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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 19

Fate touches Scully's life, as does her own free will.

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Can you still call something a miracle when you could not have gone on without it? When, if it hadn’t happened, the death knell would have sounded in your memory? Is that really a miracle, or is it just what had to occur? Certainly what keeps you breathing wouldn’t be so highly esteemed if the chips fell the other way. It would be called a tragedy, and no one wants to live in a world where every moment is caught between the two.

Scully existed there for a little while, but she’s escaped. Maybe for good. Because this--the Lace’s sacrifice, her signature on the adoption paper, her baby in her arms--is no miracle. This is God realizing she’s gotten her fair share, that he owes her a break. This is her fate.

In more normal circumstances, the foster family and the adoptive parent would have no contact. Social services would handle the transition. Since those barriers are already broken in Emily’s case, the state allows the Lace’s and their son to accompany Emily as she’s turned over to Scully. The nondescript woman in the polo shirt joins them as a witness to the custody change, and so they all find themselves at Bill Jr.’s house--of all places--for one grievous goodbye and a destined hello.

Mrs. Lace passes Emily to Scully moments after the family walks through the door. Her red-rimmed eyes reveal the depth of her agony.

“Take her,” she says. “I need to start letting go while she’s still in my sight.”

Scully bites her lip, feels Emily’s pudgy hand press into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lace. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. I’ll make good on my promise to send pictures and updates, I swear.”

“Thank you, Dana.” She sighs. “It’ll be an adjustment.”

Her husband taps the head of the little boy by his knee. “This is Andrew, our son. He wanted to make sure Emily has the best life possible, so he made you a guide to her favorite things.”

The boy--no more than five--holds up a construction paper booklet with crayon drawings of him and baby Emily. How To Mak My Sister Smile, his stilted handwriting reads. Scully’s heart skips a beat as she accepts it from him. She kneels down so he’s level with her and Emily.

“Thank you, Andrew. This is so sweet and I’ll be sure to read every bit of it and make sure your sister smiles every single day, okay?”

He nods, but tears cloud his vision.

Scully turns Emily so that she’s perched on her knee, facing Andrew. “Tell me--what’s your favorite thing to do with your sister?” she asks him softly.

He rubs his eyes and nose. “I like to show her my cars,” he stammers.

“Your cars? Wow!” Scully effuses. It’s not often that she gets to work on her kiddie voice, and she’ll need that now.

The color returns Andrew’s face. “Yeah, yeah, my race cars! I have a mat for them, and I push them around the track, and she watches. She likes the races. They make her laugh sometime.”

“Wow! You sound like a great big brother.”

“Yeah, and I like her bouncy thing too,” he sputters. “It was mine before.”

“An activity jumper,” Mr. Lace clarifies. “From Fisher-Price.”

“Ahh.” Scully’s happy to get any insight she can into her daughter’s early life. The Lace’s offered to send some toys with Emily, but Scully will only accept a couple onesies and Emily’s beloved stuffed rabbit. She doesn’t want to take any more from them than she already is.

She adjusts Emily on her knee, looks to Andrew. “Do you wanna give your sister a hug?”

“Okay.” He moves bashfully toward her and wraps his arms around Emily. He holds on until Emily begins to fuss, then steps back like he’s been caught sneaking away from time out.

“Emily’s lucky to have a big brother like you,” Scully tells him. “Your parents have my phone number, and you can call and talk to her whenever you want, okay? I know she can’t say much yet, but she’ll grow into it, and besides, she’ll recognize your voice.” Scully offers him a spirit-boosting smile. “Does that sound good?”

He nods, hands linked behind his back. Stranger shyness has taken over.

“Good. She’s gonna need her big brother to stick up for her.”

Scully stands up, clutching Emily to her chest.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace,” Scully addresses them, “it’s impossible for me to sum up how deeply, deeply grateful I am for you and your sacrifice. It is no exaggeration to say that you have saved my life. I can already tell that Emily is so lucky to have been raised by you--that you have done an incredible job--and I hope that the two of us will continue to be a part of you and your son’s lives as Emily grows up.”

Mrs. Lace dabs her cheeks with a tissue. Mr. Lace frowns at his wife’s pain. “That means a great deal to us, Dana,” he replies.

“We feel blessed to have led Emily through her formative months,” his wife murmurs through her tear-strickenness.

The man nods. “She’s a wonderful kid, and I’m sure some of that comes from you.”

Scully smiles tautly. “I could say the same of you. Thank you for giving her the start I was denied from providing her.”

“You’ll let us know if you need any help, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll have your number on speed dial by the end of the night.”

The Lace’s formal goodbye had taken place at home, they said, and dragging out their visit would only make matters worse. They leave Bill Jr.’s house after a few short minutes, advancing down the front steps like a funeral procession.

When the door shuts and Scully’s baby is in her arms, she realizes that this will be her life for the rest of her life. What joy--! What horror--!

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The heater’s gentle sigh provides a generous rush of white noise as the girls settle for sleep. It’s the time of year when San Diego’s nightly temperatures start drifting away from perfection, when sleeping with the windows open no longer has such appeal. According to Bill, it’s not cold enough to turn on the heating system (surprise, surprise) so he pulled a dusty space heater from the closet for the “girl’s room” to share. Like a gentleman, Mulder took the couch (as if he had any other option), leaving Scully, Missy, and now Emily with the guest room. A family affair, one generation rounded out by another.

It’s a convenient arrangement, really. Bill doesn’t have a crib and it’s not worth buying one for a single night, so Emily will be sleeping on the bed like a grown-up. If Missy weren’t there as a physical barrier, Scully would be taking the chance that Emily might roll off the unattended side. Instead, the little girl’s mother and aunt will be an arm’s length away for her first sleep with her new family. A symbolic gesture of the protection they hope to provide for the rest of her life.

It’s a wonder how smoothly the transition has gone. Emily hasn’t shed a single tear since the family she knew left her in this strange house. Then again, Scully has never seen her daughter cry; like her mother, she must not be prone to it.

Tara served a ham for dinner while Scully spooned mashed carrots and peas into Emily’s mouth, her helicopter parenting beginning early. Mulder made some joke about gourmet baby food, and everybody laughed except Bill, and Scully felt that she finally understood what was meant by family--some who share your blood will never fit into it, but some who were once strangers will more than make up for that absence.

And now, as Scully lowers her onesie-clad daughter onto the guest bed, there is peace. Terror, too, lingers in her mind, but it’s the unwarranted kind. She is the mother to a healthy baby girl. Yes, there will be challenges. Yes, a person loved separately from yourself is a person you could lose. But the summit has been reached; the worst did not happen, and now everything else pales in comparison. As far as Scully’s concerned, she can never be truly hurt again. Because if anything happens to Emily, well, this is what Scully asked for, and what gives her the right to complain? Beggars can’t be choosers, and she begged God for this...The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. This happened in the opposite order for her, so she can only assume more loss is to come, and she will accept it. She will.

Scully slides beneath the comforter, snaking her arm out from under to rest a hand on the small of her baby’s back. A comfort very familiar to her, and one she will bequeath to her daughter. They have the bed to themselves for now. Missy is in the living room downing a beer with the boys and trying to compete with (or mediate?) their trash talk. In the past, a situation like this might worry Scully, but those old concerns look so small now.

Only a few hours in, and she already feels much more at home with the title of mother, much more deserving of it. The first diaper she changed rivaled some of the operations she witnessed in med school, both in its gruesome nature and in requiring multiple pairs of hands. Mulder would help if Emily was a boy, he swore, but he claimed to be “out of his depth with her plumbing” as he put it. Missy quipped that you sure are and it made even Bill laugh and life was wonderfully rose-colored through Dana Scully’s eyes.

She hopes for sweet dreams for herself, but much more so, for her daughter, and she is aware that this is how it will be for the rest of time. Having been half-asleep when she was put down, Emily lulls into even-breathed dozing before Scully can decide on a lullaby. No harm done; Scully’s vocal cords haven’t seen regular exercise since college karaoke, and she’d hate to disappoint so soon.

When she opens her eyes again (she hadn’t realized she closed them, but apparently she had), Emily is deep in sleep, her eyelids twitching to the rhythm of her unseen dreams. And Missy has joined them too, her mouth drooping like it did when the sisters shared a bed every Christmas Eve. Scully doesn’t know what time it is, and with such a picture perfect view in front of her, she won’t dare to roll over and check the bedside clock. How nice it is to exist beyond time’s constraints, even for a moment.

Scully is as present, maybe, as she’s ever been. She’s touched by the past and the future, ironically giving her a heightened awareness of now. One side of her consciousness is borne back into childhood and the many nights she slept by her sister’s side--in this very city, in fact. The other sees a path of hope unfurling in front of it, finally. She wonders whether her happiness might multiply, like a drop of food coloring unleashed into water. Might Emily be the shield that she’s needed?...Maybe the loss she expects will not be what comes.

And what that could mean...she has meant, for a long time now, to plant Mulder firmly in her life. Partner is much too fleeting--the Bureau could close the X-Files tomorrow, and then they’d be nothing but ex-coworkers. They’ve established where they stand through silences that say more than words ever could. She loves him, he loves her, and my god, neither one wants to lose that. It’s only now that Scully is realizing that they haven’t--or she, rather, hasn’t--embraced what they have, and so there is nothing to lose, and very little to cherish.

With all this change in her life, she thinks, why not add that to the list?

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They fly back into DC on Emily’s first birthday. November 2nd. Or at least, that’s the date that was left on the note at the foster agency. Scully isn’t sure exactly what she was doing last November 2nd, but she wasn’t having a baby, that’s certain. It was around the time of Aubrey, Missouri and BJ and nightmares, she remembers that. Plus, the phantom pregnancy, and the fear. The universe has a way of echoing itself.

They’re off to Mama Scully’s as soon as they make it off the tarmac. She’s aching to see her granddaughter, as she let Dana and Melissa know through a barrage of phone calls. I even made cupcakes and bought decorations for a warm welcome home! she insisted. Neither one of them can remember their mother being this excited about anything since...honestly? Ever. And they can’t blame her; Emily is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to their family. If only their father were here to meet her.

This is the sorrow that Scully has not had time to pick at. Her hero, her role model, the blueprint for all she wants Emily to be, not around to see it happen. She can’t think further than that; it’s the loose string that would unravel the sweater.

Mama Scully opens the door before they make it up the front steps, armed with yellow balloons and a party hat for the birthday girl. What a way to meet your grandmother.

“Hello dear!” It’s unclear whether she’s referring to Emily, one of her daughters, or the three as a unit. “Look at you…” she cups her hands around Emily’s head, and now they’re pretty sure who she’s referring to. “You’re like a little princess!”

Scully smirks. She’s glad to witness her mother’s happiness, of course, but they’ve just finished five hours of travelling with a baby. “Mom, please, could you save the theatrics for inside?”

“Oh, I have a whole other set of theatrics planned there,” Mama Scully quips. She clears the way, ushers the group into the house.

She touches Mulder’s shoulder as he passes. “Fox! I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I can’t compete with Emily, so I don’t blame you.”

“She is precious, isn’t she?” Mrs. Scully gazes toward the doorway that Scully and Emily have since deserted. “There’s a place for you in Emily’s future, you know.”

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say to that, and besides, it should be up to Scully.

“Unless there’s another woman in your life…?”

“No, no, I just--” he chuckles. “I didn’t expect that.”

Mama Scully lays a hand on his arm. “I care about you, Fox. Your well-being is deeply connected with my daughter’s.”

“Yes, of course…” He really, really would like to go in now.

“And it’s important to me that she has a strong support system throughout this ordeal. Raising a child is a tremendous challenge, and I don’t want her to feel that the burden is hers alone.”

“I completely agree.”

“That’s why you should adopt Emily, too. Give her the gift of a father.”

Mulder’s brain short-circuits. “I--what? Mrs. Scully, I don’t know--”

She puts a hand on his back and leads him inside. “Think about it. You and Dana, forming a family for this child that needs one. It would be a little untraditional, of course, but the wedding could come in due time, no need to rush.”

Mulder’s head is spinning. This is a practical joke, right? The hidden cameras can feel free to reveal themselves any time now.

The pair stops in the front hallway, a safe distance from everyone else in the kitchen. Mulder tries to mold his thoughts into cohesive sentences.

“Mrs. Scully, your intentions are good, but I think this solution is a bit extreme. I’m more than happy to help with Emily as much as possible, but becoming her father would just make things more complicated for all involved. And trust me, even if I were onboard, there’s no way Dana would go for it.”

Mama Scully nods. “I anticipated that. I’m going to talk with her tonight, straighten things out.”

Mulder does an awkward side-to-side shuffle. “If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that her mind is not easily changed.”

“Yes, well, I doubt this is something Dana has given much thought to. I’m hoping to get my argument across before she takes sides.”

“Mmm.” Mulder looks off toward the kitchen, where he would like to be.

“I’ll let Dana know that we’ve discussed my proposition,” Mama Scully continues, “and then you two can talk it over, alright? I don’t mean to force you into anything. It just feels like a logical step. I’m sure you’d agree that your relationship is deeper than that of many married couples.”

“Sure, but it’s very different too,” Mulder mutters. This is not a topic to delve into with his partner’s mother, of all people. “I don’t know that they can be compared.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.”

Mrs. Scully holds her hardened glance for a long second, and Mulder is the one who breaks. He scoots out of her direct line of sight, then gestures for her to go before him into the kitchen. “Shall we?”

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They celebrate Emily’s 365th day around the sun like they’ve been by her side for every one of them. Before the crew arrived, Mama Scully whipped up vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles, or as she put it, “a little bit of everything since I don’t know what she likes.” She even bought a happy birthday banner and sharpied in Emily’s name--not to mention five birthday hats and a humongous 1 candle that a single cupcake can barely hold up.

It’s a testament to Emily’s character that she’s so unbothered by it all. She lets Mama Scully slip the hat into place, shows no visible distress to the admiration she receives from the room. She prefers her mother’s arms over anyone else’s--they are, after all, the most familiar of the unfamiliar--but she’s content anywhere that welcomes her. And this is a place where she is most welcome.

Scully reminds herself to capture these little moments in her mind...Emily’s effervescent giggle as Missy tickles the bottoms of her feet, Mulder helping Mama Scully add extra sprinkles to each cupcake, the warm hug of a family’s company. Love, love, there is so much love here.

The time comes for cake and singing and blown-out candles. Well, candle in this case. Mulder performs the honor of lighting said candle as everyone gathers around, Emily nestled in her mother’s arms.

“Ready?” Mulder inquires. He conducts in time with his countdown. “One, two, one, two, three…”

The rendition is not in tune on anyone’s part (though Missy is the closest), but at least their intentions are harmonious. Scully’s heart swells. Mulder and Missy throw in a zany “and many more!” for the cherry on top of a joyous moment. Scully mourns its end; the birthday song is much too brief.

“Make a wish!” Missy chirps, and Scully leans forward and blows out the flame for her daughter. Safety, happiness, love...these are the things she asks for. These are the things that everyone deserves.

Scully’s not surprised when her mother pulls her aside a few minutes later and leads her to the library, leaving Emily at Missy and Mulder’s mercy. Her mother is fond of sentimental speeches, but not brave enough for an audience. Scully steels herself for a mushy-gushy outpouring.

Mama Scully shuts the door, turns to her daughter. “I’m overflowing with joy. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, mom,” Scully answers, tiresome already. “I’m a bit afraid this is all a dream that I’ll wake up from at any moment.”

“Pinch yourself. You’ll see that it’s not, I promise.”

Scully pinches her bicep, more for her mother’s amusement than anything. This is, in fact, reality.

“You must be very overwhelmed, I imagine,” Mrs. Scully remarks, beginning to pace. Scully follows with her eyes.

“There is a lot that I haven’t sorted out yet, yes,” Scully replies, her suspicion about her mother’s intentions growing. “Work, for example. I only have one more day off, and then I have to explain everything to Skinner, and hopefully I’ll qualify for maternity leave. But the Bureau isn’t very good about that, it’s only two weeks.”

“Just remember that I’m always available to babysit Emily if you need it.”

“I know, mom.”

Mama Scully allows herself to get side-tracked for a moment. “You have a crib though? And diapers, and a high chair?”

Scully nods. “Required for the home study.”

“Good.” Mama Scully sweeps back a wayward piece of her daughter’s hair. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re all alone in this.”

Her mother’s soft gaze unearths a sudden swell of emotion; tears prick at the back of Scully’s eyes. “I know, mom.”

“And I know that you’re gonna say you are Emily’s only legal guardian, and so you are technically alone, but you know what? You don’t have to be,” Mama Scully asserts. “There is someone out there who is willing to fill that void for you.”

Scully rolls her eyes, her brief emotional trance broken. “Don’t tell me you're gonna set me up with the Prizatskys’ son again.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Scully laughs. “Besides, he’s engaged now.”

“Oh.” Scully tries to miss the patronization in her mother’s voice.

“What I’m saying is,” Mrs. Scully continues, “there is a man in your life who is loyal, trustworthy, hard-working, and in the perfect position to provide for you and Emily.”

“If you’re referring to Mulder,” Scully starts, an eyebrow raised, “I’m not exactly planning to shun him anytime soon.”

“Yes, but have you ever truly let him in?”

Mrs. Scully has aimed her arrow and hit her target, a stunning blow. The most damning parts of Scully’s inner dialogue have just been echoed back at her.

Wounded, she swallows hard. “That’s really none of your business. And just because he’s in my life doesn’t mean that he magically fills the role of Emily’s father. How would that even work? Emily would have to be shuttled back and forth...She’d be split between one parent and the other...It would make her life more hectic.”

“Dana, Dana…” Mama Scully pulls her daughter close, recognizing that she’s struck a nerve. Scully stiffens into the hug. “Remember when you were little, and your father would be gone on long deployments, and you’d draw pictures of him in his uniform, and tell your class about how your father was a Navy captain, and you were so proud? You barely had a sense of what that meant, but you knew he was doing something important.”

Scully relaxes into their embrace. “And when I missed him the worst, you’d let me wear his old sailor hat.”

“Yes.” Mama Scully takes a hearty breath. “I was there every day, feeding you, bathing you, sending you off to school...and you loved me, I don’t doubt that, but I wasn’t the one who put stars in your eyes.”

Scully nods against her mother’s shoulder. Damn, if she isn’t winding her way toward a convincing point.

“Emily’s gonna love you whatever you choose. But the fuller her life is--the more love she’s surrounded by--the more she’ll have to give, and the brighter her light will shine.”

Scully sniffles, shaken by the truth of this. God, to know as much love as she’s known in her life and resist it still. That’s not the way a life is meant to be lived.

“Thank you, mom,” she whispers in her mother’s ear. It’s an imprecise affirmation--encompassing everything and yet a specific something that she can no longer reject.

Scully pulls away, smiles at her mom. “No more meddling, okay? I’ll sort this out for myself.”

Mama Scully laughs. “You just needed that push. Now that the ball’s rolling, I’ll leave it alone.”

“You’d better,” Scully teases. She gestures toward the door. “I should get back to my baby.”

“Yes,” Mama Scully grins, “you should.”

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The knock on the door comes at a quarter to noon, as Scully expected. She didn’t expect that she’d be scrubbing grape juice off the tile when it happened, but hey, these are the disruptions everyone in her life will have to get used to. Including--especially--her.

“I’ll get it!” Missy’s voice breezes through the apartment.

A moment later, Scully finds herself level with a pair of black dress shoes. Big ones. A twelve if she had to guess.

“Scully, if you wanna know my shoe size, just ask,” Mulder jests, and has he read her mind? She feels like she’s been caught in a compromising act, though she’s done nothing but wipe up a sticky purple mess. She cranes her neck, looks up at him.

“Good morning, Mulder,” she mumbles, running her hand over the spill area. Coming up clean, she finds her footing. The top of her head is even with her partner’s collarbone.

Scully thumbs toward Emily, who is gobbling cheese crackers in her high chair without a care in the world. “Apparently she doesn’t like grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Mulder jeers. “She knows orange juice is where it’s at.”

Scully ignores him, but makes a mental note to add OJ to the grocery list. And apple too, just to be safe.

“Let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready to go,” she says, shuffling off in her pantyhose without waiting for a response.

They have a lunchtime meeting with Skinner to explain...well, everything. Mulder doesn’t need to be there--as his partner was quick to remind him--but he insists on advocating for her. No amount of I’m not a damsel in distress, Mulder will put him off. She’s so much more than that, he knows. Hence why he’s got to do all he can so her life isn’t defined by its crises. Besides, he’ll take any excuse to sneak down to the office on his day off.

He told Scully he’d pick her up because it’d be easier on her, sure, but also because he has an important delivery to make. He nods to Missy, and she grabs the goods off the front table. He wanted to make his entrance before the big moment. His presence known, he’s ready to go.

“Emily, Uncle Mulder brought something for you!” Missy sing-songs as she places the gifts in Mulder’s hidden hands. The girl looks up, her attention easily diverted here and there.

Mulder tries to tip-toe forward--hands behind his back--without coming off as creepy, which is harder than it seems. He takes it as a good sign that Emily doesn’t spook and wonders what it means that Missy called him Uncle Mulder. Did she and Scully have a conversation about it? Is this what he’ll be known as? Or was that just a last minute reach to fill the space?

He pushes these thoughts away, focuses on the blue-eyed girl in front of him.

“Emily,” he begins, and it rolls off his tongue like a devotion, “I thought your bunny might like some friends.”

He reveals the fox first, then the UFO. His personal mark on Emily’s budding stuffed animal collection. She lets out a peep of astonishment and reaches for the fox, fascinated with its bushy tail. She hits it back and forth so it wags like a dog’s.

Mulder chuckles, his brain lighting up in places it never has before. Missy hangs back and waits for her sister to reemerge. Sure enough, Scully melts at the sight, stopping short so she doesn’t interrupt it. She clutches her heart. She and Missy share a smile.

“My, my, look at this,” Scully saunters in, ruffles Emily’s hair. “Do you know what this is, Em?” she asks, patting the fox. “This is a fox.” She points to Mulder. “And this is a Fox, too!”

Emily doesn’t get the joke, but that’s okay.

“And do you know what this is?” Mulder prompts, picking up the flying saucer. He moves it through the air like it’s flying. Emily reaches for it, and god, Mulder knows the feeling.

“This is a UFO, Emily,” Mulder tells her sweetly. “Aliens!”

“No, no.” Scully plucks the UFO from his hand. “No aliens, Em.”

She lays the saucer on the high chair tray. “Mama’s gotta go away for a little bit, but I’ll be back soon.” She kisses Em’s temple. “Auntie Missy will be right here.”

Missy steps forward. “We can play with Mr. Fox and the al--” Scully shoots her a look. ”The UFO!” she corrects, winking at Mulder. She scoops her niece out of the high chair. “Say ‘bye Mama!’”

Emily doesn’t have that grasp on words yet, and they all know it, but Missy gets her to wave. “Okay, now ‘bye Uncle Mulder!’” Another wave. Smiles all around.

Mulder and Scully move reluctantly toward the door. Scully groans as Missy and the baby girl slip from her view.

“They’ll be okay,” Mulder assures his partner.

“I know,” Scully sighs, “but will I?”

Mulder rests his hand in the familiar spot on her back as they exit her apartment. “Absolutely. Skinner will grant you the leave, and you’ll be back with your baby in no time.”

She nods, bites her lip, and slows, suddenly wistful. Mulder stops, turns to her. “Scully…?”

“Mulder, did my mom have a conversation with you?”

He nods.

“And...did you think it was kind of crazy too?”

He nods again.

She takes a breath and rises to her tip-toes. She could pretend not to know what she’s doing, but she does. Oh, she does.

“But not out of the realm of extreme possibility…?” she coos, eyes centered on his lips.

Mulder smiles shyly. He always expected it would be this way: Scully the coquette to his boyish ineptitude. Who knew she’d be stealing his lines.

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer there in the hallway. “No, no,” he muses, “I think it’s pretty solidly in the realm…” He nuzzles her neck, breathes in her sweet smell, and nibbles her ear, all in the beat of a hummingbird’s wing. “...of extreme possibility,” he purrs into her ear, satisfied with himself.

It reminds Scully of do you believe in the existence of ~extraterrestrials~ and how she knew then that he was a little bit unhinged, whip-snap smart, and too goddamn charming for his own good. That either fate or her own unconquerable desire would bring them together. She knows now that fate conspired to keep them apart. What’s unfolding is neither an act of its hand nor a last-ditch effort of a dead-end life. It is one choice among many, undertaken out of sheer belief in the happiness it could bring.

She looks into his eyes, which look back at her with a caramel-drizzle melt. Yes, yes, this is right. She fans a hand out on his cheek, runs her thumb over his mole. She has always wanted to touch it, but could never come up with a good excuse.

They’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. Scully leans in, still on her tip-toes, and Mulder bends to close the distance. Their lips meet, and there’s no fireworks. No, it’s simple serenity. Like coming home after a long time away--though this is a house they have never walked into until now, they have a feeling they will be walking into it for the rest of their lives.

And then Scully pulls away, and it’s over but it’s just beginning.

#a moment of happiness among all the angst <3 #thank you as always for reading #kinda sorta almost done #but i have one last angsty twist cause that's who i am #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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ms-rampage · 4 years ago

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Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 12 - The Ballet of Amanda and Joseph Seed

Warnings: Mentions of infantcide, and Mandy being a mom to John. [not really a warning]

Word count: 2.1k

Where it all began.

Summary: With everything falling into place, Mandy continues with her role as The Mother until the New Moon.

Guest OCs: Dawana Floyd (FC: Anna Diop)

Guest Characters: Raphael [Supernatural; female vessel], God/Chuck [mentioned], Metatron [mentioned]

Note: I made up the names for Joseph’s wife and daughter. This is gonna be a somewhat short chapter.

______________

With everything falling into place, Dawana has Mandy continue her duties as the Mother until the New Moon. Raphael agrees and wants her to keep her role until they can properly do the Invocation of Invisibility to shield her from God and help get her out of the Cult.

With the help of the Whitetail Militia they can help her get out, and also play the role as an FBI agent to keep her undercover.

So not being seen with any of the Project’s enemies will help her out, and make sure she is committed to her position, or at least make her look like she’s committed.

A week has passed, Mandy has been the Mother for 3 in a half months, and time has seemed to move by very, very slowly with everything that has happened.

“You must play your part” Dawana tells her.

“I know” Mandy responds, “I have to. Raphael told me that I must, until we get to the New Moon and do the Invisibility spell. Hiding me from Chuck”.

Because he is God and he can see everything, and everyone. He’ll still see her playing her part as The Mother, but that will all be an illusion to him while the real Mandy will be plotting against him and the Project. Along with the Archangel and the Voodoo Priestess.

“Good” she responds, “It’s still a long time until the New Moon".

Being cleansed by Joseph, confessing and reaching atonement. To top it off marrying Joseph Seed.

She spends time with Joseph, pretty much every second of every day they spent. She decides to check up on John since she hasn’t seen, or even heard from him since her atonement and her “wedding” to The Father.

Driving to his ranch house in Holland Valley, she pulls into the huge driveway and approaches the gigantic house.

John steps out and sees her. “Amanda” he says, surprised, putting emphasis on the A, “I wasn’t expecting you to come over”.

She lets out a soft exhale, “Well I haven’t seen or heard from you. I just wanted to check up on you”.

He tilts his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed “Really? Why?”. Surprised that she would even care about his well-being.

She shrugs, “No reason, I check up on Faith all the time. Jacob doesn’t really need to be checked on, and I live with Joseph, I pretty much see him everyday. I just wanted to see how you’re doing”. Putting on her caring, loving mother act, it’s not really much of an act, it’s just the type of parent she is.

He lets out a soft chuckle, “Well that’s very sweet of you”. He takes a few steps closer to her, “I’m doing great. Thank you”.

She smiles at him, “That’s great to hear”.

“So is that all you came over here for? To check on me?” he asks. Crossing his arms.

She nods, “Well I was in the area. Also I haven’t been in Holland Valley in quite a while. Kinda forgotten what everything looks like”. She chuckles, making the youngest Seed brother chuckle as well.

She crosses her arms, putting on her best typical mom voice, “So, have you been taking care of yourself?”.

He laughs, scratching his beard, and sarcastically says, “Yes, mother I have”.

“Good, I ask Faith the exact same questions” she tells him, “She knows my route already”.

She stays at John’s house for another 20-30 minutes before going back to the church. She got to know a little more about John, and his upbringing with the Duncan’s, and him going to Law school. John also got to know a little more about Mandy as well. She’s half Italian, was married before, lived in several states before moving to Montana, and she can speak 3 languages.

"Really? Say something then" he asks her. Looking at her in amusement.

"Prendersi cura di se stessi" [Take care of yourself] she responds in Italian.

He looks at her in confusion, he in a way wasn't expecting her to actually respond back in another language. She laughs at his reaction to her speaking another language.

******

Back at Joseph’s compound, one of the Cult’s followers approaches Mandy once she arrives at the church grounds.

“Mother Amanda” he tells her, “Joseph is inside the church waiting for you”.

She nods her head, “Thank you” and proceeds to enter the church.

The dark church with a few candles lit inside, Joseph has his back to her, facing the wall in front of him.

“You were waiting for me” she tells him, standing a few feet away from him. She can hear him take a deep breath before saying, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you”.

Tilting her head sideways, confused. “What do you mean?”. He faces her, “I haven’t told you everything about me. There are things from my past, I feel the need to tell you”.

She stands before him, with her hands clasped in front of her, wearing white blouse, dark jeans and black boots. Her hair is down in its natural style, wavy.

Looking up at him, her eyes pointed up at him. Anticipating what he’s gonna tell her. He places his right hand on the back of her neck, while his other hand is caressing her cheek. He goes on to tell her that he was once married, and had a daughter.

“Did you know I had a wife?” he asks her, showing her his tattoo of his wife, “So beautiful, isn’t she?. We were pregnant with our first child. We were just babies ourselves, and I was terrified.Becoming a father, mostly about money”.

She stares up at him as he tells her the story about his wife and child.

“She wasn’t worried, she had faith that things were going to work out. She always had faith, and then one day. She was going to visit a friend. There was an accident, and The Lord Taketh”. Seeing the pain in his eyes, Mandy knows the same pain losing a significant other, she knows that pain too well.

“They rushed me to the hospital and put me in a room with this little pink bundle stuffed with tubes, and they said I had to be strong because my little girl was going to live. God was looking out for our daughter” he continues to tell her.

Feeling like time had stood still, painfully still. Almost like the whole church got darker as he tells her this, “And they left me alone in a room with her. I just stared at my daughter. So helpless. So innocent, and all she had in the world was me. A nobody from nowhere with nothing, and in that moment I knew that God was testing me”.

He moves his hands, both his hands on the sides of her face. Cupping her face, standing very close to her.

“He was laying out a path before me and all I had to do was choose. So I put my hand on my little girl's head, and I leaned in and I could smell”.

Finding out that this man was once married, and had a child at some point, made her think how he could’ve turned out. Would the Cult still be a thing? Would he still be a lunatic that she married?. Getting lost in her thoughts the next thing he said made her snap back into reality.

Joseph continues to tell her about his past life and everything before the Cult grew, “And we prayed together, prayed for wisdom. Prayed for strength then I knew. I heard God’s plan for me, and I took my fingers and I put them on that little plastic tube that was taped to her angelic face, and I pinched it shut”.

She looks up at him in horror, this man killed his infant daughter because Chuck told him to do it. Mandy is no saint herself, and she’ll tell you that she has killed innocent people to protect her own family, it may not be the same thing, they both have skeletons in their closets.

Joseph might have more in his closet than she does, she witnessed him killing an innocent man several weeks ago in front of 30 other people. Gouging out his eyes.

“And after a little while her legs began to kick and kick, and then nothing. Stillness. Release. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh. Pain. Sacrifice” he finishes off.

Looking up at this man in horror, standing in the middle of the church, frozen in fear. Giving her chills throughout her body.

“Raphael I need you here now!” she prays in her head. Internally panicking

Within a few seconds Raphael makes himself present, in his female vessel, only visible to Mandy and not Joseph.

“You prayed?” he asks. Seeing what’s happening. Look of concern on his/her face.

“Is what Joseph said true?!” she asks him in her head, while looking up at Joseph pretending that she’s listening to him, “Did he really kill his infant daughter because Chuck told him to?!?”.

Joseph steps away, and continues to talk to Mandy about his life and upbringing with his brothers. Trying to listen to both her “husband” and her Archangel.

Raphael sighs, “Yes, it’s all true. Joseph was married. His wife Anna, and their daughter Mary. The accident Anna was in, was orchestrated by God to put him on this path, and also to make him start the Project”.

Mandy looks over at her Archangel with wide eyes and back to Joseph who is still telling her about his upbringing. His voice is basically a background noise to her and the Archangel’s conversation.

“So all this has been happening for several years?!?!” she asks in her mind. Raphael snaps his fingers, freezing time. Allowing Mandy to actually speak with him, freezing Joseph.

“Yes, everything is on Chuck” he tells her, “I can’t say no more”.

“But, but. But why is Chuck doing this?!?” she asks him, voice shaken “Why is Joseph so important to Chuck?”.

Taking a few steps closer to her, “He’s not. That I know of, Joseph Seed is not that important to God, the only thing Chuck wants is for someone to spread his word. Prepare for the end”.

She looks at him confused, “What?!? What does that even mean?!”.

He breaks it down for her, “Think about it. When the world ends, and very few people survive. What’s the first thing that comes to mind?” he asks her. Walking around the somewhat dark church.

She shrugs, “I don’t know!”. Looking confused at the Warrior of God.

“An act of God” he tells her, “I really can’t say more because that’s all I have on this whole situation. I wish I had more, but I’m sure Metatron has all that information, but If I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time trying to get it. He won’t give it to anyone”.

He snaps his fingers to unfreeze time, but before he does, he gives her a slight chance of hope.

“And one more thing Mandeline” he says, she looks over at him, “I believe in you. I know you can get yourself out of this, and I left you something that can help you. I left it under your pillow in your room”.

He disappears from the church. Leaving Mandy alone with Joseph. She looks over at Joseph, he is unfrozen, and continues his talking about his life. Having to pretend she was listening to everything he had said.

“Now that I have told you about your past” he says, turning around to face her, “What do you have hidden from me?”.

She looks down at the floor, “There’s too much for me to say” she responds, “I have lived through a dark past. That I wish to forget about”. Looking and sounding ashamed, reminding herself about the horrible things she has done in her lifetime.

He approaches her, placing his hand on her cheek, caressing it. “I wish to know your past” he tells her, “I want to be the savior for your regrets. For your mistakes, for your sins”.

She rests her head against his chest, as he holds her close. Hearing his heartbeat slowly, his slow, soft breathing

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darley1101 · 6 years ago

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Death & Decorum Part 1: She Wants Revenge

Welcome to Death and Decorum, a 6 part miniseries that I will be posting throughout the month of October. As the title suggests it is not a love story, but one of revenge. I have done some interesting research over the last day or so and will advise you that some of the deaths depicted in this story are rather interesting and based off actual deaths that occurred in Regency England. I am very well aware that this is not going to be everyone's cup of tea, which is why I will only be tagging people who requested to be tagged by liking, reblogging, or commenting on this story's coming soon post. If you would like to be added to the tag, or even taken off, let me know. Full credit for this idea goes to @choiceslife

Warning/Triggers: Vengeful killings, mention of poison, drowning, broken neck

Death and Decorum

Part One: She Wants Revenge

Dusk was starting to fall as an unmarked carriage rolled to a stop just outside a small, out of the way apothecary. “You know what to do,” the countess ordered in a cold, distant voice. The dark haired girl sitting across from her gave a curt nod, her brown eyes shamefully studying the floor. “This is for the goods,” she pressed a coin in the girl's hand. “And this,” she jingled a small, nondescript pouch, “is for you. Twelve pieces of silver. Rather fitting don't you think?” She let out a low, emotionless chuckle when the girl's cheeks blossomed with color.

“I'm no Judas,” the girl whispered, greedily snatching the purse from the countess' fingers. “The only reason I'm doing this is my family-”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now, do be a dear and fetch me what I've asked.” Eyes the color of a winter sky right before a storm bore into the girl, reminding her that the countess was not one to be trifled with. “Don't dally. I still need to dress for dinner.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The girl gathered the dark skirt of her uniform and reluctantly climbed from the carriage. The Countess watched, a cold smile stretching across her berry stained lips, as the girl entered the shoppe. It hadn't taken much to turn the girl. Word of an ailing father and the promise of silver had been all it took. Judas. Briar. Both had sold their loyalty for twelve pieces of silver and both would have innocent blood on their hands.

It rained, which was only fitting since it matched the raw, coldness building inside Rebecca Young. The sharp, skin piercing drizzle that stabbed at the world, painting it a melancholy gray, also provided the perfect cover for the tears she was incapable of producing. It was a pity, really. She wanted so desperately to feel something other than the icy hatred that was starting to course through her veins. She wanted to be the sort of daughter that dropped to her knees beside the yawning hole where her father's coffin was being lowered, screaming against the injustice of his death. To give into such urges wouldn't be ladylike, so like the good little puppet she'd become she stood quietly between the caterwauling form of her dear, dear step-mother and the sniffling mouse who clung to the arm of the countess' stoic faced son. 'The evil trifecta,' Rebecca thought bitterly. The murderous widow putting on a marvelous show of grief, the tittering twit who was too busy gathering juicy tidbits to gossip about with her betters to realize she was naught but a pawn in game she couldn't possibly win, or the mindless drone who willingly did his mother's bidding no matter how heinous the request. If it were one of those Gothic novels that were so popular, there would be a tragic heroine desperately trying to escape their nefarious clutches. Perhaps that was Rebecca's role. The grieving bastard child, too concerned with whether or not she would be tossed on the streets to properly grief. 'Never,' she curled her lips in disdain, 'I will never accept that role.'

Squaring her slender shoulders, Rebecca raised her chin a notch, her thick sooty lashes lowering over her light brown eyes while she forced herself to focus on the words coming out of the vicars mouth rather than comparing her life to the plot of tragic tale. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” The words struck a familiar chord, one buried deep beneath the gentile facade she'd carefully cultivated to please a grandmother whose love only extended as far as Rebecca's ability to procure a suitable match. For the last month she had stumbled through her own valley of death, letting the nobility slaughter any trace of the village girl that had arrived at Edgewater with a naive excitement shining in her eyes. There had been no comfort, no rod or staff to protect her, while she struggled to win the approval of a father whose life had been stolen by his inconsolable widow. Turning her head slightly, several strands of dark hair sticking to her cheek, Rebecca pierced her step-mother with a venomous look. 'From here on out I shall fear no evil,' she silently hissed, 'and you shall cower before me as I will become Edgewater's very own shadow of death. Vengeance shall have a name and that name shall be Rebecca.'

.“...and said, naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked I shall return thither; the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away...”

Rebecca pursed her lips into a tight, grayish blue tinged pucker to keep from yelling. 'Liar! Filthy, filthy liar!' The Lord had given Father life, had blessed Rebecca with his affections for three glorious weeks, but the Almighty surely hadn't taken him away. His life had been stolen, wrung from his body with a poison served up by a 'loving' wife. Rebecca would give the Countess her due; she'd chosen carefully, selecting a poison that mimicked the dreaded yellow fever. 'And now she plays the part of grieving widow', Rebecca internally sneered. 'She's allowed her desperation to turn her into a novel cliché, a desperate villianess willing to sacrifice the innocent in her quest to hold on to something that was never meant to be hers.' The greatest tragedy, was Rebecca would have cared for her like a mother had the viper but shown her an ounce of affection. Instead, the countess had let her own diabolical nature twist even the smallest kindness into a sinister ploy.

“We know not why these tragedies occur.”

The lie slid easily off the tongue of the vicar. If not for the man's love of his own voice, the burial would have already concluded, father planted in the ground. Instead, the vicar continued to spoon feed deceitful words of comfort that allowed the countess to continue her theatrical display, while Rebecca could practically feel the black crepe dress her grandmother insisted she wear starting to melt. The light weight silk wasn't meant for such dampness, nor were the jet embellished slippers she wore beneath it. Not that the countess cared. She had ignored propriety by wearing a rich velvet gown designed to show case her bosom, which heaved mightily with each over exaggerated sob, and hugged her other physical assets. It was humiliating. Bad enough she was going to get away with murdering father but had she not class? Could she not at least put on a good performance and appropriately dress the part? Rebecca's fingers twisted in the delicate lawn handkerchief her grandmother had insisted she openly carry. Appearances, even in death, must be upheld. 'Unless you're the countess, then you ignore propriety in favor of dressing like some Drury lane doxy. It's alright of course, she's a grieving widow.'

“Can you believe her, that dress is absolutely scandalous,” someone behind them whispered. “I'm surprised the Dowager allowed her out in such a dress.”

“It's bait for the next one, no doubt,” another whispered. “I heard the Earl left everything to his bastard.”

Sucking in her cheeks, Rebecca bit down on the delicate flesh. The sharp pain and the coppery taste of blood were a perfect distraction from the drawing room gossip that was starting to seep into the memorial. Turning on them, demanding that they show some respect, would shift the focus off her step mother and onto herself. Aside from the one painfully true smear about her birth, the gossip was centered on the countess and Rebecca would like to keep it that way.

“Worry about her dress all you like, my concerns lie in whether or not she's contagious. If what I've heard is true, she spent every moment in his sick room. Mark my words, we'll be burying her next.”

The truth burned on Rebecca's tongue, begging to be released. She held it in, knowing her words would fall on deaf ears. With the exception of her grandmother, the rest of the world believed that her father truly had somehow contracted and succumbed to the yellow fever. And while it was doubtful that the countess had spent more than a passing moment by her ailing husband's side, that wasn't what society believed. Poor, devoted countess. Twas a pity that poison wasn't contagious. 'It could be,' a voice whispered in her ear. 'No one would question it. They're already suspecting it. Why not give them what they want?'

Tag List (To be added or removed simply comment, reblog, or message) @tmarie82 @zackzilberg @damienazariostan @leelee10898 @clarissafics @hopefulmoonobject @brightpinkpeppercorn @mrsernestsinclaire @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul @classychoicesworld @writtenbycandy @too-poor-to-buy-keys @ehkw1989 @claramillstakenalready @never-ending-choices @bobasheebaby @choiceslife @nekkidmolerat @blackcatkita @katurrade @indiacater @boneandfur @give-me-ernest-sinclaire @jadedpixiescribbles @llamasgrl @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves (sorry for the ones whose tags are not working.)

#choices desire and decorum #desire and decorum mc #darley1101 writes

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marlosbooknook · 8 years ago

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In the Depths of the Sea- Prologue

Hello friends! At long last, I have decided to take the plunge into Out lander fan-fiction, and now grace you with the first chapter of my new story In the Depths of the Sea. The Really snazzy part is that it is a Pirate!AU, taking place in Barbados and the Caribbean in the early 18th Century. Before we get into the juicy bits, i’d like to give a massive shoutout to the best editor, adviser, and tumblr friend a girl could ask for @mibasiamille! With that I leave you to my writing with lots of hugs, kisses, and nervous anticipation

-Marlo

In the Depths of the Sea- Prologue

At a young age, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp had been taught to fear the ocean. Escorted by hand along the rocky English shores, she was advised to stay clear of the powerful, commanding currents–ones that could drag a little girl down to the darkest depths of the sea. She had been regaled with gripping tales of fearsome men who prowled the waters for the treasures of gold and crusaded through the seas in search of bloodshed, gleefully displaying the Jolly Roger upon the masts of their ships. Compared to the placid lakes of Oxfordshire and the gurgling streams of Europe, the mighty sea possessed a titan-like supremacy, power enough to uproot the life of a young girl on three separate occasions.

The first wave had taken her parents from her, when the merchant ship carrying her father, mother, and worldly possessions was lost to the depths of the Atlantic. It left in its wake the shattered remains of a family. The elder Beauchamps had been sailing towards a new life in the colonies, leaving young Claire in the care of her Uncle Lamb, promising to send for her once they had established some subsistence. Her summons never arrived.

Claire vividly remembered the moment she was informed that she was an orphan. She was peering out of the second story window, gazing into Brighton Harbor, believing that if she waited long enough, her parents would materialize before her. Solemn footsteps delivered a letter, an impersonal declaration of her loss and pronouncement of her future, the value of her estate, and the bestowal of her person onto her dear Uncle. Claire was unable to look at the sea for years after.

The second offense came during Claire’s adolescence, when she was shepherded aboard a ship and sent off with her Uncle, Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, sent to the West Indies where he was to lead in the inception of a new university. Haunting memories of her last goodbyes, both to those still living and those long forgotten, flitted through her mind, and she wondered whether she should write a note to them,a last will and testament to serve as evidence proving her existence for the sake of history? The thought loomed over her, growing ever darker as she realized her potential fate. Would she share the same destiny as her parents? She bid farewell to the rolling hills and bustling towns of England and boarded the vessel, the shadows of her parents watching her wavering steps as she prepared to face the unknown.

Before embarking on their voyage, Uncle Lamb had gifted Claire with a book, a massive volume edged with gold leafing and scrolling vines, entitled Flora of the Western Hemisphere, Volume III: The West Indies.

“I figured it would benefit you to have a hobby over there,” He had told her. “You’re far too clever to parade around the beach with a parasol.”

Though initially perceived as a rather bizarre gift, Uncle Lamb proved to be correct in the assessment of his niece. In her weeks spent aboard the HMS Britannia (though Claire prefered her bestowed moniker, The Wooden Hell), Claire confined herself to her cabin, reveling in the wonders of the natural world, and she began to paint a mental picture of the foreign land she would soon call home. From the poisonous seeds of the Crab’s Eye Vine, to the medicinal value of the Sea Grape, Claire began to conjure an image in her mind of a land where she could begin a new life. A place where she could be free from her ghosts and foster a greater and brighter future, where she could rise up from the darkness of her past like a phoenix from the ashes.

Closing her book and making her way onto the deck, Claire let her skirts whip around her as she drank in the salty air. She gazed over the ship’s rails into the swirling foam below, admiring the inherent beauty of the deep blue, and she came to realize why the Greeks had both feared and loved Poseidon—why God had decided upon a flood to cleanse the world and make it anew. Yes, the ocean was to be feared… but it was also made to be admired. Claire found a kinship with the water: the ever changing tides so closely entwined with her own, tracing her growth and pulling her along on their predetermined path. It was then that Claire abandoned her fear of the ocean, casting it away into the deep, dark depths of the sea, sinking to a mysterious crevice long forgotten.

Years later, sitting in the warm sands of Barbados, her now worn book in hand, Claire Beauchamp basked in the Caribbean sunlight as she listened to the roar of the surf upon the sandy shores. The gulls were squabbling overhead, the market teeming with life, and up upon a sandy hill, Uncle Lamb sat in his office, postponing his work to sift through the intricate notes his niece had taken on the local plantlife, marveling at her intellect and passion.

But the ocean giveth and the ocean taketh away. While the Atlantic had stolen Claire’s parents from her, it had also delivered her to this remarkable paradise. It had allowed her to free herself from the shackles of the past with her formative years spent on the majestic shores of Barbados. The sandy dunes and fragrant waters ignited a vivacious spark in Claire, and as she stood to make her way back home, she felt fully and utterly content.

Yet despite both the blessings and curses bestowed upon her by the raging torrents of the sea, there was still one final blow to be dealt.

#i apologise in advance #Outlander #fanfic #pirate!au #jamie/claire #Pirate!Jamie #outlander fanfic #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #black jack randall #in the depths of the sea #outlander fanfiction #writing #aus #i'm running out of tags #frank randall #Claire Elizabeth beauchamp #caitronabalfe #sam heughan

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pamphletstoinspire · 8 years ago

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THE HOLY GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST, ACCORDING TO ST. John, FROM THE LATIN VULGATE BIBLE

Chapter 8

PREFACE.

St. John, the evangelist, a native of Bathsaida, in Galilee, was the son of Zebedee and Salome. He was by profession a fisherman. Our Lord gave to John, and to James, his brother, the surname of Boanerges, or, sons of thunder; most probably for their great zeal, and for their soliciting permission to call fire from heaven to destroy the city of the Samaritans, who refused to receive their Master. St. John is supposed to have been called to the apostleship younger than any of the other apostles, not being more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. The Fathers teach that he never married. Our Lord had for him a particular regard, of which he gave the most marked proofs at the moment of his expiring on the cross, by intrusting to his care his virgin Mother. He is the only one of the apostles that did not leave his divine Master in his passion and death. In the reign of Domitian, he was conveyed to Rome, and thrown into a caldron of boiling oil, from which he came out unhurt. He was afterwards banished to the island of Patmos, where he wrote his book of Revelations; In his gospel, St. John omits very many leading facts and circumstances mentioned by the other three evangelists, supposing his readers sufficiently instructed in points which his silence approved. It is universally agreed, that St. John had seen and approved of the other three gospels.

Chapter 8

The woman taken in adultery. Christ justifies his doctrine.

1 And Jesus went to Mount Olivet.

Notes & Commentary:

Ver. 1, The last verse of the foregoing chapter, and the eleven verses that follow in this, are not found in the greater part of our present Greek copies, yet they are in some manuscripts and so are retained in the Protestant translation. We read nothing of them in the commentaries of St. Chrysostom or St. Cyril; but St. Jerome (lib. ii. con. Pelag. tom. 4, part 2, p. 521. Ed. Ben.) says, they were found in many both Latin and Greek copies. St. Ambrose (Ep. 52.) says this passage, of the woman taken in adultery, was always famous in the Church. St. Augustine expounds them, tract. in Joan, &c. (Witham)

Note:

Ver. 1. In multis Latinis et Græcis codicibus invenitur. S. Hierom.[St. Jerome] See the Greek edition of the New Testament, at Amsterdam, ex officina Westeniana, an. 1711, in notis Criticis in fin, p. 17.

2 And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all the people came to him, and sitting down he taught them.

Ver. 2. No explanation given.

3 And the Scribes and Pharisees bring to him a woman taken in adultery: and they set her in the midst,

Ver. 3. No explanation given.

4 And said to him: Master, this woman was even now taken in adultery.

Ver. 4. No explanation given.

5 Now Moses in the law commanded us to stone such a one. But what sayest thou?

Ver. 5. No explanation given.

6 And this they said, tempting him, that they might accuse him. But Jesus, stooping down, wrote with his finger on the ground.

Ver. 6. Wrote with his finger, as one that was musing about something else. (Witham)

7 When therefore they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said to them: *He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.

Ver. 7. We cannot with any propriety reprehend or condemn faults in others, if we ourselves be guilty of the same, or other great faults, St. Cyril, in Joan. --- See annotations on Matthew vii, ver. 1.

8 And again stooping down, he wrote on the ground.

Ver. 8. No explanation given.

9 But they hearing this, went out one by one, beginning from the eldest: and Jesus alone remained, and the woman standing in the midst.

Ver. 9. Went out one by one, confounded, and as it is in the ordinary Greek copies, convicted by their own conscience. (Witham)

Note:

Ver. 9. Apo tes suneideseos, elegchomenoi.

10 Then Jesus lifting up himself, said to her: Woman, where are they that accused thee? Hath no man condemned thee?

Ver. 10. No explanation given.

11 She said: No man, Lord. And Jesus said: Neither will I condemn thee. Go, and now sin no more.

Ver. 11. Hence we may see how impious is the doctrine of those who say that God is the author of sin. Christ did not say to the woman: I do not condemn thy sin; or, go and live now as thou pleasest, I will free thee from all punishment due to any sin thou shalt commit: but he only said, Go, and from henceforth sin no more: thus preserving his amiable virtue of clemency, and still not encouraging vice. (St. Augustine)

12 Again therefore Jesus spoke to them, saying: I am the light of the world: he that followeth me, walketh not in darkness, but shall have the light of life.

Ver. 12. No explanation given.

13 The Pharisees, therefore, said to him: Thou givest testimony of thyself: thy testimony is not true.

Ver. 13. No explanation given.

14 Jesus answered, and said to them: Although I give testimony of myself, my testimony is true: for I know whence I came and whither I go: but you know not whence I come, or whither I go.

Ver. 14. Although I give testimony (or witness) of myself, my testimony is true. He gives them the reason, ver. 16; because he is not alone, but the Father (who also beareth witness) is also with him. (Witham)

15 You judge according to the flesh: I judge not any man:

Ver. 15. You judge, and also bear testimony concerning other men, according to the flesh, and according to outward shew and appearances only. I judge no one in this manner. And whatever judgment I pass, or if I give testimony, my testimony is true, as coming also from the Father, with whom I am one in nature, though a distinct person: and two, according to the law, are enough to give evidence. (Witham) --- You judge according to the flesh, &c. Because you do not understand the ways of God, and think you only see in me the person of man; therefore I seem to you to be arrogant, bearing witness of myself. Man indeed, who wishes alone to bear testimony of himself, is arrogant, and not to be believed, because all men are frail and liable to be deceived; but light and truth itself can neither deceive nor be deceived. (St. Augustine)

16 And if I do judge, my judgment is true, because I am not alone: but I and the Father that sent me.

Ver. 16. I am not alone. Christ does not here say that he is the Father and he is the Son, he only says that he is not alone, but that the Father is with him, plainly distinguishing the two Persons. The Father is truly the Father, and the Son truly the Son, not one elder or greater than the other, but both entirely equal in all perfections. One in substance, co-eternal, and of one perfect equality. (St. Augustine)

17 And in your law it is written, *that the testimony of two men is true.

Ver. 17. No explanation given.

18 I am one that give testimony of myself: and the Father that sent me, giveth testimony of me.

Ver. 18. No explanation given.

19 They said, therefore, to him: Where is thy Father? Jesus answered: Neither me do you know, nor my Father: if you did know me, you would know my Father also.

Ver. 19. Where is thy Father? They knew well enough by other discourses, that he had called and declared God to be his Father; but they had a mind to make him own it again, that they might accuse him as guilty of blasphemy. --- Neither me do you know, nor my Father: you will not own me to have been always his Son, nor him to have been always my Father, but did you know me to be his Son, always proceeding from him, you would know my Father also, and know him as my Father from all eternity. (Witham) --- As in common conversation we often say, "when you have seen one, you have seen the other;" when two persons or things seem perfectly alike as to outward appearances, so here Christ says, If you did know me, you would know my Father also: not that the Father is the Son, or the Son the Father, but because the Father is like the Son. (St. Augustine) --- Here might the Arians, and all who maintain that Christ is a mere creature, blush; for if he were a creature, how can any one who knows him likewise know God? Therefore is Christ consubstantial with the Father, for he who knows the Son, knows the Father also. (Theophylactus)

20 These words Jesus spoke in the treasury, teaching in the temple: and no man laid hands on him, because his hour was not yet come.

Ver. 20. No explanation given.

21 Then Jesus said to them again: I go, and you shall seek me, and you shall die in your sin. Whither I go, you cannot come.

Ver. 21. I go my way, and you shall seek me, &c. See the foregoing chapter, ver. 34. (Witham)

22 The Jews, therefore, said: Will he kill himself, because he said: Whither I go, you cannot come?

Ver. 22. No explanation given.

23 And he said to them: You are from beneath, I am from above. You are of this world, I am not of this world.

Ver. 23. I am not of this world: he speaks of his divine person, as the words evidently shew. (Witham)

24 Therefore, I said to you, that you shall die in your sins: for if you believe not that I am he, you shall die in your sin.

Ver. 24. No explanation given.

25 They said, therefore, to him: Who art thou? Jesus said to them: The beginning, who also speak to you.

Ver. 25. Who art thou? Jesus said to them: The beginning,[3] who also speak to you. This text and the construction of it is obscure, both in the Latin and in the Greek. St. Augustine and some of the Latin Fathers, expound it in this manner: I am the beginning of all things, who now being made man, speak to you. But this does not seem the construction, if we consult the Greek text; (where the beginning is not in the nominative, but in the accusative case) and therefore St. Augustine having considered more attentively the Greek, thinks that something must be understood, as believe me to be the beginning: he looks upon this to be the sense and the construction, as being connected with what was said two verses before; to wit, if you believe not that I am he, the true Messias, you shall die in your sins. "That they might," says St. Augustine (tract. 38, num. 11, p. 560) "know what they were to believe," he made them this answer, as if he had said: believe me to be the beginning, the cause, the author of all things, who am now become man, and speak to you. Other later interpreters are of opinion that the beginning is here a Grecism, and signifies that same as at first, or from the beginning. The sense therefore and construction may be, I am, what I said and told you at first, and from the beginning; that is, I am your Messias, the true Son of God, sent into the world, &c. (Witham) --- The Pharisees, indignant at the liberty with which Jesus spoke to them, demand of him in a rage, Who art thou, to speak to us in this imperious manner, to say that we shall die in our sins? Jesus answered them, that he was the Beginning, Author, Creator, and Ruler of all things. This is the more orthodox and more becoming interpretation. Or, I am, in the first place, what I have already told you; viz. (ver. 12.) I am the light of the world; he that followeth me, walketh not in darkness, but shall have the light of life. Or, it may mean, I am what I have always from the beginning told you. I am the Son of God, the Messias, &c. (Calmet)

Note:

Ver. 25. Principium qui et loquor vobis. St. Augustine reads, quia loquor vobis, as we find in some Greek manuscripts and in St. Cyril, p. 511. In the common copies wer read, ten archen, oti kai lalo umin. And as ten archen is in the accusative case, so we may take principium; and to be taken adverbially, to signify the same as primùm, à principio, imprimis. Maldonatus is of the same opinion, as well as many others, and brings examples to shew that ten archen (i.e. kata ten archen) is often taken for primùm: and so the sense will be, I am what I told you from the beginning, i.e. the Messias, and this I now tell you again. We may also take notice, that the Greek construction is hard to be accounted for, ten archen oti, not os, qui, nor e, to agree with arche.

26 I have many things to speak, and to judge of you. But he that sent me is *true: and the things I have heard from him, the same I speak in the world.

Ver. 26. And the things I have heard from him, &c. For Christ, to hear from his Father, to see, &c. is the same as to proceed from him, to be of the same nature and substance. See chap. v, ver. 19. (Witham)

27 Now they did not understand that he called God his father.

Ver. 27. Now they, &c. Some of the more ignorant among the Jews understood not Christ when he clearly enough signified that he was equal to God, and of one and the same nature; but at other times they that heard him, perceived it very well; and so, in this place, they were for stoning him to death. (Witham)

28 Jesus, therefore, said to them: When you shall have lifted up the Son of man, then shall you know that I am he, and that I do nothing of myself; but as the Father hath taught me, these things I speak:

Ver. 28. When you shall have lifted up, &c. That is, have put me to the death of the cross; (see John iii. 14. and xii. 32.) you, that is, many of you, shall know, and believe in me, as your Messias. (Witham)

29 And he that sent me is with me, and he hath not left me alone: for I do always the things that please him.

Ver. 29. No explanation given.

30 When he spoke these things, many believed in him.

Ver. 30. No explanation given.

31 Then Jesus said to those Jews that believed him: If you continue in my word, you shall be my disciples indeed:

Ver. 31. If you persevere in the true faith, and in the observance of my words, you shall be my disciples indeed. It is not sufficient to believe; you must likewise do what my words command you to do: nor will it be sufficient to have the true faith for a time; you must persevere in that faith to the end. (St. Augustine, Ven. Bede, St. Chrysostom, Theophylactus, Euthymius, &c.) --- Faith alone without perseverance, or abiding in God's commandments, will not suffice. (Bristow)

32 And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

Ver. 32. And the truth shall make you free. They were affronted at these words, as if he hinted they were slaves, and not a free people. They tell him, therefore, that they were never slaves to any one. They can only pretend this of themselves: for, their forefathers were slaves to the Egyptians, to the Babylonians, &c. and besides they were now the subjects, if not slaves, to the Romans. But Christ speaks of the worst of slaveries, and tells them the such as live in sin, are slaves to sin. (Witham)

33 They answered him: We are the seed of Abraham, and we have never been slaves to any man: how sayest thou, You shall be free?

Ver. 33. No explanation given.

34 Jesus answered them: Amen, amen, I say unto you: that whosoever committeth sin, is the servant of sin.

Ver. 34. No explanation given.

35 Now the servant abideth not in the house for ever: but the son abideth for ever.

Ver. 35. Now the servant abideth not in the house for ever, nor has a right to live in that manner as a son and a child of the family has to live in his father's house. A slave or servant, though he live ever so long in his master's house, his condition is quite different from that of a son of the family: and thus Christ puts them in mind that though they be of the race of Abraham, and in that sense can pretend to be his children, yet having made themselves slaves to sin, and remaining in that sin, by which they refuse to believe in him, their Messias, they are not the spiritual children of Abraham, nor can they inherit the promises made to Abraham, till, by the grace of Christ, they believe in him, and become his adoptive children. (Witham)

36 If, therefore, the son shall make you free, you shall be free indeed.

Ver. 36. Man never was without free-will; but, having the grace of Christ, his will is truly made free from the servitude of sin. (St. Augustine, tract. 41. in Joan.)

37 I know that you are the children of Abraham: but you seek to kill me, because my word hath no place in you.

Ver. 37. You. That is, many of you, seek to kill me, because my word hath no place in you; that is, is not rightly understood, nor received by you: you reject my doctrine, and are displeased with it. (Witham)

38 I speak that which I have seen with my Father: and you do the things that you have seen with your father.

Ver. 38. The things that you have seen with your father. That is, you follow the suggestions of the devil, whom, (ver. 44.) in plain terms, he calls their father. (Witham)

39 They answered, and said to him: Abraham is our Father. Jesus saith to them: If you be the children of Abraham, do the works of Abraham.

Ver. 39. Not only faith but good works make men children of Abraham. See James, chap. ii.

40 But now you seek to kill me, a man who have spoken the truth to you, which I have heard of God: this Abraham did not.

Ver. 40. No explanation given.

41 You do the works of your father. They said then to him: We are not born of fornication: we have one Father, God.

Ver. 41. We are not born of fornication; we have one Father, God. These Jews perceived that Christ had hinted that they were not the true and faithful sons of Abraham; and therefore they replied in this manner. But Christ answered, if God was your Father, if you were his dutiful children, you would also believe in me, and love me; for I have proceeded from him, and am come from him, his true Son: and now sent into the world by him. But you cannot hear my word, because you will not, by your own wilful obstinate blindness. (Witham)

42 Jesus therefore said to them: If God were your father, verily you would love me. For I proceeded and came from God: for I came not of myself, but he sent me.

Ver. 42. No explanation given.

43 Why do you not know my speech? Because you cannot hear my word.

Ver. 43. No explanation given.

44 You are of your father, the devil, and the desires of your father you will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and he abode not in the truth: because truth is not in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father thereof.

Ver. 44. You are of your father, the devil, and have made yourselves his slaves. --- He was a murderer from the beginning of the world, having brought both a corporal and a spiritual death by sin, upon all mankind. --- He abode not in the truth, in the ways of truth and obedience to God. --- He is a liar, and the father thereof: that is, the father of lies. I speak truth, being truth itself. (Witham) -- St. Augustine compares heretics, who drive Christians out of the Church, to the devil, who was the cause of our first parents' banishment from paradise. (Cont. lit. Petil. lib. ii. chap. 13.)

45 But if I say the truth, you believe me not.

Ver. 45. No explanation given.

46 Which of you shall convince me of sin? If I say the truth to you, why do you not believe me?

Ver. 46. No explanation given.

47 He that is of God, heareth the words of God. Therefore, you hear them not, because you are not of God.

Ver. 47. No explanation given.

48 The Jews, therefore, answered, and said to him: Do we not say well that thou art a Samaritan, and hast a devil?

Ver. 48. No explanation given.

49 Jesus answered: I have not a devil: but I honour my Father, and you have dishonoured me.

Ver. 49. No explanation given.

50 But I seek not my own glory: there is one that seeketh and judgeth.

Ver. 50. No explanation given.

51 Amen, amen, I say to you, if any man keep my word, he shall not see death for ever.

Ver. 51. He shall not see death, he shall not die, for ever. That is, he shall not incur an eternal death, as they who die in sin: but they understood his words of the death of the body. (Witham) --- You accuse me of being possessed with a devil, because I preach to you a doctrine far different from what you are accustomed to hear; but I speak nothing but the truth; I give honour to my Father, I execute his orders; and the words I now speak to you, are the words of eternal life. Whoever observes them shall not die. Moses promised a long life to those who observed what was commanded in the old law, and offered them as their reward goods and temporal prosperity. But I now offer you an eternal life. Believe my words, keep them, and observe my ordinances, and you shall not feel the death of the soul, the second, eternal, and most miserable of deaths. (Calmet)

52 The Jews, therefore, said, Now we know that thou hast a devil. Abraham is dead, and the prophets: and thou sayest, If any man keep my word, he shall not taste death for ever.

Ver. 52. No explanation given.

53 Art thou greater than our father, Abraham, who is dead? and the prophets are dead. Whom dost thou make thyself?

Ver. 53. No explanation given.

54 Jesus answered: If I glorify myself, my glory is nothing: it is my Father that glorifieth me, whom you say that he is your God.

Ver. 54. No explanation given.

55 And you have not known him, but I know him: And if I should say that I know him not, I should be like to you, a liar. But I know him, and keep his word.

Ver. 55. No explanation given.

56 Abraham, your father, rejoiced that he might see my day: he saw it, and was glad.

Ver. 56. Abraham, your father, rejoiced that he might see my day, my entrance into this world, my incarnation, my birth, my manifestation in Israel, my death and passion. (St. Irenæus, Origen, St. Cyril, &c.) --- He waited with impatience for the deliverance of the whole world. He saw it, and was glad. He saw it in spirit, for God revealed it to him. He saw it approaching in the birth of his son Isaac, and in the miraculous deliverance of his dear son, when he was commanded to offer him in sacrifice to the Lord. The vivacity of his faith made him, as it were, present at the time of my birth, though then so far off. (St. Chrysostom, Leont., Theophylactus, Euthymius) --- It is not unlikely that this patriarch, and the others who were with him, detained in limbo, were apprised of the incarnation and coming of the Messias, which would fill them with an effusion of inexpressible joy. (St. Chrysostom) --- Christ here teaches us two things. 1. That he was before Abraham. 2. That the Jews were not true sons of Abraham, now treating so rudely him, who, even before his coming, had given the patriarch so much joy. (Calmet)

57 The Jews then said to him, Thou art not yet fifty years old, and hast thou seen Abraham?

Ver. 57. No explanation given.

58 Jesus said to them, Amen, amen, I say to you, before Abraham was made, I am.

Ver. 58. Before Abraham was made, I am.[4] Christ here speaks of his eternal existence as God. St. Augustine shews this by these very words, I am. He does not say, before Abraham was made, I was made: because, as the Son of God, he never was made: but I am, which shews his eternal divine nature. (Witham)

Note:

Ver. 58. Abraham fieret, ego sum; prin Abraam genesthai, ego eimi. St. Augustine, (tract. xliii. in Joan. num. 17. p. 588.) intellige, fieret ad creaturam, sum vero pertinere ad divinam substantiam: non dixit, antequam Abraham esset, ego eram, ... neque dixit, ego factus sum ... agnoscite creatorem, discernite creaturam.

59 Then they took up stones to cast at him: but Jesus hid himself, and went out of the temple.

Ver. 59. No explanation given.

#gospel of st. john

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theperfectloveproject · 8 years ago

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Prelude To The Perfect Love: 1:Selflessness

“Selflessness is the first key ingredient to the Perfect Love.”

-Matthew Sloane

Selflessness is defined as “concerning yourself more with the needs and wishes of others, more than one’s self.”, and I feel as if selflessness is the understood common ground that man & woman naturally agree on when they decide to build & grow together in a relationship. As a man, at times I am full of pride, I hate being wrong, and when I want something, I want it then and now! Thankfully, I grew up an only child; and although I grew up in the ghetto, in a single parent household, my mother made sure that if I ever asked her for anything, she got it for me. This all changed once I was I was around the age of 13. During that time, my mother was diagnosed with lumbar spinal stenosis; a back disease, that resulted in her having to quit her job due to the the fact that the disease began to tighten the area around her spinal cord, and she already had terribly bad hips, which ultimately led to to her not being able to walk. For a four year span, my mother was in that condition; and for the majority of those four years, I figured out that I didn’t wholeheartedly love my mother; and being honest with myself, I borderline didn’t like my mother at all. At that time, I was at the height of my selfishness; I knew I was wrong, and I didn’t care. I grew a strong resentment towards my mother because I felt like she was depriving me of my teenage years due to her condition. I had to be there to turn off lights she couldn’t reach, take off and put on her shoes, put together and break down the motorized scooter she had whenever we went shopping somewhere, set a stool in the tub so she could shower; It felt like the only thing I wasn’t doing was cleaning up behind her after she used the restroom. I really viewed my mother as a burden, and I don’t know why he didn’t, but I am so thankful that God didn’t take my mother away from me, to show me what real hurt felt like.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, God was showing me hurt in the form of karma. There wasn’t a relationship, or anything close to a relationship I had in high school with a female that didn’t fall flat and leave me hurt. With every female I was involved with in high school, I showed them way more affection than I ever showed my mother at that time; and in return, I got from those females exactly what I was giving to my mother, a bunch of resentment and ill will; and rightfully so. I deserved to feel all of those emotions of being hurt, and feeling like I wasn’t enough for those females, because I exuded those same feelings towards my mother, and made her feel like she wasn’t a mother, and even worse, I made her feel like she wasn’t even a human being. Looking back on all of these things, it all makes perfect sense now; I didn’t even wholeheartedly LOVE my own mother, so how I could possibly show that type of emotion to another female when I couldn’t even express that emotion to the woman that brought me into this world? I wasn’t ready to love another person in that capacity, and I wasn’t going to be ready until I developed that wholehearted love for my mother; But of course, I didn’t understand that at the time. As time began to wind down during my junior of high school, doctors discovered that although the back disease was the majority source of my mother’s back pain, they saw that her hips were practically nonexistent, and by getting them both replaced, the odds of her being able to walk again would be tremendously high; So she decided to go through with the surgery. Doctors recommended that instead of getting both hips replaced in one procedure, she should get one hip replaced, rehab that hip for a 4 month period, and after that come back and repeat the same process with the other hip; so that is exactly what she did. During the morning of her first surgery, I could immediately feel the heaviest sense of relief that I’ve ever felt in my life coming over me; not because my mother was about to begin her journey on the road to getting better and being able to walk again, but because I was still thinking in a selfish manner, and I felt as if my “burden” was about to be lifted off of my shoulders, and I was going to be able to start living life like a normal teenager. The first surgery was a success, and she spent about 4 days in the hospital; and after that, she began her stay at the rehabilitation center. During her first stint at the rehabilitation center, I could literally count on one hand how many times I went to visit her. I barely even called to see how she was doing. The only thing I was thinking about was my “burden” not being around to bother me.

My entire thought process about this whole situation all of a sudden changed during a night I received a phone call from a close family friend, explaining to me how she just got off of the phone with my mother; and how my mother was uncontrollably crying the minute she picked up the phone, and I was the reason for that. Our friend explained to me how my mother, in essence felt like I just wasn’t a good son. All the while she was in the hospital and rehab during that first surgery, I rarely visited, I barely called, and when she called me, I was nasty as I could’ve been, I was rude, and I rushed to get off of the phone with her. I was truly a monster, and I was doing this to my own mother. Knowing my mom, she would’ve never told me those things, because she is a selfless lover, and she would never do or say anything to hurt or harm me; and I know that if I would’ve heard those words come out of my mother’s mouth, I would’ve been hurt; but please don’t get me wrong, hearing those words from our friend hurt more than I imagined hearing them from my mom would have; but thankfully, God led her to tell me. That conversation changed my life, and with all honesty, it saved me from dying a young death and going straight to hell. (“Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth.” Exodus 20:12)

Hearing those words come from somebody I wasn’t related to, and just telling me how wrong I was, was the best thing that ever happened to me because it truly opened my eyes to what I was doing, and it terrified me. From that day forward, I made a commitment with the Lord and myself that I was going to learn how to SELFLESSLY, WHOLEHEARTEDLY, LOVE my mother in the way a son should; and that is exactly what I did. As time came around for my mother to get her other hip replaced, we were damn near inseparable, and once she began her rehab, not a soul on earth could keep me away from that rehabilitation center to see my momma! In present day, I am 21 years old, and I can’t go a day without hearing my mother’s voice; I may panic if I don’t hear it. I love my mother so much;and in that same way I love my mom, I love everyone who plays a major role in my life.

Many things go into expressing the true emotion of love, but the first component to do so, is to have a complete sense of selflessness; and better yet, a sense of selfless, wholehearted love with the person/persons who raised you; because who the hell can you wholeheartedly love, if you don’t wholeheartedly love your parents? I thank God, our friend, and my mother for successfully guiding me to mastering the art of selflessness, wholehearted love.

All Love,

Matthew Sloane

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