#i always imagine her being such a dignified and graceful presence but god it's hard to capture that vibe in the way i envisioned

[viridian-house]

wanted to sketch a scene from the upcoming chapter of my madasaku fic wandering, but I'll confess I'm a bit of a multimada shipper (as much as I am with sakura lol) and ended up a lil off script...

(don't worry, no surprise ships in the fic itself!! just couldn't resist adding some angst to the painting 💅)

[donutloverxo]

First night

This is for nastybuckybarnes' au challenge. I hope you like it babe.

Run through - You're nervous to consummate your marriage with your new husband.

Warnings - medieval au, smut, heavy dub con, innocent/inexpericened reader, loss of virginity, light breeding kink. Read responsibly.

Pairing - King!Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - almost 3k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You bit your lip getting up from the bed, thinking of maybe pacing around the chambers to help your restlessness. You looked at the pot of red wine right next to the fruit basket. You could have one, that would help with your nerves. But you were afraid you wouldn’t handle the alcohol well and make a fool of yourself in front of the king.

You looked at the crisp white cloth laid on the bed. Maybe you should lay down? That’s what your mother had told you.

“Just lay down and let your king do the job. Don’t move for a while after it’s done, or you won’t be able to conceive. If it hurts too much just think of something else”

Her words didn’t make things easier for you. But then you had heard good things about it from your friends. You really didn’t know what to believe. You hoped that you would meet a boy, fall in love and get married. Perhaps knowing a person helps with the coupling? Not that you need to know Steven anymore than you already do. He is your husband now. He could do whatever he wants with you.

When you were told you were to be married to him. You were as scared as you were happy. You didn’t know the first thing about marriage or men. But you had heard of king Stevens bravery and kindness, along with tales of his ethereal beauty. They said that he was carved out by gods themselves. You fell in love as soon as you saw his portrait. His rugged jaw covered with a thick beard, his long locks sweeped back, his broad shoulders and alert stance, akin to that of a soilder.

You couldn’t believe you were to be the queen. Being the youngest of three sisters you would never have had such an opportunity. But both your older sisters were married off. One to a prestigious Lord and another to a king of a small kingdom. You did feel a tinge of pride when they were so jealous of you. Of the power you were to have as a queen and of your beautiful and brave future husband.

Power. Something that scared you the most. Sure being a queen was glamourous. But what if you let your new kingdom and people down. What if you let your king down?

You had never met him before the wedding. When your face was unveiled, and you looked at his face and him up close you were taken aback. Of just how much more handsome he looked in reality. That portrait did him no justice.

You couldn’t tell if he found you satisfactory at all. His face was set in an unreadable expression. Was he pleased or disappointed with you? He barely spoke two words to you the entire ceremony and feast. You cringed as you recalled your first dance. How even after so many lessons you kept stepping on his feet, while he kept moving gracefully. You imagined him moving with the same grace on the battlefield.

You wanted to please him. To be enough for him. You knew men seeked pleasure from other women if they found their wives unsatisfactory. You didn’t think you could stand it if he did something like that. In a moment of desperation you asked your newly assigned handmaiden for some help on how to please a man. She, of course was embarrassed and refused to give you a clear answer. They would probably gossip about you now. No. You can’t think about that. Not right now.

You straightened your back to sit up straight as you heard the doors being opened. You let out the breathe you didn’t even know you were holding as you looked at him. With his white shirt, which gave you a generous view of his chest and the thin hair splattered over it and his dark pants, he looked much different without his informal attire. He stared you down but didn’t really acknowledged your presence as he made his way over to the wine.

Before he could pour a glass you quickly made your way over to him, fetching the glass from the table. “Allow me, my king” you gave him a nervous smile. It was probably a bad idea since you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking. You cringed as you splashed a few drops out of the glass.

He only shook his head making a sound of disapproval, grabbing the pot from you he poured the glass full handing it to you. “You might need it more than me”

“Oh well... thank you...” You took it from him. Too scared to refuse him. To tell him you absolutely hated the foul taste of wine. You tried your best to keep a straight face as you swallowed the liquid. You chugged the glass down setting it on the table. You could feel it taking effect in your limbs as you felt your whole body loosen up.

“Have you been with other men before?” he asked walking over to the bed.

You were floored by his question. They had sent a doctor to make sure you had never been touched before. Which you weren’t. He knew the answer. But then why was he asking. “I won’t dignify that with an answer” You huffed. He was getting some kind of sick pleasure from your humiliation. You wouldn’t have him make fun of you.

“Oh?” He smirked in amusement at your boldness. He felt his cock stir in his pants at your defiance. A stark contrast to what he perceived you as.

He never really cared much for marriage. Always thinking that he would find the right woman along the way. Sure he indulged in some courtesans here and there but he held back. Not wanting any bastard children. He knew how doomed their fate was just like his half brother James.

He wished for a strong woman, capable and worthy of being a queen. But he learned that you didn’t even know how to ride a horse. You were nothing more than a spoilt sheltered princess. But he agreed to the marriage, for his kingdom and his duty.

He could make it work. As long as you give him a few sons the marriage wouldn’t be an utter failure. He could learn to bear you or even care for you a bit.

But then he looked at you face, your hair and gown all made up, you were the prettiest bride he had ever seen. His bride. He couldn’t help but be proud you were going to be his.

And now that he could see you and your plump figure through the thin petticoat, he couldn’t wait to tear it off and to find out if you were just as curvy underneath. “Come here” He smirked as you instantly followed standing in front of him, your fingers fidgeting with your gown. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he knew you hadn’t. But he needed to hear it from you. He would be proud to be your first in everything.

You shook your head staring at the floor. You looked so small and helpless in front of him. It was a dilemma. Because it made him protective of you but at the same time want to do devious things to you. He thought about how he could take you. Of course he’d get to have you every way and anyway he wanted, you were his wife and his future queen, but he needed the first time to be memorable. “What was that?”

“No. I haven’t, your grace” You spat almost spitefully.

He chuckled at that, staring at your lips, he bent down to capture them and have a taste. He felt you go stiff when his lips touched yours, as soft as rose petals and oh so sweet. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you into him by pulling at your waist. He threw you on the bed, over the white sheet.

You stayed there panting, your kiss swollen lips, your nipples that turned into stiff peaks he groaned just at the sight of them. You were looking at him as if you were afraid of him, maybe you should be. He climbed onto the bed and settled between your legs. He pushed the helm of your petticoat up until it revealed your smooth soft legs and thick thighs to him.

“Oh! Wha –“ you stammered as he nipped at the inside of your thigh, slowing moving towards your core. He could smell your arousal. He couldn’t wait to dig his face in it and taste it. Find out if it was as sweet as you were. He wasn’t a patient man but for now he would wait. You were a fine woman. One who should be enjoyed at the fullest. So he would take his time, even if his cock was aching to be inside you.

He was trying to get the gown off of you with no help from you it was turning out to be quite a task. Fuck it to being patient. He tore the collar of your gown, ripping the whole thing off. He quickly threw the shred of cloth away and tossed it away.

He stared you down. You were sniffling as tears of shame escaped your eyes, your hands pathetically trying to cover your chest. You made yourself small trying to curl in on yourself ,but with him sitting between your legs, didn’t leave you much room to move.

He took your wrists in his hands pushing them down besides your head and he bend down to lick the salty tear off your cheek. He pressed a small kiss to your cheek before squeezing your wrists. “Keep them here. I’m your husband, you don’t hide from me” He stated as he pulled back up to admire your nude body. You gulped down as you moved your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him, but you didn’t dare move your hands or cover yourself.

He pressed a thumb over your hard nipple pulling on the nub as you gasped and tried so hard to contain those your moans, but he heard them. He licked the peak before sucking it into his mouth placing soft kisses over your breasts as you kept whining and shivering under him.

He kissed down your stomach finally looking at your heat between your legs. He had never been as awestruck as he was in that moment. He took in a deep breathe to get a whiff of your arousal.

“My king?” you hesitated sitting up on your elbows looking down at him between your legs “ what are you doing?” you panicked. Surely he wouldn’t.... “Oh!” You cried out loud as you felt him lick a stripe up your folds. You sat up pushing at his head “This isn’t how it’s done” you tried to argue. Although you weren’t sure, no one told you about this. What was he even doing?

You fell back on the mattress as he pushed his palm down on your chest “Stay” He commanded. You had no choice but to lay back. You stared at the rose garlands painted on the ceiling, trying to distract yourself, as he licked and sucked at you. You really did try to hold in the noises your body was so desperate to let out. But you couldn’t not when you were feeling so strange yet so good.

You whimpered as he wrapped his mouth around your bundle of nerves sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue over it. Maybe he was doing it to make you feel good but it felt more like a sweet torture. You felt as if you were on the edge of something about to crash and burn. But then, your world came to a screeching halt as you felt him push a finger into your channel. You clenched around the alien object, the invasion felt so strange you didn’t know what to make of it.

“Fuck you’re tight” you would’ve been upset at his foul language and his use of the forbidden word but what he was doing was much more sinful than that. You couldn’t think of anything but his mouth and his tongue on you, his finger inside you. You moaned as he pushed another finger inside you pulling them out only to quickly push them back in. “Don’t know how I will last” He groaned curling his long digits inside you as you screamed at the top of your longs.

It was as if everything came crashing down on you. The feeling was incomparable. Unlike anything you had ever felt before. Your skin was on fire as your muscles spasmed.

You could vaguely hear him undress as you looked at him through your hooded eyes. His pupils blown wide, his cock standing up straight against his hard stomach. You could see the faint scars littered across his body, proof of his many battles.

You were expecting him to do the deed, make love to you and truly make you his wife. But he pulled you up to sit on your bum, your eyes staring straight at his cock. “You gonna return the favor princess?” He asked his voice was much deeper and his tone more gruff. “Taste it” He said pushing the head of his cock against your lips.

You weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to do. So you simply opened your mouth as he pushed himself in. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat, your spit dripping down your chin. He tasted salty and musky. You felt as if you’d cry again, of being naked and in such a compromising position. All the while he was so composed and graceful.

He held onto your face pulling his cock out of your mouth but before you could breathe out in relief he slammed back in again. You couldn’t fit all of him, he was too big. He thrusted a few times before pulling out of your mouth completely. You coughed and gasped for air, cleaning up his spend and your spit with the back of your hand.

“Can’t cum in your mouth” He groaned pushing you to lay down he hovered above you. You felt him rub his tip against your folds.

“Wh – what if it doesn’t fit?” you asked nervous again. You had never seen a naked man before, but he looked big. At least right now, he was looking at your face instead of your naked body.

“Just loosen up” You followed his advice as you held onto his thick arms. You winced in pain as you felt the pinch of him entering your weeping channel. You moved your head away biting your lip to contain your screams.

“Look at me” he demanded grabbing your chin “look at your king” You reluctantly opened your eyes staring at him. He was so beautiful. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his thick beard, just a shade darker than his golden blonde hair. You wailed throwing your head back as he pushed into you completely seething himself.

“Shh” he hushed you as he snaked a hand between your bodies striking your clit to distract you. “It’ll feel better soon” He promised. As he let you get accustomed to his length. The fact that he was much larger than most men and that you were a virgin wasn’t lost on him. He would have to restrain himself. Which seemed impossible at the moment. Your walls so snug and tight, clenching around him, he would cum right this second.

He pulled out of you before slowly pushing himself back in. He set a steady pace as your cries slowly turned into moans. You clawed at his back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He was only spurred on by your little mewls and hot puffs of air against his ear.

You cried out again thrashing and squirming under him another wave of pleasure crashing into you. He grunts as he felt you clench around him, milking him for all he’s worth. He snapped his hips against yours a couple of times cuming deep in your womb.

He laid on top of you, catching his breathe. He pulled the white sheet from under you and used it to clean you between your legs. You jerked as the cloth touched your sensitive skin. He cleaned his cock and went outside his chambers to hang the sheets up.

When he returned you were about to get up and put on whatever you could salvage out of your torn nightgown. “Lay back down” He demanded fed up “you have to give me a son” he reminded you pushing you into the mattress. Just how many times would he have to tell you before you would understand. He’ll have to work on a way to make you listen. That’s alright though, he had all the time in the world.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you wanna join the taglist lemme know or click on the link in the bio. divider by @writeyourmindaway

Ima go soak in holy water for like ten hours to wash off these sins🥵🥵 this is as dark as I'm gonna go lol. Who knows maybe there will be a part two 👀

[bibleteachingbyolga]

You shall not commit adultery. (Exodus 20:14)

The Ten Commandments are rules, but they are not arbitrary, man-made rules. God’s Ten Commandments are big, bold, bright signs guiding us away from the regions of darkness and death, and toward the upland plains of light and life in Christ.

The problem is, in our sin, we hate being told what to do. We think we know better. We look at temptations that cannot make our lives better, and we think, “That would make my life better.” The Ten Commandments point toward Sodom and Gomorrah and warn us, “You don’t want to go there.” Yet we look over at that barren wasteland and think, “That must be our garden of Eden.” And off we go.

This is true of us both as individuals and as the human race. It’s not as though, as the generations of history go by, the hard lessons of the past open our eyes more and more, and make us all wiser. The truth is, we keep stepping on the same landmines over and over again. Every generation tends to think, “The people before us were primitive. We’re smarter now.” Which proves we’re not smarter now. The Bible bluntly declares, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9). Obviously, we still don’t.

So, let’s look at the Ten Commandments with some openness. God wants to help us, by his grace, to die less and live more. Here then is the seventh commandment, “You shall not commit adultery,” with three ways the commandment meets us.

1. The seventh commandment redefines sexual freedom.

The seventh commandment isn’t limited to adultery in a narrow sense — the violation of marriage vows. It’s about sexual integrity within a total way of being human. In their biblical context, all the Ten Commandments together dignify the people of God as the “treasured possession” of the Lord, “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:5–6). In Christ, our God-given privilege is to be a culture of humaneness in a world of brutality, for the display of his glory.

God considers our sexuality a glorious gift. But this one bestowment cannot be the whole of our identity. God has been so good as to honor us with his all-encompassing purpose. Our sexuality, therefore, finds its fulfillment not in our momentary impulses but within all that God created us for: “the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13).

Not many of us believe that anymore! The “truth” discovered by our generation is that freedom lies in remaking ourselves, including our sexuality, in any way we please. In the past — the story goes — we were held down by oppressive ideas of morality. But now we are finally breaking free, allowing our true innocence within, our creative individuality, to be expressed.

That message can sound good. But what if we choose an altered self only then to discover that both our original self and our altered self were dishonest? What if we make costly personal sacrifices to modify our sexuality, only to end up feeling betrayed? Did that “freedom” take us where we really want to go?

Real Sexual Freedom

Jesus understood us better than we understand ourselves. He said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him” (Mark 7:20). In other words, our inner selves are not bundles of wonderfulness just waiting to be let out. The truth is, our messy inner selves, when unleashed, spread more mess. It’s what Jesus came to forgive and clean up.

Real sexual freedom is not when we give free rein to our sexual feelings, but when we follow Jesus on his path of wisdom. He created us for purposes so lofty only he can take us there. The seventh commandment alerts us to the sexual dimension of our true glory.

And the New Testament tells us more. We are sexual beings, ultimately, to embody the gospel (Ephesians 5:32). But if we refuse to offer our sexuality to Jesus, we trivialize and abuse his gift. It’s like using a smartphone to hammer nails. That just isn’t what a smartphone is for, no matter what we might feel. Hammering nails can only damage a smartphone. And haven’t we all done some damage?

But when we turn to follow Jesus, dedicating all that we are to him, we start growing into a more settled, confident, careful sexuality, with fewer regrets. How could it be otherwise? Jesus was sexual. He obeyed the seventh commandment fully. And he was the most complete, life-giving man ever. Isn’t that the freedom we want? Aren’t we always better off following him?

2. The seventh commandment redirects sexual energy.

By confronting adultery, God blesses our sexual activity within marriage only. Elsewhere in the Bible, God makes his point with a question: “Should your springs be scattered abroad, streams of water in the streets?” (Proverbs 5:16). In other words, “Do you really want to squander and waste your sexuality?”

The seventh commandment redirects and focuses our sexual energy as a positive force for living well, whether married or single. All of us, for Jesus’s sake, can consecrate every kind of intensity God built into us to serve his purposes in this world. We have intellectual powers, emotional capacities, volitional drives, creative imaginations, sexual energies, and more.

We are total human beings, with a lot invested in us. And we will give ourselves to something. If not to Jesus, then to what? And why that? But devoted to Jesus, seeking his kingdom and righteousness first (Matthew 6:33), our scattered lives converge on a worthy, inspiring focal point. We’re finally ready to start creating good in a sinful and suffering world.

For example, rather than merely avoiding porn, why not use all our powers to create, in our dorms and homes and churches, safe places where people addicted to porn can get their freedom back? We can stop playing defense only and start playing offense too. God will be with us. Why not go for it?

3. The seventh commandment redeems sexual folly.

The seventh commandment calls us to faithfulness. One reason we married people took vows is that temptations to unfaithfulness do come our way. But marriage vows are a man and a woman saying, “Before that moment even arrives, I am pre-committing to stay true to you, as long as we both shall live.”

But do we stay true to our vows? Outwardly, maybe — even hopefully. But if outward behavior alone told the truth about us, we might pat ourselves on the back. Jesus said, “I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28). Who of us has stayed true at that deeper level?

The seventh commandment redeems us sexual fools by pointing us to Jesus, who is faithful. He fulfills his vows. He stays true. He pursues his bride, even when we wander from him. He says to us, “I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord” (Hosea 2:19–20). He doesn’t despise us sexual sinners. He draws near to us through Christ.

Every one of us can admit to thoughts, feelings, looks, words, and actions that violate — and vandalize — the glories of our God-given sexuality. But our sins do not defeat our Savior. They are the reason he came to us, and he isn’t sorry he got involved. He is glad to receive us again and to revive us with “newness of life” (Romans 6:4). And your newly redeemed sexuality isn’t thanks to your faithfulness but to his. “The Lord is faithful. He will establish you” (2 Thessalonians 3:3).

Sexual Safety for Others

When, trusting him, we step onto the path of Christ and walk there — daily, gently, without drawing attention to ourselves — then something wonderful happens. The seventh commandment within us creates a social environment around us, where no one in our presence has anything to fear. Everyone can relax, open up to Jesus, and grow and rejoice and flourish without distraction or pressure or weirdness.

That’s what it looks like when we become “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” — including our sexuality.

[hiraeth-doux]

This one is so funny ahaha ❤️ It’s bloody Valentine’s Day and there is a discount in the cafe for a couple and I don’t have enough money and oh hey you are single too so let’s pretend we are a couple and get this fucking discount I am bloody starving”

A slightly belated Valentine’s Day prompt because I think I promised to post something. Most of the stuff I shared recently was from a while back, so this is the first piece I wrote this year and I hope it turned out okay. 

AO3

There wasnothing more pathetic than getting dumped on Valentine’s Day, and if there was,Claire couldn’t quite think of what it might possibly be. Not on the spot.Sure, getting kicked to the curb a day after prom when she was 17 wasn’t anymore fun, but at least the guy she was going out with back then had enoughsense to wait until the morning and not ruin the night for her.

Not thatEthan From Marketing – somehow, it was always Ethan From Marketing and neverjust Ethan even in her head, which probably should’ve been a red flag that sheblissfully chose to ignore – actually dumped her. This was supposed to be theirsecond date, which hardly counted as a relationship. However, the worst partwas that once she got through about 50 layers of pity, doubt, and self-loathingafter he sheepishly suggested that it probably wasn’t going to work out andthen scrambled away, leaving her alone to process his words, Claire realizedthat she was more relieved and maybe a little inconvenienced than upset aboutthis particular turn of events. As great she looked in these three-inch heelsand the skirt that hugged her body nicely in all the right places, they hadnothing on her ratty sweatpants and a glass of Merlot she could be enjoying onher couch right now. And that, she decided, was more than just a red flag – itwas a fucking red banner the size of Texas.

She took asip of her Daiquiri – because to hell with the diet, she deserved a treat – andput the glass back on the coaster, her reflection in a perfectly polishedcountertop pensive and a little detached.

Still, didhe have to do it on Valentine’s Day?!Couldn’t he have done it yesterday, or tomorrow? Not that she cared about thisnonsense of a holiday designed to make the ‘unattached’ people feel like crap,but there probably was some kind of etiquette. There had to be.

She took asubtle look around, noticing pink heart-shaped decorations, hanging everywhereand the quiet music that was meant to set a romantic mood for the rest of theclientele, sitting in twos at the tables and tried to ignore the fact that shewas the only person nursing a drink alone at the bar. Thank God she had enoughsense to take this joke of a date to the mainland where the employees of thepark couldn’t—

“Well,well, as I live and breathe!”

Startled, Clairesnapped her head up, recognizing the lazy drawl instantly, but refusing tobelieve that she could get this royally screwed twice in one night. Please, dear God, no! Not today!

No luck.

One eyebrowarched, his mouth curved into a smug, lopsided grin, and the top buttons of hisdark blue shirt undone, revealing just enough skin to make every waitressnotice him instantly, Owen Grady was making his way toward her, unmistakableeven in the dim light of the candles sitting on every table that provided justenough illumination for the patrons not to trip over one another.

Her stomachclenched – mostly with humiliation of being discovered by the one person shepositively didn’t want to deal with, but also because of the whole ‘why doesthis man look like a Greek god carved out of a piece of granite, all perfectangles and right lines?’ thing that kept setting Claire’s teeth on edge ever sincetheir date went straight to hell several months ago, but her mind apparentlydidn’t get the memo.

She glaredat him and turned away. Brought the glass up to her lips again, barelyresisting the urge to finish her drink in one gulp and ask for more. Always alight-weight drinker, she was already starting to feel a pleasant hum in herhead and the warmth spreading over her body, and for once, it didn’t seem likea bad idea to revel in the sensation, let it go.

“Go away,”she said flatly when Owen approached her, not seeing him as much as noticinghis presence next to her, the warmth of his body and the smell of hisaftershave that wrapped around her like a cloud, happy that she avoided fallingoff the damned barstool, which would definitely be a cherry on top of heralready crappy evening.

Owenignored her comment. He leaned against the counter and gave her a pointedonce-over, taking in her low-cut top and a teardrop pendant nestled in hercleavage, and not at all subtle about it.

Sheresisted the urge to throw the rest of her drink in his face. Somehow, Clairefound the idea of him being here alone highly implausible, which made her feellike an even bigger loser. Not that it was a competition, but with him, italways felt that way.

“Why don’tyou go back to your company… that probably gets paid by an hour?” She suggestedsnidely.

He snorted.“You think I need to pay anyone to spend the time with me?”

“It’s hardto imagine anyone doing it for free,” she deadpanned, turning to him.

“You did,”he piped up.

“And I’llnever get those two hours of my life back,” Claire retorted without missing abeat.

Owenhummed. Touché.  

He raisedhis hands. “How about a truce? For one night.”

Claire’seyes narrowed suspiciously and she regarded him skeptically, as if trying tosee behind the ever-present cheerful veneer, all easy smiles and complete lackof subtlety. And yet, despite all that, the man was impossible to read. Withouteven trying, he somehow managed to never take off the mask Claire knew wasn’tthe real him, if only because of those flashes behind his eyes that gave awaysomething she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A vulnerability of sorts thatdrew her to him in the first place. The very one that slipped in every time hetalked about work, or when he didn’t know she was looking at him.

Of course,he then went and ruined everything, but that was another story.

Meanwhile,oblivious to her thoughts, Owen jerked his chin toward the poster behind hisback that advertised two pieces of cake for the price of one, a couple’sdiscount and all that, a cheesy lure that apparently managed to fill most ofthe place tonight.

Shefrowned. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Notreally.” He pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and made ashow out of going through its contents. “I’m hungry and low on cash.” Shruggedand peered at her expectantly. “What’d you say?”

Clairereached for her clutch purse, resting on the counter next to her glass. “I’dsay I’m out of here.” She slid off her barstool and dropped a few banknotes onthe polished surface.

Owensmirked. Shook his head. She wondered how he managed to look so in his elementin any situation – practically one of the animals in the paddock, a heart ofevery company outside of work, not even remotely as pathetic as she thought shewas in this place full of happy couples, enjoying each other’s company.

“Relax,Claire,” his voice was like honey, barely audible and yet impossible not tohear even over the music. “It’s just a cake. I��m not asking you to marry me.”

She pursedher lips together into a thin line, torn between storming out and giving himthe satisfaction of knowing that he managed to make her uncomfortable and getunder her skin again, and staying here and, well, actually feelinguncomfortable and maybe more than a little irritated. Mostly at herself.

“Verywell.” She gave him a measured look, similar to the one that he graced her withearlier, and allowed her lips to curve into smile that didn’t touch her eyes.“Bring on the cake.”

—

“Oh, god,” Clairemoaned quietly when the first bite landed on her tongue, and even closed hereyes, savoring the sweetness.

A triplechocolate goodness adorned with chocolate-dipped strawberries and served withvanilla ice-cream. It tasted so good she thought she might die. Or maybe shealready did and this was heaven. The only problem with that theory was thepresence on Owen Grady not two feet away from her. Unless she went to hellinstead and he was her punishment. Which would actually explain a lot. Thiswhole night, for instance.

“Should Ileave you two alone?” Owen asked around a mouthful of his own treat from acrossthe table where they relocated from the bar.

“Shut up,”she mumbled mildly.

When wasthe last time she had a cheat day? Right, 275 days ago, but who was counting?She could probably marry this goddamn cake right now and have her own happilyever after. Jesus, no wonder all those people sitting around them looked soblissful – they were so high of sugar they probably didn’t even know where theywere or what was going on. She knew shewas close to feeling that way, although that could also be because of that thirdDaiquiri she ordered when Owen asked for a double scotch.

Wonderful.She was getting drunk with Owen Grady. On Valentine’s Day. Okay, maybe notdrunk, but it was still a whole new low for her regardless. Thankfully, thecake was making up for it.  

“What?” Clairedemanded a little more tersely than she intended when she caught Owen watchingher, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth, which was downright insane for a manwho’d never let anything get between him and the food for as long as she knewhim.

“Nothing,”he shook his head, amused. “You were smiling.”

“I wasnot,” she protested.

“You were,too,” he singsonged, chewing with gusto, and waggled his eyebrows at her.Claire did not dignify that with ananswer. “So, who was it?” Owen asked.

“Who waswhat?”

“Who stoodyou up?”

Her mouthdropped. “What makes you think I was stood up?”

He gave hera Really? Are we doing this? look. “Comeon, Claire, even someone like you wouldn’t be drinking alone on Valentine’s Dayat a hotel bar a ferry ride away from a handful of better bars for no reason.”

Shespluttered for a moment, her hackles standing on end at the implication.“Excuse me? Someone like me? What’sthat supposed to mean?”  

He scoopedthe ice-cream onto his fork, mixing it with a piece of cake and took his sweettime to savour it, her eyes never leaving hers. “I’m talking about the whole ‘Idon’t need no people in my life’ crap you’re so into.”

“Says theman who lacks basic manners,” she rolled her eyes.

“At leastI’m not in denial about it,” Owen beamed at her.

Sheregarded him darkly. “I think the real question is – what are you doing here,Mr. Grady?”

He pointeddown at his plate. The at the poster. Then reminded her, “Owen.”

“Not that,”she scoffed and gestured vaguely around the bar. “Here.”

“Oh,there’s a party,” he waved dismissively toward the back patio. “It got boring.”A shrug. “Seriously, come on, who was it? Eric from Business Strategies or Darrenfrom Accounting? No, wait! Alex from Wu’s team. Gotta be him. Am I right?”

Claireplucked a plump strawberry off the top of her dessert and took a bite, notoblivious to how he nearly choked at the sight of it, feeling significantlybetter about herself by the second. “Why would you think it’s either of them?”

Owenswallowed hard and tore his eyes away from her lips, as red as the strawberry,and took a sip of his drink, more to have something to focus on that wasn’t hermouth than anything else. “They’re obnoxious assholes,” he explained. “Thoughtthey might be your type.”

“You’dknow,” she hummed. “I went out with you, after all.”

His eyebrowquirked curiously. “I thought you were pretending it never happened orsomething. Blocking the whole thing out, maybe.”

“I am.” Sheconfirmed. “You do make a nice cautionary tale, though. To remind me not tomake the same mistake twice.”

And thereit was again – a flicker of something in his gaze. Not quite hurt, she decided,caught off-guard and overcome with guilt all of a sudden. Of regret, perhaps.Alas, it was gone before she was even sure she saw anything at all.

Owen letout a short laugh. “Glad to be of service. And for what it’s worth, he’s amoron.”

“No onestood me up. Do we have to talk about it?”

“Okay, noone stood you up. Then where–” He cut off, his smile slipping. “He didn’t…”

“You knowwhat?” Claire pushed her half-finished cake away and stood up, the legs of herchair scraping on the floor and making a few heads turn their way. “This wasfun, but I have to…” She trailed off and cleared her throat, refusing to lookat him because there was only so much humiliation she could handle in a span ofa few hours. Her throat tightened, a hot lump lodged in it making her eyessting.  Trading mocking comments was onething – like playing ping-pong, back and forth, back and forth, to make surethey still got it. Dealing with his pity, on the other hand, was not somethingshe could bear.

“Shit,” sheheard Owen curse behind her back as she made a beeline for the foyer, past thehotel patrons and the personnel, past the bellboys and the sounds of music andlaughter, drifting in from the pool, and toward the doors leading outside.Shouldn’t have had that third drink, she was thinking now, her head light andweightless, like it was going to detach itself from her neck and float into thenight sky. “Claire, wait!”

He was rightbehind her, but the sound of his voice only propelled Claire forward, her heelsclucking on the cobbled street, echoing in the night, carrying her toward thedock. If she was lucky, she wasn’t late for the last ferry to the island yetbecause there was no way in hell she was staying here. She’d swim, if she hadto.  

“Just… waita sec.” Owen trudged up to her, easily matching her pace stride for stride.“Look, you’re upset–”

“No shit,Sherlock,” she muttered under her breath, and winced, never a fan of harshlanguage. Gripped her purse tight and took an unsteady breath, remindingherself to ignore him. Ignore the whole world, for that matter. She would wakeup tomorrow, and everything would shift back into place, and she would forgetthis night ever happened. Owen Grady and his jokes… “Leave me alone, Owen. Goback to—whatever it was you were doing there.” Tired, she was pointedly keepingher eyes starlight ahead – mostly to avoid tripping on the uneven sidewalk andspraining her ankles, but also because the idea of seeing what she keptglimpsing on his face was almost painful for the reasons she couldn’t quiteplace.

He didn’t.Instead, hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, he followed her silently asif it was the plan all along, steering Claire into one of the side alleys thatdid, in fact, was a shortcut that saved them at least 10 minutes, and boardedthe half-empty ferry with her.

The buzz inClaire’s head intensified, and she climbed onto the top deck, holding tightonto the railing as she walked lest she fall into the black water, churningbelow. The wind was chilly up there, tugging at her hair and whipping it in herface, her skin prickling with goosebumps. She inhaled deeply, breathing in therich scent of jungle and the ocean, allowing it to envelop it like a blanket,very much aware of Owen’s presence and half-temped to remind him he didn’t haveto escort her home, but not having it in her to bother.

“I’msorry,” he broke the silence after a while. Leaning against the railing next toher, he was watching the lights of the park grow closer and brighter, his voicemuffled by the wind. “It was none of my business and I… um, I ruined yournight, and…”

“Yeah,because it was going so great before you showed up,” Claire murmured, tuckingher hair behind her ear. “Ethan. It was Ethan.”

Owen’s earsperked up and he turned to her, studying the outline of her profile, paleagainst the blackness of the sky that was pouring into the sea until hecouldn’t tell where one ended and another began.

“A dudefrom Marketing? That Ethan?” He asked and cleared his throat. “Well, I hate torain on anyone’s parade, but it’s probably for the best. Doubt his wifewould’ve approved of you.” Claire whipped her head around, and he addedquickly, “It’s not about you, I swear. It’s just the marriage thing.”

“Oh, mygod,” she groaned and dropped her face into her hands, squeezing her eyes shut.“What is wrong with me? Why am I such an asshole-magnet?”

“I’ll trynot to take it personally,” he noted. His hands handed on her shoulders and heturned her to him, pulled her hands down and framed her face with his fingersuntil she was looking at him, her breathing shallow and warm on his skin.“You’re not an asshole-magnet, Claire.” He ran his thumb over her cheekbone. “You’resmart, and funny, and brilliant, and this particular asshole is very sorry hescrewed it up.” Her eyes were huge and bottomless, and the corner of his mouthcurled up as he stepped closer to her until there was no air left between them.“And just so you know – everyone from Marketing are jerks.”

Clairebunched a handful of his shirt in her fingers and pulled him down to her, hermouth crashing against his.

Theystarted kissing and didn’t stop, hungry lips and wandering hands and anundercurrent of burning desire right beneath the surface. Claire’s tongueslipped into his mouth and a low groan formed in the back of his throat, hispalm hiking up her skirt, inching toward her hip, rough and calloused againsther silky skin. She tasted of chocolate and warmth and Claire, her hands running through his hair, gripping it tight inher fists, and it was almost too much. She nipped at his bottom lip, pressingherself closer to him, warm and real, and so much more than he ever imaginedshe’d be.

“Take mehome with you,” Claire whispered when they found themselves on the solid groundagain, no longer swaying with the ferry, although neither remembered how ithappened, how the dock emptied and there was no but them in the dim light of alone streetlamp, surrounded by the whisper of the waves.

“You’redrunk,” Owen told her, making no attempt to step back, though, his handsflexing ever so slightly on her sides, each movement matching his raggedbreathing.

“Not thatdrunk,” she promised, pulling up to kiss him again.

—

Claire wokeup to the bright sun beaming in her face, which was wrong on so, so manylevels, if only because her bedroom was west-facing, and a loud pounding on thedoor somewhere close to her. She groaned and buried her face deeper into thepillow, squeezing her eyes shut, and it was only then that it finally occurredto her that the pounding was not coming from the outside but was rather araging headache, booming inside her skull.

Grimacing,she reached for her face and rubbed the corners of her eyes, very aware all ofa sudden of several things – this was not her bed. Aside from the windowmagically moving itself to the wall where it didn’t belong, she could attest tonot owning a Winter Fresh fabric softener that the pillowcases smelled of. Inaddition to aforementioned headache, she could also feel a wire from her bradigging rather uncomfortably in her skin, which meant that somewhere along theway she broke her rule about not sleeping in her underwear. And if that wasn’t confusingenough, she could hear someone humming an off-key tune somewhere… wherever shewas.

Claireopened her eyes, squinting in the glare, streaming through the thin lacecurtains and looked around, taking note of a large wardrobe in the corner and adresser opposite the bed, a few books stacked on the top of it. The door to theright from her was half-open and she could see a two-seater couch and a coffeetable, a patch rug on the floor and a pair of boots. Her own clothes from theprevious night were folded and sitting on the chair next to the bed and—

Her eyesflew open and she tossed aside and blanket, momentarily horrified, and thenimmensely relieved to find out that she was wearing an oversized shirt on topof her underwear, a faded logo on which depicted some music band she couldn’tquite make out from this angle.

And then itfinally clicked – her disastrous date with Ethan from Marketing, three glassesof Daiquiri on a practically empty stomach, Owen Grady.

Owen Grady.

Shit!

Clairescrambled out of the bed and peeked out of the room, her nose twitching at thesmell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen and her stomach clenching uncomfortably.For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was going to get sick, or if maybe herhead would explode first because her skull was suddenly too small for her brainthat apparently was trying to get out.

Thepolished hardwood floor was warm under the bare soles of her feet when shefinally mustered the courage to step into the living room and a take a cursorylook around what turned out being Owen’s small bungalow that, much to Claire’ssurprise, was cleaner and much more in order than she would have expected.Under other circumstances, she would most likely take her time to appreciate itproperly. Right now, however, she desperately needed to fill in the black gapsin her memory that bothered her to such a degree she was almosthyperventilating.

Dressed in loosesweatpants and a grey sleeveless shirt, Owen was rummaging through one of thecupboards in his tiny kitchen. He turned around and stopped humming the momenthe noticed her out of the corner of his eye, and offered Claire a smile sobright it made the sun seem like a 20W lightbulb by comparison.

“Morning,sunshine!”

Clairewinced, her headache pulsing behind her eyes. There was a reason she didn’tdrink much, doing so out of self-pity was proving to be more and more stupidwith every passing moment. “What happened?” She asked, swallowing, her mouthdry and her tongue seemingly made out of sandpaper.

Owen’seyebrows arched expressively, “Before or afterI rocked your world?”

Her eyeswidened, the floor swaying beneath her feet. And for a moment, Claire wishedshe would drop dead, or better yet – wake up yesterday and not end up in thismoment to begin with. “Did we…” She started in a weak, horrified voice.

He studiedher for a moment, then chucked and shook his head. Filled a mug with coffeefrom the machine on the counter and took a generous sip, watching her over therim, his eyes inquisitive and impossibly blue. “Relax. You threw up and passedout. I slept on the couch.”

“Oh, god.”She collapsed into one of the mismatched chairs at the table and buried herhead in her hands. Somehow, this seemed even worse. Granted, if they actuallyslept together, she’d prefer to have some recollection of it, but throwing upin front of him was perhaps more humiliating. Infinitely more! She felt hercheeks grow hot, the traitorous colour rising up her face – her personal littlecurse. Damn it!

“S’okay.”Owen set her own mug in from of her, her stomach still folding in on itself.“This should help.” She glanced up at him, grateful, and he reached out onimpulse to loop a strand of hair around her ear, his fingertips lingering onher cheek for a few seconds. “Want some Tylenol?”

Claireshook her head, caught off guard by the gentle gesture that felt oddly familiarand more comforting than she was willing to admit. “So, you didn’t–”

“Takeadvantage of a woman who had no idea what was happening?” He scoffed. “Give me some credit, Claire. Besides, when ithappens, I’ll prefer you to remember it.” When, not if. A promise, not anotherquip. And her skin flushed again, but for an entirely different reason.

She claspedher hands around her mug and took a cautious sip, allowing it to burn hertongue and wondering if it was going to stay down. So far, so good. She glanceddown at what she figured was his shirt then. “And… um, this?”

Owenplopped down into the chair opposite from her, grinning. “Oh, you did theundressing.”

“Great,”she muttered, wishing she could drown in her coffee. Staring at the scarredsurface of his table, she could feel his gaze on her, warm and palpable, andher heart was a nervous flurry in her chest, beating against her ribcage. “Youknow, I think I could actually use that Tylenol,” Claire said after a few minutesof silence interrupted only by the ticking of the clock on the way.

“Sure.” Hepushed his chair back and stood up. “Ah, and if you want to take a shower orsomething before I drive you back, go for it.”

Claire methis eyes; tried to keep her face neutral, hoping he wouldn’t notice hertrembling fingers. “There’s no need for that. I mean, you don’t have to. Icould…”

“Walk twomiles?” Owen finished for her.

They bothglanced at her three-inch heels sitting on the floor near the coffee table.

She sighed.

—

“I am notgetting on that thing!” Claire announced, regarding Owen’s bike skeptically,her hands on her hips and her lips pursed stubbornly together. Slightly wobblyon the lawn in front of his bungalow, she tipped her chin up for good measure,well aware of how ludicrous she was looking, still dressed in her last night’sclothes and knowing that this man was holding her hair not 8 hours ago when shewas paying dearly for her poor decisions.

“Didn’tbother you last night,” Owen noted, amused, glancing at her over his shoulder.

“Pleasedon’t tell me–”she started.

“And youliked it, too, baby,” he added with acheeky smile.

Clairepinched the bridge of her nose and let out a slow breath, torn betweensuppressing her exasperation and hiding a smile that kept slipping, betrayingthe fact that last night, despite of how it ended, wasn’t the worst Valentine’sDay of her life.

Owen sighedand leaned against his bike, pulling her toward him – uncertain at first andthen more sure when she didn’t resist - until she was standing between hisparted legs, their eyes on the same level. One hand on Claire’s waist, hesmoothed down her hair curling in the tropical humidity with his fingers,threading them through the soft locks, his eyes fastened on hers. She stilllooked sleepy and maybe a little panicky, and he resisted the urge to run histhumb over the sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks, mesmerized by the softnessof what he used to think of as sharp edges.

“I’m sorryyour date didn’t work out last night.”

“I’m not,”she said, allowing her lips to lift up at the corners, still processing thefact that somehow in a span of one night, and seemingly without her say in it,they went from frenemies to something that was making her weak in the knees,her head swimming. “I mean, it seems to have worked out just fine, all thingsconsidered.”

“Do youremember anything at all?” He asked softly.

Claire’shands landed on his chest. He’d changed into a navy-blue t-shirt that stretchednicely over his broad chest, his skin warm through the fabric. She bit herbottom lip, studying him, taking her time to notice golden specs in his blueeyes, faint smiley lines in the corners of his eyes, her hands itching to touchhis face, run his fingertips over the stubble on his cheeks.

Her gazedropped down to his mouth.

“Yes,” shewhispered, watching his lips curve into a broader grin, barely resisting theurge to roll her eyes, but leaned into him nonetheless because what she did, infact, could recollect was pretty damn nice on every possible level.

“Thankgod,” Owen breathed out, tilting her face up to capture her mouth with his. “SoI was thinking,” he muttered between the kisses when Claire’s arms slid aroundhis neck, her fingers gripping his hair on the back of his head, “maybe I couldpick you up later and we’d make some new memories.”

She restedher forehead against his, her hand running over the collar of his shirt. “It’sSunday,” Claire said after a brief pause. “I don’t have to leave yet.”

[gracewithducks]

Why are you weeping? (John 20:1-2, 11-18) - Sunday School Stories #9, preached 11/3/19

Let me begin by saying: I am not ready for Christmas. I’m not ready for the Christmas songs on the radio, not ready for the Christmas movies on TV, I’m not ready to go shopping, not ready to wrap presents, not ready to put up the tree. But I also want to say: if you are ready, if holiday songs and movies and decorations bring you joy, you do you. We could all use a little more joy in our lives.

 Last year, when it was properly holiday movie season, we had fun introducing and reintroducing our kids to some of our old favorite movies: Frosty and Rudolph, White Christmas and Holiday Inn, Home Alone and The Santa Clause. And we also watched my husband’s favorite not-safe-for-kids Christmas movie, Die Hard – and I finally, finally got him to watch my favorite not-safe-for-kids Christmas movie, Love Actually.

 And I cannot stress this enough: it was marketed as a romantic comedy, but Love Actually absolutely is not a family friendly movie. It’s rated R, and if you don’t like movies that are rated R, where people swear and kiss and do naughty things, then you definitely should not watch this movie.

 But it is a beautifully real movie, a movie that goes beyond the romantic comedy stereotypes to show love that’s actually messy, painful, and imperfect. The movie begins with – almost simultaneously – a couple of meet-cutes, a wedding, and a funeral. It follows the stories of a whole group of people whose lives intersect, showing the excitement of new love, the ache of broken hearts, the power of temptation, and the weight of love turned into grief. It explores love between friends, love between dating couples, unrequited love, forbidden love, love in marriage, love between people who worry the spark is gone, love that requires forgiveness and repentance, love between siblings, parents, children – love that is full of possibilities, and love that makes mistakes, and love that has to say goodbye. It’s one of those rare movies that still, sixteen years after I first watched it, still makes me laugh but also makes me cry, every single time.

 It’s surprisingly raw and complicated for a holiday season romantic comedy, but it’s also very much a product of its time; the movie was released in the fall of 2003, just a couple of years after the world was shaken by the events of 9/11, after we were confronted with the realities of terror and death. And the movie opens in, of all places, an airport, with scenes of people greeting one another – I later learned that these were real scenes, captured by hidden cameras, of real people, hugging, running to each other, kissing, laughing, full of this honest and beautiful joy.

 And over these scenes of reunions, a voice begins to speak:

 “Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around.”[1]

 November begins what is for many of us is a season of travel and reunions, a time for joyful arrivals as well as disappointment and heartache and grief-filled empty chairs. But as I’ve spent this week holding space between the Easter story and the saints we celebrate on this All Saints Sunday, the image that’s been with me is that image of an arrivals gate: some are waiting with hopeful eagerness, with their hearts in their hands, scanning every face, yearning expectantly to see a loved one standing there at last – and there are those who are still making their way through the tangle and confusion of corridors and gates, still travelling, not yet arrived – and then there is this gloriously beautiful and undignified moment when they first see each other, and run to each other, and with laughter and tears, embrace.

 That, to me, is as good an image as any of what it is we look forward to, when we try to imagine eternity. We look forward to joyful reunions, to an end of our waiting, to that moment when the stress and anxiety and grief fades away; we look forward to being embraced by and surrounded by love.

 Because we’ve been reading through the bible with our children this fall, our scripture for today is the Easter story, a story we don’t associate with this time of year. We usually read the Easter story in the spring, and it’s easy to talk about new life in that season when the days are getting longer, the ice is melting, the breezes are getting warmer, and the sun shines down on new buds, new growth, and new birth.

 It’s easy to talk about Easter in the springtime. But the good news is for every season: even when the days are growing shorter and the darkness is growing, when the chill seeps into our hearts and into our bones, and the rain washes our plans away – this is when we really need to be reassured, and to believe that the story isn’t over yet.

 We heard today the story of Mary on that first Easter Sunday. Mary didn’t know that it was Easter Sunday; she didn’t show up at the garden tomb expecting to find it empty; she wasn’t at the arrivals gate, looking for Jesus’ face, ready to greet him with open arms after his business trip was done. No, Mary was distraught and grieving; if it was a beautiful spring morning, she didn’t see it; she was just looking for Jesus’ body, so she could properly say good-bye. She isn’t expecting a joyful reunion; in fact, she doesn’t even recognize Jesus when he’s standing right in front of her.

 This is where the resurrection meets us: in those moments when we aren’t looking for it, in those moments when we don’t even begin to imagine that joy is possible, when all our hope is gone – that’s when new life shows up, and the impossible happens.

 There is this remarkable moment when Mary recognizes Jesus. And everything changes: the grief washes away, she sheds her heartache like dead weight, and from that first joyful reunion, the story is forever changed.

 Why does the story of the resurrection have power? Why did the good news of Jesus spread throughout the world, and why does it continue to be shared still today? Why are we so foolish to hold onto hope, when it seems like all hope is gone? It’s because of the resurrection. It’s because Jesus didn’t just tell us but showed us that grace is stronger than violence, stronger than oppression, and love is stronger even than death. The resurrection shapes how we live – we do not live as people driven by fear – but the resurrection also changes our ideas of what happens when we die. We do not live by fear, and we don’t die by fear, either. When we depart, we believe that, in that moment, we also arrive: and the word we use depends on the perspective we take.

 One of my colleagues recently was talking about the resurrection, and he said, “I don’t know what it will be like, exactly, but I like to imagine it’s like a big family meal – like a holiday, when the work is done, and everyone we love is at the table together at last.”[2] It’s like Thanksgiving, in those impossibly rare moments when everyone is there, when the travelling is done, the preparations are over, the frustration and waiting are finished, and all that’s left is to feast – to share laughter and love and gratitude with the people we love the best.

 In my first year of ministry, I served at a retreat weekend, and one evening, everyone was encouraged to go sit, to be silent and still, and to recognize God’s presence, and let the Spirit do in our hearts whatever it is we needed the Spirit to do. And friends, we aren’t very good at that – we don’t know how to be silent and still. But I encourage you to try it sometime: be still, and know that God is with you; be still, and let the stress and the to-do lists and the worries and the fears fade away, until all that’s left is you, and God, and love.

 I remember sitting still that day, when an image came to me – I’ve often called it the only vision I’ve ever had, because it was that vivid and that powerful an image. In my heart, in my soul, I envisioned myself sitting at a table, a great big long table, stretching off into eternity. And my new husband was there. And my mom was there. And my dad was there, too – my dad, who’d missed our wedding, because he died when I was in high school – my dad was there. And my kids were at the table; I couldn’t see their faces, I didn’t know their names, but I knew: my kids, kids who hadn’t yet been born, who weren’t even a twinkle in our eyes – my kids were sitting there, together with the grandfather they would never know. And it was such a lovely, joyful, peaceful moment: when I realized the people I love the most are sitting at the same table, something that could never happen this side of eternity… and that image, that vision, gave me hope: that love really does transcend time, that love is stronger than death, and somehow, love holds us together.

 That’s what we celebrate today. That’s the promise of the resurrection. That’s the promise of All Saints Day: it’s the promise that, when we gather at the table, we don’t come alone, and the ones we’ve loved aren’t really gone at all. They are with us still, and one day, like the arrivals gate, we will run to each other and embrace, we will sit together and feast; one day, the tears will be gone, the wait will be over, the work will be done – until only joy, only gratitude, only love remains.

   O God, you know the people we long to wrap our arms around today. You know the seats that are empty at our tables; you know the grief we carry with us every day. But we give you thanks for meeting us, even in our grief; we thank you for surprising us with impossible joy; and we thank you for the promise that death is not where the story ends. Give us strength to keep going, to keep loving, to keep working, until that day arrives at last when only love is left. In the name of Christ, who conquered death, we pray; amen.

[1] http://www.monologuedb.com/dramatic-male-monologues/love-actually-david/

[2] Thank you, Rev. Rodney Gasaway, for this image!