#but a lot of the same preaching styles used in the church i went to were derived from revival style preaching/theology

[batemanofficial]

ive been exposed to some niche drama (marching band related) but in learning the specifics of the situation ive been hit with the realization that not everybody grew up fundie evangelical and might be lacking some of the context that makes this particular incident so strange. that said i have a question for all the non fundies out there

[existential-angstt]

Take Me To Church // Shane “Dio” Morrissey x Reader

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTTTT, church kink, public sex, fingering, oral (f receiving)

Dio certainly had a reputation for telling those he met that he was alluring to people, but that was definitely the case when it came to the two of you. You’d seen him around campus before-- he was hard to miss, after all, in his totally black ensembles, multiple piercings and silver chains that jangled and clanked against each other. It seemed like his getup would be hard to get around in, but he was always angrily power walking whenever you saw him so you never stopped to say hi or compliment his sense of style. Eventually you heard rumors about the satanic cult that liked to meet in the basement of Miller Hall and do “rituals” (or whatever the rumor mill was churning out nowadays) and you decided to let your curiosity get the better of you. Whenever anyone talked about said cult, his name was always mentioned so you felt sure you would find him there. You weren’t planning on letting them see you-- you just wanted to know what they were getting up to down there…

You knew Miller Hall as well as the next freshman, but you’d never seen the basement-- you didn’t even know that students had access to that part of the building. The story went that Miller Hall used to be the old swim building, and that the remnants of the pools were in the basement, that you could still smell the chlorine. You crept down the stairs, wide eyed and ears perked for any sounds. The further you got downstairs, the more you could hear little noises-- a laugh here, some chatter there. The low rumble of music played over a speaker. When you got to the bottom of the steps, there was a set of double doors and before you could make up your mind to turn back, they both exploded outwards, slamming into the walls. 

Standing there was Dio, his palms flat against the doors. You could tell he certainly wasn’t expecting you to be standing there, that he was just on his way out, but he froze at the sight of you,your eyes wide and body tensed to run off. 

“Need something?” he said smoothly as though your appearance hadn’t ruffled him in the slightest. 

“I- uh,” you stuttered, trying to come up with something, anything to say. “I’m here for the cult stuff?” you tried. 

He cocked his head at you in confusion and then chuckled lowly. “All right, little one. Party’s in here,” he said, stepping back and gesturing into the large room behind him. You stepped in past him, wary of him beside you. You two had never spoken before now and as far as you knew he hadn’t known you existed before this, so you had no reason to expect the same kindness you felt towards him. 

You jumped as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as you looked around the huge room that consisted mostly of an empty tiled pool. “How’d you hear about us?” he said, his breath hitting your face. He smelled like cigarettes and musky cologne and your heart was jumping every other beat. 

“J-J-Just rumors,” you stammered, looking around. There were about five or six other people, decked almost exclusively in black, swanning around the pool or smoking or doing whatever culty emo college students do in a basement. 

“Mmm. And what’s your name, little dove?” 

You gulped and looked up at him. He was broad as hell and he was completely in your personal space despite never having met you. That wasn’t to say you didn’t like that. 

“Y-Y/N,” you said uncertainly. 

“You sure about that?” he said, catching your tone. 

You nodded, looking into his dark eyes. There was something mischievous in them, something you couldn’t read. He paused a minute, staring at you and you staring at him.

“This shit is pretty lame. How about you and I grab lunch?”

“Lunch?” you said, glancing back at the other five goth kids. You looked back at him and the hand wrapped around your shoulder, previously draped around your frame casually, slid downwards a little so he could trace circles in your skin.

“Uh- Uh huh,” you said, agreeing. Still with an arm around you, he spun the two of you around back towards the double doors and started guiding you out, refusing to give up his hold on you until he was forced to by the narrowing of the staircase. When he did let go of you he followed close behind, hardly letting you get a step ahead before he was on your heels. 

The two of you slipped away to one of the dining halls, making small talk all the way. It was less small talk and more him interrogating you and you answering as steadily as you could. You picked up something light, hoping that eating (at least a little bit) would steady your stomach and Dio picked up just an apple. You wanted to say something, encourage him to get more for his meal punch, but since you didn’t know him, you felt like you couldn’t. 

You ate quickly and he just took his apple with him as you wandered across campus. You weren’t really sure what his goal was but he kept walking and you kept following. You were shocked, to say the least, when he took a sudden turn at the edge of the campus chapel, darting around the side of the building to slip through the heavy wooden door. You thought it was possible he was looking for someplace to shelter from the rain, which was really starting to come down, but somehow you didn’t see Dio as the kind of person to hide from the rain.

You followed him without question but you were certainly wary of what he was plotting. You weren’t surprised when you found the chapel completely empty, desolate of any other souls. You’d never been in here, although it had always been on your list-- a big old gray brick building with stained glass to die for. 

Dio walked up the aisle, black coat swirling around the backs of his knees. You stopped at the last row of pews, just watching him. He stepped up onto the short stage and stood behind the  pulpit like he was going to start preaching the gospels to sunday mass. You chuckled a little, clutching your hands in front of you. You started walking down the aisle towards him. He came down off the stage and stood at the first row of pews, staring you down as you continued towards him.

“You ever been to confession?” he said, nodding towards the confessional in the corner. Your eyes widened a little bit and you shook your head. “I have,” he said, turning to face it. “Looooong time ago. You wanna try?” he said, looking back over his shoulder at you. 

“All right,” you said, heart thumping away again. He walked over and opened one side before slinking around the corners of the box to go sit in the other side. You stepped into the box and closed the door behind you, sitting down on the wooden bench. You heard the door on his side shut and your breath hitched. A second, then-

“Do you have anything you’d like to confess to?”

Your breathing sounded so loud inside this small wooden box and it didn’t help that he was on the other side of it. He had to be able to hear it, how loud you were breathing, how you were twitching with claustrophobia and anxiety. He didn’t give any indication though, so you said, “Not particularly.” 

“No? Are you sure, little dove?” 

You froze, staring at the dark wall of the confessional. His tone had changed, become more dangerous. What was he playing at? 

“P-pretty sure,” you said. A shiver ran through you. You were a little damp from the rain, and churches were cold-- not to mention the tension you were feeling because of this man. You shook a little, your teeth chattering softly. 

You heard his breath hit the barrier on the other side of the confessional; he was leaning in as he said, “You sure you don’t wanna tell me about that little crush of yours?” 

You froze, your shivering suddenly stilled. 

“You think I haven’t seen you, lurking around campus? I’m never in one place long, but…” the pause was bittersweet and you realized you were holding your breath. You tried to exhale without drawing too much attention. “I always see you. Watching me. You think I don’t?” 

You realized now this entire thing had been a trap, a game. But what was his endgame? Where was he going with this? 

“Truth is…” he sighed, leaning back from the barrier, his voice getting slightly more muffled. “I watch you too, little dove.” Your skin was tingling now and you were trying to process everything he was saying but it was a lot for you at once. You suddenly felt very claustrophobic inside the confessional, like a bird trapped in a cage. “You thought I didn’t see you… but you’re the only one I see among those drones. You’re… different. Aware. You don’t follow that path they’ve laid out for you, you kind of… carve your own.” 

Your breath hitched again. “What are you saying?” 

“Forgive me,” he said, seeming to ignore your question, “for I have sinned.” 

You sat up on the bench, leaning forward and closer to the barrier as though to be closer to him. “I’ve had… so many thoughts about you. I… see you around campus and-- sometimes I don’t even have class, I just… follow you,” he continued unhindered. You wondered vaguely how this man followed you, sticking out like a sore thumb among the students, but you quickly banished the concern in lieu of listening to his spiel. 

“I watch you and… I think about all the things I’d like to do to you.” The last few words were breathy, close-- he was leaning towards you again. You were practically right up against each other, pressing in on each other from opposite sides of the confessional. You gasped a little, half from cold and half from-- what was it exactly? You knew this guy was bad news-- no one had anything good to say about him. You shouldn’t be into this guy, right? That didn’t seem to stop the butterflies in your stomach that were quickly turning into something else entirely.

“Like what?” you said softly and he inhaled sharply as though he had forgotten you were there. 

“I-” he trailed off; he seemed to be at a loss for words for once. From what you knew about Dio, it was practically impossible to catch this man off guard; he seemed to have a comeback for anything anyone threw at him, even if it was a lousy defense. For him to not know what to say-

“You have beautiful skin-- I want to see every inch of it, touch every inch of it,” he said finally, his voice lower and more serious. You gripped the gridded barrier between you, making the wood creak. “I want to get on my knees in front of you and find out what you taste like. I want to make you feel so good I’m the only thing you can think about for days at a time. I want you to scream my name in those moments you’re feeling the most pleasure,” he said very quickly, like if he didn’t get it out in time it would kill him.

You brought a hand up to your mouth and shivered again, both with cold and anticipation at what he was saying to you. “Can I come over there, little dove?” he hissed through the confessional’s wall. You nodded rapidly, eyes widening, before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yes,” you croaked out and you heard the door to his side bang open only to wait a few seconds in agony before the door to your side was nearly ripped off its hinges. 

Dio was standing there, as imposing as ever, taking up the whole doorway with his form. He was 6’3” and broad as hell so it wasn’t hard for him to do. Since you’d last seen him a few minutes ago, he looked fairly more ruffled and there was some color in his pale cheeks, a pretty blush creeping across his cheekbones. 

You both leaped at each other in sync, you only making it halfway off the bench before he was swooping down to meet you, your lips clashing. He kissed you hard, as you’d expected; he was aggressive, pressing down on you and licking or biting anything he could get to. And yet… it wasn’t all taking as you’d expected. This was a man you’d halfway believed would take whatever he wanted and be done with it, but-- he was responding to your subtle movements, to the way you were kissing him, giving you what you needed as well. 

He halfway pushed you back into the confessional, pulling the door shut behind him and throwing the pair of you into darkness. It was cramped to say the least, but he lowered himself down and fitted himself against you, climbing into your lap and straddling you on the bench, kneeling over you. His hands came up to cradle your face, the cold metal of his rings biting your skin and making you hiss and gasp. He caught your bottom lip in his teeth and pulled, biting down softly. 

You groaned, the noise echoing around in the confessional and feeling so much louder. There was a deep rumble as he chuckled. “I watched you,” he pulled away to say, “and wanted you and hoped- but- I couldn’t have predicted you would taste this sweet or fall apart this beautifully for me.” 

You gasped and moaned a little at his words, running your hands down the sides of his slick leather jacket and finding purchase underneath, where he was nothing but warmth. You slithered your hands underneath the hem of his shirt and found nothing but miles of hot flesh over taut muscle. He growled a little at your invasion and shoved his tongue into your mouth unforgivingly, moving one hand down to rest it against the hollow of your throat. 

You leaned into him, pressing your throat higher against his hand and forcing his face back a little, your tongue tangling with his. He squeezed the hand on your neck in response and you let out a little whimper against your will. He moaned against your mouth, moving downwards and trailing kisses across your jaw for only a second before he was moving to your neck. You shoved your hands upwards under his shirt, reveling in the contact. You ran your right hand across his chest and stopped when you felt something metallic. He was wearing a lot of chains, could you have touched one of those? No, no, this was smaller, what-

He chuckled again and you decided you liked when he did that. You realized with a start his nipples were pierced but you barely had time to comprehend the implications of that before the hand still holding your face was moving downwards at an alarming rate. One hand stayed on your throat while the other ventured down the center of your chest and across your belly before finding the edge of your shirt and shoving upwards. Your shirt bunched up around your neck like a scarf and your whole chest was exposed to him in the darkness.

You were still a little chilled from the rain and despite recent activities you shivered. “Are you cold, baby?” he whispered against your cheek as he peppered kisses across your face. “Let me try an’ warm you up.” His hand plunged downwards again and suddenly he was shoving it into your skirt, rubbing at you through your underwear. He only did that for a few seconds before he withdrew again so he could cup your boobs through your bra before pushing your bra up and setting his hands on the real things. 

You moaned against him and he sank down on you, putting your left nipple into his hot mouth and sucking on it mercilessly. The hands you had under his shirt turned to claws and you raked them against his skin, pulling him closer, but he only growled like a feral animal and continued, making little noises as he sucked on your tit. He pulled away with a wet popping sound, saliva dribbling down your boob, and put his mouth on your other breast, treating that one the same way-- relentlessly. 

While he was still focused on that, he shoved his hand back into your skirt, this time dipping underneath your underwear and running along your slick folds. With one last cruel nibble on your right breast, he pulled away to say, “Is all this for me, sweetness? Are you this wet for me? You’re even more desperate for me than I could have anticipated.” Your hands slid down to his hips as he sat back a little, his hand still exploring you blindly, and you could feel the sharp cut of his Adonis belt as his thumb brushed your clit. You cried out a little as he applied pressure but swiftly went back to circling your bundle of nerves. 

“Why don’t we take this somewhere a bit more roomy?” he said, his breath hitting your face and then suddenly there was light and it was blinding; Dio had kicked open the door of the confessional and was pulling you out of it like a cop at a riot as your shirt slid back down. 

“Wha- Where?” you managed to gasp out. Dio led you over to the short stage at the front of the church with an iron grip on your wrist and all you could do was obey. Once you had both climbed up, he turned back to you and said, “Lay down, little dove.”

You looked back at him with reproach. “Dio, this- this is a church. Shouldn’t we at least lock the door or something?”

He turned back to you fully and pulled you close, towering over you slightly menacingly. “Now where’s the fun in that?” he rumbled, his hands finding your hips. You gasped and found yourself doing as he said, laying down on your back on the floor of the daius. You gave the interior of the church another once over, making sure no one had walked in during your confessional time, but you hardly had time to evaluate present dangers before he was on you again. This time he didn’t straddle you, but leaned down and, with a knee, kicked apart your legs before putting his own weight in between them. 

“Dio-” 

“Shush.” 

He put his mouth back on yours and you breathed him in, cigarettes and musk. You groaned again as his hand snaked back down to where it had been between your legs. He kept kissing you as his hands reached down to tear away your skirt, ripping it halfway down your legs. You reached up to grip his leather jacket by the collar when he did that but he only grinned at you cheekily.

The goth boy pulled away from you until he was positioned by your legs, which he lifted so your knees were bent and then pushed apart again. You heard a click and looked up-- Dio had taken out a black switchblade and opened it. Your mouth fell open as you stared, unable to do anything. He eyed you darkly before grabbing hold of your underwear and slicing through it. You breathed a small sigh of relief when he pulled your underwear off of you, but went back to a mix of anxiety and lust when he returned to you, resting his palms on your knees with the knife in one hand. 

He was looking up at you and then back at your lady bits as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. Dio took the knife and lowered it down somewhere you couldn’t see but could feel all to well. You hissed and tried to sit up to see what he was doing, but he applied a little bit of pressure and you laid back immediately. “Good girl,” he said, using the handle of the knife to trace your entrance. You stayed on your back, staring up at the ceiling, but he said, “Hey” so you sat up the slightest bit to meet his eyes. “Look at me.” 

He was still tracing that knife a place you couldn’t see, a place a knife shouldn’t be, his eyes burning into yours. The cold of the metal was almost soothing to your overheated skin but you were more than a little nervous at his implications. You were too afraid to look away again, unsure of what it would make him do. Suddenly he slipped the handle of it into you, just a few inches, but you screamed out and arched your back a bit before remembering why that would be a bad idea. You looked back at him as soon as you could make your eyes function again and he was wearing a shit eating grin from watching you struggle. 

“Dio-” you moaned. 

“What is it, little one?” he said, completely unaffected by this. 

“Please-” 

“Please what?” he said. You looked back up at him and he was staring at you sharply. He needed you to say it. 

“P-Please, I need you to-”

“What, little dove? You need me to what?” 

“Fuck me!” you cried out desperately. 

He chuckled and pressed the hard edged knife further into you, the chilly metal and the sharpness of the dimensions biting into you. “Like this?” he said nastilly. 

“No,” you moaned out, reaching aimlessly for his hand, which was pressing the knife deeper into you. “Please-” 

“What’s my name, little dove?” he said, that nickname he’d give you sliding off this tongue so easily. You groaned and let your head drop, staring at the ceiling while your body was halfway between pain and pleasure. “Hey- look at me,” he snapped and your head shot up, your eyes meeting his blearily. “What’s my name?” 

“Dio!” you cried out, desperate for him to take the knife out. It was satisfying some desire buried deeply within you but mostly it was just uncomfortable. And the thought that someone could walk in at any minute- 

“Good girl. You’re so good for me; you’re behaving so well,” he said as he slowly pulled the handle of the knife out of you and you felt like you could breathe again. “I didn’t think-- when I followed you around, when I thought about you-” he said, climbing on top of you, his full weight pressing into you, “I didn’t think you’d let me do all these things. Not willingly.” 

“I wanted you to, Dio. That’s why I came looking for you,” you said, reaching up to card your fingers through his black hair and tug. He moaned into your chest, pushing your shirt back up again so he could rest his face in your breasts. After a few seconds of you tugging on his hair and running your hands through it, he started moving again, kissing your chest until he moved back up to your mouth, nipping your bottom lip again.

Now that he was pressed up against you, you could feel how hard he was through those leather pants of his. And from what you could tell, he was big. You let out a little gasp and started fumbling with his pants shakily, trying to slide them down. He jumped a little, his hand grabbing your wrist on instinct. But then he was chuckling against you, smiling as he said, “Are you needy for me, you little whore?” 

You flexed your hand uncomfortably in his tight grasp and after a few seconds of heavy eye contact, establishing a silent “no touching” rule, he released you and you withdrew your hand back greedily.

Luckily he got the message to speed things along and reached down himself to pull at the fastenings on his pants, shimmying out of them with a little difficulty. He had just gotten adjusted when you both jumped at the sound of the heavy front doors opening. Before you knew what was happening, Dio was pulling you up by the waist and scooting the both of you over to behind the pulpit, which had a covered table right beside it. You were still on the stage, but at least now you were out of view.

There was some faint chatter, two voices-- a couple who’d stopped in the church to admire the stained glass. You looked up at him fearfully but he merely smiled down at you before he was slithering back off of you and lowering his head-

It was all you could do not to cry out. He licked a couple stripes up your entrance, tasting you, before moving up to suck on your clit harshly. You clapped a hand to your mouth and gripped the edge of the pulpit with the other. He was being intentionally slow, overstimulating your clit and only edging you with his tongue. The voices were getting a little louder-- you could hear them walking down the aisle, even make out what they were saying now. 

“-so pretty in here, I don’t know why I don’t come here more often.”

“Maybe cause you’re Jewish?” 

“Shut up, I don’t have to be Catholic to admire beauty.” 

You almost let yourself get lost in their conversation, trying to forget about what this man was doing to you with his mouth when he dipped one of his fingers into you. The edge of the pulpit creaked slightly at the pressure you were exerting on it and you bit down on the back of the hand you had covering your mouth to keep from moaning. 

He laughed into you hoarsely and the vibration of his mouth on your clit sent you up the wall. 

“What was that? Did you hear that?” the female voice was saying. You had tears in your eyes from the effort of holding yourself together and you were about to be found out. Dio was still flicking his tongue lazily over your clit and moving that finger in and out of you at an alarmingly fast rate, you didn’t know how they couldn’t hear it-

“No, I didn’t hear anything. What did you hear?” 

You could feel tightness coiling in your belly- you were close. But you couldn’t- not here, not now; not when they were so close to-

You reached down and gave Dio’s hair a sharp tug. He looked up with hooded eyes like he was at an all you can eat buffet but the haziness quickly faded when he noticed your expression. He looked back down at your trembling body and pointed, mouthing, “Are you- about to-” you nodded feverishly, hitting your head on the edge of the pulpit and seeing stars. 

“That! Did you hear that?” “I really don’t know what you’re talking about-” “Maybe this place really is haunted.” 

Dio pulled his finger out of you and you let out a whimper in surprise. Just one whimper. That was all it took.

“HEY-” “Yeah, I definitely heard it that time. Let’s-- let’s get outta here.”

“What, are you scared?”

“Of ghosts? No. Of horny college students fucking in some dark corner? Yes.” 

“Ugh, fine. Let’s go.”

There were shuffling footsteps, a lofty breeze and the sound of rain, and then the heavy wooden door slammed shut. You let out a long groan, both from pleasure and everything you’d pent up the last five minutes and Dio reached up and squeezed your tit. “You’re good at keeping quiet. I’ll have to explore that later.” You twitched and gasped  a little. 

“So, you’re close, little one?” he hissed, straddling you again and sinking his teeth down on your neck, running his tongue over every spot he bit. Your head was spinning and you could hardly see straight. 

“Uy-yeah-” you moaned. 

“Well, then. Let’s see if we can make you cum before someone else decides to walk in on us, eh?” he said, pulling at his pants again. You reached up to grab at his bare hips as you felt his hard dick rub against your pussy. You groaned as your clit throbbed, overstimulated, while you hadn’t had anything inside you since his finger and that hadn’t been nearly enough. 

Without much other ceremony, Dio lined himself up and rammed into you. He was definitely big, and almost more than you’d been prepared for, even with all his teasing. You tightened your calves around him, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him deeper on instinct. He let out a deliciously low moan, dipping in to drop kisses across your cheeks and nose. “Mmm, you feel so good, little dove,” he groaned, his kisses turning to love bites and then to full nibbles the further down he went. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you groaned, enjoying the fullness of him. He pulled back and rammed into you again with a grunt, hitting your cervix. You cried out, the sound ringing out against the stone walls of the church. You really hoped there weren’t any staff members working somewhere inside the building, though this was the worst possible time to be worrying about that. You reached up and grabbed a fistful of Dio’s hair and yanked. His eyes flashed at you and he growled, slamming into you again, looking down at your chest. You sucked in a breath and your hand slid down to his jaw, where you tilted back his head so he would meet your eyes. He grinned devilishly and kissed you, moving his hips in a steady rhythm and making you groan. He kept slamming into you, bringing up a ringed hand to clutch at your throat, squeezing it and making your eyes roll back in your skull. 

“Ah- ah, r-r-right there, Dio, that’s the spot, ri-”

He kept ramming into you, his pace quickening and your pleasure with it. Your right hand tangled itself in the hair at the back of his head, pulling with every thrust, and your left clutched at his shoulder, trying to hold yourself together. In this position you were imminently more conscious of the sounds echoing around the church-- the slapping of wet skin, ragged breathing, and moaning. You were letting out a litany of both curses and praises when he gasped and said, “D-dove, I- I’m close.”

You looked up in surprise-- your head had fallen back against the floor as your back was arching but now you were paying him your full attention. His cheeks were flushed so beautifully and you could see the tension he was holding. “W-where-” he groaned. 

“My tits, cum on my tits, Dio,” you moaned, pushing your chest up towards him. He let out a whimper and pulled out of you, sitting up so he was straddling you on his knees. When you finally saw his cock, you let out a low groan. That had been inside you? It was-

You watched and grinned with satisfaction as he started jerking himself off, staring at you, half naked and splayed out underneath him. And then with a shout, he came, thick ropes of cum landing on your chest and belly. You dipped your fingers down into the cum on your chest and tasted it, moaning obscenely as you did it. In all the times you’d seen Dio, you’d never been able to picture him looking anything like this-- completely disheveled, halfway fallen apart, and staring at you with his mouth hanging open and his eyes hazy with release. 

He ducked back down to lick up the mess from your chest, not wasting a single drop. After he’d given you a thorough tongue bath, he came back up to meet your lips, kissing you gently and sweetly like a high school boy would. “All right, angel,” he sighed against your cheek. “Let me take care of you now.” 

Before you could ask what he meant, he was pulling back again, lifting your knees back up and sinking his face right into your heat. You let out a cry of surprise, which turned into a moan as he was back to stimulating you. He wasted no time, he tongue circling your clit and dipping into you before he shoved his finger back where it had been earlier. You moaned and he gripped your thigh as he pulled your legs onto his shoulders, the metal of his rings and bracelet digging into your sensitive flesh. 

It wasn’t long at all before you were whimpering out that you were close, and his movements got more intense, his fingers moving faster as he sucked on your clit. You didn’t hold back any noises as everything came to a roaring finale you were cumming into his mouth. He drank you up like you were an oasis in the desert, licking you clean until everything was throbbing from overstimulation. 

He softly dropped your legs back to the floor and climbed back on top of you, kissing you sweetly and tasting like you. You wrapped your legs back around his waist shakily, clinging onto him to steady you. “You gonna make it, little dove?” he hissed, pressing the softest of kisses to your cheeks and nose and forehead. You mumbled incoherently and simply clung to him, holding him close, and he let you. 

You didn’t lay there more than two minutes, trying to regain your bearings, when you heard the heavy door of the church swing open again. 

“All right, kids, this is the University Chapel-”

You and Dio snapped to attention and looked at each other in pure fear. The giggling and chatter of the school children filled the church as the door finally slammed shut behind them.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 2) Into the Underground

Chu Zihang makes me have a surprisedpikachu.jpg here.

ITT: The MC can have ally chats and date both genders soooo...

The elevator descended to the bottom floor. The door opened to pitch black.

Chu Zihang flicked on the flashlight. The beam of light illuminated the dusty statue of the Virgin Mary. Although pigment has faded due to age, the Virgin Mary statue is still flushed with a magnificent red and gold, which indicates that the paints they used were mixed with real gold powder.  

This is the second basement level of the Takamagahara. The building actually had a second underground floor and one of the four elevators was a freight elevator that could reach this floor.

"This house looks pretty old!" Lu Mingfei exclaimed, "This style is not like a Japanese house." 

"Before World War II, this was a Catholic church. After the Meiji Restoration, many priests came to Japan to preach, and there were many Catholics at that time. This was once a stronghold of the faithful in Tokyo, where dozens of priests lived and held regular services and masses." Chu said, "When Tokyo was bombed in World War II, the bas-reliefs and arches were destroyed, leaving only the main structure intact. The store manager saw its location and rented it, spending a lot of money to renovate it into a nightclub. The stage was originally where the organ was housed, and the card seating area was originally the choir stalls. This floor was a confessional and reading room, and was used as a bombing shelter during World War II. To this day it is a government-planned shelter, although the store manager is using it as a storage room." 

You’re riding on Caesars back, your legs straddling his waist and propped up by his arms. Even though there was no danger yet, you were still slightly inebriated by your night’s show and he insisted on carrying you until you sobered up. Practical reasons aside, he made it clear that he wanted you to stay close to him. You were essential to the mission. You surmised also that his own personal code of honor and justice pushed him to go the extra mile.

Everywhere the flashlight swept was grey with dust. The four walls were painted with chalk. The floor was just smoothed with cement. The walls still had traces of smoke and fire and, in the corners, were stacked organ parts, enamel-decorated pulpits, and two or three human-high crosses with aged ochre vestments hanging from them. You can vaguely feel the prosperity of this Catholic Church back then. You imagine the clergy shuttling to and fro, the sound of voices reciting the Bible. No one could have imagined that, a hundred years later, this place would become a nightclub of sound and fury of male strippers.

Chu Zihang found a cellar well in the corner of the hall. It was covered by an old-fashioned cast iron well cover. The rusty cover was probably hundreds of years old, and the German markings of the cast iron company were indistinct. Chu Zihang and Caesar worked together to move the well cover, and the sound of water gurgled in the darkness. 

"The sewer entrance is actually inside the building!" Lu Mingfei whispered in surprise, “So Hydra won’t even notice us going in and out of the Takamagahara!”

"It's indeed a very coincidental thing." Chu Zihang said, "I also did not expect the entrance to the sewer would be hidden in Takamagahara. I found the sewer map of Shinjuku district from the Internet. It doesn’t look very big. There are only a dozen sewer entrances and exits. Most of them are housed in a sewage treatment station. Only this cellar well is the exception. It should have been sealed long ago, but because it was connected to the shelter, it happened to provide an escape route, so it was preserved. I should say we got lucky, we found the shelter at the same time we touched the back entrance of Genji Heavy Industries."

Lucky, huh? You raise your eyes again to the statue of the Virgin Mary and the words of Z in your dream echoed. He was doing this for a reason. Was it revenge for Black Swan Bay? If so, why wait 20 years? He told you frankly that you wouldn’t be able to understand until the very end. But your skin was starting to crawl.

“MC! Come on.” Caesar was waiting for you at the entrance. He once again lifted you up on his back and carefully you descended into the pipe.

They went down the iron staircase into the sewer, the flashlight illuminating the mossy brick wall. The structure of this section of the sewer was very old, completely different from the modern Iron Dome shrine, with a semicircular cross section. A water channel was in the middle and narrow paths for walking were on both sides. The ceiling is draped with some kind of aquatic plant, dark green and hair-thin, and if you are not careful, they will brush your face like cold hands in the dark. There was a foot-long black shadow slowly creeping across the corner, and when Chu Zihang shone his torch over it, it suddenly accelerated and disappeared into the dark green plants, emitting a woofing sound similar to a dog's bark. Lu Mingfei was so scared that he leaned back, Caesar held him up in time, otherwise he would have been planted in the gutter. 

“Stop being so jumpy!” He hissed.

"It's a mud salamander, a kind of salamander, native to North America." Chu Zihang locked the thing's exposed long tail with the beam of the flashlight. "It eats the eggs of aquatic animals, which prevents them from overpopulating the sewers. They put them in the sewers as scavengers." 

"Holy shit! Scared the hell out of me! There are actually such dumb things in the sewers!"

"Each city's sewers are an ecosystem, where there is sufficient water but basically no sunlight. Those species that can adapt to the darkness will quickly reproduce and eventually form a stable biosphere." Chu Zihang walked ahead with a flashlight, "The sewer ecosystem of each city is different, related to the city's rainfall, temperature and the acidity of the groundwater. The most important thing to be careful of here is the small things like blood worms, they may lay eggs on you. The big things are mostly not dangerous, even the water snakes are also not venomous." 

"Anywhere you go, the sewers are not built all at once. The sewers you see now are the sewers of Shinjuku district a hundred years ago. Tokyo had a massive renovation of the sewer system ten years ago, connecting all the old sewer systems, and the excess groundwater enters the Iron Dome Shrine through the various sewers, and is purified and discharged into the sea from the mains. If we keep walking, we’ll eventually enter the main channel." Chu Zihang glanced at the map in his hand, "About 600 meters further we will pass under the Shinjuku subway station, where there will be giant water turbines, through the turbine holes we will enter the Iron Dome Shrine." 

"Brother were you born in the sewers, so you know so much about them?" 

"I googled it."

"But you can't read Japanese." 

"I have Google Translate, and I learned a few sentences of Japanese through Google Translate." Chu Zihang switched to Japanese and said, "Thank you for your patronage. I look forward to seeing you again. Would you like some more wine? Cry if you are sad. And that's about it." 

“You’re so smart.” You say, “Maybe someday I’ll be as smart as you.”

“You’re very intelligent in your own way, MC. Mostly by way of survival. In Chizuru, you didn’t hesitate to wait until nightfall, find your own clothing, make your way to the Internet Cafe and fend off attackers. You recognized the danger of the gangsters long before we did. And in the end, if I hadn’t distracted you, you probably would not have been injured. Those are the major examples. I could go on longer with the smaller examples. When I think of them I’m glad you’re our friend and not our enemy.”

“Aw…” You say, resting your head between Caesar’s shoulder and neck. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Caesar snorted. “Speaking of flirting, I’m very surprised not even the hottest men of Tokyo could earn your favor tonight. You really didn’t see anything in any of them?”

“They each tried to sell themselves to me very well. But I wasn’t interested in what they had to offer. It’s not that they didn’t have anything.”

“If you had no choice and had to pick one… which one would you choose?”

“That’s a weird question. I’m wondering why it matters. Have you bet on a favorite to win?”

“No. I just don’t think it’s good to walk alone in the world. I was honestly hoping that you and Mingfei Lu would get along a bit better but…”

“It wouldn’t be good for someone like me to court an ordinary human. Playing like this for a show is… alright.”

“You loved someone back in your old place… what was he like?”

“She.”

Caesar’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh!”

Mingfei’s head swiveled in your direction. “You like girls!” He slaps his forehead. “It all makes so much sense now!”

“I didn’t know I did until I was asked that question about lost love. It’s a bit sadder now because if I had understood my feelings then, I would have told her.” You shift your gaze back to Mingfei. “Can I ask you something? Are both your parents Chinese?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like someone I used to know. I think he may still be alive. I liked him too.” 

“Then you swing both ways?” Lu Mingfei seemed to be having a mini-crisis. How was he supposed to protect your innocence from everyone in existence? It was funny to see him frantically holding back his bangs, concerned about that rather than being worried about breaking into the headquarters of the most powerful organization in Japan.

Caesar’s eyes shifted in your direction. “If you need help searching for survivors, you have the full support of the Student Union.”

“Thanks… If anyone could survive, it would be him.”

“That would be nice if you could meet again. Pick up where you left off maybe?” Mingfei rested his arms behind his head.

You stare at him in silence and give a sigh, your chest rising against Caesar’s back.

“Don’t mind him. It’s going to hit him in like an hour.” Caesar grumbles.

You bury your head in his shoulder, giggling.

[dfnews]

“I Pray You Put This Journal Away” Podcast about the Duggar Family.

This podcast https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvN3-Dl5i78&t=270s on YouTube was posted in my group yesterday and it totally blew me away. The host was a friend of the Duggars back in 2004-2006 when the molestation scandals were blowing up the Duggar family and their church. I didn't learn a lot of new information here but what was a lot of strewn about pieces of a puzzle are completely put together in these podcasts. The host, Justin, puts it all together for us in a very articulate sensitive style. I appreciate his reaching out and explaining not only what went on in the Duggar home and in their church but the entire mindset of the fundamental Christians he grew up around and their damaging beliefs. There are three podcasts so far. The first one is two hours long but that flies by due to the wonderful presentation from Justin and his wife, Julia. I've only gotten halfway through the second and haven't touched the third one yet. I will recap them over the weekend. First 30 Minutes: Introduction to Justin, his journal and past beliefs.

 30 Minute Mark: Justin starts talking about Josh working on the Jim Holt campaign. Holt was running for the US senate at the time. Josh had a big role in that campaign. Also about meeting the Duggars for the first time. 39 Minute Mark: First visit to the Duggars' home. He talks about the tiny home the Duggars lived with 15 kids at the time. That it was messy and smelled bad. How the little Duggar boys were wild and desperately wanted attention from Justin and his brothers. How the older Duggar boys built their own computers from parts Jim Bob got at auction. But Josh had an amazing new computer of his own. He had a state of the art Mac. Justin believes Jim Bob was investing in Josh's video interests. He should have invested in college instead. Justin's dad asks Josh about his computer, "What kinda filter you got on that thing?" and Josh did a visible gulp. Apparently Jim Bob didn't know about filters at that time that keep the naughty stuff out and Josh was having fun exploring. Justin mentions Josh as being very computer savvy.  

51 Minute Mark: Josh working for Jim Holt and his betrothal. He says Josh and his girl weren't romantic and didn't seem to be all that into each other. It was an arranged betrothal between dads Jim Bob and Jim Holt. The conversation turns towards racism in fundamentalism which kind of explains these people's love for Trump and his white supremacist supporters.

 1 Hour 1 Minute Mark: Justin talks about his crush on Jana Duggar. In his journal he writes that she is younger and shorter than him which were important factors for an up and coming patriarch. His monologue talking about his Jana crush is hilarious. Justin and Julia talk about how sexualized their environment was including the babies.

 1 Hour 28 Minutes: Josh and his teenage porn habit. Jim Holt loses his campaign that Josh was working on and seeks a reason for his failure and decides to take it out on Josh who was caught viewing porn. It's the old "sin in the camp" copout. Sounds like Holt. He can't deal with his failures and reality so has to blame others. Justin believes one of the Duggar kids caught Joshy looking at porn and told Michelle. Josh was brought in front of the church. The church decided to send Josh to stay with a guy who may also have had a porn issue at one time to dig a pond. Josh lived in a shack, never saw anyone, had his meals dropped off, and worked all day. This was when Josh had his head shaved as shown in the moving special. He left the pond to appear in the episode and then was sent back. Josh spent weeks shunned in the woods all by himself. Every Sunday they would give a report on Josh in the church and the Duggar girls and Michelle would bawl. Justin didn't know at the time about Josh's history of molesting his sisters which was probably why Josh got such a harsh punishment. At the same time this was happening, TLC was at the Duggars filming a special about Johannah's birth. Justin says Josh's demeanor coming back from the pond digging was weird and shameless. Josh seemed unphased about his punishment. Justin talks about the TLC crew most likely knowing something weird was going on with Josh and the Duggars but ignoring it. 

1 Hour 47 Mark: Justin talks about how men would confess their sins in church in a very weird and dark way. Most of the sins were about anger (domestic abuse) and lust and the other men would bless the sinner with canola oil. Sounds kinky. He talks about the men blaming their sins on Satan attacking them because they are important and worthy of attack. Quite a head trip. Justin talks about the tools the church members used to beat the children and how they bragged about what works best. He also talks about Anna Keller's dad visiting the church and preaching weird shit about Satan being the wizard in the Wizard of Oz. Jeez! I'm glad I was raised a boring Catholic. 

I truly hope the Duggar kids listen to this podcast and begin to see the insanity they were raised in and get themselves a good ole board certified secular therapist. You can't go through what they did and not have some damaging residual effects. End of podcast one. The second one takes place the day after Josh was released from jail and Justin is really disturbed by the details or the charges against Josh as we all were. 

[name-me-regret]

If The World Was Ending 15/?

If The World Was Ending Chapter Fifteen: A Reason To Live

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“When I die, I wanna die with my Chucks on Pair of jeans and a shirt with MJ on I’m gonna die, yes, but I'ma live in style Time is golden don’t you waste a second Make the most of everything you’re getting Cause you’re gonna die too, so best you live in style

All I know Is I’m not giving up I’m gonna go Until my time is up…

When I wake up I'ma look in the mirror Take a look and see my vision clearer Oh I’m gonna give, my everything Went to church the other, Sunday morning Preacher told me ‘Put an end to the moaning Cause you’ve got a reason, a reason to live’...”

~Chucks - Mi Casa, Younotus

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

The man had literally an endless supply of ammo it seemed, since they had to continue to avoid being shot at from the grenade launcher, and he was still too close to the residential areas that Rhodes didn’t want to use his heavy artillery. Also, the police that had been following the assassin were too close. So, he stuck to repulsor blasts, but when they did manage to connect, didn’t seem to harm him that much besides some first or second degree burns. That wasn’t enough to take down the man that was clearly enhanced in some way, judging by the way he’d picked up his motorcycle and threw it at Buck with ease. The man wasn’t fast enough as he was slammed by the 400 pound vehicle, flying back as he tumbled across the ground. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone or anything around.

“That’s it, I’m putting him down,” Rhodes growls. Buck lifts his head and sees the man’s suit shift as a missile comes out of his shoulder as well as his mini-gun.

Buck wants to stop him, because he didn’t want him to kill anyone regardless if the other was trying to kill them. Before he could, Rhodes is unleashing the missile and then the mini-gun when the assassin dodges the projectile. As he was dodging the bullets, Buck saw his opportunity and stood, flew to where the motorcycle was at. He took hold of a flash grenade JARVIS provided that was apparently part of the armor’s arsenal. He attaches it to the motorcycle and then was amazed as he was able to lift it, and started to swing it around and then let it go in the man’s general direction.

As expected, he was able to dodge, but he wasn’t expecting the flash grenade which exploded close enough to knock him off his feet. This wasn’t the movies so the motorcycle didn’t explode, but the one of handle bars did rip the rest of the way off after the second throw though. Buck is already in the air moments after he throws the motorcycle, so he arrives as the Winter Soldier is starting to get up and kicks him across the face. It knocks the mask off his face, as well as quite a bit of blood from his mouth. Buck winces, but knows he doesn’t have a choice. War Machine is on them in the next moment, knocking into the man with all the strength of a battering ram as he had tries to stand a second time.

“Hold him down!” Buck quickly jumps forward and helps Rhodes, who forces the still struggling man onto his stomach. Rhodes puts a pair of heavy duty handcuffs on him, but it extended from the wrist all the way to his forearm. Their newly secured prisoner struggles but isn’t able to break out of them. “Good luck breaking out of that, buddy. It’s Starkanium.” He pulls his fist back and punches the man in the back of the head, finishing in knocking him out before he looks at Buck. His faceplate lifted as he gives him a grin. “Good work, Evan.”

Buck is breathing heavily, from exertion and the adrenaline coursing through him. His own face plate lifts and he grins back at the other, since that was the single most craziest thing he’d ever done. It was also the first time in a long time he’s worked with someone and felt trusted. “Thanks!” He swallows as he tries to regain his breathing back to normal. “And it’s Buck, by the way. No one calls me Evan anymore.”

Rhodes laughs and claps him on his armored shoulder. “Sure thing, Buck.”

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Bobby was very concerned, because Athena had called him a few minutes ago but she couldn’t really get out much from in between her sobs. So, a heavy feeling was quickly building in his chest and choking him; a feeling he was very familiar with. It was the same feeling from when he’d lost Marcy, Robert Jr., and Brooke. So, as soon as he managed to find a parking space —that may or may not end up with him getting towed— he’d jumped out and started to make his way toward the medical center. Before long he was jogging, and then running as that feeling started to build.

Finally, he sees his wife and there were tears running down her beautiful face, and slows to a stop as he reaches her. “What? What’s happened?” Bobby demands, wrapping his arms around her to try and offer some kind of comfort to the woman he loved. It was just, he was too freaked out to properly do so.

“Buck... his...” she tries to get out, thus further confusing Bobby. It was then she pulls away and hands him something that his heart dropping down through his stomach, because he recognizes it. He was holding the charred remains of Buck’s license plate.

Bobby suddenly realizes with a horrifying clarity that he had just lost another son.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Eddie zipped up the hoodie over his sweaty, battered body with a wince, since he had taken more body hits in order to not get punched in the face. It would be harder to explain away a black eye than hide a bruise to his stomach. And not for the first time, he wondered if he was making a big mistake, and then remembered the winnings that were burning a hole in his pocket and all he could do with it.

Originally, he had gone to the street fights to release his anger and forget about things that he didn’t want to think about. He didn’t want to think of Shannon and how she had left him twice, once by choice and the other unwillingly, and that she would have left him willingly anyways if she hadn’t died. And how pathetic that he was angry at a dead woman, even months after her death.

Then there was almost losing his son in the tsunami, and the one that had almost killed himself searching for him; and found him in the end. Buck. He was the one he didn’t want to think of the most, and the look on his face the last time they’d seen each other and Eddie had spewed hurtful words that weren’t true. And Eddie had never felt more like his father than in that moment, and he wished he could push the words back into his mouth so they could have never caused such a look on Buck’s face.

He was just angry, angrier because he couldn’t see him. Mostly at himself, because if he was being truthful, he had preached about all of them having problems and needing to suck it up, and when he had examined his words he realized he’d sounded like his father. His old man had always drilled into his head that he couldn’t whine about his problems, that he had to be a man.

‘No puedes llorar o te verás como un maricón. Aguántate como un hombre.’

You can’t cry or you’ll look like a faggot. Hold it in like a man.

It was those lessons that always reared their ugly head whenever he tried to deal with his own emotions. He knew it was because of this, the machismo taught to him by his father that his marriage with Shannon had failed. Also, because he hadn’t been there to help her when she needed him. That was also tied with it though, because a man’s job was to provide for the family and the woman to raise the children. It was wrong, of course, but it’s what he’d been taught growing up, and he had let it control him for so long.

Now, he was making the same mistakes all over again with Buck, even if he knew that their relationship wasn’t that of a couple. It wasn’t to say that he was adverse to the idea of them together, but he knew that Buck and Tony were together, and that was one of the reasons he had lashed out. That as well as that sleazy lawyer bringing up Shannon and reminding him all over again where he had failed.

As he got into his new truck, having made enough money to make a sizable down payment on it, Eddie turned on the A/C. His phone started to ring as he pulled out of the parking lot of the run down factory, and frowned when he saw that it was Bobby. He was wondering what he needed and hoped he didn’t need him to come in for an extra shift, since he wasn’t exactly in a position to do so. Besides, he had seen the man earlier at the end of their shift. The grocery run had been the last thing they did before they were finished, having to extend it because of the road rage incident in the parking lot.

“Hey, Bobby,” he greeted as his phone connected to his truck’s bluetooth. That’s another thing he loved about the truck, since he could answer his phone and not have to worry about taking his eyes off the road. “What’s up?”

‘Eddie,’ came the man’s choked voice, making Eddie immediately snap to attention. Something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” His heart was already beating wildly in his chest, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white.

‘It’s Buck.’

Eddie felt his heart jump up into his throat and images of the truck bombing, the pulmonary embolism, and the tsunami coming to him so abruptly that he had to pull over before he has an accident. “What happened? Is he alright?” It didn’t even matter that he was mad at him at the moment, because in the end, Buck was Eddie’s best friend and would come running if he needed him.

‘He... his Jeep... you should come to Kaiser Medical Center on Sunset Blvd,’ he finally said, clearly unable to finish what he had wanted to say.

Eddie immediately swiped up on his screen to get his phone to the main menu and brought up his map amp as he found the complete address on there. “I’m on my way,” he told him before ending the call. Then he pulled away from the curve, hearing as someone blared their horn behind him as they had to stop when he pulled into traffic so suddenly. Eddie didn’t pay them any mind and floored the gas pedal, the feeling of dread building more and more the longer it took to get to where he needed to go.

When he was unable to get through due to emergency vehicles, he felt his heart stop in dread. “Buck,” he whispered, before he’s out of his truck and running toward the scene. When he gets to the police line, he can’t see much besides the red lights and black smoke of something manmade on fire, like a building... or a vehicle.

Eddie is suddenly under the police line before he knows what he’s doing as Bobby’s words echo in his ears. ‘It’s Buck. He... his Jeep...’ And also the last thing he said to him in that grocery store. The words that he didn’t mean, but had said them anyways.

‘Because you’re exhausting! We all have our own problems, but you don’t see us whining about it. No, somehow, we just manage to suck it up. Why can’t you?’ And Eddie hadn’t meant them, not really, he was just mad. Eddie was mad that he couldn’t speak to him, that Christopher was having nightmares and calling for Buck, and the man couldn’t contact them.

In that moment, none of that matters, and all he’s thinking and praying, is that Buck is alright. That if that’s his Jeep burning, then he isn’t inside of it. Because if he’s... If Buck’s...

He’s stopped by some officers as they try to hold him back. Eddie only doesn’t swing at them because he’s so desperate to get through and make sure Buck is okay. Then he hears a voice that makes him stop and he sees it’s Athena, and she saves him from getting arrested, again.

“Is it Buck’s Jeep?” he demands of her. Normally he wouldn’t ever speak to the older woman like that, but he needs to know. Eddie wants her to tell him that it isn’t Buck, and that he’s just being irrational right then. She shatters his world with her next words.

“Yes, it’s Buck’s Jeep.”

A strangled sob escapes him and she’s suddenly hugging him, and he’s never ever hugged or even touched Athena besides a brief pat on the shoulder. However, in that moment her arms are the only thing holding Eddie together.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Buck flight back toward Kaiser is much better than when he left it. He thinks he’s getting the hang of the suit, even if he didn’t really think it was a great idea. After all, even if JARVIS had said that Tony had built the suit for him, it couldn’t really be for him... surely not to keep. Buck can’t really think that he will. That’s just crazy.

He sees mayhem when he flies over the medical center, the lights of police and other medical personnel and he knows that he’ll have to answer for some of it. Rhodes had told him not to worry about it, since it was only a few damaged cars and a few minor injuries, but luckily no one died. He told Buck before leaving to secure the prisoner, that after the attack in New York, Tony had created the Stark Relief Foundation and that the destruction caused today would be covered by the Foundation.

Buck had of course heard about it but the day had been wild that he hadn’t really been thinking of that at the time. He also really hoped that meant he’d get his Jeep as well, since he had just gotten it back from the shop after the tsunami, and he needed his Jeep. It wasn’t the same one that his sister had given him, which had quit on him when he was six months into his probationary year.

The Jeep he had brought afterwards wasn’t the latest model, because he hadn’t been rich or anything. All that mattered was that it was a Jeep and he’d managed to keep the word JEEP from the one Maddie had given him and had it put on the dash. It and a few other things he had added to his new one, so it wouldn’t feel that much different. The damage had been extensive after the tsunami, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired, especially after the water had receded and the vehicle recovered. So, he hoped it could be recovered again this time.

Although as he flew over the parking lot and saw the remains of the Jeep, or what he assumed was the Jeep after being hit by the projectile from the grenade launcher, he was sure it wasn’t recoverable. He was only thankful that he hadn’t left his wallet in the middle console as he normally did when he drove. Then again, he had been trying to keep Tony awake on the way to Kaiser, so he hadn’t thought to pull his wallet out of his pocket.

His phone, however, had been in the console since his maps app had been guiding him to the medical center and had forgotten to grab it when Rhodes and the Rescue armor had arrived. So, it had likely been destroyed, and he wouldn’t be able to call anyone for a ride, or even order an Uber or a Lyft. There was no way he could take the suit back to his apartment, since his neighbors were still asking him about Iron Man, or Tony Stark, as if they weren’t the same person.

He could just imagine the gossip if he stepped out of a suit of armor of his own. Oh boy.

Buck was thinking about landing the suit on the roof where no one would see him leave it to check on Tony, but heard JARVIS’s distinct voice suddenly. ‘Mr. Buckley, there appear to be several police officer’s trying to get your attention from down below.’

“Shit... uh, what do I do? Should I go down there, J?”

‘It does seem to be a good idea to speak with the officers about what Colonel Rhodes has told you, Mr. Buckley. Although, if I may suggest, it would probably be better to keep the faceplate down. The Rescue Protocol was only a last resort, and revealing your face would paint a target on your back. It’s prudent to stay off HYDRA’s radar for now.’

Buck inhaled and nodded. “Y-yeah, I think I can do that.” He started to pilot down, now a bit more confident that he can land now without causing anymore property damage. It’s a bit rough but not too bad, and two police officers are suddenly there, and he realizes that one of the has the Captain’s rank and the other is none other than the Chief of Police.

“Iron Man?” the Chief asks, uncertain.

Buck tried to will his voice not to shake as he opened his mouth to answer. “No, I’m not Iron Man,” he told him, surprised when his voice came out warbled like Tony’s does when he speaks without lifting the faceplate. He saw them wait for him to identify himself and he wasn’t sure what to say, and latched onto what JARVIS had called the armor. “I’m Rescue.”

He saw the reporters being kept back by the police lines snap pictures, their flashes lighting up the night along with the lights of first responders. Buck was a bit thrown that their cameras were aimed in his direction, but then again, he guessed he could understand. He did have on armor like Tony, and of course they wanted to know who he was. “Can you tell us what happened here, Rescue?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, clearing his throat and was glad that wasn’t heard since he didn’t want all of them to know how nervous he was. He was surprised as words started to appear on the HUD, and realized that JARVIS wanted him to read it. So, that’s what he did after he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “At proximately 5:47pm, Iron Man was attacked in a safe house by an assailant that has yet to be identified.” He wondered why the AI didn’t want him to say that it was the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to offer it up and decided to stick to what JARVIS had written for him.

“He managed to escape in a suit of armor that only had flight capabilities and met up with a friend, who took him here for medical treatment. However, his attacker followed him here and proceeded to attack myself and War Machine, who had arrived to offer backup.” He noticed that the ‘statement’ didn’t mention Buck’s name, which was just as well. “We left the area to prevent anymore destruction of the surrounding area, as well as the medical center. The assailant followed us from the ground and managed to cause destruction on a residential home. I was able to rescue the people trapped inside, who were a married couple and their daughter. Afterwards, War Machine and I were able to finally restrain our attacker. War Machine has gone ahead to secure the prisoner while I came back to see to Iron Man. The Stark Relief Foundation has already been informed of this incident and will be on both scenes within the hour.”

“So, Iron Man is inside the medical center receiving treatment at the moment?” the Chief of Police asked. Buck couldn’t remember the man’s name for the life of him, and JARVIS wasn’t giving him anymore information. He nodded instead of speaking again. “Then we shall provide a protection detail for him,” the man told him.

Buck refrained from breathing in relief and turned away from them. He hadn’t taken more than a step when he heard a shout and paused when he recognized the voice. Buck turned and saw three figures heading toward him through the police line; Athena, Bobby and Eddie. He froze, since he hadn’t expected them to be there. Also, he couldn’t really greet them as if he knew them, since there were too many cameras still pointed at them. He also wouldn’t put it past the news reporters to have microphones pointed toward him to try and capture something.

“Yes?” he said, his head tilted down when he saw Athena’s badge attached to her belt. “May I help you, officer?”

“I’m Sergeant Athena Grant, and the friend that helped Iron Man is also a friend of ours. We found the remains of his license plate and we want to make sure he’s uninjured.”

Eddie and Bobby looked like they were really trying not to interrupt her, the former’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was hard to make out the expression on his face due to the darkness, but Buck could imagine he was angry. “Sergeant Grant, this isn’t the place to discus these things,” he told her, trying to keep his tone neutral. Buck did not want them to know it was him and risk them revealing his identity. “I’m sure Dr. Stark will get in contact with you about... your friend as soon as he can.”

Buck’s gaze turned toward Eddie as he jerked forward, looking like he wanted to get into his face if not for the hand that Bobby had put on his shoulder to hold him back. “Where is he?!”

He looked at his best friend, not sure if he could call him that after everything that had happened, and wanted to say something. Buck wanted to wipe the angry expression he could see due to the suit, since JARVIS had turned on the night-vision. “I have nothing further to say.”

Buck turned and blasted off, leaving Eddie, Athena and Bobby behind.-

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

[nickpaterson]

How my religion taught me to hate

I grew up in a religious family, with Anglican roots.  My mother joined a small growing church group, which developed into one of the largest Baptist churches on Vancouver Island.  We were part of this same church family from the time I was 4 years old. Now in my 40s, my mother still attends the same group.   I am proud that our family was part of and still is part of this growing group that dopes a lot of good and outreach locally in her community.  I value relationships and advice from many members of this congregation.

               During the troubles of my teenage years, members of this group reach out to me to provide guidance when I was lost, to be supportive when I needed it, and to give advice.  One of the most influential people from this church weas my pastor, Mark Buchanan.  He was a little man who more often was in board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with sandals, instead of a stuffy suit.  I loved watching him break the norms, and make people uncomfortable, to make them think about why they felt this way.  He would walk quietly to the stage, and this big booking voice would get your attention.  He put feeling into his speech, and he challenged traditional ideas, kept you rapt to everything he said, made us laugh and cry, and made sure we understood why we did things.  Mark also wrote a book called “Your God is too safe”.  I still have my autographed copy of the book as well as a spare handed down from my mom.  Admittedly, I never read the whole thing, but the title alone caught my attention, and made me want to research more and break the norms to make sure what I thought was right, instead of just safe and familiar.  

               My mother always gave me ideas to make me think. She told me from a young age to make sure I knew what I believed, and to know why, and that she would support me in those choices as long as I could support my argument with logic and faith. She may not have exercised this as much as she would like, making sure I went to church without fail, even when I didn’t want to, and being less than willing to explore alternate churches.  But the idea and the sentiment were there, and they stuck with me throughout my life.

               On my own as an adult, I spent a lot of time talking to people of different faiths, and asking questions about how, why, what for, history of, and more.  I learned a lot about different denominations and faiths, alternate religions, alternate deities, wicca and witchcraft, natural beliefs and more.  Some were fascinating ideas, some were fantasy style stories that kept the attention but not the faith, and some made me incredibly uncomfortable to the point I avoided them in further research.  But nothing fit. So, I stuck to what was safe and familiar, not knowing how or why to believe anything else.  

               In all my research over the years, some ideas stuck and made it into my daily practice, because they meshed with what I read in my bible, and my interpretation of Jesus love and teachings, even if I didn’t see them in practice elsewhere.  Because I spent so much time talking to people of different backgrounds, I had a lot of friends who didn’t believe in the same things I did. My biggest takeaway from all of this was acceptance.  They didn’t believe in my god, or read my bible, but they answered my questions, and taught me, without judging even if I didn’t accept what they taught.  We debated respectfully back and forth and taught each other whatever we could.  Nobody was judged, or ostracised, or ridiculed for those beliefs.  We made for a pretty hodgepodge group.  

I had Jehovas Witnesses try to convert me.  I had coffee and visited with Mormons.  I head my cards and stars and palms read by Wiccans.  I attended Buddhist weddings in a haunted church at the stroke of midnight on Halloween.  I went to church with United, nondenominational, Anglican and more services.  I saw people speak in tongues, and believe they were performing healing prayers.  I even attended a country revival by a river and marched in an anti abortion silent protest.  I spent countless hours debating, and researching to reinforce my debates when I got stuck, and learning different viewpoints.  

               But I accepted everyone regardless of background. I asked questions that may have been ignorant from simply not knowing. I interrupted classes and speeches and took notes.  I stayed open to new ideas, and only asked from others what I would be willing to do myself, such as attending each others services to learn from a different viewpoint. The biggest lesson I ever learned in life was that nobody was lesser because they believed something different, or practiced on a different day, or used a different word for God.  I wasn’t better than them, or right or wrong.  I condemned no one that I could learn from, and hoped that I could teach them some of the same.

               I learned many things I don’t want to be a part of. I learned how I didn’t want to be treated or spoken to.  I learned what people could blame on their religion, and how awful you could be made to feel in the name of the Holy.  I saw some awful bigotry and hate, both in and out of churches. I made decisions that would shape who I have become.  I also learned that no matter who they prayed to or when, or how, the crazy truth of it is:  Almost everybody preached the same thing with a few small differences, while they condemned everyone else who disagreed.

               I even saw this within my own family.  For example, one of my nephews has recently chosen to express himself as transgender.  So he becomes She.  My sister, his mother, chose to support this in the best possible way.  I asked questions like “What name do I use and when” and tried to express the parts I didn’t understand, and learn the rest.  I let this child teach me whats he needed and I have tried to support her as best as possible.  My children followed my example and made me proud.  Come Christmas a couple years later, and our religious mother is visiting from the west, and expressing her opinions.  She wanted to take my sisters child to a counsellor to get fixed, behind my sisters back, and hoped that I would help.  I said no unconditionally. I found out that my older sister had heard our mother venting about this issues, and ripped into her with her opinion that Mom should stay the hell out of it.  I do love that our family is at a stage in life where we can be blunt and rational as we discussed this, since a couple days before Christmas we were throwing around religious and opinion thoughts on the subject.  I got to look at my mother and say “to be honest, your opinion doesn’t fucking matter, since it’s not your child to raise”. My mom looked shocked and started to be offended, but then realised it was not calling her out or insulting her, and that it was correct.  Then I also got to point out to her that at the very least, she should be proud that she raised three children as a single mother, who could all grow into such loving and accepting people that none of us judged or condemned anyone regardless of their way of life or choices.  This is again a very abridged version of this whole conversation, but you get the general idea.  

               One of the biggest wakeup moments that came in my life regarding religion and peoples attitudes towards it came from a church I attended for a while.  After over a year of getting to know people and following their teachings, it came that I would be moving to another city.  I mentioned to a few nice older folks what city I would be going to, and received a few recommendations on a church to look out for.  One particular gentleman, who always went out of his way to speak to myself and my children, and who I believe was an Elder at the church to be respected, gave me this recommendation.  I paraphrase: “You should check out Church A.  They have this and this and would love a new family with plenty of kids. And you wouldn’t have to worry about any of those fags and weird shit.”

               I knew right then that I would never check out his recommendation, and that I would never return to this church.  I have spent time since then really listening extra close to sermons and messages put out by other churches and church leaders, and looking for the nuances and lessons they teach to their youth.  Everything is put forth as support “You can make your choices within your faith”, Pro life, we will support you when you choose Gods way, and so very many more.  Look up newsletters and ads from your local churches and you will see all of these and more in many different wordings.

               Look a layer deeper.  Listen to what these messages say.  “we will support you in gods path, but believe different and you are alone”. “you are evil for choosing different”.  You will go to hell for eternity. Our way is the only way and everybody else is wrong.  Its very thinly veiled, but every church I’ve been to is secretly teaching me to hate those that are different and hoping that I don’t notice.  

               Hate gay people because they don’t follow the bible. Hate abortionists for not supporting this fetus regardless of health or history or any other option.  Our way is the ONLY way.  You cannot be different.  You cannot think your own way.  We can’t prove it except through vague scripture and ask for blind faith because we said so.  You are evil if you disagree.  Don’t look different or act different.  Judge others and condemn them for having an opinion. See a theme here? You can see this in all those local church and religious flyers too.  Just go have a look, I’ll wait here.

                 Here’s what I learned in Sunday school as I see it. Choose to follow and consider my opinion, or don’t.  Your call!

               -The Old testament is a history lesson.  Here is what God wants you to do and why.  Here is what is good and bad, and here is the struggle we went through to get here.  Exactly the same as our kids learning about war and holocaust and local history in school.  Learn the lessons because people already went through them and get the theory behind the fact.

               -The New testament changed everything.  We no longer had to sacrifice because Jesus did it for us. Unclean foods didn’t matter because we were purified in faith. Sinful acts could be forgiven if we asked for it.  Love everybody as you wish to be loved.  Look at the Good Samaritan, he helped a neighbour he should have hated because that’s what he was taught, but he chose to be a good person anyways, regardless of who was on the receiving end.  Jesus spent time with beggars, and the terminally sick, prostitutes, and men who had no other ambition in life.  He loved them all the same and he gave them the same message, regardless of their background, or choices, or personal opinions.  He didn’t ever treat one person as lesser than the next.

               The church teaches us to HATE sinfulness in their interpretation, and to shun those who are different or to try and change them to our own way of thinking.  I don’t care what church you go to, it will teach the same.  Look at these similarities between religions..  Catholicism, Christians of various denominations, jewish, jehovas witness, Mormon, 7th day Adventists, Islamic, Buddhist, even Native cultures.  On a base level, the stories handed down through history are very similar, slightly changed through translation and retelling over time.  The morals of the stories are the same.  Every different denomination of Christianity has the same base teachings and the same roots.  They simply split off because one group within that religion disagreed on a base idea, split off, and taught in their own way.  Now 2 thousand years later, we have Baptists and Pentecostals and Lutherans and Anglicans, and more, all telling us that everybody else is wrong.

               So who’s right?   Only each of us can decide that for ourselves.  Look at all the common base lessons and live your life to the best of your ability.  Follow Jesus teachings, whether you believe he was a man or a prophet, or the son of god, and love your neighbour unconditionally.  Decide where you stand on all the slight differences of opinion. It’s all on your and your choice. But stop spreading hate!

               Hate destroys everything that religions of all sorts teach.  Hate turns religious peoples into conquerers, terrorists, feuding families, and multiple warring factions.  Hate causes pain to those on the receiving end, and stress to those on the giving end. There is no possible positive side to hate.  

               I chose to avoid churches in general for the last few years because I could not handle listening to the hate, and finding the worst possible bigots and liars within the walls of the churches, pretending to be good people on Sunday mornings so other people would look up to them.  One day a week does not get you into the kingdom of heaven.  A band I listened to said it the best way possible when I was a teenager, but even though I always remembered it, I never understood it.  “The greatest single cause of Atheism today are those that praise Him with their words, then walk out the door and deny Him by their lifestyle.”  - DC Talk -What if I stumble

               Stop living hate when you preach love. Practice the words that come out of your mouth, and truly love your neighbour.  His religion, color of skin, gender identity, or relationship status should have no bearing on what kind of person they are.  You don’t have to LIKE everyone, or spend time with people you don’t mesh with, but you have no right to judge those that have never done a thing to harm you.  

               Hate the lies of the church teachings, hate the bigotry, Love the man or woman you see in front of you.  We are all fighting for the same thing: to wake up each morning, and enjoy our lives in the best way we know how. Hate in any form robs us from this enjoyment of life.  You don’t have to believe in God or the Bible to live a good life and be good to others. You only have to have faith in humanity, and making this a good place for everyone to enjoy.  Be excellent to each other.

               Hate is Baggage.  Life is too short to be pissed off all the time. Its just not worth it. – American History X.

[saintmachina]

What were some parts of seminary that you liked, versus ones you didn’t? I’m thinking about my future (read: freaking tf out) and I know I want to study theology in some way, I’m just not sure how exactly, ya feel?

Thanks for the question! Your mileage may vary: I went to a Princeton Seminary, which I would categorize as a theologically/politically moderate, academic, traditional Western-style seminary. Seminary culture varies WIDELY from school to school, so keep that in mind when choosing between, say, a Princeton, which may be a more insular academic community focused on research and internships, and a Fuller, which may be a larger community more integrated with the surrounding city concerned with practical training for missionaries, worship leaders, and Christian artists. This is NOT to say that you can’t learn to be an awesome worship leader at PTS (I know them) or an awesome theology professor at Fuller, but make sure you shop around for your particular cultural, career, and academic needs. 

Things I Loved

The residential experience. Nearly all students at PTS live in beautiful on-campus housing or in apartments specialized for families with children just a few miles away. Living a few minutes walk from the library, my professors’ offices, and the chapel was amazing, especially since students at PTS tend to be sociable with the others who live on their hall. I would often spend my evenings studying with friends in their dorm rooms, and since everyone on campus at any given time tends to eat their meals in the cafeteria together, I formed a strong clique of ten or so people who unpacked my readings + spiritual crises with me at the lunch table. 

Spiritual friendships. I was able to make deeper friends than ever before in my life from a variety of denominational and theological backgrounds. We saw each other through vocational shifts, prayed with each other, administered the Eucharist to each other, celebrated birthdays and ordinations together, and stayed up late into the night when anyone needed us. I would literally drive across the country to bail any of them out of jail at a moment’s notice.  

The emotional crucible. Seminary is bootcamp for the soul. You get exposed to so many new ideas and theologies, learn how to preach, sit at people’s bedside while they’re sick, pull together responses for every new act of violence in the news, and most of the time, are thrust into a leadership role at a church that is either going under and begging you to save them or so large and thriving that it nearly swallows you whole. Nothing will grow you up like that. I have an insane amount of poise now dealing with other people’s crises, rage, or grief, and that wasn’t the case when I matriculated. Pastors are all making it up as we go along, but seminary gives at least the appearance of sage wisdom under pressure. 

Academic engagement with theology. This one seems obvious, but after spending four years in a secular liberal arts university that was tolerant of my enduring interest in religion but didn’t offer me an outlet for it, seminary was balm in Gilead. I loved being able to dig into what I really cared about directly, be that metaphysics, church history, or the Bible as literature, and I thrived being surrounded by other people who cared about it and did the reading and wanted to explore together. 

Freedom to research what I wanted. There are plenty of demanding intro-level courses that throw you to the ground and kick you while you cry into your notecards (New Testament, what’s good) but it was fun being on that ride with the rest of your small cohort, and upper-level classes offered chances to research what you cared about. I got to present research on astrology in the book of Daniel, queer American Muslim communities, IVF treatments and theology in Ghana, overlap in myths about Odin and Jesus, and I did an independent research study linking the emergent church to the spike in Millennials re-discovering the Episcopal and Catholic churches.The library was stuffed to the brim with books I would kill for. What a treat.

The melting pot. PTS DEFINITELY has its ideological and admissions biases but they do work hard to create a diverse student body, and I was close with students from so many different counties, denominations, ethnicities, and political leanings, which was enriching beyond belief. It was one of the big reasons I chose a seminary degree. That said, not all schools skew diverse, and I was very specific about choosing a seminary that was explicitly affirming of women in ministry and the goodness and wholeness of LGBTQ+ folks, so I knew that I would be supported by general school policies. Getting that information up front is important. 

Access to university resources. This one is PTS specific, but I went to a independent seminary closely linked to and basically on the same campus as Princeton University (they were the same school back in the 1800s until an amicable split, but we’re still cozy). This meant that I had access to Princeton U libraries, free events, lectures, and religious life, and I was a member of the Episcopal Church at Princeton U for most of my time at seminary. People bribe admissions officials or work themselves to nervous breakdown to get access to the resources I had at my fingertips, and I don’t take that for granted. 

The aesthetic. If I’m gong to take tens of thousands dollars of loans out for graduate school you bet you’re ass I’m going to be sitting in American Hogwarts while I do it. 

Things I Did Not

The cliquishness. This one is a double-edged sword, because I thrived on having a clique of high-functioning. highly-educated pastors who ate at the same lunch table and gossiped about the same people and showed up to campus parties in a gang, but that’s not always healthy. People tended to fragment off by denomination or where they fall on the liberal-conservative scale, and differences can fester that way. Students of color were often implicitly excluded from certain spaces through this behavior. Humans skew towards tribalism to begin with, but when you put super socially-oriented people with strong beliefs in one space where they have to live on top of each other and are looking for low-effort socializing after a long day in the trauma ward, confessional, or picket line, it gets worse. 

Imposter syndrome. Maybe it’s grad school in general that does this, but I spent most of my degree fighting off the feeling that I was dumb, lazy, not serious enough about my “calling” or my research, and probably a heretic. Part of my character growth came from learning not to give a fuck about what people who didn’t share my passions thought of them, and from realizing that I wasn’t on the ordination or PhD track like most of my peers, and that was okay. So I grew from this, but it stung like hell. I cried a lot.

No handholding. The professors at PTS were, by and large, old school, and they were busy as hell. While there was opportunities for office hours, most engagement with professors came in the performative form of “a question, well, more of a comment really” during lectures. Students, (mostly men, I’m not going to lie to you) scrambling for a good letter of rec for a PhD tended to monopolize whatever time professors had. I can think of exceptions (Ellen Charry was exceptional and made time for me in her home when I was struggling to unpack antisemitic theology) but it was a far cry from the literature department in my undergrad, where professors were accessible and knew me personally as mentors and friends. 

Caregiver burnout. This is my big one, and is the reason I’m still in recoup mode doing the office job thing instead of working in formal ministry. Everyone at my school was a pastor, hospital chaplain, activist, or social worker. We are the people who care so much, and who are constantly doing emotional labor for those around us with no time off and usually, poor personal boundaries. Working in a field where it is your job to hold everyone’s hurt and be the face of God to them while their life falls apart is….hard. It was not unusual for me to work ten hours at Penn on my feet in campus ministry, helping people sort through whether or not they wanted to report their sexual assault, holding mini-interventions about excessive drinking, and scrambling to re-schedule worship night after my volunteer went to the hospital after a suicide attempt, and then ride the train home while my phone blew up with news of a new mass shooting that I would have to help host a candlelight vigil for. You hold your parishioner’s hand while they die in hospice. You watch social services take your client’s children away. You stand still while someone screams at you for being too political in your sermon, or not political enough. You sit down to do the budget only to realize the beloved pastor who just retired had been embezzling. Typical Tuesday. 

A lot of the items on these lists are specific to my temperament and the culture at PTS, but by and large I would say it was an amazing experience well worth my time, effort, and money. I pushed myself academically beyond what I believed I was capable of, made the deepest friends of my life, found a home denomination, learned how to effectively care for others and myself, and was met by God in transformative ways again and again. Someday I may get that ordination or work for a ministry nonprofit again, but I have skills now that no one can take away from me, skills I use every day in some capacity. 

Good luck in your discernment process, and I pray you find yourself in exactly the place you need to be!

[samwisethewitch]

Reflecting On My First Experience With Unprogrammed Worship

"There was a strong and violent wind rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the Lord -- but the Lord was not in the wind; after the wind, an earthquake -- but the Lord was not in the earthquake; after the earthquake, fire -- but the Lord was not in the fire; after the fire, a light silent sound." - 1 Kings 19:11-12 (from The New American Bible: Revised Edition)

Worship is -- or, at least, should be -- deeply personal and highly subjective. No two people feel the presence of God in the same way, or even in the same places. Where and how we choose to seek out God should be a choice made on an individual basis, based on what makes us feel most connected to the Divine.

Most modern Christian churches, including the one I regularly attend, employ "programmed" worship. Programmed worship is exactly what it sounds like: a worship service based around a central routine or central ritual. I attend an Episcopalian church, so our worship service is highly structured, with prayers, creeds, a sermon, and Holy Communion at the climax of the service. Some places are more casual -- their program may simply consist of a few prayers and a sermon, but it is still a program. Programmed worship is an incredibly useful spiritual tool for a lot of people. Special rituals help us to get into the right mood, to shift ourselves into "spiritual mode." I personally love the air of ceremony at Catholic and Anglican services -- it helps make worship feel like something special, rather than just a mundane activity that we all come together for once a week. Having a program people can follow along with also helps worshipers know what to expect from a service.

Of course, the downside to programmed worship is that we can sometimes get caught up in the service and lose sight of the meaning behind it. We sometimes forget that God is the power behind these rituals, the very thing that makes them special, and begin to believe that the rituals themselves hold a special power. I know this is something that I struggled with as an older teen attending a Catholic (and later Episcopal) church. It's easy to feel like God hears your prayers when you're reciting them along with a room full of other people, chanting in unison, with incense and candles and a priest in ceremonial clothing. It's harder to feel like prayer is "working" when it's just you, by yourself, kneeling on your bedroom floor, or sitting on the bus, or hiding in the bathroom at work. At least, this was the case for me for a long time. I had to teach myself how to connect with God outside of the pageantry of the mass.

On the flip side, programmed worship also has the danger of becoming a routine which we can breeze through on autopilot, without ever thinking deeply (or at all) about the meaning behind it. If you follow the same program every week, and especially if you're tired or distracted, you may find yourself just going through the motions without putting any significant thought or feeling into them -- or even without thinking about them at all. This is something I've caught myself doing before, especially in my pre-Catholicism days, when I attended a church where the services were 100% preaching. (I mean, have you ever tried to stay focused on a one-hour sermon at 9am the morning after a Saturday night out? Accidental naps are a very real and present danger.)

The idea of unprogrammed worship in Christianity developed as a response to these concerns. An unprogrammed service is exactly what you think it is: it's a service that does not follow a set program or routine. Every service is a unique experience.

This past weekend, I happened to be visiting with loved ones who live less than twenty minutes from a Quaker meeting house. Quakers, or The Religious Society of Friends, are one of the most well-known groups to use an unprogrammed service. (At least historically -- some modern Quaker groups do have programmed services, as well as ordained clergy, but let's disregard those groups for the sake of this post.) The way that this works is pretty simple. Everyone sits in silence, opening themselves up to divine inspiration. If someone feels moved to speak, they will stand up, share their thoughts, and then sit back down and return to silence. No one plans anything ahead of time.

I was able to visit one of these unprogrammed meetings this past Sunday. In case I didn't make it clear in my previous mentions of my religious history, I'd never been involved in anything like this before. I'd read about Quaker meetings for worship, but most of the written sources I encountered basically said, "All the book knowledge in the world won't prepare you for the real thing, and it's just something you have to experience for yourself." Having now experienced it firsthand, I agree that words can't quite capture the whole of the experience.

The first thing that struck me was how I could immediately feel a shift in the room when the meeting began. It was like someone had flipped a switch -- you could instantly feel everyone's focus shifting inwards, and a deep stillness descended on the room. (For my fellow former-Catholics, it's a similar feeling to being in the chapel during Eucharistic Adoration -- a silent group of people all united in their focus on God.) It was very, very peaceful. I'd been a little nervous up to this point, but I found myself easily able to quiet my thoughts and turn them towards the Divine.

More than half of the meeting passed in total silence. I found myself reflecting on spiritual issues I had been thinking about lately, and had a couple of moments of clear insight. It was a very successful meditation, and the meeting would have been a hit for me for that reason alone.

But then the ministry began.

The first person to stand and share his thoughts was an older gentleman, very grandfatherly in appearance, who spoke very eloquently. He told us about a powerful spiritual experience he had had earlier that week, and about the realizations that had come to him while reflecting on said experience. I was struck by the feeling that this was someone who was deeply concerned about knowing God, and I felt blessed to hear him speak. He only spoke for a couple of minutes, then quietly sat back down.

After this, several more people stood up to minister, as if a dam had suddenly spilled over. There was a surprising coherency to their comments. It was like there was a single thread of a sermon in the meeting, and each person was simply picking it up and unraveling it a bit before passing it on. Some people spoke with eloquence and poise, like that first gentleman. Some spoke very plainly and simply. But everything I heard in that meeting was insightful and powerful and resonated deeply with me. I was moved to tears more than once.

Once the meeting was over, it was like that switch had been flipped again. In the span of a second, the room went from solemn silence to smiles and laughter; people were shaking hands and talking about their weeks. That's not to say that the Spirit/the Light/whatever you want to call it was chased out, but it was no longer the sole focus of the gathering. Worship had transitioned seamlessly into fellowship.

I learned something new this weekend, not only about a new group of fellow seekers and a new style of worship, but about myself. It was a deeply meaningful experience for me, and I feel like my faith has been enriched by it. If you take one thing away from this post (and this blog in general), let it be this: We should always be willing to try new things and to occasionally step outside our comfort zones, especially when it comes to spirituality. There's always something to learn from people who relate to God differently than we do, as long as we're willing to keep our hearts open.

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Young Oon Kim hinted that Moon was not the messiah, but only in the line of the messiah.

▲ Allen Tate Wood with Miss Young Oon Kim in about 1971.

Moonstruck: A memoir of my life in a cult

by Allen Tate Wood (published in 1979)

extracts from pages 82-84 and pages 134-138

National headquarters was at 1611 Upshur Street, N.W., a big, funny old house with a double-pointed roof in a nice upper-middle-class black neighborhood with lots of big, shady maple trees. The building had once been the Libyan embassy. I was shown to a small room among the many on the second floor. There I would sleep on the blue close-cropped rug, because everyone in the Unified Family slept on the floor except Miss Kim, who did not either because she was a saint or because she was older or because she was rather frail.

▲ 1611 Upshur St NW, Washington, DC.

I had arrived during the dinner hour, and after I had brought my stuff to the room I joined the group of twenty-five or thirty seated at the two long cafeteria-style tables down in the linoleum-floored basement. Miss Kim sat at the end of one table and I was seated next to her. I was somewhat awed by Miss Kim. I knew her from the photograph that appeared on the back of the early editions of the Divine Principle, which she had translated. That picture showed a Korean maiden of about thirty-two in Oriental dress. She had an oval face, even features, lovely dark eyes and a mouth full and yet disciplined.

Now I saw her some eighteen years later and she was still pretty. Her hair was still long and jet black and she wore it pinned up. What her movements and posture now showed especially, and what the portrait had not been able to convey entirely, was how feminine and graceful she was.

I don’t remember what I ate that first meal, but I do remember Miss Kim’s quiet, gentle exploration of my personality. She asked me many questions about myself, but never in a rude stand-and-deliver manner that I might have expected from someone who so obviously held the respect of everyone in the room. She asked about the trip and observed that I must be exhausted, wanted to know about my education, my religious background, my hopes for the future, about my family and where I was from.

“Princeton,” I answered.

“I thought that was a university.” Her English was precise, pronounced delicately.

“It is. It is also a nice town. Many people are confused by that.”

“It is not so far from here?”

“No, not at all.”

“Will you visit your parents?”

“Yes, of course. We are a close family. I have not seen them for four months.”

“You have not seen them since you joined us?”

“No.”

“Have you written them?”

“Yes.”

“What do they say?”

“They don’t really seem to understand. But this has been a rather confusing time for us. They will.”

“They may not. I would not be surprised, Allen, if they never do. Most of us here are not old like me, but young. Many times families are the enemies of religious experience. Jesus said: ‘For I am come to set man at variance against his father. A man’s foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.’ Be prepared for the worst. Your family will oppose you in this. They will try to take you from us.”

This was not the first time nor the last time I would hear such sentiments. I had heard them many times already at Berkeley. We had been a young group, nearly all in our way dropouts, some of us deeply hurt, even maimed by the conflict with our society, and tales of ferocious fights with parents were commonplace.

________________________________________

pages 134-138

… I was demoted even further. I would not be a lecturer in Level III. I was going back to being a student. I was aghast. I had been expecting to be reinstated, like Frank and Neil Salonen, but here I was getting pushed even further down.

I went to Miss Kim. She was the power behind the power. She was everyone’s confidante; she knew all that was going on behind the scenes. And she had always liked me, favored me.

I remember talking to her as the late afternoon light faded in the kitchen. She sat with her elbows on the plastic tablecloth. Behind her on the shelves our motley, tacky collection of dishes was stacked. In the background the refrigerator hummed.

I told her the whole story in a great state of agitation. As I spoke she pulled the pins from her hair, which I had never seen down. Her beautiful blue-black hair cascaded about her shoulders. It was thick and long. It reached down to the middle of her back. There was greater meaning in the gesture, I thought. I felt I was seeing the unveiling of a celestial being. What she said did not disappoint me.

Miss Kim had always been a critical follower of the Reverend Moon. Once she had told me that she believed he had some years ago lost his ability to read minds and travel in the astral world. That was why he had to employ the three mediums now. Once she had hinted that Moon was not the messiah, but only in the line of the messiah. He was an Abraham figure, and his son or his grandson would be the true messiah. This was utter heresy, of course, and this was in the back of my mind as Miss Kim spoke.

“Do not worry, young Allen. Frank has many problems and you must bear with him. All this will smooth out later. Meanwhile, I have powers myself. I will look after you. You are under my protection.”

I left the interview completely satisfied. I felt that I had the blessing of a real-life good witch of the East. I did not know exactly what she meant, but I had faith in her. I recalled what had happened the last time I had come to her discouraged. I did become a student in Level III, and I bore with it the best I could. I was a good follower, and by November came the news that made me determined to remain one. The Reverend Moon was coming here!

In December 1971, about a week before Christmas, Moon was present for our Level III graduation, which was held at a church we rented across the street. We had been renting its basement for our Sunday services for a long time. I got a small printed certificate saying that I had graduated from Level III. Presumably I was rehabilitated.

Moon stayed in the Upshur Street house, in the “parents’ room,” which was a room we kept in every center, specially furnished and waiting, should the day come for the visit of Our Leader. He lay low for about a week. He watched a lot and he conferred privately with many people. I was not one of them; I was no longer in the inner circle. Then, on the day before Christmas, he came out of his room and began to speak. And he kept on preaching all through Christmas and on to the beginning of the new year, for the greater part of seven consecutive days.

Moon talked for many hours each day, until people began to fall asleep, and he would awaken them with a shout or a shake or even a slap across the face.

He told us many things. He told us that the messiah was now in the new Rome, that as of now he had made far more progress than Jesus ever had, though he was also far short of completing his mission. But from now on, his mission was here. Moon would not perform miracles, by the way, because miracles were merely crowd pleasers, nothing serious. Jesus’ miracles were a sign of failure, Moon said.

Moon retold the parables of the Bible, adding his own interpretations. Mrs. Won-bok Choi, the medium, translated for him, as she continued to do when he was in the United States and speaking more or less privately, to his own followers. When he spoke publicly, as he was preparing to do, for his mission was taking outward shape, Colonel Pak was the translator.

Moon told us about the nature of sin. The main duality in God’s creation was between good and evil. To do evil was to sin, but since everyone thought of themselves as good, how did we know when we were sinning? The answer was that when we were working for ourselves, we were sinning. When we were working for others, we could be sure that we were doing good. Even if we did things that seemed good to others, if we did these things out of our own vanity and egoism, then we were doing evil. Motive counted very heavily in Moon’s system. Just as we could lie for good motives, and thus be doing God’s work, we could tell the truth for bad motives and be doing Satan’s will.

Such a psychology kept us at constant war with ourselves, and if it succeeded in its aims, our energy would be constantly projected outward. Moon’s was not a religion of introspection, of mysticism, of finding a oneness with God or Nature, nor even a religion of peace or beauty. It was rather a path of action. He would tell us what to think, and our duty was to obey him. His was the perfect religion for those who wished to escape from themselves.

In those seven days Moon mapped out a plan of action and told it to us. He would begin a One World Crusade and he would speak for three days in each of seven cities. A number of us would be formed into mobile bus teams, whose job would be to go into each city as an advance guard. These people would rent the hall for him to speak, sell tickets, do publicity, preach in the streets and then, when at last the Master arrived, move on to the next city on the list and do the same thing. About all this there was an atmosphere of breathless urgency. This was not something that was to happen in the far future or even the near future, but right now. It was to begin even before the month of January was out.

But that was only part of the beginning of his mission, merely the bringing of the word. After having gotten our followers, we wanted to hold them. For that we needed more centers, at least one in every state, including Hawaii and Alaska. Despite our best efforts so far, we had centers in only eight states. We would immediately send out missionaries to all the other states.

In those seven days Moon also prayed many times, and each prayer ended with him in tears. He pulled out his big white handkerchief, snapped it open with a flourish, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. He even sang to us at times; his voice was not pretty, but it was powerful. He sounded like a wounded water buffalo. Moon’s voice had great range, and sometimes, in contrast to the low ranges of his singing, it rose in passion to a mere mouse’s squeak. All in all he was a gigantic, an enveloping personality.

One of the sad things that happened for those of us who knew and loved Miss Kim—and particularly for me, since I was under her protection—was that Moon deposed her, abruptly, impatiently, bitterly, though privately. He was angry; he told her she had failed. We heard that he told her she must assume in regard to him the role of a child. She must learn everything all over again.

______________________________________________

Young-oon Kim – it all ended in flames and tears for the professor

Newsweek on the many Korean messiahs of the 1970s

Park Tae-seon – another Korean Pikareum Messiah

Kim Baek-moon talked about “sexual union with God”

[automatismoateo]

Attended grandmothers funeral at our old baptist Christian church. Got called out (by name) by pastor several times for never being saved, despite my grandmother’s ‘best efforts’ via /r/atheism

Attended grandmothers funeral at our old baptist Christian church. Got called out (by name) by pastor several times for never being saved, despite my grandmother’s ‘best efforts’

Man, today was a doozy.

My grandmother had passed away last week at 89 after being a life-long devout baptist Christian. After attending visitation at a funeral home, which went by relatively smoothly but was still very hard, she was moved out to an old school baptist church where we used to attend for the funeral and burial, as per her request.

I wasn’t looking forward to seeing all the old faces of people who surely had bad thoughts about me, being that this was the church I stopped attending over a decade ago. I didn’t expect it to go down perfectly, but I was still set on going because I wasn’t going to let old traumatic memories keep me from honoring my grandmother. Anyways, the initial songs and prayers eventually ended and so came the start of the sermon. It was the same pastor as the one I most resented from when I was a kid, and I made the mistake of sitting on the aisle-side edge of the pew, where pastors would often stop and seemingly preach to you specifically.

Just for context, this guy is probably 300 lbs, has a profuse sweating problem, and absolutely LOVES to give long and awkward handshakes to people and the congregation randomly. So, already not the most pleasing sight, but that’s not what matters.

He starts revving up his sermon as I remember all too well from when I was a kid. He starts out with light hearted memories of when my grandmother first used to attend the church, nothing bad in particular. But when he gets going, oh man. You’d think a funeral would be the time to celebrate a persons life, and all the good they’ve done for their community, but no. Not here.

Pastor proceeds to explain how even though she has been an extremely devout Christian, some people in her family were still ‘lost’ and that she would not be pleased with us if she were still here today. After around 30 minutes of guilt tripping to the maximum, he starts pacing up and down the pews. Keep in mind this guy’s preaching style has the same cadence of a drill sergeant on meth, so unless you’re used to that type of thing, this whole thing can come off as super off-putting, especially considering what he is actually saying. Stuff like ‘you will damned to hell unless you have people praying for you’ or ‘if you have the slightest doubt at all then you’re going to hell’. Hell this, hell that.

Anyways, eventually he comes up to me and offers to shake my hand (an offer I would begrudgingly accept, and would accept two more times by the end of it, fuck this guy) and he says “Anon here has received prayers everyday from this wonderful woman (my grandma), and yet even he hasn’t yet answered God’s call.” and proceeds to use me as an example for why you should respond to anything you think is God reaching out. He would do this in similar fashion a few more times by the end of it as well. And anytime hell was brought up after the first time he called me out, he would give me a lengthy glance and continue.

Meanwhile, all these people in the crowd, whom I know from my past and know for a fact have been indoctrinated since birth, are all mumbling their grievances with me and shouting whenever they agree with the pastor.

What a fucking disgusting sight. Using every single thing as a opportunity to convert more confused and innocent people. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart, if you put your kids through this psychological torment then fuck you. If I wasn’t so firm in my beliefs now as an atheist, I could totally see myself going back to church out of fear or guilt. If all of this wasn’t bad enough, after the burial my aunties tried to use their mom passing as a way to get me back to church. I didn’t know what to say, so I literally just said nothing. (I knew exactly what I wanted to say, just didn’t have the heart to destroy theirs)

Sorry for the essay, just a lot that has happened that I wanted to vent about and I figured this would be the place since I’m not exactly in many atheists company down here in the bible belt.

Fuck religion and fuck what Christians have turned Easter into.

Submitted April 18, 2022 at 09:05AM by Extension-Parking202 (From Reddit https://ift.tt/Q9c3yAD)

[augusmarcellus]

I have been many things, Bran.

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[alexander-james-ink]

Church Hopping Week 1:

With my church closing down last week, this week started my search for a new church along with Heather. Yahweh has prepping me a lot for this over the last couple of weeks in how he has been speaking to me. In the past I would have gone into this getting ready to judge everything from types of people, to greetings, to stage presence, to language used, to worship style, to preaching. But all that does is make it about me when it isn’t meant to be that way. Church is about worshipping Yahweh because he alone is worthy. He was also speaking to me about not holding back in my worship in a more conservative crowd. What I mean by that is I’m used to fairly Charismatic meetings even though I don’t present as overly Charismatic in how I worship. Although I shake and get jolted from time to time. Anyway, Yahweh has been speaking to me about just worshipping because of my last point, because he is worthy. It doesn’t matter if nobody else moves or raises their hands when they worship, I do and it’s because that’s how I express my worship to him. 

So with all that said, today we went to a more conservative church in regards to the style of meeting they hold. The worship is fairly straight forward and timed, etc. And then there is the classic announcements and the CLASSIC churchy language of “we are so excited to be with you today church”. And the sermon is outlined with a clear 3-5 points. All things I previously would have judged and held as negatives, but today, none of it bothered me. Why? Because Yahweh is worthy of my worship and everyone there was worshipping him regardless if it’s my preferred style. They’re honouring him and that is all that matters. And while the sermon was very manufactured it was solid and I took a lot from it. There’s a lot of potential for this church and I could see Heather and I getting involved in the community. Community is probably one of the most important thing I’m looking for in a church. It’s important for Heather and I to find people we can walk with and grow with and be poured into by and also pour into them. 

Anyway, we’ll be checking out a few other churches to see what else God is doing in the city. I don’t think I’ll find one I dislike if I go into it with the same mindset I went with this week. If anything, this is going to get me more excited for what God is doing in this city.

[ericngo-blog]

Life update Hello friends and family,

Many seasons have past since I left California to start a new life in Paris.  What started as a one year teaching assistant program turned into an adventure that has now lasted 6 years.  At the age of 23, not knowing what to do with my life, I packed my bags to return to my birth country hoping to find answers to my cultural identity.  Over the years, I’ve encountered many challenges, met amazing people, fought my way through adversity, and discovered new passions in life.

2011 was exciting and the start of something new. The idea of starting over in the city Paris was full of possibilities.  With the hopeful innocence of my 23 year old self and a small amount of money, I took on a small studio apartment and taught English in a French public high school.  To my surprise, the students listened to my teaching style and I was able to develop a passion for teaching. At the end of the teaching contract, I knew I wasn’t ready to go back home in California.  Part of me had always wondered what it was like to be a waiter, so I took on a waiter job in a Japanese restaurant.  

In the summer of 2012, I waited tables night and day, 6 days a week.  It was brutal, but I absolutely would do it again because I met an my un-official god parents.  Mr and Mrs Tan are also French/American/Chinese, like me, which made our relationship that much easier, and are the owners of the restaurant “Wrap N Roll” Sushi in Paris.  They taught me how to be hard working and more responsible through their strict expectations as managers.  One day, Mrs Tan treated me to a French pastry, and while I was savoring it’s delicious flavor, I said out loud, “You know, I’d like to learn how to make these”, and Mrs Tan replied, “Well, why don’t you?”.  This was the defining moment when I realized that the dream of becoming a pastry chef was within reach.  During my last months in college, I had described my ideal life to be “Live out my faith as a Christian somewhere in the world, serve in a church as a drummer and a leader for the younger generation, and to make a living, work as a baker/pastry chef”.  After doing some research, I decided to apply to the most prestigious pastry school Paris had to offer, Ferrandi Paris.  By the end of summer, I was hired to work as a salesman in the world famous pastry shop, “Pierre Hermé Paris”.  It was there that I took my first steps towards becoming a pastry chef.  Though this experience, I learned the values of customer service and how to sell a product.  

My Career as a salesman last until the end of 2013.  During this year, I went through many trials such as work drama, having my heart broken, and dealing with the feeling of loneliness.  Don’t be fooled by the pictures that only show the happy moments, it’s the difficult moments that define who we truly are.  Over the years, I had learned how to eat by myself, even at a restaurant, and just be by myself in general.  But every once in a while, this feeling of homesickness just took over and I felt giving up.  I was able to survive these moments because of the healthy community I was blessed to have here in Paris.  I was also blessed to have a female companion by my side that made me feel loved.  2013 was probably the hardest year of my life.  I felt like I was stuck as a salesman and that I would never get into pastry school.  But I saw the light at the end of the tunnel by the end of the year.  After refueling back in California I came back to Paris, and in the winter of 2013 I was admitted to pastry school.  On top of that, I was able to move into a new place  a lot closer to my school.  (I live with an older woman, it’s just that she’s 80 years old, She’s like my French grandmother =P) God’s timing was perfect, all of this happened in the same week.  

2014 was the start of my pastry career.  The program in which I participated was an intensive one.  Instead of a regular 2 year training, it would be over 5 months only because I already had a BA.  Pastry school was amazing, I loved every moment.  Starting at 6am and ending around 2pm, we learned and practiced the art of making French pastries.  Even though I had little experience in baking, I was able to learn quickly and was blessed to have good instructors.  Our classes were small, consisting of only 12 per class.  At night, I would go back to waiting tables for the first couple of weeks of my semester to earn a living.  However, Mrs Tan wanted me to focus on my studies and loaned me money for me to use until the rest of my school year.  My initial reason for going to pastry school was to eventually open up shop in LA, but it changed as the months went by.  My new vision was to get my pastry degree, train under big chefs for a couple of years, and eventually either open up my own shop or go back to teaching, this time, pastry.  After earning my degree, I interned at my local bakery and started looking for work.  At that time, my bank account was pretty dry and I had to wait tables once again full time in order to survive.  There came a time where I had 10 euros in my bank account… The struggle was real.  But, I was oddly at peace.  I had experienced God’s grace so many times, that I knew something would come up.  By the end of the summer, that opportunity came up.  After being discouraged my not getting replies or getting rejected for work, a company reached out to me.  It was the only company who was interested.  That company was the cooking school “La Cuisine Paris”.  We got to know each other and I was given the opportunity to teach pastry classes to an English speaking people.  I will forever remember the day when the owner of the school told me, “Look Eric, I know you just got out of school, and that you have little work experience, but, I like you, and I’m willing to invest in you”.  This was a defining moment in my life that I will forever cherish.  On top of that, the teaching gig only involved a 20 hour work week with a good hourly rate that allowed me to live comfortably.  Talk about a dream job.  

2015 was all about looking for ways to honor God through my time and resources.  Because of my 20 hour or less work weeks, I found myself with a lot of free time.  I was able to be well rested all the time, see friends during their lunch breaks, read books I’ve been wanting to read, and just have a lot of “me” time in general.  All that was great, but I didn’t feel fulfilled.  I became aware that, my church had a women’s group, but no men’s group.  After a couple of weeks of brainstorming and counseling, I decided to launch “E.P.I.C men’s group”.  This acronym stood for “Edification.Perseverance.Integrity.Courage”, these were the four pillars and values of our group.  Our vision was based on the Bible verse found in 2 Timothy 1:6-7

“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands.  For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love, and self-discipline”

Our vision was to become men equipped to live out a Christ centered life, and to one day become men worth following.  This concept was important to me because growing up, there were seasons where my age group did not have a mentor figure to whom we could look up to, and I didn’t want the younger generation to go through the same thing.  Our vision as men was to accurately reflect the image of Jesus through our lifestyle. NOT EASY. But I had met people in life whom I thought were leaders worth following, and leader not worth following.  What made the difference? I went on an adventure to find out.   2015 also came with the opportunity to go on missions.  My home church in Paris organized its first overseas mission to Senegal, located on the coast of west Africa.  This mission trip opened my eyes to Christianity that I was used to, and made me experience my faith in a different way.  Till this day, my church in France sends out a missionary team each year to Senegal where we preach the gospel through children’s ministry, teacher training programs, medical consultations, and for me personally, sharing different baking recipes with the local bakers.  These mission trips have touched me in a profound way through the relationship I’ve developed over the years.  The thought that children from the “Lac Rose” village (the village we’ve worked with) welcoming me year after year by name, after my first visit brings me chills.  

2016 was more of a routine type of year.  I started getting comfortable with my lifestyle and time flew by at an incredible rate.  I kept on teaching pastry classes, serving in a church through playing drums and leading the men’s ministry, going on the Senegal mission trip, and enjoying life in Paris.  Friends and family kept on coming to Paris over the years, and it brought me joy to show them around! One of the highlights of the year came in September when my sister Diana flew to Paris to run the Disney Paris half marathon.  I’ve never considered myself a long distance runner, but the idea of developing grit became that much more real when you experience a long distance race.  It disciplined me during the year to increase my endurance to eventually run a half marathon.  My sister Diana, a seasoned marathon runner, ran at my pace and encouraged me throughout the entire race which helped me persevere through the fatigue and guided me to the finish line.  

So here we are in 2017.  This is was by far the most I’ve ever traveled in my life.  It started with a trip back from California in January, Lyon, road tripping from Italy to Switzerland, Senegal, and Hong Kong.  It’s been great seeing so many friends from home in other parts of the world.  And here I am writing this update letter while sitting in a plane on my way back to California.  I needed to refuel.  I was discouraged by the men’s group because of the lack of attendance and motivation, and I was struggling with my worship coordinating responsibilities.  This is year has been especially hard for me ever since my 4 year relationship ended.  I realized that over the years, my feeling of “home” rested on my girlfriend’s shoulders at that time, and now with that figure gone, I suddenly felt so alone. The Sunday before I flew to California, I ate diner by myself in a restaurant and watched a movie by myself in the movie theaters.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I actually don’t mind at all, and over the years I’ve done that plenty of times, that is, when it’s by choice.  That lonely night, wasn’t by choice.  I let it sink in deep and really felt like I was by myself and that one cared about me.  I longed for this feeling of home, and I felt really alienated from the rest of the world.  The timing of coming back to California was perfect.  

This trip was exactly what I needed. My initial plan was to come back and surprise my mom for her birthday, surprise one of my best friends for his 30th, and attend a childhood friend’s wedding.  Time flew by so quickly but I was able to see family and friends and surely enough, my “love tank” was full, I was refueled.  I felt surrounded by a nurturing environment and felt appreciated through this time in California.  I was able to reconnect with friendships that have lasted over decades and I felt so loved when people made the time to see me despite the long distance.  My whole life has been about answering the question “Where is home?”, and the answer has always been “Home is where your loved ones are”.  And to be more accurate, home is where there is a nurturing environment, because “If you want to go fast, go alone.  But if you want to go far, go together”.  These past 6 years in Paris have been absolutely amazing and will cherish these memories forever.  I initially came back to my birth country to figure out where I wanted to settle down, and today I have an answer.  I’ll be coming back to California in the near future.  I’ve made myself a 2 year plan before officially departing, but there are still things I need to learn and do in Paris.  Notably, acquire more experience as a pastry chef, to one day open up my own bakery in California.  I’m also open to the idea of missionary work in other parts of the world such as west Africa, so who know’s where I’ll end up next.  

Paris remains one of my favorite places on earth.  It’s not the beauty that this charming city has, nor the amazing food it has to offer, but the friends I’ve made here that will make me miss this place.  I’m determined to savor every minute I have here for the next years to come. Part of me is nervous to leave Paris because it’s my comfort zone, at the same time I’m confident that my family and friends will make moving back to LA a smooth transition.  American friends see me as the “French guy”, French friends see me as the “American guy”, and to the rest of the world I’m just the “dark looking asian guy”.  People with my background live with chronic homesickness, and I’m determined to build a place for them to feel at home in LA.  That’s the new dream.  

Thank you so much for your friendship and prayers of over the years.  It’s been a delight catching up across the world, I wouldn’t be who I am and where I am without your counsel.  I strongly encourage you to come to Paris before I make my move back to LA.  You know it’s on your destination list and I would love to show you around the city have you see Paris through my eyes.  (Preview* it involves eating the best the city has to offer for all budgets, picture memories, cooking/ baking classes, playing board games in cafés, meeting French people, strolling in tiny charming streets, having hilarious/ meaningful conversations).  

Congratulations, you’ve made it to the end of this long update :)

Miss you guys, Eric Ngo

[ynibytina]

Meet Evan Welcher!!!

With the recent passing of my Grandpa Peterson, I thought now would finally be a good time to put up an interview I did a while back with my friend, Evan Welcher since it also deals with death. I met Evan on Twitter through his twin brother, Steele, who happens to be the resident life manager of the dorms at WITCC (where I recently graduated from college). Evan is the senior pastor of First Christian Church in Glenwood, Iowa. In the last five years or so, Evan's been on quite a roller coaster ride of emotions, but that hasn't stopped him from trying to make a smile on other peoples faces. He went from the extreme happiness of meeting and then marrying his lovely wife, Danielle, (whom he refers to as "My Resplendent Bride"), to the agonizing sorrow of her cancer and death. To learn more about Evan and his new journey through life, please check out his personal Twitter, Instagram, or website.

People Who Inspire You: My Resplendent Bride, Rich Mullins, John Stott.

Favorite Bible Story: The parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32).

Favorite Bible Verse: John 11:25.

Favorite Musician: Rich Mullins.

Favorite Movie: Lady In The Water.

Favorite Books: Too many to list!

Favorite Color: Yellow.

Favorite Holiday: Thanksgiving.

Mac or PC: Mac.

Twitter or Facebook: Twitter.

Blackberry or iPhone: iPhone.

Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate.

Winter or Summer: Summer.

Pancakes or Waffles: Waffles.

Math or Science: Science Fiction.

Past, Present, or Future: Future.

Have you always wanted to become a preacher?

What made me want to be a preacher was the way God comes down into human history and saves fallen, broken, messed up people like me. When Jesus saved me I said to myself, "I have to spend the rest of my life telling people about this Jesus!" He is the only God who gives up His life for His people instead of the other way around.

I did not happen to grow up in a church-going family, but I did, in my totally biased opinion, grow up in the best family. God saved me when I was 16. At the time I wore a lot of black and was rather unpleasant to be around. I was a committed atheist and my world view was hostile to religion in general organized or otherwise. A friend of mine had become a Christian the summer of my 16th year, and when school resumed had been annoyingly faithful at telling me all about Jesus. She invited me to Church often. I always refused invitations and for my part, faithfully mocked her. One night I had a dream in which Jesus saved me from my wretched self. I awoke the next day perplexed and annoyed. I wondered if I had eaten a bad taco the night before. Nonetheless, despite my attempts to brush off and rationalize the dream...it stayed with me. Yes, it gnawed at my pompous faith in my intellect. I began running through the practical ramifications of being wrong about the existence of God. My atheism was based upon the shaky foundation of me assuming there was no God because I had never experienced God in my short life. I wagered that if there was a God He would not take kindly to the immense ungratefulness exhibited by of one of His creations going around telling His other creations that the Creator was, in fact, a fairy tale. My friend invited me to church again, and I went. The gospel (Good News) was explained to me and for the first time, I believed that God was real, and, that I was alienated from Him because of my own sin, and furthermore that all that stuff about the Cross was Jesus dying in my place so that I, even I, as undeserving as I am, might be declared righteous, and forgiven. Through no goodness or wisdom of my own, I believed that night. Faith was God's gift to me on that October evening. He bids us all to come to die with Him that we might live with Him. I love how just God is, because He won't turn anybody away.

When did you find out that your wife had cancer? How did you react to the diagnosis?

My Resplendent Bride had been coughing for several months. We went to the Dr. and they thought it was anything from her asthma acting up to pneumonia. However after several weeks without improvement they did an X-Ray and saw the baseball-sized mass in her anterior mediastinum. The mass was situated between her lungs right next to her heart. It was pushing against her lungs making it difficult to breathe. We later learned it was lymphoma, which is a blood cancer. We were sad because we both had seen the pain: cancer caused in our parent's lives. Her father had fought against brain tumors for many years, and my mother died from lung cancer.

I held my Danielle in my arms and we wept together: for the fight ahead, for the fears we harbored, for our unborn children. We were keenly aware of the fight ahead of us, but we also purposed in our hearts to trust in God's sovereignty. We believed that God is in control of all our lives and that nothing merely happens by coincidence.

A verse we clung to was Isaiah 41:10, "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

My Resplendent Bride fought cancer like the woman of grace that she was for nearly two years. During that time her lymphoma came back twice and morphed into leukemia. She went home to be with her Savior (John 14) May 3, 2014, dying from complications of a failed bone marrow transplant.

I have never known anyone like her. She was the love of my life. She is the best person I have ever known. God gave her to me for less than 3 years, but oh, the mark she left on my soul is indelible. Danielle was a woman who had yielded herself to her Lord as much as a human can. She was a missionary to S. Sudan, a teacher, a daughter, a friend to more people than I can count, and my Resplendent Bride. It is not cliche of me to write that her love changed me in ways that I can not fully comprehend or explain. True love has a way of doing that.

Is there anything that we can be praying about for you?

Please be praying for me as I mourn the loss of my Resplendent Bride. The Bible says that two become one in the covenant of marriage (Ephesians 5:22-33). There is something mysteriously powerful about marriage that I fear may be lost on many today. When someone is widowed they have spiritually been torn in two. The beauty of Christ is that He shall put us all back together again.

Many of the people we walk past and ignore everyday are virtual walking Humpty Dumpty's marching along in a daze. The people of God are tasked with waiting with the broken while rescue comes. This is God's beautiful design for the Church.

How do you turn such negative events in your life into positive ones?

I am thankful that it is not up to me to bring good from evil. God is always working (Romans 8), and it is enough for me to know that He is good, knows what He is doing, and has not forgotten His little lambs.

What does a normal day in your life look like now?

I wake up and drink in the coffee as well as tidings of distant lands that transpired while I slumbered (the news). If people are lucky, I take a shower (people are always lucky). Then I head off to my study at the church building and work on whatsoever needs working on! I believe God does powerful things through the proclamation of His word to His saints (don't you love how the Bible calls Christ's Bride "Saints"? That proves our righteousness comes not from ourselves but for Him!) so I spend a good portion my week writing Sunday's sermon.

If you could preach about any topic or Bible story on a Sunday, what would it probably be about and why?

My favorite thing to preach on is the forgiveness of sins, which is inseparable from the Cross of Christ. The banner we dwell under reads, "Christ Crucified For Sinners". The best thing about the Gospel is that it is not about us, it's about Him. The world has enough people who are really into themselves. The cool thing about God is that He knows our frame, that we are but dust. He knows we dustlings are fragile, broken, and rough around the edges. He also knows that we are battered, bedraggled, broken things looking for shelter. If you think you need to have all your stuff together before God will have anything to do with you: you have never heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

How would you describe your style of preaching? Also, why should people come to your church?

I don't yell at people. I don't beat the sheep.

I preach through books of the Bible, verse by verse. At First Christian Church we believe 2 Timothy 3:16, "All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness."

Preaching through entire books ensures that the Church gets a steady diet of God's revelation in the proportions the Holy Spirit doles out. When a guy is just doing topical series after topical series there runs the risk of the people of God only hearing the preacher man's hobby horses.

First Christian Church is an independent church trying to do things as much as the New Testament Church did as we can figure out. We admit that we are only human, and that the first century was a long time ago, but we think there are some clear hints in the New Testament about what the Church should look and feel like. At the same time, we deeply value the contributions of our brothers and sisters in Christ have made to the global church over the last 2,000 years. Tradition is not a dirty word.

What do you like to do in your spare time?

I read, lift weights, bike, write, and try to figure out woodworking!

What are five things that most people don’t know about you?

I am painfully shy.

I throw tomahawks.

I don't have all the answers, but I know the one who does.

I am a sinner/saint.

I am rooting for them.

What’s the best part of being a pastor and why?

The best part of being a pastor chooses to use us to accomplish His goodwill, and that goes for all His children.

[doomedandstoned]

Elder Druid, Barbarian Hermit, Satlan, and Slowbro Play Coventry

~By Reek of STOOM~

Photos by Luke Orchard

Friday, November 29th, at The Phoenix in Coventry, England

On the coldest night of the year so far, we ventured into the frost and made our way to the well-renowned Phoenix venue in the heart of Coventry to witness a four-band spectacle organised by Heathen Mirth Promotions out of London, UK. The venue itself is impressive and inviting: traditional pub downstairs with the live area above and an expansive beer garden.

SLOWBRO

Split (With Those Amongst Us Are Wolves) by Slowbro

First up on the bill were SLOWBRO, a three-piece local band who I hadn't encountered before and who surprised us with their dexterity and musicianship: A Stoner/Doom/Progressive crossover with heaps of energy and enthusiasm that won over the small but rapidly-filling room. After their set, I caught up with the members, James, Sam and Zeke for a quick chat.

Hi guys, you're new to the Doomed & Stoned radar, please tell us a little about yourselves.

Sam (guitars): "Well, James & I knew each other from the area and we both had guitars gathering dust in our rooms, so we decided to do something with them. We met up in a practice room once every two months or so, found a slot on a gig, came up with a name and just took it from there."

James (guitars) pipes in: "People started asking us to come back. We kept telling them no, but..." and laughs.

So why have you kept such a low profile on social media?

Zeke (drums) replied: "These guys just like to go abroad for three years or so" and laughs. "We're not trying to be the next big thing, just going about it and seeing what happens".

You had a split release out last year. Are there any other releases?

Sam: "Yes we had a full album out in 2018 called 'Nothings,' recorded locally and released on a small local label Creature Lab Records."

Are you signed to a label now?

James: "We're not tied to anyone long-term yet, we're just hoping to make our next album and see if it gets any interest."

Looking ahead to 2020, what plans do you have?

Zeke: "To play outside Coventry."

James: "We want to get our next album recorded - just get back into the studio and put down all the new stuff we've been working on."

You really impressed me with your style, Who are your influences?

Sam: "Sleep, Kyuss, Electric Wizard, first 2 Black Sabbath albums.." James interjects; "Christina Aguilera" and the three of them collapse, laughing. "Old School riffing, classic stuff, you know?"

What's your long-term ambition?

James: "Just to give people something good to listen to and get them to come out and see us."

Final question: What was the last piece of equipment you had to kick to get working again?

Sam creases: "The amp we borrow from Steven Bennett for every gig. We DO take care of it, honest!"

James: "We want to thank you and Doomed and Stoned for all your support. It means a lot."

No problem guys, thanks for talking to me and good luck for next year.

SATLAN

Next up on the bill were SATLAN, a four-piece outfit based in London and fronted by erstwhile Dead Witches vocalist Soozi Chameleone. The band are seriously tight and their drummer is a superstar. Soozi herself was having an off night, but still delivered a powerful performance despite not feeling at her best. Musically, a combination of Dead Witches and Alunah in style, but Satlan have a distinct Sabbath-esque motif generated by guitarist Roy Nadel. I caught up with Roy and bassist Alex after the set.

Firstly, the name Satlan, where did that come from?

Roy: "It's actually Hebrew slang for 'Stoner', someone who is too lazy - it fits our style."

Are you originally an Israeli band?

Alex: "No, we're from all over the place. Roy is Israeli, I'm Russian and Jake (drums) is Malaysian. We all got together in London and just started jamming, so we're an International mix. Roy and I have known each other since we were 16, playing in various bands together in Israel's Punk scene - Roy was actually a drummer in one of our bands! Our current drummer, Jake we found playing in thrash metal band THE BLEEDING and we knew straight away we wanted to work with him. I remember saying I wanna work with this guy!"

Do you have any recordings planned in the near future?

Roy: "We've just recorded an album. it's in the mixing stage right now and it'll be ready sometime in the next couple of months. We also have a gig with Church of the Cosmic Skull coming up in February and we're planning a UK tour, including a few dates in Scotland around April."

Final question: what was the last thing you kicked to get working?

Alex: "My cat." They both laugh.

Roy: "No animals were harmed really - we both have cats and we love them."

BARBARIAN HERMIT

Solitude And Savagery by Barbarian Hermit

BARBARIAN HERMIT are no strangers to us, having been included on our recent England compilation. Manchester's finest took to the stage around 10pm and proceeded to blast the eardrums out of the room with their signature Stoner/Sludge crossover. Compelling frontman Ed Campbell is a madman on stage and the most heroic poser since Bruce Dickinson! The dual guitar assaults from Mike 'Big Daddy Reeg' Reagan and Rob 'Spadge Fafner' Sutcliffe are ferocious and tighter than drainpipe jeans. After a blinding set, I caught up with the lads in the pub's pool room.

Thanks for attending the interview, tell me - how did you hear about the job?

Ed: "Well we had an email from a guy saying he was gonna pay us from a Somali bank account if we played. He said he wasn't a pirate. Seriously though, Heathen Mirth Promotions got us onto this and we've really enjoyed sharing a stage with everybody."

Since the Doomed and Stoned in England appearance, what's been happening?

Mike: "We opened for Bloodstock during the summer, that was a great laugh and we had a mini-tour in Edinburgh, Carlisle and the north with Widows and Drudge in October, then joined up with this lot for the dates we're doing now."

You guys have a new release coming out soon and a new tour next year. In hindsight, is there anything you'd have changed about the process?

Rob: "Phew, fair question that. Working on the details, in a studio when you've got a deadline in the studio and label commitments like "How's it sounding?" and y'know, general pressure to get it finished; it's all in those final little details."

Ed: "At the same time we did some of our greatest work under pressure. My personal favourite on the album is the one we put together right at the last minute, well, not the LAST minute but near."

It's normally always the way. When the pressure's on, some bands do their best stuff.

Mike: "We find that even though been playing these songs for about a year, you pick up little things and think, “Wish I'd done it like that instead,” but it's been great to get people in like Ten Foot Wizard and Boss Keloid to help us out."

ELDER DRUID

Golgotha by Elder Druid

At just after 11pm the monstrous apparition called ELDER DRUID took to the stage and detonated. Massive waves of Doom flood out from the barely-intact cabs as frontman Greg conjures spooky sounds from the Theremin, ghosting over a sea of intense riffing. Mass worship ensued as the congregation got down and dirty at the Druid's altar, the dual guitar assault of Jake and Mikey crushing everything in its wake.

Devastatingly heavy, Elder Druid came to preach The Old Religion and the flock lapped it up like manna from the heavens...pure class! I caught up with them before their set:

Good evening gentlemen. First question: what brought you to Coventry on a freezing cold night?

Greg: "Soozi from Heathen Mirth contacted us and got us onto the bill. We played a different venue last time we were in Coventry, but we heard that The Phoenix was the #1 place so we just had to be here."

Moving on to the new album. You're in the finishing stages now and it's due for release on 17th January. How have you found the recording?

Jake: "Yeah it's been great. Last time we had an engineer record and mix us but this time we've done it entirely by ourselves so it's good to have that freedom so we can get everything organised properly before we went in to record. you get to do it on your own timescale. Then it's good having the time to get all the details together, tinkering as it were."

There's a danger of "over-tinkering," though. Did you fall foul of it?

Mikey: "100% yeah, there is risk of being too critical, but I think we got it right this time. There's a few surprises on the album, Electric Piano and the Theremin to name a couple."

Is there anything you would have changed given the chance?

Greg: "The whole band" and laughs.

Dale (bass): "Better equipment would be nice. When you have the best gear etc it makes a big difference to the sound and inevitably it would be nicer to work with, but what's come out the other end we're really happy with it."

You can always ask Slomatics if you could borrow some of theirs?

Mikey: "Yeah, like can we borrow a riff off you please?" they all crack up.

What's the plan for 2020?

Brien (drums): "The launch day gig will be @ Voodoo in Belfast on the 17th Jan and the day after @ Fibber McGee's in Dublin then we're playing a festival in May over in Antrim, then we're heading over to play at Stonebaked Festival in Leeds, (Formerly BOOM fest) which we're really up for."

What was the last piece of equipment you had to kick to get working?

Mikey: "Greg."

Jake: "Funny you should say that...one of the amps blew up last night, but I managed to sell it on eBay." (laughs)

Any message for the fans?

Brien: "We don't have fans."

Greg:" Anyone out there who likes what we do, thank you!"

Thanks guys, it's been a pleasure!

Jake: "Thank you and thanks to Billy and Doomed and Stoned for looking after us."

[awindowamirror]

Weekend at the Beach!

11/6/17

At the beginning of the semester, a group of students who live in the same hostel as my program went to a place called Scorpion Lodge in Busua and came back excited to share how wonderful their experience was. The women in the group told us that they felt invisible to men there (the dream!), and everyone had a great time surfing, swimming, and relaxing in the cute lil beach town of Busua. All semester, we were thinking about going, and last week we realized there are only so many weekends left, so we decided to head out on Friday. It worked out for Ceci, Noah, Seth, and I to go, which was convenient because everything is easier in small groups, especially groups of four (for taxi purposes ya know).

We set out at about 11 am for Tema Station, which is about a 45 minute trotro ride from campus. When we got to the station (picture a huuuuuge parking lot type of situation, with pretty much every square inch occupied by trotros going to various places around Ghana), we asked around for a trotro to Takoradie (the largest town near Busua), and were pointed in several opposing directions. After walking around the station during the hottest time of day for over an hour, someone finally told us, “Ohh, for Takoradie you need to go to Circle, not Tema.” Oh. Whoops.

Circle Station is about another 30 minute trotro ride away, so we did that, and then our driver was kind enough to take us directly to the bus station so we could pay and be on our way. Unfortunately, busses to Tokaradie were all full, which didn’t surprise us, so we tracked down another trotro going to Tokaradie and settled in for the 5.5 hour journey.

I’m not sure if you remember how I’ve described riding in a trotro, but it is not super comfortable. It is totally and completely fine and efficient and functional if you are just commuting or running an errand—about an hour on a trotro really isn’t so bad. But over 5 hours? I was a little nervous. They don’t stop for bathroom breaks unless you ask, which makes me feel a lot like when I was younger and riding in other people’s parent’s cars—you don’t want to be a burden, and on a trotro especially, everyone has to get out to let you pass. So that made me a lil nervous. But the real kicker was that though the woman next to me was lovely, she was also larger than the tiny seats we’re provided with, so she was taking up her seat and most of mine. I remember looking at the tiny space I was supposed to fit in and thinking there is no way. But there was a way. I jammed myself into a space that was probably about the width of one of my thighs, I am not kidding. Noah was on my other side, just as miserable because I was forced to spill into his seat in order to fit, and he had the wheel seat, so no legroom. It is amazing to me that we made it through that ride. Looking at how crowded the trotro was, I was so close to jumping off and saying ok, have fun everybody, I’ll be somewhere where I can breathe and move.

We made it though! We arrived at about 7:30 pm in Tokaradie, and then found a taxi to take us to our hostel about an hour away. We were pleased to find out Scorpion was still serving food, and we had a wonderfully huge and filling meal of burgers and pasta. There is also a bar at the hostel, so we ordered Moscow Mules to congratulate ourselves on the journey (no copper mugs, though). There were lots of other international students staying there, so we were all able to hang out and talk, play cards, hammock, and slack line (the hostel really catered to a certain type of college student).

Our plan for the next day was to go to a famous village on stilts a couple hours further west, but when we woke up and saw how beautiful Busua was in the daylight, we decided we wanted to stay and chill there, especially because we only had one full day. Ceci and I went for a swim as soon as possible (I think it was around 8 am), and then did a little workout circuit and yoga session on the beach. It was so nice and peaceful—no one else was up and about yet, so we had the beach almost to ourselves, except for a few kids who were already playing.

We got lunch at a little place just a short walk down the beach, and it was delicious—margaritas and Ghanaian style burritos (I know, what the heck does that mean? They were wonderful, but definitely not your standard burrito). After lunch, Ceci and Seth (bless their hearts) went for a run, and I went for a long walk. It was incredible to have time to myself in such a lovely place—I’m not sure if my pictures do it justice, but the views were mesmerizing to me. I could have stayed staring at the waves for a week and not been bored. Hungry, but not bored.

Later in the afternoon, I walked into town with some of the other students, and Ceci, Noah, and Seth took a surfing lesson! Wild. The town is so cute and friendly, everyone talked to us as we walked by. We saw so many children that it seemed to me that the town was run by kids. How fun. When I got back to the hostel, I grabbed my book and settled into the comfiest chair on the deck. Ahh. So nice. That part reminded me of summers at our cabin on Beaver Island, lazily reading on the deck for hours while you dry out from your swim. So nice.

We got dinner at the hostel and played cards for a couple hours (another Beaver Island tradition), and then went to bed at GUESS WHAT TIME? You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it. At 8:30 pm!!! Yes! And we were all asleep by 9 pm. Wild. Noah and I were both coming down with colds (mine has since developed into a full on sinus deal), and spending all day at the beach takes a lot out of you. We had a couple other roommates because it’s hostel style, and I’m sure when they found us asleep they thought, wow, here’s a group of people who are truly fun. Haha, I’m glad we slept though, it’s no fun traveling when you’re already exhausted.

The next morning, we grabbed breakfast, and Ceci and I went for one last goodbye swim in the ocean. It started raining as we packed to leave, but not absolutely pouring as it usually seems to do. Our trip home was pretty seamless—there was a bus in Tokaradie to Accra leaving only 30 minutes after we arrived, which was so nice. So much space AND air conditioning. Those are the keys to a good trip. There was a pastor on board (there often is), so he preached for about an hour to the whole bus (they often do). Which was nice at first, like mobile church, but his passion and volume were a tad too much for us in our sleepy moods. When he finished, we thought, ok, time to sleep and listen to music. Nope. The driver turned on a Ghanaian soap opera (which consists of almost exclusively yelling) at FULL volume. I’ve never heard anything so loud, not even a passionate preacher. Our ears were ringing. So it wasn’t a super restful journey, but it was safe and far more comfortable than the way to Busua.

I am so glad we went, I had so much fun. Being at such a quiet and clean beach and being able to swim without anyone grabbing at me or yelling or anything was so refreshing and happy-making. I felt very peaceful this weekend. And I hope you did too! Thank you for reading, I really do appreciate it, as always.