#The seer responded with “Aye. They are come but they are not gone.”

[my-craft]

The last warning to Caesar

[owlswhisper]

Rage Against The Dying of The Light 1/2

Hulloo to whoever reads this! Haven’t written in a while so yeah... Rusty brain and fingers. Little fic for Mad Sweeney of American Gods because...well I am not happy with what happened.

So briefly after S2e7. Hope you like it.

Sweeney’s grasp on his memory was fleeting and very momentary. These last couple days have been a little more trying for the Leprechaun. Banshees, he was saying. Calling to moments of death. He wasn’t sure whose, but an unsettling feeling had him guessing that if he wasn’t in the spotlight, he wouldn’t be far from it.

And his mind of course decided it was the time for blotchy reminiscing, threats from a life long gone, and melancholy’s hollow embrace. All of which just pointed shamefully at his present conditions.

He was slipping. The lack of his lucky coin wasn’t helping the situation either.

By some happy coincidence however his conversation with Shadow Moon seemed to have unsettled said man, to the point where he was willing to bring Sweeney to see a particular group of people he had met briefly in Wednesday’s vicinity. They caught Laura on the way out, and after a brief explanation of the situation, ended up tagging along.

Shadow explained that some of these people could look into the memory of things, as well as other unusual skills. Memories of elements organic or not, and perhaps this could help Sweeney out and get a better grasp of himself.

The drive there was silent. Tendrils of tension could almost be plucked in the air. No one was quite sure what to expect. Sweeney only agreed because Shadow convinced him there was nothing to lose, and it was the only way for him to drop it and shut up.

As they got closer to their objective though, Sweeney of course started complaining, muttering under his breath about the futility of it all, and the stubbornness of going against the inevitable.

“Will you shut up and give it a try?” Laura interrupted him as they stepped out of the car. He muttered a last few words under his breath before lighting a cigarette.

The bungalow was of moderate size, wooden and old. Moss grew up the darkened planks and a warm light radiated from behind thick cream-coloured curtains. Distant voices could be vaguely heard. Neither of the men stepped up, leaving Laura to sigh audibly and knock on the door instead of either awkward coward behind her.

The voices stopped. A moment passed before the door slightly opened to show a sturdy round face with dark eyes peering suspiciously out at them.

“We’re here for the seer” announced Laura in a bored tone. “What do you want with her” the face asked, eyeing each of them in turn. Laura looked back at the Irishman who seemed to think looking away would exclude him from the present situation, “For her to see someone who needs answers”, she finished looking back at the door-keeper. “Do you have payment?” came the gruff response.

Sweeney grumbled with as much enthusiasm before cutting in, “Aye, ye’ll get what ye want. Let’s just get this bloody thing done with”, he pushed his way past Laura and through the door.

The woman who was behind backed up, placing herself squarely between the newcomers and the rest of her group sitting around the table. Incidentally they all looked up observing curiously, a mug in their hands.

“So which one of you would be the seer?” Sweeney asked flatly, looking down at the three women around the table. The smaller one, closest to them, gave a quick glance at all the faces around the room before finishing on the Irishman, green eyes alight with curiosity, “that would be me” she exclaimed with little to no emotion. A moment passed where no one seemed ready to move or speak. A small smile creeped up the lips of the seer, “come on then. Have a seat. I won’t bite unless you ask me to big guy” she gestured towards a chair with a kind smile.

Sweeney scoffed with a pinched smirk before making his way over and folding up his body into the chair. The seer looked him up and down, clearly a little impressed by his size. Shadow and Laura looked a little uncomfortable before the door lady gestured them towards a small couch at the back of the room, “care for something to drink” she asked with her eternal grumbling tone. The two visitors declined, preferring to sit and observe.

“So what do you want to know?” the seer asked, this time with a little wariness as she studied the redhead’s face. He studied her right back before simply saying, “Whatever ye can see”. Her eyes softened somewhat at that. Empathy was something that plagued her actively, regardless of whether she chose or not.

The seer extended a hand towards him, waiting for his move. Sweeney suddenly looked suspicious, “no stupid tricks. Or dead girl over there will tear you all up and keep yer skin for her own use”. The two remaining women at the table looked at one another with an amused smirk. The door-keeper just frowned with distaste before looking over at the girl in question.

“No tricks” the seer simply responded in a low voice, eyes dulled to a shy glimmer. Sweeney gave a heavy sigh, glanced at his companions before landing a heavy hand in the small woman’s.

She placed their hands more comfortably, then let her gaze go out of focus.

Reading a person or an object’s history felt a little like opening sensorial floodgates. She could choose the intensity of the flow, and if undisturbed navigate it at will. Streams varied in emotional density, making them sometimes hard to stomach, or so insignificant she’d have to slow to a crawl to really take them in. Depending on how much she wanted to see as well, she could “speed-watch” or pluck every moment, every emotion, every impression, and every sense. It was like stepping and being within the stream, plucking tendrils and moving them about.

She expected the flow to be more intense, and indeed harder to navigate than most, him being a god or as good as. And so, she opened the link.

This however, was not the case with Mad Sweeney.

She opened the gates, and there was a moment of absolute nothingness. Like when a vertically thrown object reaches its pinnacle and has that moment in suspension before going back into motion. She felt stuck in that momentum, holding her breath.

And then it happened. Too fast for her to react properly.

No flow rushed out to meet her, no. She fell through. A vertiginous drop in utter darkness. Her insides felt like they were crunching in on themselves from the height.

And then she saw it. The ages rose in great waves about her. Millennias, centuries, decades, years, seasons, months, weeks, days, and moments. The emotions through it all came tearing through her chest like knife through rice-paper. All the pains, the joys, the love, the hate, the hope, the fear.

She drowned.

What brief, gasping moments she had to attempt bending the currents to her will were fruitless. They would not answer to her. They were slippery, and untouchable. Like attempting to catch the wind without the power to bend it. She could only spectate, and relive his most expansive life.

The start of it. Oh, the start! They did not call him The Shining One without reason. Magnificence could not have been given truer form. A God King indeed. The seer basked in his existence, his craftiness, wisdom and greatness. His distant light shone into her very self and warmed some long lost places of her own being.

Just as quickly, the era went by. His family stepped onto stage only for the scene to suddenly stutter and choke. The curse of madness. This was what prevented her grasp on his story. This is where the longer pains of existence stretched through his mind. The centuries that rolled by. The dwindling of his name and folk. The gradual fracturing of himself. A light dimmed by modernisation. Her heart ached, and broke at the happening. Drowning in his story didn’t cut out her breath nearly as much as the story itself. Tears traced a path down her cheeks, and a scream tore itself from her throat.

There had been so much light. So much warmth.

All that remained was a distant echo of a light at the back of a worn cave. A flicker of hope.

Her mortality shivered in the face of this life.

She cried at its loss.

She cried for what was robbed from this world.

She cried for what he was robbed of.

The last of his events engulfed her, a tenacious blanket, yet lighter, so very much lighter than everything before that. A weariness leaded his chest.

The signs of his final moments approaching. The dying of the light. The pain in her chest redoubled. Her breath fell short, or stopped, she didn’t know anymore. He wouldn’t have much longer. Not in his current state.

                                       *  *  *

She opened her eyes to both her hands gripping onto his arm for dear life, speckled with teardrops. A normal session would last a few minutes at most. She had been sitting there with him for 15.

She looked up into his eyes, sorrow and endearment aplenty in hers, worry and pain in his. He had been there with her. He saw, and he lived again. He looked pale. Watery eyes searching for some solace or meaning in hers.

He tore his gaze away and looked to the floor. A barely breathed “thank you” was whispered from his lips, and his other hand stretched above the table to drop some coins out of thin air.

He took a moment to gather himself, and stood, eyes avoiding all others before heading towards the door. His companions were already up and ready to follow.

The seer’s heart sank. The loss of the light, was debilitating her. ‘Unless given a fighting chance’ a thought seemed to supply from somewhere within.

And just like that the answer surfaced.

“Sweeney” she called on a breath, as she got up and turned to him. The man in question turned his pained gaze back, waiting her words.

None came. Instead, she grabbed his jacket, pulled him down and pressed her lips to his, hands then moving to the sides of his face. A pulse went through the both of them, and she let go, something lighter in her eyes now. “Be safe” was all she breathed to him, before watching them leave in silence, confusion and surprise on everyone’s faces.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 66:  The Art of Meddling

He could remember, long ago, when he'd first become the Dark One and understood he was immortal until the curse ended, wondering when he would begin to feel the weight of the years he'd lived on his shoulders. The answer was now. In the times when the world around him felt calm and easy, fleeting even, but his mind hummed with work to do, spells, even visions of the future that he realized just how old he was.

James was eight today. Eight years old already. It seemed like yesterday his father had stopped by, seeking help in finding the son he'd traded to the King and succeeding before the King had ordered him killed. Since then, poor David and his mother had begun to struggle again, but the Seer in the back of his mind had encouraged him to send work their way simply because "it wasn't time yet". There was something at work, something that he tried to focus on, and yet when he focused on the future, he saw Ruth in her hut and the False Prince at King George's side, just as he had been for nearly two years. It was a shame really that after James met and married Snow White, Regina would hate them both as much as they would. She had more in common with James than she would ever know. But for now, Snow White remained the object of her frustration, and it was good.

Over the years, he'd learned that there was an art to meddling in someone's life. Some individuals wanted and even needed their paths laid out for them on a silver platter. Those were the clients that he found himself most busy with. They were the ones who required little but specific tasks that kept his mind busy and his hands experimenting. But then there were the clients like Regina. In those situations, he thought of himself more like a clockmaker. It was his job to simply wind them up, meddle a little bit with gentle nudges and pushes when necessary, and then watch life unfold before them as he intended.

When he'd first met her, shy and quiet, even kind, were all words he'd used to describe her, and he'd prepared himself to have to meddle in her life a great deal to spur on the jealousy Regina felt toward Snow White. In the end, all she needed was nudging. A carefully placed comment here or there are his part was all that was required of him. Time was doing the rest. And while that pleased him enormously most of the time, sometimes, like tonight, it drove him mad with anger.

She was skipping her lesson. Again. Leopold had taken Snow White out on another tour, leaving Regina home alone, and for whatever reason, she'd decided not to come to him despite the plans they'd made. He knew she'd decided because it took all of two seconds for him to summon her image in his mirror and find her reclining at her seat at the table alone, sulking and scowling in the dark. She was petulant, reminding him of a hormonal teenager sometimes. Her sorcery skills were improving greatly. But along with it so was her confidence. She was beginning to question why she needed him and talk of growing more powerful than he was, a laughable goal. She was beginning to comb through her mother's old books and wonder if she couldn't teach herself, and if he was honest, more than once, he was tempted to let her; especially in those times she dared to ask what it would take to be more powerful than he. But he couldn't let her teach herself. The second he'd had the thought, Baelfire's face had come into his vision and he knew that was one thing he couldn't afford not to meddle in. The lessons he was teaching her were about to change. It wasn't lessons in sorcery she needed, though in a way she still did. Now it was simply lessons of life that he had to teach her lest she swerve and end up-

"Hey!"

A shudder nearly rocked through him at the sound of Jefferson screeching behind him. Another attempt to scare him born of a conversation they'd had a few months back. A conversation that he now regretted more than any other he'd ever had with the man.

"You jumped! I think I got you that time!" he declared, circling the tower and coming into view.

"Where have you been?" he growled at the boy. It had been a few weeks since Jefferson's last stop by. Though he felt very strongly it hadn't been enough time. The agreement he'd reached with Regina years ago to travel to her land was supposed to make stops like this less frequent; sometimes it didn't seem like it helped. It was only recently that Jefferson had met a girl, another realm jumper like himself that he'd made himself more scarce. Which was fine, so long as it didn't detract from the job he was meant to be doing.

"Wonderland. I brought you…" he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of small crackers, then a large bottle of what appeared to be wine. "Food! But don't eat or drink it if you know what's good for you."

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of what the cuisine of Wonderland does to the body. These are helpful, but not what I sent you out to seek. Have you, by any chance, found my curse?!"

"Oh! Yeah! Years ago! Did I forget to tell you?"

His heart didn't race, nor did it skip a beat as Jefferson jumped up onto one of the tables. He knew when he was being a caddy bastard, and he was now. Any other topic of conversation and he might have responded with the same kind of sarcasm he was offering, but not when it came to the curse. Jefferson's face fell and he rolled his eyes in the silence.

"No," he admitted. "Don't you think after all these years I would have told you if I did?"

"What you would do is sometimes beyond even my abilities to predict."

"Well then, let me assure you. Nothing so far. There were lots of people talking in Wonderland recently, and I thought I was on to something, thus why I was there so long, but it turns out the curse they were talking about was their Queen."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, calls herself the Queen of Hearts, wears a mask, only talks to her footman. Rumor is that she's something of a fan of ripping out hearts and keeping them in some kind of vault. Also, something about roses being red…or maybe white…can't quite remember that one. I don't know."

Queen of Hearts. A fan of ripping hearts out. Well…now he knew what Cora was doing with her time. He'd always known she'd gone to Wonderland, what she made of herself once she'd gotten there had remained a complete mystery up until now, but it appeared that Cora had finally become the Queen she'd always dreamed she would be. It wasn't surprising. Cora was enough of a conniving bitch; he didn't put much past her. But if Jefferson was there as his emissary…

With a sigh, he rose from his place at the spinning wheel and went to a special cupboard he kept a few handy and completed potions in. This one in particular might help Jefferson should he ever find himself face to face with Cora.

"Here…" he exclaimed plucking one with the picture of a human heart under it out of his rack and tossing it to him. He made a note to remember to make another one tomorrow. Jefferson caught the bottle and stared down at it in his hand. "That will ensure your heart stays in your chest."

Jefferson nodded and removed the top before glancing over at him and raising his eyebrows. "For a favor?" he asked.

"For a favor," he confirmed with a smile. Annoying as he was, and even though he'd been unsuccessful at finding his curse, Jefferson was still his most profitable alliance. That being said, the man was starting to acquire quite the debt. They'd made so many of these sorts of deals he'd lost count. He used magic to get the boy out of numerous scrapes before and always "for a favor". He had a sneaking suspicion that Jefferson thought it was all a joke of some kind. One day he'd be in for a surprise.

"Now go…I have a lesson to teach Regina."

"Aye, aye, Captain!" he saluted, hopping off the table. "I'm taking my girl out to the ball tonight anyway."

"The ball?!" he scoffed. "I wasn't aware of any balls tonight."

"Not in this realm," he shrugged. "Besides, it's not so much the ball we're looking forward to as the fancy crown they're keeping in their castle which will be left unguarded tonight. We've both got our eyes on that prize. Which of us will get it…that's all part of the fun! And really what kind of infant needs a crown, anyway?"

Without warning he felt something turn within him. The girl was one thing but plotting together as they were was another thing. He had a terrible feeling about it all but knew because of his character there was nothing he could say to make Jefferson see the light. Whatever the feeling meant he'd have to decipher it on his own.

"Careful with this girl, Jefferson. One dance can lead to another if you're not cautious."

"Oh, I know!" he smiled slyly. "I'm rather hoping that one kind of dance will lead to another kind…if you catch my drift."

He did, because it was exactly that kind of dance he rather thought Jefferson didn't need at the moment. Or at least he didn't need Jefferson to have it. The girl was already proving to be a distraction, and that was without being a pretty receptacle for his cock. He hated to see what might become of him if she managed to drag him to bed.

"At least attempt to stay out of trouble."

"Pfft!" he tutted, rolling his eyes. "Like I'd dream of trouble…night, Pops!" he called practically skipping down the stairs.

Pops. Jefferson had first called him that a few months ago. It was always in jest, usually when he corrected him about getting into trouble or staying out too late. Initially, he'd done it to mock how much he sounded like he was his father, but now that word was coming a little bit too easily. Perhaps Regina wasn't the only one who needed a lesson. He might need to knock Jefferson off his high horse and remind them that their relationship was one strictly born out of necessity and business, not because he actually cared for the realm jumper. He had eyes on one son and one son only, and that was Baelfire. There was no room in his heart for anything else and frankly, he was certain there wasn't a heart big enough, aside from Bae's, for him.

[joannrochaus]

A massacre in New Zealand, fighting in Israel, and a redemptive lesson from an unlikely source

Forty-nine people were killed in shootings at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, this morning. Twenty more were seriously wounded.

Four people, including three men and one woman, have been taken into custody. One man in his late twenties has been charged with murder. He reportedly posted a white-nationalist manifesto on Twitter.

This tragedy was the largest massacre in New Zealand history. It reminds us that Satan “comes to steal and kill and destroy” (John 10:10). God is weeping with those who weep today and calls us to join him (Romans 12:15).

In other news, Israeli warplanes struck some one hundred Hamas targets in the Gaza Strip overnight, responding to a rocket attack on the Israeli metropolis of Tel Aviv. The fighting broke out as Egyptian mediators were in Gaza working to broker an expanded cease-fire between Israel and Hamas.

In a world filled with violence and chaos, we can learn a redemptive lesson from an unlikely source.

“The Ides of March are come”

Today is known as the “Ides of March.” In the Roman world, the “Ides” was the midpoint of their months. The date we know as March 15 was marked by several religious ceremonies and was a Roman deadline for settling debts.

This day is especially known to history as the day Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 BC. The back story is remarkable.  

According to the Roman biographer Plutarch (died AD 119), “A certain seer warned Caesar to be on his guard against a great peril on the day of the month of March which the Romans call the Ides; and when the day had come and Caesar was on his way to the senate-house, he greeted the seer with a jest and said: ‘Well, the Ides of March are come,’ and the seer said to him softly: ‘Ay, they are come, but they are not gone.‘”

Later that day, Caesar was stabbed to death by as many as sixty conspirators led by Brutus and Cassius.

Most people know the story of his death. But why was Caesar murdered on this day?

And why is his death relevant to our broken world today?

An assassination and stray cats

The Roman Republic was founded in 509 BC. Governed by leaders elected by the people, their representative model influenced the founders of the American republic. Over time, however, the aristocratic leaders of the Republic became less focused on the people and more concerned for their own power and agendas.

Julius Caesar (100–44 BC) rose to power as an accomplished military conqueror. With chaos in Rome, Caesar led his army south across the Rubicon, the northern barrier of Italy, on January 10, 49 BC. By 45 BC, he had become the sole dictator of Rome.

Brutus, Cassius, and the senators who conspired to execute Caesar claimed they were liberating the people from dictatorship. He was killed in a place known as Pompey’s Theater.

The area fell into ruins over the centuries and is currently fenced off from the public and occupied by stray cats. However, the mayor of Rome announced last week that the site will undergo renovation and be opened to the public in 2021.

“We are all slaves of the laws”

What can we learn from the Ides of March?

Mortal Republic: How Rome Fell into Tyranny is a new history of the fall of the Roman Republic. Its author, Edward J. Watts, earned his PhD in history from Yale and has received numerous awards for his research and writing.

He notes that “the men who led the Republic in the third century [before Christ] also understood that their personal achievements had meaning only when they served the larger goals of Roman policy.” There was “a shared understanding that the Republic was a political system subject to no one but the community as a whole.”

To illustrate, Watts cites the famous statement by Cicero: “We are all slaves of the laws so that we might be free.”

Over time, however, Roman political life devolved into “a struggle among individuals seeking honor and power through the complete control of the city and the resources of the empire.” Eventually, Romans would have “a new sort of liberty … Freedom from fear, freedom from famine, and freedom from danger now all came from [Emperor] Augustus and Augustus alone.”

When churches and Christians plateau

When the Roman Republic became a means to the end of personal advancement for its leaders, its decline began. The same can happen to us.

When churches are started, they must focus on evangelism and ministry to their communities in order to grow. After a few years, many have gained so many members that some begin focusing on what the church can do for them.

Parents want better programs for their children; adults want programming focused on their needs. The church stops focusing externally on those it is called to reach and starts focusing internally on itself. And it plateaus and often declines.

The same can happen to individual Christians when we focus more on what Jesus can do for us than what we can do for him. We come to church and to God for what we can receive. And we stop fulfilling the Commission to which we are called.

How to experience the joy of Jesus

The good news is that what happened to Rome doesn’t have to happen to us. Churches can renew their commitment to serve the community they are commissioned to reach. Christians can renew our commitment to the One who came not to be served but to serve (Mark 10:45).

Every day, we must decide whether we will live for Jesus or for ourselves (Romans 12:1–2). The tragedies that fill each day’s news show us that this decision is urgent for us and for the broken world we are called to serve.

Here’s the paradox: when we serve God and others, we find a greater significance than we can ever experience by serving ourselves. The disciples received power from the Spirit so they could be witnesses for our Lord (Acts 1:8). When we share the joy of Jesus, we experience the joy of Jesus. When we bless others, we are blessed.

In terms of the Ides of March, we can be an Empire or we can be a Republic, but we cannot be both.

Which do you choose today?

NOTE: I am excited about the response we’ve had to our YouTube series, “Biblical Insight to Tough Questions.” If you haven’t checked it out yet, please do.  

Our question this week is: “How can I share my faith with others?”  

I hope that you will view the video, as well as the others in the series, and share them with family and friends. May this content bless you today.

The post A massacre in New Zealand, fighting in Israel, and a redemptive lesson from an unlikely source appeared first on Denison Forum.

source https://www.denisonforum.org/columns/daily-article/a-massacre-in-new-zealand-fighting-in-israel-and-a-redemptive-lesson-from-an-unlikely-source/ source https://denisonforum.tumblr.com/post/183470335827

[denisonforum]

A massacre in New Zealand, fighting in Israel, and a redemptive lesson from an unlikely source

Forty-nine people were killed in shootings at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, this morning. Twenty more were seriously wounded.

Four people, including three men and one woman, have been taken into custody. One man in his late twenties has been charged with murder. He reportedly posted a white-nationalist manifesto on Twitter.

This tragedy was the largest massacre in New Zealand history. It reminds us that Satan “comes to steal and kill and destroy” (John 10:10). God is weeping with those who weep today and calls us to join him (Romans 12:15).

In other news, Israeli warplanes struck some one hundred Hamas targets in the Gaza Strip overnight, responding to a rocket attack on the Israeli metropolis of Tel Aviv. The fighting broke out as Egyptian mediators were in Gaza working to broker an expanded cease-fire between Israel and Hamas.

In a world filled with violence and chaos, we can learn a redemptive lesson from an unlikely source.

“The Ides of March are come”

Today is known as the “Ides of March.” In the Roman world, the “Ides” was the midpoint of their months. The date we know as March 15 was marked by several religious ceremonies and was a Roman deadline for settling debts.

This day is especially known to history as the day Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 BC. The back story is remarkable.  

According to the Roman biographer Plutarch (died AD 119), “A certain seer warned Caesar to be on his guard against a great peril on the day of the month of March which the Romans call the Ides; and when the day had come and Caesar was on his way to the senate-house, he greeted the seer with a jest and said: ‘Well, the Ides of March are come,’ and the seer said to him softly: ‘Ay, they are come, but they are not gone.'”

Later that day, Caesar was stabbed to death by as many as sixty conspirators led by Brutus and Cassius.

Most people know the story of his death. But why was Caesar murdered on this day?

And why is his death relevant to our broken world today?

An assassination and stray cats

The Roman Republic was founded in 509 BC. Governed by leaders elected by the people, their representative model influenced the founders of the American republic. Over time, however, the aristocratic leaders of the Republic became less focused on the people and more concerned for their own power and agendas.

Julius Caesar (100–44 BC) rose to power as an accomplished military conqueror. With chaos in Rome, Caesar led his army south across the Rubicon, the northern barrier of Italy, on January 10, 49 BC. By 45 BC, he had become the sole dictator of Rome.

Brutus, Cassius, and the senators who conspired to execute Caesar claimed they were liberating the people from dictatorship. He was killed in a place known as Pompey’s Theater.

The area fell into ruins over the centuries and is currently fenced off from the public and occupied by stray cats. However, the mayor of Rome announced last week that the site will undergo renovation and be opened to the public in 2021.

“We are all slaves of the laws”

What can we learn from the Ides of March?

Mortal Republic: How Rome Fell into Tyranny is a new history of the fall of the Roman Republic. Its author, Edward J. Watts, earned his PhD in history from Yale and has received numerous awards for his research and writing.

He notes that “the men who led the Republic in the third century [before Christ] also understood that their personal achievements had meaning only when they served the larger goals of Roman policy.” There was “a shared understanding that the Republic was a political system subject to no one but the community as a whole.”

To illustrate, Watts cites the famous statement by Cicero: “We are all slaves of the laws so that we might be free.”

Over time, however, Roman political life devolved into “a struggle among individuals seeking honor and power through the complete control of the city and the resources of the empire.” Eventually, Romans would have “a new sort of liberty . . . Freedom from fear, freedom from famine, and freedom from danger now all came from [Emperor] Augustus and Augustus alone.”

When churches and Christians plateau

When the Roman Republic became a means to the end of personal advancement for its leaders, its decline began. The same can happen to us.

When churches are started, they must focus on evangelism and ministry to their communities in order to grow. After a few years, many have gained so many members that some begin focusing on what the church can do for them.

Parents want better programs for their children; adults want programming focused on their needs. The church stops focusing externally on those it is called to reach and starts focusing internally on itself. And it plateaus and often declines.

The same can happen to individual Christians when we focus more on what Jesus can do for us than what we can do for him. We come to church and to God for what we can receive. And we stop fulfilling the Commission to which we are called.

How to experience the joy of Jesus

The good news is that what happened to Rome doesn’t have to happen to us. Churches can renew their commitment to serve the community they are commissioned to reach. Christians can renew our commitment to the One who came not to be served but to serve (Mark 10:45).

Every day, we must decide whether we will live for Jesus or for ourselves (Romans 12:1–2). The tragedies that fill each day’s news show us that this decision is urgent for us and for the broken world we are called to serve.

Here’s the paradox: when we serve God and others, we find a greater significance than we can ever experience by serving ourselves. The disciples received power from the Spirit so they could be witnesses for our Lord (Acts 1:8). When we share the joy of Jesus, we experience the joy of Jesus. When we bless others, we are blessed.

In terms of the Ides of March, we can be an Empire or we can be a Republic, but we cannot be both.

Which do you choose today?

NOTE: I am excited about the response we’ve had to our YouTube series, “Biblical Insight to Tough Questions.” If you haven’t checked it out yet, please do.  

Our question this week is: “How can I share my faith with others?”  

I hope that you will view the video, as well as the others in the series, and share them with family and friends. May this content bless you today.

The post A massacre in New Zealand, fighting in Israel, and a redemptive lesson from an unlikely source appeared first on Denison Forum.

source https://www.denisonforum.org/columns/daily-article/a-massacre-in-new-zealand-fighting-in-israel-and-a-redemptive-lesson-from-an-unlikely-source/

[takemeawaytocamelot]

Red Jamie and the White Lady - Part 29

I can’t believe this story has become nearly THIRTY chapters! This journey has been incredible for me as a writer, finding a new way to tell the same story. I hope you stick around for the next installment, which is already being worked on. HUGE shout out to my darling @diversemediums for helping me beta this beast. (Full disclosure, the last few lines of this chapter were fully her genius, so give her credit for her amazing skills!)

Anyway, you can catch up on chapter 28 HERE, or check out the story from the beginning via my master list HERE. (If some of the links don’t work, please send me an ask or drop me a DM as comments in the chapters themselves won’t always get seen.)

Previously...

“Enough!” Claire snapped, barely controlling her anger as all eyes turned to her. “What the hell do you know that will help Jamie? Because if you don’t have anything that you can tell me right now that will help him, you can get the hell out of this house.”

Everyone fell silent and waited. Dougal stepped forward, meeting Claire’s eyes.

“We have a name.”

Jenny stared at her uncle, eyes wide.

“I didna Hear ye think so much as a hint that ye kent so much.”

“I canna promise it’ll help, or that it’ll get ye to Jamie. But, if we work together, we might find him in time.”

The ache in Claire’s chest hadn’t gone away and it clenched again.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“If it is who we believe it is,” Geillis said. “His name is Stephen Bonnet.”

Claire stared open-mouthed at Geillis.

“You know who took him?”

“We think we know. He’s slippery as an eel, so it’s near impossible to confirm that it’s him. But, if it is him, then-”

Claire took a long, shuddering breath, making Geillis stop mid-sentence.

“Where. The hell. Is my husband?”

Dougal stepped forward then, placing himself between Claire and Geillis.

“We have a few places to look. Bonnet might be hard to track, but his… ‘friends’ aren’t.”

“A few places?!”

She was growing nearly frantic with her need to find Jamie. He’d been away from her for too long and she knew his migraines would be getting bad. If this lasted much longer, they would become fatal. She swallowed hard, holding back tears.

“I have people watching them, waiting for any sign that-”

“I’m sick of waiting! I’ve been waiting for two bloody days with NO progress on bringing Jamie home!”

Murtagh put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Dougal glanced at Murtagh, a silent acknowledgement seeming to pass between them.

“Ye ken ye canna have a private thought wi’ me standing right here, aye? Murtagh, you are not Rambo and Dougal… I still dinna trust ye. OI! Dinna insult my husband!”

“Christ, Janet!” Dougal bellowed. “Will ye get out of my head?!”

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“No’ in my own house.”

Dougal opened his mouth to respond, but a cell phone rang instead. Rupert fumbled in his pocket before he got the device out.

“It’s Angus,” he said, answering it. “What do ye have?”

Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath, waiting to hear what the man had found.

“Good God, man, put the damn phone on speaker or we’ll all pass out waitin’ for ye,” Ian said.

Rupert looked to Dougal, who nodded. With one button, a voice echoed in the silent house.

“I popped out o’ the car for a wee piss, ‘round the corner from the warehouse. Now, ye ken it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here, aye? Takin’ a piss outside isne the easiest thing and-”

“Angus! I’ve put ye on speaker!”

The line went silent and Claire stopped breathing, wondering if the man had hung up.

“Ah… Hello, boss?”

Dougal rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Why is it ye called, Angus?”

“Oh! Weel, the warehouse ye had me sittin’ on had some movement a moment ago. Wouldn’t ye believe it, but a h-” the sound of an embarrassed cough cracked through the speaker. “Ah, weel… A lass Rupert and I kent back-”

“A lass? Who?” Rupert interrupted.

Angus muttered something that apparently only Rupert understood.

“Scarlet? Scarlet the hoor?!” he asked incredulously. “What was she-”

Rupert ducked as Dougal made a swipe at him.

“Angus, tell us what ye know or I swear I’ll cave yer head in.”

“Oh… ah… Aye, weel… Anywhoo… Scarlet went and, ah… spoke wi’ one of Bonnet’s main thugs. I spoke to the other boys and none o’ them have had any movement. If that slimy bastard is anywhere, boss, he’s here.”

“Thank you, Angus,” Dougal said. “We’ll contact ye shortly when we’ve a plan.”

Rupert hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket.

“This is too easy,” Dougal said.

Murtagh nodded, scratching at his beard.

“Aye. Bonnet doesna seem to be so sloppy to let a hoor come and service his men.”

“Not where she’ll be seen,” Dougal agreed.

The tightness in Claire’s chest didn’t ease.

“I don’t care. We need to go get him. Now,” she said.

Dougal shook his head.

“Ye do ken this may be a trap? A way to ensure Jamie’s compliance? If he’s held out this long, and I believe he has, Bonnet will be looking for a way to break him, aye?”

Claire clenched her fists to hide the trembling.

“What other choice do we have? If it’s a trap, then… Bonnet needs Jamie alive. I could… I could go in. Maybe find him and…” she trailed off, her half-baked plan falling apart as she spoke it.

What other choice did she have?

“The hell you will,” Murtagh said gruffly, taking a step forward. “I’ll no’ let ye risk getting killed, lass.”

“I will not sit on the sidelines while my husband is tortured to death,” she barked back. “If it’s a trap, Bonnet will be looking for you all to rush in. I’ll wait for you and hopefully we’ll be in time to save Jamie.”

“That’s no’ a plan, lass,” Murtagh said, turning to face her. “It’s a suicide mission.”

They glared at each other, neither willing to back down.

“You will not!” Jenny suddenly yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at Dougal. “There is no way in hell I’ll allow ye to rescue my brother wi’out me. He’s the only brother I have left!”

“Wherever she goes,” Ian said, placing his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “I go.”

Dougal pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at everyone around him. He shrugged.

“Jamie will need ye,” he said, looking at Claire. “If we cause a distraction, you and Murtagh might be able to sneak in. We’ll need to sit down and look at blueprints to be sure that-”

“We don’t have time for that!” Claire blurted.

She could feel it in the marrow of her bones, in the connection between Seer and Healer. The aching, terrifying truth of what was coming.

“If ye want to get the lad out alive,” Dougal said slowly. “We need a plan.”

Geillis pulled a laptop out of the bag Claire hadn’t noticed on her shoulder. In a few keystrokes, she had the blueprints of the warehouse pulled up.

“Give him time,” she said. “Dougal’s a good strategist.”

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” Claire said sharply. “Not. One. Word.”

Geillis flinched as if she’d been slapped, but she didn’t say anything else. Everyone began to settle in to study the blueprints, but Claire felt a tug on her shirt. Glancing down, she saw Fergus, looking up at her with tears in his eyes.

“Milady,” he said softly. “We must all work together to bring Milord back. I know it is not easy, but… We can do it for Milord, yes?”

Claire felt tears come to her own eyes and she pulled Fergus into a fierce hug.

“You’re right,” she said.

“I will help to bring him home,” Fergus said, pulling a pocket knife from his trousers.

“No, sweetheart,” she said. “You can’t. Jamie would never forgive us for putting you in danger.”

Fergus’ face crumpled at her words.

“But-”

“Nay, lad,” Murtagh said. “She’s right. But we need someone to protect Lallybroch while we’re all out. And someone to help us keep an eye on the situation. You’ll stay with Geillis and make sure this place is safe to bring Jamie home to.”

“Oui!” Fergus said excitedly. “I will keep Lallybroch safe!”

With that settled, it took the better part of three hours to get a plan together. Claire stood or paced the whole time, unable to sit, no matter how much she wanted to.

“So,” Rupert said, finishing his text to Angus and Dougal’s other men. “Are we agreed on the plan?”

Everyone around the table nodded.

“Lets go get our Seer back,” Claire said, trying to ignore the terror settling in her belly.

***

Jamie growled in Gaelic, denied putting his hands around the Irishman’s throat by one of the bastards henchmen.

“Oh look! You are alive, laddie,” Bonnet replied, kneeling to speak face to face.

Jamie struggled against the restraining hold placed on him, his muscles burning with weakness. But he couldn’t give up. Drops of blood fell to the floor, making a soft splat.

“That’s a nasty nosebleed you have there,” Bonnet said, tilting Jamie’s head toward the naked light bulb for a better look.

“I suppose,” Jamie said, his voice gruff and gravelly. “That’s what happens when ye hit someone in the face ten or twenty times.”

Bonnet tisked at him.

“And such humor too! Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Fraser, but a nosebleed is a sign that you’re dyin’, isn’t it?”

Jamie said nothing as he fought to keep his face blank. How the hell did Bonnet know that? As if reading his thoughts, the Irishman nodded.

“Was that your plan, then? Hold out until you keel over and leave me holdin’ the bag? Well… what if I brought you… La Dame Blanche?”

Nothing Jamie did could keep the reaction from his face.

“Ye canna,” Jamie bluffed. “I dinna ken who she is.”

“You’ve got a good poker face, I’ll give you that. But you won’t fool me, Fraser. Not when I’m luring your Dame here.”

Ice filled Jamie’s heart as the horror of Bonnet’s words sank in. Words failed him, so he kept his gaze focused on the floor beneath him, feeling the hammer of the blood pounding in his ears.

“Oh yes I can,” Bonnet said as he stood. “And I am. Because I need you alive and I need you to do as I ask. I’ve come to learn the best way to make you do that is if I use your lady as leverage.”

Forcing his eyes up, he tried to focus on Bonnet. But the man’s image had become wavy, losing focus with every heartbeat. The pain began to increase, sharpening into a knife’s edge as it sliced through him.

“Stay with me, Fraser,” Bonnet commanded.

Jamie couldn’t respond even if he wanted to. The steady drip-drip of the blood from his nose began to speed up. It wouldn’t be long now. While he hated to leave Claire, he was glad no one would be after her once he was gone.

I am so sorry, mo nighean donn. I tried to return to ye. I just…

Then he let out a chilling scream as he grabbed at his head. The henchmen’s grip had faltered in the wake of his cry, but he didn’t care. Even if the door had been open, Jamie didn’t have the strength to crawl through it. This was the end.

The sound of breathing echoed in his ears like the ocean rushing over sand, a soothing, dispassionate rhythm amongst the incongruous images that played in his mind. Waves of pain came as his breathing ebbed, slowly pulling him under the surface of what he would leave behind. Jamie felt bodiless, his soul live and thrashing against the inevitable dark void of death while his mind welcomed it openly, ready to have his fate sealed.

Thoughts and memories floated by: Jenny’s smile, Ian’s laugh, Murtagh’s grunt of annoyance, the way Fergus still ate every meal like it was his last.

When he died, would he see his mother again? Da? Willie?

The thought that he might gave him comfort and his soul slowed it’s struggle, the void coming closer.

Claire.

Jamie held her like a talisman, a buffer against the whirlwind of visions and chaos that threatened to engulf him.

Sorcha. I love you. I am sorry. To hold ye once more… Claire, I love you. I’ll find you. I promise.