Don't you just love a good sunrise? My favorite time of day is to be out in God's creation and in a place where the beauty of the first light of day paints a masterpiece. There's something special about walking in that morning light. It reminds me of what it is to "walk in the Light, " as scripture tells us. "but if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin." #1john1v7 But what does that mean, "to walk in the Light?" We live in a world where we often find it difficult to talk to others about our faith. Most of us get caught up in the rat race of life and seldom give our great commission a second thought. "What is the Great Commission, " you ask? Jesus tells us in the gospel of Matthew, "Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:" #matthew28v19 But if we believe in Jesus and we try to live our lives as Christ-like as possible, we begin to emulate Him. It is then the Light of Christ starts to radiate from you and the world around you will notice. We live in a fallen world. Around us there is spiritual darkness. But we as Christians are called to walk in the Light of Christ, and when we do, His light will shine through us. You don't have to scream from the street corners, and you don't have to get in people's faces to make a difference. If nothing else, live as Christ and let your light shine and God will bless those around you in ways you can't imagine. So, go out today and try to be the Light and try to count your many blessings, and you will find your day a little brighter. #thanksbetoGod #livingforGod #blueridgemountains #morningwalk #morning #light #lightinthedarkness #sunrise #Godscreation #godslight #greatcommission #basslakenc #walking #bethelight #shine #forgodsglory #lake #mosescone #faith #hope #love https://www.instagram.com/p/ChbzC3GuLJv/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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How to deal with humans emotions
Based on the past 26 years I've come to realize how emotional I am. I'm writing my final paper to get my degree and I've never felt so much pain and the feeling I'am about to fail.
I don't want to feel this way because I'm getting a degree in Advertising and I can't imagine myself working with anything else besides television and cinema so I can tell stories about human's life.
But I'm struggling a lot with writing the introduction, conclusion and abstract.
This is making me having bad feelings, but I will hold on God's light and pray for guidance through this process.
Also, I will not use food as a weapon to hurt my physical body, by ingesting too much sugar or drugs used in processed food or a high amount of natural food believing I'm relieving the emotional pain.
When the truth is that I'm actually causing a physical pain to run from the emotional pain, and not solving the real problem, that's writing my final paper. Even though I get the feeling some people are having pleasure with my struggle.
God's light is bigger than anything
I do want to live life and have good experiences, as receiving my degree!
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some nights you dream about dying.
(…it's easier to sleep now. less nerve-wracking, like you're going to be told off for slacking. you still have nightmares, but that can't really be helped, and they're less intense as time has pulled you away from—all that. still hurts to think about. you have a cat, anyway, and that makes it marginally more tolerable.)
it starts like it always does. you can feel godslight burning there. that slow burn frozen in place by the stars sputtering and dying out, at long last. and you with it. in the dream, you open your eyes, and there's a girl standing in front of you, blue and mechanic. white dress, red sash. she holds out her hand and you take it. she pulls you up.
"didn't think i'd find you here," she says.
"I could say the same for you," you answer.
she laughs, offers a knuckle to the cat, who shrinks back from it and skitters under the bed, spooked. she shrugs (can't win 'em all, she says) and walks you through the house. she takes a moment in the kitchen to look through the cabinets (sparse, since you don't cook) and study the handful of origami figures perched along the counter (bits of paper your boyfriend folded the last time he was here). it's a bit nerve-wracking. in the dream, you get nervous as you wait. but she leaves them alone, walks outside, takes a seat on the front porch and offers you the space beside her.
you sit.
it's dark out. orange from the streetlight glints off her blue-metal chassis. it would be cold, if either of you were human. fibonacci light pollution dims the starlight far above. your breath clouds the air faintly, made visible in the dim light. she doesn't breathe at all.
you know her. mirage, right? she walked out of the mists last year like this was her home turf. she was kind. back then—you were still stumbling over living. thinking back makes you cringe. but it's when you met him first, right? so you have to be grateful for having lived through it.
or something.
so much has changed since then. you want to tell her this. your mouth stays shut. she says, "it's time."
you'd accepted it before you even stepped into the city, and at every point you faced death not knowing if it would be the last time the stars would resurrect you. the grief still aches, bleeds, digs its claws in. you say, "I wish"
she says, "everyone does." her optic tilts a bit. "he's asleep. he'll find out in the morning. i'm sorry."
that aches.
"it was good," she tells you. "i'm glad you had the time together. damn, i didn't know i was a matchmaker! y'all started dating and didn't tell me?"
"You weren't," you start saying, voice suddenly thick. there. she'd been gone. the loneliness of losing that last glimpse of home slams into you again.
silence, then she says, "tell me a story."
"I don't have any." your shoulders hunch, just barely, when you admit to this. "I came here, and I was so afraid of being alive—I didn’t know what this was—I took so long to understand it was no punishment, or that I didn't care if it was or not. Some days I wish I had died right there, in Hell.
sometime all that time feels like a waste. a whole year, and so little changed. you curl up farther as you continue, picking at the gold curlicues on your fingers. "I am afraid of it. You'd think I wouldn't be."
"i understand," she says, patient. "most people are, despite saying otherwise."
"I wish I'd gotten it over with before I got here." you look down at your hands. "Instead I have—all this." in this city that won't let you die.
"it's always scary. i'm sorry." she takes your hand. her metal is warm, even at night, from her processors whirring. "but it can't be all bad. you have a boyyyyfriend now," she croons, teasing but without mockery. "tell me about him."
it nearly breaks your heart again to know you’re leaving him, but you speak. at some point in the story (the time you dropped him in a manta touch pool) you notice you're leaking, the gold lines on your skin coming apart, light spilling out. by the end there's not much of you left—just your hand, reaching out to grasp at anything at all, and she takes it.
she pulls you close. it burns, but she holds you anyway. it hurts. you think you're sobbing with it, but you're not sure of much of anything right now.
and then it all falls apart.
in the aftermath, she's still there. her hands collect brightness. it burns, but she holds it anyway. bringing them together, she lets the light pool into a wobbling orb. stares at it flaring against blue metal.
she makes the long trek to the center of the city, carrying light all through the night. she holds her hands out over point zero. looking at the light glimmering in her palms, she lets go.
as she watches the glow fade, she recites, quietly,
taurean reaper of the wild apple field / messenger from earthmire gleaning / transcripts of fog / in the nineteenth year and the eleventh month / speak your tattered kaddish for all suicides:
- - -
you wake up.
you're breathing hard, a hand to your racing heartbeat. at the foot of the bed, the startled cat lifts up her head, then pads over to lump herself on your chest.
"Hey," you tell her. you're still here. you move a hand up to pet her, careful, on the head. she purrs, content. you think of those last whispered words. praise to them, how they loved it, when they could. And you murmur in answer, your voice rising unbidden, "Amen."
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• @mehdifoundation_urdu New Video: Surah Ar-Rahman | Sufi Master Younus AlGohar | ALRA TV
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQHVAtUM-Tg
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