#Scriptures about humble yourself

[happyhealthyandprosperous]

Scriptures About Surrendering to God

Scriptures About Surrendering to God As a Christian, I think one of the most challenging but most important things we can do is learn the act of surrendering to God, to His will, and to His ways. When we accept Jesus as our Lord and Savior, many people like to conveniently leave out the “Lord” part. We want the saving—we just don’t want to be told what to do or how to live by a master. We want to…

[mill3rd]

LIGHT OF THE LORD

synopsis. a woman of divine beauty, grace and fairness has plagued remmick’s mind and being. no matter where he goes, what time he’s in—you’ve been around every corner. he cannot escape your watchful eye. he knows you aren’t human but you are no vampire like him. and while he finds everything about his situation frustrating, he finds you quite intriguing.

tags and warnings. remmicks pov, hes pining unknowingly, mythical ambiguity for the most part, temporal ambiguity so lots of time skips, readers race isnt specified or specific to the story, know-it-all gf vs quickly humbled bf, fluffy, bit angsty, some discriptions of feeding

wc. 10k

© MILL3RD 2025 — all rights reserved. mature content. please do not steal my works

1,385 years. one thousand, three hundred and eighty-five long, excruciating years in which remmick had no choice but to endure your presence—your seraphic presence. seraphic, not in beauty, but in that maddening way you carried righteousness like armor, wisdom like a curse. your face, ageless and untouched by time, only deepened his resentment. the more he was forced to see it—those eternal, untarnished features—the more unbearable you became. there was nothing soft or lovely about it anymore. your immortality was a wound that never healed, and he bled quietly beside you for centuries.

you came to him first in the rawness of your glory—nude, your flesh supple and unnervingly perfect, like something carved from the dreams of old gods. it was only weeks after the catholics had spilled into ireland, clinging to their bibles and breathing scripture like smoke. remmick, newly turned and still trembling in the dark, didn’t yet understand what he was. he thought he had died from the wounds carved into him by war and man, and he sobbed like a child beneath the stars when he saw you approaching—not through the river, but on it. your bare feet pressed the water’s skin as if it were solid, each step leaving behind a shimmer like fireflies or some underwater bloom. the stream itself was dull, lifeless. it had never glowed before. it never glowed again. only when you walked toward him like it was the most ordinary thing in the world did it come alive with light.

“the lord does not encourage such violence,” was all you said. or perhaps not to him at all—your voice was distant, almost drifting, as if carried on mist. it felt less like a warning and more like a half-forgotten thought, spoken aloud without meaning to. weightless, airy, like you were reminding yourself of some rule you no longer believed in, repeating it out of habit more than conviction. the words hung in the air, delicate and hollow, and remmick wasn’t sure if they were meant for him or the sky above.

your words unsettled him. the lord. even hearing the name turned his stomach. after everything he’d suffered—everything he’d lost—invoking the man upstairs felt like a cruel joke. it was tone-deaf, sanctimonious. so when you opened your arms, all light and grace, offering some divine comfort, he recoiled like you were poison.

“stay away from me!” he snapped, stumbling backward. “i ain't interested in walking with god’s so-called vessel.”

his voice cracked, thick with fury and something raw beneath it—betrayal, maybe. or grief.

you merely frown and watch as he scrambles off deeper into the trees.

remmick wandered deep into the woodlands, far enough that the moon vanished behind the thick weave of branches overhead. the air grew colder there, denser, and the only light came in faint silver slivers where the canopy broke. he let the owls guide him, their low, rhythmic hoots echoing like warnings through the underbrush. every step tangled him deeper in roots and bramble, the trees growing close and ancient around him, as if they were watching.

then—a sound. sharp, low, guttural. a growl, too deliberate to be the wind. it came from ahead, thick in the dark. his eyes adjusted, and he saw them: teeth gleaming like shards of polished bone, bared in a snarl that pulsed with threat. a wolf. broad-shouldered, fur rippling like smoke in the moonless dark. remmick froze.

good, he thought. maybe now, finally, it would all end.

but something inside him stirred—deep, primal, and hungry. not fear. not relief. hunger. sharp and sudden, like a spike to the gut. his throat burned. his limbs ached to move. and before he understood what he was doing, he stepped forward, slow and silent, toward the wolf.

it blinked, muscles tense, and backed away—eyes locked on him, more confused than afraid. it knew something was wrong. it sensed something unnatural.

remmick kept moving, drawn not by instinct to survive, but by something darker, something ancient coiled now inside him.

before he could even think to lunge, a light broke open behind him—blinding, radiant, pure white. it wasn’t overwhelming. no, it was no different to the faint light of a flame. it was just unnatural underneath the shade of the canopy. the wolf didn’t wait. it bolted, tail low and body vanishing into the underbrush with a panicked rustle.

remmick turned, breath sharp, pupils blown wide as his eyes locked onto the source.

you.

you, this insufferable, god-touched creature, glowing as if the stars themselves bent to your will. no flame, no torch—just you, radiating light as effortlessly as a flower bleeds scent. it was unnatural. it was maddening.

remmick let out a low, guttural growl. his body trembled with hunger, pain pulsing in his torn flesh like a second heartbeat. he was wounded, starving, half-mad—and there you stood, pristine, untouched, a walking symbol of everything he’d come to loathe.

he squinted at you through the harsh light, eyes narrowed, seething with anger and exhaustion. “wha’dyou want?” he snapped, voice rough like gravel. “i thought i told you to stay away.”

you didn’t answer. instead, your gaze drifted lazily to his face, head tilting slightly, eyes calm—almost amused.

“you are drooling,” you said, voice soft and unbothered.

remmick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling as he turned away. “can’t blame a man for being hungry,” he muttered, bitterness coating each word like tar.

you only smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips, and without a word, followed him—silent, steady, undeterred by his resentment. his anger rolled off you like water on stone.

“you will have to learn how to control that hunger,” you said, voice light, almost distant, like the words weren’t really meant for him alone, “you are not the man you used to be. not anymore.”

there was a quiet finality to it, as if the truth had already settled in the soil around you, waiting for him to catch up.

“what am i then?” remmick asked, voice rough and brittle, like dried bark about to snap. there was a weight behind it, something choked and bruised, the kind of heaviness that clung to a man who’d wept alone through too many sunless nights—because the sun, once warm and welcoming, had turned its back on him completely.

your expression didn’t shift. your voice was steady, almost cold.

“inhuman.”

“an’ what about you?” remmick’s voice cut through the air, a mix of frustration and suspicion. “you look human, but you ain’t one.”

you nodded slowly, your gaze steady, almost serene, as if every word you spoke was steeped in something far beyond him.

“a keen observation, remmick,” you replied, your voice soft yet filled with an ancient grace. “i am not human, nor have i ever been. i merely wear this face, this form, for as long as my time among mortals endures.”

remmick jumped at the sound of his name, the echo of it like a whisper from a past he hadn't invited. he never told you his name. never gave you the right to know it. yet, there it was, hanging between you like a thread woven from the air itself.

the world around him swayed, and it wasn’t from too many drinks of ale or beer. it was something far heavier.

“how did ya know my name?” he demanded, voice tight with disbelief, as his hand shot out, gripping your shoulder with an urgency that bordered on panic. “what even are ya? there’s something... unorthodox about you. nobody radiates light like that! and absolutely nobody galavants around naked, óinseach!”

you regarded him with an almost sorrowful expression, lips pressing together in a faint frown.

“i apologize,” you murmured, your tone gentle but laced with something ancient. “i can tone down my appearance if it frightens you.”

remmick froze, his pulse stuttering in his chest. then, before his very eyes, you shifted—your form bending, stretching, warping, as if reality itself could no longer hold the weight of your true essence. a blur of faces spun before him—his younger sister, laughing beneath the sun; his mother, her tired eyes soft with love; his wife, her smile warm, full of memories that felt like a dream; his older brothers, strong and brash, voices echoing through the corridors of his past; and his daughter, her innocent eyes full of questions, a life he’d lost forever.

each face flickered in and out of your shifting form, leaving a trail of aching familiarity in their wake, and remmick’s breath caught as the weight of it all settled over him.

a terrified yell ripped through remmick’s throat, his body jolting with a surge of panic as he stumbled backward, scrambling away from you. his legs carried him without thought, driven by instinct, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum of war.

he didn’t dare to look back. the images—the faces—clung to him like a curse, and the sight of them twisted something deep inside him.

this time, you didn’t follow.

you stood still, an immovable figure in the shifting darkness, watching him retreat with quiet understanding. your gaze lingered on the space where he had been, serene yet filled with a sorrow that was not yours to bear.

that was his first encounter with you and now he wears you like a burden. you didn’t show up for days after that and remmick began to believe you were a fever dream. something he made up due to delirium.

but then, just as suddenly, you appeared—the sound of waves washing softly on the shore marking your arrival. your natural glow was the only light beside the pale moon, soft and unearthly, illuminating the world around you in quiet brilliance.

remmick groaned in frustration upon seeing you, his shoulders sagging in resignation. “i thought ya’d have written me off by now. labelled me a lost cause.”

you shook your head, the motion slow and graceful, your presence like a steadying breath in the chaos of his mind.

“no,” was all you said, the simplicity of it carrying a weight beyond words.

without waiting for him to respond, you sat down beside him, where the sand darkened with the lingering traces of water’s touch. the cool salt air swept over you, and the ocean’s rhythm seemed to pulse in time with your being. the salty water kissed your skin, as though it had been waiting for you to arrive.

“i found some clothes so i would not stand out,” you chirped, your voice light and carefree as though nothing had transpired between you. remmick didn’t want any part of this conversation, but you were relentless.

he nodded, barely looking at you, pulling his head closer to his knee. “good on ya.”

“i wanted to give you space after our last conversation,” you continued, tone softening. “i realize i was... insensitive. and for that, i want to apologize.”

remmick raised an eyebrow, the bitterness in his voice sharper now. “if i accept it, will ya leave me alone?”

you laughed—a sound so unexpected and pure that it caught him off guard. the first time he’d heard it, and it was like a breath of wind through still air. “not forever, no. but for now, will that suffice?”

he sighed, letting go of the tension in his shoulders for a moment. “i forgive ya then.”

and just like that, you were gone. not with a quiet fade or a dramatic burst of smoke, but simply—gone. one second, remmick could hear the steady beat of your pulse, the rush of blood flowing beneath your skin, and the next, the world was empty, save for the sound of waves and the distant echo of his own heartbeat.

he waited in silence, the stillness of it pressing in on him, until his hunger clawed at him again, and he turned his focus to the water, waiting for a fish’s heartbeat to break the quiet.

it took remmick a long time to understand what he had become: a vampire. it wasn’t until he encountered others like himself that the true weight of his transformation hit him. in their eyes, he saw only the reflection of something monstrous—unnatural, evil. but remmick wasn’t evil. his life had been stolen from him, ripped away in a moment of violence, and now he was left to survive on instinct, just like any creature would.

that wasn’t evil. it was simply the harsh truth of nature’s cold hand. survival, stripped down to its most primal form. natural selection.

they taught him what it truly meant to feed, the raw satisfaction that came with fully indulging his hunger. feeding on humans—it felt strange, yes, but it also felt right, as if his body had been designed for this purpose and nothing else. there was no one to tell him there were other ways, no gentle voice reminding him of the choices he still had.

in truth, he hadn’t seen you in a long while. he hadn’t felt the comforting warmth of your light, nor the unsettling pull of your golden blood since that brief encounter at the beach. he had told you to leave him be, and you had listened—something he hadn’t expected but couldn’t help but feel grateful for.

still, as time passed, something gnawed at him. it was subtle, like a missing note in a melody, a strange emptiness in the quiet that followed your departure. part of him was glad you were gone, but there was another part—a part he couldn't ignore—that felt... unsettled.

when you finally appeared, remmick was nestled at the edge of an ancient castle ruin, tucked into the jagged rocks and rubble. the moonlight filtered through a gaping hole in the stone wall, casting silver beams across his form, and he lay there, eyes closed in quiet stillness. moonbathing, he called it. though, when you approached, he shot you a disgruntled look, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

“moonbathing?” you asked, your head tilting in quiet curiosity, “i understand that the sun darkens the skin, but why would you try to tan in the moonlight?”

remmick shrugged, not bothering to lift his gaze. “ha'fta keep my pale complexion up to date," he muttered with a dry smirk, clearly unbothered by your confusion.

“so you have no intention of tanning?” you ask, still standing in the frame of the hole in the wall. remmick shakes his head, “if i tried to tan, i’d get a little more than sunburn.”

you nodded slowly, a thoughtful motion, but before you could speak, remmick waved a hand and grunted, “move outta the way. you’re blocking the moon.”

he hadn’t exactly told you to leave, so you quietly stepped over the rubble, your movements as fluid as mist, and settled down beside him, folding your body against the cool stone as if it belonged there.

“do you know about constellations?” you asked after a pause, turning your head to face him, your voice gentle, like a breeze trying not to wake the earth.

remmick kept his eyes closed, but he could feel your gaze on him, steady and curious.

“no,” he muttered, “ya gonna give me a random fact o’ the day?”

you smiled faintly and nodded, undeterred by his sarcasm.

“many constellations are tied to the zodiacs,” you began, your voice slipping into that melodic cadence you often carried when speaking of old things. “twelve of them form a path the sun appears to follow throughout the year. the ancients charted them to navigate the seas, tell time, even predict their fates. and if you look just there—” you lifted a hand, pointing skyward “—you can see libra, the scales. it is faint, but present. balance, even in darkness.”

your words trailed off into the night, soft and steady, like starlight dripping into silence.

remmick grunted, finally cracking one eye open to glance at you. “fascinating,” he muttered dryly, “write a book about all that and they’ll string you up as a witch.”

“no one knows i exist,” you replied, calm and matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather.

remmick sighed and let his head fall back against the stone. “iontach. so i’m the lunatic talking to the ghost nobody else can see.”

“i am not a ghost either,” you said with a soft smile, the kind that barely touched your lips but somehow warmed the space between you. “i am sure you have figured out what i am by now.”

remmick let out a dry chuckle, the sound low and a little hollow. “my best guess?” he said, eyes fixed on the sky. “i’m seein’ things. you’re not real—just something my mind cooked up to keep me company when the silence gets too loud.”

“if that is what you believe,” you replied, your tone quiet, unreadable—neither confirming nor denying, as steady as still water.

then, without another word, you rose, movements fluid and precise. you stepped lightly across the scattered bricks, your figure momentarily silhouetted in the moonlight as you reached the jagged hole in the wall.

“until next time, remmick,” you said over your shoulder, voice echoing just slightly, like it belonged to the night itself.

remmick watches as you disappear but he swears your hand lingers on the brick for a second longer. he’s left in silence now until your words echo, until next time. he groans, what about never?

he does see you. again and again and again. your visits get more frequent until you’re both caught unexpectedly in war. the eleventh century. remmick thought he had escaped your watchful eye and found himself hitching rides with strangers in their carts, hiding under thick velvet rugs until nightfall where he bid his goodbyes and wandered off. he should’ve known you’d find him.

remmick stood at the edge of the treeline, deliberately keeping himself in the shadows, avoiding the last vestiges of sunlight that hung stubbornly in the sky. his eyes scanned the valley below, where the battle raged fiercely, men clashing in a frenzy of steel and blood. the air was thick with the sounds of war—shouting, the clang of weapons, the stampede of hooves. it was chaos, but he was content to watch from afar, detached from the madness.

and then, as if summoned by some unseen force, you appeared. he didn’t need to see you fully to know—it was the light that gave you away. a soft, golden glow that seemed to push back against the fading daylight. it clung to you, hovering just at the edges of your presence, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world itself dimmed just to make room for you.

“ain’t bored o’ me yet?” remmick muttered, his voice laced with annoyance and something else—something he refused to acknowledge.

you didn’t answer immediately. instead, there was a slight rustle in the air, a shift in the atmosphere as you moved closer. when you did speak, your voice was serene, effortless. “not at all.”

he couldn’t see it, but he could feel the subtle shake of your head, the shift in the air that told him you were amused. you always were, always so certain and unbothered by his disdain.

he huffed, rolling his eyes and returning his focus to the battle below. you were like a persistent, unavoidable breeze—always there, no matter how much he tried to ignore you.

its silent between you two as you both experience the rage of the battle of hastings below, the cries of men filling the air as blood stains the earth beneath. the dying light of the sun casts long shadows across the field, and the sky is a mixture of fading reds and purples. you stand at the edge of the treeline, your presence almost otherworldly, that strange divine glow surrounding you like a halo. it's the kind of light that would make anyone believe you're something holy, untouchable, perfect. but remmick doesn't care about any of that.

he stands next to you, his arms crossed, eyes bored as they track the chaos below. his face is hard, indifferent—he's seen enough of human suffering to not bat an eye at it. to him, they're all just ants. he turns his attention to you, though, the faintest hint of annoyance crossing his features. it’s the same thing every time. you show up, radiating light, acting like you’ve got a hand in this world’s fate. he’s sick of it.

you speak, your voice a soft, almost ethereal whisper. “do you ever wonder if they know what they are fighting for?”

remmick scoffs, the sarcasm dripping from his words. “i’m sure they’re all very aware of their ‘noble causes,’” he mutters. “but it don’t matter, do it? they’ll die anyway.”

you give him a sidelong glance, those piercing eyes of yours studying him like you always do. “do you think death is all they’re meant for?”

“i think most of them wan’ it,” he responds flippantly, his gaze flicking over to the chaos below. “or maybe they're just too stupid to know when to stop fighting.”

you shake your head, a quiet sigh escaping your lips, your tone almost sad. “you’re so jaded, remmick.”

he looks at you then, an eyebrow raised. “and you’re so holy.” he leans against a tree, crossing his arms tighter. “if you think they’re all so deserving of your pity, why don’t ya help ‘em out?”

you ignore his question, your gaze fixed on the battle once more. it’s almost as if you can’t help yourself—you have to watch, to be present. but then something catches his attention. the flicker of an arrow in the last rays of sunlight. it's a fleeting thing, but remmick notices it.

before he can react, the arrow strikes you.

it’s quick. too quick for him to fully process. he hears you gasp, and then you stumble slightly, your hand clutching at your side. the arrow, so perfectly aimed, has found its mark in the divine part of you, piercing through the space where your beauty and immortality should be untouched.

he doesn’t react immediately. instead, his gaze lingers on you, observing the way your breath hitches as the golden blood begins to seep through your fingers. his mouth curls into something that might have been a smile, but there’s no warmth in it. there’s nothing but quiet satisfaction in the knowledge that he’s right.

you’re not as untouchable as you think.

“oh, look at that,” he murmurs, the words coated in a kind of cruel humor, “a little scratch. guess you ain’t as perfect as everyone thinks.”

he watches for a moment longer as you stand there, your form still glowing faintly even as blood drips from you. you’re not the same now. you’re broken. you’ve been touched by the same death that touches everyone, and for some reason, that gives him a sense of relief.

you look at him, and there’s a flicker of something in your eyes—concern, maybe. or maybe just a question. but remmick isn’t interested. he’s never been interested in your divine presence. he’s only been stuck with you because you follow him, despite the fact that he wants nothing to do with you.

he takes a step back, turning his gaze away from you. “well, i’ve seen enough,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of any emotion, “you’ll be fine. immortals like you don’t just die from an arrow.”

he called you immortal because he didn’t know what else you were.

and with that, he turns, disappearing into the trees, leaving you there. blood staining the ground, your divine light flickering weakly.

he doesn’t care if you survive. in fact, a part of him hopes you don’t.

he leaves you there, under the dying light of the sunset, and walks away without a second thought. the darkness of night soon envelops him, and for the first time, he feels a strange sense of relief. maybe this is what he wanted all along—an escape from your presence, from your light, from the divine pressure of your existence.

he doesn’t look back. he doesn’t even think about it. he’s long gone, disappearing into the night.

remmick hadn’t seen you in over five hundred years. for a while, he thought the peace would last. the solitude had been... bearable. a century of living on his own terms, without your relentless light or your judgmental eyes, was a relief. he wandered through europe, a ghost in the shadows of history. he watched the rise of new dynasties, the endless wars of vikings, the decline of the roman empire, and the brutal reign of genghis khan. centuries passed, each one feeling like a whisper in time, and he thought he had finally outrun you.

but the renaissance? that was the point where it all fell apart. it was the 16th century in france, and somehow, against all logic, he had managed to convince the royal family that he, too, was royalty—a lost prince from some forgotten kingdom. he was skilled in deception, after all, and no one really questioned an enigmatic figure like him. they believed his stories, and the royal family, desperate to flaunt their connection to ancient lineages, eagerly threw a ball in his honor.

“to celebrate the visit of prince remmick i,” they announced, and the court was abuzz. everyone was charmed by the mysterious foreigner, the one whose origins were as hazy as the fog that rolled across the french countryside.

as the night stretched on, lit by shimmering chandeliers and the glittering eyes of aristocrats, remmick found himself drifting through the crowd, always watching, always smiling with that knowing smirk.

he should have known. he should have known that your light would pierce through the shadows of his false life. and yet, he didn’t hear your footsteps, didn’t see your radiance until you were already standing before him, like a vision from another time, another world.

"ain’t bored o’ me yet?" remmick asked, half-amused, half-resigned. he starts the greeting the same way he started the last one you had.

you smiled softly, as if you'd never left, "not at all," you replied, your voice soft as always, yet carrying a weight he could never ignore. you seem to remember too how he greeted you.

remmick’s fingers curled into his palm, nails digging into the flesh. how long had he really been free? how long could he ever escape your watchful eyes?

the music swirled through the air, soft and alluring, as the orchestra in the corner of the ballroom played their delicate tune. the sound of strings filled the grand hall, echoing off the gold-trimmed walls. remmick held you close, his hand firm on your waist as he led you in the dance, effortlessly twirling you through the sea of guests. each step felt like a rhythm he had known forever, like he'd danced this dance with you a thousand times, even though it was only now that he realized you were real—more than just a haunting image from his mind.

you moved with an ethereal grace, laughter bubbling from your lips like a song he couldn’t help but chase. when he spun you, the light caught in your hair, and for a brief moment, it almost felt like the entire room faded away—just the two of you, floating through time. his chest tightened as you laughed, that soft, knowing sound, and he couldn’t help but notice how your presence filled the space around him. he’d never let himself feel this before, not for someone like you.

but before he could think on it too long, the dance shifted. your hand slipped from his and suddenly, you were in the arms of another man—an older figure, no doubt a noble, with a grasp on your waist that was far too close, intimate. you laughed again, a bright, airy sound that made remmick's stomach twist and churn.

this is the moment remmick realises you have a physical manifestation and you truly weren’t apart of his imagination.

he stood still for a moment, watching as you moved away, the warmth of your hand no longer in his, replaced by the weight of something heavy that clawed at his insides. his eyes narrowed instinctively as you, effortlessly, slipped into another’s embrace. the man held you close, spinning you with a tenderness that made remmick’s skin prickle.

it shouldn’t matter, but it did.

he swallowed down the odd bitterness that had risen in his throat. it was absurd. he wasn’t allowed to feel this way—this possessive ache. but still, he couldn’t help himself, watching the way you laughed in his arms, the way your eyes shone so brightly for someone else.

remmick shook his head, forcing himself back into the present. the princess he had been dancing with swirled into his arms, but his gaze never wavered from you. he couldn’t look away. it was as if the room had ceased to exist around him—there were no voices, just the sound of your laughter and the light that shimmered around you.

he knew it was futile to hold on to any of it, but for as long as he could, he would keep you in his line of sight, hoping you wouldn’t slip away again, like you always did.

as the music reached its final notes, remmick's gaze never left you. he watched as you slipped gracefully from the arms of your partner, your presence like a flicker of light lost among the throngs of well-dressed nobles. the man—his face now blurred by the growing distance between them—seemed unaware of the way you had subtly detached yourself, drifting into the crowd of silks and velvets, where the shadows danced just as intricately as the guests.

remmick felt an inexplicable urgency seize him. his fingers grazed the princess’s hand, and with a smooth smile, he pressed his lips to her delicate knuckles in a gesture that seemed far more rehearsed than genuine. “my apologies, princess,” he murmured, the words slow and languid, “but i’ve promised myself a moment alone. something about cutting the cake, you know? a royal tradition, i suppose.”

she blinked, clearly satisfied by the excuse, her smile warm and unsuspecting. “of course, prince remmick. go enjoy your cake.”

and with that, she was lost to the crowd of swirling dancers, her attention already diverted. remmick didn’t waste a second more. he gave her a lazy bow and watched her retreat into the gilded glamour of the ballroom. then, with a fluid, practiced motion, he slipped into the labyrinth of bodies around him, the rich fabric of coats and gowns folding into a soft blur of color.

he didn’t care about the cake. he didn’t care about any of it. all that mattered was finding you again before you vanished into the shadows once more. his heart pounded as his feet carried him swiftly through the crowd, his eyes darting over the sea of faces, seeking that unmistakable glow that had haunted him for centuries.

there. between the columns of the balcony, under the flickering candlelight. your silhouette, radiant even in the midst of so many others, a beacon amidst the chaos. remmick’s pulse quickened, a feeling—half desire, half something darker—stirring deep in his chest.

“long time, no see…” you breathe, your voice soft as you stand at the edge of the courtyard, staring out into the cool night. the moonlight catches the edge of your dress, making it shimmer in a way that feels almost too ethereal. “remmick.”

he swallows, his throat dry, and his eyes track the curve of your silhouette in the dim light. there’s something about the way the dress clings to you tonight—it suits you better than anything he’s seen you wear before. he can’t help but notice, even in the midst of everything else, how striking you are, even when you're so distant.

“yeah…” he hums, his voice rougher than he intends. “how long’s it been?”

you don’t turn to face him, but he knows you’re listening. “ah, five hundred years. it was quite the break from your presence,” he adds, with a hint of bitterness that slips from his lips before he can stop it.

you give a small nod, the movement subtle, but it feels like you’re acknowledging something deeper, something unsaid. your gaze doesn’t waver from the distant horizon, the city lights far below barely flickering. “it was quite the goodbye. if i remember correctly, you left me to die.”

remmick laughs, a hollow, cold sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “you remember correct. i’m quite fond of that memory, actually.” the words fall out like a joke, but the edge to his tone betrays him. there’s something about it that feels unfinished, unsaid.

you remain silent for a moment, your eyes still lost in the night. then, slowly, your head falls into your hand, your fingers pressing lightly against your temple as if to hold back something that could break through. remmick watches you, his smile fading, the silence stretching between them.

he doesn’t say anything more, because he knows—no words would make this any less complicated.

so, he let’s you speak first.

“why did you leave me like that?” your voice is quiet, but it cuts clean through the space between you. you still don’t turn to face him, your figure leaning into the cold stone railing like it might offer some kind of answer he won’t give. the moonlight brushes your skin like a veil, softening the tension in your shoulders, but remmick can still see it—the weight you carry.

“i got quite the scolding after that,” you add, almost like an afterthought. “that was your… one hundred and fifty-sixth second chance.”

the number hangs heavy in the air. remmick shifts behind you, a half-sigh caught in his throat. he wasn’t keeping count—but of course you were. of course you would remember every time he failed to live up to whatever cosmic expectation you held over him.

you don’t sound angry. not really. just… tired. like the years haven’t worn you down, but his choices have.

“glad to know someone’s keeping count,” remmick mutters, easing in beside you. the stone railing presses into his spine as he leans back, angling his body just enough to catch a glimpse of your face in the moonlight.

your eyes drift to his—slow, reluctant—and for a moment, something catches in his chest. if he still breathed, it would’ve hitched, tight and sharp. you weren’t supposed to look like this.

he’d seen your face in every imaginable light: serene, righteous, unreadable. you always wore that same celestial calm like armor. but now… now you just look exhausted. not weary in the way mortals age and sag with time—but a deeper sadness, old and quiet, like the fading echo of a hymn long forgotten.

remmick isn’t sure what unsettles him more: the silence between you, or the way you won’t quite meet his gaze.

he swallows when you don’t respond, the silence stretching longer than he expects. so he tries again, voice lower this time, almost unsure, “if i’m on my one hundred and fifty-seventh chance… why didn’t you give up ages ago?”

you still don’t answer, and that unsettles him more than any sharp retort would have.

he shifts beside you, the corner of his mouth twitching in a crooked attempt at a smile. “seriously. you should probably reevaluate your standards after that.”

it’s meant to be a joke, light enough to pull you from whatever place your mind’s wandered to—but it lands heavy, as if even he knows it doesn’t quite cover the question he’s really asking.

after a long, deathly silence, you finally lift your head and meet his eyes. there’s no lightness in your expression—just that same quiet, ancient sorrow that’s lingered beneath your skin for centuries.

“do you want to know what i am?” you ask, voice soft but unwavering. “i am sure you have been wondering for a while.”

remmick lets out a dry chuckle, one corner of his mouth curling up. “you’re right about that,” he says, eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for the answer there.

“i am an angel of the lord,” you say, finally standing upright, your voice calm, absolute. “i was sent down to watch you—because god knew you would be trouble. that you would walk on both sides of the line between chaos and order.”

remmick stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. his eyes narrow, brows knit in disbelief, but somewhere beneath the confusion, it starts to make a horrible sort of sense.

“an angel?” he mutters, almost to himself. “an actual angel’s been breathing down my neck this whole time?”

he lets out a bitter laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “no wonder i couldn’t stand you.”

“you say that in past tense,” you note, stepping toward him, “it could not be that you havee grown fond of me, could it?”

remmick smirks, “it could be.”

“you are angry. i have seen it,” you say quietly, stepping down from the balcony into the courtyard, your voice almost drowned by the hush of the wind through the hedges. you gesture for him to follow, and after a beat, he does—reluctantly, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable.

you walk side by side beneath the open sky, your glow washing over the stone path, brighter than the moonlight itself.

“when everything first happened—when the celts came, preaching christianity,” you begin, eyes forward, “it was not meant to be violent. but vikings... they are unpredictable, as you know. they brought fire to what should have been light.”

remmick stays quiet, glancing sidelong at you.

“god wanted someone to keep a close eye on you,” you continue. “he saw your heart. the way you could bend the world. not out of malice—but defiance. if left to your own instincts, you would unravel the threads of his design.”

you look at him then, calm, steady. “so, he sent me.”

remmick stops in his tracks, brow furrowed. “i’m sensing a but,” he mutters, voice dry. “there’s always a but.”

“but,” you say, and the word hangs in the air like judgment, “after a while, he realized you could not be saved. not in the way he intended. salvation was never going to come easy for you.”

remmick stiffens under your gaze, caught in the weight of your eyes—ancient, unwavering. he doesn’t need you to say it. he knows exactly when that shift happened. the moment everything inside him twisted beyond repair.

you step closer, your voice softer now, though no less resolute. “it took me five hundred years to convince him to let me walk the earth again… to stay in your shadow. because even if you could not be redeemed, you still needed watching. without guidance, you would leave only wreckage behind.”

remmick clenches his jaw, but doesn’t look away.

“i thought,” you add, quieter, more human somehow, “if i told you the truth this time… maybe you would finally be open. maybe you would stop running long enough to let something reach you.”

the silence that follows is thick with everything unsaid.

“you seriously believe i can change?” remmick asks, his voice low, edged with disbelief.

you don’t nod. instead, you shake your head slowly and keep walking, the gravel beneath your feet crunching softly beneath your light steps.

“no,” you say. “you cannot change what you are. that isn’t the point.”

your voice is calm, measured, not cruel—just certain.

“what drives you is not redemption,” you continue, “it is motive. it has always been motive. family… yes? connection. people who see you. who understand you. who can stand to be near you without fear.”

you glance at him, eyes catching the dim moonlight. “that is what keeps you from falling completely.”

your voice fades as you round the edge of a hedge, soft as mist, leaving remmick behind for a moment in the quiet. he blinks, then stumbles forward, hurrying to catch up, boots crunching against the earth. there’s something in the way you move—slow, graceful, unbothered—that makes him wonder if you see him more clearly than he’s ever let on.

he walks beside you in silence for a beat, eyes narrowed in thought. then, low and uncertain, he asks,

“why’ve i been given another chance?”

the words feel foreign in his mouth, like they don’t quite belong to him.

“partly because i begged for it,” you admit, “but also because the fates favour you.”

remmick raises a brow, “favour me?”

you nod, slow and deliberate.

“they do,” you say, voice like distant thunder softened by the night. “you have been offered two paths. one carved from selfishness, where every step takes you closer to your own undoing. and the other…”

your eyes lift to the stars, catching their faint shimmer.

“the other is compassion. it asks more of you, but it gives something in return—quiet, contentment, maybe even joy. and one day, if you choose it, you might find yourself watching the sunrise not with dread, but with purpose.”

“so you know how i go out?” remmick asks and you nod, confirming his assumption. he wants to bombard you with questions but you hold your hand up, “we should head back.”

he listens without a protest.

before you part with him at the balcony entrance, you offer him some words of advice, “do not take my words lightly, think about your actions and do not rely on me to tell you what to do.”

remmick watches you as you glide through the crowd, mingling effortlessly with the nobility, your light drawing them in like moths to a flame. it’s a scene so far removed from him—so foreign—that the ache he had felt earlier surges back, tight and gnawing at his insides. it pulls at him, twisting his stomach in ways that leave him feeling hollow, desperate.

he tries to shake it off, but the hunger claws at him, demanding attention. he stumbles away from his place, moving quickly through the high, echoing halls of the palace. the walls, steeped in rich history, stretch endlessly before him, their reflection of his shadow twisted and distorted as he moves through them, a ghost within his own skin.

the overwhelming scent of life all around him hits like a wave, drowning his senses. the guests, oblivious, stand in clusters, their warmth and the steady pulse of their blood flooding his senses. it's all he can focus on now. the desire to feed is primal, insistent. there’s no escaping it, no distraction from it. not when the banquet is brimming with potential prey.

at the end of the hall, a figure catches his eye. the princess, the one he danced with earlier, stands alone for a moment, separated from the throngs. the hunger takes over before he can stop himself, and he jogs toward her, the rhythm of his steps faster than he intends.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. she smiles, a demure expression. she asks him about the cake, her voice light and innocent. he tells her, with a playful tone, how divine it was—how it tasted like nothing he had ever known.

she seems to believe him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, but her guard is down, naive to the danger she’s unwittingly stepped into. with the fluid ease of someone accustomed to getting what he wants, remmick guides her away from the crowd, leading her into a quiet, dimly lit chamber.

the door closes softly behind them.

he doesn’t waste time. with a practiced movement, he presses her against the cold wall, his fangs sinking deep into her neck. the warmth of her blood fills his senses, and the ache, that terrible, gnawing ache, begins to fade with each drawn breath. he feeds greedily, thirstily, until there’s nothing left to take.

when it’s over, the room is silent, save for the faint echo of his own breath. her body slumps in his arms, lifeless, pale. he lets her fall to the floor, her blood staining the carpet beneath her.

remmick stands over her for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he surveys the damage. a small flicker of something—guilt, maybe? regret?—crosses his mind, but it’s fleeting.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his hunger sated, but the emptiness inside remains. the cycle repeats. it always does.

he’s not going to change.

not long after that night, remmick fled paris—your footsteps trailing his despite his growing resentment. he never lingered anywhere for long, slipping through cities like smoke through fingers. yet, somehow, you always followed. unwillingly bound or stubbornly tethered, you were there.

he dragged you through the winding streets of spain, the frostbitten stretches of russia, the misty peaks of the balkans. he even wandered through the dense, humming cities of asia for a time, lost in a sea of languages and lanternlight.

but no matter how far he roamed, his footsteps always led him back to ireland. something about the damp green hills, the crash of waves against the cliffs, the ache of memory in the stone—his heart answered to it like a song half-remembered. it was the one place that still felt like his. or at least, where the ghosts felt familiar.

you’d washed up on the english channel in 1888, clothes heavy with salt and divinity, and drifted through london’s smoke-stained streets before finally making your way toward ireland. but your journey was delayed—four months, to be exact—by a detour you hadn’t planned.

a pitstop, as remmick called it.

he confessed with a twisted grin that he’d developed a taste for the blood of london’s street women. easy prey, he said. no one missed them, and no one looked too hard when they vanished. they came willingly, and their fear made their blood taste as sweet as it was tangy, he added, and left quietly.

you spoke to him as you always did—with the calm patience of eternity. you reminded him of light, of the path laid by the divine, of mercy, and restraint. you quoted scripture, invoked parables, and offered him alternatives. but he only scoffed, sharp-eyed and smirking.

“nothing beats an easy target,” he muttered once, licking the blood from his fingers as if it were honey.

and that was when you realized: some pitstops aren’t delays. they’re tests.

remmick came home that final night drenched in blood, the crimson soaking through his shirt and shining beneath your glow like oil on water. you didn’t ask where he’d been. you already knew. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flung the bloodied fabric into a dark corner of the hostel you’d both occupied for months. you didn’t meet his eyes. instead, you recited, quiet and firm,

“violence shall no more be heard in your land, devastation or destruction within your borders; you shall call your walls salvation, and your gates praise.”

remmick snarled at the sound of scripture, his lip curling as if the words burned him, “i told you to quit spewing that holy bullshit around me, angel.”

he said your title like a curse, like something he’d spit into the dirt.

still, you smiled—an expression that almost reached your eyes, though it never truly did.

“you live in a world built from devastation and oppression,” you said gently, stepping closer, “but the real prison, vampire, is the one in your own mind.”

remmick, in a sudden fury, swept a plate of fine china off the rickety wooden table. it sailed past you and shattered against the headboard of your borrowed bed, shards of porcelain raining down like splinters of his frustration.

“ain’t nothin’ wrong with my mind,” he barked, chest heaving. “i’m livin’ off what i know. what i am!”

your frown deepened. the glow around you dimmed, like a flame shying from wind.

“rough night?” you asked softly.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, smearing blood across his jaw.

“nearly got caught,” he muttered. “some fella interrupted my meal.”

you nodded slowly, walking toward the mess he’d made, stepping carefully over broken china.

“you have built quite the reputation for yourself,” you said. “jack the ripper, they are calling you now.”

remmick scoffed, holding up a hand as if to physically reject the accusation.

“that ain’t me,” he said. “there’s a difference. he—he guts ‘em. rips ‘em open like game. i just puncture the neck, nice and neat. drain ’em sideways, clean as i can. i got some standards.”

your eyes narrowed. “do you?”

“for my kind, i do,” remmick mutters, casting you a sidelong glance as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. the frame creaks beneath his weight.

he feels it again—that phantom pump, the ghost of a heartbeat that only stirs when you’re near. if blood still moved through his veins, it might’ve rushed to his face, warmed his skin. instead, he remains pale, a static figure carved in cold ash and shadow.

you don’t move. you stand there, still as a monument, graceful and ethereal. divine. everything about you—your poise, your silence, even the way the light bends to wrap around you—makes his chest ache with something unfamiliar. something like longing.

your glow brushes his skin like the edge of sunlight, and in that moment, he swears he can feel your heart. or maybe it’s his own, trying to remember how to beat. he shakes his head, breaking the moment like glass.

“i’m leaving tonight,” he says, voice flat. final.

you just watch him—silent, as always—as he picks up his old acoustic guitar. it fits in his hands like it was always meant to be there, an extension of him. he’s always had a gift for music. even in the earliest years, before he knew what he was, he’d whistle back at the birds when they sang at sunrise, tap rhythms into the bones of tables, the sides of carriages, the hollow of his own chest. it was instinct. but once he found the guitar, it all came together.

remmick doesn’t look at you as he starts to play, but you can see his shoulders ease. his fingers move fluidly over the strings, coaxing out a tune that feels older than this life. you pull out a chair and sit, the wood creaking softly beneath you. no words pass between you. for once, there’s no biting sarcasm or divine reprimands. just the melody, soft and unhurried.

he plays like it’s the only honest language he’s fluent in. and you listen, like it’s the only time you truly hear him. it's brief, but in that moment, there’s peace.

remmick knows it, you know it. you’ll follow him wherever he goes.

remmick stayed in ireland for three decades, tucked away in green hills and rain-soaked stone villages. of course, you were there—always there. disappearing for weeks, months even, only to reappear when he least expected it, glowing like a bad omen he couldn’t shake.

then came 1921. something called to him—a sound, delicate and haunting. a woman playing an instrument so beautiful it made his dead heart ache. he boarded a ship of irish immigrants bound for boston, chasing the echo of her melody. he claimed he wanted to reconnect with his roots, to find the family he’d left behind. the truth was more selfish.

the voyage was a disaster.

desperate to reclaim what he thought he’d lost—music, love, belonging—remmick tried to turn them all. everyone on board: children, parents, the elderly. but vampirism is no gift, and none of them survived the transformation. blood ran like wine below deck, and the woman with the gifted hands? lost to the chaos. he never even learned her name.

when the ship docked three days later, reeking of death and silence, he slipped off unnoticed. another new instrument slung over his shoulder like a trophy. the only thing he managed to save.

but you? you were gone.

no glow in the shadows.

no soft footsteps trailing behind him.

for once, he was truly alone.

the last time he saw you—really saw you—was at a juke joint deep in the mississippi delta, about twenty years later.

he’d been lingering just outside the shack, half-shrouded in trees and night, the thrum of blues rolling out of the open door like the sweet aroma of pie out a window. his mouth was wet, glistening—thick ropes of blood and spit clung to his lips, soaked into the collar of his shirt, cooling on his skin.

he was a mess. a predator fresh from the hunt.

but even in that haze, he felt it. that pull. that warmth.

you.

your light slipped through the trees before you did, soft and steady, brighter than the porch lamps and louder than the music.

he didn’t need to feel warmth anymore to know it was you.

he’d always know.

"i should be more surprised that you’re here," remmick groaned, not bothering to turn around. he didn’t need to see your face to know what expression you wore—he could picture it perfectly: the sharp furrow of your brow, the disappointment etched into every line.

he leaned against a tree, dragging a bloodied sleeve across his mouth.

"why now?" he muttered. "gonna try and talk me down again? throw a bible verse at me like it’s some kind of holy water? think i’m gonna suddenly grow a conscience 'cause you showed up glowing?"

his voice was tired, bitter.

"you always show up when i’m at my worst. like clockwork."

“you are straying from your righteous path,” you say, your face unreadable but your voice heavy with sorrow. “are you sure you want to do this?”

remmick waves a dismissive hand, “i’m sure.”

you shake your head slowly. “you did not heed my warning.”

he arches a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you warn me all the time. how’m i s’pposed to know which one?”

he knows exactly which warning you mean. but remmick aims not just for the best—he strives for something beyond that. his selfish path feels carved into stone, unchangeable. you’ve spoken of another way, a second path meant to offer hope. but he never entertained that hope. not once.

“i know what you think i do not know,” you begin, your voice steady, eyes fixed on the back of his head, “there is more for you, if only you listen to my age-old warning.”

remmick clicks his tongue in frustration, something sharp and bitter rising in his chest.

you continue, voice gentle but firm,

“life is beautiful, remmick—whether you see it or not. and i know you are unable to, not anymore. you have grown bitter, i have watched it happen, piece by piece. but it does not have to stay that way.”

your eyes focus on his form, steady and unwavering.

“you still have time. you can make peace with them, with yourself. you can reclaim what you have lost. not everything is beyond reach.”

you pause, searching for something in his body language—anything.

“do not do this. do not spill the blood of good people just because you have forgotten what goodness looks like.”

your calmness feels like mockery. he snaps—like a wire pulled too tight—spinning around so fast it startles you.

“you can’t seriously expect me to listen to anything you have to say,” he growls, eyes burning, “not after you vanished for twenty damn years just because you finally saw what i was capable of! how are you supposed to be my guardian angel when you’re so unbelievably shit at your job?”

you think your heart breaks—and remmick thinks he hears it. not a dramatic crack, but something quieter, crueler. like dry glass splintering under pressure.

his eyes flash a deep, dangerous red. for a moment, it looks like he’s considering it—really considering tearing into something holy.

he’d been cruel before, callous beyond belief. but something about tonight lands differently.

you don’t shout, you don’t plead, you don’t fall apart.

instead, just a few tears slide down your cheeks, slow and soundless.

and that’s what gets him.

he never thought he’d see the day an angel would cry. from what he knew, you were carved from calm, built to endure without cracking.

but now, standing under the weak light of a crooked moon, he sees it. sees you.

not a symbol, not a mission. just someone deeply, utterly tired.

you don’t let him linger in your sorrow. as soon as you feel the tears, you turn away—too proud to let him see what he’s done. too divine to shatter completely in front of him.

your wings unfurl—slow, deliberate, and unlike anything he’s ever seen. vast and radiant, feathers pure as untouched snow, glowing faintly with a divinity that makes the dark around him feel smaller, weaker. they catch the breeze like sails on a departing ship.

remmick freezes. not because he’s scared, but because he understands.

this is it.

you’re leaving.

and this time, you won’t come back.

a part of him, the part still clinging to something human, wants to call out. wants to say don’t.

but he doesn’t.

he stays silent, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight as he watches with empty eyes.

you offer him one last verse—your final tether, a hope you quietly beg he'll remember.

“judge not, that ye be not judged. for with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”

your voice echoes long after your wings do.

with a single, mighty flap, the earth stirs beneath you. dust kicks up, grass bends, and then—

you’re gone.

all that remains is the soft imprint of your departure, a shallow crater in the earth where heaven once touched down.

his heart no longer beats in faux rhythm.

and when the sun finally rises, catching him where the shadows fail, remmick doesn’t flinch. doesn’t snarl or thrash or claw at the light like some cornered beast. he doesn’t beg, doesn’t run.

he just stares.

the light crawls across his skin, golden and relentless, and for the first time in one thousand, three hundred and eighty-five years, he lets it. he watches the sunrise not with fear or hatred, but with something else—something closer to awe.

his inhuman eyes brim with tears, not from pain, but from peace.

he knows you’re near. he can feel it. after all this time, he can still sense the pull of your presence like gravity. maybe you’re watching the same sunrise from some rooftop or ruin, silently praying for what’s left of him.

and maybe—just maybe—he’s praying too.

he imagines his ancestors waiting for him, the ones he lost to time and blood and tragedy, their arms open and music playing. but more than anything, he hopes you're there too.

and as the fire takes him, a slow, searing bloom that begins at his chest and spreads outward like a star going nova, he closes his eyes.

not in fear.

but in surrender.

in peace.

and he smiles.

you stand over the scorch-marked earth where remmick had burned. there’s no trace left of him—no body, no ash, just the faint smell of smoke clinging to the morning air and a body of water that moved indifferently as if remmick was never there.

you do not cry.

you knew this ending. had seen it coming centuries ago.

but still, your chest aches in a way that feels foreign. not divine. not righteous. just… human.

quietly, you kneel by the edge of a shallow stream, its waters catching the soft gold of the rising sun. your hand, steady and sacred, slips beneath the surface. it doesn’t take long. the chain finds you, just like he always did.

you pull it from the water—his gold chain, warm despite the cold stream, still whole.

your fingers trace its pattern, each link familiar, worn from centuries of wear.

you smile. not wide. not bright. but soft. pained. knowing.

“goodbye, old friend,” you whisper.

the wind stirs the trees behind you, and the morning continues.

you would not see his soul in the holy place.

not because he was born into darkness—he wasn’t. not because he was forced to live as he did—though that part was true.

but because remmick’s choices stretched far beyond instinct, beyond what was natural. he had time. he had chances. and every time, he chose wrong. knowingly, willfully.

and heaven does not make room for those who choose to burn.

[astrology-by-sita]

9H AND YOUR SPIRITUAL BELIEFS

9H and its ruler shows what kind of belief you have.

ARIES RISING SAGITTARIUS 9H: you will explore different belief systems of various cultures. You do not limit yourself to one belief. You may experiemnt various spiritual practices.

TAURUS RISING CAPRICORN 9H:

spirituality for you is a goal to be achieved with persistence and consistent effort to overcome hurdles in your path. You take your time in your practice and with perseverance you reach your spiritual goals.

GEMINI RISING AQUARIUS 9H:

try not to abandon your own spiritual ideals to fit into society. You can be skeptical about the world beyond the material and have a rather scientific outlook. You will explore quantum phsyics and find a belief that convinces your rational mind.

CANCER RISING PISCES 9H:

you are mystical & devotional in your spirituality. You want to lose yourself in connection with the divine. Art forms that praise the divine appeal to you like spiritual music. You are likely to sacrifice for a spiritual ideal. Watch out for false gurus

LEO RISING ARIES 9H:

you believe that spirituality and standing up for yourself and fighting for your rights go hand in hand so likely "Liberation Theology" for example might appeal to you. The "new age" view that non-vioIence is the answer does not convince you.

VIRGO RISING TAURUS 8H:

you will appreviate nature as a manifestation of the divine. For you nature is sacred and you might adopt Animism as a belief. As a part of your practice you will defend Mother Nature and the planet from exploitation or fight for animal rights.

LIBRA RISING GEMINI 9H:

you are an intellectual and will likely read a lot of scriptures and ancient books and might join discussion groups of these books. Your belief aligns with your rationality and logical orientation.

SCORPIO RISING CANCER 9H

Patriarchal traditions in conventional religion are not for you as you worship the feminine Mother Goddess archetype. You will cosnider yourself a child of the Divine Mother and will be her devoted worshipper.

SAGITTARIUS RISING LEO 9H

watch out from mixing your own ego with spirituality cause spirituality and ego do not coexist. If you do that you will become like an authority in any belief you adopt. People will seek your council about their own spiritual problems.

CAPRICORN RISING VIRGO 9H

you embody "The Hermit" archetype in tarot. Spirituality for you lies in service, humbleness & modesty. The practical & spiritual go hand in hand for you, the mystical mixes with the "mundane".Austerity should not be taken to extremes. Charity is better

AQUARIUS RISING LIBRA 9H

You believe in justice and equality and any belief that excludes that is not for you. Transcendence lies in demanding the rights of others, cause the Divine created us all as equals.

PISCES RISING SCORPIO 9H

The word "taboo" does not exist in your dictionary, and conventional religion isn't for you as it has many taboos and shies away from addressing subjects that transform society. You are likely to worship dieties that conventional religion views as "dark"

[4dkellysworld]

Let go of everything

Every position that you find yourself in, every situation that you find yourself in, with whomever you find yourself, the positions that you have or don’t have, whatever you may be in this world, is your right place at this moment. Bless this, love it. I know it sounds hard when you think of a horrible condition and you say, “I must love it?” Let me explain again. The reason you love it, is because God is all there is. Try to remember this. There is nothing but God. Therefore if you hate something, you’re hating God which is your Self. It’s all coming out of you. You are That. You must learn to trust and love your Self, your precious Self. When you become despondent, depressed, hateful, feeling sorry for yourself, this is what blasphemy really means, for you’re feeling this way about your Self. Can’t you see? There’s only your Self. If you think something is horrible, you’re speaking about your Self. You look at a situation, you watch it, you observe it, you never react, you leave it alone. And then you’ll be given the power that you need to handle it, to go through it, without thinking, without thoughts, without any commotion, without any noise. These are the things you must work on. Be that Self. Never be frightened again by anything. If I can make this perfectly clear to you, never allow anything in this world to ever frighten you. Allow things to unfold as they may. Remember, you just watch and observe. Hold on to the truth. Happiness will come of its own accord. When you hold on to the truth, when you do not react to life’s conditions, person, place or thing, when you leave things alone and you stop fighting life, you’re not giving up. I’m telling you there is nothing to fight. And the only thing you’re giving up is your ego. You’re giving up your body, your ego, your mind. You rise to a higher dimension where there is happiness, peace, compassion, love and joy, that is naturally yours. You begin to feel these things instead of the things you felt before, prior to this, when you were fighting life, when you were sticking up for your rights, when you were trying to get even, when you were working as an ego. Let go of everything. Do not hold on. Stand naked before God, without any crutches, without anything to hold on to. When you can do this, from this moment on you will begin to rise. And you will become aware that you are not the body or the mind or the world or the universe, but you are effortless, choiceless, Pure Awareness. You are boundless space, infinite like the sky. You have become everything, and everything has become you. There comes a time in everyone’s life when they have to stand naked before God. By standing naked I mean no scripture, no fancy words, no preconceived ideas, no spiritual intellectual knowledge. But to be totally naked, in humility and humbleness. Therefore when you can forget about your scripture, forget about everything you’ve learned, and become totally empty, you will then become full.

from Silence of the Heart - Robert Adams

[faithfulsheepdog]

Verse of the Week

6/4/2025

It's no coincidence that the Bible says God is love, that He is a consuming fire, and that He is a jealous God. Though the context of this verse isn't describing God or being spoken by God, this verse could very easily be spoken by Him to us.

It's certainly something that applies to us when it comes to the love of God.

When a seal is placed upon something, it means whatever that something is, it belongs to the person whose seal is upon it. When we become Christians, God places His seal of love and salvation over our hearts. We are His and in turn, He is ours too. If we live like we have the seal of God set over our hearts, the world will see we belong to Him.

God's love for you is stronger than death, and His love is the brightest, warmest love you could ever know if you choose to accept it. It will change you for the better.

So this week, take comfort in and be humbled by the fact that if you are a Christian, God has claimed you as His, and nothing can remove you from His hand. And His love for you is literally like no other.

You are loved more than you can imagine.

If you don't know God's love for you on a personal level and you want to learn it and know it for yourself, ask me about it, and we'll walk through that together. Because there is literally no greater decision you could make than letting God set His seal over your heart.

(The link leads to a worship song that came out a long time ago with this very scripture in it. It's long but worth the listen.)

You Won’t Relent -Jesus Culture

[traumacatholic]

I have had to give up something I really love, which is very bound up in my identity and sense of self, because it has become dangerous and is making me sick. I would really appreciated any prayers, particularly that I find myself there, still, without it. I feel like I have been gutted.

I'm so very sorry to hear that. I don't know what it is in particular that you have given up, but something which has really stuck with me from listening to people in recovery from alcoholism and/or drug addiction is the idea of filling that void. When you give something up that is important to you, the way you go about your days is radically shifted. And when we have nothing to fill that gap in we become much more aware of what we have given up and are left with something less than what we had before (even if we're healthier/happier/etc for it).

Use this moment as an opportunity to try out a new hobby. Even if you don't like it, at least you tried it. Go to that arts and crafts workshop even if you aren't an artist, go along to a lecture on crime writing even if you've never written a book, find a cook book and practice cooking each of the recipes, go to a museum for a day, spend a day reading a book in the park, find something to fill that gap that is healthier for you and that can provide you with opportunities to meet healthier communities. If you can't transport yourself to somewhere, and money is in the way, then there are 'studyblr' blogs on here that often have links to free textbooks, books, films etc that you can use to learn about a new subject for free.

Depending on what it is and your situation, you may be able to find stories of Saints that have went through similar. Or even come across blogs written by other Christians who have been on similar journeys. They can offer you some comfort and guidance.

A Prayer for the intercession of Saint Dymphna

Good Saint Dymphna, great wonder-worker in every affliction of mind and body, I humbly implore your powerful intercession with Jesus through Mary, the Health of the Sick, in my present need. (Mention it.) Saint Dymphna, martyr of purity, patroness of those who suffer with nervous and mental afflictions, beloved child of Jesus and Mary, pray to Them for me and obtain my request. (Pray one Our Father, one Hail Mary and one Glory Be.) Saint Dymphna, Virgin and Martyr, pray for us.

A prayer for the intercession of Saint Maximilian Kolbe

Saint Maximilian Kolbe, turn your gaze on us who honor you and have recourse to you. Radiating with the light of Mary Immaculate, you brought countless souls to holiness and introduced them to faithful endeavors for the victory of good over evil. Your life of love and service was cut short by a lethal injection, given in a prison cell in Auschwitz. Pray that God will help break the chains that hold me bound. May His grace strengthen me in resisting this dependence that prevents me from living a life of health and happiness. Guide me to the resources I need to find healing and wholeness. Amen.

A prayer against temptation

Behold me, O my God, at Your feet! I do not deserve mercy, but O my Redeemer, the blood with You have shed for me encourages me and obliges me to hope for it. How often I have offended You, repented, and yet have I again fallen into the same sin. O my God, I wish to amend, and in order to be faithful to You, I will place all my confidence in You. I will, whenever I am tempted, instantly have recourse to You. Until now, I have trusted in my own promises and resolutions and have neglected to recommend myself to You in my temptations. This has been the cause of my repeated failures. From this day forward, be You, O Lord, my strength, and this shall I be able to do all things, for “I can do all things in Him who strengthens me.” Amen.

I would also recommend praying a Novena, or finding a book that is focused on prayer and scripture for a set amount of days. This can give you some time each day to turn to Scripture and prayer for support. And I think the routine of it all can help us take each day as it comes. Or there is 'Bible in a year' programs that you can study for even the next week or so. Ground yourself in Scripture. Turn to God constantly for guidance and support. And of course, I will keep you in my prayers. May God bless you and comfort you.

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Sunday Afternoon Session

Conducting: Quentin L Cook

Come Rejoice

D Todd Christofferson

A limiting trait is not being valiant in your testimony

Wholehearted devotion is what we should strive for

To make it to and stay in the Celestial Kingdom we must have a firm testimony of Jesus Christ and act on that testimony

Being Valiant in your testimony of Christ

Includes nurturing and strengthening that testimony

Heading His messengers

Encouraging others by word and example

We will not let anything keep us from being together forever

Do the things Jesus shall teach and command you

Taylor G Godoy

God hears our prayers and answers them in a personalized way

Mosiah 5:12

This life by its nature brings about experiences

Call Him, don’t fall

Just because you aren’t answered immediately doesn’t mean your call wasn’t answered at all

Confidence in the Lord’s answers requires accepting that they are not always what would expect in our minds for them to be.

The Lord is the first option for help

Call Don’t Fall (pray)

After prayer do all you can to obtain the answers you pray for

Humbly accept His answers

Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling

Gary E Stevenson

Where is the foundation of your bridge?

The two towers are love the Lord thy God and love your neighbor as thyself – these are the towers that the bridge of the gospel is supported by

Loving the Lord leads to eternal Happiness

Bridges our heavenly upward gaze to our heavenly outward gaze

Love of the Lord is not complete if we do not love our neighbors

Loving your neighbors includes Christlike deeps of love and service

How are you building your tower of love?

“did God call on you specifically, or were you simply the one who listened?”

These towers need to function together in balance, equal devotion, and harmony

God loves everyone and so should we; we seek out those in need and serve them regardless of race, wealth, gender identity, sexual orientation, or anything else

God commanded us to love one another. Leave judgement up to Him

How do we build our own bridge of faith and devotion?

Early drafts become polished blueprints

Mathias Held

Consequences are a part of agency

Repentance is where growth happens

Seek to learn and accept support from the Lord

In the darkness of night we can turn on our lights

We can still choose how to respond to things out of our control

We are agents not objects.

Opposites don’t exist apart from each other, they can complement each other.

Where there is sunshine, shadows must be there too. Floods brings destruction but they bring life as well

Our difficulties do not define us – it is our attitudes and choices that define us much better than our situations

How Firm a Foundation

Niel L Anderson

It is breathtaking to see the works of God

Discipline your faith, what does that mean to you?

Eleazer Cearcy – sealing story – this is why listen to promptings

Angels have charge over us

Through the power of the Holy Ghost we are filled with strength and peace and joy and unspeakable hope.

Many different ways to see the face of Christ and no better place than in His holy house

Mark L Pace

Transform our homes into sanctuaries of faith

The scriptures are here to help us draw closer to Him

How can you avoid personal apostasy?

We are responsible for our own personal spiritual growth

The most important copy of the book of Mormon is the one you read

Heavenly Father wants you to know yourself – but you must put in the effort

Russell M Nelson

Called to apostles 40 years ago!

Six temples when he was born

Ponder what the Lord’s promise means for you personally

The priesthood was restored prior to the church – to ensure that the church could be organized with the correct authority

The priesthood keys are the only way we get the essential ordinances and covenants, the only way we can have blessings the way we do – we can extend all the blessings promised to/by Abraham to all God’s children

D&C 110

The gathering of Israel is evidence God loves all of His children everywhere

The gospel of Abraham is further evidence that God loves all of His children everywhere

The sealing power is supreme evidence that God loves all of His children everywhere and wants them to return to Him

Study Kirtland temple dedicatory prayer in D&C 109

Regular temple worship will enhance how you see yourself

The temple empowers us to take on the challenges of life

You do not have to face life alone

What courage does it give you to know that angels really will help you?

No combination of wickedness will prevail over those who worship in the house of the Lord

Nothing will help you more to hold fast to the iron rod than attending the temple as regularly as you can, nothing will protect you more, nothing will bolster your testimony of Christ and His atonement, or recognize the significance of His plan, nothing will soothe your spirit more, nothing will open the blessings of Heavens more

15 temples:

Uturoa, French Polynesia

Chihuahua, Mexico

Florianopolis, Brazil

Rosario, Argentina

Edinburgh, Scotland

Brisbane, Australia South Area

Victoria, British Colombia

Yuma, Arizona

Houston, Texas South Area

Des Moines, Iowa

Cincinnati, Ohio

Honolulu Hawaii

West Jordan Utah

Lehi Utah

Maracaibo, Venezuela

Now Let Us Rejoice

[living-for-jesus-and-telenovelas]

Meekness Isn’t Weakness Everything around us—the world, the culture, the people—tends to applaud power and strength, independence and intelligence, boldness and superiority. But in the third beatitude, a series of promises Jesus made about God’s Kingdom, Jesus highlighted something different, saying:  “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” Matthew 5:5 NIV The English word "meek" comes from the Greek word "praeis." It means gentle, humble, or submissive; modest, mild, or unpretentious. In fact, when Paul describes the “fruits of the Spirit” (traits developed in His people by His Spirit), the words "meekness" and "gentleness" are often used interchangeably.  But, let’s be clear: If such descriptions paint a frail and feeble picture in your mind, you can be certain that meekness isn’t weakness. Meekness is strength under control. It's power submitted to God’s authority. Now, if “meek” isn’t a word that you’d use to currently describe yourself, that’s okay. Jesus wasn’t speaking to those who had it all together—and He isn’t expecting a perfect version of us, either. Instead, He’s extending a blessing on who His people were (and are) becoming.  God is continually developing these beatitude traits inside of His followers. He's refining, sanctifying, and transforming us to be more and more like Him. In Scripture, Jesus Himself is called “meek.” But as you probably know, He was far from passive, apathetic, or a pushover. Instead of relying on His own power—like summoning legions of angels to avoid hanging on that cross—He leaned into God’s strength and restrained His limitless power. Jesus’ upside-down kingdom will be packed with those who harness their strength for God’s glory and who humble themselves at His feet.

[happyhealthyandprosperous]

Start the Day with Surrender: A Prayer to Surrender

Start the Day with Surrender: A Prayer to Surrender Surrendering to God is an excellent way to start the day. Surrender is the opposite of self-effort. To surrender we have to stop resisting and submit to an authority other than ourselves. We can surrender to God’s authority because we can know and trust in God‘s character. The act of surrendering to God shows that we have confidence and hope…

[anastpaul]

One Minute Reflection – 3 November – “The Month of the Holy Souls in Purgatory” – Within the Octave of All Saints – Pentecost XXIV – Romans 13:8-10; Matthew 8:23-27 – Scripture search here: https://www.drbo.org/ “And they came to Him and awoke Him, saying: Lord, save us, we perish.” – Matthew 8:25 

 REFLECTION – “God is not at all displeased when, on occasion, you quietly complain to Him. Do not be afraid to say to Him: “Lord, why dost Thou stand afar off?” (cf Ps 9:22 LXX) Thou knowest well I love Thee and only long for Thy Love. Graciously come to my aid and do not abandon me.” If your desolation continues and your anguish is unbearable, unite your voice to that of Jesus, Jesus dying in affliction on the Cross; say, as you beg the Divine pity: “My God, my God, why hast Thou abandoned me?” (Mt 27:46) But profit from this trial, firstly so as to humble yourself even more, while reminding yourself that we are not worthy of any consolations when we have offended God and then, so as to revive your confidence even more by reminding yourself that, whatever He may do or permit, God only has your wellbeing in mind and that, in this way, “all things work together for the good” (cf Rm 8:28) of your soul. The more trouble and discouragement besiege you, the more you should arm yourself with courage and cry out: “The Lord is my Light and my help, who should I fear?” (Ps 26:1). Yes, Lord, it is Thou Who enlightens me, Thou Who will save me; in Thee I entrust myself, “in Thee I place my hope: I shall never be confounded” (Ps 30:2 LXX). In this way, stand firm in peace, certain that “no-one has hoped in the Lord and been confounded ”(Sir 2:11 Vg.), none have been lost after having placed their trust in God.” – St Alphonsus Maria de Liguori (1696-1787) Bishop and Most Zealous Doctor of the Church (What Should We Speak About With God? – from: ‘How to Converse Continually and Familiarly with God’).

(via One Minute Reflection – 3 November – ‘ …In this way, stand firm in peace, certain that “no-one has hoped in the Lord and been confounded ” …’ – AnaStpaul)

[weidaoduzun3]

A Musing on Requesting Help from Lord Lao

in Livia Kohns introduction to the The Yellow Court Scripture Volume One: Text and Main Commentaries (Huangting Jing 黃庭經) she mentions how adepts of the Shangqing School of Daoism (predecessors of Maoshan) would prepare to chant the Huangting Jing. They do so by petitioning various Gods for aid and support-- mainly Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun 太上老君 ). This ancient idea of requesting help in chanting, or in my practice, spells and cultivation is something that has survived to this day, and is quite frankly, a beautiful preliminary rite.

I theorize and question why members of the Shangqing school would request help from the Gods to aid them in their chants and other religious activities. My conclusion: Even members of the Shangqing school knew, that we alone are not enough to beget magical transmutations. The Gods must aid us in our magical, religious, and mundane pursuits. We must have sincerity in our hearts, become as passive as possible, utilize the emptiness within us, and request to allow the Gods into our lives and work through us. Doing so, allows us to be a reflection of the Gods in all esoteric and exoteric endeavors. We become the Gods and the Gods become us. Such is what the petitioning the Gods and Divinely mapping them to our bodies is about!

Zhaungzi 23.17.1-2: Master Lao said, “How hard and anxiously you’ve worked at cleansing yourself! But your inner self so overflows with it that you still have what’s bad in you. When one’s outer is fettered, even the utmost dexterity fails to control it, so this blocks the inner; when one’s inner is fettered, even the tightest grip fail to control it, so this blocks the outer. If the inner and the outer are thus fettered, even [one who aspires to] the Dao and its Virtue fails to control them, so how less likely can one who conducts himself apart from the Dao!”

This quote from the Zhuangzi (translated by Lynn) gives way to passivity, sincerity, and emptying oneself to ultimately, as the Sangqing and by extension, Maoshan would have it, becoming vessels for the Gods to allow us to move with Ziran and Wu-Wei. Exercise and display Virtue all you wish, but if you are not empty inside to truly embody Virtue, you still have gunk in you. Try to use control and impose yourself and force the Gods to aid you; this fetters the outer and will bring calamity upon you. Having your inner unfettered, meaning becoming vastly empty and void, allows room for the Gods. Having your outside unfettered, the Gods aid you in your religious pursuits, and thus will position you in Ziran, and thus the self, family, and community will eventually sort itself out and abide with Ziran as well.

Dao De Jing 70 “Those who understand me are rare, and so, those few I treasure. It is for these reasons that the Sage wraps himself in coarse cloth while concealing jade in his heart."

To understand Laozi is to ask for His help, in my opinion. In doing so, your outer is unfettered and thus not displaying Virtue biasedly, but rather Virtue is displayed as Heaven displays its beneficent Virtue, humbly -- unbiasedly. This is a reason for dressing, and appearing humble. Concealing the Jade in your heart means to fast the heart-mind. Emptying the essence of your heart so that you make use of the Gods, specifically for this post, Lord Lao, the ontologically highest God under Dao inexhaustibly.

I cannot help to bring up some passages from the Liezi that I think give philosophical backing to this idea of "requesting help from Lord Lao (and all the Gods by extension).

Liezi 2 (translation AC Graham): 用志不分，乃疑於神. "Set your will on one aim, and be equal to the gods!"

Liezi 4: 在己无居，形物其箸，其動若水，其靜若鏡，其應若響。"If nothing within you stays rigid, Outward things will disclose themselves. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo."

How else does one be equal to the Gods? How else can you alone move like water, be still like a mirror, and respond like an echo? Ask the Gods for assistance! Prayer. Ritual. Visualization. Divine Landscaping the Gods into your body parts! Become the Gods and They become you, in so much as one has capacities to do so. Some have more capacity to become like the Gods, and others less. No one though is completely devoid of becoming like the Gods, and I believe we all should try to strive to become like our Gods, whether you are a Daoist, Christian, Hermeticist, or whatever.

What I am not suggesting is that by doing a Request the Master Spell (Lord Lao is the main "Master" here) will numerically equate with Lord Lao in any capacity. But it will allow you to reflect the qualities of Lord Lao in so much as each individual is capable of, and how it accords with their human nature (xing). Requesting the Master will allow you to bring true power to your inner practice: magic, your cultivation, religious chants, etc. This in turn allows you to outwardly move like water and respond like an echo (Ziran). That is your outward practice...which I think naturally begets one to live like a Confucian...but that is another post for another day once I've studied more (Neo) Confucianism. ;)

I cannot help but assume the Shangqing school had passages such as these in their minds when developing such preliminary invocations to petition the Gods for their magical and religious pursuits. So, how does one go about "Requesting Help from Lord Lao" to aid in their cultivation or other magical and religious pursuits? In @Chinesemagick's (on twitter/x) book Practical Chinese Magic https://www.amazon.com/Practical-Chinese-Magic-Jason-Read/dp/191415312X, we see a certain "opened-door-method" for requesting aid and permission from Lord Lao to aid and assist us theurgist and cultivators. Complete with how to properly set up an altar to Lord Lao, the proper offerings and placements, spells, and proper mudras.

The reason for such requesting and aiding in spells, chants, and the like is to build an ancestral connection with Lord Lao. Simply doing Daoist spells or cultivation methods is just not enough. Others may feel differently and have anecdotal experience to suggest otherwise. More power to them; sincerely, Gods bless them! They should trust the essence of their heart and experience. There is a path for everyone. This is just one path. The Dao of Maoshan. One's inner power is not unlocked just by simple cultivation meditations or chants. At our basest self, we have no real magical power. Connecting to a train of transmission, to the Great Master Lord Lao is what allows the adept to unlock their own inner power to truly cultivate different Qi's, place certain Gods to parts of the body, and thus transmute your own gunk into something either fearful and powerful, or something pleasant and helpful -- you get to choose and act accordingly.

To connect to the ancestral powers of the Master -- such is a fundamental step before any cultivation must begin. It took me 20 days to just get the Request/Permission method I was taught with any sort of efficacy -- then I knew I was ready to cultivate Golden Light (Tian Qi). Then, with the help of this most Precious God, I am beginning to, slowly but surely, transmute some baseness of myself. It's a two-way street. The Gods cannot do all the work for you, but you cannot do all the work either. Be One with the Gods, be One with Dao, for it is all One.

***I do not speak for Shangqing, Maoshan nor the author Jason Read whose book I linked. I speak for myself, and myself only!***

天人合一 tiānrén-héyī “Heaven and Man are One.” 福生无量天尊 fú shēng wú liàng tiānzūn “May the immense blessings of Heaven go forth with you.”

[allegraforchrist]

As a Christian blogger, and Christian overall, I find it hard to post on my Instagram or TikTok platforms. Not because I’m embarrassed to share the gospel or talk about it; it’s because doing it online feels performative. Of all the Christian tiktokers and influencers I follow / followed: their videos are always short and provocative. While I do find it great they’re sharing their faith and creating many posts to spread God’s gospel, I feel sometimes it’s not… purposeful towards the spiritual conditions of Christianity. It’s monetized and easily summarized. There’s either very little depth into the scripture and what it examples from following Christ. While not all of us have the same purposes as other parts of the body of Christ, we still have a purpose to fulfill as our specific body - whatever may it be, higher or lower. We can’t all be leaders and prophets and teachers and apostles online, and that’s where I worry we blur the lines between the Holy Spirit’s voice, and our voice. We preach and then act like we’re an Apostle, we read a verse out loud and then act like we’re a Priest, we pray for someone and then act like we’re a Prophet. We do all these things to encourage people to come to Christ: make videos, create content, make memes, do cool edits of Jesus and the Chosen and Bible verses… all the meanwhile we’re losing ourselves to the idols of popularity, monetization, false teachings, and religiousness. We become so absorbed in performing the Word of Christ online, we forget to act on the Word of Christ in the real world. Social media connects us to thousands upon billions of people, but we can still reach a disconnection if we aren’t looking at our Bibles first and following God, and not following which section in the Bible we can make a video about that’ll get the highest amount of attention. Sharing the Gospel for demand, and not Christly desire.

-> Matthew 5:17 ; 5:19-20, “Gods Law is more real and lasting than the stars in the sky, and the ground at your feet. Long after the stars burn out and the earth wears out, God’s law will be alive!… Trivialize the smallest item in God’s law and you will have only trivialized yourself. But whoever takes it seriously, shows the way for others, and you will find honor in the kingdom.”

I’m not saying don’t preach the gospel online, or make videos to Glorify Jesus, or creative edits. What I’m warning against is Glorifying the Lord we have in our heads that we represent on the online world. Christianity isn’t always heartache and spiritual warfare; but if we highlight only the moments of positivity after those challenges, and post it online comedically and aesthetically, it will cause others mistake those as methods to resolve spiritual deficits, spiritual warfare, and the lack of intimacy they have with the Holy Spirit. Most of the videos by on-face creators, either have a short Bible verse targeting a very specific struggle; or preach a video to stop scrolling, with a few minutes of your time, to share a message completely devoid of the scriptures insight. Again, I’m not shaming or condemning creators methods of sharing the Gospel, I only want to warn against what I’ve been shown by the Holy Spirit.

We cannot copy and paste scriptures with a video we hope will reach the masses and “speak to them.” The problem is that the scripture is urged to be read and heard, and not declared and prayed about with God. We aren’t encouraging people to look into the scripture, what the scripture indicates in how you relate it to your spiritual vulnerability, and then taking yourself vulnerably and humbly before God and declaring before Him that you need His guidance and help - with that scripture. We’re teaching self-sufficiency by Scripture, and not God-based suffiency with Scripture. It’s easier to just preach scriptures AT people, and give them a comforting clip, rather than teach them to rely on God, as the scripture mentions thousands of times - cross referenced front to back - to use the scripture to declare yourself before the Lord and His Kingdom, against the kingdom of Babylon, the kingdom of Darkness. It’s not enough to read a verse to people on a screen, you need to fulfill your purpose of sharing the Gospel, in the only way you can, through the Son of God. Whom declared God’s word against the devil and said to rely on the Father.

-> Matthew 4:4, "Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God.”

-> Philippians 4:13 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

-> John 14:1-3 “Believe [confidently] in God and trust in Him, [have faith, hold on to it, rely on it, keep going and] believe also in Me.”

-> Psalm 121:1-8 “I will lift up my eyes to the hills—From whence comes my help? My help comes from the LORD, Who made heaven and earth…”

You can be a mouthpiece for God, but you need to know how to do it according to the Holy Spirit, and if you don’t encourage this in yourself, you aren’t going to be able to do it online and in real life. You will then be falsely teaching. You can bring thousands of new believers to the Gates of the Kingdom through your platform, but if you don’t share the application of the technologies the scripture works through in praying, and fasting, and the tongue of the Holy Spirit (the Word), you will deny them from the knowing Jesus.

-> Matthew 7:21, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.”

In conclusion. I don’t like making videos on Instagram or TikTok about Christ, as it feels performative and short-sighted. I’m not saying all creators give me the spiritual impression I spoke about, and I’m not saying don’t go about and share the Gospel online, as creatively as you can: I’m only speaking about the warning signs I’ve experienced and only to speaking about certain ways the Christian online community can become disillusioned between Glorying the loving Christ, and Glorying themselves for loving Christ. Amen.

[andrewuttaro]

The Real Joseph: devotion to St. Joseph

Anyone who knows me will tell you that quietness is not exactly my strong suit. I grew up in a family that never kept their thoughts to themselves and had a strong penchant for humor. I thrived a little bit too much growing up this way. One of my decisive character flaws always was, and still is, to a degree, my tendency to talk faster than I can think. It has certainly left me in some compromising situations on more than a couple occasions.

When I was confirmed, the final sacrament of initiation, the sacrament was being completed with 7th graders: 12-year-olds in many cases. Even at that age I knew I had a problem. The thing underpinning my motor mouth in my younger years was a certain sense of urgency. I wasn’t humble enough to realize everything I thought didn’t need to be broadcast in short order: in other words I really lacked patience.

Part of the sacrament of Confirmation is deepening your relationship with the third person of the Trinity: the Holy Spirit. This entails acquainting yourself with the Gifts and Fruits of the Holy Spirit. There are seven gifts and twelve fruits, so I won’t recap them all here. When I was going through Confirmation preparation they encouraged us to pray for a specific fruit of the Holy Spirit for ourselves. I picked patience and… well I think it was actually given to me in spades actually.

Say what you will about self-fulfilling prophesies. I certainly still talk myself into a corner every now and again. But through the emotional trials of High School and into my college years I really think it was patience, the Holy Spirit answering my prayer, that kept me sane and walking in the right direction. Who knows if the woman who became my wife would have even tolerated my eccentricity if it weren’t for the way my newfound patience had tempered me socially and spiritually. Without exaggeration I must say, on a mental health level, I do not know what I would have done without that divine intervention during my first job out of college.

While many characters in salvation history have definitive conversion moments, before and after moments which they started on the way of God’s calling afterwards, few if any have as little to say after that moment than St. Joseph, the earthly father, or foster father more commonly, of Jesus. He has no recorded words in scriptures and simply disappears after the episode when twelve-year-old Jesus was lost in the Temple. Nonetheless, Catholicism has developed a spirituality, a network of devotions in fact, around the wordless earthly guardian of Jesus Christ.

St. Joseph is very personal to me. We Catholics also take a confirmation name upon receiving the sacrament, the first name we get to give ourselves intended to signify an intentional, personal commitment to the faith. As with any name, it’s a certain kind of dedication: declaring yourself for God with the spirituality, the example of a certain Saint. Yes, the name chosen is almost always the name of a Saint, it makes it easier to replicate the spirituality involved. Yes, I took the name Joseph.

St. Joseph is not just the father of the Church in a certain way. He’s not even just the earthly, adoptive father if you will, of Jesus. Joseph is the great example of responding to God not with more words, more achievement, more prideful feats of supposed holiness; but with the humility to put yourself second, in service, in ways that simply do not come naturally to us so much of the time. St. Joseph’s wordlessness… yeah that speaks to me on a deep level.

The devotions that have grown up around St. Joseph, particularly in more recent centuries, show a level of self-awareness by devotees you don’t normally see with religious devotions: they’re introspective in a way that doesn’t lend itself to scrupulosity. That’s my opinion coming more from my education in religious studies than in any religious piety. St. Joseph is, like his wife but to a lesser extent, a model for how we give ourselves to God: not with building mountains of good deeds, but in a service that seeks no recognition except in intimacy with God like a father and a son. There’s no room for excessive self-centeredness or excessive self-hate in that.

And now I am in the habit of disclaimers in this blog series so here’s a St. Joseph related disclaimer: death stuff. Yes, St. Joseph is also the patron saint of a holy death as we’ll get to later so tread lightly if that sounds like it might be difficult for you. With no further ado, let’s get to my favorite Saint!

Wordless Holiness

As we touched on last month in the article on the Holy Family, prior to the early Renaissance, St. Joseph was viewed as a somewhat homely, repulsive figure. As I alluded to last month this was something of a perception of its time. Joseph’s quietness in scripture did not fit the middle ages when tales of knights and bravery were the focus of stories the illiterate masses passed around for entertainment. Before that, in the imperial age of Christianity, there was hardly any time to think of Jesus’ foster father when clarifying the Trinity and other core doctrines were far more concerned with Jesus’ heavenly father.

Tradition had always held Joseph was many years Mary’s senior, so romance was rarely something ascribed to Joseph or his marriage. But that was changing. It was 1488 when the Santo Anello, the Holy Ring, arrived at its current home in the Italian city of Perugia. This ring was venerated as the Blessed Virgin Mary’s wedding band, a gift from St. Joseph at their wedding. Pope Sixtus IV had to intervene to settle what had become a contentious debate over where the ring would remain in decades prior.

According to a lost manuscript rediscovered in the 1800s in the Angelica library in Rome, one of the other Italian cities who laid claim to the ring had propagated a legend to fortify their claim to the ring. The story goes that around the year 985 a Jewish merchant had gifted the ring to a local goldsmith after returning from the Holy Land. This merchant allegedly said his family had kept it in their possession very reverently for generations and had wanted to eventually sell it to Christians. The Christian goldsmith who bought it doubted its authenticity until a series of miracles, including the apparent resurrection of his son, made him a believer.

As with most relics and the tales they tell, the important matter here isn’t whether or not the story is true, or if the relic is authentic for that matter. What matters is the effect it has on piety and holiness. The Catholic peoples of central Italy were interested in this relic because there was a growing realization of what the ring represented, particularly in reference to St. Joseph. A wedding ring is a sacramental: a piece of religious wear that calls to mind a sacramental grace, a sacramental bond in your life. Consider for a moment what Joseph’s mandate was as the father in the Holy Family as expressed in that Holy Ring.

Pope Leo XIII would write sum it up well in his 1889 encyclical “Quamquam Pluries” (On the devotion to St. Joseph): “Thus in giving Joseph the Blessed Virgin as spouse, God appointed him to be not only her life's companion, the witness of her maidenhood, the protector of her honor, but also, by virtue of the conjugal tie, a participator in her sublime dignity. And Joseph shines among all mankind by the most august dignity, since by divine will, he was the guardian of the Son of God and reputed as His father among men. Hence it came about that the Word of God was humbly subject to Joseph, that He obeyed him, and that He rendered to him all those offices that children are bound to render to their parents.”

Joseph was trusted by God with a divine mission in the Holy Family that was not thrust upon him demanding his loud and combative patronage. This isn’t a knight’s tale. He just had to be a diligent and loving husband and father. There is virtue then in simply the way Joseph took it. He was made aware of the divinity of this son and did not demand heroic majesty from God for the responsibility the role thrust upon him. Quite contrarily Joseph was so diligent and heroically virtuous that he is never credited with his own words in the bible. For a jew of that time and place in history this would have been a profound submission to the will of God, an unparalleled sign of humility.

He could have leveraged this divine son given to him to raise an army or start a revolution: he simply chose to follow God with humility and patience, in spite of some steep difficulties I might add.

Joseph lived a quiet life doing his diligent mission from God of fatherhood for Jesus in spite of an awfully rough beginning: the initial shock of learning of Mary’s pregnancy, the nativity, the flight to Egypt, and Joseph’s pious respect for his wife’s divinely appointed vocation throughout it all (See the Seven Agonies and Joys of St. Joseph). Needless to say he was certainly inspired by his wife as well, in her fiat, that is her perfect yes to the will of God. All of this was a vocation God gave to this simple carpenter from backwater Nazareth in a dusty Roman protectorate. He certainly felt blessed but he didn’t lord it over anyone.

The medieval Christians were changed for this realization. And so as art of the Holy Family contributed to the Renaissance, Marian devotion exploded across the Church in reaction the Protestant Reformation, so too St. Joseph’s edifying force in Christian life was unleashed. St. Joseph’s Day in March, always falling in the midst of the liturgical season of Lent, saw March become St. Joseph’s month as St. Joseph’s virtues naturally aligned with the sacrificial, humbling practices of the penitential season of Lent. As if continuing to be his son’s vanguard for eternity, his spirituality is noted during the Lenten season leading into Holy Week observances of Jesus’ saving passion.

Christianity’s First Gentleman

It is safe to say that the Blessed Virgin Mary is the first Christian in the basic fact that she was the first human being to accept Jesus Christ into her life at the Annunciation. However, both chronologically and spiritually, St. Joseph is certainly the second Christian, the very next one after his wife. All the grandeur of being the Holy Family’s dad we’ve already covered makes it somewhat clear he is Christianity’s first gentleman.

To be clear, I don’t use the term gentleman in this austere, over-polished kind of way. In the three hearts of the Holy Family devotion it is the most chaste heart of Joseph along with the Immaculate heart of Mary and the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The key thing to understand in Catholic veneration of St. Joseph in general is chastity. Chastity might just be the most misunderstood concept in the whole body of Catholic teaching, at least in today’s culture, and that is why it is so hard to understand St. Joseph from the outside looking in.

The most chaste heart of St. Joseph is a private devotion: that is, you won’t find widespread public devotions or religious sites dedicated to it. I think that is subtly insightful. Like all the devotions we have explored over the last ten months there is an element of self-motivation. The Holy Spirit reaches out to us suggesting a relationship with God in numerous ways, many of which might only make sense to us as individuals, but it is always in our court to answer. Recall the enormous power of Mary’s Yes in the May devotion. In many ways, being self-motivated springs from a certain chastity which Joseph is an excellent teacher of.

Chastity is that yes to God that backs the yes with action. Chastity is only partly about sexuality. Yes, chastity is about moderating one’s sexual appetite but its also about taking control of how we relate to others in general: it is choosing the dignity God puts in every human being over our own gratification as a consistent personal virtue. In that sense Joseph’s most chaste heart has to be a private devotion because it is, in effect, a devotion to build up our individual self-control in the light of what God is calling us to. Self-motivation is so much easier when you are working toward someone that makes you better everyday for pursuing them the humble way.

You can see why St. Joseph was such a powerful choice for preteen Andrew. The most chaste heart of St. Joseph was not so because of feats of holiness I knew I couldn’t achieve at that age: St. Joseph was perfect for me because humility colored everything about him.

That is what real love is by the way. The humility bound up in chastity enough to truly and honestly care for the other person as a being unto themselves without expectation that you get something in return from them like a mere transaction. This is how St. Joseph teaches us how to love. Chastity is so maligned because in some way it is not fun in the short term: it requires us to submit ourselves to patience and humility in order to love more truly in the long term.

What we submit to in life speaks volumes about who we are and what we think of ourselves. Chastity is saying to ourselves: I can tolerate wanting something and not pursuing it immediately in the interest of a higher calling. We’re submitting ourselves to something better, even if we don’t have a complete view of it yet. This is how chastity isn’t necessarily celibacy. If the vocation in life God calls you to involves celibacy like the Priesthood or religious life then sure, it does. But every married person is also called to chastity. Part of my vow to my wife when I got married was chastity, it’s everyone’s marriage vow because most people value faithfulness in a marriage.

Take that a step further. Not cheating on my wife is the bare minimum expectation. Chastity is also deciding to unload the dishwasher, excavate the kitty litter, or clear the snow off the car for my wife. Chastity isn’t simply not doing bad things, its also deciding to do good things that advance the good of your spouse in this example. Moreover, it’s the capacity to do that. Chastity is the virtue of submitting all your desires to a mission given in service of some kind of love in your life. That’s marriage yes, but that’s also just life lived in any community of love: from marriage, to family, to community, and so on.

When we talk about St. Joseph’s most chaste heart we’re talking about how he not only had the desire to say yes to Mary’s pregnancy, but he also had the capacity to do the work and go be Mary’s husband and Jesus’ dad for all that those two roles entailed. It’s delayed gratification to use a modern term but on a much deeper level it is recognizing the love that you are actually called to serve with your own life. That is a giving, not a demand for receiving anything in return necessarily, nothing except to do the will of God.

We moderns are not a people of delayed gratification. We’re not even generally a people of foregoing gratifying ourselves in any way. If it comes naturally and it doesn’t hurt anyone we’re conditioned to think it’s morally good and right too. You can’t be the husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary that way. You can’t raise the savior of humanity that way. Before even considering the Holy Family it’s worth also saying this: you can’t really be happy without a certain amount of chastity. In the language in which the bible was written and Christianity grew up in there was no meaningful difference between happiness and holiness here.

Without chastity, we’re really just going around dodging addiction in life. Chastity makes us holy and prepares us to do what God is calling us to.

Joseph is Christianity’s first gentleman because he had chastity in spades enough to answer the call of God when it shocked him profoundly at the discovery of Mary’s pregnancy. Even before the angel came to him in his sleep to assure him of the baby’s identity and Mary’s sincerity Joseph did not lambaste Mary: quite to the contrary he made provisions for her protection (Matthew 1:19) in a deeply patriarchal society that would have had the stones ready for her execution if it became public. Joseph was an all-around good dude to put it bluntly.

The Real Joseph

Christian love is built on not expecting anything in return, but we are not doormats, and we are not left abandoned because we love with chastity. St. Joseph is the patron saint of a happy death for a mere implied reality of his life. He disappears from scripture and it’s safe to assume, if not implied in the text, that he died before Jesus public ministry based on what such a public life of Jesus would have called on him for. Therefore the image we have is of this most chaste spouse dying in the company of the two people he loved most in life: Jesus and Mary.

We all generally want to die with loved ones nearby, but could you imagine those two transcendent figures being at your bedside? Could you imagine if that was your end after having given your all to them in love for most of your life? There is no deeper consolation at the end because Jesus was literally and spiritually right there. It’s a profound reframing of death but its also just this intimate and holy sign that chastity is worth it because the love it buoys you for does not leave you behind.

This is the real St. Joseph you generally don’t get a feel for with the rosy-cheeked illustrations or the stern-looking statues. He is not the theological afterthought of the Christians of late antiquity. He is not the ugly older man the medievals imagined. He’s not even just the father of Jesus who taught him a useful trade like the fond popular image today suggests. St. Joseph is the embodiment of Christian chastity, devotion, and the premier guide for all Christians behind only his son and wife.

Last year around the time of my sixth wedding anniversary I did the consecration to St. Joseph and now I pray a St. Joseph prayer as part of my daily routine. The foster father of Jesus has colored my life in a new way as an adult that is distinct from how he helped me as a teenager and a young man. My line of work involves going into nursing homes and meeting with people who are not only aged, but also often in some degree of physical or mental distress. Even in life’s fragile, declining phases it is still life imbued with divine dignity from God. Keeping diligent on the mission in those settings calls on a certain degree of focus and insistence on that divine dignity. That is a personal devotion that speaks to chastity. That is St. Joseph.

For St. Joseph’s example of humble chastity he is met with so many recognitions in Catholicism, especially Italian Catholicism if I am being blunt here, that he’s really only behind the likes of his wife and son. He has been declared the patron of the whole Catholic Church and so many numerous other things. You might be wondering then: why did you just say devotion to St. Joseph is always a personal devotion? How can that be if you also say he has many recognitions and patronages?

The answer is that long before a third of modern Christianity was obsessed with the personal relationship with God there was this groundswell of personalized devotion that emerged around St. Joseph to orient ourselves toward God with a personalized passion. It was appealing more than it was ever imposed. These prayers and devotions fit well in many cultures as civilization changed in the last five centuries to the point that the widespread recognition of St. Joseph’s virtue and intercession came after it was already a personal devotion to so many. Take in some of these devotions and you can tell they didn’t come from the top down like so many honorifics tend to flow. I recommend my daily St. Joseph prayer which I used for the thumbnail to this article. That’s the one I pray every day.

While the St. Joseph prayer I pray daily really emphasizes the holiness and mercy St. Joseph can teach us, many other devotions emphasize the family man. The Litany of St. Joseph is a good example of that. The Holy ring from earlier is another. The ones that emphasize his marriage tend to be most popular in Italy I’ve discovered. I am not just saying that because its my ancestry, devotion to St. Joseph takes on this “be a good dad in spite of everything” vibe over there. I say that lovingly as this spirituality grows up in high times for Italy, the renaissance, and it seems that such an emphasis was really about giving Joseph the respect they feel they had long denied him in centuries prior.

St. Joseph is one of those people in our faith who has a slightly different cult in every time and place he’s been introduced to. When I just said cult there I was using the other meaning by the way: little “c” cult as in a fanbase or set of related observances. Everyone who loves St. Joseph will randomly spring to defend his honor at times and that just got me. I think St. Joseph would have been more hostile to a big “C” cult than your average religious person for a few reasons, not the least of which being his understanding of the importance, the belovedness by God, of each individual person. Individuals get eaten up and spit out by big “C” cults. St. Joseph is never compelled against love.

St. Joseph, destroyer of cults, hmm… maybe I will start a new devotion.

There is so much out there on my guy that you will have your pick of dozens of devotions if you go looking as St. Joseph’s Day approaches later this month. That’s Wednesday, March 19th for your information. That’s two days after St. Patrick’s Day in case you were wondering. The popular celebratory vibe around the Irish people’s Saint might just help you frame the importance of St. Joseph actually. Either way, humility and chastity are yours with St. Joseph! He has done great things in my life, he can in yours too.

Allow me to leave you with the words of St. Teresa of Avila on Joseph: “Of all the people I have known with a true devotion and particular veneration for St. Joseph, not one has failed to advance in virtue; he helps those who turn to him to make real progress. For several years now, I believe, I have always made some request to him on his feast day, and it was always been granted; and when my request is not quite what it ought to be, he puts it right for my greater benefit.”

Thanks for reading! My book “How to catch feelings for Jesus” is available online. Admittedly it is not a deep dive into a devotion like this, but I definitely hit on the themes of this post in other ways. Share this article! I would love to hear your input. Did I help you understand anything about this Catholic devotion? Did it enlighten you on something else? I ask so I can make more sense the next time around. Did you really read all this to not leave some kind of thought afterwards?

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 4/25

What am I feeling today?

A little less overwhelmed, just exhausted and feeling like I’m being pulled in multiple directions. I’m trying to do my best and I really hope it all turns out the way it’s supposed to!

The Humility Of Jesus

There are not too many people who could describe themselves as humble and have a great number of others believe them. But Jesus did just that. Listen to his words:

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭11‬:‭28‬-‭30‬ ‭NIV‬‬

““Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.””

what specifically does Jesus want us to imitate in his character? In this passage it is his gentleness and his humility

Jesus did not do or say anything apart from what his Father desired; he was totally dependent on him. At the heart of being humble is being dependent on God. Jesus was the most humble man ever to live, because no one was ever more dependent on God than he was. No one was ever less self-sufficient than the man who seemingly had the most reason to be so.

One of the subtle manifestations of pride is having a self-sufficient attitude. While I don't personally walk around feeling prideful, I do often see an attitude of self-sufficiency in me, which is clearly pride. For example, I like to work alone. I insisted on doing my own work exclusively as I was growing up. I rarely asked for help. I seldom felt lonely, and my escapist dreams were all about being off alone as a farmer or rancher, building something all by myselfWhether it was for school or any other project, I liked to figure it out myself.

Pride does not ask for, or like to ask for, help

Pride is in total contrast to Jesus. Jesus is humble in heart and sees his need for God. He did nothing, said nothing apart from his dependence on God. And as a result, Jesus was not weary or burdened with life

We can be self-sufficient (and therefore prideful) in our ef- forts to spiritual. We can be self-reliant in trying overcome sin. Consider this passage from 2 Chronicles 7:13-14:

““When I shut up the heavens so that there is no rain, or command locusts to devour the land or send a plague among my people, if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

Sometimes in Scripture the order of things is very impor- tant, and this seems true here. The first step in getting right with God is being humble, not "turning from our wicked ways." Now, if we are humble, we do turn. But we should not start by thinking, "I'll turn from my sins, my wicked ways, and then I (in my self-sufficient way) will have earned my place with God. Then I will be humble." Humble is the last thing we will be!

Remembering that we "were bought at a price" (1 Corinthians 6:20) and understanding that we now belong to God helps us to see that we can no longer be self-sufficient. Because God "sends me," my life will change: I will not do what I want, but what God wants, in every area of my life.

Jesus also shows his humility in the way he served. He served others instead of being self-occupied, even in his times of greatest personal trial

Jesus welcomed children, women, "sinners,” tax collectors, the hurting (lepers, sick) and demoniacs-again, not the associates of the prideful. But Jesus did not just associate with these people, he served them.

There are several telltale signs of self-occupation: Are your prayers mainly about yourself? Are your conversations mainly about yourself? Do you do most of the talking in your interaction with others? Do you rarely serve others in the mundane ways? Are there some things that you just do not you should ever be asked to do? Are you more worried about your position in the eyes of others or in God's eyes? If you are a disciple of Jesus, you will not be afraid of humble service. You will see in his life the glory of service, and you will be ready to take the towel and the basin and wash feet.

Pride offends God by self-exaltation, offends others by self-occupation and damages self by self-deception. This delusion increases until one fancies oneself so high as to be invulnerable. The Bible says a lot about that. Jesus is the opposite at every point.

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭2‬:‭3‬-‭5‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:”

Disciples of Jesus must have the greatest commitment to humility

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Good Morning World and the USA

Daily Devotionals for December 18, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 30:32-33 (KJV):

32 If thou hast done foolishly in lifting up thyself, or if thou hast thought evil, lay thine hand upon thy mouth.

33 Surely the churning of milk bringeth forth butter, and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood: so the forcing of wrath bringeth forth strife.

Proverbs 30:32-33 (AMP):

32 If you have done foolishly in exalting yourself, or if you have thought evil, lay your hand upon your mouth.

33 Surely the churning of milk brings forth butter, and the wringing of the nose brings forth blood; so the forcing of wrath brings forth strife.

Thought for the Day

Verse 32 - Agur's teaching began by confessing his knowledge to be nothing as compared to God's and ended with a warning against pride and self-exaltation. The Bible reveals the consequences of pride that many people, such as King Saul, faced. When no longer "little in his own eyes" (1 Samuel 15:17), Saul tried to cloak his rebellion with partial obedience. He made a show of obeying God by going against the Amalekites, but ultimately rejected the word of the Lord. God said to kill every single Amalekite, but Saul killed all but the king. God's word was to destroy everything they owned but Saul destroyed only what was worthless and kept what was good. Obedience is doing all of what we are told to do. We are not to change instructions because we think we know better. Saul's disobedience was rooted in pride. Like Satan, he thought his way was better than God's. He claimed that he kept the animals to offer as sacrifices to the Lord, as if offering what he had gained sinfully would not also be a sin. Because of his rebellion, Saul later lost both his throne and life. "And Samuel said, Hath the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams. For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry. Because thou hast rejected the word of the LORD, he hath also rejected thee from being king" (1 Samuel 15:22-23).

Verse 33 - Agur compared forcing anger to the churning of milk or violently twisting someone's nose. As surely as the one produce butter and the other produces blood; someone who forces an issue will stir up trouble. My husband, Bud, used to run a ranch. He recalls a time when he warned the ranch hands about the way to avoid situations that would cause trouble. He told them, "You cowboys can walk through that cow pen and get to the other side and you won't smell a thing, but if you take a stick and stir up the manure while you walk through the pen, it's gonna stink." This Proverb gives the same advice: just walk on by when there is trouble brewing, or you could cause a "stink." "A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger. The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright: but the mouth of fools poureth out foolishness" (Proverbs 15:1-2).

Agur responded to Ithiel and Ucal (Proverbs 30:1) with different forms of instruction. In a sense, we are all teachers. Others, (especially children, new believers, and unbelievers) learn from how we speak, the questions we ask, what we do, how we use God's Word, and the way we pray, even more than from what we may consciously teach.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, thank you for teaching us wisdom from Your Word. Lord, help us to guard our mouths, and not to think thoughts that cause us to think too highly of ourselves. We desire to remain humble in Your sight and the sight of men. Lord, we are nothing without You, and the things we do accomplish are simply done by Your grace in our lives. Lord, may we also answer softly to those who would try to stir us to anger. Help us to be silent when we should not speak, and to speak up when we should. May our words be like Yours. I ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, your only begotten son, Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller, @ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org , TM, ‎Founder and Administrator of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups., #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #SPARKERMILLER

Tuesday, December 17, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida USA

3:52:23 PM

[theprayerfulword]

August 03

John 15:4 Jesus said, “Abide in Me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in Me.”

John 7:37-38 On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. 38 Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture said, streams of living water will flow from within him."

Jeremiah 25:6 Do not go after other gods to serve and worship them, and do not provoke Me to anger with the works of your hands. Then I will do you no harm.

John 16:33 These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.

Luke 12:32 It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom

Ephesians 1:5-6 Having predestined us to adoption as sons by Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of His will, 6 to the praise of the glory of His grace, by which He made us accepted in the Beloved.

May you remove the foreign influences and get rid of images in your heart that exalt themselves against the Lord, and cast out anything that distracts from true worship of the one and only God. 2 Chronicles 33

May you do what is right in the eyes of the Lord and walk in the ways of God, not turning aside to the right or to the left. 2 Chronicles 34

May you seek God when the day is young, and walk with Him in all you do. 2 Chronicles 34

May your heart be responsive and humble before God when you hear what He speaks in your life, for He will hear you when you come in repentance, sorrowing because of sin, seeking to walk in His righteousness. 2 Chronicles 34

May you watch out for those who would cause divisions and put obstacles in your way which are contrary to the teaching you have learned; keep away from them for such people are not serving our Lord Christ but their own appetites, deceiving the minds of naive people with smooth talk and flattery. Romans 16

May you be wise about what is good, and innocent about what is evil, for the God of peace will soon crush Satan under you feet. Romans 16

My child, you have been entrusted with much. That is why much is being asked of you. My mercy is upon you and yours because you fear Me, giving reverential awe and respectful honor to My Name. As you walk in that mercy, should you not also show mercy to others, so that they, too, may learn to reverence Me? My goodness is great towards you, My dear one. As you take refuge in Me, I bring you to the secret place I have prepared for you, and give you access to the Father, sheltering you from the strife of men's tongues. Rest here and gain strength from Me before I send you forth again to rescue the perishing and care for the dying. As I have comforted you, even so comfort others with My compassion and My goodness. My relationship gives you access as a child, a close family member, to the One who impartially judges all people of the earth. I, Whom the Father loves and accepts fully, plead your case before Him and advocate for you that you may be forgiven and receive another chance. So, also, shall you consider My blood sufficient to repay the injury caused and the debt incurred by those who reject, revile, and abuse your name and character in the world. Do not usurp the role of the One who is the true and righteous Judge, and bring the same decision on yourself. My Presence abides with you, My close one, and My Spirit dwells within you. As you reverentially honor Me and offer respectful awe toward Me, I fulfill your desires, saving you as you cry out to Me. When I do, you are to testify of My goodness to those who have not learned of My majesty and saving grace. By bearing witness of My hand in your life, My strength in your weakness, My mercy in your failures, you will bring hope to others; when in the faith which comes by hearing they turn to Me, they will be healed from the inside out. My compassion and tender care is near when you are broken-hearted; I save you from total desolation when you feel crushed in your spirit. I look upon your distress with love and pour out My balm to salve your bruises and bind up your wounds. As you have been ministered to, My lovely one, so minister to the broken-hearted, the hopeless, the outcast, the rejected, bearing My comforting Spirit as you speak My words of love. Just as you have spoken words of anguish, loss, hurt, and anger to Me in your pain and despondency, do not be surprised if those to whom I send you lash out in their loss. Let them feel your uncritical, non-judging acceptance in the fellowship of your suffering that they may realize they are not alone. These, and so many more blessings have you been the recipient of from My heavenly throne, My child. They have healed you, strengthened you, and stabilized you in My kingdom, and now they are yours to give, gifts for those I am drawing, the fingerprints of My hand in your clay to show as evidence of My existence to those whose eyes have been blinded to other evidences. Be generous, My sweet one, giving even as you have been given to.

May you give glory forever through Jesus Christ to the only wise God, the One Who is able to establish you by the gospel and the proclamation of Jesus Christ, according to the revelation of the mystery hidden for long ages past, but now revealed and made known through the prophetic writings by the command of the eternal God so that all nations might believe and obey Him. Romans 16

May you trust in the Lord without wavering, for then the Lord will vindicate you. Psalm 26

May you walk continually in the truth of the Lord and keep His love ever before you, for then the Lord can test and try you, examining your heart and mind, and settle you in the truth of His Word. Psalm 26

May you not sit in agreement with deceitful men or consort in approval with hypocrites but abhor the assembly of evildoers and refuse to sit in acceptance with the wicked, but rather wash your hands in innocence and go about the altar of the Lord proclaiming aloud God's praise and telling of all His wonderful deeds. Psalm 26

May you love the house where the Lord lives and the place where His glory dwells. Psalm 26

May your feet stand on level ground and in the great assembly may you give praise to the Lord, for as you walk in the righteousness of Christ, clinging to Him and showing His compassion to others, He will redeem you and be merciful to you. Psalm 26