#i pray to anyone who will listen for a renewal

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was supposed to be easy, but it's not.

He felt his hands and sensed they were shackled to this agreement. While everyone chatted and laughed at this lunch party, he couldn't share the same sentiment.

Today was the engagement party of two influential conglomerate families.

The daughter of Celestial Enterprises, which owned Luxury Goods, Smart Home Technology, Media & Entertainment, was Victoria Sinclair.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an air of sophistication, yet there was a hint of maturity beneath her seemingly spoiled demeanor.

With a shy gesture, she reached out and gently touched her fiancé's hand. Her soft touch snapped him out of his daydream.

She gazed at his face, mesmerized by his striking features. He could easily be the most handsome man she had ever encountered in her life. Despite meeting countless models and actors, none of them held a candle to him.

Bucky Barnes was the epitome of sophistication. With his jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and impeccable suit, he exuded an aura of intelligence and quiet confidence.

As the heir to the AstraNova Group, specializing in aerospace, renewable energy, and real estate, his wealth and influence were undeniable.

He felt something creeping on his hands, he glanced down to see his fiancée Victoria touching him. Despite his discomfort, he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out.

But he had to keep it together. Tonight, his psychiatrist would have to listen to his anxiety. He couldn't let anyone at this party know about his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD).

He was overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch. In this room, only his parents knew about his disorder.

Bucky smiled and gently pushed Victoria's hand away from him. He could only tolerate it for five minutes. But it seemed this woman didn't understand him.

If she were just another woman, Bucky would have instructed his assistant to escort Victoria away. But he couldn't do that.

Because this woman was necessary, in fact. Her family's money was crucial. This was a business marriage. Bucky wasn't a social man, so when his family arranged the marriage, he complied with their wishes.

He thought he could go along with it, but his disorder acted up every time he got close to Victoria. She was glued to him.

"Fuck," he thought. He wished his parents had chosen a woman who preferred shopping over clinging to him.

"Look at this couple. Hohoho… Like newlyweds," remarked Victoria's mother, Genevieve, a woman around 50 years old, exuding opulence in her elegant gown adorned with intricate lace and jewels.

"What a joyful day," nodded Bucky's mother, Juliana, a woman of similar age, dressed in a modest yet tasteful attire, her eyes fixed on her son who appeared calm. However, she couldn't help but notice Victoria's persistent touching.

She prayed that Bucky wouldn't lose his patience.

"By the way, where is the oldest daughter?" slipped one of the guests, causing a ripple of unease among the attendees.

Even Victoria lost interest in getting close to Bucky. She stopped leaning toward him and sat up straight.

Her silent expression mirrored Genevieve's, catching Bucky's attention.

This was the first Bucky had heard of another daughter.

“You have an older sister?” Bucky asked Victoria.

Victoria responded with a nervous voice, “I do... She's... how should I say this? She's complicated. She's never at home. And when she is, all we do is fight.”

Bucky nodded, understanding her explanation. An estranged sister.

But he had never come across any mention of this in his fiancée's family background.

Were they hiding their other daughter? An illegitimate child?

Bucky noticed Victoria's father, Jonathan, a distinguished man in his sixties, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, who had stopped drinking and focused his attention on the table.

Genevieve laughed elegantly and remarked, “Haha… She doesn't enjoy these kinds of events. She prefers outdoor activities.”

On the first day of their engagement, Bucky found himself embroiled in family drama.

Then, a voice from outside could be heard, “I'm sorry, miss. This room has been booked,” said the security.

“It's booked for Sinclair and Barnes, right? What a coincidence. I'm a Sinclair too,” a playful female voice retorted.

‘BANG.’

The private door burst open from a forceful kick, startling the guests.

All eyes turned toward the newcomer.

Even Bucky turned around to see who it was.

She was wearing black leather boots, black pants, and a gray turtleneck sweater. Her attire stood out starkly against the elegance of the room.

She looked at everyone, then stopped at Victoria and Bucky. Then she scoffed, causing Victoria to clench her fist and bite her lips.

Compares to Bucky. He wondered what had happened to her. She was wearing a hand cast, a band-aid under her right eye, and small new scars under her lips.

Two things he realized were that her demeanor and facial features were different from Victoria's.

Victoria nervously laughed, "We thought you wouldn't come."

💋💋💋

You smirked and grabbed a glass of wine from the server who was serving drinks.

With a bow, you said, “Congrats on the engagement. Pardon my lateness. Seems like a rat ate your invitation.”

Victoria forced a smile, determined not to take the bait, especially in front of her fiancé, Bucky, to avoid any confrontation.

You walked past the couple and headed towards your father, Jonathan.

He showed no reaction, simply sipping his wine.

Standing beside him, you didn't even glance at Genevieve, who gritted her teeth, continuing to smile at the Barnes family.

You said to your dad, “Is this what your wife asked for? I must say I'm impressed.”

Bucky was taken aback when he heard that. What did it mean?

Genevieve gripped her wine glass tightly. The stories of her as ‘the other woman’ were in the past. She had worked hard to be accepted in this socialite world, and it had made everyone forget that she was the second wife. Everyone had called her Madam Sinclair, and Victoria the only daughter.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I'm just impressed that my sister could join the Barnes household. She didn't have to steal someone's husband like her mom.”

Victoria gasped and started sobbing.

Genevieve exclaimed, “How could you make your sister cry?”

You drank the wine in one gulp and put the empty glass on the table. “I want to vomit when I call her my sister. I need that wine to clean my tongue.”

Genevieve looked at her husband and whispered, “Jonathan, stop your daughter.”

You looked at your father, who was also looking at you, both of you silent. This is the relationship between father and daughter. Both of you used to be close, but everything changed after the other woman entered the family.

He won't say anything. He never does.

Turning to the new couple, you observed Victoria drinking water and her fiancé Bucky.

You didn't know much about him. What an unlucky man, you thought.

Walking towards him, you stopped in front of Bucky.

Bucky was looking at you too.

You said, “She throws away everything that I own or touch. I wonder…”

Your fingers touched his chin, and your face came close to his. You could see his eyes clearly.

You smirked and said, “I wonder if she still wants you after I do this.”

What you did next made everyone gasp.

Victoria screamed, “Get your lips away from him,” as she pushed you away from Bucky, acting as a barrier.

You wiped your lips, achieving your goal of seeing Victoria panicked.

With a salute gesture, you said, “I've got what I wanted. Goodbye, everyone,” and left the party.

Victoria grumbled, looking at Bucky and touching his hand. “Are you okay? I'm sorry. If you're mad at my sister, I apologize.”

Bucky pushed her away from him, his action shocking her slightly, but understandable since he had just been kissed by a stranger.

Bucky remained silent, not because he was angry, but because he had a million questions.

His disorder prevented him from being touched by someone, and yet he had just been kissed.

This is also his first kiss.

And... he didn't vomit.

Bucky looked at the closing door, wondering where you had gone.

He knew he had to see you again.

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[mi-i-zori]

Lies of Apathy

CoD - Demon!AU - Demon!Ghost x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS : She should have started running a long time ago. But they’re one and the same. No matter how far she goes, she always comes back to him. And the demon knows how to find her.

WARNINGS : Heavy angst with very small comfort, allusions to self-harm, mentions of smut (with consent), blood, description of panic attacks. There are a lot of religious metaphors that come from many, many religions, but none of them is directly mentioned.

Author’s Note : This is something I originally wrote in my native language a while ago, but ended up getting lost in my files because I had no idea what to do with it. So I used it as both a translation and writing practice. Hope you like it !

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Word Count : 12k+

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Beyond the turquoise shine of the firmament, a mayhem hides.

Waiting to awaken.

It longs for destruction, wishing to make our world and its peace a crude copy of the original Pandemonium. Lost in the soft, spectral feathers of a Fallen, a crimson suffering leaks, drops and runs, engraving its cruel wails into the bones of those who dare hear them. Those who only see it as an incarnation of love.

Oh, how tragic it can be, that imitation of kindness forging those who are supposed to guide the lost souls to the other side of the river ! In the blood of an Angel dance the names of countless minor deities bathing in their corrupted altruism - something the Ghost knows too well.

Sometimes, he remembers how he’s not supposed to be, for the memories of his origins have been erased by a never-ending hatred and despair.

In front of him, the young Hunter falls to her knees, facing the ruins of her own happiness. A peculiar fear tears a whimper from her knotted throat, and the idea of praying before this dilapidated shrine, created by a merciless Divine, leaves a rotten taste on what’s left of her tastebuds. A nameless exhaustion claws at her face, tries to drag her down the abyss of her subconscious. Her heart crumbles upon a way too familiar weight, and her breath gallops erratically in her lungs, her chest threatening to cave in under the ever-growing despair tainting her tears.

Knowing said despair is akin to drowning in its breast, to familiarise yourself with its screeching song and bury your bloodied eardrums among its decaying notes. In this very moment, a monster holds her with a renewed form of frenesy, and something inside of her cannot seem to wriggle out of the thorns covering its arms.

Around her, a baritone voice echoes from the darkness.

- Beautiful sight, it says. Small, vulnerable ya, prostrated in a field o’ ruins. ‘Ow many statues of ‘ope did ya build ‘ere, only for ‘em to instantly be destroyed ?

A familiar silhouette emerges from the nothingness facing her. She doesn’t answer to its usual sarcasm - instead, she allows her heart to bleed one more drop on the cracks littering the ground.

- Wot are ya prayin’ for, this time ? The entity asks as he stops next to her, crossing his arms on his chest. Maybe I can ‘elp.

His words awaken a wave of uncontrollable shivers in her guts. An violent earthquake, cold and cackling. Its growls bounce around her vocal cords as her nails dig into her palms.

- I’m not praying, she says from in-between her clenched teeth, her eyes falling upon the remnants of something she can’t bring herself to recognize. The Gods will never lift a finger when it comes to listening to a Fallen Soul.

The Ghost kneels before her crumpled form, the skull covering his face glinting in the darkness. A long time ago, seeing him like this, lowered at her own level, would have satisfied her ; showered her in a grandeur a part of her has always wished to know, laced with a taste of Paradise. Now, it’s nothing more than sickening. His smile, given away by the obvious crinkling of his eyes, brings a storm of Chaos in her already fractured mind, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to forget this feeling. Trembling hands rise to grip the short strands of blonde hair of the Fallen, dragging him down to properly face her snarl.

- You poor, pitiful bastard. Why do you keep laughing at me as if it’s all your life has been reduced to ?

She wants her voice to be sharp and cruel ; but it only sounds lifeless, washed away by her exhaustion. The rough edges of a laugh bark inside the abyss of her skull. Her muscles suddenly tense like bowstrings, tightening her grip on his hair.

- Ya think Beasts were once made to live the grandest o’ lives ?

Her jaw snaps shut. Before she even realises it, her arms fall abruptly to her side, their strength devoured by the demon’s words.

- Or do ya think your Destiny is only made o’ ruins ?

The smile dancing in his eyes is much softer now, and it’s as if he had lost the usual malice lingering in his heart. Her own heart skips a beat at the sight, so out of place among such devastating surroundings. It’s a terrifying thing to point out, she thinks, probably the most acrid of all.

Blood covered lips twist in uncertain disgust at the thought.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

A metallic flavour melts on her tongue, crude and molten, burning her senses through the gut-wrenching wish to fearlessly face his playful, mocking truths. She can barely feel her limbs ; but she feels the bruises blooming on her skin, born from the war and chaos she keeps tearing through on the daily. In the Ghost’s eyes, the mix of such somber colours, full of meaning and ache, holds a beauty he’s never been able to name.

Her clothes get heavier under the amount of blood pooling through their fibres ; but so do his, and neither of them could tell which crimson belongs to whom. The thought carves a smile behind his mask - doesn’it it make it all so much more interesting ?

- One day, she snarls, you’ll be judged.

An endless cacophony of whistles drills through her head. She knows nothing of the issue of their fight ; but it won’t stop her from clawing at both her freedom and her peace. She fishes her weapon out of the decaying puddles rippling around her knees, and holds it at his throat.

- And I’ll bury you a thousands times under the weight lining the Jackal’s scales.

The entity looks at the blade with mocking interest. A spark of danger dances in his lifeless eyes, only growing brighter as they lock onto hers. He notices the way her features are pulled tight by a bottomless rage. Disarming her is simple, done in the blink of an eye, and he wonders if she’s really going down the path that will lead her to surrender. If she’ll do it willingly, or if she’s still going to fight - if so, how long do they have left ? He knows this question has also crossed her mind, sees it in the tremble of her hands. Even like this, now laying under him like a mouse under a wolf, he finds the young woman to be more than a mesmerizing sight.

She could easily be mistaken for some kind of divinity, he thinks, and it almost makes him laugh. The sounds, unfamiliar and rough, mimics the memory of what used to be a beating heart in the depths of his chest.

How long ago was it ? The last time he ever felt alive ?

Did he ever ?

Now, he’s supposed to be close to death - or a vessel for it, even. A being of rage and torment, made for walking in a world of destruction and pain, for leaving a path of decay in his wake. He feels it all, yet he isn’t allowed to die. A part of him probably wishes he was ; but he forgot about it since the moment it was sent to lay dormant beyond his consciousness. He doesn’t even know if he’ll ever be able to find it again. If it still exists.

His attention zeroes back in on the desperate soul laying in front of him. The armor she keeps covering herself with is has once again been reduced to shreds by their never-ending fights. There isn’t an inch of her skin that hasn’t been covered in dirt. He takes in the sight before lowering his face next to hers, his rough whisper floating in her ear.

- Oh, lil’ Snowflake.

I can’t wait.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Tonight, her favourite restaurant is filled to the brim.

The happiness of her family’s voice gets lost in the cacophony floating through the room. Everything around her is blurred with exhaustion ; but his presence is crystal clear. Behind her, sitting in the shadows of a decorative curtain, the Ghost is patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike. The more time passes, the more easily she can see him in her mind. It’s a stupid game - one they both keep playing, wondering who will break and speak first. Allow the other in.

Maybe the day will come when they finally become one - simultaneously taking a bite of the poisoned apple.

This cruel temptation may be the reason why she’s cursed, she thinks, an invisible wall slowly forming between her world and the one spreading in front of her, filled with the laughter of her loved ones. Her life is made of painful memories, witnesses of a will to live that never really was. The idea that her future could be the same, tainted with the kind of horrors nobody else can see, is terrifying - injects even more corruption in her veins, lungs and bones. A rusty sword dangles above her neck, ready to cut one half of her existence and leave the other to suffer through a ruthless agony, trapped under the weight of its metallic carcass.

She’s not yet ready to drown in her own damnation, but the somber waters never cease to rise. The black tide finds pleasure in torturing her, filling her trachea to the brim before throwing her back to the surface. It cackles madly as she drags her disjointed puppet of a body on the shore, proud of the violence it keeps subjecting her to.

When she thinks about it, the young woman often realises how far back in time this curse goes. It seems to plunge its roots in her very origins, as if vowing to forever haunt her dreams with visions of madness, horrifying and useless prophecies that could have made sense had she been born in humanity’s most ancient of times. But the old Oracles are no more. So she swallows the twisted sights piling in her soul, and fills her daily life with empty smiles. A normality that was never hers.

Her demons were born alongside her. And they will never meet their end unless she succumbs to her own fall.

She saw many strange things and fought an equal amount of nightmares ; she shouldn’t allow any of this to affect her so badly. But it’s in her nature to think and feel, way too much even, which makes her an easy prey to the eyes of Those Who Fell. One of them trails behind her, melts within her shadow. He wants to devour her life even more than any of the others will, and refuse to let her breathe. He knows which string to pinch in order to make her fall, which melody to play to stir up her rage. He forces her to run within his -her- darkness, to get lost in its endless expanse, to confuse herself until she doesn’t know which path she is following anymore ; abandon or redemption. Like an offspring of Eris, he finds pleasure in throwing the apple of discord between her and the world she desperately tries to belong to.

His very presence used to terrify her. But time decided to drop some hatred in the bottomless goblet of her fears, birthing a futile perseverance at the bottom of her guts.

A few seconds fly past her eyes before the vacant chair to her left silently creaks under the invisible weight of the entity. As always when he manifests himself in public, she barely spares him a glance. A part of her wonders if he would act the same, should the roles be reversed. She came to find a peculiar kind of comfort in his freezing presence and the familiar thoughts he brings.

In front of her, her uncle barks out a laugh at a waiter’s joke, tearing her away from her thoughts. Leaning forward to examine the enticing content of her newly-delivered plate, she feels the demon do the same against her back, reminding her of his presence through the cacophony of her thoughts. Usually, she would curse him without hesitation. But right now, this is not something she can afford to do ; not when she has to play pretend in front of her family’s peace.

An invisible hand settles on her wrist as her free hand rises a spoonful of rice to her mouth, allowing the Ghost to measure her tired heartbeat. It sometimes launches itself to a full gallop whenever she has to speak or a sudden crash emerges from the restaurant’s kitchen. Following the same rhythm as the drumming in her ears. The bloodied melody always takes its time to fall back to a steadier beat, and the thoughts that follows hold a suffering the Ghost likes to decipher.

A secret message. A call for help, written in the trickiest of codes.

What a beautiful song, he thinks, burning with chaos ; and the young woman barely restrains the twist of her features when his mockery echoes in her already overflowing mind, threatening to worsen the migraine lingering around her skull.

How good is it to fight anyway ? She sometimes murmurs to herself, shutting off the cackles echoing in the back of her mind. Is the darkness really that bad ?

Maybe her feelings are getting the best of her. Maybe the idea of surrendering to the enemy’s claws comes from the loneliness nesting behind her heart, the one pushing her to more or less willingly seek the Ghost’s company. Maybe she’s simply imagining the spark of sympathy that sometimes dances in his gaze. A part of her insists that there can’t be any light without darkness, and vice versa ; but maybe she’s just reading in-between lines that don’t even exist.

Maybe all these thoughts are the result of another manipulative ambush orchestrated by her demons.

To hell with all those beings made of impurity and fake divinity ! She exclaims silently while laughing at a story she didn’t really hear. Those monsters corrupting the innocents’ dreams, immolating them with waves upon waves of sinful flames, leaving a salty, rotten taste on the remnants of their tongues ! They find happiness in Their victims’ despair, cooing at the ruins of their broken hopes, recalling the misadventures of Icarus and the other mortals They disgraced with Their attention. Be careful to not burn yourself, they cackle and rasp. The phoenix went extinct eons ago ; it’s now impossible to come back from your ashes.

Lie, little dream, lie, the Divine laughs ceaselessly as she surrenders herself to a hopeless optimism. Why not hide yourself behind an illusion ?

Lie, little dream, lie. Why not become a nightmare ?

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Sometimes, she wonders if her throat isn’t laced with a red string - the kind that, one day, will inevitably be the end of her.

She often turns around to catch a glimpse of it, in an elusive reflection in the mirror, or in the corner of her vision. She read dozens of stories worshiping it as the proof that true love is far from being a myth, saying that seeing it means one’s soulmate is nearby. But only in dreams can such things really exist.

And, sometimes, even dreams can lie.

For the spectre of her destiny created the thread with a mix of love and hate, of strength and cowardice ; a foreign intimacy made to drown them as one. The kind of thing that, should she ever share it with the world, would only be the source of laughter and disdain. She would probably be punished for her lack of gratitude for the life she was given.

Each breath is constantly filled with a bloodcurdling fear of simply existing. Her body never ceases to quake, trapping air in the expanse of her lungs and struggling to let it out. A thousand bear-traps snap at her flesh as she tries to keep pursuing her future, this vision she never really manages to see clearly. She sometimes think about tightening the string around her throat, deepen its colour with the moisture of her own blood ; yet it seems content with just grazing her skin in a satire of love, constantly feeding the frustration nestled in her breast. She never knows if it will ever be merciful enough to slash her neck open.

The Ghost holding the other side of the crimson line is dangerous, murmurs a voice resembling her own. One wrong move would be enough for him to send her over the edge. A clumsy step to the side. A benevolent mistake.

She often notices the small knot clashing with the dull porcelain of his skin. He likes teasing her by wrapping the string around his palm, adding enough pressure to have it leave a rugged caress on her neck ; to remind her of its presence. She loathes the cruel smile that carves his face open when he catches her off-guard, causing her to lift her hand towards her own knot.

She despises them all : him, the world, her Destiny. And she hates her own inability to get rid of the miasma plaguing her mind ; the way her empathy whimpers whenever her eyes follow the never-ending scars mapping the body of the Ghost ; the whispers that make her realise how similar they are to one another.

They are nothing more than two sinners looking for a reason to live.

Looking for redemption.

- Ya know we’ll always be bound to each other, Snowflake, the entity says, cackling in her ear. Why do ya always try to ruin whot canno’ be destroyed ?

Her blood boils as she presses her frozen palms against his throat with a snarl, as if trying to force him into silence by imitating the thread caging her own pulse. She knows how futile it looks, knows the fruits born from this endeavour will hold the bitterness of her failure. Yet she refuses to crumble under the mocking weight of his words, for it would be surrendering to the way this rotten world keeps trying to send her into exile.

The gravel of his voice resonates against her palms.

- No’ tired of fightin’ a ghost ?

Her teeth sharpen into her mouth as he coils an arm around her waist, locking her body against his. She can’t stop a shiver from rolling down her spine ; and, unable to decide if she can really allow herself to savour the frozen warmth of his skin, her fingers tighten around his breath. His Adam’s apple makes a mould of its own shape in the crevices of her hands.

Yet he doesn’t even flinch.

- ‘Ow many times did you try to run away from me, darlin’ ? To make me fall, only to fail ?

- Shut up.

- Wouldn’t take much for us to bend this world to our will. Think abou’ it : we could face ‘em, ‘and in ‘and, laugh at ‘em until our voices break. Take the clay they used to create their dreams with and burn everythin’ with ours.

- Shut. The fuck. Up !

Yet no amount of resistance seems to tarnish his fantasies of despair. She barely has the time to blink before he slips behind her back, his breath burning incandescent holes against her ear. His hollow heart beats silently against her spine - and her arms fall limp against her sides, getting tangled with the crimson rope circling around them.

- We could make our own miracles, he whispers, never letting go of his decaying thoughts.

A broken cackle tears through her clenched teeth.

- So now you want to play like a God ?

One of his hands, torn open by countless cursed knots, comes to circle the neck of his prey. His smile drips into the passion lining his voice, and she can almost feel him against her cheek as his massive frame leans over her shoulders. Their spines could fuse with each other without her even realising it, she thinks, feeling her back crack under her demon’s weight. She wonder if they are now worthy of the crumbling statues haunting the temple of her mind.

- Why no’ ? He says, and her legs suddenly go numb.

The Ghost breaks her fall without any effort, taking advantage of her now lethargic state to hold her tight against his heart. He presses a kiss against her cheek, slowly savouring the taste of a frustrated tear.

- Why couldn’t we be our own Divine ?

Crimson now runs towards the very center of her soul, and she can’t do anything but dive into the motlen marble of the Ghost’s eyes.

Another fight is coming to an end.

Her human heart pumps with an overjoyed frenesy as its end nears once more, but the Hunter is far from glad as she realises said end is nothing more than an illusion coated in sulfur. The entity can see the suffering dancing in her eyes, now reddened by the tears she refuses to set free. The Fates could slice their mutual despair open with a laugh whenever they want ; but they have yet to do so, and he wonders if they enjoy watching the both of them struggle to stay afloat.

- Slowly now, he whispers, slightly loosening his grip to erase the dull ache throbbing in-between her ribs. Wouldn’t be wise to exhaust yourself withou’ me.

A part of him would probably qualify this role of his of Apathy, or Disinterest ; bury himself in a litany of lies to play the perfect villain, always finding a new excuse to justify the satisfaction he gets out of it all. Try to convince himself of how none of this, her, Them, deserve even a shred of his attention. But he knows that, somewhere in what’s left of his angelic heart, slumbers the reality of a longing, a thirst for love and touch he refuses to see. And she knows it too.

He silences the feeling again, covering it with words dripping with his own broken kind of sarcasm.

- This world doesn’t make any sense if you’re not ‘ere.

A sickening growl shakes her guts as she takes in what she refuses to hear. It dies before reaching her lips.

- What a liar, she grumbles, her voice and mind fading more and more with each syllable. You’re just a fucking liar.

The smile he offers her is nothing short of carnivorous, and through it, she could almost make out the virtuous remnants of what used to be his soul. He presses a searing kiss over the bloodied foundation covering her shoulder, incredibly soft despite the sharp, mesmerizing coldness haunting his each and every word.

- C’mon, lil’ Hunter. Give up.

And this time again, the taste of victory flows bitterly against his tongue.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

When she opens her eyes, her room is nothing but silence, and the chaos of her bed seems covered in a thin layer of ice.

Her entire body is being crushed by an invisible weight as countless shivering waves run along her skin. A choir of ghosts dance in the corner of her vision, their laughter echoing through the walls of her skull. A frozen, corrupted substance flows through her still slumbering veins.

Why is it so cold ?

Her breath quickens as she fights to keep a semblance of control over the ruins of her mind. A sea of urchins is tearing her trachea apart, and she would love to feel her hands smash their spikes through her throat - yet nothing seems to even think of taking pity on her. A river slowly starts running down her frozen cheeks, its flow carrying her thoughts away like a hurricane would a twig, as if trying to drown her in her own mind.

An earthquake suddenly takes over the marble of her hands, and she doesn’t know if it is caused by the ambiant cold or the thunder wreaking havoc inside her ribcage. The magma that was once slumbering in her chest is now trying to escape through her every pore ; and it burns, scorches her insides over and over again as the volcano bursts along with her tears, threatening to carve a new rift on the surface of her heart.

Crushed by her ribs, her lungs refuse to work properly. A pungent breath bites through her bones, as if trying to corrupt even the marrow hiding behind their calcified walls. Her own existence is hoping to tear the guts out of her humanity’s rotting corpse. The decline of a heart filled with despair is tragic enough to become the muse of countless poets and their sonnets ; yet there’s no glory in the mourning of what we once used to be, she thinks, especially when Life itself drinks our tears with a crooked smile painted on its mask of comedy.

Next to her, the mattress sinks. Her eyes, burned by the salt of her tears, can barely make out the dark silhouette leaning over her ; but she doesn’t need them to feel and know who it is. The Ghost lays a burning hand on her cheek, and something inside of her desperately tries to anchor itself to this touch she subconsciously learned to look for amidst the storm.

A somber look covers the entity’s features as his fingers meet the ice of her hands. She’s a warrior ; one he’s used to fight almost every single day. Seeing her in this state is almost disturbing, for he quickly realises there is nothing left of her usual hostility. The Flood swallowed it all.

For once, he’s not the source of her distress, and this train of thought leaves a strange feeling in its wake. Is it rage ? Jealousy ? A mix of both ? It doesn’t matter. The Divine is not allowed to toy with a prey that isn’t Its own.

She barely has the strength to utter a single sound as he takes hold of the fragility of her fingers to bring them to his own neck. The mocking spectres dancing around them suddenly cease all movement. They even seem to disappear the second she starts feeling the echo of a pulse under the scars littering his skin, the confusing proof of the decomposing existence of a life filled with darkness. Its rhythm is slow, silent, ghostly. It gently lulls her mind, offering a blessed shelter against the violent winds.

Her own demon tries to hold her head out of the water ; a situation that would have made her laugh had her throat not be so parched.

- What did it taste like, she finally croaks out as her hand ghosts over his skin, the despair that made you fall ?

Was it similar to the fear haunting the surface of my lips ? Will you end up smearing it on my tongue to break what might be left of my humanity ? Will you be seated on the Emperor’s throne on the highest part of the infernal Coliseum in the middle of which I will inevitably be forsaken ?

Or will I be the one to guide you towards the light ? Will I be able to let you taste the ambrosia of peace I keep looking for ? And if it indeed ends up touching your lips, will I even realise it ?

- Like my own blood, the Ghost says, and she notices the peculiar softness that has replaced the usual sarcasm tainting his voice. Wan’ to try it ?

The kiss he offers her is like a cruel salvation ; a source of comfort immediately shattered by waves of chaos blooming into her soul. It leaves a sour taste on her tongue, akin to a tragedy leaving a trail of weeping arteries and broken bones in its wake. Like the smoking remnants of a battlefield, she thinks, witnessing the horrors she went through ; the nightmares haunting her sleep. A series of erratic visions displayed on the dark screen of her eyelids.

It tastes like the beginning of the end, murmurs a voice lost in the torn expanse of her mind, and she finds herself submerged by the need for more.

The warmth of his skin slowly melts the ice imprisoning her. Yet the tension running between them still has the red thread tightening around their throats, and a part of her refuses to see how good it could be to let him drag her down into his own flames. Let them be hers.

She only now sees the strange pattern they created, made from both violence and peace, love and hatred, as well as a guilty freedom tightening around her guts.

The Ghost probably noticed it too. Even when they exchange words filled with mockery and blood, he always ends up savouring the harsh touch of her hands pulling his teeth back towards her neck. And slowly, surely, he unwinds the knots holding her spirit together, only to tie them up all over again as she wakes up from a familiar anesthesia. A predatory smile carves itself against her neck, sharp teeth threatening to break both her body and soul - progressively widening the rift in the facade she desperately tries to keep in place.

- Relax, luv, he whispers, his abyssal timbre sending shivers down her spine.

His hands clutch every single one of her curves with a desperation she has yet to understand. His fingers seem to reach for her very soul, claws moulding her body to his will. Their hearts dance with each other as he holds her to his chest, exploring the expanse of her back as if he was discovering it for the first time. His breath leaves a scorching ache on her shoulder, and she wonders how his touch keeps getting even more delicious each time.

She lets out a cry as his fingers find her core. Her teeth coax a vicious growl from his throat as they sink into his flesh, and the Ghost drinks up every trembling breath dripping past her lips. A rumble echoes deep within his chest as she loses herself against him, her nails leaving crimson rivers down his neck.

The cold haunting her is now long forgotten. The ice shatters under the Ghost’s fangs, and, for a second, he draws his eyes towards the darkness of the room. They mercilessly pierce the remnants of the now silent spectres that tried to steal his perfect prey. Their silhouettes finally vanish completely ; at the same time, a shuddering whimper shakes the body resting in the iron of his grasp.

- Let’s show ‘em who ya belong to.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

She feels more than she sees the way her palms turn white under the assault of her own nails. Her heart never slows its erratic rhythm, forcing the mud coating the surface of her lungs to pulse along its beat. A few centimeters away from hers, the Ghost’s chest rumbles with a laugh.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands, he thinks ; she’d just need to strengthen her will. She could take over this infernal game and make it eternal, let the Divine Creations burn and burn, turn into a lake of sterile ashes. Ring the final bell and have its sepulcral cries echo in the bones of the Gods. Create her own version of a happy ending.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands ; for her determination is a synonym of destruction. And They know it. They are the ones who sent him to her, trying to make her fall. Did They even think he’d try to make her his instead ? To turn her against Their pathetic idea of glory ?

But he has yet to win. An infuriating reality. You should already be dead, he wants to scream, why do you refuse to yield ?

She only looks up at him through the darkness lining her eyes, ignoring the nauseating feeling of her life bleeding along her skin - leaving a series of darkening trails along the porcelain of her bones.

- What about you ? She says, and it’s like she’s reading his thoughts. It’s not like you’re doing much.

And it’s true. He torments her, brings her down over and over through countless excruciating fights. Strikes her weakest spots, both in her body and soul. Yet he knows it’s far from being enough. He wants to see how long she’ll last, what will end up being his coup de grâce ; but maybe a part of him wants her to live, achieve what his distant, decaying memory tells him he was never able to even touch.

His fangs scrape painfully against each other. Under the mask, his jaw is covered with the blood of the lives he took. Hers soaks through his clothes, skin, muscles and bones - but it has yet to taint his teeth, coat the walls of his stomach. He is the reason why his ideas haven’t been brought to light. He knows it well, perhaps he has even acknowledged it.

- You could reign over this world and you know it, she adds weakly, her voice breaking over the words she doesn’t even really need to articulate.

She doesn’t know if she’s glad to still be alive despite the fact that her body should already be lost six feet under, or if she wishes it would be the case.

- You have the power to bring your every desire to life. Make it a perfect reality.

Her muscles weaken with every second that runs through their fibres. Her lungs, filled with a dark, freezing darkness, beg to breathe in even the slightest amount of oxygen as her chest crumbles with exhaustion. Despite all of this, the Hunter refuses to sway, ignoring the waves of pain crashing against her bones. She tries to stand proud in front of the Ghost, feeling him watch intently as she fights against herself. But her legs crack and stumble ; and his reflexes are a perfect proof of his inhumanity when he launches himself forward to catch her, preventing her from shattering her already broken self on the rubble at their feet. He holds her tight against him, letting out a deep, mocking laugh - yet refusing to let her go.

They both know why.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

A flash of silver.

A familiar sting.

A salty tear.

Another wave of crimson crashes against the porcelain of her skin, violently, beautifully. The puddle swirling around her knees reflects the pathetic face of a broken doll. Her limbs are numb, unable to feel the rain hitting them as if it was trying to avoid her, only aiming for the floor. For a second, she wonders if a Divinity is crying for her Destiny, but the thought quickly falls quiet, silenced by a muted laugh. The Gods never pity their mortals.

Her soul falls into pieces once more on the marbled concrete at her feet, and the faraway echo guides her eyes up towards the sky. The adrenaline born from the usual fighting is slowly starting to fade. On the edges of her blurry vision, the Ghost draws his familiar silhouette out of the fog. The misshaped sarcasm she throws his way doesn’t make him flinch the slightest, making her wonder if this nightmarish entity didn’t place much more faith in her than she ever will.

What a stupid thought, they both whisper, the only thing breaking them apart being the usual snarky smile she forgot to wear to hide her ever-dampening cheeks.

- Ya know you’ll have trouble hidin’ those blood stains, right ? The demon says, kneeling to her side.

A soft sound escapes her lips, scorching hot compared to the rain.

- It’d be useless anyway.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

She wakes up with a start and a silent scream as sweat runs coldly down her chest. There’s a dry, violent pounding in her skull, enhanced by a laughing tide of cramps tearing her bones apart, its echo bouncing around her sleeping muscles. Despite the confusion lingering in her brain after what is probably her third nightmare of the night, she registers a warmth laying next to her, one she’s surprised to see at this hour. A part of her expected him to come and go as he pleases like he always does - never taking the time to stop, even for a moment. But in the end, him being here isn’t that surprising. Just like her, he’s never been able to leave her side for too long.

Maybe they’ve become each other’s haven among the mayhem of this world.

She shivers violently has she buries her face under the covers once more, ignoring the sweat lingering on her skin. Her hands whiten with the strength she uses to scratch at her scalp, hoping to lose her thoughts among the apocalyptic landscape of her bed. Find an anchor outside of the dreamworld.

- It’s impossible to fully heal, isn’t it ? She whispers more to herself than anything, even though she knows how light of a sleeper the Ghost is. No one can really forget.

Almost immediately, she feels him move against her shoulder, silently turning around to meet her form ; small and trembling under a nameless terror. Pathetic, he would usually laugh, but his own scars burn so viciously that he can only clench his teeth as he faces her pain. Is that empathy twisting his guts ?

What he would do to forget that thought.

- If ya want to forget tha’ badly, I might ‘ave a solution or two.

The Silence is loud as she nods slowly, tiredly. Seeking refuge in the sulfur of his touch.

- Please, she says, quaking as his hand smears layers upon layers of charcoal upon her hips, don’t you wish for the same ?

His lips fall upon the curve of her neck, barely restraining the fangs hiding behind them from piercing the already bruised skin ; reveal the raw pulse hiding underneath.

- Yes, he answers, barely daring to break the erratic rhythm of his breath - and, once more, feeling her melt through the peculiar love of his hold.

When traitorous Morpheus finally takes control over her mind, the sun has already broken through the night, painting the firmament in blinding hues of blue, devoid of any cloud. It claws mercilessly at the Ghost’s eyes, tears a low growl from his chest. On the other side of the window, the world rises to a mix of car engines, footsteps and voices, involuntarily celebrating the light that is constantly trying to burn him to ashes.

The sky has no reason to be blue, he thinks as his forehead meets the window pane, just like his Snowflake has no reason to sigh so serenely in his presence. The atmosphere is soft, warm ; dragging a wave of shivers down his back. A frustrated growl escapes his throat, the night of his eyes sparkling at the taste of a familiar rage. That celestial blue is silently looking down on him, mocking his darkness.

He loathes it.

He loathes her.

A second is enough for his knee to dig into the covers once more, giving him enough support to guide his fingers towards her face. They slowly dance along her skin as the weight of his very existence makes the mattress whimper, before roughly circling her neck. Her blood pumps peacefully under his touch, and his own voice screams in the back of his mind, distorted and rough.

Do it. Take her. Rid us of this nuisance.

His tongue soothes the cracks covering his lips, and a twisted smile eventually slices them open once more as the words settle in his thoughts.

But in her sleep, the Hunter moves - and his excitement dies as quickly as it came to live. She breathes in deeply, her head lolling against the pillows. Instead of braving for a fight like she usually does, she lets her subconscious raise a hand to his wrist, as if she was trying to offer him her silent support.

But that’s not what he wants. That’s not what he is.

What happened to this poor human that fought mercilessly against him, fueled by an endless determination ; the one who bared her broken teeth in his face through a bloody sneer, ready to turn his words against him and burn his entire being to ashes ?

He loathes the way his own mind whispers those words in his ears, exchanging it’s usual coldness for a dry melody made of anger and fear that makes his hold tremble around his Snowflake’s throat. The peculiar understanding they both came to. The doubts this small, vulnerable thing keeps planting in his soul. The fact that he can’t make any sense of the abyss bubbling in his head anymore

So he staightens up, ignoring the way his spine crackles as he makes his way out of this way too-familiar room. He almost expects a knife to dig through his back, to whistle in retaliation for engaging in an unfair fight. Give him a taste of his own medicine, in a way. A painful warning. So he waits.

But nothing comes.

A glance over his shoulder shows that the Hunter hasn’t moved a single inch. She still lays there, swallowed by a capharnaüm of blankets, her sleep-laden breath so slow it barely disturbs the quiet of the room. Her favourite plushie is curled on top of her head, like a guardian trying to keep its treasure from the merciless claws of a nightmare. A fitting description, he thinks, realising it’s probably been months since she slept so soundly.

His teeth strain under the sudden pressure of his jaws. This is the exact kind of peace he is starting to see in the eyes of his prey - as if she was in the process of surrendering, giving up her life to his now familiar hands. He doesn’t understand how she can bring herself to look at something like him and feel so serene. It makes him want to keep her for himself even more, taint the corrupted purity of her soul. He knows she can feel it ; so why does she treat him with so much tenderness ? Even more so after the hell he’s been dragging her through while laughing at her tears ?

A sour smile loses itself to the her sleepy silence as he turns back to sit on the edge of the bed. Perhaps the only reason why he wants her to be his is to understand her better. And once he does, he might finally be able to grasp how similar the chaos brewing in their hearts is. Forging their souls from the same steel.

Or perhaps the roles will change, and he will become nothing than a frail and vulnerable lamb. An easy prey caught in the destructive jaws of the Hunter.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Think.

Above her, a string of neons blink.

The young woman has no idea of what pushed her to once again get lost in the smelly bathroom of this nightclub - the one her friends keep dragging her to. Her eardrums haven’t stopped ringing violently ever since she stepped foot through its doors - perhaps because of the music that’s way too loud for her senses, the multicolored lights tearing at her retinas, or the uncontrollable amount of blurry faces swinging way too close for her comfort.

She doesn’t belong here.

Despite the nauseating swaying of her vision, she notices a more-than-familiar silhouette lingering in a corner of the room. He seems way too big for fit comfortably in the small space, engulfing it completely with his darkness. A stark contrast to the colorful graffiti littering the walls.

- ‘Ow many times do ya plan on makin’ tha’ back an’ forth between the dancefloor and this shithole ?

If the mockery in his tone only serves to irritate her more than she already is, the young woman doesn’t have the strength to meet the Ghost’s eyes. Instead, she stares at her own reflection among the suspicious dirt covering the mirror dangling on the wall, akin to a failed portrait made by a drunk painter. She thinks about taking a picture and submit it to the first museum of contemporary arts she stumbles upon, to top it off with a ridiculous title. Who knows - with a little bit of luck, she could maybe earn a little bit of money. Make it easier to reach the end of the month.

As that thought runs sarcastically through her mind, she ignores the dry chuckle rasping from the corner behind her.

Somewhere beyond the door, the DJ makes a poor transition to another music she barely recognizes. All that’s left in the tired void of her mind is the struggle of her own existence and the calm breathing of the entity, wafting against her neck despite the small distance between them. Her eyes meet once again the cracked lights in the mirror, and she can almost see it pulsating against the wall along the beat coming from the next room. The music keeps screaming in the rancid air, and her blood almost crystallizes in her veins when it’s joined by a chorus of screeches and whistles.

- I need to get away from here, she says, knowing the Ghost heard her despite the ambiant chaos.

She can feel him shift behind her as she reaches towards the dilapidated door with a trembling hand, desperately trying to shut off the pain lingering in her marrow.

- Let’s fuck off then, he answers almost immediately, and she wonders if he, too, hopes to get rid of a loud ringing in his ears.

She barely has the time to step out of the bathroom that she’s assaulted by the sounds, the smells, the touches. The singing voices and bodies burnt by an impossible amount of toxic liquids and smokes, a violent choir telling her to get away, away, away - GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE ; and she has no idea of which is stronger between the screams of the nightclub or the cries of her heart. Almost instinctively, she reaches behind her, seeking a destructive yet familiar contact in the hand of the entity following her. But her pride is a powerful force, and her arm stays stuck to her side.

Yet the Ghost knows her well. He feels what she does as if he was the one living inside her head ; and he kind of is, in a way. Perhaps he is the one feeling all of this, and not her ? He quickly silences the thought, enveloping her hand with the charcoal covering his own, squeezing so tight it’s almost painful.

It soothes an ache in his own non-existent heart. He wonder if she knows, feels, everything about him too.

Another nightmare comes running down his back ; a memory, the laughing spectre of what used to be a majestic pair of wings, which he used to fight in the Divine’s name until It abandoned him to his own abyss, tore his feathers apart to burn them to ashes in the flames of Its arrogance.

He almost feels the need to throw his eyes into another mirror shining below the erratic lights, as if the crevices running along its surface could give him what he lost ; a new kind of feathers, way too sharp for the immaculate hands of the Gods. But the Hunter keeps walking, dragging him along.

And the Ghost follows. For she’s his only shelter in this bubble of suffering they both unvoluntarily insist on sharing.

Run. Dodge. Fight. Think.

How do you mourn a devastating loss when you’ve never had anything to lose ?

Tell an Angel a tale of love, and they will carry it in their dreams. Listen to the beating of their heart, akin to a bird’s song celebrating the rising sun. Watch the molten gold reflecting off the ink of their blood drop from the wounds their longing for such a feeling caused. Realise how beautiful the depths of their darkness is, abyssal and mesmerizing ; how empty it all is, devoid of any sense.

The Ghost isn’t too different, he who lives thanks to those who unknowingly need him, who convinced himself that he was made to serve their torment. His very existence is proof that, if he can’t find a soul to pull him forward, he is nothing ; which is why he looks for his redemption through countless paths made from wounds that aren’t his. He dips his feet in puddles tainted by the blood of mortals, the crimson life -and death- of those whose hatred and suffering only serve to fuel his own.

A long time ago, he forgot what it’s like to love.

Maybe he remembers the meaning of caring for someone. But does that mean his feelings were once given back to him ? The thought is both ridiculous and horrifying ; a description that fits him well, too. It has become impossible for him to get rid of the impression that, if he one day decides to let go of the his Snowflake, these shreds of memories would also slip through his fingers.

So he holds on, so strongly that his knuckles whiten and crack under the corrupted ink of his skin. He doesn’t know whether or not he could speak of love - if he should. Behind the deformed skull covering his face, the entity hides a terrified snarl.

Sometimes, alone in his own darkness, all of this makes him laugh. How lucky he is to have something to fear, something to drive him forward ! And how undeserving he is of it, Fallen that he is, he who fell so long ago in a bottomless well of which he will never get out !

During his most vulnerable moments, laying down next to the Hunter among the chaos of her bed, he lets his doubts break through his voice.

- You’re mine, aren’t ya ? He asks, and she murmurs something he can’t catch before clearing her throat.

- Yeah, she answers sleepily, I’m yours.

Her hands get lost in the gaping scars littering his back, and he allows himself to be lulled by such a light touch, devoid of the usually anxious trembling interrupting her days. Among his sighs, now peaceful thanks to this intimacy they barely think to share, his muscles tense periodically. She feels more than she sees the earthquake hidden behind the baritone notes of his voice ; and she knows his fears too well, these nightmares that keep trying to shatter the pieces of her heart. She can almost see his eyes look for an answer she might not really dare to give him, for she almost knows him better than she knows herself ; and vice versa. Or maybe not, whispers and echo that sounds eerily close to a mix of their voices, but she refuses to torment the already too twisted soul of the Ghost.

What made you like this ? She sometimes yearns to ask. Who made you into those ruins of a man, constantly trying to drown you in a bottomless abyss ?

But she knows she will never be brave enough to loudly articulate those questions, even if he might already know about them. So she settles for snuggling against his peculiar warmth, covering the tangle of their bodies with a toasty piece of her covers, not really knowing which one of them she is trying to bring comfort to. A yawn escapes her lips as she holds him against her chest like a damaged, oversized plushie - not unlike the one sleeping peacefully next to her head.

- And you’re mine.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

The era she lives in is made of corruption and greed, she thinks, its horrors rivalling with the ones found in the deepest pits of Hell itself. Or perhaps it’s a form of Paradise ? Maybe she’s nothing more than a demon hidden in a masquerade filled with pure, ancestral beings, her flaking skin gripping the velvet of her costume, threatening to tear it apart like the Gods did her soul. Maybe she’s one of the few who see the Truth hidden behind this never-ending show, this cacophony in the middle of which she’s forced to survive despite the fact she’s not meant to be there in the first place.

In a world covered in scorching waves and deadly shores, where is she supposed to find herself a halo ?

Sometimes, she wonders if the Angels of today pray when the sun rises, kneeling in front of the loud cries of their coffee machine. If the remnants of what were once sacred melodies dance in the ashes if their memory, disappearing behind the echo of the last drop falling into a cup they will never empty completely.

She wonders if their now blunt teeth break cigarette after cigarette, their ends piling up on the cold and dirty tiles of public restrooms, the walls around them covered in holy quotes they have long since forgotten. If their tongues happen to trip on the syllabes of a language they can no longer understand.

She wonders if their mouths are still filled with ambrosia, tainting every other food with a flavour they now know as forbidden. If they still remember lazing around in the middle of starry clouds, once upon a time when their glasses were never empty and their laughter ran along the skyline.

And she wonders if they would still be able to recognise their brothers and sisters behind the corrupted aura surrounding them, the foam born form the Lethe that lingers in their eyes. If they meet each other under the noses of the mortals species they now belong to, their sanded claws tearing the silky skin covering their bones, as if trying to find an illusion of peace in the ocean of confusion they are doomed to roam.

Are there even such beings, nowadays ? She murmurs. Remnants of sacred ruins destined to sway forever between their forgotten paradise and the hellish grounds they always feared ?

- You’re overthinkin’ again, a voice echoes at her side, and she can almost see two dots of dried blood light up at the edge of her field of vision.

She doesn’t even think about turning her head towards the sound, her own eyes focusing on the darkness of her ceiling.

- Would you be able to answer any of my questions ?

Her mattress suddenly caves in under a weight she now knows too well. The Ghost leans over her, a foreign expression carving his face behind the skull of his mask.

His silence is as somber as it is eloquent.

- Your fall, she insists, did it hurt ?

- ‘Course it did.

Of course it did, echoes a smiliar voice floating in the darkness. I felt my wings decompose as I tried to slow my fall down, the stars burning my fingertips over and over. My hands have been torn open by the lightning crawling around the atmosphere, and the clouds cried waves upon waves of salty tears upon my wounds. My scapulars tore the muscles of my shoulders apart, and my feathers burned among a sea of flames I once came to admire.

This nightmarish moment still haunts my entire being. I can still hear my own screams bounce around my skull, refusing to quiet down despite the passing of time and the crevices that line its walls.

Of course it hurt.

- Of course, she repeats once more with a pale voice, as if the memories twirling in her mind had always been hers.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

Angels are sacred beings, spells a voice lost in the young woman’s mind, whose wings have been carved in a block of purity, and whose feathers sway along the rhythm of a virtuous wind. It’s easy for them to lose it all. Remember this, for the next time you catch the eyes of a Fallen.

Inside the Ghost’s ribcage, a somber void sits where a heart once was. The cracks of the Genesis hide a bottomless abyss, cruel and bathed in despair. She never knows how to resist to its alluring call, the loving whispers twisting her soul and turning it into a palette of rotten watercolours.

She’s been standing in her bathroom for a long time now, watching her reflection in her foggy mirror. Her hair clings to her face, still wet from the heat of a way-too-long shower, yet she does nothing to move it. Truth be told, the reflective glass only shows her a vague, colorful shape ; but she knows herself well, so much that it has become impossible to ignore the marks lingering on her body. She’s the reason behind many of them, guided by the honeyed words of her nightmares, always so cold against the invisible flames licking at her skin.

She should run. She knows that too well. She should have started running eons ago, even, but something inside of her refuses to get rid of her chains. She could escape to the other side of the world - yet nothing could stop her from coming back to the entity that, despite their constant fighting, somehow keeps her head out of the water.

Migh’ be our Destiny, is what he always says, persuading her to stay by his side. And it could be true, for the Fates are vicious and cruel, always looking for a way to laugh at their pathetic efforts to stay afloat.

He used to be an Angel. Everyone is to meet at least one during their life, and another one after their death ; no matter its nature. The Divine no longer cares about the purity of the entities It sends to the mortal world, and might even find some pleasure in seeing the consequences of Its own failures, convincing Itself that none of them is Its fault. The Gods will always see Themselves as better than anything else, and the Ghost hopes she never forgets it.

- And there she is, he says as he steps closer to her exhausted form. Back again.

The echo of his footsteps sends shivers down her spine. A bitter taste haunts the dried walls of her throat, soon taken over by a nauseating sweetness - the kind that makes her want to hold even more of it between her teeth.

Run, the voice whispers once more. You poor little thing, it might not be too late to escape him. But she knows this regret will soon go silent, making it even more easier to stay. So she stays, unmoving as he gets closer and closer, until there’s barely an inch left between their chests.

- Tha’ was quick. Missed me tha’ much ?

His smile is impossible to describe. Her reflection is clear in the bloody lake of his eyes ; showing her the peculiar fascination that paints her features, sometimes broken by rays of doubt and desire. Their lips barely graze each other as he leans in, yet the touch is so vivid compared to everything else that the Hunter wonders if it wasn’t just her imagination.

- Your ego knows no bound, she mumbles, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

The Ghost smiles, knowing too well how captivating his inhumainty is. She constantly tries to get rid of this malicious attraction that chains the both of them, dipping her finger in the spectral thoughts whispering how much better she is than all of this, than this Fallen who knows nothing about the depths of love. It’s all an illusion, a dream created by an infernal fever. A trap. She’s aware if this - so why does it all seem so real, sometimes ? Could it be that all these silent, vulnerable moments are nothing more than the sparks of futile hope she thought was real ?

She should run. But she wants to know if there isn’t even the smallest of truthful lights hidden behind this never-ending nightmare.

- You always say that Destiny’s the reason why we’re constantly brought together, she murmurs weakly, dropping her head against the Ghost’s torso as he holds her there, hands coated in a silent tenderness. But how could that be, since I always do my best to avoid you ? How do you keep finding me ?

For a moment, the entity feels his eyes widen with surprise. He quickly hides it behind a sly smile, cruel and warm. This time, he dives even deeper to really meet her lips, and she can taste the rust that seems to haunt his every touch.

She should run. But she doesn’t. She never will.

- I jus’ follow those who are waitin’ for me, Snowflake.

She sometimes wonder if she’ll ever be able to forgive their mutual sins ; and the voice in her head cackles. You’re bound to a being that lives for this, it says, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten ? The laughter refuses to stop as she realises again and again that she’s far from being Holy - something that the Ghost knows too.

- You always save me from my demons because you want to kill me yourself, don’t you ? She asks, her words bouncing strangely around her dried throat. You’re the only Death you’ll allow me to have.

He sucks in a breath, the darkness of his features twisting under his mask. Those questions -or statements ?- rouse an unknown feeling from the void ; new, complex, indecipherable. She can almost feel his usual arrogance quiver in her own heart, abruptly hidden by the melancholic sigh crossing his lips.

After a moment of silence, the entity places a kiss on her shoulder, light as a buttefly. Something loud echoes from his thoughts, a conflict lost eons ago to the abyss, while his own silence offers no denial or confirmation. So she keeps herself quiet, holding her certainty in a corner of her blurry mind.

And in her dreams, when Morpheus laughs as he asks her if she’s found herself to be seduced by his newfound vulnerability, the exhausted Hunter simply offers him a bitter smile, drinking her own tears from a golden cup.

She no longer has an answer.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Hunter never knew a single end ; only strings of never ending realities and gargantuan burdens holding the cruel thoughts that keep laughing at her misery. Destiny has never been on her side. Which makes her laugh ; maybe she stopped believing in it too long ago to care.

She couldn’t say when exactly she lost the taste of happiness that came with the old memories of her youth. Instead, her tastebuds tremble whenever a tired and distressed breath invades her mouth in the hopes of being set free, twist under its sour flavour as she tries to swallow it. Some times are not made for sighing.

The Gods decided that she was made to wither in Chaos, but she’d rather see things differently. She doesn’t like the idea of the cruel, broken concepts They make, those that never hesitate to unleash waves of suffering on thousands and thousands of innocent souls. She tries to focus on the positive things they sometimes leave in their wake, no matter how difficult it is to find them, how easily they can crumble in her hands.

For now, she’s stopped fighting. But the cascades of her own blood are now weaved in her soul, constantly retelling tales of the wars she’s been through. She can do nothing more than to wait for the next storm. Which she does.

Among the uiverse in which she lives, comfort comes and goes however it pleases. More often than not, it goes down a path drastically different than hers, so far away that she loses sight of it. Those periods of time stretch out for so long that when this peace comes back, meeting its almost unknown silhouette triggers her reflex to fight - her soul screaming at the potential enemy standing in front of her.

Fight ! It pleads. Fight ! Fight ! Fight !

Survive !

Yet she silences it for now.

Outside of her window, the city still hides behind a thick veil of fog. As always, it should be too early for her to be awake ; but her eyes refuse to stay closed, and her mind focuses on the heavy feeling crushing her waist. The Ghost lays beside her, still fast asleep with an arm slung over her frame, his body easily engulfing hers. It’s a good opportunity for her to observe how his short, blond hair fades into the porcelain of his skin, shattered by countless scars of all colours. She dares run a hand through the blond calamity of his hair. How strange it can be, she thinks as he sighs against her breast, to sometimes boil with hatred and disdain for the other, yet still share those quiet moments of intimacy whenever the fight ends.

She used to wish for him to disappear. And yet now, she finds peace in his presence.

What happened ?

In her eyes, the entity did nothing to deserve even an ounce of kindness. He dragged her down over and over again, enjoyed building her back together only to break her again, drew tears and blood from her very soul to savour the taste. But so did she.

The Divine keeps laughing at their pain by offering them fake opportunities of redemption. But they both know they can only find their salvation in the other’s soul, walk side by side towards a new world of their own creation. If the thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, she still sees how attractive it can be to slowly burn out in the heart of the Ghost while cradling him in hers - free both of their souls of the miasma haunting them.

This is a fantasy based on nothing, cackles a distorted voice in her head. And it’s true. No matter how much they try to redeem themselves, how many times they tear their own knees apart while praying, and how many rebellions they go through in order to cut their own strings, the skies will never allow them to leave Their grasp. But they stopped caring a long time ago.

Raising a trembling arm to her eyes, the Hunter smiles. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her lips as she silently follows the too-many marks littering her skin - a familiar sight, with an ever-growing number. She realises how similar her scars are to the Ghost’s. The canvas of their bodies is covered in white lines, rugged burns and deep, purple bruises that never stop appearing, and her vision sways before she can finish counting.

Yet she can’t stop her eyes from following the crevices lining the entity’s back. They rise and hide among a valley of broad muscles, holding the memories he refuses to share. The visions he can’t forget. Her own back is probably the same. They are covered in the painful remnants of what used to be their wings, the spectres of their freedom weighing heavy against their bones.

- I know you’re awake, Ghost. Stop pretending.

She immediately feels him smile against her skin, his fangs threatening to catch on the red lines crossing her chest.

- No’ pretendin’, he answers with a low and cheeky voice. Admirin’ my work.

- Oh, fuck off.

That drives a cackle out of his throat. He could have followed up with one of his usual snarky comments, but he chooses to nuzzle the crook of her neck instead as she slowly rakes her nails along his scalp. The gesture is soft, tender - so different from the times she claws at him instead, either during their fights, or their rougher moments of intimacy. An empty glance to her face, one she tries to avoid, tells him that she probably had the same thought.

The atmosphere is strange during this morning, bathed in a shy light, but the Ghost doesn’t pay it any mind. The room is perfectly silent, and it would be a shame to ignore this opportunity to get a glimpse of her beautifully complex mind.

How many times did he see his Snowflake’s eyes hold the darker hues of a violent rage, an abyssal despair, or any other feelings she couldn’t decipher ? He reads her like an open book, so satisfyingly transparent. How beautiful it is to watch how her story writes itself to the rhythm of her thoughts, of the days they weave together ! For now, all he sees is a slow melancholy digging in-between the lines, akin to a storm brewing on the horizon. An infinite tiredness that has him silencing the teasing he was tempted to articulate.

- You miss it, don’t you ? She finally says, interrupting his observations.

She hesitates slightly, pausing in her train of thoughts. How could she summarize the entirety of their mutual struggle in one sentence ? Her own saliva becomes painful to swallow, dragging against the dry walls of her throat. It’s like a marble of lead is blocking her oesophagus, leaking the poison of doubt in her system.

- The Chaos, she continues, her voice sounding incredibly raw. You keep chasing it, but it’s getting away.

The Ghost rolls onto his back, grunting as the rust of his bones hinders his movement. She isn’t wrong. Just like Violence has tried to break her soul, his is tainted by a visceral need to ruin all order. All is boring when Peace settles in ; silent, clean. Unsufferable.

But when he looks at the Hunter and her milky scars highlighted by the rising sun, the entity thinks this moment of rest -which will obviously be too short for her tastes- isn’t that bad. He appreciates the calm floating in the air, and her presence too, even if their relationship might be far from ideal. To stay here, bathing in the misty morning glow without holding a blade to the other’s throat, is something he finds himself to enjoy quite well.

He slowly sits up, allowing his head to stretch lightly to the side. The smile he gives her is full of harmless malice.

- Ya’d miss me, eh ? If I left to pursue tha’ Chaos.

- Oh no ! Not at all !

- Always so shy, he sighs as if her reaction offended him. Neva’ sharin’ whot ya really think.

He leans above her, voice lowering, and his arm twisting in a way that can barely support his weight. It wouldn’t take much for him to fall into his previous position.

- Bu’ maybe we could create our own Chaos ?

- We already do that quite a lot, she quips back while rolling over to turn her back to him. It’s enough for me.

She feels more than she sees the way his smile now leaves his fangs on full display, showing how much he enjoys troubling the morning peace with his dark and honeyed words. He softly takes hold of her wrist, where his lips come to follow a path he now knows more than well.

- Bu’ didn’t I hold your hand ta guide ya towards peace, multiple times ?

Face halfway buried into the pillows, the Hunger grimaces. These words reflect a twisted truth, ensnare her throat like the red thread that runs along her skin.

- You hate Peace, she breathes.

- And ya know nothin’ o’ it.

Sometimes, she thinks, « dangerous » isn’t powerful enough to define the Ghost - especially when his thoughts get so close to hers. When she finally decides to meet his gaze, she finds the usual spark of arrogance dancing behind his pupils. Yet there’s also a hint of laziness and sincerity, one she seems to see more and more as time passes. Body still heavy with sleep, she raises herself towards him, and languishly runs her thumb across the traitorous curve of his lips.

- You know your offer is tempting.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Gods like to play like cowards, binding them together as one tormented soul. They both despise Them for giving them so many feelings they will never control. On one side of the coin, it’s freeing to be carried by the dangers they hold ; but on the other side, constantly standing in the eye of the storm is exhausting. Like fighting with bare hands against a raging fire.

- And I know you’re gonna refuse, Snowflake.

She simply cackles.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

She doesn’t remember much about the happy times of her childhood. The earliest memories she holds are already painful, filled with an almost visceral need to survive against the infernal obstacles that Life keeps throwing in her path. They keep repeating that it’s like this for everyone, forcing her to reduce her own armor in pieces and tear out the heart beating behind it, showing this corrupted world the gaping wounds it has to beat with ; the searing edges she had to cauterize herself in order to not bleed out on her own ; the cries she swallowed into silence to avoid being treated like a stranger to her own existence.

Maybe they’ll come to see how difficult it is for her to keep going, she thinks, to hold her head high when everything tried to drag her down.

Her eyes, circled by her tired pain, get lost in the phosphorescent stars haunting her ceiling. Their pale, green light has always been a guide, a sturdy anchor protecting her against the merciless currents of her thoughts whenever she feels like giving up. Being a Celestial must be tiring, she sometimes whispers while imagining said creatures flying among clouds and comets. She can’t imagine what it takes to bear the weight of the hopes and dreams of others when one’s has already left this world to wander in another.

She always thought she never believed in Fate ; yet when she lets herself be carried away by the abyssal timbre of her Ghost, that demon she now knows more than herself, she remembers that it’s impossible to escape its languid clutches. Sometimes, a part of her wonders if she wasn’t wrong to listen so much to her doubts.

Her body is covered in scars she is ashamed to wear. But her fight is still far from whatever ending it might follow, and something in her mind murmurs that they can’t be that bad, those white marks she shares with the Fallen she’s come to love.

Her bones crack as she turns her pillow over to meet the cool fabric of its unused side ; but it’s the touch of the entity laying on top of her that keeps making her shiver, and a light laugh escapes her when his charcoal-covered claws brush against her ribs. It’s a rare melody, and it convinces him that, somewhere, the firmament must be torn by the miraculous and silent dance of a shooting star.

His thoughts only quiet down when she slides a hand along his scalp to feel the softness of his hair, the clarity of her voice echoing through the silence.

- Don’t you want to see it from up close ? She asks, causing him to raise a curious brow.

- See whot.

- The shooting star.

The Ghost smiles, littering her skin with butterfly kisses filled with reverence. To see the one he gave his love to so eager to do the same is a beautiful feeling, and he realises how lucky they both are to have met each other while looking for a new kind of ataraxia.

- No need, he whispers, nuzzling in the crook of her neck.

I already have one.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Live.

[onlinewealthcreater]

Overcoming the poison of limiting believes

Take a moment to reflect on the dreams you had as a child. What were they? Have you been able to fulfil them? If not, what prevented you from pursuing your childhood dreams? What obstacles stood in your way?

As human beings, we are born with a blank canvas, and it is our responsibility to follow the voice of the dream giver and paint His dreams on that open canvas. The truth is, when God created each of us, He instilled within us a purpose to fulfil on this earth. As children, we possess a deep understanding of what that purpose is, but unfortunately, as we grow older, we often lose the ability to listen to the voice of the dream giver.

As we age, we unwittingly allow negative influences to sow seeds of doubt in our minds, convincing us that certain things are unattainable. These influences may come disguised as well-meaning individuals who genuinely believe they have our best interests at heart. Unfortunately, they fail to realize that by doing so, they are robbing us of our dreams and stifling our potential for growth.

In our youth, we are often unaware of the need to banish these detrimental thoughts from our minds. Consequently, we allow them to take root and flourish, transforming our minds into gardens overrun with weeds.

As adults, we carry this sense of emptiness within us, convinced that there is nothing more we can achieve and that we must resign ourselves to the harsh realities of life. We accept the words of our parents, teachers, and other influential figures who tell us that our aspirations are unattainable, assuming that they must be true. We hesitate to challenge these beliefs, fearing the consequences of going against the grain. Consequently, we passively accept the lies others tell us about ourselves and continue living our lives as they are.

If this description resonates with you, I implore you not to believe these falsehoods. Only your creator has the authority to define who you are and what you are capable of, and you possess far greater potential than you can possibly imagine. The only obstacle standing in your way is yourself. Yes, you are the one who made the choice to embrace the limiting beliefs others planted in your mind.

The good news is that you can overcome these limiting beliefs that are holding you back and hindering your potential. God has given you the power to change your mind-set and allow Him to reveal your true purpose in this world. You may be wondering how to break free from these limiting beliefs, and the answer lies in revisiting your childhood. What were your dreams? What activities brought you joy? Start setting goals to achieve these dreams and make a conscious decision not to let anyone or anything discourage you from pursuing them.

Today, make the choice to examine every limiting belief that is preventing you from reaching your full potential. Whenever a thought enters your mind, ask yourself how it is serving you. Is it holding you back from living your best life? Take action and uproot any negative thoughts, replacing them with thoughts of love, hope, and positivity

To rid your mind of this poison, turn to God, your creator. Seek His guidance and ask Him to reveal your true identity. Dive into His word and discover what He says about you. Surrender your limiting beliefs to Him and allow Him to heal you from within.

It's important to remember that this transformation is not an overnight process, but a lifelong journey. Make a commitment to let God continually renew your mind and pray against the enemy who seeks to steal and destroy. When the enemy tries to bring you down, remind him of your identity in Christ. By embracing this process of self-discovery and relying on God's strength, you can break free from the chains of limiting beliefs and live a life of purpose and fulfilment.

As a child of God, by accepting Jesus as my savior, I can confidently proclaim, "I am a child of God, the Almighty King of the world." This realization makes me feel like a princess, destined for victory, to shine as a beacon of light in the midst of darkness, and to bring hope to seemingly hopeless situations. Therefore, dear child of God, continue to dream fearlessly, knowing that you are under the protection of the Most High.

[imperfectperfectionist31]

His foundation

Future chapter sneak peek

Tw: Mentioned violence/blood

"Carlos."

Tense, still, and silent. Hunched back and crossed arms. Sitting on a bench, just as she instructed him to.

Alma Madrigal sat down next to his second youngest grandchild, her eyes soft but her expression firm, directed at the boy who stubbornly kept to himself.

A small shapeshifter who already shows promise but also perfected early Madrigal pride the moment he shut down insistently the idea to file down his canines. Small but seems to be much sharper and longer than anyone his age; Carlos likes it for aesthetic reasons. Out of all things. But to her, she knows it'll be an inconvenience but nevertheless lets it go. For now.

Boundless with a carefree spirit.

But too much of anything is worrisome. A serious intervention is dire. Not his mother; she's capable, but she'll coddle him to death after. What he needs is something more straightforward.

"Carlos," Alma repeats, her voice firm and steady, "what happened today is very serious. I know that having a newfound gift is something that is incredible, but it is not a toy to be played with. Understand that actions have consequences—"

"They started it—"

"Don't speak out of turn." She turns to him sternly, faltering when he turns to her. His face scrunched up in frustration, a thin frown, tense like a coiled spring, and frustrated, narrowed eyes, golden as those of a jaguar.

"Your power is a gift. You must learn to control your abilities and use them wisely. Harming others is not what we do."

"It was an accident! They were saying mean things about our family! He made fun of Mirabel!" Carlos spat back with fire.

"And pray tell me you didn't tell someone the minute you heard it and let the adults handle it! A boy's face is slashed today, and thank goodness your tía was just in time to prevent possible blindness. Not only that, but you deliberately disobeyed me to not use any dangerous animals prior to this." It was her turn to frown in disapproval at his raised voice and changed appearance.

"I was only playing, but I changed back a lot always! They were much older and bigger, and they wouldn't stop!"

"That is not enough of a good excuse to use your gift to hurt those less strong than you," Alma sternly says with a disappointed gaze.

"You're not listening to me!"

The blazing spark of anger and desperation in his yellow eyes and the way he growled out his words like those of a true predator made her pause. A flicker of fear. Hunched and poised as if a cornered animal.

A snarled mouth with small but sharp canines and the sight of angry tears on the verge of falling made her properly look down at the shapeshifter—the extraordinary six-year-old boy that is her grandson. Alma sighs with a renewed approach. The matriarch pulls out a handkerchief and moves to Carlos' folded arms, to which the boy leans back, startled. A moment before, Alma tried again to gently touch the skin of his arm, with a much more hesitant but successful result. Showing sleek black furry arms with small bits of dried blood on the claws.

"A Madrigal may be angry, but they can't let it guide their hearts." Alma starts softer to quell the waves of restless energy she senses in the boy in front of her. "This is why I urge you not to change into any animal that has sharp teeth and claws. It frightens people, but now, knowing it can be dangerous..."

"I didn't mean to..." said a much softer voice. Now more like a drenched kitten than a fearsome large feline.

"Carlito, it's not easy, but we must try. For others and, more importantly, for yourself. There is a reason why we have rules in place to keep everyone safe. The gifts that have been given are a part of us, and it's the part that makes you special. We embrace them, but we use them wisely." Alma said sagely while she rubbed the white handkerchief on a small hand with inhuman claws with her own wrinkled ones. "One day, the next generation of Madrigals will be next on line to look out on Encanto. That all depends on your hermanos, your primas, and they'll depend on you. Think carefully about your decisions, and don't let your emotions cloud your judgment. If someone in our family, say Luisa, is careless, she has the potential to break things or even...hurt someone. "

Carlos sniffles and wipes his face with his furry arm; the other is in the hands of his abuela. Eyes still downcast with unhidden upset. A drop of doubt. Luisa would never hurt anyone. She couldn't even hurt a beetle, and even if she did accidentally, she'd probably cry in her room.

Abuela continued, unaware of Carlos' thoughts. "Say your mother," Carlos grows rigid at that, "she's famous for all the calamities that happened in the town. She once flown a house down from her hurricane, flooded crops, and her lightning can be deadly if she means it hard enough. That is why we must maintain discipline and control. Your gifts are not playthings to just be careless about. People's safety is on the line. We are the very pillars of this town, and we must carry on the duties and preserve the miracle as we are intended to do."

Alma paused, giving Carlos a moment to absorb her words and making sure her grandson understood the gravity of the situation. Brushing stray brown curls aside to see full, yellowish eyes glossy and clouded with conflict. Aged, wrinkled hands held a youthful face with a myriad of freckles. "I don't want to hear another word from someone about you turning into a beast. You're no beast; you're a fine young gentleman. A Madrigal. Act like it."

There's finality in her words, with such hope that her seriousness will cut through for Carlos to heed her.

There's fire in his eyes again. Wracked with fight and indecision.

Burning. Festering. Unwavering.

And then.

With a blink, Carlos' eyes adjusted to his now familiar brown ones. Perfect.

"Yes, abuela." Resigned.

A deep set of melancholic green eyes flickered briefly in her mind, to which she quickly squashed it back down to the deep corners of her mind.

Not again.

Finally satisfied. She nodded and smiled approvingly, as if to reassure herself. Now holding the boy's much smaller human hands with no flakes of dried blood in sight.

"Good."

[awideplace]

is there any way Christians can justify watching game of thrones? i know far too many that watch and act like nothing is wrong with it… single and/or married

I tried years ago and I couldn't- it had nudity/pornography/incest, etc. in the first or second episode if I recall correctly. I don't think we can justify being entertained by that, it should bother us to want to be entertained by things that grieve the heart of God. I found this online tonight and perhaps it is helpful with whatever we may watch on television or movies:

A discerning Christian television viewer will ask some questions and prayerfully answer them:

– What is my motive for watching this TV show? (See 1 Corinthians 10:31.) – Does this television show contain material that, as a Christian, I cannot hear or view with a pure mind? (See Psalm 101:3.) – Will watching this TV show further my understanding of my culture and therefore help me communicate Christ more effectively? Or am I seeking a thrill and secretly relishing scenes of evil? – Am I committed to obtaining truth from the Word of God rather than from powerful media forms such as television? – Can I separate the wheat from the chaff? Can I rejoice in biblical themes a TV show might present while rejecting its ungodly elements? Or do the ungodly elements overwhelm any good contained in the show? – Is there a better use of my time?

Christians considering the issue of television should examine the Word, pray about it, listen to their conscience, and follow the Spirit’s leading.

Here are some verses that may help in discerning what is appropriate TV viewing for a Christian:

Matthew 5:28: “But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

Matthew 6:22–23: “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!”

Romans 12:2: “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—His good, pleasing and perfect will.”

Romans 13:13–14: “Let us behave decently, as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature.”

Philippians 4:8: “Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

1 Thessalonians 5:21–22: “Test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil.”

Source: https://www.gotquestions.org/Christian-TV-television.html

[occupyhades]

God’s Whistleblower

There is no darkness or deep shadow where the workers of iniquity can hide. Job 34:22 (BSB)

Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have found your deeds unfinished in the sight of my God. Apocalypse 3:2 (NIV)

“And now, you priests, this warning is for you. If you do not listen, and if you do not resolve to honor my name,” says the LORD Almighty, “I will send a curse on you, and I will curse your blessings. Yes, I have already cursed them, because you have not resolved to honor me." Malachi 2:1-2 (NIV) 

It’s because of you that the heavens withhold the dew and the earth produces no crops. I have called for a drought on your fields and hills—a drought to wither the grain and grapes and olive trees and all your other crops, a drought to starve you and your livestock and to ruin everything you have worked so hard to get.” Haggai 1:11-12 (NLT)

Then the fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and it was given power to scorch the people with fire. And the people were scorched by intense heat, and they cursed the name of God, who had authority over these plagues; yet they did not repent and give Him glory. Apocalypse 16:8-9 (BSB)

Then Death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death—the lake of fire. And if anyone was found whose name was not written in the Book of Life, he was thrown into the lake of fire. Apocalypse 20:14-15 (BSB)

You have forsaken Me, declares the LORD. You have turned your back. So I will stretch out My hand against you and I will destroy you; I am weary of showing compassion. I will scatter them with a winnowing fork at the gates of the land. I will bereave and destroy My people who have not turned from their ways. I will make their widows more numerous than the sand of the sea. I will bring a destroyer at noon against the mothers of young men. I will suddenly bring upon them anguish and dismay. Jeremiah 15:6-8 (BSB)

So this is what the LORD says to his people: “You love to wander far from me and do not restrain yourselves. Therefore, I will no longer accept you as my people. Now I will remember all your wickedness and will punish you for your sins.” Then the LORD said to me, “Do not pray for these people anymore.“ Jeremiah 14:10-11 (NLT)

[carolap53]

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.

--Galatians 2:20

The Christian life is a changed life! We know this because the Scripture says, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” You and I are changed by God!

But catch this. The Christian life is also an exchanged life! Isaiah 40:41 says, they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength. Now, that word “renew” is a very interesting word. It literally means “exchange.”

So listen to what Isaiah is really saying to you! You can exchange your weakness for his strength!

The apostle Paul practiced this very principle faithfully. Though he was mentally and spiritually strong, he had a thorn in his flesh… a problem that afflicted his life. He prayed that God would take it away, but God chose not to. And it was in that experience that Paul said, “I’ve discovered in my weakness, that I’m made strong!”

Are there times in your life when you feel too weak to do what’s being asked of you? Maybe your heart cries out, “Help, I can’t do this on my own!” Well, it’s true. You cannot. But you are living an exchanged life!

Embrace his strength as your own. As Paul said, “It’s no longer you who lives, but Christ lives in you!”

YOU CAN EXCHANGE YOUR WEAKNESS FOR HIS STRENGTH!

Jack Graham

[vinceleemiller]

The Salesman in Your Mind | Galatians 5:4

Are you convincing yourself to do the wrong thing?

Today's callout goes to Takoda Ruble from Pace, FL, who recently signed up for Video Access on our website.

You are severed from Christ, you who would be justified by the law; you have fallen away from grace. — Galatians 5:4

Your Mind Is Powerful

Our minds are powerful tools. They perpetually and privately persuade us. In fact, today, the salesperson living in your mind has already convinced you to say and do things you probably should not do. If people heard even half the thoughts you have in your mind, they would think you are crazy—and maybe a little abusive, insecure, or maybe demented.

But here's the deal: Our minds are always stirring. They process information so quickly that sometimes we grab onto thoughts and ideas that are dead wrong. Then, we privately persuade ourselves these thoughts and ideas are true. Without anyone knowing it and with great speed, our minds have convinced us of things that are untrue about ourselves and about God.

Our Thoughts Don't Justify

As Paul says, this is exactly how we fall away from grace: We justify thoughts that do not justify.

This is exactly why you and I need to read and ruminate on Scripture daily. Scripture renews and resets our minds because they need to be renewed moment by moment. Scripture tells the salesmen in our heads to "Shut up" and "Stop selling me that." Besides, in the end, your self-justifying thoughts don't justify anything. The only one who justifies is God alone.

#MindOverMatter #GraceOverJustification #RenewingTheMind #SilencingTheSalesman #GodsTruth

ASK THIS:

How can you identify and challenge the self-justifying thoughts that lead you away from grace?

What practical steps can you take to renew your mind daily with the truth of Scripture and resist the persuasive narratives of self-justification?

DO THIS: Stop listening to the voices in your head and listen to God through Scripture.

PRAY THIS: Lord, help me recognize the deceptive thoughts that lead me away from Your grace, and grant me the strength to silence them with the truth of Your Word. Renew my mind daily, guiding me to align my thoughts with Your will and resist the temptation of self-justification. Amen.

PLAY THIS: Purify My Heart (Refiner's Fire).

Check out this episode!

[jasonhackwith]

INTO THE FLAME I have gone, and I am not the same

The year was 1997.

The time was pretty bright for me. I was playing with a remarkable little band with fantastic guitarist (and guitar collector) Jasen Hecker and an amazing songwriter by the name of Ryan Mainard. We had big dreams. I was greatly inspired by Ryan’s excellent songwriting, and I wanted to write an epic song about an epic idea.

At that point, I had just begun working on a book that would eventually become Seven Dangerous Prayers. I was haunted by a single idea day and night: would I dare to ask God to do whatever He needed to do to refine me into the person He wanted me to be? Would I be so bold as to dare to ask Him to place my heart into the flame of his forge so that the dross could be burned away? Did I have the audacity to ask Him to be purify me and sanctify me, no matter what it took, no matter what I had to go through? Did I dare not to dare?

The idea enthralled me. I just couldn’t get it out of my head. In 1998 I wrote a song about it with that fledgling band called INTO THE FLAME (listen/download above), launched a website called intotheflame.com, and began my first tentative steps in working these prayers out in my life and the lives of those around me.

As I dove deeper into the Word, I found six other distinct concepts behind major periods of refreshing and renewal in my life. These seven concepts led me to seven Greek and seven Hebrew words that embodied each concept, and as I studied out each concept behind the prayers, I was amazed how these phenomenonally dangerous ideas were found everywhere, in every book of the Bible.

I became convinced that God longs for a profound intimacy with us. I also learned the hard way not to take these prayers lightly. These are not the “now I lay me down to sleep” kind of prayers. Nor are these prayers—or any other kind of prayer for that matter—some kind of magic spell or ritual that can get God to do what you want. No prayer ever has any power apart from God. That being said, let me be clear. These prayers, and the life-changing concepts behind them, are indeed dangerous for one reason: God is dangerous. God is so loving, He is so very good; yet God is dangerous because any real encounter with Him will leave us forever changed.

"Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people producing its fruits. And the one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; and when it falls on anyone, it will crush him."  -- Matthew 21:43–44

We have two choices, Christ is saying here: fall on Him and be broken, or remain apart from God and ultimately be crushed at the end of the age by the inexorable fact of that Presence. Jesus is speaking here of “the stone that the builders rejected” (Psalm 118:22, Matthew 21:42), the very kingdom of God, the stone that breaks or crushes. Here is a mystery to ponder: if God is truly unchanging (Malachi 3:6), simply being in His presence will change us, just as a diamond scratches all softer stones. As one of my favorite authors, Richard J. Foster, has said, ”To pray is to change.”

When I first started on this journey, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. When I first dared to pray the Prayer of Tears, for example, I was utterly naive about just how terribly different God’s compassion was from my own. I was a complete mess for weeks. I couldn’t even look at anyone without tears welling up in my eyes. My heart was so broken for everyone I met. But that bottomless well of tears was glorious because layers of callous indifference were shattered right along with my heart.

In time God brought balance to my emotions, but the overwhelming surge of compassion and empathy He poured into me had done its work. Before I dared to pray dangerously, I knew vaguely that He loves us, that He has compassion on us. When I dared to pray the Prayer of Tears, however, for the first time I really knew what it was like to have God’s heart for others. I didn’t just know how much He loved me and the people around me, I actually had some of that profound love for others. He immediately manifested himself in this: forgiveness which had before seemed utterly impossible that suddenly was easy and freeing. My love is terribly imperfect and I am daily learning more about His perfect love, but I would never go back to the way I was before.

When I moved to the Lewis-Clark Valley after college, I also began compiling some of my poetry in an anthological work that would eventually become the river Beautiful. I worked on both books off and on for years, but for far too many tedious reasons to list here, getting either one finished seemed utterly impossible. Despite the thousands of hours I had put into Seven Dangerous Prayers, I began feeling more and more strongly that I needed to finish this work of poetry and song lyrics first. At first I rejected the idea, thinking that perhaps I was just being egotistical. Surely the countless hours and all the Bible studies I had done were more important?

Then a counselor friend of mine, Rod Myklebust, made a comment to me one day that really shook me up. I prayed with Rod, and then he told me that he felt that maybe Seven Dangerous Prayers was just for me right now, not for anyone else yet, that I should pray through it to see where God was leading.

To be honest I was pretty devastated, especially with that coming from Rod, whose opinion means the world to me. I know Rod never meant it, but I got stuck on the thought that I had wasted most of my life, working on a book that was just for my own edification, not for anyone else’s. The black depression which followed was utterly crushing.

Lindsay and I had moved out of the Lewis-Clark Valley chasing teaching jobs in the North Cascades and the Oregon coast. I ended up getting injured pretty severely with a torn left bicep and torn rotator cuff. We eventually ran out of money and moved back to the Lewis-Clark Valley to regroup, but my depression and anxiety were worse than ever. I finally reached out and got medical help and counseling and have been slowly climbing out my present darkness, day by day.

I never thought myself a man of prayer, yet somehow I find that I have become one. It didn’t happen overnight, and it certainly hasn’t been easy. Between health problems, depression and anxiety these past seven years especially have been the hardest of my entire life. It is only through the faithful prayers of so many that I am alive today.

Brennan Manning, the beloved vagabond evangelist who transformed my life, said it best: “The Word we study must be the Word we pray” (The Ragamuffin Gospel, pg. 45). True, effective prayer is always founded and grounded in God’s Word. I dug into the Word again and kept on praying. I slowly began to see a little more clearly, and then one day God brought me completely up short with several sudden realizations:

Both books I had been working on for decades had seven chapters;

Each chapter in the river Beautiful corresponded perfectly with one of the seven dangerous prayers; and

It turns out that all the time I had been writing two books, I was really only writing one. I will release the Seven Dangerous Prayers Bible study in a year or so when it feels right, but for now, I finally know that this is what I’m supposed to do.

As soon as I came to that realization, I finally found peace with finishing the work. It makes sense for me not to just tell you how dangerous prayers have transformed my life, but to show you exactly how I have changed through my poetry and prose and illustrations. Since I finally figured out what I was supposed to do, this work has progressed smoothly and peacefully. It’s so very nice to have such a wise Editor.

I’m releasing a new signature design today entitled “NIL NISI CRUCE: “Firestorm” in the INTO THE FLAME store. All proceeds go towards supporting publication costs for the book.

[ramadhanseries]

LAST 10 DAYS OF RAMADHAN

Your Guide to Worship During the Last 10 Nights of Ramadan

This year, the last ten nights of Ramadan are estimated to begin at Maghrib on Saturday 30th March 2024. [Important note: that clocks go forward at 1:00 AM on Sunday 31st March, which is likely to correspond to the 21st night of Ramadan]

As we enter the final ten nights of Ramadan,you may be asking yourself:

Have I made the most of my Ramadan?

Did I reach my goals I set out before Ramadan? Have I prayed every Salah?

Have I made the most of my time?

The list goes on…

Whether you’re satisfied with the progress you’ve made, or feel you could have done more, these remaining moments are the time to up our game and aspire towards new heights.

Within these last nights of Ramadan is a very special gift. It is the Night of Power – a night ‘greater than a thousand months [of worship].’ [The Noble Qur’an, 97:3].

The Prophet (saw) was shown that the lifespans of previous nations were hundreds to thousands of years [Malik] and the ones of his Ummah were in their sixties and seventies [Ibn Majah]. He was concerned that his Ummah would not be able to compete with the previous nations, so Allah (swt) gifted the Night of Power to his Ummah for him.

If we look at the verse ‘greater than a thousand months [of worship]’, it becomes clear that worship on Laylat al-Qadr is greater than 83 years of worship – more than a lifetime for most of us.

Knowing about this special opportunity before us should spark a renewed sense of purpose, giving us hope that it is not too late to finish Ramadan strong. So let’s push hard in this last stretch of the race.

In this article, we will share ten tips on how you can take your worship to the next level during the last ten nights of Ramadan.

1. Give charity

The Messenger of Allah (saw) was described in Ramadan as being, ‘more generous in giving charity than the blowing wind.’ [Muslim]

You might be wondering why The Best 10 Nights tool encourages you to give priority to odd nights. The Prophet (saw) said, ‘Search for the Night of Power in the odd nights of the last ten days of Ramadan.’ [Bukhari]

In another narration, the he (saw) said, ‘The Night of Power is the twenty-seventh (night of Ramadan).’ [Abu Dawud]

2. Don’t waste time

Every second during the Night of Power is equal to more than 24 hours of worship!

You don’t want to spend these precious seconds scrolling through social media. Plan every moment. The Messenger of Allah (saw) said, ‘There is no intelligence like planning.’ [Ibn Majah]

3. Read and listen to the Qur’an

You may be aware that Ramadan is the month of the Qur’an. Did you know that other revelations like the Scrolls of Ibrahim (as), the Torah and the Gospel were also revealed in Ramadan [Ahmad]?

‘It was in the month of Ramadan that the Quran was revealed as guidance for mankind, clear messages giving guidance and distinguishing between right and wrong.’ [The Noble Qur’an, 2:185]

A person receives ten rewards for every Arabic letter of the Qur’an that they recite [Tirmidhi]. Imagine the rewards for reciting all 327,792 letters in the Qur’an!

4. Pray Tahajjud before Sahur

The time before Fajr is the special time when we can pray Tahajjud prayers. Try to get up a bit earlier than usual to pray some two-unit (rak’ah) nafl (voluntary) prayers before Fajr.

The Messenger of Allah (saw) said, ‘Our Lord, Blessed and Exalted be He, comes down every night to the nearest Heaven when the last third of the night remains, saying, “Is there anyone to invoke Me, so that I may respond to him? Is there anyone to ask Me, so that I may grant him his request? Is there anyone seeking My forgiveness, so that I may forgive him?“’ [Bukhari]

Seeking forgiveness from Allah at this blessed time is further emphasised in the Qur’an that Allah’s true servants are those who ‘pray for forgiveness before dawn.’ [The Noble Qur’an, 3:17]

Of course, don’t forget to eat Sahur too! The Prophet (saw) said, ‘Take the pre-dawn meal (Sahur), for indeed there is a blessing in it.’ [Bukhari]

5. Pray Tarawih

Try to pray in the Masjid, as prayers in congregation are multiplied your reward by twenty-seven times [Bukhari]. If you can find a Masjid where the Imam has a beautiful melodious recitation, this can help you concentrate and connect with the prayer.

The blessing of Ramadan this year is that the fasts are shorter and the nights are longer than previous years. So, make the most of the nights in worship by doing a variety of worship as it is difficult to sustain one act of worship.

6. Perform I’tikaf

Try to perform I’tikaf in your local masjid in the last ten nights or a few days that you are available to do. Women have the option to do this in their homes in a specified room.

Aishah (ra) said, ’The Messenger of Allah (saw) used to practice I’tikaf in the last ten nights of Ramadan and used to say, “Search for the Night of Power in the last ten nights of Ramadan.”’ [Bukhari]

7. Don’t eat too much and stay hydrated

The Prophet (saw) said, ‘A human being does not fill any container that is worse than (his) stomach. It is sufficient for the son of Adam to eat what will support his back. But if this is not possible, then a third for his food, a third for his drink and a third for his breath.’ [Tirmidhi]

Prioritise eating wholesome foods like fruit and vegetables and keep hydrated with plenty of water.

Staying active is also key so we can look after our bodies that have been given to us by Allah (swt). The Prophet (saw) said, ‘indeed, your body has a right over you.’ [Abu Dawud]

8. Do lots of Du‘a and Dhikr

The Prophet (saw) said, ‘Du‘a is the essence of worship.’ [Tirmidhi].

To make the most of these last ten nights, prepare a list of exactly what you want to ask Allah (swt) for.

‘When My servants ask you (O Prophet) about Me: I am truly near. I respond to one’s prayer when they call upon Me. So let them respond to Me and believe in Me, perhaps they will be guided.’ [The Noble Qur’an, 2:186]

This verse appears directly after the verse commanding fasting in Ramadan. Scholars have said there is a direct connection between fasting and making du‘a. Take every chance you get to make du‘a during this blessed month, especially in the last ten nights.

The Prophet (saw) used to make a very specific du’a during these nights:

Another du’a he (saw) advised us to make in Ramadan is, ‘You should ask Allah for Jannah (Paradise) and ask for refuge in Him from Jahannam (Hellfire).’ [Ibn Khuzaimah]

9. Work on your character

The Prophet (saw) said, ‘I have been sent to perfect good character.’ [Muwatta].

Good character includes modesty, courage, forgiveness, generosity, kindness, and more.

By studying the Seerah of the Prophet (saw) and the life of the Sahabah (ra), we can understand how they lived lives of righteousness. Spend time with people that encourage you towards goodness, as this will rub off onto you too, in sha Allah!

Use these nights to reflect on your character and behaviour towards others and in difficult situation. Ask yourself: how can I be more patient, avoid getting angry, be more helpful…?

10. Finish strong

Even if you had a poor start to Ramadan, now is the time to exert your efforts whilst we still have time.

The Prophet (saw) said, ‘Seek it in the last ten (nights), i.e. the Night of Power. If one of you shows slackness and weakness (in the earlier part of Ramadan), it should not be allowed to prevail upon him in the last week.’ [Muslim]

Imam Ibn al-Qayyim al-Jawzi (rh) said, ’When the race horse knows that it is nearing the end of the track it exerts all of its effort to win the race. Do not allow the race horse to be more clever than you. For verily deeds are judged by their conclusions. So if you didn’t do so well with welcoming Ramadan then perhaps you will do better in bidding it farewell.’

Remember the words of the Prophet (saw), ‘Indeed, deeds are only (judged) by their endings.’ [Bukhari] 

We pray that Allah (swt) accepts all our worship this Ramadan and that we emerge with all our sins forgiven, amin!

[510akland]

2023 … isnt what I thought it would be. Honestly, low key i regret meeting certain people. I wish i never met that man, he really gave me an std and didnt even apologize. I cant believe i was really that comfortable to let my guard down and allow that to even happen. I wish that say i met him i just shoulda went home after my beat friends bday dinner. I wish i never met him. I usually never let my guard down hut i did. And thats my fault, but itll never happen again. Im like a whole new person. I don’t remember who i was before, but i don’t remember being this level of strong. So maybe im a way this entire bullshit situation made me better. Maybe this entire situation didnt. Idk yet. Honestly. I don’t like him, apart of me still cares and i wanna kill that part of me because i dont want to care. He doesn’t deserve that. But I can’t shut off my emotions i can only control my reaction. This entire situation made me feel embarrassed, dirty and violated. Shame on me for even putting myself in that situation. & i wish i never told anyone either .. but that fucking alcohol smh. And even tho it was something i was able to get rid of i was still mad asf. I wanted to kill that man and his kids. I was so angry that someone would do that to me & that fact that i let my guard down!!!! But never again, the beautiful thing about this whole situation is that I can change my reality at any time and moving forward. I have decided that I’m not having sexual intercourse with anyone most likely for the remainder of my life. I’m interested in having healthy connections, but I no longer want to engage in sexual activity. It’s too risky even in a relationship you’re still risking it. 

Prior to June 2021 I hadn’t had sex in six years and I was doing just fine. I think this was a sign from God to stop because that isn’t what I’m here for.  that man and all of them before him were a distraction, in addition to that they were beneath me, and vibrationally spiritually, and mentally. 

I’m sorry to myself I’m sorry to God and I’m sorry to my soul to my spirit. I’m sorry to my body and moving forward. I choose to forgive myself and others, but at the same time I choose to move wiser, and even more cautiously and moving forward, I won’t be listening to family or close friends. I will only be following my own intuition, my spirit, my soul.

I asked that God remove the trace of any, and all men from my mind, body and spirit from my tongue acts that my mind, my body, my spirit be renewed I pray that my soul remains intact and that I don’t do anything that I can’t come back from. I pray that my soul remains intact and I pray that my heart stays hole, and that this situation has not hardened me but just made me smarter more intuitive in my heightened discernment. I pray that I don’t wear this situation on my sleeve, but I leave it in my past. I pray that I don’t cross paths with anyone that is not meant for me, and may God give me the discernment in the eyes to see everyone and everything for who and what they truly are may not be blinded by what I see or what I hear but have clarity to see everything I need to see for what it truly is even if it doesn’t make me happy, may the truth always be revealed to me. I asked that God forgive me for my sins, and may the water wash all over me and cleanse me from head to toe and again from head to toe, and may I always be covered and protected in the spirit of God, and by the all seeing angels. 

[jdgo51]

Conditions of Prayer

Today's inspiration comes from:

Bible Prayers to Guide Your Life

by Jack Countryman

John 15:7 says,

"If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, you will ask what you desire, and it shall be done for you."

"'The conditions of prayer are simple. Abide with and spend time with the Lord in prayer, and let the words of Scripture become a part of us, to obey and live in His presence. Our prayers will then have meaning because God will be listening, and His Spirit will guide us as we seek to be obedient to His Word and live a life that is pleasing to the Father.

PRAYING IN THE WORD

My son, give attention to my words; Incline your ear to my sayings. Do not let them depart from your eyes; Keep them in the midst of your heart; For they are life to those who find them, And health to all their flesh. Keep your heart with all diligence,

For out of it spring the issues of life. — Proverbs 4:20–23

Your words were found, and I ate them, And Your word was to me the joy and rejoicing of my heart; For I am called by Your name, O Lord God of hosts. — Jeremiah 15:16

The centurion answered and said, “Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof. But only speak a word, and my servant will be healed.” — Matthew 8:8

If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, you will ask what you desire, and it shall be done for you. — John 15:7

And for their sakes I sanctify Myself, that they also may be sanctified by the truth. I do not pray for these alone, but also for those who will believe in Me through their word. — John 17:19–20

But we will give ourselves continually to prayer and to the ministry of the word. — Acts 6:4

Abide with the Lord in prayer.

Finally, brethren, pray for us, that the word of the Lord may run swiftly and be glorified, just as it is with you. — 2 Thessalonians 3:1

For every creature of God is good, and nothing is to be refused if it is received with thanksgiving; for it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer. — 1 Timothy 4:4–5

If anyone wills to do His will, he shall know concerning the doctrine, whether it is from God or whether I speak on My own authority. — John 7:17

And they prayed and said, “You, O Lord, who know the hearts of all, show which of these two You have chosen.” — Acts 1:24

So when he would not be persuaded, we ceased, saying, “The will of the Lord be done.” — Acts 21:14

And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God. — Romans 12:2

Therefore, do not be unwise, but understand what the will of the Lord is. — Ephesians 5:17

For this reason we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to ask that you may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding. — Colossians 1:9

Now this is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. — 1 John 5:14

And He was preaching in their synagogues throughout all Galilee, and casting out demons. Now a leper came to Him, imploring Him, kneeling down to Him and saying to Him, “If You are willing, You can make me clean.”

Then Jesus, moved with compassion, stretched out His hand and touched him, and said to him, “I am willing; be cleansed.” As soon as He had spoken, immediately the leprosy left him, and he was cleansed. — Mark 1:39–42

Jesus said to them, “My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me, and to finish His work.” — John 4:34"'

Excerpted with permission from Bible Prayers to Guide Your Life by Jack Countryman, copyright Jack Countryman.

[dfroza]

A look at the Genesis design of marriage

(A lifelong covenant of trust shared between A man & woman)

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 19th chapter of the book of Matthew:

After Jesus had finished His teaching about forgiveness, He left Galilee and He went to the section of Judea on the other side of the Jordan River. Large crowds followed Him, and when He got to Judea, He set about healing them.

So some Pharisees approached Jesus and asked Him this tricky question about divorce:

Pharisees: Is it ever lawful for a man to divorce his wife?

Jesus: Haven’t you read that in the beginning God created humanity male and female? Don’t you remember what the story of our creation tells us about marriage? “For this reason, a man will leave his mother and father and cleave to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” If a husband and wife are one flesh, how can they divorce? Divorce would be a bloody amputation, would it not? “What God has brought together, let no man separate.”

Pharisees: Why did Moses explain that if a man leaves his wife, then he must give her a certificate of divorce and send her away, free and clear of him?

Jesus: Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But divorce was an innovation, an accommodation to a fallen world. There was no divorce at creation. Listen, friends: if you leave your wife, unless there is adultery, and then marry another woman, you yourself are committing adultery. Only if there is adultery can you divorce your wife.

Disciples: If this is how it is, then it is better to avoid marrying in the first place.

Jesus: Not everyone can hear this teaching, only those to whom it has been given. Some people do not marry, of course. Some people are eunuchs because they are born that way, others have been made eunuchs by men, and others have renounced marriage for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Anyone who can embrace that call should do so.

At this, some of Jesus’ followers brought their children before Jesus; they wanted Him to place His hands on the children and pray for them. Some of the disciples, mistakenly thinking that Jesus wouldn’t want to be bothered with the likes of children, began to rebuke the crowd.

Jesus: Let the little children come to Me; do not get in their way. For the kingdom of heaven belongs to children like these.

He laid His hands on them, He prayed with them, and then He left that spot and went elsewhere. Then a young man came up to Jesus.

Young Man: Teacher, what good deed can I do to assure myself eternal life?

Jesus: Strange that you should ask Me what is good. There is only One who is good. If you want to participate in His divine life, obey the Commandments.

Young Man: Which Commandments in particular?

Jesus: Well, to begin with, do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, honor your father and mother, and love your neighbor as yourself.

Young Man: I’ve kept those Commandments faithfully. What else do I need to do?

Jesus: If you want to be perfect, go and sell all your possessions and give all your money to the poor; then you will have treasure in heaven. And then come, follow Me.

The young man went away sad because he was very wealthy indeed.

Jesus: This is the truth: it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Yes, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.

The disciples, hearing this, were stunned.

Disciples: Who then can be saved?

Jesus: People cannot save themselves. But with God, all things are possible.

Peter: You just told that man to leave everything and follow You. Well, all of us have done just that. So what should we be expecting?

Jesus: I tell you this. When creation is consummated and all things are renewed, when the Son of Man sits on His throne in glory, you who have followed Me will also sit on thrones. There will be twelve thrones, and you will sit and judge the twelve tribes of Israel. You who have left your house and your fields, or your brothers and sisters, or your father and mother, or even your children in order to follow Me, at that time when all is renewed, you will receive so much more: you will receive 100 times what you gave up. You will inherit eternal life. Many of those who are the first will be last, and those who are the last will be first.

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 19 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Why? Because adultery itself is the divorce. Adultery is the thing that breaks the bond of marriage. Just as an excommunication merely recognizes the fact that someone has already been removed from the people, a divorce merely legalizes what harlotry has created. But should someone leave his wife for any other reason—because he has nothing to say to her, because she continually burns his food, because she is profligate with the household resources, because he simply cannot stand the sight of her—this is outside of the message Jesus offers here. If we behave as if a marriage has been undone—indeed, some may believe that a marriage has been undone—then we are deluding ourselves. In the eyes of God, the marriage bonds still hold a man to his wife.

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 15th chapter of the book of Job with points made by Eliphaz:

Eliphaz reiterated his points.

Eliphaz: Does a wise man reply with windy knowledge

and fill up his belly with the hot east wind?

Does a wise man reason with impotent chatter,

with bankrupt words of no account?

Indeed, Job, you have ignored your responsibility to revere God

and depreciated your own thoughts toward God;

For your faults inform your speech,

and your language is tricky.

Your own mouth condemns you, not I;

your own lips volunteer as witnesses against you.

Were you the firstborn among men?

Were you introduced to the earth before the hills were conceived?

Were you allowed to listen in on the deliberations in God’s assembly?

Do you imagine all knowledge to be confined to you and you only?

What do you know that we don’t know?

Do you have an understanding that has somehow eluded us?

We have gray hairs and elders among us

weighed down with years,

heavier than your father.

Do you find God’s many comforts too meager

and His gentle speech to you too mild?

What has stripped you of your reason, carried away your heart?

Why do your eyes flash with anger—

So much so that you unleash your spirit

and spray out such speeches against God?

What is humankind, that people would be considered pure?

And among those born of women,

who could possibly be innocent?

Look, if God refuses to trust even His holy attendants,

if even the heavens above are impure in His eyes,

Then how much less regard must He show for humankind, who is base and corrupt,

or for Adam’s children who drink sin like water.

Eliphaz: I will tell it like it is, so listen.

I’ll recount what I have seen:

The very things that knowledgeable men have declared

and which they do not hide that they heard from their fathers

To whom the land was granted long ago

when no foreigners were among them.

The wicked man endures misery his whole life long;

and many years of sorrow are stored up for the ruthless.

His ears are assailed by the sounds of terror;

but when he is finally at peace, the destroyer seizes him.

Unsure that he will ever escape darkness,

he lives ever-conscious of the sword.

He wanders aimlessly in search of food.

“Where is it?” he asks.

He knows all the while that the great day of darkness is imminent.

He is addled by strain and anxiety, terrified;

he will be overwhelmed as if by a king about to descend upon his enemy in war.

For he raises his fist to God

and acts arrogantly like a hero against the Highest One.

He runs at Him, headlong, headstrong,

and leads his charge behind the thick protection of a massive shield.

Strong and healthy, he has nourished himself well and prospered

until his face and his thighs are pleasantly fat.

He lodges in evacuated towns in empty houses unfit for habitation,

in buildings condemned to rubble and ruin.

He will never be rich; his wealth will not last,

nor will he have possessions enough for any to put down roots.

He will not manage to escape from darkness,

as it scorches like tender branches that wilt in the flame;

He will blow away like the breath of his mouth.

Don’t let him fool himself;

if he trusts in the emptiness of his vanity,

emptiness will be his reward.

Before his time is up, it will all be finished

and the branches of his trees will never leaf out.

He will be like the vine that drops its immature grapes,

the olive tree that sheds its own blossoms.

O the gathering of the godless is unfruitful,

and fire consumes the tents of those who pervert justice by giving bribes.

Their intercourse yields only the conception of misconduct,

the birth of sinfulness,

and their wombs carry only lies to term.

The Book of Job, Chapter 15 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Genesis 6:1–4 tells the strange story of God’s own heavenly messengers procreating with beautiful human women. Such a union was obviously forbidden, possibly because it endowed the children with eternal life, based on God’s response to the situation—limiting the lifespan of humans to 120 years. As Job has revealed, these heavenly messengers are with God all the time. They do His bidding. No one could possibly know His rules better than they do or have more motivation to follow them, yet they still chose to disobey God. Eliphaz’s point is clear: no human could possibly claim to be above the temptation to sin when God’s heavenly envoys are not.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, may 10 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about what we see in the “mirror” of the eternal Word:

"When you read God's Word ... continually to say to yourself: It is I to whom it is speaking - this is earnestness, precisely this is earnestness. This is most crucial, as unconditionally the condition if you are to come to see yourself in the mirror." - Kierkegaard

====

"Our Lord Jesus oftentimes said, 'This I am. This I am. I am what you love. I am what you enjoy. I am what you serve. I am what you long for. I am what you desire. I am what you intend. I am all that is’" (Julian of Norwich). Amen to such beautiful words. And we should attend to stirring of our hearts, our deepest desires, since they ultimately find their end in God. As C.S. Lewis noted, our longing for a love which no experience in this world can fully satisfy is a sign that were made for God's eternal love.

You seek beauty, peace, love, and life, but the Lord says that he is the substance and heart of all these things... The lilies of the field do not toil but are arrayed in God's pleasure and design; the birds do not store up their food in barns but are sustained to take wing in the winds of God's hovering presence. Every hair on your head is numbered; there is not a word on your tongue unheard by your Heavenly Father.

Imagine Yeshua saying the following words directly to you: "I am the bread of life. I am the substance of what satisfies your hunger. I am essential for life. I am the manna that comes down from heaven to feed you and make you forever alive. I give you sustenance and strength; I will give you living water that will be like an oasis for your heart - the Spirit of Life that will comfort you. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. I alone can satisfy your deepest needs and longings. I am Life itself, the source and blessing of all that is good and worthy and true.

I am the light of the world. I give to you the light of life. My presence will guide your way. I will turn your darkness into light. In me is the fountain of life; in my light you shall receive light... I will give you a heart to know me. I am the Word of God: the Voice and revelation of the LORD, the Source of all truth. I am the LORD who brings you out of the darkness of your bondage; I am the one who redeems you, the one who atones for you, the one who suffers and dies for you to remove what separates you from God's Presence. I am the Father who receives you with open arms; I sacrifice the fattened calf to celebrate the blessing of your life... I am the LORD your healer; I sanctify you in my love.

I am the gateway to life, the door that opens to the Kingdom of Heaven. I am the way to know the Father's heart; I express the truth of God in who I am; I am the resurrection of God: No one can enter the kingdom apart from me. I am the LORD and there is no Savior apart from me. Do not be afraid: I will hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, "Fear not, I am the one who helps you." I am the Good Shepherd who guards each one of his flock.

I am your way to connect with God. I am the true Vine. Live in me and I will live in you. I will never leave nor forsake you. Draw near to me: lean upon my bosom. I will teach you what love means. Find comfort in my love for you. Then you will be able to love others and glorify the truth of my heart's passion for all people."

Yeshua is the way, the truth, and the love for which our heart cries out. In Him we "live and move and have our being." He is the Alef and Tav, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End, and the Sacred Center of all that exists. His heart is our "all in all," the fullness of all that will ever mean anything at any time. "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine; he grazes among the lilies." May you open your heart and draw near to him today. Amen.

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Jer. 31:3b reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/jer31-3b-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/jer31-3b-lesson.pdf

5.9.23 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel365:

The Hebrew word achdut, “unity,” is based on the word echad. The sages teach that when the children of Israel stood at the bottom of Mount Sinai they achieved extraordinary achdut, joining together “like one person with one heart.” In the merit of this unity, they received the Bible from God.

Unity, however, can also be used for negative purposes. At the beginning of the story of the Tower of Babel, we read “Everyone on earth had the same language and the same words” (Genesis 11:1). Commendably, the people of that generation joined together as one, but then tragically worked together to rebel against their Creator. Mankind must unite, but only to perform God’s will.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

May 10, 2023

The Father's Love for the Son

“And lo a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17)

In this remarkable verse, God the Father, speaking from heaven itself, introduces His beloved Son to the world. This is the first New Testament reference to “love,” just as the Father’s love for the Son was the first love that ever existed. As Christ prayed in the upper room, “For thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world” (John 17:24).

There are many other references to the Father’s love for the Son, including two to the voice at His baptism (Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22) and two more in the upper room prayer (John 17:23, 26). One great reason for that love is the following: “Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life” (John 10:17).

The extent of the Father’s love for His blessed Son was all-encompassing. “The Father loveth the Son, and hath given all things into his hand” (John 3:35). Furthermore, “the Father loveth the Son, and showeth Him all things that Himself doeth” (John 5:20).

God also spoke of His “beloved Son” on the Mount of Transfiguration, as cited four times (Matthew 17:5; Mark 9:7; Luke 9:35; 2 Peter 1:17). Thus, there are seven references in the New Testament to the Father’s heavenly testimony to His beloved Son. Similarly, there are seven passages where the Son Himself testifies of that Fatherly love. In addition to the six cited above, Christ said, “As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you” (John 15:9).

Seven testimonies from the Father and seven from the Son! Surely the Father loved the Son with a perfect love. And yet—“Herein is love...that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins” (1 John 4:10). Such love for unworthy sinners merits nothing less than total thanksgiving from us. HMM

[treadmilltreats]

Don't make New Year's resolutions, make life resolutions

Every year we all make New Year's resolutions. We vow to go to the gym more, eat right, make more money, do the things we should be doing already but aren't. Us gym rats know that the gym is packed the first month of the year but by the last week in January, not so much. By the second week in February, it's just us die-hards that are in there again.

So why do we do that to ourselves? Why do we make these resolutions only to break them and then make ourselves feel bad? I don't know but eight years ago I decided I wasn't going to make any resolutions. I was going to make life resolutions, to do something to change who I was as a person inside.

These have been my life resolutions that have literally changed my life.

2014 was: Let go and let God

This meant I couldn't control everything. I couldn't figure out all of my problems, so if I wanted to change my life I had to let go of control and give it to God. See God kept giving me messages but I thought I knew better. This was a game changer for me.

2015 was: Pray and let God worry

I remember while I was getting divorced, I was stressing so much that I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep and my hair was falling out. I even thought I was having a heart attack at one point. I couldn't go on believing in God and keep stressing, it didn't make sense, did I believe or not? Do I have faith or not? So I chose to pray and let God worry and that was the best decision I ever made.

2016 was: Be present in my purpose

I know I am here for a purpose. I know God gave me this gift of writing, to be able to touch others with my words. So in 2016, I chose to be present in that purpose and know that this is where I am supposed to be.

My bible verse has always been: Romans 8.28

"God causes everything to happen for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them"

I have been present in this verse and in my life, ever since.

2017 was: Be real to yourself

For me it's listening to that voice inside yourself. It's feeling what makes you happy, trusting what God is telling you, what is real. We often poo poo things in our minds, we know deep down what the message is but we don't want to listen.

I heard the messages and I have acted quickly on them as I now trust God and my intuition. This was a hard one for me and sometimes I reverted into my old ways but since this resolution, I have been quicker to learn my lessons and move on.

2018: Knowing your self worth.

This was also a hard one for me, as I've lost my self worth a long time ago and hadn't gotten it back. I used to let men use me, I'd run after men who aren't worth my time. I've made excuses for bad behavior of people and given way too many chances to people who've hurt me.

I had to practice what I preach, the things I write about to my readers. I needed to show others how to treat me, with love and respect and if not, then you're outta here. I now know my self worth and it's a wonderful feeling.

2019: To realize that I am a soldier.

I had to realize that God only gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers and that's me. Whether I want it or not, this is who he called me to be. This is so I can share my testimony with others.

2020 was to be happy within myself.

It doesn't matter what people say, whether they think it's right or wrong, this is your life. You can be dead tomorrow and I know this as I lost many loved ones suddenly and so I know how short life can truly be. You need to do what makes you happy now. Don't try to live your life pleasing others, because most times they will never be happy with themselves. I will do what makes me happy, as long as I am not hurting anyone. This is my life and I will live it my way.

For 2021 my life resolution was

Do not lose heart

It is from 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed day by day. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is"

2022 Be happy

Was

about being happy with yourself. You cannot make anyone else happy but you can find the happiness within.

2023 will be Shit happens

A lot of shit happened this last year and I've realized that's just life.

Shit will happen and life goes on, but we can't let it bring us down, or knock us out. There will be some great years and there will be some really shitty years but our attitude is the only thing we can change.

I know this life is only temporary, and through it all I have not lost heart. Even when I couldn't see what was coming at me, I held on to my faith, and I looked for the lessons in this craziness in the world. I was grateful for things even when the world seemed bleak.

See, you cannot change, you cannot get this, if you still will not let go, if you still do not have faith...it's all on you. Can you get out of your own way to make things happen?

Once we let go of these things, once we let go of control, once we learn faith and we pray and let God worry, things will change. Once we are present in our purpose, once we are real with ourselves, once we own who we are called to be, once we are happy with ourselves and our life then everything we ever wanted, everything we ever lost, everything that was stolen from us, will be returned in abundance.

So today my friends, I tell you that this is your year, you are the only one that can change things in your life. If you truly want them to change, you have to do the work and believe me, sometimes it's not easy.

If I can do it, then you can too. Change your life today...

Don't make New Year's resolutions, make life resolutions...start today.

"Be the change you want to see"

@TreadmillTreats

[pooma-bible]

Savita Manwani

Let us Pray: Lord, thank you for this time and opportunity you gave us to listen to your voice. Give us a receptive heart to receive your word with gladness and be blessed. In Jesus Name. Amen

Topic - How Big Is Your Vision?

How Big Is Your Vision? Have you ever thought about what God could do through you to influence your generation? Lord Jesus Christ was not kidding when He called His disciples to gain a vision of impacting the world for His name. He said, “I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing” (John 14:12).

Don’t underestimate those words. Read them again. Here, in capsule form, Christ challenges His disciples – and that now includes you and me – to dream great dreams, plan great plans, pray great prayers, and obey His great commands.

Dream Great Dreams

In the disciples’ minds, time was fast running out. For more than three years they had hoped Christ would be the one who would redeem Israel and reign as Messiah. But now He was saying that one of them would betray Him and deliver Him up to the Jewish leaders to be crucified.

Imagine what the twelve thought when Christ went on to promise, “I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing” (John 14:12)

Around the upper room table sat Peter, who had almost drowned trying to walk on water. And Philip, who waved his arms in exclamation, stating the impossibility of buying enough bread to feed the multitude. And Andrew, who, with a number of the other disciples, could not heal a boy who was demon-possessed.

To each disciple, Christ said, “You can continue the work I have been doing.” And His promise is the same to you and me. He calls us to dream great dreams of what we can do to impact the world for His glory. How is this possible? The key is two-fold.

First, because Christ was going to the Father, he assured the disciples He would send the Comforter, the Holy Spirit, to indwell all believers (John 14:16-17). Christ would now continue His work through us!

Second, Christ qualified His promise with a condition. He said, “Anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing” (vs.12). The Lord challenges us to have faith – not necessarily more faith, but faith in Him. It is an ongoing faith.

Renew Your Vision

Have you stopped seeing great things happen in your life? Perhaps you have stopped believing that God can work in a mighty way in our generation. But what limits the work of God here on Earth?

Is God somehow incapable of turning the hearts of multiplied thousands to Himself? Of causing the fires of revival to spread throughout this country and beyond? Of course not! Yet God has chosen to limit His works, at least in some measure, to those things we trust Him to do through us.

Why is it that so few Christians ever accomplish great things for Christ? I believe it is because we lose the ability to dream great dreams. For God to use us again, we need to confess our unbelief and say: “Lord Jesus, renew my vision in Your power. Renew my confidence in Your abilities. Renew my trust in Your resources.” Then begin to dream again!

Christ Himself never limited His disciples’ vision. Even though He restricted His own public ministry to Palestine, He came and lived and died for all mankind. And after His resurrection, He commissioned His followers to “make disciples of all nations” (Matt.28:19) and sent them first to Jerusalem, then to all Judea and Samaria, and ultimately to the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8).

Where have your dreams stopped? Have they been lost somewhere between your living room and the house next door? “If your dreams aren’t greater than finishing your education, paying your bills, or raising your children, then your vision isn’t divine.” May be it’s time to consider how God could use you to make a difference in the lives of others.

The opportunities are great throughout the globe. But how can we impact our generation for Christ? Is it really possible to preach the gospel to all nations? I believe it is possible by taking God at His Word and making plans to accomplish great things by His power working in us.

Plan Great Plans

Jesus Christ declares, “He [who believes in me] will do even greater things than these [I have done], because I am going to the Father”(John14:12).

That is a fantastic, almost incredible, yet true promise. It came from the lips of the Lord Jesus and has been proved trustworthy many times. Christ promises we can do greater works than He did! Perhaps a look at the ministry of Paul will help us understand what Christ is saying here.

Without a doubt, God used Paul tremendously during the crucial, formative years of the New Testament church. Even his opponents admitted Paul had saturated entire provinces with the gospel (Acts 19:26) and turned the world upside down (Acts 17:6). Some scholars have even claimed that, from a human point of view, this Pharisee –turned-preacher influenced history more than Jesus Christ Himself.

What was Paul’s secret? Simple. “He dreamed, but he wasn’t just a dreamer.” He also planned great plans and carried them out in power of the Holy Spirit. These plans included utilizing ministry teams, traveling extensively, taking advantage of opportunities to witness for Christ, and establishing local churches to nurture new believers.

You see, Paul wasn’t content to saturate one small area with the gospel at the expense of the rest of the world. He had strategy for reaching the entire Roman Empire! He could say, “But now that there is no more place for me to work in these regions [Jerusalem to Illyricum], and since I have been longing for many years to see you [in Rome]. I plan to do so when I go to Spain” (Rom.15:23-24).

Paul goes on in that chapter to explain his itinerary. In his mind, he could visualize every major city where he would stop on his way to Rome. He longed eventually to win the people of that capital city to Christ. But beyond that, his ultimate goal was to reach Spain – the western limit of the empire.

Notice the apostle used strategic thinking to fulfill his ministry. He didn’t consider it carnal or beneath his dignity to plan strategically. Instead, he used it as a tool to more effectively reach the masses.

Of course, we must recognize God’s role in our planning. Psalm 127:1 reminds us, “Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain” – no matter how nice a job the architect did on the blueprints. Our planning is never intended to replace God’s sovereign leading in our lives.

This is an exciting concept to me. On the one hand, God intends for us to use logical, strategic planning in fulfilling the Great Commission. But on the other hand, God can redirect our plans when necessary. One doesn’t necessarily cancel out the need for the other. Do you have dreams and plans of what God might do through your life? Or are you just busy with life’s routine, ordinary tasks? Have you become bored…. or boring?

The Lord Jesus Christ challenges us to abandon our complacency when He says that we can do even greater things than HE has done through His Spirit, who dwells in us. He doesn’t intend for us to sit idly and dream of what could happen for His glory. He wants us to plan great plans so that dreams can come true.

William Carey upset the status quo of the church in his day when he proposed sending missionaries from Britain to evangelize other parts of the world. Older Christians told him to give up his preposterous ideas. Carey countered their boredom and doubt by writing, “Expect great things from God, attempt great things for God.”

That statement became the creed of the modern missions movement as men and women followed Carey’s example and went to the ends of the earth with the saving message of Christ’s gospel. Like Carey, God wants us to attempt great things for Him to reach our generation.

Are you expecting great things from God? Or are you letting the opportunities pass you by? If the Lord wants the gospel preached worldwide – and He does – then we can’t remain passive. Whatever our gifts or abilities or resources, we must work together as faithful stewards of what God has given us.

Dream a little. Envision the billions of people who have not accepted the gospel in this generation. Many have not even heard it explained to them. What are you going to do about it?

Start doing something by making specific plans of action. Determine how God could use you to share Christ at work, at school, in your neighborhood – and beyond.

Are you willing to gain a vision of what God could do through you to win others to Himself? After all, God doesn’t have a Plan A, a Plan B, and a Plan C for evangelizing the world. He has only one plan – and that’s you and me.

Allow me to end here. God bless you!

[jasongoldtrap]

Right Now....

by Jason Goldtrap

November 1, 2022

10 different people are making 10 different decisions in 10 different directions but lead to 1 outcome.

Consider.

1. a doctor, who swore to do no harm, is removing the healthy breasts of an 11 year old girl whose mother wanted a son.

2. a preacher is trying to convince listeners that Bible doesn't meam what it clearly says.

3. a man on Facebook is stirring up trouble because he is lonely and has no one to talk to.

4. a girl from a good home is trying cocaine for the first time.

5. he knows she's not going to tell anyone he hit her.

6. a married man is viewing pornography.

7. a woman who knows she needs to be baptized is distracted and drifting towards the center lane.

8. she's spending her rent money on lotto tickets.

9. a 23 year old man who was picked on all his life, couldn't find a job and never kissed a girl is loading an AK-47 and studying a map of a school.

10. she will do anything to make him say, "I love you."

...but it doesn't have to be that way.

Try it again.

1. the doctor is saying, "No," and turning his attention to sick people.

2. the preacher says, "I need a break."

3. he just got a message that said, "Jesus cares for you. Call me if you ever need to talk."

4. she's saying, "I don't need this garbage."

5. she realizes he has committed a crime and if she doesn't saying anything he will beat the next girl.

6. he is realizing that she wants to be touched and feel wanted.

7. she snaps back to attention and drives over to a friend's house who has a pool. She is baptized.

8. she is realizing that winning the lottery won't fix anything.

9. the phone rings. "I haven't heard from you in a while. Let me take you to lunch so we can talk."

10. she is starting to think that gangly Christian nerd may not be the coolest boy in school but he is always kind, respectful and he listens to her.

So break the mold.

Pray for wisdom.

Say the Word.

Rethink your situation.

And change the world.

Romans 12:2 Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

It's never too late for a new beginning.