If it’s so easy for us to believe in the “universe” why is it so hard to believe in God? If we can easily personify the universe by believing that it speaks to us, guides us, and determines our fate, why do you we have such a hard time believing that there is an intimate God who created all things, a God who speaks to us, a God who desires to know us, a God who loves us, and a God who holds our very lives in the palm of His hand? How is it that we can be so quick to give glory to the creation and not to the Creator Himself? Why is it so hard for us to simply believe?
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Girlhood is acting fine even after witnessing something traumatic the first thing in the morning and then laughing and enjoying the whole day, only for you to know it's infact not okay and then starting crying but there's no one there with whom you can share what you are feeling, obsessing over your favourite ficitonal character and then wishing if only they were real and then having another breakdown cause they are not real. Only in the end for you to cry in the embrace of God asking him to soothe all the pain.
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the peak comedy of the situation is that holland's queen is argentinian
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You Are more than a holiday.
You Are more than a building.
You Are more than
a lifestyle.
You Are more than
what You've made or done.
You Are more than
what all 7,000 languages
combined can describe.
You Are more than my needs have need for
yet what I know of You is not enough,
And I want to know more.
You introduced Yourself as "I Am,"
so forever,
I will say "You Are."
Your glory breaks pens and paintbrushes,
chords and scales,
sculpture and performer,
and brings any artists to utter silence;
for Your beauty cannot be fully
captured by any art that we make.
Everything our hands create fall short,
yet we can't not make anything.
I am driven by gratitude,
by love,
and by purpose
to invite the world to see
Your Radiance.
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why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?
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for anyone too young to know this: watching The Truman Show is a vastly different experience now, compared to how it was before youtube and social media influencers became normal
before it was like, "what a horrifying thing to do to a human being! to take away their autonomy and privacy, all for the sake of profits! to create fake scenarios for them to react to, just to retain viewership! to ruin their happiness just so some corporate entity could harvest money from their very humanity! how could anyone do something so evil?"
and now it's like, "ah, yeah. this is still deeply fucked up, but it's pretty much what every influencer has been doing to their kids for a decade now. probably bad that we've normalized this experience"
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