, until they’re satisfied.

I know that it’s not a matter of if the settlers will be back, but when. For as long as that’s the case, I will continue to pray with my body and sometimes “self-afflict” in the name of justice and equality. The Talmud states self-affliction does not absolve one from their sins towards other people, only those towards God. And yet, our sins towards other people are the ones for which we direly need to repent.

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