#My lunch is just going to be me reading whatever topic that is most prominent

[last-of-the-lot]

I can not wait to see what the internet thinks when it wakes up and sees the newest batch of episodes.

I have so many questions and am interested to see how things are going to resolve.

[honeysofte-archieve]

birdsong.

rating: teens and up. suggestive themes.

pairing: cremisius aclassi/female lavellan.

word count: 2,559

summary: Lavellan stays the night. Or rather: a morning.

haven’t written anything in a long while so this might come off as really clumsy & cringy, but here it is, anyway! <3

* * *

She is wearing his shirt.

She is sitting by the wide window sill, leaning against the wall and reading a leather-bound book while balancing a cup of herbal tea on one of her folded knees, and she is wearing his shirt and--

not much else, to be honest.

This is naturally the first thing Krem notices once he opens his eyes because he’s surprisingly one-track minded when it comes to Lavellan to his greatest embarrassment. Not that her appearance is the only thing that he cares about, far from it for he would adore her no matter what, but it certainly makes her all the more distracting to him.

The boys like to give him shit about it, too -- how utterly obvious and showy his affection and desire for her is. Krem would shut their faces permanently with his fist if Lavellan didn’t find it so endearing and smile at him sweetly whenever the topic comes up. Sometimes she even gets on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in front of all of them like she’s not ashamed at all of his affection for her and isn't afraid to show she returns the sentiment just as wholly.

And isn’t that the most amazing thing in the world for someone to have? To love and be loved so genuinely and kindly that one can feel it all the way inside their spine and lungs, a comforting presence no one wants to lose, ever.

in ao3.  ♥

But of course, the topic of love has never come up, at least in spoken words. Everything is still quite new and wonderful, but Krem knows it's true. He loves her. And he's pretty positive she loves him too. Or he hopes she does, the other option gives him way too much anxiety so he's trying not to think about it. Like, ever.

But anyway, Krem can’t help but stare with no words to describe what he is feeling. He can feel the faint flicker of red on his cheeks. He can feel how his heartbeat quickens two-fold. He can feel a weight loosening free inside his chest as he watches this beautiful creature that is somehow his.

Inquisitor Lavellan looks open and vulnerable and beautiful in the morning sun, the light dancing on her neck and chest-- the old scars on her face, the faint stretch marks and moles littering her thighs and arms more prominent this way. She is frowning slightly as she reads, her teeth tugging her lower lip in concentration at whatever is happening in the book, before she licks her thumb and turns another page, oblivious to Krem’s gawking.

The shirt, of course, is not the main reason he can't keep his eyes away from her, though, even if she looks very attractive in it.

No, the very thing that has Krem astonished is that she's still here. In his room. In the morning. For the first time since they've started doing this, kissing and laughing and having sex, and Krem… isn't entirely sure what to make of it.

Lavellan is a very busy woman after all.

A few moments pass before Lavellan glances in his direction and takes a double-look when she notices him awake. Krem kind of does this awkward finger-wiggle sort of thing at her because it's quite impossible for her not to figure out he's been staring at her quite intently for a while now.

"Good morning, Cremisius,” Lavellan murmurs with a small smile on her heart-shaped face and does a finger-wiggle right back at him, making it look somehow elegant and not idiotic as hell.

No one, not one person, calls him Cremisius. No one except for her. And he likes how the name forms in her mouth, likes the look on her face as she says it aloud. His heart always skips a beat when she does it and he doesn’t think he will ever get used to it. He is so easy for her.

Lavellan looks unusually relaxed this morning, Krem has not often seen her like this-- probably no one does. She works and works and works and rarely takes time for herself and it’s always rubbed Krem off the wrong way how much people demand of her, never giving her a break, never letting her just be. Sometimes he feels like fighting every fucker who makes her feel like she doesn't deserve time for herself, but he desists. Mostly.

But here she is. Here she is this morning; still with him despite her duties and demands of others. For the first time during their relationship. It's almost astonishing.

“Morning.” Krem’s throat is slightly dry and his voice catches just a little when he meets her bronze coloured eyes. Maker, he hopes it’s not too obvious.

“Did you sleep well?” Lavellan asks gently, closes her book and takes a sip of her still steaming tea. She mustn't have been awake for long though the morning seems already later than normal. Krem is usually already long awake at this hour, doing drills with the boys or eating an early lunch.

Krem blinks and blinks again before finally realises she’s expecting an answer and he ends up nodding. And for a while, they just keep staring at each other in silence before Krem can’t help but beam at her in something like happiness.

“I like your shirt,” he blurts out, feeling absolutely moronic today for some reason. It makes Lavellan lift her eyebrow and for a while, Krem is sure she’s going to ignore the comment as she often does, but this time she only shrugs and says:

“I was feeling a little cold.”

It’s summer and it’s not true, both of them know that, so Krem grins, his lips wide, and Lavellan rolls her eyes in something like fondness. She scratches her leg, the shirt collar dropping downwards as her body moves and Krem has to swallow hard.

The moment isn’t awkward, per se, it’s just new and it seems like neither of them really knows how to fill it. It doesn't feel like the place for empty chatter.

“You look good in it. Comfortable. Very.... stimulating,” he dares to comment and suppresses a lewd grin that threatens to slip out.

“Hmm,” Lavellan answers. She seems amused, however faintly, which Krem takes as a victory. He feels an urge to do something with his hands-- pull her closer across the distance and touch the soft skin of her thigh. Or something.

“So,” Krem says slowly. The scratchy sheets are bundled around his waist and he scratches his abdomen. His chest is bound, but he doesn’t feel self-conscious around her, not anymore. For she knows him; she knows most things about him. He knows a little less about her, but he’s determined to learn every piece of her in time.

Lavellan opens her book again.

“So,” Lavellan answers and even though she’s not looking at him, the corners of her mouth are twitching. It makes Krem braver than he is.

“I kind of didn’t expect you to still be here.”

His words are casual and not accusing, not in the slightest, and he’s glad that Lavellan notices it as well because her expression doesn’t change.

“I’m taking the day off,” Lavellan replies and flips a page forward in her book, though she’s not reading it as far as Krem can tell, just staring at the words since her eyes don’t move on the paper.

“Can an inquisitor take a day off?”

“Who could stop me? I am the Inquisitor,” Lavellan kind of scoffs, kind of laughs. Krem’s gaze is focused on her pink mouth because, Maker, he is apparently just as bad as most other men are when it comes to a pretty face. He really hopes Lavellan doesn’t notice, that’d be quite embarrassing. Not that he has ever pretended to know something about words like honour or chastity.

“... Fair point.”

Lavellan hums underneath her breath, a breathy sound that is filled with something untraceable to him. He wonders what she’s thinking about.

“What are you reading?” Krem asks casually as he can, feeling slightly idiotic because he doesn’t know what to do at this moment. He wants to stand up and go to her, he wants to kiss her and pull her back to bed and do things to her that makes her body wet with sweat and pleasure.

Still, he does nothing except grip the bedsheets into this fist and takes a deep breath. He can be patient when he wills so-- he can be patient for her.

“A romance novel. Or rather a bodice ripper, I would say.”

“Shit,” Krem replies. Or more like mumbles as he still feels a little tired after the night despite having slept so long this morning. He's sort of surprised the chief hasn't come barreling through his door yet, the big damn oaf.

“Josephine gave it to me,” Lavellan continues casually. She is combing her long blonde hair with her fingers as she speaks and Krem wants nothing more than to touch her right at this moment. He aches with it, his fingers cramping at how hard he is gripping the bedsheets.

“She apparently got it from Vivienne who got it from Cassandra who got it from Sera who got it from... somewhere." Lavellan pauses. "Josephine called it the ‘the most beautifully written love story of this age’ so naturally, I needed to read it.”

“So, how is it?”

Krem doesn't want to talk about books.

He wants to pull her back into his bed and do things to her with his mouth and sleep some more afterwards.

“Mildly entertaining and educational. Considerably smuttier than I expected truth to be told, but I don’t mind. See, I had no idea qunari could be so incredibly... bendy.”

Lavellan grins at him, her mouth in a wicked bow, and Krem is not blushing. He is not. He is a grown man and doesn't flush at the mere mention of sex, that would be ridiculous considering he spends most of his time around Iron Bull and the other boys who hold nothing back.

"I'm certain you could ask the chief about it if you're really curious."

Lavellan huffs. "No thank you, that is definitely not the kind of conversation I want to have with my lover's superior."

Krem's heart jumps into his throat. Lover, he thinks. He likes the sound of the word. It feels fitting for them.

“Come here,” he requests throatily, changing the subject to something he is more desperate for. “Please.”

Lavellan spends a moment only looking, or perhaps studying, him with her piercing eyes before she sets down the book and her now empty teacup on the window sill and comes to him, all gentle smiles and cold fingertips. Just before he lays down, she takes off his shirt and Krem feels a tiny bang of disappointment before he realises that the sight of her bare frame, her charming curves and soft belly and generous chest, the constellations of freckles, moles and scars on her skin, are a marginally better sight.

Lavellan lets him look at her a moment that doesn't feel like enough time to drink in the picture she makes before she settles beside him on her stomach and Krem closes her delicate hand inside his own sword-callused one.

“You look so beautiful,” he confesses, perhaps too honestly, the words escaping his mouth like a bird out of its cage For a short moment Lavellan looks almost impossibly surprised like this is something she didn’t expect him to say at all. Her eyes are wide and sweet with something like utter fondness for him.

“And you are looking very handsome,” she counters, never quite knowing what to do with a direct compliment and this time he definitely blushes quite visibly but finds himself not minding it that much at all anymore. She could see all of him, naked and laid bare, and he would let her, always. No secrets, no fears.

Lavellan cups Krem's cheek and peers at him with an unflinching look, her thumb stroking the curve of his moist mouth. His tongue peeks out of his mouth and he swallows hard.

“Your freckles have grown bolder under the summer sun,” she comments aloud as her fingers explore every nook of his face, tracing the bridge of his nose with her long nail and thumbing the fragile, blue skin underneath his eyes that are still puffy from sleep. He feels invincible, confident beyond explanation. That's what Lavellan does to Krem.

Krem licks his lips. He licks his lips and the tip of it catches on Lavellan's fingertip, just before she presses her tender mouth to his own and kisses him for the first time for what feels like forever.

And it's a very good kiss. One of the best he's ever had.

Not overly gentle, but intense and sweet, and it consumes him entirely with its depth, making him feel thoroughly light-headed and happy.

So happy. Being with Lavellan makes him the happiest he's ever been. He's a lucky son of a bitch and he’s the first one to admit that.

"I'm glad you stayed tonight," Krem whispers, his voice husky with need and she looks straight into his eyes before murmuring: "Me too."

Afterwards, a comfortable silence surrounds them for a long while. They fill it with kisses and hungry caresses, but they're not in a rush to start anything more. They continue until Lavellan breaks apart and searches his eyes with her own brown ones. For some reason, there's a touch of sadness in them.

"You know it's nothing personal, don't you?" she asks hesitantly, her fingers drumming against his chest as she talks-- a habit that tells him that she’s genuinely nervous about his answer. She swallows before continuing: "If I could, I would wake up in your arms every morning, it’s just-- "

"I know," Krem murmurs, shushing her words with a small peck. And he does, but fuck how he hates it. Sometimes he would just want to bury her in his arms and hide her from the rest of the world. Not that Lavellan would ever let him, but a man can dream.

"Good." Lavellan nods, satisfied. She brushes his forehead with the back of her hand, sweeping off a drooping hair strand that's been tickling his brow for a while now. Krem isn't sure if he deserves such tenderness from her. Or anyone.

"Good," Krem repeats with the biggest grin that flashes his teeth and Lavellan rolls her beautiful eyes before kissing him again with a fierce sort of enthusiasm that takes Krem off guard.

But neither of them are leading it to anything more. They're perfectly content just like this, with rush or impatience for nothing.

It's a new feeling and it's lovely.

"This is nice," Krem says after they pull apart again with their mouths wet and red, her doe-eyes almost swallowed up by her black pupils.

Lavellan looks entirely fond. She presses her lips to his forehead, the gesture not overly sweet but close enough. "It is."

"Maybe you could… take a day off again some time," Krem suggests making Lavellan sort of snort in surprise. Though before Krem can feel too bad about asking, she murmurs acceptance in his ear.

"Mm. I'll see what I can do."

It's as good as a promise.

[demigodlunar]

Scars - Chapter 4

-- Trigger Warning: Mentions of self-harm and bad parenting. Read at your own risk.

Chapter 4 - End It Cleanly Mclean

Piper flopped onto her immaculately made bed after her morning run with her mother, rumpling up the covers a little bit and enjoying the brief moments of silence before-

“Models do not flop onto their beds, daughter, they sit on the edge daintily.” A saccharine sweet voice lilted from outside Piper’s bedroom.

Piper stifled her groan and got up quietly, remaking her bed and smoothing her hands over the glossy silk sheets. She made sure not to miss a spot, because her mother, the amazing model Aphrodite Mclean, was no doubt watching her every move from the doorway.

“I’m sorry, mother, “ Piper said quietly, looking down at her feet that her mother commented were “too big” to be from a woman, “I won’t do it again.”

She looked up and locked eyes with her mother, the most beautiful, and cruelest, person Piper had ever met. That one thought of rebelliousness died away, and Piper forcefully looked back down respectfully at her feet.

Aphrodite had silky black hair that made its way down her back in ringlets, with only the most expensive products used on her luscious locks. With chocolate brown eyes like those of a feline. She was thin as a toothpick, with a curvy, full body which attracted a lot of men, and sometimes even women. Aphrodite’s skin was fair and spotless, her nails and clothes always complimenting each other and the rest of her. Piper really wished she hadn’t inherited her mother's insane beauty.

Her mother did another once over of Piper’s bedroom, trying to find something to critique. Not finding any flaws, she pursed her lips, flipped her hair over her shoulder and promptly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Piper let out a breath she didn’t know she was even holding, and it made her plop back down onto her bed and bury her head in her hands.

Why couldn’t I have just gone with Dad?

~~~~~~~~~~

Tristan Mclean met Aphrodite Ouranos at a theatre gathering. He was immediately struck by her beauty and charm, and she seemed to like him just as much. They started going out after a week, and dated for a couple months before getting married.

After they had Piper, Tristan and Aphrodite made it big, Tristan with a high-paying acting career which required him to move around a lot, and Aphrodite with a modeling job. Both of the jobs needed a lot of traveling, but someone needed to stay and take care of Piper, the beautiful baby who inherited her mother’s beauty and her father’s smile and hair.

So while Tristan went on world tours and visited iconic cities and landmarks, Aphrodite would stay at home and take care of Piper. Needless to say, she hated the job, and wanted to dump her daughter in an orphanage to be taken care of by someone else, but then an idea struck her.

If she could raise Piper to be exactly like her, independent and flawless, it would help Aphrodite’s modeling and parenting. She was wrong of course, but she obviously didn’t think that. The result of her carelessness was a five year old running around a large empty estate, eating whatever she wanted and doing whatever she pleased.

There were many, many times when Piper had been left alone for long periods of time, and she did learn to be independent, but vowed to never become like her mother. Once Piper hit her middle school years, Aphrodite realized just how beautiful her daughter was, even more so, than Aphrodite herself. That was a problem.

So she shipped Piper off to a ladies academy for middle schoolers, and when Piper came back the summer before her first year at high school, she was… exactly the same. No manners had been changed, no clothing choice had been improved, nothing.

That’s when Aphrodite took the manner into her own manicured fingers. She critiqued Piper on anything and everything she did, even if it was the slightest misstep or a small snort that escaped her mouth. At the start, Piper rebelled against her, but Aphrodite oppressed her so much that Piper gave in and listened to her mother's every whim, and stayed quiet through every admonishment.

That was what made Piper start cutting.

It was small at first, just a little glance at a knife or razor and wondering how it would feel against her skin. Then, light traces with the sharp blades on her wrist, seeing how light she could go to draw blood. What pushed past her tipping point was when Piper was idly drawing the knife across her arm, not enough to see blood, but enough to feel a small sting, and her mother walked into the bathroom to see what was taking her so long.

She took one cold look at the blade, and the marks on Piper’s arm and left the bathroom. Piper stared after her, but when she came back, it wasn’t with a hug, or words of help to drag Piper out of the world of a depression.

It was a razor. A pink razor with a bejeweled hilt.

Aphrodite held it out to Piper and said only two words: “Use that.”

Since that day, Piper seemed to enjoy when her mother would leave her alone to do her modeling, because Piper had the day to cut herself happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now don’t get her wrong. Piper wasn’t suicidal for two reasons. The first was her father and her friends. She tried to resent her father for leaving her alone with her monster of a mother, but he was too kind for her to hate him, and the couple days a year he came and stayed with them were the best. And her friends, well, they were the only people who kept her sane while she was here. Annabeth, Reyna, Thalia, Leo. They were the best friends anybody could ask for, and they supported her whenever she felt sad. They didn’t know about the cutting.

The second was that she was too cowardly to try to take her life. Afraid of hurting her friends. Afraid that it would all be for nothing.

So she didn’t do anything farther than cutting.

Piper realized that thinking about the past and sitting doing nothing but dawdling was really unproductive. She took out her phone and went to check if there were any new messages, and she saw a text from Thalia. So she replied.

(AN: Thalia, Piper)

Today - 11:34 AM

hey Pipes

hey Thals

wassup

Oh nothing, just trying to get away from my tyrannical mother. Normal day.

nothing much, you?

i’m here with my brother at one of my dad’s interview things

Brother?

Piper couldn’t remember Thalia mentioning anything about siblings before. And she did the normal thing and asked Thalia about it.

you have a brother?

It was a long time before Thalia responded, but when she did, Piper snatched up the phone to see her response.

yeah

Piper felt betrayed, she thought they told each other everything. But then again, she had no room to talk.

excuse me, but how come you’ve never told me about him?

never came up

fine, you win, for now. show me a pic?

Thalia sent a picture of a blond-haired boy with the bluest eyes Piper had ever seen. The thing was, she knew this blond-haired boy.

It was Jason Grace, the only person that even came close to Annabeth’s record setting grades. Once he had beaten her by a percent on a English test, and Annabeth was fuming for days, while Piper and the rest of their friends snickered at her back. But Piper never connected the dots, like how he and Thalia had the same last name.

He was also in her math class during Freshman year, and he sat two seats to her right. Piper could remember clearly some moments of that class.

Like when the teacher would ask the class a question, and Jason’s hand would be the only one up so she called on him. He would bite his lower lip and read out the answer in a confident but quiet voice, like he didn’t want anyone to notice him. Then, once Jason got the question right, his posture would straighten, in a proud way. His eyes would light up like a cloudless day sky and his lips would stretch into a smile, making the scar on his upper lip appear more prominently. Jason would push the glasses up the bridge of his nose, and sit back in his chair, satisfied.

One second. Two.

What. Was. That. Piper shook her head and felt her cheeks become hot. She barely knew Jason, yet she had been paying so much more attention to him than she thought she was. Idly, she wondered if his glasses and the tattoo of glasses she had on her shoulder were related in any way.

Suddenly dizzy, she remembered that Thalia was waiting for an answer. With her thoughts off somewhere else, she mindlessly typed a response to Thalia’s question. The good news, it was the truth. The bad news, Thalia would never let her live this down.

After she felt her head clear, she brought her attention back to the conversation and her eyes widened.

oh, that cute boy you sit with at lunch sometimes? He’s really good looking.

“Crap!” Piper yelled, for once not even afraid that her mother will come in and lecture her about the dangers of swearing.

She could just imagine Thalia cackling her witchy laugh wherever she was. Piper started to type in a message to tell Thalia to please, please not tell her brother about that message when a new message popped up at the top.

Piper, honey, I am leaving for my photoshoot now. Please keep the house clean... and no guests. -Mother >:(

Perfect, her mother is gone, now she can go through with that brunch that she planned with her friends. Then she remembered Thalia. Stupid ADHD, hopping from one topic to the other.

It was too late though, because Thalia has already replied.

yes, he is, and he’s also here looking at our conversation.

Piper felt herself blush scarlet red, and she bet anyone could see it, even on her darker complexion. Now she was in for it, she would never be able to face Thalia or Jason ever again. And once Thalia told the rest of their friends…

Piper stood up and started getting ready for the brunch with her friends she planned. Both mentally and physically. Gods, Leo was going to have such a field day when he found out about this.

Well, the routine was only just starting. ____________________________________________________________

This chapter was fun to write haha

-Blossom ;)

[slashermom]

In the vein of your recent posts... what do you think would happen if someone was friends with Asa as a kid?? Maybe even before his dad killed his family????

Interesting concept indeed.

Asa was a lonely kiddo.

Between the neglect and abuse, he suffered at a home and the alienation he received at school he wasn’t that big of a people person.

But in some ways, he brought his alienation on to himself.

Asa detached himself from his peers and their activities and was only as polite as he needed to be.

No sense in entertaining the idea of something that wouldn’t work out in the future.

But that’s where you come in.

You weren’t exactly high on the social ladder either and thought you should find someone more your speed.

Asa Emory seemed to be the perfect candidate.

Tricky thing was that he was about as talkative as a pet rock.

So you began to chip away at his cold exterior day by day.

First by sitting next to him in class and lunch. He would never start and conversation only looking in your general direction for a moment before returning to whatever he was doing.

You began to notice that he often didn’t eat lunch. Strange.

Always reading a book or even doodling tiny insects in an old notebook.

You finally worked up the guts to actually start a conversation with him.

“What kinda bug is that? Looks really cool!” You leaned across the table to get a closer look before Asa abruptly flipped the notebook on its back to a blank page. He looked up at you for a second, recognizing who you were before dropping his head again.

“Did someone put you up to this? Because if that’s the case I just want to be left alone.”

You blinked at his sudden declaration. Did he really think you were gonna tease him?

“Nobody put me up to this. I’m just curious.” You answered truthfully.

His eyes flashed around the room looking at the different friend groups for any sign that they were laughing at him. This gave you a chance to get a better look at his eyes. They were usually hidden behind large frames and focused on the desk but now you could see they were a deep obsidian.

He sighed and turned the notebook back over - not meeting your gaze again as he spoke.

“It’s a Goliath beetle.” He mumbled and you smiled at the progress in your relationship.

From that point forward you began to always ask him what new bug he was drawing or reading about. Sometimes he would just show you and other times he would give you little fun facts about the insect.

These moments helped build up and grow your friendship.

Soon you two were hanging out after school together.

More often than not you would play near the woods or in your backyard. He liked to see what nature had to offer.

“You want to hold it?” Asa cradles a tiny black spider in his hands. “It won’t hurt you.”

Even if you’re a little apprehensive or scared of bugs he’ll give you a reassuring look that you’ll be alright before placing the insect into your cupped palm.

Observing you twist and turn your hand to try to keep the spider steady and in one spot, he felt a tiny smile spread on his lips and he thought he caught a glimpse of one on yours as well.

That is until the arachnid got a little bold and tried to venture further up your arm.

“Asa... Asa! Grab it! It’s gonna go up my sleeve!”

He let out a genuine laugh as he scooped the spider back up and turned to set it back in the grass.

You started to pick up on how he was always checking the time or paying special attention to certain cars that drove by when you played outside.

Asa needed to be careful about how much time he spent with you. He was starting to be late coming home or to his father’s work and it was earning him some less than gentle reprimandings.

He also didn’t let you near his house or the museum.

Asa didn’t want his father learning he had a friend out of fear that he would scare you away or worse - hurt you. Not to mention, he didn’t want to risk his father telling him to stop seeing you.

You had assured him multiple times that he didn’t need to be ashamed be of his family. You didn’t care if they were all bald and toothless, you just cared about Asa.

Oh, how he wished it was that simple.

He never lingered on the topic of family for long. Always pulling some random piece of bug knowledge out of thin air and smirking at your bewilderment.

You enjoyed when he talked about his hobbies. He seemed to stumble over his words less when he was passionately explaining something to you.

Whether it be a discovery of his own or a new book he picked up at the library, there was a spark that lit up behind the young man’s eyes that seemed to be snuffed out more often than stoked.

So you let him ramble - which is exactly what he needed.

It’s not liked he talked often, especially not about things he enjoyed.

These moments were important for more than one reason.

Obviously in the fact that Asa was able to get some positive human interaction but also it showed that he trusted you.

He didn’t care to share parts of himself with just anybody.

You were special.

Asa had grown way more attached to you than he realized.

The strength of this bond became clear after his father lost his mind and slaughtered his whole family on Thanksgiving.

While stuck in the box he thought about many things - you being one of the most prominent among those things

When he finally escaped and was taken into custody for his protection, he thought about when he would be able to see you again.

But when he finally was able to go find you he only found an empty house and you nowhere in sight.

He remembers you talking about how your folks work required you to move every once in a while and it figures that you would move away when he needed you the most.

‘Pain builds character, son. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can become a man.’

Asa used the years of abuse, the loss of his family, the loss of you to shape his life and what would become his collection.

It wasn’t until he was an adult and well into his collecting that he felt a pang in his chest as he re-evaluated his life.

Something was missing.

From his collection? From his life? Maybe both.

Asa couldn’t place it for the longest time but on his way to work, he stumbled upon two young children walking down the street. One with his head shoved into a book and the other balancing on the edge of the sidewalk while they made their way to their destination.

Suddenly, it all shifted together.

It was you that was missing.

The kid who put up with his insatiable interest for all things insects, the one who offered him their lunch every day without fail, the one who fussed over every new bruise with empathy so foreign to him.

He wondered if you were still like that. Asa intended to find out.

[meditationsfromthethirdrail]

Credentials and Credibility

I’ve written about polarization and about empathy, rights and responsibilities in the last couple of blog posts.  I have a long list of interrelated topics to cover before the November elections and I plan to keep plowing through them.  But I’m well aware that my voice is a candle in the wind, to borrow the phrase used by T.H. White in the title of his tale about King Arthur’s dream of a more egalitarian and peaceful society.  The number of readers of my blog thus far may barely run into double digits and that may never change.  We are all drowning in information (and misinformation) unless we are either so socioeconomically disadvantaged as to be denied access or are actively disengaged from media.  People in either category aren’t reading this.

With all the competition for the attention of readers and listeners, if someone wants to be heard above the din, he or she either has to have a forceful personality and a good platform, or actually have something important to say.  I may not have either of those.  Readers will judge for themselves.  But it occurred to me that I ought to at least provide a little background about myself, which may or may not compel you to hear me.  So here it is.

My story is not one of hard knocks and resentment - it’s a success story.  There are a lot of ways to define success but I feel like I’ve grabbed a nice assortment of brass rings during my almost-seven decades on the planet.  I’ve had a long and happy marriage to an incredible woman; I’ve traveled extensively (six continents and all fifty states) and lived for substantial periods in many states; I have three degrees from a major college; I attained a modestly high position in a large, global professional services firm and was financially well rewarded for my efforts; and I have many hobbies and interests that make it easy for me to stay fully occupied in retirement.  Most importantly, I’m happy and at peace with myself and others.  One could argue that these successes may have caused me to be out of touch with those who’ve enjoyed fewer of them, but I don’t think that’s entirely true, and I’ll try to suggest why.

My parents were the son and daughter of a sharecropper and a truck farmer/itinerant salesman, respectively, in rural Mississippi.  They grew up during the Great Depression. They were married and gave life to my older brother when they were still in their teens.  My dad dropped out of high school to sign up for the Army and served in the European theater in WWII.  After the war he got a G.E.D. and served as a tractor mechanic for a while.  Around the time I was born he was hired by a prominent agricultural implement manufacturing company, which led to him being transferred from Mississippi to Maryland to Ohio to Idaho to Oregon and to Iowa in order to earn promotions, and with family in tow.  Later he also transferred to Texas, Missouri and Georgia, after I was left behind to attend college in Iowa.  In those days it was possible to rise pretty high in the ranks of a business like my dad’s, without a glittery collegiate resume, if you worked hard and were willing to uproot yourself and your family whenever it was called for.  So my dad eventually did rise fairly high in the ranks, and in the meantime my mom scrambled her way to a B.A., then taught high school English for a short time.

All’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare once said.  My parents came a long way from the dusty fields where they picked cotton for 50 cents a day.  My own road to success was much easier than theirs.  During most of my childhood our family was financially situated about in the dead center of what was then considered middle class.  My parents were not rich, although they accumulated modest wealth later in life, and they were always frugal, so I grew up with very few toys and a mostly empty closet.  My parents were not the type to devote much time attending to my personal pursuits, other than to quietly demand that I get good grades in school.  So I wouldn’t say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I understand that’s a relative thing.  I certainly wasn't lavished with material things as a child, but I never went hungry or worried about having a roof over my head.

Aside from a base level of financial and emotional support and protection, the best thing my parents gave me was a solid education in a robust public school system.  This was a pre Betty Devos era.  Fortunately I had just enough innate ambition (or willingness to succumb to my parents’ expectations) and intelligence to perform in the upper tier, academically.  I could have done better but I often didn’t “apply myself,” as they say.  In retrospect I realize I had ADHD but few people understood or cared about that back then.

My college record was spotty at first, but ultimately pretty good.  I had almost no grasp of what I wanted to do with my life.   As a result, I had an abnormally extended adolescence, to roughly age 27.  Maybe I was a trendsetter; I see a lot more of that happening with young people today.  In any case I considered, at various times and among other things, becoming a Baptist minister (I was licensed and briefly attended seminary), an English professor (I have an M.A. in English and instructed freshman writing courses for three years), a novelist and poet (insufficient talent and discipline derailed that plan), and a hotel manager (nah).   A happy accident of my wandering and indecision was that I acquired a lot of knowledge that later paid off in surprising ways I’ll come back to later.  I was financially very poor the entire time, which gave me considerable perspective on what it means to be concerned about affording basics such as food and transportation.

I vividly remember the catalysts for my decision to enter the social mainstream. One was the fallout from a poker game I got into with some friends.  One of my “friends” was a notoriously unethical character who, one late evening when I was especially unlucky and perhaps too full of beer, lured me into some bad bets that resulted in a $700 debt to him.  At that time, when I was working several crummy part-time jobs to afford food and my $50 share of the rent on a slum-quality house we shared with two other guys, $700 dollars seemed like a million dollars.  I didn't realize and no one told me that on the very next evening the same group of friends gathered for another poker game as I was licking my wounds and trying to form a plan.  I was not present to witness the scene in which the guy whom I was newly indebted to suffered an equally humiliating loss - a loss that was forgiven by the victor on the condition that the loser would also forgive my loss.  My friends assumed that Bart (not his real name, or is it?) would inform me that I was off the hook.  He did not.

For the first time in my life, I devised a budget in order to determine how I could repay Bart the debt that didn’t actually exist, because that’s the kind of guy I am.  I believed, and I still do, that a person is morally and ethically responsible for meeting whatever commitments he or she enters into.  So  I scrambled for more hours working as a church janitor, a tutor and a library assistant; I ate Kraft macaroni and cheese almost every day (30 cents a box, if I recall); I stayed in my room as if I had contracted the then-undreamt-of coronavirus; and I turned over every penny that didn’t go for rent and minimal food to Bart in three monthly installments until I was finally clear.  I was six feet tall but my weight fell to about 140 pounds.  On the day I forked over the last $200, Bart skipped town, just as the news finally arrived that I wasn’t supposed to have owed that debt.

That sordid chapter concluded with me taking a job, out of sheer desperation, in a factory where I was paid a below-minimum wage to operate a machine which applied mailing labels to printed advertisements.  It was mind-numbing.  There were perhaps another 100 workers in that factory doing the same thing I was doing.  The output of each worker was measured daily by the factory management.  By the end of the first week I was the most productive mailing label attacher in the factory.  To keep myself from going insane, I approached my task as if it were a game and challenged myself each shift to beat my previous day’s output, which I always did.  During my brief lunch breaks I used to surreptitiously glance around at the other workers and I understood exactly what Thoreau meant when he opined that the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.  I don’t know if he was right about “the mass of men,” but he certainly could have been describing that crew at the factory.

In my second week at the factory I met another newly-hired college guy whose wife and he were trying to save enough money to move to Los Angeles so he could take a shot at professional acting - this was his second job.  Chatting with him during lunch breaks, i was inspired by his desire to fulfill a dream and the difficult steps he was taking to do it.  I listened to him, I looked around at the hollow-eyed, middle-aged folks who had worked for years operating labeling machines, and I squirmed as I considered what a sap I was for racking up a poker debt and falling victim to a con man.  i abruptly abandoned the factory but I felt so discombobulated that I enlisted my good buddy John to drive out to Idaho with me so I could visit my brother and try to get my shit together.  By the end of that brief sojourn out west, the best job offer I could manage was from Roto-Rooter . . . to work in the field, as it were.  Wake up call!

If you’ve read this far you must be wondering how any of this supports the notion that I’m qualified to write about sociopolitical matters.  It doesn’t, except to demonstrate that I have at least a small measure of “street cred.”  But the best is yet to come.  When I returned to Iowa I found a better job in a hotel.   Initially I was a night auditor, which is a position that involves being a desk clerk part of the time and an accountant the rest of the time.  Only a small step forward, financially, but it gave me a taste for something I had never previously thought about doing for even one minute.  Accounting, I quickly learned, was something I had a natural aptitude for, and in some quirky way I found it interesting.  Once again I viewed my duties as a sort of game, but this was a game that lit up my brain much more brightly than did operating a machine to perform an exceptionally repetitive task.  

My whole life is a series of lucky breaks at critical junctures.  In this instance the break was that I met a co-worker - a guy who shared the hotel night auditor position with me - who had previously worked for a large CPA firm.  He had taken the part-time hotel job because he was trying to become a full-time stock trader and that’s what he was doing during the day.  From him I learned what it is that CPAs in a big firm actually do.  Let me assure you I’m not going to get into that subject, in case you were already feeling the dread.  (Thank God for actuaries - the only people who make accountants seem slightly interesting.)  Suffice it to say that I figured out how I could minimize the additional schooling I would need to become qualified to be a CPA and I decided to take a stab at it.

I kept the hotel job but started carrying a heavy load of college classes - accounting, math, economics, law, etc.  It so happened that I met my future wife, who was just finishing her Interior Design degree at the same college, about the same time I took the first tentative steps down my new career path.  That was even more fortuitous - I give her lots of credit for helping me stay the course.  The two years in which I went to college in the day, worked at the hotel at night, and struggled to get our new romance off the ground, was “character-building,” to say the least.  I can barely remember anything about that period, it was such a blur.  To give you an idea of how much of a blur it was, the major highlight I remember was driving with my new spouse to Des Moines to dine at Spaghetti Works.  $5 for beer-and-cheese spaghetti, all-you-can-eat salad bar and a glass of swill.  Heaven!

When the two hellish years finally ended and I received my B.S. in Accounting, I had already lined up a job in Des Moines as an auditor with one of the Big 8 (at that time) accounting firms.  Not long afterward, I passed the CPA exam and my wife landed a spot with a local design firm, and we were on our way.

Ok, at last I’m where I possibly should have started. In the ensuring three decades I continued to work as a CPA, becoming a partner along the way (meaning that I became one of the owners), and developing a specialization working with clients in the financial services industry - investment management companies and banking and finance companies, primarily.  This is the good part, folks.  My career soon took me from Iowa to New York City, where my background in English earned me the privilege of being a key designer and the principal author of new practice guidance for our international firm, which was just merging with another large international firm.  That put me in the spotlight for a time and gave me a leg up for promotion.  After the merger we relocated to Los Angeles, where I worked with some of the most prominent investment management companies in the world, and numerous banks, mortgage banks and other financial institutions.  Finally we moved to southeast Pennsylvania and I split time engaged with clients there and in California, and with our national financial services practice in New York.

Late, late nights on Wall Street helping to prepare financial offerings with hundreds of millions of dollars on the line.  Late, late nights at client offices in L.A., San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, New York and Philadelphia, managing teams of young accountants to deal with complex accounting problems under tremendous pressure.  Board meetings, fee negotiations, staff meltdowns, discoveries of fraud and malfeasance, financial crises in which I was an inside observer.  A 60-hour work week felt almost like a vacation compared to many weeks with even longer hours.  It was enough to give me PTSD.  I don’t want to overstate it - it wasn’t like actual life or death combat PTSD - but I still have nightmares ten years and more after the fact.

That’s a very quick summary of the 30+ years in which I obtained hard-won knowledge about global finance and economics - a period in which I also had a lot of experiences with politics, charitable organizations and other components of society I didn’t have time to get into today.  I still spend a lot of time staying informed about subjects ranging from psychology and mythology to current events and hard science.  There’s a ton I still don’t know.  But as my all-time favorite singer Joni Mitchell famously said, I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now.

[samtheflamingomain]

f is for fucked up

I recently binge-watched the Netflix show F is For Family.

It caught my attention because of a few things: set in the 70s, Justin Long as Kevin is fantastic, and, a very odd thing for an animated show, it features direct continuity. You HAVE to watch it in order.

And if you do, you see a pattern. Frank, the father of the titular family, is an abusive asshole who frequently threatens to defenestrate his children.

But, unlike, say, That 70s Show, it's not really played for laughs. Frank rarely ends up getting what he wants or comes out on top. His words and actions eventually lead, over 3 seasons, to his marriage almost falling apart, and his children being severely neglected to the point that one runs away.

There's usually a feel-good ending to most episodes, but because of the continuity, it all adds up.

A lot of things come to a point in the very last episode of season 3. I know the people reading this have likely already seen it, but let's recap then analyse.\

There's a new baby on the way, and this causes Frank and Sue to feel like their lives are disappearing. Frank will never achieve his dream of becoming a pilot, and Sue is a deeply unsatisfied housewife. She gets an equally-unsatisfying job, then has her only brilliant invention stolen from her.

Maureen had always been "Daddy's little princess" until recently, when Frank pays more attention to Sue and tries to get ahold of Kevin's behavior. She starts to feel invisible, and so she devises the idea to go on a TV show to win a game. And to be noticed.

Bill, in my opinion, has it the toughest of the kids. He's constantly getting beaten up by bigger kids until one day he falls in love with one of their sisters, who turns out to be psychotic. He spends a night under his parents' bed, which scars him deeply. (3 guesses as to why) Then he sees a man explode in front of him and his father tells him to bottle it up. "That's what real men do". This culminates in him agreeing to run away to Pittsburgh with his crazy girlfriend.

Meanwhile, Kevin also goes through a lot. His friends dump him, he sleeps with his neighbour's wife, and ultimately, he gets arrested.

I saved him for last because, after he gets arrested, Sue says to Frank, "You need to try a different approach. Yelling doesn't work. Try being compassionate and nurturing." After a bit of bitching, Frank agrees.

And this almost made me cry. Because that's my parents - ideally. They screamed at me my entire life because, like Frank, they "didn't know what else to do".

But my parents never realized that they needed to take a different approach. So the fact that Frank even tries (though it doesn't last) redeems him a bit.

But I want to go back to comparing it to That 70's Show, not just because both take place in the 70s. But because the fathers are so similar. Veterans, "real" men, horrifically abusive but able to admit their mistakes. The last part doesn't excuse the abusiveness, but it doesn't count for nothing.

Tangent: My father never once admitted to being wrong about anything, even scientific or historical fact. I tried to explain the Monty Hall problem to him once and it culminated in him screaming for me to shut up and go to my room. Then, one day, he brought it up and explained it to ME. And I reminded him of the time I'd tried to do so, and he tried to say that I had been trying to convince him that the answer was "50/50", not "66/33", the correct, but seemingly illogical answer. The opposite was what happened.

Anyway. My point is that, in a lot of TV shows, there's a lot of abuse that isn't taken seriously. 70s Show eventually gets there, but it takes nearly 7 seasons for Red Forman to admit he fucked Eric up. Frank realizes, when Bill is screaming at him while nearly drowning, that he fucked his kids up. In fact, he realizes similar things a lot.

And we see him honestly trying to change. He says and does a lot of truly unforgivable things, but at the end of the day, he loves his family and tries his best to make amends when he realizes he's wrong.

Perhaps another of my favorite moments is when, in couples group counselling, Frank finally realizes why he's so angry and mean to his wife: he's jealous of her success. And because he thinks he needs to be a "man's man" and a "real man", he can't stand that his wife took a job when he lost his. He can't stand that she's invented a million-dollar idea. He says, in a sudden epiphany, "I think deep down, I want you to fail." The implication being that he thinks he's failed.

This is a very profound moment, and one of the first ones that truly shows Frank as the extremely vulnerable and thin-skinned man he is. He finally reaches the core of his anger, despite it being a terrible sentiment.

Two great examples of this thin-skinned-ness are in his neighbours Vic and Chet. Vic is a handsome man with a hot wife and a big house and a sports car: all the *things* Frank wants. Chet, however, is the PERSON Frank wants to be: respected, revered, loved. He turns out to be an absolute douchenozzle, but Frank tries to remain blind to that fact because he so desperately wants to be liked by Chet. This doesn't happen with any other character, and it's because, I think, he thinks he would've been a Chet if he hadn't had kids.

Another pretty heartfelt moment is when, after a fight, Sue insists they go to lunch. They start up right away and Frank goes outside to have a smoke so "she can calm down". Then he pulls out the list of things Sue wanted to discuss that he grabbed from her and called unimportant. He reads it. Item 3: "Whatever happened to 'co-pilot'?"

Flashback to the moment young Sue tells young Frank she's pregnant. Frank promises her they can weather any storm together, promising to "be her co-pilot" in life. He realizes now that he's completely fucked up.

This comes to a head when he's taken hostage by terrorists trying to hijack a plane. He says, "If you shot me now, you'd be doing me a favor," and gives his fuck-up with Sue as the reason. And she hears him say so.

So, to go back to 70s again, I think Frank is generally a more well-rounded character. Red Forman has a few epiphanies, but largely doesn't work on his flaws or serve any purpose other than a driver of conflict.

And when we do realize that Eric knows Red fucked him up, and Red accepts that, it becomes clear that Eric is not mentally well.

So too does that happen with all the Murpheys. Bill definitely has PTSD from multiple terrible events. Kevin likely has a form of borderline personality disorder (can't manage relationships, pushes people away while simultaneously craving emotional contact, risk-taking) as well as a form of anxiety and hell, maybe even oppositional defiant disorder. Maureen is the youngest and a Daddy's girl, so she's definitely the most healthy of the kids. But she's still something of a bitch and can be pretty manipulative.

Sue is the epitome of the depressed housewife. Only, that isn't her only trait that's played for laughs (see: Kitty being an alcoholic on 70's). She actively tries to change her life, to become the person she wanted to be.

The show's not perfect, but it does touch on a lot of important topics (racism, sexism, domestic abuse, child abuse, anger, envy, even drug use) - and often in a way that most shows wouldn't touch with a 50-foot pole.

To finish up, I'd actually point to the theme song. It starts with Frank graduating, soaring into the air with his newfound freedom. Then things start hitting him literally in the face. First, a draft notice. Then a baby bottle. Then a wedding cake. Then a bunch of random shit. He loses his hair and gets fat. This simple visual is actually very powerful in portraying the helplessness and powerlessness Frank feels about his lot in life.

I'm sure there have been millions of dreams shattered due to the unforeseen birth of a child. And, to get to my damn point already, I think that's one of the most important underlying themes of the show. A huge part of the reason Frank treats his kids and wife poorly is because he blames them for stripping him of his dream of being a pilot.

It might sound pretty obvious, but Frank's not really all that smart - at least, he lacks emotional intelligence.

I think she show is headed in a direction where this will become more prominent, and may even result in Frank realizing he's not right to take out his shattered dreams on his family. But we'll see.

Stay Greater, Flamingos.

[ameliamann]

A Suicide Note

Well…. I’m not much of a writer but sharing my story in an attempt to bring hope to someone else and to bring light to such a dark topic is something that the Lord has been pressing heavily on my heart in the last few months. Anddd I’m finally listening and praying that someone reading this finds reason to persevere through whatever storm they are in.

Mmm… isn’t it fun when He stirs our hearts so violently that (even being the most stubborn human being on this earth), we have no other choice but to act…

So, here it goes. My prayer is that these random, scattered thoughts might bring the hopeless - hope, the fearful - courage, and to anyone else - encouragement to reach out to those around you… to ask “how are you?” and really listen… and raise awareness for an issue that is way too prominent to ignore in today’s broken world.

—————————————————————————————

It was October 22, 2012 that I was woken up to find out that my world would be completely flipped upside down. It was on this day that the word “suicide” became like a knife to my heart in my vocabulary and in conversations around me. It was on this day that despair, anger, confusion, and unimaginable grief crept its way into my days.

How is a girl just a couple months into her senior year of high school supposed to make sense of picking out a cemetery plot to bury the strongest man she has ever known? How was I to make sense of knowing that the same hands that held me so tightly days before telling me how proud he was of me would manage to pick up a gun and pull the trigger. The same dad that drove to Charleston to surprise his little girl at a soccer tournament a week before…the one that would go out of his way to make sure that his family was provided for… the same man that could brighten an entire room with his smile (seriously, he could).. the one that made everyone around him feel loved, cared for, appreciated, the one that listened to me when I learned a new rap and laughed in the car with me, watched me dance like a fool and smiled ear to ear, got on the ground and played London Bridge with my sister and I until we were embarrassingly too old to do it anymore,

How does a 17-year-old girl make sense of a suicide letter written from the same man that left “I love you” letters on a napkin in her lunch box…

Suicide befriends loneliness…..darkness. It seems like the answer to fear, hurt, emptiness, a broken heart; to the weary, the lost, the burdened, the ones who feel like they have no more fight left in them.

SUICIDE DOESN’T HAVE TO BE THE ANSWER.

What if we started truly LISTENING to the ones around us? What if we began to pay attention to the silent cries for help from the ones we love? What if instead of being so caught up in our own lives, we took a second to save someone else’s?

It will be 3 years since my dad passed away in just 2 weeks, and if there is one thing I’ve learned it is that tragedy may try to end the story for us – but wisdom, strength, courage, and hope will turn the page and life will go on. It may be painful; it may be rocky; it may be confusing, but our story continues to be written.

In the 3 years following losing my dad, I tried to satisfy my soul with every worldly desire there was… any thing that would fill the void that losing my first love left me with… sports, grades, relationships, acceptance, popularity, reputation… you name it. And at the end of the chasing, I found myself feeling even more broken, emptier, and longing for far more than any of that could ever offer me.

Give up your efforts to solve your own problems. Give up your every effort to ignore the pain in your heart and continue trying to hide it with outward appearance. Stop pretending like you have it all together. Get to the core of whatever it is that is keeping you up at night alone and hurting and surrender it to someone who can bear the weight of your brokenness. Surrender it to the God who created you knowing you would be feeling every bit of what you are feeling and wants GOOD things for you. Don’t fall into Satan’s stupid little lies telling you that you aren’t enough or that you should give up.

You can still have joy, peace, purpose. What you’ve been through hasn’t killed what is in you. Make your choice! There IS a light at the end of the tunnel and there IS a reason to live because the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE created you for SOMETHING. Your existence wasn’t a surprise to Him. The GOD OF THE UNIVERSE is fighting for you. He understands you more than anyone else. He’s the only one who knows the answer to the question we so often ask: “WHY?” Let His love and purpose for your life be the light.

What you’re going through right now hasn’t caught Him off guard. He knows. And he has placed people around you specifically for you to be vulnerable with. And vulnerability is where hope is found. And attentive conversations are where truth is revealed. Don’t be afraid to tell someone how much you’re hurting. And for everyone else, don’t be afraid to be a listener… fates will change because of your compassion and willingness to listen.

So.. if you’re reading this and feeling battered and torn by the storm you are in right now, know that God does have a plan and wants to walk through this storm with you. Man was that something people loved to say right after dad died. “God has a plan, Amelia. Lean not on your old understanding…” Holy mess I can’t tell you how aggravated that made me. But now that I’ve run from him and tried to do it alone, I can truly say that walking WITH Him is the only answer. It’s the only way to find peace and understanding in life’s sufferings. I would’ve never experienced Jesus for who He is if I hadn’t been stripped of everything that I valued so much. Respond in faith rather than fear and let God’s words dominate your thoughts when life gets messy.

My dad knew Jesus because just a month before he ended his life, he told my baby sister and I – with tears streaming down his face – in the McDonald’s drive thru line at 3:45 PM (getting hot fudge Sundays for an afterschool snack) that he had given his life to Christ at church the Sunday before. He attended a service with my grandmother (his mom) and told me that in all of the years of our family going to church, he had never experienced something like he experienced that morning. He told us that He felt the Holy Spirit speaking to him and telling him “it was all going to be okay.”

After the passing of my dad, grandma told me the same story with a little more detail - dad was holding her hand during the closing prayer at church, began to cry, got up and walked to the altar, got on his knees in surrender, and walked back to his seat beside her.

My dad didn’t end his life because he didn’t know Jesus; in the midst of losing all hope and joy, he did what we all do time to time - took his eyes off of Jesus and began focusing on the hard circumstances he was facing. And boy do we all know how dangerous that can be….

What a GOD GIVEN blessing it is to have been able to have this conversation with my dad and to know that my hero’s new home is in HEAVEN. Peace is found in knowing that my dad no longer suffers from depression, heartache, fear, or anything else. He is free from all pain now.

I miss him more than anything in the world. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t come across something that reminds me of him. Losing someone that I held so close to my heart has made me value the relationships around me so much more. It has opened my eyes to the importance of making others feel loved. I didn’t use to be someone who easily discussed feelings, emotions, or complimented people. I didn’t used to know how to say, “I love you” to people without feeling awkward. Death of a loved one has awakened me to the fact that time is precious. Let someone know how valued they are today. Be vulnerable with people around you because I guarantee you, someone around you is battling the same things you are. Don’t let this temporary pain take away from the incredible plans that the Lord has for your life.

Your sufferings don’t define you, but your ability to grow in response does.

Thanks for reading;

[andaleduardo]

Rooftop N.2

 Ao3   N.1   N.3

Preview:  “Are you fucking drunk?!” The stage whispers sharp while Eddie’s eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“I am fucking drunk.” Richie sighed out. “Now help me!”

Monday   26.04.1993

Loneliness sucks. It fucking sucks and Richie doesn’t get it. He can’t wrap his head around as to why he was feeling the loneliest man in the world if he was surrounded by his most loved friends. 

As soon as the losers sat at a table on the canteen, Richie devoured his lunch. He was always eating at school, the vending machine being his first stop every morning.

“That’s n-no breakfast, R-richie.” “Never said it was, Mom." 

 Sometimes, he takes out candy bars in the middle of his classes and the wrapper is always too noisy for the occasion. "Do you really need to eat in Maths, Richie?” “Well, Stan. Gotta eat when I’m bored, ya know?”

 And all those countless times he takes a bite out of Eddie’s sandwich. Which of course leaves the poor boy disgusted enough to give up on eating it and just handing it over to Richie. 

 They used to question him about it, why did he eat so much? Was that amount of food even healthy? But seeing as he didn’t put on any weight, they dropped it. And maybe because some of them started joining the pieces together and figured he wasn’t eating enough at home. Beverly was one of those people, who noticed and started contesting with anyone who would comment on Richie’s eating habits. She was always a step ahead.

So, as he was eating his lunch, no one cared anymore about the amount on his plate, or if he repeated afterwards, or maybe stole someone’s dessert. No, they knew better than to mention it. At first, Richie was self-conscious about it. Ever since his parents stopped acting like ones, he tried cooking, which didn’t really work if no one bought groceries regularly. So he would convince himself it was okay to eat freely around his friends, until it was. 

A couple seats from him, Eddie sat, stabbing his food with a fork and drawing patterns on the mashed potatoes. It had been a week since Richie and him met that night, and it fed on his belief that he was missing out on something. 

Does Richie usually go out at night? Do his friends go out at night besides the regular high school parties? Maybe they do.

‘I mean, we’re 17. I can’t blame them.’ Eddie spoke to himself while finally eating some of his lunch.

He couldn’t help but judge himself for being so neat all the time. Bed by 11 p.m. on school nights, no such thing as getting drunk, or skipping classes. That was the right thing to do, right? He was overthinking, again. 

Eddie simply felt alive as he stepped out of his window while his mother was in the next room. Ashamed for feeling that way, he fought the urge to shake his head in shame. Maybe his friends were right about him when they’d say he was too uptight.

Fuck, even Stan and Ben have more fun than he does. They let themselves be dragged by the losers to those pointless parties or to drink beer when they’d have a sleepover. Eddie always skipped those, the parties and the beers, not the sleepovers.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the way the night felt on his skin.

(Maybe it was Richie.)

Whatever it was, he really wanted to feel it again. A tiny pinch of freedom, the tinniest 'fuck you, Sonia’ that made it to his head as he did all the nice things he was supposed to do and still get denied if he asked to go out sometimes.

“Eddie, you still with us?” Eddie lifted his head to find Mike awaiting an answer along with five other pairs of eyes on him.

“No, sorry. Got in the mashed potatoes.”

Beverly spoke up. “We are planning on going to Bill’s after school to study and hang for a bit.”

Richie noticed the way Eddie’s eyes lit up just to fall again almost instantly. “Yeah, sure, but I’ll have to ask my mom first.”

Lunch carried on, and when Richie’s eyes met Eddie’s, they both smiled knowingly and sadly.

 -

 The water was scalding against Eddie’s skin, a failed attempt to keep his mind occupied with something. Something other than his emotions. It was a task that was becoming harder by the day, after two years of doing it. Since he was fifteen, he realized, he had been pushing down thoughts and feelings and something about Richie.

He turned the hot water tap further.

It’s wrong.

His skin was reddening under the overwhelming heat.

Stop.

Thinking.

The steam filled the bathroom slowly, making the air denser and harder to inhale. Eddie gave in to his rationality, finally setting the water to a normal, warm temperature. The way it felt hitting his tingling skin made him gasp, the sound echoing through the bathroom tiles. He closed his eyes shut and obliged his mind to change his trail of thoughts by starting to shampoo his hair and thinking back to the last hours of his afternoon.

 When his last class of the day ended, he went along with the rest of the group to Bill’s house. It was the best option calling his mother from there, she would give it less thought since he was already in the location.

Once that was out of the way and they prepared a variety of snacks for their planned study session, the attic of the Denbrough’s house was filled with teenagers and textbooks sprawled on the old couch and a couple of beanbags and the floor.

It had been going fairly well, silence was prominent with some whispered conversations about the school subjects being studied.

 Just a peaceful time. Eddie, his beanbag, his philosophy textbook, a pencil in hand and Richie’s death weight colliding with the beanbag. Before Eddie noticed his body was being projected upwards, the textbook falling with a loud thud on the ground while the pencil went rolling on the hardwood floors. Eddie himself fell on his ass just three inches away from the cushioned seat.

That alone was enough to set him off on a bad mood, but then he had to deal with Richie’s exaggerated laugh and share the too-small-for-two seat with him.

The frustration built inside him only to grow more and more as the afternoon passed. Having Richie’s body pressed flush to his side was not a comfortable way to study whatsoever, but it sure was a good way of fading reality and focus on every inch of him he could feel, specially when Eddie was pretending to read the same paragraph over and over and Richie wasn’t doing the same by any means. Eddie was leaning slightly forwards while Richie set his elbow behind him, curling sideways around Eddie’s torso and breathing shallow warm breaths on the exposed skin of Eddie’s neck.

Eddie couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not, but he vacantly ignored it. Well, he faked to ignore it. It looked just like he was emerged in philosophy but he was way too deep in the way Richie felt. Whether it was their legs flushed together, or their hips joined by the sides, or Richie’s upper body minimally close to Eddie’s back, or of course, the warm breathing making goose bumps on his skin and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Maybe Richie noticed, maybe not. But he didn’t mention it or teased him about it, just like none of his friends reacted to their closeness.

Eddie was going mad thinking he was the only one bothered by it.

That would have been enough to take him where he is now, but life was making sure he got the message. These studying sessions tended to end in everything else other than actually being productive. It was only expected that after ten minutes of internalized panic from Eddie’s part, everyone started off on different topics of conversations. The books and homework were put aside when they agreed to play a random party game, Eddie was thankful to have an excuse to move as they settled on the floor in a circle.

Thankful that is, until they agreed to play Paranoia.

The game is simple. Everyone sits in a circle, the first person starts by whispering a question to the person sitting on their side, the answer is given out loud. Then a coin is flipped, if it lands on head, the asker has to repeat the question out loud for the whole group, if it lands on tail the question remains unspoken and the players only know the answer.

Eddie had to deal with stupid questions whispered in his ear, which was bad enough. But then he had to try to contain his blush when Richie looked him up and down and bit his lip while Bev asked him a question, to which he answered “Eddie”.

He bit his fucking lip and answered Eddie. What the well did Bev ask?

The stupid coin landed on tail.

Eddie decided that the name Paranoia was appropriate.

He arrived home half an hour ago, his homework yet to be done. His attempt to distract his mind and shower was not very well thought.

He wondered what Bev whispered to Richie that made him answer his name. He thought back to heat growing inside him when he felt Richie’s eyes checking him from head to toe, and what that could possibly mean. In the middle of the condensed air emerging from the water, he could almost feel it again. The hot breaths coming from Richie’s parted lips so close to his neck.

A shiver ran up on the spot.

What if Richie bit him there as forcefully as he bites his own lip? What would it feel like if Richie had whispered his name that way? Against his skin in heavy sighs?

He inched a hand further down his body.

Wrong.

He took himself in his fist, eager to move and erase the built up tension from the last days.

So wrong.

His heavy breaths filled the bathroom, luckily covered by the distinct water sounds.

This shouldn’t happen.

But those thoughts couldn’t keep him from doing it, only make him regret it as soon as he was finished and had to scrub his skin clean. Like many other times over the last two years.

He turned off the faucet and covered his face with a freshly washed and softened towel.

Two years.

What a waste of time.

   Eddie joined his mother at the kitchen table 10 minutes afterwards and sat across from her. They talked throughout dinner about school, medication and plans for the week ahead. Eddie’s mind was out of it for obvious reasons, his focus point being the shame that roots inside his ribcage. He nods along the conversations and adds some words to it, enough to keep it going.

When he is asked about the evening he spent with his friends, Eddie answers automatically that it was very productive in studying terms. His mother seems satisfied and changes the subject, asking if Eddie wouldn’t blow-dry his hair before bed, as he always does. He says he didn’t have time after showering, but that she didn’t have to worry about him getting the pillow wet.

She claims it is unsanitary.

Eddie ignored her and excused himself out of the table, after all, he still had homework to finish due tomorrow. Once he was settled in his room in front of his textbooks, he focused on getting everything done. It was early, there was still plenty of time.

 -

   Eddie was halfway through a sociology assignment when he heard a alarming noise coming from his backyard.

His eyes bugged open and he stared motionless at his window for what felt like an eternity, with a heart that was trying to burst through his chest along with a mind wild with thoughts and possibilities.

Not tonight, please not tonight. Not after … that.

 It was only until continuous banging and hitting started that he practically flew to his window and threw it open. He stuck his head out just in time to see Richie with his arms over the roof tiles, attempting to throw his leg up as well.

With an audible gulp, Eddie groaned internally and whispered “What the hell?”

Richie finally noticed Eddie’s presence and smiled groggily. His voice dragged. “Oh hey, Eds!”

Squinting his eyes at him, Eddie noticed the flush on his cheeks. “Could you be any louder?” he paused to catch his breath. Why was he out of breath? “What’s with the noise?”

Richie stammered and struggled through his words. “Your trashcan’s putting on a fight.” He pouted. “The fucking bastard.”

Eddie could not believe his eyes and ears as Richie continued to insult the trashcan underneath his feet, trying to get his leg up on the roof and failing multiple times.

“Could you move your pretty ass and maybe help me instead of staring?” He struggled with balancing himself on the wastebin, then laughed at himself. The pieces joined.

“Are you fucking drunk?!” The stage whispers sharp while Eddie’s eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“I am fucking drunk.” Richie sighed out. “Now help me!”

Eddie didn’t think his eyes could bulge any further or his heart could beat any harder in his ears right now.

He run the options over in his head. His hair wasn’t dry yet, if he got out he would surely get a cold. But what was worse? Getting a runny nose? Or getting a drunk (and loud) Richie inside his bedroom only to have his mom find them and do God knows what? The former seemed less scary.

All Eddie wanted was a good study night and time to submerge in unhealthy thoughts.

  He quickly rushed to his bedroom door and locked it from the inside, just in case. Then, he got out of the window and cautiously approached Richie, who had finally managed to get his leg on the side of the roof. Eddie pulled him by his forearms, afraid that they’d both roll out to the grass below. After crawling back near the window and far from the edge, Eddie realised how much it stung to see Richie in this state. He didn’t want him to destroy himself like that. Alcohol, to Eddie’s eyes, was just another way of self-destruction.

“Why are you drunk, Richie?”

Richie grabbed Eddie's arm while trying to sit comfortably on the roof. "Uh, because drinking is fun.”

Eddie sighed softly, trying not to sound disappointed.  "What happen-“ Richie gasped loudly.

"Eds, your hair!”’

Startled from the interruption, his hands rushed to touch his hair. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s wavy!” Eddie blinked, then snapped. 

“Richie, I swear. For God’s sake-“He inhaled sharply. “No, scratch that. For my sake, lower your damn voice, or my mom will kill us both.”

“But... it’s wavy.” Now with a lower voice, Richie intertwined his hand through Eddie’s hair and ruffled it a bit. “It’s pretty.”

Eddie groaned, defeated. “Don’t touch it, I didn’t have time to blow-dry it into place.”

“Don’t, then. It suits you.” Richie retorted, grinning, while Eddie hid a smile behind his sleeve.

“You are out of your senses.”

Richie didn’t reply and started leaning back to lay down facing the sky but his head collided with the windowsill, “Ow, shit.” and grasped it dramatically.

“Are you okay?” Eddie rushed to check for injuries, but stopped when Richie started laughing, not so loud as he was before. “You’re fucking impossible.”

Richie finally laid down uncomfortably on the roof tiles.

The sky was still pink and orange, the sun setting somewhere behind rows of houses. Eddie was staring worryingly at him but when Richie started humming songs under his breath and playing invisible drums in the air, he gave up on his concern.

Laying down on his back beside his friend, Eddie tried to ignore the shiver that ran up his spine when a breeze caught his humid hair.

  They were staring at the colour shifting sky with Richie’s muffled singing in the background when Eddie felt it again. The rush in his blood, a weight leaving his body. A tiny pinch of ‘being alive it’s worth it for moments like these’. He let a long breath leave his heavy lungs.

 -

   Countless minutes had passed when Richie’s singing faded, which made Eddie look over to him. He saw a tight frown on Richie’s face, eyes were squeezed shut and chin trembling slightly. ‘Well, here it comes.’ He thought to himself. It was true that Richie would easily get emotional while drunk, but Eddie doubted that drinking was what got him upset.   His heart broke at the sight of a tear rolling down Richie’s temple and getting caught on his ear.

“C'mon, Rich…” He nudged his side softly with his knuckles. “What’s going on?” Richie simply squeezed his eyes further, unable to stop himself from shuddering. He struggled through his words, his throat closing.

“Am I a burden?” He finally turned to face him with glimmering eyes.

Whatever was left of Eddie’s heart broke down in that moment. He stared back, shock and concern plastered on his features. “No, Richie. You’re not a burden, why would you think that?” He spoke softly.

"I’m always annoying everyone, right?” Richie gulped through his tightened throat. “Don’t try to deny it. I know it.”

Eddie sighed. “Richie, listen. You’re not a burden. You like to say what’s on your mind, so you do it.” He decided against continuing. “I really appreciate that you do, you know? You’re honest, you’re not afraid to talk, even if it gets you in trouble.” Eddie stared intensively at him, awaiting a reaction, a response.

Richie’s cheeks were stained and wet, another drop rolled down his skin. He was lost in Eddie’s features, both from alcohol and admiration. His eyes darted lower to his lips, and up again, only to find Eddie dazed and flushed. He sniffed. It was hard to concentrate.

 “Do you mean that?” When Eddie nodded, he continued, his voice low and the sky darkening above them. “For real? Even when I can’t stop the mom jokes?”

“Let’s not go that far.” Eddie smirked. “You’re a trashmouth, yeah, but I envy you for being brave to speak up for yourself, and for others.”

When Eddie thought the mood was finally getting lighter, Richie started crying compulsively. “I’m so sorry Eds.” He trembled. “You are so nice to me, and I come here so late, and you still put up with my shit. And now I’m fucking crying and I don’t know why. Look at all the crap I make you go thr-”

“No, Richie, stop that.” Eddie was trying not to lose his temper at the same time as trying to lift Richie’s mood. “I like it that you come here, I like it that you climb the side of my house and that we can sit out here, I do. You’re not annoying me. If anything, I should thank you for bringing something fun to my neutral house life.” He rushed through his words so that Richie wouldn’t interrupt him to cry harder. “C'mon, Richie.. Stop crying, no need for that, yeah?”

“Okay..” Richie snuffled again and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Eddie cringed.

He still stared at him fondly when Richie took off his tear stained and fogged glasses to clean them on the hem of his shirt, which wasn’t really helping. Eddie couldn’t help but stare at the way his eyelashes glued to each other, giving Richie an even sweeter vibe.

“Here, let me.” He took the glasses out of Richie’s cold hands and fogged them up with his breath. His cotton shirt doing a way better job at cleaning the tick lenses.

“...Eds.”

“Hm?” He replied while cleaning the glasses. Nickname ignored.

“Maybe I could come more often, just like old times. Get you out of your misery.”

'Can he get more contradictory?’ Eddie thought to himself. After all, Richie was blaming himself for coming over two minutes ago.

“Sure Richie, you could come more often.” He finally handed the glass frames over to him. “Just like old times.”

Richie placed them on his face, his eyes enlarging. “Mondays fine?”

“Why Mondays?”

“Cause Mondays suck, but then they wouldn’t anymore.”

Oh.

“Yeah.. on Mondays, that’s fine.”

They kept quiet for a few seconds before Richie spoke up again.

"Eds."

"What?"

"...Your hair's really pretty like that." Eddie had to force an eye roll out of him so that he seemed annoyed by the compliment.

In the end, he did end up getting a runny nose and back aches from the tiles digging on his muscles, but none of that mattered.

rooftop taglist:    @richietoaster   @rainydayriots   @reddieloves    @thetrashmouthclub   @lemonboi03  @noodleboyshane    @pillsandglasses  @studpuffin     @dandelion-stan     @reddiesetrichie    @squishynonbinarytwink    @itschunky     @burymestanding    @duderrific    @its-rye @salty-kaspbrak   @youtubequeens   @reddieseggrolls   @addimagination   @pastelstozier @sleepysirenprincess @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth

perma taglist:   @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

[cagedbirdsong]

Finally, part four of To Build a Home! This one is broken up into a few different parts, and is a touch slow, but will serve as a springboard for the rest of the plot! 

If you’ve missed anything, you can catch up with part three here!

As always, feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated!

Part Four

Lallybroch, Summer 1744

To say that things were alright after that would have been a lie, but they were better; at least as much as they could be. Claire took to food and drink again, and ventured tentatively around the house as the days passed, busying herself with whatever was available. She went back to the grave often, every day in the beginning, and for as much pain as it caused, Jamie suspected it did her some sort of good.

He never went back.

He passed the grave often, heading out into the fields to work, or even just walking on a cool evening, but he made sure always to steer clear of the sight of that makeshift cairn. It was something he had vowed the night he had buried Brigid, and a vow he had broken only for the sake of saving his wife, but now that they seemed to be mending themselves, he never wanted to see the damnable thing again.

He spared a glance in the general direction now, watching the limbs of the willow tree sway for a moment in the breeze, and crossed himself involuntarily.

While Claire coped by occupying her mind, pouring over her medicine box and notes she had jotted down, Jamie distracted himself in more physical ways. He spent most of his days out in the fields, doing what he could to keep his hands, and thus his mind, busy. Consequently, when the end evening rolled around, he was passed pleasantly exhausted, and capable of little more than basic trains of thought. Tonight was no different.

He stepped into the bedroom and set down his belt with a small thud, stifling a yawn. Claire looked up briefly from where she was perched on the window sill, a book in hand and her lip clasped between her teeth, and managed a small twitch of a smile in his direction. He gave her one in return, and her eyes lit briefly. For just a moment, she looked like herself again. It made a small lump rise suddenly in the back of Jamie’s throat, and he turned his head away.

She had been getting better, that much was evident. Her face was still narrower than usual, and the bones of hand and shoulder stood out prominent beneath ivory skin, but the pallor in her face had seemed to fade, replaced again with a more suitable flush of life. She seemed to be healing, at least physically, but there was a look about her eyes that troubled him deeply. It was something foreign and unfamiliar, this unrequited pain of a mother without a child, and it disquieted his spirit to wonder what was going on in her head.

Wanting suddenly to get as far away from the topic of childless mothers as possible, he stepped over to stand next to Claire, dropping a quick kiss to the crown of her head. “What are ye reading tonight, Sassenach?” He moved away to begin undressing and settling down for the night, but spared a glance over his shoulder as she swung her legs down and closed the book, which sported a plain leather cover.

 “Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Ned Gowan sent it, along with a few small articles and things on medicinals. Jenny had one of the staff fetch it up to me earlier in the afternoon.” She set the book down on the small table housing her box and tools, and folded her arms, turning to watch him. “Now that you know that I spent my afternoon in fair Verona, where were you all day? I didn’t even see you at lunch.”

“Hmm? Oh, I was out in the fields wi’ Ian and some o’ the men again. There was a problem with the wheels on one of the wagons, so we had to stop and fix it and the tilling ran late.” He spared a glance out the window into the front path, where the tool in question sat, waiting for further repair, and shrugged as he undid the buttons on his sleeves. “He that is strucken blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost. Ye dinna realize how much the damned thing makes the going quicker til ye’ve one wheel stuck in the mud and the other wi’ broken spokes.”

Claire’s face split momentarily into a true smile, and she arched one eyebrow, crossing the room to step into his arms as he shrugged out of his shirt. “I didn’t know you read Shakespeare.”

Jamie smiled as well, and settled his arms around her shoulders. “Och, well, I did go to school once. We had a headmaster who insisted we ought to. Ye can ask Ian about it. I dinna think any other kid we’d ever met had heard o’ it, let alone read it, and there we were.”

Claire gave a small hum, leaning her cheek against his chest, still warm and ruddy from the sun. “A regular Romeo and his Mercutio.” Jamie gave a derisive snort, and she smiled, stepping away from him to go about her own evening preparations. “Have you eaten?”

“Aye, Mrs. Crook gave me a bite to eat when I came inside.” He tugged on a clean linen shirt for sleeping with another tremendous yawn, and stretched so that the bones in his lower back popped pleasantly and his knuckles brushed the smoke darkened beams of the ceiling. “Christ, I’m tired.” He dropped unceremoniously on the bed, face down in the pillow, with a small groan.

“I’m sure,” Claire remarked, finishing running a brush through her hair before coming over to get in bed as well. She leaned to blow out the candle, and then scooted down beneath the sheets, gravitating towards Jamie for the sake of sharing body heat. He rolled slightly onto his side, allowing her to tuck herself up under him, and sighed pleasantly, burying his nose in her hair.

“Tha gaol agam ort, Sassenach.” He felt one hand tighten in his shirtfront.

There seemed to come with each new day a sort of tense unease, bordering on awkwardness. It was evident, of course, from where it came. Jenny, still very much pregnant, did her best to avoid Claire, but the crossing of paths throughout the day was inevitable. The entire household seemed to be a ticking time bomb, a live nerve ending, exposed and quivering. One touch, and the whole body would be cast into chaos. As a result, everyone seemed to be perpetually tiptoeing around one another. For the time being, it worked well enough, but in just a few short weeks Jenny’s bairn would be born, and Jamie knew there would be no avoiding the pain then.

To Castle Leoch then, he had decided. They would spend the next few months here, with Jamie helping to finish the early summer harvesting. By the time Jenny gave birth, he hoped Claire would be able, and willing, to offer what help she could, and then the two would be on their way. He hated to leave, of course, but the pain of being around a newborn so soon after they had lost their own child would be too much for either of them to stomach staying at Lallybroch.

He glanced unconsciously back at the bed where Claire lay, curled on his half of the bed and still sound asleep. Would she agree, he wondered, to leave so soon after they had begun to make a life for themselves among his family and people? Likely she would understand his desire to go, but there was also an equal chance that she would swallow her own discomfort to stay and help his sister, the oath she had taken as a healer stronger even than her own inhibitions. He had seen it before.

She stirred, stretching herself out on the sheets, and her shift fell off one shoulder, exposing the pale expanse of neck and breast, and doing well to catch his attention. His cock twitched in response, and Jamie swallowed, standing and gathering his things for the day. They had not been intimate since before Brigid’s birth, and his balls ached something wretched for it, to say nothing of his heart. He longed to be with her again, though he had made no advances towards Claire, not wanting to hurt her, nor press her beyond her limits. She, in turn, had made no moves towards him either. While the need to draw strength from one another after they lost the child had fostered some healing between them, Jamie still did not know the extent to which their relationship had been damaged, nor yet when - or if - they would be able to mend it.

Claire stirred further as he finished securing his belt and dirk around his waist, and sat up in bed now, watching him despite still being half asleep. “Morning,” she murmured, blinking lazily and catlike, gold eyes flashing.

“Mmm, good morning, Sassenach,” he smiled, coming over to stoop and press a kiss to her head. She reached up to cup her hand to his cheek, and hummed pleasantly as he drew back.

“How did you sleep?”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, smiling. “Och, like-” he stopped abruptly, swallowing down the like the dead that so naturally came to him, and frowned. “Like a cow that’s got his head in the keg, aye? I dinna think a stampede o’ horses coulda roused me.”

Claire chuckled slightly at that, swinging her legs out of bed. “Hm, I’m inclined to agree. I thought I’d have to fetch Ian and one of the lads to get you up for breakfast.”

“Well, I can assure ye I am fully restored to consciousness, mo ghraidh, though I do wish I didna have ta be going so soon. Ne’ertheless, the wagon will no’ be fixing itself.” He reached to finish tying his stock at his throat, and glanced out the window, catching sight briefly of Ian’s head, already bent to look at the axis.

“Right, on with you, then. Wouldn’t want to miss all the fun.” She flashed him another smile as he slipped out the door, and something in Jamie’s belly squirmed.

Wee Katherine Murray was born a month later, pink faced and screaming. Her arrival was, on the whole, greeted with an air of celebration by the tenants of Lallybroch, desperate for a bit of happiness after the learned death of the Laird and Lady’s only child. Beneath the general atmosphere of cheer and wishes of good health, however, there was still the underlying sensation of nervousness. Jamie could see it in Mrs. Crook’s face, in the way Ian carefully schooled his excitement when around him. Jenny especially worked vigilantly to keep the joys of motherhood confined to privacy.

The gesture did not go unnoticed, though it was not entirely appreciated by the intended party.

“God, they act like- like-” Claire curled her hands into fists, beating them on the table in frustration. “Like we’ll both keel over if they so much as breathe around us! Dammit, we lost our baby, not our fucking minds!” She huffed in annoyance and stood up, pacing, arms locked across her chest.

Jamie sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, and watched her with a small sigh, opening his mouth as if to speak, but Claire continued on.

“Did you know your sister didn’t even want me to touch the baby after she was born? I could see it on her face! She didn’t think I should even be in the room, and then was making eyes at the midwife the entire time, trying to get her to shoo me away like some pestering fly!” She whirled, throwing her hands into the air in exasperation, and shot a fiery glance at the door, chest heaving. “And what if something had happened? If there had been some complication? Would she have insisted I leave the room then? The nerve of that woman!” Exhausted, she dropped down on the bed next to him, muttering under her breath.

Jamie’s mouth twitched, a muscle in his jaw jumping, and he reached out a hand to rub her back gently. “I ken it, Sassenach,” he murmured, though his words had the opposite of the desired effect. Claire stiffened.

“Oh, you know, do you?” She stood up again, letting his hand thump back to the bed, and angrily stomped back and forth. “You know what it’s like? To have people treat you like you’ll break if they so much as look at you?” He arched one eyebrow, and she huffed, deflating. “Right,” she swallowed, remembering back to the events of the winter, “sorry,” she breathed, coming back over to sit down again. “I just-” she let her hands fall into her lap, scowling intensely. “I’m sick and tired of being doted on. I’m fine. I’m not going to go insane. You should see how everyone winces the second the baby makes any noise.” Some of the fight seemed to have gone out of her, and she leaned against Jamie’s side. “Poor little Kitty, being ignored by everyone. She can’t understand it.”

Jamie settled his arm around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing her skin absently, and rested his cheek against the top of her head, taking a deep breath. “They mean well, but they’re maybe no’ going about it the right way.” Claire just ‘harrumphed’ in agreement.

“I mean, really, Jamie. I wish they’d all just act normal. They don’t have to make it so bloody obvious that they pity us.” She had taken up a fold of his kilt, pleating it back and forth between her fingers nervously, and sniffed once, trying to keep her composure.

Somewhere in his chest, Jamie’s heart tightened, and he shifted to gather her more firmly into his arms. She dissolved into quiet tears, sniffling now and again as her nose and eyes watered, and pressed her face into his shoulder, hands curling now in the front of his jacket. They had come up to the bedroom after a particularly awkward supper that ended in Katherine fussing over a wet diaper and Jenny urgently shushing her and casting sidelong glances at both him and Claire. She had undressed, feverish with anger, and he had sat and watched, not bothering to take off his own clothes from the day.

He rubbed a hand down her back comfortingly, murmuring soft, soothing things in Gaelic, and Claire eventually subsided, lifting her head but not drawing back from the warmth of his embrace. He looked down at her, eyebrows furrowed, and she sniffed once with finality, nodding her head as she wiped at her nose. “I’m alright,” she said after a moment, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. “I’m alright. Let’s just go to bed.”

She reached out for him some time during the night, hurt and lonely and seeking to be made whole, and he made love to her tenderly but thoroughly, a potter carefully reshaping, molding her like clay until she took life beneath his hands. In the end, she arched against him, gasping, and he felt the thrum of her heartbeat around and in him, pulsing through his veins until it reached his own heart. They lay trembling, breathing in tandem, and their souls conversed under the cover of night as the wounds of the last two months bled freely, and then began to heal.

continue reading here! 

[christianmenatwork]

Boredom, Margaritaville, and Margin-Selah 27-CMAW 098

S

Al Mohler’s 8/27 Briefing episode on Boredom vs Depression, psychologist talking about the fact that it's being said that there's a big problem of depression resulting from the Covid-19 situation, and that perhaps what's going on is more boredom than depression.  In the article they discussed the difference between boredom and depression and that boredom is a lack of excitement or pleasure vs exptectations whereas depression is a medical condiition (I'm paraphrasing).  I heard this podcast after meditating two other devotions relating to this topic.  I want to read both of them to you and then share my thoughts on how all three of these great pieces relate to our work. First light-7/29/20-The Go spel of Jimmy Buffet-"Where there is no ox a stall is clean, but if you ever accomplish anything it is because you had an ox." Proverbs 14:4-As much as I love the Parrot head nation I am convinced that their theology is misguided! Buffet built a rabid following around not just his music, but around a philosophy of life that basically says that the purpose of life is all about comfort. The mindset that I was created to live a life of ease has permeated our nation's soul. Anything that gets in the way of my pleasure is seen as the enemy of my happiness. Hard work, sacrifice, delayed gratification, enduring the tough times are all seen as plagues to avoid rather than the paths to true long-term satisfaction and purpose. The Bible nails it in one of my favorite verses in Proverbs 14. In the "ox" verse we find the universal truth that success and shoveling always go hand in hand. Obviously, you can only accomplish if you own an ox to plow with. But, owning an ox also means shoveling the stuff that all oxen leave laying around. Simple parable describing what the WW2 generation built a great nation on. I must be willing to endure the hard stuff to get the good stuff.  If I want great kids, I must be willing to pay the price. Anybody that has raised teens knows you had better keep your shovel handy! This current fascination with a life of all ease while I waste away in Margaritaville makes for great music, but it builds a pretty pathetic life and nation. "There ain't no free lunch" is a time worn saying from days gone by that needs to be dusted off again! God created our souls to thrive on accomplishment and achievement. There are few things more gratifying than success after great sacrifice. "A desire accomplished is sweet to the soul" is another great Proverb to heed. So, rather than living to see how relaxed we can be while trying to avoid stepping on another pop top, let’s roll up our sleeves, set great big God sized goals and get to shoveling toward the finish line! Surely there has to be more to life than having nothing but an empty glass to show for my time here! 

From Wire email devotional called “Whats this margin thing?”

  Men are drawn toward extremes. We’re wired to want to explore the edges of things. Going to extremes can be good, of course. In most situations, though, it’s a hazardous practice. Prevailing culture tells us, “work longer hours;” “sleep less;” “spend more money and stretch to a better lifestyle.” Such messages are harmful and aren’t from God. He didn’t design us to live (for sustained periods, at least) with extreme calendars, extreme finances, extreme approaches to work or physical health, or extreme pastimes/interests. God designed us to have margin.

Margin is the amount of time, money, whatever, we hold back—in order to maintain productivity, stability, integrity. “Calendar margin” means reserving time for rest, for solitude, for other people. “Financial margin” means living within our means, even changing our lifestyles, if necessary. “Work margin” means focusing on what we’re made to do, and excluding the things we aren’t.

Margin is a gift. While we can convince ourselves that there are valuable things in extremes (more status, more comfort), there are things much more valuable in margin: relationships, restoration, joy, peace. These are vital inputs to healthy, productive lives, and things we must have in sufficient quantities if we’re going to overflow love and provide protection to others. We care for others by caring of ourselves. That’s true masculinity—not some put-on, fear-driven, self-centered counterfeit.

My thoughts- Our work is truly a gift from God, and He knew exactly what He was doing when he gave us work right after He created the world, in the garden of Eden.  Boredom is not a part of God's plan any more than depression is and I believe work is a big part of God's plan for us to avoid these two states of mind while we are acting as stewards, tending to and caring for His Creation, and along the way doing some mini-creating of our own with our creativity and living a life of purpose and joy working with our hands and our minds and serving others.  If you doubt this, just look at the 4th commandment in Exodus 20:8-11.  It's worth noting none of the other commandments have as many verses devoted to them so it says something to me about the importance of this commandment.  8 “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. 9 Six days you shall labor and do all your work, 10 but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. 11 For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it."  Note that there are actually 2 commandments within this commandment, one is to work for 6 days, the other is to rest on the 7th, by doing so we follow God's example in creation.  Personally I’ve been purposing to be obedient to the 4th commandment by trying to give God my best through my work 6 days a week, and to truly set apart the 7th day to make it Holy, meaning not just ceasing work but by dedicating it to Him in my activities throughout that day.  My wife and I have attempting to honor the 7th day namely Saturday as Saabath as well as honoring the Lords Feasts and following Gods calendar rather than the Pagan traditions that are part of the church today and have begun attending a messianic congregation. I realize that most, maybe all of you listening, aren't going to agree with that.   I don’t bring this up to judge others but I did want to be transparent with you about aspectys of my faith journey and I didn’t want to mention the Saabath without brining that up.  Back to the 3 pieces I shared earlier.  We already talked about boredom not being pat of God's plan.  Margaritaville, or living a life focused on our own personal pleasure, is also not part of God's plan.  You can see that in the Parable of the Prodigal Son as well as many verses in the book of Proverbs.  I suspect that most of you listening don't have a problem with the Margaritaville lifestyle but may share my struggle of going to the opposite extreme which is to work too hard, to work without healthy boundaries, and to do so at the expense of other people and responsibilities God wants us to priortize in our lives.  I think the Wire devotional does a good job of describing the right place to be in this regard.  We've addresseed this issue of Margin many times on this podcast, often in the context of finding a work-life balance. I still believe the best way to have this margin is to keep God at the center of every part of our life rather than attempting to rank or prioritize differnt part of our life, by doing so the Holy Spirit will show us whether we're putting the right amount of time and energy into different activities.

E

Congressman and civil rights leader John Lewis was laid to rest in Atlanta, Georgia on Thursday. Inspired by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in the early 1960s, Lewis became a leader in the fight to end segregation in the American South. He was a Freedom Rider, he spoke at the now famous 1963 March on Washington, and he courageously led the “Bloody Sunday” march in Alabama. But more than anything, it was Lewis’ faith in a loving God that motivated him to work for racial reconciliation.

In confronting the evils of systemic racism, he once wrote, “Get in good trouble, necessary trouble, and help redeem the soul of America.” And though his courage and determination to end injustice led to his arrest 45 times, he was also known for his mercy as he publicly forgave and even became friends with a former KKK member who had beaten Lewis nearly to death in 1961. As former president Bill Clinton said at his funeral, “When he could have been angry and determined to cancel his adversaries, he tried to get converts instead. He thought the open hand was better than the clenched fist.” And we needn’t agree with everything Lewis stood for to appreciate his lasting legacy.

Herman Cain was an American business executive, writer, and Tea Party activist. Born in Memphis, Tennessee, Cain grew up in Georgia and graduated from Morehouse College with a bachelor's degree in mathematics. He then earned a master's degree in computer science at Purdue University, while also working full-time for the U.S. Department of the Navy. In 1977, he joined the Pillsbury Company where he later became vice president. During the 1980s, Cain's success as a business executive at Burger King prompted Pillsbury to appoint him as chairman and CEO of Godfather's Pizza, in which capacity he served from 1986 to 1996.

Cain served as an associate minister at the Antioch Baptist Church North in Atlanta, which he joined at the age of 10 and from what I've read John Lewis was a Christian.  These prominent Christian African-Americans had very different ideas about a number of issues and I think we can and should, regardless our political persuasion, honor both of them for being an example of men living out their faith through their work.

L

Neh 2:1b-2a "I had not been sad in his presence before, 2 so the king asked me, “Why does your face look so sad when you are not ill? This can be nothing but sadness of heart.”-lesson for us all to be happy and joyful at our work.  Nehemiah was the King's cupbearer, and if he generally had a sour attitude while at work, the King would not haven taken notice that day when he seemed sad.

A

"The Classic Christian Rock podcast by WildMan & Steve encompasses all a Christian Music fan would want in a podcast. They interview Christian Rock artists twice a month- those from the past and the musicians who are rocking for Christ today. On the same podcast is a weekly radio show called Metal Talk where you will here great talk about politics, current events and faith- all while listening to great Metal music. Subscribe to their podcast today where ever you get your podcasts, find out more at WildManandsteve.com"”

H

Be brief - state the main point you want to get across right wait and then briefly elaborate, say what's needed and no more, if your email is more than what someone can easily read in 2 minutes or less, it's too long, let it marinate (sleep on it) then chisel off what’s not needed.  When a plant is pruned by getting rid of unnecessary parts the plant flourishes.  I heard recently that an axioum for being conservative politically is if it’s not necessary to change it’s necessary to not change.  I would draw from that quote and say that when it comes to drafting an email, if it’s not necessary to say it’s necessary to NOT say, Proverbs 17:28 NKJV says "Even a fool is counted wise when he holds his peace; When he shuts his lips, he is considered perceptive." I believe that applies just as well to the use of email.  I have to be transparent hear and say that I'm the absolute last person to speak with authority on today's tip, this is definitely a case of do what I say and not what I do.  I have struggled my whole career with being too long winded when it comes to the use of e-mail, always afraid to leave something out.  I have come to the conclusion that is a cop-out for not doing the hard work being concise and honoring the time of the receiver.  The effort it takes to be concise is illustrated well by a quote I've heard attributed to Abraham Lincoln which is "“If it is a ten-minute speech it takes me all of two weeks to prepare it; if it is a half-hour speech it takes me a week; if I can talk as long as I want to it requires no preparation at all. I am ready now.”"

Check out this episode!

[expatriateconsultancy-blog]

Why You Should Travel Young

Traveling is essentially a ruthlessness of mankind, it is the point at which we travel that we recognize the truth about things and not how we envisioned them to be. Traveling likewise lets our creative mind go out of control without desires, it lets us see things from another point of view, without the supposed partiality of the world. And keeping in mind that the entirety of this is by all accounts a sufficient motivation to travel, many are still gullible to traveling.

Be that as it may, similarly the same number of are left in obscurity to ponder and meander, some are out there investigating and appreciating what the world brings to the table them, for it is in that concise snapshot of youth that we can genuinely encounter life, as we probably am aware it.

Presently the topic of many remains, "For what reason Should I Travel Young"? Actually, I can give you a hundred, even a thousand reasons why you should travel when you're youthful however in case you're want to see the world starts and finishes with your "Wish to See the World" at that point I'm apprehensive no measure of thinking would get the job done to persuade you to follow what you need.

Traveling as much as it is a type of diversion is additionally a dedication, a work for a few, at the end of the day, it is a duty. A duty you ought to be eager to take onto yourself. Numerous individuals state that the youthful are fortunate to have the wellbeing and the riches to see the world however what they don't understand is that the youthful are regularly occupied, hoodwinked and here and there, cheated.

So in case you're one of the young'uns who wish to uncover the world's most prominent places and become familiar with life's most significant exercises, yet are hesitant to get it going, read along, perhaps I can persuade you to travel while you despite everything have the endowment of youth.

Traveling shows you a feeling of experience Don't cite me on this one yet dependent on my experience, traveling permits you to have as much as fun as you need without stressing of what others will say about you. You don't have your friends or guardians to caution you and judge you, so you can be youthful, wild and free. Life is an undertaking and traveling lets you experience that.

Traveling instructs you to be humane Other than the photographs, the keepsake and the long lasting memory that traveling gives you, it likewise illuminates you of the genuine circumstance and instructs you to think about others, in some cases not of your own sort.

Traveling permits you to be socially various If you ponder touring and wondering about the marvels every nation has, at that point you're correct. But on the other hand there's something progressively significant that traveling shows us, it permits us to be socially different. At whatever point we travel, it is significant that we follow the neighborhood practices of the nation/goal we are going to. As the familiar adage goes, "Regard sires Respect" If we figure out how to regard and even welcome the way of life of different nationalities then we become progressively mindful of our own. That is the shared advantage we get from traveling.

Traveling makes you progressively alluring as an individual they state that the most appealing individuals on the planet are those that have seen it. Do you concur? I do. It is a direct result of the significant and vast beneficial encounters we have with our travels that make us a superior individual, and when you feel you're better, you become increasingly appealing.

At the point when you travel youthful, you travel more-let's be honest, we're will undoubtedly develop old and lose our wellbeing. However, while we're youthful and at the pinnacle of everything, it's ideal to exploit it and begin traveling, all things considered, you're just permitted until your 30s to climb a mountain or ride the rapids of the waterway.

Traveling makes it simple to make companions if back at your old neighborhood you will in general stick to a similar gathering of individuals limited by a hover of kinship, at that point possibly you should travel all the more regularly. Traveling has been demonstrated as probably the most ideal approaches to pick up companions and fabricate securities, all things considered, you are largely aliens to each other at one point but since of your basic enthusiasm to see the world, you are limited by it too. What's more, get this; wouldn't it be ideal to have companions in all pieces of the world? That would be way cool, path cooler than your companions back home.

Traveling makes you a superior narrator You probably won't get this now however when you have children or grandkids, you will. The individuals who travel youthful have more chances to encounter everything there is to traveling. With the numerous nations that you've visited and you'll be traveling to is a story holding back to be told. Traveling gives you things to share over breakfast, lunch or supper. At the point when you travel, you will never make some hard memories thinking about a subject to discuss; also you'll keep everybody with your story.

Presently if oddly enough, in the wake of refering to every one of these reasons why you should travel youthful you're as yet not persuaded; it's truly clear that you have a dread inside you that you're simply attempting to stow away so everybody won't believe you're a defeatist who can't confront it. Is it dread of statures? Dread of the obscure? Dread of being free? Whatever it is, realize that traveling, particularly alone, will assist you with tending to that dread. You simply need to go out on a limb the huge and make the initial step to make your traveling dreams a reality. You just live once; and you're just youthful for a brief timeframe on the off chance that you don't travel now, when?

Julius Mariano (otherwise known as Jules Mariano) is an independent web article essayist and internet based life advertiser. He additionally gives SEO administrations and notoriety the board work.

He routinely writes at The Brown Mestizo where he archives a large portion of his day by day Philippine travel encounters and things worried about his work and individual life.

See more info https://expatriateconsultancy.com/contact

[edc-creations-blog]

Yasmin Lewis finds herself in love with a married man but not your ordinary married man. He is Pastor Sidney Teal, a fine and prominent leader of the megachurch, Holy Word Holiness, with a membership of thousands. Pastor Teal treats her well in and out of bed. However, Yasmin knows he will never be hers, and she longs for more.

More comes in the form of sexy, successful, and single Ambrose Hunter, a man who’s willing and able to give her the kind of life she knows she deserves. Yasmin’s sins catch up with her when Ambrose finds out she is not only seeing another man behind his back but a man of the cloth at that.

Now Yasmin’s world spins out of control. Will she be able to redeem herself and find forgiveness in When The Vows Break?

  When The Vows Break Book Reviews:

5.0 out of 5 stars Outstanding The storyline throughout this story was very realistic and should be read in every women’s group. Women that read and share this story can talk about how easy judgments are perceived in the church, which often results in division, where true believers would understand the importance of forgiveness of self and one another, just as Christ forgave us from the cross, what better example can one follow.

5.0 out of 5 stars Enjoyed this book! This story was so realistic I feel like I know these people. Sidney and Yazmin were both selfish and wrong, they both got what they deserved. Off to find other books by this author, another one added to my favorites list!

5.0 out of 5 stars I love this book great writing kept my interest what I … I love this book great writing kept my interest what I would say though is this can happen to any man, not only Pastors, I don’t like the constant attack on Pastors. Real life situations highlighted, however.

  EXCERPTS FOR WHEN THE VOWS BREAK

“Will you be coming to the festival tomorrow,” asked Vanessa Stacey, who was no more than fourteen or fifteen years but could have easily past for eighteen or nineteen, especially with the tight t-shirt she wore, emblazoned with the logo of some urban fashion designer. Sidney sighed, remembering what he’d said to Brother Goodings earlier. Girls these days were far too well-developed for their own good.

“Of course Olivia and I will be there,” he answered smoothly, knowing that naming his wife would quell any ideas some of the ladies might have had concerning his marital state. “My children haven’t talked about anything else nearly all week.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw another young woman stride over to them as Sister Margie waved her over. He coughed, tried to hide his sudden discomfort.

Dark molasses skin glowed, set off perfectly by a fiery-colored form-fitting sheath dress that accentuated every curve. Sidney took in her short but well-shaped legs that would have given Tina Turner a run for her money. Sidney’s heart skipped a beat as the distance closed between them.

“Pastor Sidney, this is my niece Yasmin Lewis”, Sister Margie introduced proudly. “She’s planning to attend business school here and recently moved from South Carolina. I told her that I’d be getting her into this fine church the minute she arrived.”

Yasmin extended a slender hand and Sidney gently took it. Her skin felt like soft rose petals. The heady floral perfume she wore teased his nostrils.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Pastor Teal. Auntie Margie’s always talking about you.” Yasmin replied in a honey-sweet drawl, her smile warm, sincere and almost innocently sexy.

He didn’t understand it. No other woman had affected him the way Yasmin Lewis had. In less than a minute, something had happened.

“Likewise, Miss Lewis,” Sidney said, outwardly composed and inwardly a turbulent storm of emotion. “You will be at the Youth Festival tomorrow?”

Again that innocent smile that he was reading far too much into. “I sure will. I think what Auntie Margie’s doing with the children is just wonderful and I wish more churches would do the same.”

Sidney couldn’t help noticing the beam of approval from Sister Margie’s eyes. He should rebuke her for the sin of pride, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything negative in front of her niece.

“Have you attended service yet?” For some reason, he’d know if she had.

“I will this Sunday, I promise,” she said, warm brown eyes smiling. “Aunt Margie says you preach so good you could get the devil to change his ways.”

“Whatever,” muttered Vanessa from the side, obviously upset at being put in the shade.

Sidney laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about all that. I just let the Lord fill me with His spirit and the words just come. I don’t take any credit for it.”

“You’re too modest, Pastor Sidney,” added Sister Margie. “Remember that article in Ebony Magazine about the One-Hundred Most Influential Ministers in America. You were number fifty-seven.”

Yasmin’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, I saw that article when I was getting my hair done! That picture didn’t do you justice.”

Was the look in her eyes and her words sending him a silent message, or was it just his imagination running wild at the sight of the vivacious young woman?

Before he made a bigger fool out of himself, Sidney graciously bowed. “Ladies, I was on my way home for lunch. I hope to see you all tomorrow.” Especially you, Miss Yasmin Lewis, was the rest of the unspoken thought.

Once inside his SUV, he turned the air on full blast and closed his eyes. The divine vision of the woman he just met came into sharp focus. Something about her intrigued him. She touched him in a way that made his whole body respond in a totally inappropriate manner. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

Reaching down to switch off the air, his conscience raged at him. What in heavens name was he thinking? Just minutes ago he was counseling Brother Goodings about infidelity and giving into temptation. He needed to take heed of his own advice and stay well clear of Yasmin Lewis until he could make sense of his feelings.

( Continued… )

© 2018 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Janie De Coster. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.

Purchase When The Vows Break by Janie De Coster Genre: Contemporary Christion Fiction https://www.amazon.com/When-Vows-Break-Janie-Coster/dp/1983428639/

      Black Pearls Magazine Intimate Conversation with Janie De Coster

Janie De Coster’s love of writing began in her high school years with poetry. It wasn’t until many years later she heard a spiritual voice instructing her to write a book. Having no idea as to what genre it would be, she just put pen to paper.  Janie De Coster writes not only to entertain but to educate as her topics shine a light on today’s society such as Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Infidelity, and Self-Esteem.  In her spare time, she loves to travel, shop and spend quality time with her family.

You can contact Janie De Coster by: Twitter: https://twitter.com/JanieDeCoster Website: https://sweetsmells2003.wixsite.com/janie-decoster Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Janie-De-Coster-192088097478061/

  BPM: It is such a pleasure to have you join us to discuss When The Vows Break. Describe yourself in three words. Passionate, Spiritual, and Witty.

BPM: What drove you to publish your first book? How long have you been writing? What drove me to write my first novel, believe it or not, was God’s voice telling me to do so. I’ve always read romance novels but I never imagined that I could have written one myself. I had no idea how to begin let alone what to write. But the Holy Spirit led me and several books later here I am. I’ve been on this writing journey for over thirteen years.

BPM: Introduce us to the people in this new book, When The Vows Break! Give us some insight into your main speakers. This novel When the Vows Break was a pleasure to write. I grew up in the church and we all know there’s more going on sometimes than the word of God. The main characters are Pastor Sidney Teal, his lovely wife First Lady Olivia and young and beautiful Jasmine Lewis who will test the strength of the Teal’s marriage.

BPM: What’s so unique about their story-line or voice in the story? What makes each one so special? I wanted to give each character a strong voice with raw emotions. I wanted the readers to be able to actually feel the characters deposition and be able to relate to what the character is going through. What makes these characters so special is at the end of the day they all love God in spite of their transgressions.

BPM: Share one specific point in your book that resonated with your present situation or journey. The one point in my book I would want the younger readers to capture especially females which resonated with me is searching for love in the wrong places. They tend to make bad decisions based on immaturity. It is so easy to be pulled into a fantasy world especially when it comes with money and status. They also fail to see the consequences that will affect them for the rest of their lives.

BPM: Do you ever have days when writing is a struggle? Yes, especially when it is a complex storyline.

BPM: Have you written any other books that are not published? Yes, I have one that I wrote years ago and it has been collecting dust in my desk drawer. But I’m thinking about pulling it out soon and perhaps bring it to light.

BPM: What projects are you working on at the present? I just finished a book that has been re-released called FRIENEMIES. It’s available now on Amazon.com

BPM: What legacy do you hope to leave future generations of readers with your writing? I want my children, grandchildren, and others to know that with God you can do all things. It’s not going to be easy. You may have to put in a lot of prayer, sweat, and tears. But the race is not given to the swift but to the one who perseveres.

BPM: What is your preferred method to have readers get in touch with or follow you? You can contact me through my website: https://sweetsmells2003.wixsite.com/janie-decoster

  BPM: How can readers discover more about you and your work? Check out my novels on my Janie De Coster Amazon Page https://www.amazon.com/Janie-De-Coster/e/B00547Y2DA

    When The Vows Break by Janie De Coster Yasmin Lewis finds herself in love with a married man but not your ordinary married man. He is Pastor Sidney Teal, a fine and prominent leader of the megachurch, Holy Word Holiness, with a membership of thousands.

[dfroza]

Amazing grace is everything

in which we find our True identity as children of Light

and we’re not here to make enemies, but friends. something i just read in an email sent this Saturday morning that includes an excerpt from a book:

Religion Makes Enemies / Jesus Makes Friends

by Jefferson Bethke, from Jesus > Religion

Meet Jefferson Bethke

Love Stays

We are trained to make enemies. From birth it’s always “us versus them.”

Black vs. Whites.

Conservatives vs. liberals.

Rich vs. poor.

Republican vs. Democrat.

Americans vs. whoever we’re at war with.

Let’s be honest: sometimes Christians are the worst.

Calvinists vs. Arminians.

Complementarians vs. egalitarians.

Charismatics vs. cessationists.

Catholics vs. Protestants.

As if the world dying outside really cares.

Now, I’m not saying some of these clarifications and differences aren’t necessary. In the book of John, Jesus prays we would be “one.” (John 17:21) The only way to become one is to engage in healthy discussion on topics we disagree on. But we can’t honestly think any non-Christian will want to come into the family of God if we are just as — if not more — divisive than the rest of the world. Sometimes how we dialogue in today’s culture is just as important as why we dialogue.

Religion, unfortunately, is notorious for making enemies.

Women? Gays? Muslims? Let’s make them our enemies. Yes, I know this doesn’t represent everyone. Yes, I know religion doesn’t do this all the time. But throughout history, it is clear that when it does happen, it can almost always be traced back to people who think their standing with God comes from their own righteousness. The minute you think you have gotten on God’s good side by your own behavior, you are naturally prone to demonize those who haven’t.

The biggest difference between religious people and gospel-loving people is that religious people see certain people as the enemies, when Jesus-followers see sin as the enemy.

Religious people see “them” as the problem; Jesus-followers see “us” as the problem. When Jesus told the first disciples to love their enemies, (Matthew 5:44) He didn’t add, “as long as they look like you, talk like you, and act like you.” Loving an enemy means loving “them.”

I remember the moment this first hit home for me. I was having lunch with my mom. As we started to eat, I felt the tension.

I was a Christian now, and my mom was openly gay. Wasn’t I supposed to hate her? Wasn’t I told “not to associate” with her? Doesn’t she know homosexuals will not inherit the kingdom of God?

Instead I made a decision to listen. She was my mom. I listened as she poured out her thoughts, emotions, and feelings that had been pent up for years. I heard how she had been burned by certain religious communities — brutal stories of so-called Christians offering grace and redemption to all those around her, as long as the sin was socially acceptable. The sad part is, I couldn’t disagree. I’d seen the same thing.

For some reason the church had made homosexuality a varsity sin. Religious people are very particular and selective on this issue. They quote “Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.” (1 Corinthians 6:9-11)

I don’t see homosexuality getting any prominence in this list, do you? In fact, the apostle Paul is attempting to broad stroke everyone, highlighting the fact that

none of us are good enough.

Ever had a lustful thought?

Looked at porn? Guilty.

Ever wanted something more than God? Yep.

Ever looked at or engaged with someone else besides your spouse? Ouch.

Ever stolen? I have.

Ever had an insatiable desire for more money? Check.

Ever been drunk? Double check.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not scoring too well on this list. But how does that verse end? The Corinthians were undoubtedly filthy themselves and were not representing Christ well. Some of them were probably still engaging in these behaviors, which is why Paul was writing them the letter, but he still says, “But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.”

He reminds them of how they’ve been bought. He reminds them that their sins aren’t their identities. He reminds them they are different now and can walk away from their sins.

That is a scandalous statement!

If you are a Christian and are going to talk about 1 Corinthians 6:9–10, then you better include verse 11. It’s only when we understand that in Jesus we are cleansed, washed, and renewed that we see our sin fall by the wayside. We are greedy, filthy, idolatry-loving, glory-hungry thieves. And when we trust Jesus, He washes us. He redeems us — all of us.

And when we’re sitting across the table from someone whom we’ve been told to hate, the least we can do is listen and love her as Jesus loves us.

Regarding homosexuality specifically, I can’t begin to tell you the internal wrestling I’ve had with this issue. I have a personal stake in it. It’s part of one of the closest people to me. So if I can be honest, I’ve gone back and forth a ton on this issue. Is it okay? Is it wrong? Why or why not?

Everything in me wanted to be convinced it was okay. Everything in me looked for verses to see it sanctioned by God. But through years of wrestling, hours of Bible study, and tons of prayer, I didn’t come to that conclusion.

When I open the Scriptures, I see homosexuality getting no prominence among sins, but it is still a distortion of God’s creative order nonetheless. But here’s the thing: my mom and I disagree on it, and we still love each other. Did you catch that? We still love each other.

We have open, honest, and sometimes very difficult conversations about it. And neither of us walks away calling the other a bigot. Neither of us walks away furious or upset.

Because that’s what love is. It stays. It pursues. It pushes in.

In order for our society to continue to flourish, it is imperative that we learn how to have healthy, honoring, and engaging discussions on this issue. Everything outside of His creative order is a distortion, and when we follow that fractured path, we are implying we are our own gods and know better than He does. The issue isn’t primarily homosexuality, idolatry, drunkenness, greed, or right or wrong.

The issue is, are we going to trust that God knows best or that our thoughts, wills, and emotions know best?

The truth is we are all going to limp across the finish line to some degree. Of course there is victory in Jesus, and of course we are more than conquerors through Christ as the apostle Paul says; but even Paul had a thorn in the flesh. (Romans 8:37, 2 Corinthians 12:7)

Most of us have a spiritual Achilles’ heel. We all will have spiritual bruises, cuts, and sores. Some will limp across the finish line still fighting their addiction to porn. Some will limp across the finish line with their addiction to food. And some will limp across the finish line with their attraction to the same sex.

The issue isn’t whether someone is good or bad, but whether he is repentant or unrepentant.

Who is God of her life? Who’s in control? What or who are they pursuing? Are they looking to Him or trusting in self? Because I trust that if Jesus’ grace has radically collided with a heart, I believe that person will begin to align themselves with Jesus’ image, looking more like Him every day.

But let’s also realize that we do have hope and victory and are called to take sin very seriously, doing anything and everything to run from it and to Jesus.

The writer of Hebrews makes it clear by saying we should “also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and… run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith.” (Hebrews 12:1-2)

Even he admits there are things that weigh us down. Our sin sticks to us. But still… He says run with endurance. Keep our eyes on Him, and we will make it because it depends on Him, not us. But let us never get prideful. Let us never think this race is reserved for the elite, or the “good,” or the well qualified. It’s reserved for the lowly, the rejected, the marginalized.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is the story of the woman at the well (John 4:1-24). She is the first person to whom Jesus reveals himself to be the Messiah. Jesus doesn’t choose to share this information first with a politician or a king or anyone of seeming importance, but with a Samaritan woman.

Samaritans were seen as half-breed Jews. They were looked down upon by the Jews. On top of this she was a woman, which in that culture meant she was a second-class citizen. Even worse, Jesus highlights her promiscuity. Jesus doesn’t condemn this woman, but rather graciously shows how He is the “living water” that can quench her insatiable thirst.

So Jesus, God himself, showed immense grace and gave great privilege to a half-breed, second-class, adulterous, and promiscuous woman. God is always a fan of going to the marginalized so His saving power isn’t credited to human wisdom but to His grace. Jesus completely shattered the social, gender, and economic paradigms. New Testament Christians were most known by their love for their neighbors, but today we are most known for our segregation of the lowly.

This issue really comes down to idolatry, which is the act of placing anything or anyone above Jesus as the ultimate source of worth, satisfaction, and identity.

The problem with idolatry, though, is that whatever you idolize, you then demonize the opposite.

Want to know what you probably idolize? Ask what you demonize.

But when you idolize Jesus, then you demonize demons — which makes a lot of sense to me. When Jesus and His righteousness are ultimate, then you actually see evil as the source of evil, rather than politics, money, or gender. Sure, you can disagree. Sure, you can have dialogue; but when something is your god, you’ll go to great lengths to defend it.

While I don’t agree with most of his viewpoints, Bill Maher said something that completely makes sense.

“New rule: If you’re a Christian who supports killing your enemies and torture, you have to come up with a new name for yourself…”

If we say we love Jesus, let’s start acting like followers. The world is waiting, and they can tell the difference.

Excerpted with permission from Jesus > Religion by Jefferson Bethke, copyright Thomas Nelson.

* * *

Your Turn

Why is it so hard to love “them”? If idolatry is “the act of placing anything or anyone above Jesus as the ultimate source of worth, satisfaction, and identity”, ask yourself this question: Where do you find your worth, satisfaction, and identity? If you were truly to follow Jesus, what would be different in your life? Join the conversation on our blog! We would love to hear from you!

[westfivestory]

One With The Couch

I did it, I spent the entire weekend doing nothing with the kids…and yes…it was awesome and entirely by choice. I might have to do this more often because those bags that were so prominent under my eyes on Friday…seem like nothing more than a distant memory now.

The Diet

Yep, you read that right…the diet.

Now I can’t say for sure if it is a diet or “a lifestyle change” cause we all hate the “d” word, but since I’m not fooling anyone anymore and have zero interest in squeezing into spanx or whatever is the going trend, I’m going to attempt it.

The one thing I’ve learned…first of all, the food is pretty awesome, I’m not going to lie, I rarely get through reading the menu of a diet, let alone actually eating it, but this one is pretty great. No sugar that isn’t in the fruits etc., that may be my down fall. I have noticed that I do fine all day until supper is done and then the sugar and caffeine deprivation gets to me and I cave. So technically I have lost nothing yet. I need to either empty my house of junk food or have some one follow me around and slap me every time I do the unthinkable…reach for the cookie jar, bag of chips or that glass of pop.

Motivation just doesn’t seem to matter at this time of the day. Maybe getting off the couch will be the key to success, as long as that doesn’t draw me straight into the kitchen.

CBD Oil

We are still trying this. Maybe we need to try a stronger dosage…I really don’t know anymore. Is it the solution. If it is that would be awesome, I’m just wondering when the signs point to No?

I was approached to sell it. A MLM type of thing, much like Avon, Rodan & Fields etc. After some research and thought, I think I will stick to sampling and seeing where we can get the best for her, if that is the solution that works. The grade level I already have is higher than what they want me to sell. So I can’t see it being more beneficial to her. Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s what research on Google says.

As we all know, you should always believe what you see on the internet.

Well, maybe not always, but in this case, I’m good with my findings.

A Milestone 

One little man is turning 6 tomorrow and he is so excited he can barely contain himself.

Apparently, being 6 opens up opportunities you wouldn’t even imagine. He believes that when he wakes up in the morning, he can literally do anything and everything that he always wanted to do but wasn’t allowed.

He seems to think he has more privileges tomorrow than his 10-year-old brother, I’m not sure where he is getting this information, but if he has these ideas, this year might be a bit of a rude awakening for him. We might have to ease into these new and oh so exciting firsts.

I guess we will see what tomorrow brings. Which side of the bed and which insane hairstyle accompanies that attitude. It’s always a guessing game.

Happy Birthday Gunnar!!!

The first thing he asked when he woke up this morning, “so I’m six now? It’s my birthday?”

I said “No, sorry, that was yesterday, you slept through the entire day, it’s now Valentine’s Day, you better get ready for school.”

“Did I get my presents?”

No, you were asleep, we didn’t go anywhere.”

“How come you didn’t wake me up?”

“We tried, but you were out cold.”

“Oh…when is my birthday going to be?”

“In a year.”

He believed me more or less all day. I even drove him up to the school doors. Mean, maybe, but we did go out and have an awesome day regardless.

First stop, after the school parking lot….Toad Hall Toys.

  We tried on costumes, played with toys, checked out the lizards and had an all around awesome time. All we left with was a lollipop and slime. Just the necessities.

Next stop…Polo Park…the Lego Store was the intended stop, but we got side tracked. So the first store was Pylon, we snuck out before buying anything. We explored the Lego Store and only left with a small Lego character before heading back to Pylon and getting a Black Panther stuffy.

Phew, now with that all done, we were hungry…Subway it is.

The lady working laughed as Gunnar explained that he would get a 6″ out of a foot long. He has a way of explaining things that really are just more confusing. Now with lunch out of the way, we nearly ran through the mall to reach our car in time to have plenty of free time to jump.

Unfortunately as we walked out of the mall, I realized Gunnar did not have the Hot Topic bag with all of his presents including his new Dead Pool wallet. Oh shit. Back in to the mall we go, this time running back to Just Cozy, I found some slippers, the Food Court, the washroom, Hot Topic, no bag, but we did learn where guest services was, so fingers crossed we made our way there to see if we were lucky enough that someone would have brought our stuff to lost and found.

Apparently we have some pretty amazing horse shoes hung somewhere and right on the counter, there was our bag with all of our items. Yay!!! Birthday saved. Thank you, whoever you are. You really made his day and mine. Faith in humanity restored. Now off to jump.

We hit up Flying Squirrel. They gave Gunnar the toddler rate, which was awesome. It was a blast, we hit each other with battle bumpers on a balance beam, took a turn at tight rope walking (we have no future in the circus), played basketball, swung from a rope onto an air bed, and jumped like crazy all over the indoor park. It was so much fun. Gunnar figures he made a new friend, the guy that worked there was super nice and showed him flips over one of the track areas. Definitely a cool place to check out. I think we will likely go again.

  After all the jumping and a slurpee to go, we were off to our next adventure.

Walmart…we needed supper food. What to get when you are 6 for your birthday dinner? You guessed it, hot dogs, chips, chocolate cake and pumpkin pie. Why not?

We had supper just our family, but our neighbors and J joined us for cake and pie.

We had a great day. One that this little man will be looking forward to until next year. He even got a video chat with grandma and grandpa. He was so excited to show them everything he had gotten today and to tell them all about his day.

Wipeout

While getting things ready for the Winter Carnival, and looking out for the safety of our guests, we should and did test out the sledding run ourselves, and if nothing else, occasionally a well-deserved break is in order.

One of my co-workers had an inflatable sled and I was equipped with a crazy carpet. If we had taken bets, we would both have assumed that my ride would have been far better and faster…and we’d have both been so very very wrong.

He made it down the hill with only one hold up. I had a few very jerky moments and a complete 180 resulting in my wipeout and snow up my shirt and down my pants. Thankfully before attempting this, I did pass my phone to another co-worker to hold. Much like holding my beer, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I guess we have some packing down and touchups for the run, but in good time, it should be a pretty great hill.

If The Dress Fits

Mikayla’s dress for the gala has arrived, well technically it arrived a week ago. We have been so busy that today was the day we decided to try it out. It fits, its a little short. Might be more of a long shirt than actually considered a dress, but throwing on a pair of tights should make it all good.

What Spews Forth From The Mouths Of Babes

In this case, there are no words of encouragement or funny sayings, nope, not this time. This time it was straight up vomit…yep hearing it hit the floor from another room and that feeling of dread and also thankfulness that I wasn’t right there to get the afterspray or the visual was actually a blessing. Poor guy. His awesome birthday yesterday and the high of that moment, only to end this day crashed on the couch all evening and then to stand in a large puddle of vomit. Gives a whole new meaning to V-Day.

The Latest Stressors

For the last couple of weeks I have had minimal sleep. Yes, Mikayla still wakes me up occasionally, and as much as I have gotten used to that, the new events have also been causing restless sleep.

I have awoken at approximately 5 am each day panicking that the events will flop, no one will show and any other possible disaster that you can think of.

I for one, am super happy that its over, maybe the turn out wasn’t quite what we projected or hoped for, but the ones that did come had a blast and that is what is important.

The gala looked awesome, everyone pitched in to help make it amazing and the kids danced all night and took so many photos at the photo booth.

The winter carnival the next day was a lot of fun as well. Danek came with me to help out and there was a lot of things that he was able and more than willing to help out with. His hard work paid off and he was able to enjoy all of the winter fun, skating, sledding, hood hustle, etc.

Drained

I’m done. Before heading to work for the winter carnival, Mikayla told me I should quit my job. She is just tired and wasn’t really prepared for the early morning affecting her as much as me I guess.

Anyway, I woke up this morning, and multiple times through the movies last night and most of today and as much as I enjoy my job most of the time, I feel like I’ve been beaten up. My legs and feet are so sore from the cold and probably not sensible shoe choices, the wind burn from the carnival sucks, much like a sunburn, my face feels swollen and my lips are seriously chapped. A blanket and disappearing from the world is about all I wanted today.

I am really hoping tomorrow is better. Maybe some more sleep and relaxation will work. Thank goodness Monday is a holiday, I don’t think I’d make it into work.

February 18, 2018 One With The Couch I did it, I spent the entire weekend doing nothing with the kids...and yes...it was awesome and entirely by choice.

[gingerfiend117531-blog]

Transcription 1

Hear No Evil

Voice: “Ictiva … Solus … Omishos.”

*From the darkness, a peculiar growth of noise percolates through the darkness, ethereal and unearthly*

*A voice fades in after the eerie and fairly random incantation…*

???: ... Finally got it working!  I  was afraid I’d have to ask Connor to look at this piece of junk... Suppose that’s what I get for renting a janky microphone from the library.

Now, if I just hit this button here… *Click goes the microphone* ???:  Light’s flashing…  oh wait. Damn. It totally just recorded that.

*Another Click*

(Irritated blowing of air between lips)

???: Once more. Get this thing done. Then, Ultra Violent Sisters with Panni. Breathe.

(??? Inhales, and then exhales exasperatedly)

*Adjusting sounds of a nozzle can be heard, followed by a Click, and then:*

*Silence*

???: … Nope. Nothing. Nothing is coming to me.

*Click*

???: Who wants to even listen to a weirdo talk about college in a parallel dimension. That’d just be dumb.

*Shifting and shuffling noises are heard as ??? fidgits*

???: Professor Ynori will probably think it’s stupid. But I mean; what else am I going to use trans dimensional  communication magic for anyway?

*There is a beat, a pause in soliloquy*

???: Oh, Welcome back. … What? No, don’t worry Euphrates: I wasn’t recording. And even if I was, I put a charm on the microphone so it’ll only pick up sounds from me.

(??? Snorts in response to something Euphrates suggests)

???: No, I will pass on your help. I don’t want Ynori to get on your ass for helping me out with my personal project for my screw up.

*Silence, followed by ??? chuckling*

???: Yes: exactly. “Delphius is a huge wiener!” would totally match my ‘journal’s’ aesthetic… Anyway; what are you doing back so soon from practice?

*The audience now connects that ‘???’ is symbology to represent Delphius*

(The other individual who is almost certainly attractive, and is named Euphrates, responds in the absence of noise)

Delphius: Oh, I gotcha. I’ll just check these emails and then I’ll bounce so you can have some peace…

(Delphius murmurs the summaries of emails)

Delphius: Advocates for Pixie Justice… Meatloaf in the cafeteria for dinner… Overdue assign-

DUDE! Come on!  Warn me before you take off your boxers!

(Pause, most likely a retort from Euphrates after an uncalled for outburst)

Delphius: It’s not so much the fact you’re naked in the room, as it is the fact that I don’t fancy seeing your junk. Or much less, anyone’s.

(Another cessation of speaking, perhaps the Roommate apologizing, until Delphius is heard again)

Delphius: No, I’m sorry to be a pest… Honestly I should just get over it.

(Glorious void of sound transcends all until once again broken by the Prude)

Delphius: Naw, thanks for understanding… But um… Can you keep that book covering your - Yes. Exactly. Just like that. Don’t move.

*He pauses*

Delphius: Beautiful. Now then.

*A click, not unlike the microphone’s but ever so slightly higher pitched is emitted*

(Again, Delphius is muttering under his breath, reading aloud Email-Titles.)

Delphius: Mortals of earth; hear me! I come to you with tidings of - That’s spam mail… Spam, spam, Nigerian Prince, spam…

*It is most certainly a mouse click that is heard*

(An instance of Euphrates potentially speaking to Delphius is indicated by lack of noise)

Delphius: Yuuup. Yeah, be careful. Looks like a weirdo email going around right now, probably has some kinda virus… Anyway, I’m going go to the study room to record; see you in awhile.

*Nothing can be heard for several minutes*

*A door closes, swinging on ancient hinges*

Delphius: Okee dokee.  No naked tiger roommates, just me and a boring project. Let’s do this.

*A crescendo of silence overtakes the senses*

*Click*

Delphius: Hello and welcome to Scaldor’s Grant Academy and I’m going to talk about I wanttttt…. Aaaahhhhvvvvvvv…

*Raspberry in response to the word vomit*

Delphius:  Muh. . . What should I even do for an opening? … Radio show hosts do not get enough credit for their eloquence…

*Distinct Inspiration of Respiration*

*Prominent Exhalation*

Delphius: Think ... Focus. Cheesy quote about inspiration… Onu, Sod, Sert…

Got it. Just… Think.

*A complete breath cycle*

Delphius: Divines. Guide my tongue. Unload my mind. Free my heart.

*An eternity seems to pass but in a moment before the familiar  Click is sounded*

Delphius: Across a vast, yet transient gap in reality, the world of Splinter exists as a pocket between realms. And in this little pocket, a reclusive collegiate student is struggling to pass Magicks Class. And this is his attempt at doing so. Through remedial class projects.

*Pause*

Delphius: You are mortals. And we are the Fae. You also call us monsters, cryptids, fiends, demons, spirits, and a whole grocery list of other things. But no matter what you call us, we do exist. Just not on Earth. Not anymore, since humans discovered the Fae’s secret to magic.

(There is a flicker of doubt in Delphius’ voice)

Delphius: Do humans even know about magic… ?

I mean: I’m sure you’ve been introduced to the idea of magic. I don’t really know what humans do for their education on that topic. I’ll explain, just in case.

Anything and everything considered miraculous could be called ‘magic’. Eurasian seas being parted, summoning devils to grant you omniscience, finding your missing car keys on the first attempt. That sort of thing. That is what we would and should consider ‘magical’ in nature. Makes sense? No? We’ll try another time.

Now originally, we, the Fae, were the only ones with magic. But there’s a price that comes with such power. No free lunch syndrome, I’ve  heard it called.

(Delphius  scoffs, then resumes his rant)

Delphius: Being gifted with magic, we also were given a price; our free will.

Now, that doesn’t mean we can’t go to the supermarket whenever we please, or that we can’t worship the Divines as we like. Oh no. It’s something a little more devious and subtle.

Fae have True Names. As in, a secret name that, if a Mortal or other Fae Creature discovered it, we as an individual would be totally and entirely enslaved to the holder of our True Name.  If they so chose to do so. Three guesses as to what human magi did that figured out these names? That’s right! You! The person staring at the glowing rectangle! Many Fae became the slaves of Mankind with this finding! *A clapping is heard, the noise as sarcastic as percussive noise can be made*

Delphius: With this discovery, our birthright of magic became our undoing. By binding Fae with their True Names, humans  could finally use magic. Our magic. And a lot of us over on Splinter’s side are  still very afraid of that possibility.

I don’t see it productive to be afraid, and totally blame mortals. I mean, I’m sure humans were in the right to fear humongous, terrifyingly ugly, and/or magic wielding creatures running around your neck of the woods. Frankly, I’d probably try to figure out how to get them to do what I’d want too. But all the same; the Fae of old knew that they were no longer welcome on Terra, or Earth as ‘y’all’ call it. So, we tore off a chunk of the realm of Terra,  and with it, created Splinter, where the Fae have lived ever since.

*A moment of consideration brings about a break in monologue*

Delphius: Oh, and just so you humans don’t feel like you were cheated; each and every one of you has entirely free will. Sure, there may be a possibility you have true names, but even in any books on the subject, you can’t be bound by your soul to do some weirdo sadist’s biddings. Methinks that, instead, it has something to do with contracts … I dunno; probably not important. But it only makes sense that nothing in this universe is so clean cut. Which leads me to my next talking point.

There are scars from the the creation of Splinter, and the Gap, which is space in realms between Terra and Splinter. As the ‘Scar’ implies, it’s not a clean cut.  There are still portions of our worlds that are connected. Probably for the best anyway;  it’d probably mean oblivion for the Fae if we were entirely secluded, and cut off from Terra.

Butthese scars; the Fae call them Tethers. Tethers are points where both Splinter and Terra overlap, existing in the same time and space as each other. There are other weird properties about Tethers too, but short and sweet, that’s why humans see weird crap they can’t explain. Mostly.

(There is a sucking sound, as though Delphius is biting his lip in ponderation)

Delphius: It comes to my attention the idea of tethers may be too abstract from that description. Try this approach to try and understand Tethers:

they are  Crystal Pillars. You can see through them but they also prevent the roof from falling down on your head.

(Delphius says nothing for a moment, evaluating his suggestion)

Delphius: ...  On second thought, please try to erase that from your mind and draw whatever other conclusions you want to about Tethers. It is probably much more accurate.

(An obvious cough to serve as a weak diversion is performed)

Delphius: Crappy analogies aside, the next time you see flashing, unidentified  lights randomly dancing around the sky? It’s probably some Splintarian Father playing Lazertag with his son. Mysterious footsteps in your attic? Probably a mage pacing around. Ghost finder app on your phone going nuts? … You should go get that checked out.

Did I mention that Lazertag is a professional sport here?

I will  apologize for so suddenly bringing it up, but I do think I should make it clear: I only know a few things about lazertag because of my siblings. I do not ‘sport’ as many would say. So don’t ask me the details please. It gets complicated. *Word stew is chewed about in Delphius’ mouth before the thought continues*

Delphius: … I’ll be real with you; no school facts, just me facts. I don’t do much of anything. That’s how I like it. School is boring because I hate lecture, physical activity is too draining and involves too many people, and the only reason I am doing this remedial project is so I can eventually get credit for this magic class.

Now I know what you’re probably thinking. “Magic class?! Does this mean you are getting an education in the arcane arts at a center of learning that is similar to a magnificent and copyrighted academy of the mystical? How could you not be excited?!”

Yes, no, and quite simply are my answers, and in this order. I can try to explain my college some other time, but I assure you; if I actually get this recording approved, you’ll be disappointed. There are not many ‘whimsical’ things to discover in the eternal labyrinth in the basement. Far from it.

Really? School time means studying for biology, praying you get a  pass on  your English paper, and hoping that blob of brown goo you concocted in Homemaker’s Alchemy is not Caustic to skin.

So I’ll share the short story for now: Skalder’s University. It is one of the major magical universities of Splinter. I attend Skalder’s. Our mascot is a Toad so I am a Warter.  So are my moms... they are Alumni.

*A distinct gurgling and gnashing of teeth can be heard, as well as an apprehensive “Hmmm…”*

Delphius: My friends, are Warters if they attend Skalders. Skalder’s is an ancient school, dusty old people and faculty: you’ll probably never see it because humans should stay out of Splinter. Because of previously mentioned issues and prejudices. *Bitter chuckling*

Delphius: So now here’s the kicker; why bother paying ludicrous amounts of drachma to attend a stuffy school that doesn’t even offer your major of interest? The instruments.

The incredible amount of thaumaturgical instruments available to students is astounding. With these tools, I can perform research on …

(A notable pause. Delphius seems hesitant to continue his statement, but relinquishes his thought)

Delphius:  Research the mortal world. Which, in my eyes, seems so much more interesting than anything magic could offer.

(Deliberate silence meant for building suspense is shattered just as suddenly as appearing)

Delphius: I mean, think about it! Humans serve as the role models for our language and customs in Splinter. And we’ve taken so many ideas from you guys: and I want to just know more about you. And I can do that while I’m at Skalders. There’s not a chance at  home cause I couldn’t afford the instruments or equipment. Heck; even if I could, I’d probably just waste my time with a hand down my pants watching Kitsune Frenzy Force Versus the Kappa Commandos.

Now I know this sounds like a bad idea, being so interested in humans while I’m a Fae being. But I assure you; I’m not planning on trading my voice to a sea witch or some weird deal like that. I think I’ve heard about a movie that goes like that, and I don’t fancy becoming seafoam. Or having a potential love interest become magically seducted. Been there, done that. Not fun, let me tell you...

(There is an uncomfortable tension in the air as a faint ringing, or buzzing sounds now permeates the broadcast)

Delphius: This is my interest, though. My thing. My vocation. I can feel it in my incredibly skinny bones. I want to know about  humanity.To try and envision what it’d be like to have humanity instead of Faeship.  I want to see what humans do with their free will; how they handle life’s problems without magic so readily available. Why they think like they do, what they think of magic.

Probably doesn’t sound exciting, but coming from someone who doesn’t even know his ancestral heritage, I find the idea exciting…

(Delphius pauses and plays with an idea)

Delphius: Wouldn’t it be something if I were part human? And I spend hours upon hours researching them only to discover that I have lineage of mankind running in my veins? . . .

(There is a sharp halt of momentum, and a trailing, “Eh…”)

Delphius: Actually, no: that would make for some sort of really cliche drama that I actually don’t fancy much. The more I think about it, I pray to the divines that’s not the case. It’d be a really crappy, ironic plot twist to my life. But I could totally see it too.

*There is perchance an instance of Delphius waving his hand ambivalently, though the sound  of the action cannot be captured*

Delphius: Anyways, ignoring that silly thought, I should probably wrap up this recording. The microphone is violently shaking and foaming at the mouth, which means it’s low on battery.

I know that this will very likely never reach human ears, but all the same; thank you. It means a lot that you took the time to listen. Especially you, Dr. Ynori. I appreciate this opportunity.

This is Delphi, signing out.

*Click*

[dfroza]

A letter that arrived this morning

that i opened and read in my gmailbox, regarding how religion so oftentimes works to make enemies of people, when it is supposed to make friends.

which sadly has been the case, by all of these walls that divide. but even so, i personally don’t hate you for who you are, and who you choose to be. no matter your race, religion, gender, sexual preference, country, language, food choices, or whatever. we can still be friends, and friendly with each other. even if we disagree on things.

just as long as people can be civil and openly engage in conversation, respectfully, without harming others. which is why i like the analogy of seeing people as books. and the peace of a Library. because people are free to choose what goes on their own pages. they are free to think and believe what they choose for themselves. a God-given right of free will.

and so i hope this kind of thing helps, by seeing that people can be friends. people who are different, with a whole world as diverse as it is. and to see that Love is actually derived from One source. because we all struggle with things. with life and the way this temporal world happens to be. and it isn’t easy, to be sure. for surely, we all need an Amazing amount of grace.

from the letter sent as an excerpt of a book:

Religion Makes Enemies / Jesus Makes Friends by Jefferson Bethke, from Jesus > Religion

Meet Jefferson Bethke

Love Stays. It Pursues. It Pushes In.

We are trained to make enemies. From birth it’s always “us versus them.” Black vs. whites. Conservatives vs. liberals. Rich vs. poor. Republican vs. Democrat. Americans vs. whoever we’re at war with. Let’s be honest: sometimes Christians are the worst.

Calvinists vs. Arminians. Complementarians vs. egalitarians. Charismatics vs. cessationists. Catholics vs. Protestants.

As if the world dying outside really cares.

Now, I’m not saying some of these clarifications and differences aren’t necessary. In the book of John, Jesus prays we would be “one.” (John 17:21) The only way to become one is to engage in healthy discussion on topics we disagree on. But we can’t honestly think any non-Christian will want to come into the family of God if we are just as — if not more — divisive than the rest of the world. Sometimes how we dialogue in today’s culture is just as important as why we dialogue.

Religion, unfortunately, is notorious for making enemies.

Women? Gays? Muslims? Let’s make them our enemies. Yes, I know this doesn’t represent everyone. Yes, I know religion doesn’t do this all the time. But throughout history, it is clear that when it does happen, it can almost always be traced back to people who think their standing with God comes from their own righteousness. The minute you think you have gotten on God’s good side by your own behavior, you are naturally prone to demonize those who haven’t.

The biggest difference between religious people and gospel-loving people is that religious people see certain people as the enemies, when Jesus-followers see sin as the enemy.

Religious people see “them” as the problem; Jesus-followers see “us” as the problem. When Jesus told the first disciples to love their enemies, (Matthew 5:44) He didn’t add, “as long as they look like you, talk like you, and act like you.” Loving an enemy means loving “them.”

I remember the moment this first hit home for me. I was having lunch with my mom. As we started to eat, I felt the tension.

I was a Christian now, and my mom was openly gay. Wasn’t I supposed to hate her? Wasn’t I told “not to associate” with her? Doesn’t she know homosexuals will not inherit the kingdom of God?

Instead I made a decision to listen. She was my mom. I listened as she poured out her thoughts, emotions, and feelings that had been pent up for years. I heard how she had been burned by certain religious communities — brutal stories of so-called Christians offering grace and redemption to all those around her, as long as the sin was socially acceptable. The sad part is, I couldn’t disagree. I’d seen the same thing.

For some reason the church had made homosexuality a varsity sin. Religious people are very particular and selective on this issue. They quote “Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.” (1 Corinthians 6:9-11)

I don’t see homosexuality getting any prominence in this list, do you? In fact, the apostle Paul is attempting to broad stroke everyone, highlighting the fact that none of us are good enough. Ever had a lustful thought? Looked at porn? Guilty. Ever wanted something more than God? Yep. Ever looked at or engaged with someone else besides your spouse? Ouch. Ever stolen? I have. Ever had an insatiable desire for more money? Check. Ever been drunk? Double check.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not scoring too well on this list. But how does that verse end? The Corinthians were undoubtedly filthy themselves and were not representing Christ well. Some of them were probably still engaging in these behaviors, which is why Paul was writing them the letter, but he still says, “But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.”

He reminds them of how they’ve been bought. He reminds them that their sins aren’t their identities. He reminds them they are different now and can walk away from their sins.

That is a scandalous statement!

If you are a Christian and are going to talk about 1 Corinthians 6:9–10, then you better include verse 11. It’s only when we understand that in Jesus we are cleansed, washed, and renewed that we see our sin fall by the wayside. We are greedy, filthy, idolatry-loving, glory-hungry thieves. And when we trust Jesus, He washes us. He redeems us — all of us.

And when we’re sitting across the table from someone whom we’ve been told to hate, the least we can do is listen and love her as Jesus loves us.

Regarding homosexuality specifically, I can’t begin to tell you the internal wrestling I’ve had with this issue. I have a personal stake in it. It’s part of one of the closest people to me. So if I can be honest, I’ve gone back and forth a ton on this issue. Is it okay? Is it wrong? Why or why not?

Everything in me wanted to be convinced it was okay. Everything in me looked for verses to see it sanctioned by God. But through years of wrestling, hours of Bible study, and tons of prayer, I didn’t come to that conclusion.

When I open the Scriptures, I see homosexuality getting no prominence among sins, but it is still a distortion of God’s creative order nonetheless. But here’s the thing: my mom and I disagree on it, and we still love each other. Did you catch that? We still love each other.

We have open, honest, and sometimes very difficult conversations about it. And neither of us walks away calling the other a bigot. Neither of us walks away furious or upset.

Because that’s what love is. It stays. It pursues. It pushes in.

In order for our society to continue to flourish, it is imperative that we learn how to have healthy, honoring, and engaging discussions on this issue. Everything outside of His creative order is a distortion, and when we follow that fractured path, we are implying we are our own gods and know better than He does. The issue isn’t primarily homosexuality, idolatry, drunkenness, greed, or right or wrong.

The issue is, are we going to trust that God knows best or that our thoughts, wills, and emotions know best?

The truth is we are all going to limp across the finish line to some degree. Of course there is victory in Jesus, and of course we are more than conquerors through Christ as the apostle Paul says; but even Paul had a thorn in the flesh. (Romans 8:37, 2 Corinthians 12:7)

Most of us have a spiritual Achilles’ heel. We all will have spiritual bruises, cuts, and sores. Some will limp across the finish line still fighting their addiction to porn. Some will limp across the finish line with their addiction to food. And some will limp across the finish line with their attraction to the same sex.

The issue isn’t whether someone is good or bad, but whether he is repentant or unrepentant.

Who is God of her life? Who’s in control? What or who are they pursuing? Are they looking to Him or trusting in self? Because I trust that if Jesus’ grace has radically collided with a heart, I believe that person will begin to align themselves with Jesus’ image, looking more like Him every day.

But let’s also realize that we do have hope and victory and are called to take sin very seriously, doing anything and everything to run from it and to Jesus.

The writer of Hebrews makes it clear by saying we should “also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and… run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith.” (Hebrews 12:1-2)

Even he admits there are things that weigh us down. Our sin sticks to us. But still… He says run with endurance. Keep our eyes on Him, and we will make it because it depends on Him, not us. But let us never get prideful. Let us never think this race is reserved for the elite, or the “good,” or the well qualified. It’s reserved for the lowly, the rejected, the marginalized.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is the story of the woman at the well (John 4:1-24). She is the first person to whom Jesus reveals himself to be the Messiah. Jesus doesn’t choose to share this information first with a politician or a king or anyone of seeming importance, but with a Samaritan woman.

Samaritans were seen as half-breed Jews. They were looked down upon by the Jews. On top of this she was a woman, which in that culture meant she was a second-class citizen. Even worse, Jesus highlights her promiscuity. Jesus doesn’t condemn this woman, but rather graciously shows how He is the “living water” that can quench her insatiable thirst.

So Jesus, God himself, showed immense grace and gave great privilege to a half-breed, second-class, adulterous, and promiscuous woman. God is always a fan of going to the marginalized so His saving power isn’t credited to human wisdom but to His grace. Jesus completely shattered the social, gender, and economic paradigms. New Testament Christians were most known by their love for their neighbors, but today we are most known for our segregation of the lowly.

This issue really comes down to idolatry, which is the act of placing anything or anyone above Jesus as the ultimate source of worth, satisfaction, and identity.

The problem with idolatry, though, is that whatever you idolize, you then demonize the opposite.

Want to know what you probably idolize? Ask what you demonize.

But when you idolize Jesus, then you demonize demons — which makes a lot of sense to me. When Jesus and His righteousness are ultimate, then you actually see evil as the source of evil, rather than politics, money, or gender. Sure, you can disagree. Sure, you can have dialogue; but when something is your god, you’ll go to great lengths to defend it.

While I don’t agree with most of his viewpoints, Bill Maher said something that completely makes sense.

“New rule: If you’re a Christian who supports killing your enemies and torture, you have to come up with a new name for yourself…”

If we say we love Jesus, let’s start acting like followers. The world is waiting, and they can tell the difference.

Excerpted with permission from Jesus > Religion by Jefferson Bethke, copyright Thomas Nelson. Your Turn

Why is it so hard to love “them”? If idolatry is “the act of placing anything or anyone above Jesus as the ultimate source of worth, satisfaction, and identity”, ask yourself this question: Where do you find your worth, satisfaction, and identity? If you were truly to follow Jesus, what would be different in your life? Join the conversation on our blog! We would love to hear from you!

Abandon dead, dry, rule-keeping and embrace the promise of being truly known and deeply loved.

Jefferson Bethke burst into the cultural conversation in 2012 with a passionate, provocative poem titled “Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus.” The 4-minute video literally became an overnight sensation, with 7 million YouTube views in its first 48 hours (and 23+ million in a year). The message blew up on social-media, triggering an avalanche of responses running the gamut from encouraged to enraged.

In Jesus > Religion, Bethke unpacks similar contrasts that he drew in the poem—highlighting the difference between teeth gritting and grace, law and love, performance and peace, despair and hope. With refreshing candor he delves into the motivation behind his message, beginning with the unvarnished tale of his own plunge from the pinnacle of a works-based, fake-smile existence that sapped his strength and led him down a path of destructive behavior.

Bethke is quick to acknowledge that he’s not a pastor or theologian, but simply a regular, twenty-something who cried out for a life greater than the one for which he had settled. Along his journey, Bethke discovered the real Jesus, who beckoned him beyond the props of false religion.

What People Are Saying About Jesus > Religion

“This is a book that will make you think. Jefferson Bethke asks questions that your life really has to answer. Thinkers and seekers and questioners - start here. Wrestle it out. You can’t walk away from these provocative pages unmoved. - Ann Vosskamp, author of New York Times Bestseller One Thousand Gifts

“Jesus is the focal point of the gospel. He is the center and the essence of Christianity. That’s why I love Jefferson’s wholehearted determination to make Jesus the main thing. As you read his book, you will find yourself challenged to look past prejudice, habits, and traditions and rediscover the person you fell in love with in the first place: Jesus.” - Judah Smith, lead pastor of The City Church and author of New York Times best-selling book, Jesus is _____.

“Jeff’s book will make you stop and listen to a voice in your heart that may have been drowned out by the noise of religion. Listen to that voice, then follow it - right to the feet of Jesus.” - Bob Goff, author of New York Times best-selling Love Does.