#blue jell-o savior

[sg-crack-fic-adventures]

Thought we could all use some cheer-up, hence “reactivating” this blog, with following idea: I’ll write a starter, and you justadd a sentance to that. It can be as loony as possible, however, the only rule is to keep it “General” So here it goes:

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“If someone had told him two years ago, when they first set foot into Pegasus and encountered the Wraith, that, of all things, it would be friggin blue jell-o that would one day save their collective asses, John would’ve thrown them off a balcony, sans personal shield device.”

[bulmavegotaku]

Interdimensional Summer- FYDL Cool for the Summer Day 2

Bucky wasn’t sure who was supposed to be rescuing who, but the light of this place was messing with his head. Something in the not-quite-white, not-quite-blue, not-quite-right quality of the duel suns was making the inside of his skull feel like it was jell-o in a blender and the pressure behind his eyes was making it incredibly hard to see, let alone navigate the alien landscape.

“Hey, dude!” came a relieved shout from his right and he turned his body, raising his arm and trying to shade his eyes so that he could catch a glimpse of the girl, nay woman, he was supposed to be saving from the erroneous portal experiment. “You don’t look so hot…” she muttered, stepping close enough to his side to raise the lab coat she was using to cover her own head and share the blessed relief of blocking out the weird rays beating down on them.

“Some cavalry I make,” He winced, the twist of his grin sardonic times ten. He gratefully accepted the edge of white canvas fabric and felt the pain in his orbital sockets ease slightly.

“Don’t sweat it, man,” the woman, Lewis, said, patting his vibranium shoulder sympathetically. “This isn’t my first rodeo,” she said proudly as she peeked through the slit in the coat and then took his hand to pull him forward. “Jane said she’d open the portal home soon, right?”

Bucky nodded and held up the written instructions as to when and where he was to rendezvous once he’d located and retrieved the errant lab assistant. Lewis grabbed them, read them quickly, and then turned his wrist to check out the strange compass-like object Doc Foster had strapped to his right wrist to help him locate the alien coordinates.

“I think we’re close,” she said with another glance back and forth along with another peek out of the coat. “Just down this… hill thing? Watch your step,” she cautioned as she took his hand and led him down the jagged incline that looked half crystal, half mossy overgrowth.  When she was satisfied that they’d arrived, she gave a triumphant whoop and set about finding a place to settle in and get comfortable.

“Jane said every fifteen minutes, right?” she asked, brushing a heavy layer of lavender dust off a low outcropping of… it probably wasn’t a fungus of some kind, but it sure looked like it. “This shit better not be toxic,” she muttered as she plopped her ass down and patted the place next to her. She had somehow managed to settle in without disturbing the coat over their heads, he figured he owed her a smidgen of cooperation, though the last thing he wanted to do at the moment was touch that strangely spongy-looking vermilion and beige block.

Parking himself uneasily next to her, he helped her situate the coat around them comfortably. After a few moments of silent squirming, (the stuff wasn’t nearly as comfy as it looked), he realized the pain behind his eyes was flaring again. Closing them for a second, Bucky felt momentary relief overshadowed by a quickly rising panic that they would miss the portal opening and be stuck there another 15 minutes.

“Here,” he said, shifting the coat back to her and sliding out from under it. He could stand the pain a few more minutes. It wasn’t that bad. He’d suffered much worse things, for sure. He needed to keep watch. He needed to get them both home safe.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Lewis asked, poking her face out from between the buttons on the coat front. Her eyes were squeezed down to slits.

“I’m fine,” he grunted and raised his left arm to shield his face with his hand.

He was not, however, fine.

Something about the light reflecting off the vibranium must have amplified whatever it was about the light that was making his head feel like an overripe vodka watermelon and less than a minute later he found himself crouched and clutching at his skull. It was like the chair, that damned chair, only it was happening in slow motion.

Bucky’s heart rate skyrocketed and he felt the panic clamp a vice down around his ribs.

One second he was on his knees, moments away from clawing his own eyes out, the next he was lying on his back, looking up at the concerned face of Darcy Lewis through films of red and blue.

“The hell…?” he asked, noting the pain was almost completely gone. Raising his right hand he groped at his face, feeling the flimsy cardboard outline of glasses give, he pulled his hand back before he ripped or dislodged the fragile saviors.

“Did that work?” Lewis asked, looking down at him, her surprise evident.

“Yeah…. How did you…?” he began, sitting up slowly and turning to eye her up and down for the first time without wincing from the pain. She was helpful and gorgeous. Damn. “What is this?”

“3D glasses,” she preened, holding up a large purse he’d not noticed her carrying before. “The theater back home makes you pay extra for glasses, so I always keep a pair or two on me,” she said, as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did. He didn’t know.

She continued to huddle under the coat as she sat next to him on the ground and rifled deep into her bag. “Jackpot,” she said placing a second pair on her own nose. The glasses were making everything shades of red and blue, but the smile she shot him was still dazzling. “It’s a good thing I was jonesing for chapstick right before that power surge, huh?”

She summoned said chapstick from a smaller front pocket and applied it to her full, ripe lips. Bucky could only watch, hypnotized by the sight.

“You silly menfolk may hate on a big bag, but there’s something about being prepared for any situation, my man.” She then produced a couple of square foil packets and a bottle of water. “Lunch?”

“Marry me?” he blurted, unthinking and reached for the water.

Lewis snorted and tossed one of the crinkly packets into his lap. “You know… Thor said the same thing the first time I offered him pop tarts, too.” She continued snickering as she peeled open her own “pop tart” and took a bit into the thin pastry-looking thing. He could see a deep purple filling inside, though the color was bound to be skewed by the glasses he wore.

He chugged down half the bottle and handed her the rest before turning to his own food. Lewis was chewing happily next to him, using the newly found freedom of the glasses to examine the surroundings.

“You’re Sergeant Barnes, right?” she asked finally, nudging him with her elbow.

He nodded, sure his momma was rolling over in her grave back in their home dimension at his lack of manners. “Bucky,” he amended. “And you’re Lewis, Doc Foster’s girl Friday.”

“Darcy,” she corrected, but nodded and grinned at his words, nonetheless. “Well, I don’t know about you, Bucky, but this place is only getting one star from me.”

He glanced at her askew as he took his first bite of the pop tart. The flavor was both familiar and totally alien, much like the rocky ground they were sitting on. Was that strawberry? He wasn’t sure. “Star?” he asked, when she failed to elaborate her meaning.

“You know, like Yelp?”

“What’s a yelp?” The word tickled the back of his brain as it left his mouth.

“Yelp is a website where people can leave reviews and comments on businesses and products,” Darcy explained without a hitch, or without a break in her chewing.

“I see…” he said after swallowing another mouthful of sugary-sweet, but dry pastry thing. “And one star is bad, I take it?”

“Can you doubt it?” Lewis looked aghast as his question, but there was a twinkle in her eye, (the blue one), and a twitch in the corner of one lip. “This place has horrible customer service. The views are spectacular, but the lighting design is brain-splitting, the food is non-existent, and the entertainment package is abysmal!” She reached down and flicked a small oblong clump of fuzzy tendrils between the peaks of two jagged rocks/crystals. After a second to celebrate her makeshift goal making, with large fist pump she moved to open the water bottle and take a swig. “The only thing this place has going for it as an interdimensional vacation location… is the company,” she finished as she nudged him again and grinned shyly at him sideways. “And I’m sure you would have picked somewhere much nicer for our first date, had you been given a choice.”

He choked a little on the words first date, and then laughed when she reached over to pound him unceremoniously on the back.

“How’d you get wrangled into this rescue mission anyway?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“I was the closest. And Foster was in a panic. She didn’t want to wait,” he confessed, knowing any resentment he felt about being wrangled into this situation was long gone. “I’m sorry we had to meet this way, Lewis, but I’m not sorry I got to meet you. I hope all my “interdimensional vacations” are with someone as resourceful and charming as you.”

“Aw shucks,” she said, bowing her head in a bashful feint he couldn’t tell was genuine or not through the colored film on his face. “Likewise, Sarge.”

He finished his meager meal, and she took the crumpled foil from him and tucked it into the open maw of her purse.

“I think our real first date should be somewhere with more stars, though,” he said and watched as she turned to gape at him, mouth full of half chewed purple mush as she failed to formulate a response.

They were both saved by the hum and shimmer of an expanding portal only a few feet to their right.

“Darcy!?” Jane’s voice called, a wavering quality to it that made him question the stability of the link between here and there.

“Time to move.” Bucky hopped to his feet and scooped the poor stunned girl into his arms, bag, lab coat, poptart, water, and all.

Then he stepped through the hole in space, mentally clicking his heels three times and wishing for home.

[taivasmatkapaivakirja]

Ajatuksia Max Lucadon kirjasta Max On Life

God is timeless, unbound by clocks or calendars. And for a time he entered time.

When we accept salvation from Jesus Christ, we all accept the same deal - eternal life with the Savior of our soul. So if someone accepts Christ at ten years old or at the age of eighty-five, lying on his deathbed... what’s the difference? God has the right to give the full amount of salvation to whomever he wants. The time of forgiveness does not matter. Anytime is the best time to receive Christ and the reward of a lifetime.

You cannot be anything you want to be. But you can be everything God wants you to be. God never prefabs or mass-produces people. “I make all things new”, he declares. He didn’t hand you your granddad’s bag or your aunt’s life; he personally and deliberately packed you. Live out of the bag God gave you. 

Jesus is a doorman. He opens and shuts doors all the time, and no one can close what he has opened, and no one can open what he has closed. He stands at doors and knocks. If they are locked, he has a key. If he doesn’t want to use the key, he walks through the walls. But better than being just a doorman, Jesus is the door. So what is Jesus trying to say with all this talk about doors? He controls all gateways and passages from one place to another. Nothing gets past him without his knowing it. Right now Jesus is sorting through that vast key ring, looking for the right door for you. He may have to lock and unlock a few other doors first, but one is sure to open soon. 

We speak of a short life, but comapred to eternity, who has a long one? A person’s days on earth may appear as a drop in the ocean. James was not speaking just to the young when he said: “Your life is like a mist. You can see it for a short time, but then it goes away.” In God’s plan every life is long enough and every death is timely. And though you and I might wish for a longer life, God knows better. And - this is important - though you and I may wish a longer life for our loved ones, they don’t. Ironically, the first to accept God’s decision of death is the one who dies. While we are shaking heads in disbelief, they are lifting hands in worship. While we are mourning at a grave, they are marveling at heaven. While we are questioning God, they are praising God.

Why does grief linger? Because you are dealing with more than memories; you are dealing with unlived tomorrows. You’re not just battling sorrow; you’re battling disappointment. You’re also battling anger. Anger lives in sorrow’s house. Anger at self. Anger at life. But most of all, anger at God. Anger that takes the form of the three-letter question - why? Only God knows the reason behind his actions. Keep giving yourself time. Grieve at your own pace. Am I the only oen who senses that we hurry our hurts? Grief takes time. Give yourself some. 

When we are asleep, our bodies transition into a different state, just like death. Still, motionless, the body lies there, yet the brain keeps working in an altered state of consciousness. In death, consciousness also shifts as the spirit leaves the body behind. The body waits for its own moment at the resurrection when it will be stirred awake by the alarm clock call of the final trumpet and rise anew from its tomb to be reunited with its still-conscious spirit and the Person who conquered death before us all.

God has the last word on death. And, if you listen, he will tell you the truth about your loved ones. They’ve been dismissed from the hospital called Earth. You and I still roam the halls, smell the medicines and eat green beans and Jell-O off plastic trays. They, meanwhile, enjoy picnics, inhale springtime, and run through knee-high flowers. You miss them like crazy, but can you deny the truth? They have no pain, doubt, or struggle. They really are happier in heaven.And won’t you see them soon? Life rushes by at mach speed. “You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man’s life is but a breath.” When you drop off your kids at schoo, do you weep as though you’ll never see them again? No. When you say, “I’ll see yo soon”, you mean it. When you stand in the cemetery and stare down at the soft, freshly turned earth and promise, “I’ll see you soon”, you speak truth. Reunion is a splinter of an eternal moment away.

On this side of the grave, death is so final and so difficult. A time is coming, though, when death will be tossed into the garbage. Revelation says death and the grave will be things of the past and thrown into the incinerator. Yesterday’s news. We won’t think about the concept of death any longer. Do you think about the trash you threw out last week? That’s the way death will be. 

Death does not shorten our lives. It transports us to the next.

When we die and Jesus resurrects our bodies, we will get a bodily trade-in. “He will take these dying bodies of ours and change them into glorious bodies like his own”. This is a promise not of a different make but of a new model. Brand-new. Clean. Stain free. No loose parts. No wear and tear. It will be designed for eternity and run at its optimal capacity. Plus, it comes with a lifetime guarantee.

For all we don’t know about the next life, this much is certain. The day Christ comes will be a day of reward. Those who went unknown on earth will be known in Heaven. Those who never heard the cheers of people will hear the cheers of angels. Look at this promise from the pen of Paul: “God will praise each one of them.”

Didn’t we wonder, ‘Why couldn’t he snap out of this slump, shrug off this case of the blues, buck up and move forward?’ Of course, had the struggle been a physical one, we wouldn’t have asked those questions. Of cancer patients we don’t ask, ‘Why didn’t they get rid of that melanoma?’ We understand the power of cancer. We may not understand the mystery of mental illness. I certainly don’t. But this much I have observed. Depression causes good people to make the wrong choice. Let’s be clear: suicide is the wrong choice. The date of our death is God’s to choose, not ours. He gives life, and he takes it. When people orchestrate their own death, they make the wrong choice. But is the mistake a spiritually fatal one? Do we despair of any hope of their eternal salvation? By no means. For while suicide is the wrong choice, have not we all made wrong choices? And did Christ not come for people like us? God does not measure a person by one decision, nor should we.

Jesus said: “There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.” Those words would seem like a reason for panic. Who of us would like to have our secret thoughts made public? You’re right; no one would. Romans 2:16 is a key verse on this question. Let outa sigh of relief as you underline these three words: “This will take place on the day when God will judge men’s secretsthrough Jesus Christ.” Did you see it? Jesus is the screen through which God looks when he judges our sins. When God looks at those who have believed, he doesn’t see them; he sees the One who surrounds them. That means that failure is not a concern for you. Your victory is secure.

The idea that we all have a second chance, as we sit in the waiting room of spirits, to figure out our lives, to see where we’ve gone wrong, and to work out our problems gives some hope to the grieving. Unfortunately, we find no support for that place in the Bible. Jesus never mentioned purgatory. He talked about only two places in the afterlife - heaven and hell. Nothing in between. On that cross Jesus turned to his newest follower, the thief, and said: “Today you will be with me in paradise”, not, “Today I will see you in purgatory where ou can suffer some more.” The word ‘paradise’ indicates no suffering. Jesus also said: “It is finished”, as he slipped away to death. Was there more to his statement? Did he mean to say: “It is finished... until you go to purgatory and finish the work that I have started”, but got cut off? “It is finished” means it is finished! No more needs to be done. 

While praise and worship dominate the itinerary in heaven, does that mean we sing of God’s love forever? Praise and worship do not always mean singing. In fact, we can praise and worship God by picking fruit and naming animals. That’s what Adam and Eve did. As soon as they rolled off the assembly line, God gave them garden duty. So if God put us on earth to work, is heaven our retirement plan? An eternal cruise basking in the light of the Lord while angels serve us drinks? God made people to serve, and that service does not end when we die. When we arise from the graves, in the new heaven and new earth, it will be our privilege to serve the Lord and others, using our God-given talents, while we explore our passions in heaven, on earth, and, who knows, maybe throughout the universe. Maybe your job in heaven will reflect your job on earth. Maybe you’ll finally discover that long-dormant, hidden passion you were unable to explore on earth so that you get to enjoy it in heaven. God gas expansion plans in the future. Eternity is filled with increase - unexplored regions, expanding horizons, infinite colors, unending playlists. Maybe God keeps creating and we keep enjoying. We were made to work, and we were made to worship. Put them together, and you have your eternal itinerary in heaven.

In heaven we will all be changed, in a twinkling of an eye. In that moment our bodies, upgraded for eternity, will reunite with our spirits. In that spirit we find our heart, soul, and mind, the essence of what makes us who we are. Will we be exactly the same as we were on earth? I hope not. We will be better. Gone from our personality will be the evil and filth. Gone will be all the hurt that shaped our outlook on life, all the disease that kept us from hope. You will be at your best, forever! And you’ll enjoy all the other people in their prime!

‘To be honest, heaven does not excite me - this idea of clouds and harps and endless singing. What am I missing?’ You are missing a big point about heaven. Forget the cherubs and disembodied spirits. Heaven will be this world at its best. God has not forgotten Eden. All of nature looks toward delivery. Safe within her womb is the soon-to-be-born cosmos. Why would God abandon his planet? He never renounced his work. Quite the opposite. He pledged to restore it. Why would God give you such love for this earth if he only intends to destroy it? The woodland glade. The breath-stealing oak. The stars that dance like dew-drops in the sky. Why does he give us a love for his creation? He dagles a Yosemite waterfall or Caribbean coast in our direction and says: “This is just a sample of what awaits you. The best of this world is a postcard of the next.” Let the glory of this life whet your appetite for the next. The universe is a pregnant creation. But she will give birth... and when se does, God will be one proud Father.