#try to look up St. Agnes prayers

[icga-blog]

So. I saw a post about St. Agatha (really cool woman), and decide to look St. Agnes up, just to see any possible symbolism since Maggie is this type of author. Here is the story, I will let you came to your own conclusions. At the age of 13, St. Agnes was full of suitors (since she was beautiful and rich), but she did not want to get marry, she was consecrated by God that liked her virginity a lot. The thing here is: all of this was before Christianity become legal in Ancient Rome, so when she refused to marry the son of the Mayor of Rome, he told his father about her faith.

She was arrested and (after a trial that everyone says was forged in many ways) was condemned to, between many other things, work in the temple of Vesta, the roman goddess of home, ceremonial fire and fireplaces, the protector of life. This punishment would serve as excuse to her not marrying anyone and keeping her virginity, since all the priestesses of Vesta ensured their chastity and purity.

She still refused to let go of her faith, even if just in the eyes of society, and said to the Mayor: If I refused your son, who is a man, how can you think that I would accept paying honor to a statue? My husband is not from this earth. I'm young, it's true, but faith is not measured by years but by works. God measures the soul, not age. As for the gods, they may even be furious, I don't fear them. My God is love.

The Mayor decided to give her a worst punishment then. She was exposed naked in a brothel at the Agnolo circus, in Rome, for everyone to see.

But God came in her protection and cover her in a celestial light, so no one could see her (a man that was trying to grab her at the time become blind, but St. Agnes was kind and pray for him, so God give his vision back in a way that he no longer could see a naked girl when looking to her, but the daughter of God). Her hair then start growing really fast to protect her body from being seem, even when the light vanish. A second man tried to rape her, and died in the spot, but St. Agnes pity him and ask God to heal him, so he resurrected.

The Mayor got really scared at the hole ordeal and send her to the vice-mayor to take care of, since he was a much crueler man. He tried to burn her alive, but the flames didn't touch her. So he tortured her in every way imaginable, but she kept her calm all the time. Then he demanded that they cut her head.

St. Agnes died at 13, virgin, unmarried and holly in all aspects. She was later declared patron saint of chastity, children, gardeners, girls, grooms, rape victims and virgins.

[hughiecampbelle]

Divine (Helmut Zemo Oneshot)

Character/s: Zemo, Bucky

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: rupture + slamming doors + "If I wanted to, I would have already."

A/N: Not requested, just an idea I wanted to try out :) Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

REQUESTS ARE OPEN 🔮

Святой. Иголка. Собака. Покайтесь. Музыка. Шрам. Более легкий. Девятнадцать. Бог. Ангел. He rattles off those words like they are nothing, like they mean nothing, placing them between sentences, attempting coherency, while he waits for the aneurysm to burst. It’s cerebral: meaning “of relating to the brain or intellect”. The words, the diagnosis. You are smart, he knows this, he has seen this, therefore you are destined to be doomed. You always have been. The vessel wall is weak (frail, feeble, fragile) and the blood begins to pool, applying pressure to the nerves. The brain. Eventually, the vessel will fracture and begin to hemorrhage. You have yet to detonate, though you’re close: your seams are loose, the wires crossed, your skull filled to the brim. Seeing red. The rupture will be catastrophic. No survivors. Under your breath you repeat the words: over and over, trying to regain control, trying not to let him win. Your fists are balled. Your voice is shaky. Your heartbeat rapid. Cerebral aneurysms can lead to brain damage, hemorrhagic stroke, coma, and death. You wonder if you will die like this, listing off those words, everything in you fighting for control. You wonder if his voice will still be in your head, all of their voices, while you become undone. 

Святой. Saint. You weren’t devout. Your mother, though, feared the wrath of God. She went to the saints, the individuals, to solve her problems. Her knees bled, and her back broke, and the holy pages became frayed. She wore Mary around her neck, clutching her, cradling her. She pleaded and you’d wait for something to happen. A miracle. A light. Anything. She’s find her glasses and thank St. Anthony. It was St. Raphael who cured you when you were sick. St. Agnes would keep you pure. You didn’t not believe. You had no proof in either direction. It didn’t seem fair to write them all off completely. Still, it didn’t sit right with you. It still doesn’t. You can’t remember her face. In your memories, her features are blank. Her voice, her mannerisms, all of gone along with her name. But her devotion, her begging, has been carved into you, deep enough where Hydra could not touch. All across the world, you’d wander off to churches between jobs, blood scrubbed off your skin, circling the drain as the doors open. The pews lined. The priest would welcome you in, speak to you in his native tongue, and you would shyly reciprocate. If not fluent, then stumbling your way through a prayer to your mothers saints long gone. They don’t hear you: you know this. They heard her, the worked in her favor. You called to them, to help you, to save you, as they tore you apart. Nothing changed. No one stopped. Still, there is a moral obligation, an innately human desire, to ask for forgiveness. Even someone as irredeemable and sullied as you bows your head and clasps your hands together. You prayed to your mother, a stranger now, that she might be looking down on you, that she is not upset with what you have become. A killer. An assassin. Where was St. Agnes now?

Иголка. Needle. There is nothing to compare it to, no history of childhood fits, no surge of panic in your adolescence, nothing, though you’ve been told you become difficult in the presence of needles. You used to put up more of a fight, hysterical at the idea of something sharp and pointed plunging into you. After the accident, most of your body was in ruins. You needed IV’s, and shots, and spinal taps. You screamed and cried and bargained everything you had, everything you were worth. Zola didn’t believe in pain killers. It would be wasted on something that didn’t deserve relief. Strapped to the table, a syringe digging into your spine, he’d shush you, your wimpers, brushing the sweat off your face. His breath was hot, his words pungent. That piece of you never got lost. They tried, they really did. Their own version of exposure therapy. Sam thought you were ridiculous. Your bones, your skin, your muscle put back together, most of you metal and scar tissue (Frankensteineque) and yet your eyes tear up at the thought of a vaccine. You have killed and been killed, but a needle, something so small it’s insignificant, throws off your day. Sends you into a panic. Not because of what they did. Not because, when you were especially difficult to deal with, they’d puncture you like a human pincushion. But something deeper, older, in you that you cannot recite. Something childlike and stubborn remains and they come out even now, petrified and clawing, trying to get away. This piece of you is not embarrassing, as others would expect. Rather it is proof that a part of you is still human. Still mortal. Still you. 

Собака. Dog. He’d look at you the way one does at a rotten dog.  He’d watch you like your canines have fallen out of your gums, like your mouth is a series of sockets and spit, like your legs are chewed and chunkless, and your eyes are glazed over with cataracts. He never meant to. Zola. Loved you as one loves an old dog, too. With admiration and nostalgia. You were his child, his creation, his life. The Winter Soldier was his best, but you would always be his favorite. They broke you before they put you together again. You’d yelp, and bark, and whine. There was so much pain, it was all-encompassing. Blinding. Not just your skin, but in the marrow of your bones. It’s indescribable. He would stand by your side, he would hold your hand. When you regained feeling, eventually, you could feel him squeezing it. One. Two. Three. Your mouth tasted of metal. Even your gums were bleeding. You’d try to speak, but the gag in your mouth prevented it. He loved you. He loved you so much he locked you in a cage. Like a dog, he expected you to obey. To sit, and stand, and protect him, protect them. You were allowed to play, to bite at one another, but they preferred to keep you and Bucky separate. There was a great fear that, if placed beside one another, you would learn to communicate, to work together, and find a way out. The more secluded you were, the safer they would be. 

Шрам. Scar. You didn’t return to the living unscathed. Your body was all scar tissue. Hard, restricting, and thick. Some have faded, others tear open with one wrong move. You were the first of your kind, a test subject they could have a little fun with. It isn’t pretty. Some of it resembles your natural features: they eye they replaced is identical to the real one. Other parts they chose to keep more archaic. You are metal, and flesh, the two working together to keep you in one piece. You used to rust. They’d upgrade the mechanics every few years when something better was invented. It was excruciating. You don’t look like a person. What’s worse, you don’t feel like one. Where there should be softness is sterility. Zemo has seen more than anyone’s been allowed. He’s watched your muscles contort, heard the faint whirring of your limbs as they reconfigure themselves. He understands why Zola loved you so. You were beautiful. When the time came to use you, to blame you, a small part of him was remorseful. Sorry. You still catch him staring. Not out of anger or confusion, but infatuation. They all liked you for your body. That never stops. Not in life, not after death. 

Ангел. Angel. That was your name, the one they gave you when you forgot your own. There was The Winter Soldier and there was The Angel. Instinctual, you answered to it. A reflex. A habit. You chose a new one. Your therapist thought it was a good idea, to put distance between you and the thing they created. There were no files, no identification, no ties to anyone or anything, though. As far as they could find, you had always been Angel. Your identity not only stripped, it has been decimated. It’s as if you already belonged to them even before you got there. My angel, Zola would say, his tone affectionate, his mannerisms disturbing. The Angel, Zemo would bask in awe. You were real after all. You were still getting used to the one you gave yourself. Two, maybe three seconds before you recognized someone was trying to get your attention. All those years, it was hard to break. You’d like to think your mother would have laughed: her child? This child? An angel? You were cynical. Masochistic. Ruthless. You killed some of the most important people on the planet and you did it well. If nothing else, there was a sense of pride, a sense of duty, completion. You did so quietly, silently, and when you were done, eye-witnesses swore they truly saw an angel. How fitting. 

Святой. Иголка. Собака. Покайтесь. Музыка. Шрам. Более легкий. Девятнадцать. Бог. Ангел. Your hand is wrapped around his throat. Sam and Bucky are at your sides, trying to deescalate the situation. He watches you knowingly, expectantly. He wanted this to happen. It would be so easy. Can’t they see? Can’t they understand? Slip back into place. Disappear, go into hiding, and live as you did. You weren’t just good, you were excellent. You could crush his windpipe without a second thought. But Bucky, cautiously, places his hand on your arm. If you meet his eyes, you will have to let go. You will back away. You will become a dog again, beaten and abused, forced to obey. He can see it in your features. He knows what this would mean. But he is a changed person, a desperate person who needs Zemo. So you do. I see you are still following orders. Too scared to kill me? His voice comes out strained, choking, but he is remains arrogant. If I wanted to, I would have already. You spit, slamming the door behind you.

[bottleofspilledink]

God’s Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter XV

Now, normally a love confession would be followed by an answer. It was only rational. Declare your love and wait for a response. Either get a relationship or get rejected.

Lilith was not, however, what society by and large would actually deem ‘normal’ and neither was this confession. The word ‘love’ was not mentioned once, leaving her to wonder if Eve actually did understand her…

As the days passed, what was unspoken but clearly there blossomed, from a pinky-sized seed into a lush bouquet that filled their chest with an indescribable yearning and their conversations with heavy pauses, gazes overflowing with a tenderness that far surpassed what was appropriate between fond friends.

Soon, though, the rubber band holding the bouquet together would snap.

Soon, Lilith would come to know that Eve understood her quite well.

From the tension that sat in the five inches of space between their two chairs, something akin to electricity buzzing there, to the way Eve would eagerly ramble about the (not forbidden, she was still too shy to talk about what exactly was in the book Lilith snuck into her bag) books she’d read during lunch, to the patience Lilith would show as they ran through equations in study hall.

What was unspoken was slowly growing whether Lilith or Eve wanted it too. Like an unkillable weed that always grew back, no matter how many times you’ve pulled it out of the ground, no matter the chemical you chose to douse it with. But far more beautiful… That is, if the gardener would allow it to grow.

And everyone who was willing to see it would know it was there, what was there, even if the people feeling it were too scared to give it a name, even if the people seeing were too scared to admit it existed.

...

It was Thursday night on the same week as the incident, Lilith and Joan sat drinking cola in the shack, crickets and cicadas chirping in chorus outside, no one else with them busy with part-time jobs and family dinners and catching up on a week of homework.

“Hey.” Joan said, trying to steer the conversation away from their light-hearted chats and towards something a bit more… complicated, a tad more touchy.

“Yeah?”

“Are… Eve, I mean.” The brunette took a long sip from her can, the relaxed air between them shifting as she stalled what she needed to say. “Are you sure we can trust her?”

“What do you mean? She’s obviously gay and in denial-”

“That’s the point.” Joan fixes her with a soft stare, trying to strike the balance between firm and sympathetic. “I doubt Eve’s even admitted it to herself, and even if she has, she’s no friend of ours yet.”

“Where’s all this coming from all of a sudden?” Lilith can’t help but be defensive. After everything she’d told Joan about Eve and how she felt for her, after everything Joan had seen Eve go through just that Monday, how could she still be against the girl?

“They’re holding confession tomorrow.”

“What?”

“In the afternoon, just before club. There’s going to be confession.” Another sip from her drink, faster this time. “The holy type.”

Lilith knew exactly what Joan was implying, now considering the possibility herself having remembered what was happening tomorrow and every week after that. She wouldn’t admit it, though, refusing to doubt Eve despite the danger it may pose to trust her, to… love her.

Aster blue eyes widened, if only a fraction, in shock.

“And what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Are you sure she won’t crack?”

It hurt to think of. The chance of betrayal very real and very close, the things it may cost them all hung heavy in the air. What they’d worked for during the past year – the subject of many serious chats, full of tears and thinking and uncertainties, the cause of many sleepless nights, weighing risk and reward, planning – could vanish in an instant and make them vanish with it.

She could practically feel the ‘Godly Living’ brochures in her hand.

It was another thing she tried not to think of too much; her friends strapped into electric chairs and deadly hydrotherapy chambers, pumped full of pills that made them nauseous at the very thought of love with women or ones that didn’t let them think at all, the possibility of getting lobotomized.

“- could out us! She could out you!”

Joan’s voice pulled her from her mind before she could go too deep.

The emphasis on ‘you’ nearly made Lilith cry.

At the end of it all, even with the threat it brought to their gay little family, made up of people so vastly different yet somehow so similar, Joan was thinking about her.

And she was right to.

Tomorrow, if Eve did give her away, the others would be able to lie their way out of it, come up with alibis and excuses and cry ‘I have a boyfriend’ because Eve hadn’t spent enough time around them to gain anything as evidence because Eve had only been around Lilith.

“I don’t think she will.”

She tried not to sound scared.

“The only thing she really has against me are words anyways…” There was no reason to tell the other of the note she’d written for Eve. Painful as it was, the girl had probably thrown it out by now, especially since she knew what it meant. “And she can’t mention experience without admitting what almost happened between us a week ago.”

Joan was unconvinced.

“Are you really going to take this risk?”

She tossed Joan a few quarters. Enough for three phone calls on the payphone a mile or so away.

Maybe Lilith was going to risk herself for the sake of some girl.

But she’d be damned if she let her friends do the same thing for her.

“Call the others. Tell them to pack essentials and paperwork. Tell Colette to bring the check.”

“Only if you pack a bag too.”

It seems they would do the same for Lilith, whether she wanted them too or not.

“Joan-”

“No. If we have to leave tomorrow, you’re coming with us.”

And that was that.

...

It was a fine Friday morning in St. Agnes School For Girls. Maybe even her last.

Lilith tried to stay calm. Even as she packed her bags, even as she snuck into her grandfather’s office to retrieve her personal papers, even during the walk back to the shack, even while Paula and Joan and Julia and Colette went over what to say if they were questioned about their relationship with one another, their closeness, their relationship with Lilith, specifically.

It was agreed they would never throw each other under the bus. Agreed that, they’d deny all allegations against each other despite the proof, even if it may mean making them complicit.

After all, if they had to flee, they’d flee together.

If even one of them were found out, the plan was to run and pull a fire alarm, notifying the others.

Joan’s truck was parked just a few streets away from the school, no more than a quick sprint needed to reach it, key in her pocket, Paula carrying a duplicate, bags already in the back, fastened, Julia had forged a note for them about an after-school activity, buying them some time before a search was called if the school didn’t immediately call their guardians, and Colette carried all she needed to cash the check in on her person.

The last thing they did were practice statements, crafting sentences that left no room for interpretation and had no strange implications, absent of loopholes and additional clauses.

“What do we say if any of us are questioned about homosexual activity?”

“I know nothing about that.” They said, all in synch, drilling the words into their heads exactly as they were so there was no chance of them being taken out of context and used to spin a narrative. If the nuns wanted any of them sent to conversion therapy, they were going to have to lie through their teeth. “I’ve never taken part in such things and know no one who has.”

They sounded nothing like themselves, Lilith realized in between breaks.

Though she supposed that was the point.

“Again!” Said Joan. “What do you say if they accuse your friends of being homosexuals?”

“My friends and I are good, Christian people who would never willingly associate with homosexuals. I have personal anecdotes to prove the innocence of the girl you are accusing.”

It made them sick to their stomachs, having to say such things.

It made them safe, though.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

They were prepared.

But they didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

 ...

As the day went on, Lilith began to lose her cool, anxiety creeping deep into her bones, growing fidgety and restless. Her leg shook under the table, fingers tapping against the desk and clicking pens, eyes always shifting, looking for another sign that they needed to go.

Was this what Eve felt like every day?

The fear of being found out was in no means foreign to Lilith, nor was the fear of God, a tyrant she used to believe in and worship just like Eve did. But it had faded, her hiding of herself perfected to a science, fear turning into anger as she realized that everything she was raised on was a sham.

It had been too long since she felt this real, crushing anxiety.

She didn’t like it.

...

It was time.

Lilith and Eve sat next to each other in the small chapel on school grounds, just a bit behind the actual building but before the convent, not an inch of space between them as they were squeezed into the pews filled with those yet to receive the sacrament of confession. The seats were divided so that there were two groups of pews, one for waiting, the other for prayer, where many would do their penance. Two confessional booths were far behind them, having been placed like that so none of the girls would see who went in when or be able to hear a peep.

She knew how this was going to happen, how they could possibly get outed.

Priests were not allowed to break their vows and tell the nuns of the sins they’d heard during the confession but a penance was to be given to those who had sinned.

It could be anything from a prayer to an act of service.

It could be telling the nuns what you’ve done or know someone’s done as a way of repenting.

No doubt, if anyone confessed something of significance, they would have to tell Mother Cecilia.

And since most everyone who did this in earnest would believe their soul was on the line, if the girls in this school were truly the people they claimed to be, they would tell the nuns, friendships and loyalties and love be damned as the person they tattle on.

“Eve?” The girl whispered, finally snapping. “The note I gave you, do you still have it?”

The blonde did nothing more than look to the marble floor, hair shielding her face. There was no way for Lilith to tell if she was ashamed or guilty or planning to-

“Please answer me.”

“I still have it.”

For the first time in years, far longer than what most would consider healthy, Lilith felt herself minutes away from bursting into tears, eyes stinging from having to hold it all in.

“Where?”

“Why?”

Eve refused to meet her eyes when she ducked down to try and catch a glimpse of her face.

“With me, right now, in my pocket.”

Before the girl could answer her, a nun appeared to lead Eve into the booth, giving her a light scolding as they went.

“Time before confession should be used to reflect on your sins, Miss Peccator.”

“Yes, Sister Jane. I’m sorry.”

And with that, she was gone.

...

It was an eternity later when Lilith left the chapel, finding Eve just outside, to the right, standing amongst stone pillars that had barely started growing moss, waiting.

They were as alone as they could be, the only things watching them were the unseeing eyes of the statue saint surrounding them, whatever creature lingered in the cracks on the chapel’s stone, and God.

Perhaps what resided in the chapel was God.

“Eve…” She stepped closer to the girl, desperation potent. “What did you tell them?”

No response.

All she was given were downcast brown eyes and fidgeting fingers, guilt.

Lilith took another step forward, grabbing the other by her hands, letting Eve feel her warmth, her pulse, the softness of her flesh, of the blood that flowed through her veins, of her humanity.

“Eve, what did you tell the priest?”

Lilith had fallen to her knees, in a plea, in a prayer, the ground beneath her unforgiving and now stained with her blood, dark red and sinful. Eve’s hands clasped in hers and pressed to her sweat-soaked forehead as sobs wracked her body harder than it had in years.

She was screaming now, pulling on the other’s hands hard enough to hurt, something, anything to make the girl look up at her, unaware of the tears streaming down her own face.

“Eve? Eve?! What did you tell the priest?!”

They were the image of repentance, a holy figure, a dirty sinner; Eve towered above Lilith as she cried, immaculate and unattached as the girl wept into her skirts and her hands, a holy portrait commissioned by a long-gone pope.

If only they weren’t both sinners in His eyes.

“What did you tell the priest, Eve?!”

__________________

HAPPY HOLIDAYS HAVE A FUCKING CLIFF HANGER ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Lmao yes I know it's only the 24th but I’ll be back on actual christmas day with the next chapter tho so please don’t be mad at me and I’m very sorry for this (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Anyways, I would like some reblogs as my present this year <333

Taglist: @atahensic @anomiewrites @leahstypewriter @madame-ree @melpomenismask @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @gaypeaches @extrabitterbrain @pirateofblood @i-wanna-be-a-rock

[pamphletstoinspire]

February, the month dedicated to the Holy Family

THE REARING OF CHILDREN by the Carmelites of the Holy Trinity in Washington

More than a century ago, on April 9th, 1888, Therese Martin entered the Carmel of Lisieux where she was to die 9 years later in the odor of sanctity. But we should make no mistake: St. Therese did not become a Saint in 9 years. The young girl of 15 who crossed the threshold of Carmel that day had already advanced quite far on the "straight way that leads to Heaven". Her parents were her first "Novice Masters" and their own holiness strongly influenced the future Saint. It is certainly worth noting that both Mr. and Mrs. Martin are candidates for beatification. They have already passed the first step towards canonization by being declared Venerable. Many of the letters written by St. Therese's mother are still extant and, besides giving us many details about the Martin family, they form almost a treatise on Catholic education.

Mrs. Martin understood very well that Catholic education means much more than morning and evening prayer, attendance at Mass and sending the children to a good Catholic school. After bestowing natural life, parents must see to it that their children receive also supernatural life through Baptism. And then, they have to foster the development both of the body and of the soul. Mrs. Martin, as a truly Catholic mother, always gave priority to the soul. She considered her children as a sacred trust received from God and never lost sight of this important truth: a child is not a plaything.

If baptism removes original sin, it nevertheless leaves in the soul the four wounds of malice, infirmity, ignorance and concupiscence. Anyone who has been around little children knows that this is no mere theory. Very soon little ones begin to manifest evil tendencies. Too often, parents smile at these childish outbursts of anger, jealousy, stubbornness, pride, etc... which they even consider "cute". No, a child is NEVER CUTE when he is stubborn, proud, etc... Vices are like weeds. If you uproot them as soon as they show up, you will pull the whole thing out without difficulty.

But, do not weed your garden for a few weeks... and you will see the result! If children are corrected from their early childhood, the whole task of education will be much easier. Mrs. Martin never showed any weakness. She never allowed stubbornness or childish whims. Writing to her brother about Pauline (the future Mother Agnes of Jesus), she could say: "I have never spoiled her, and LITTLE THOUGH SHE WAS, I never let anything pass unchecked. Without making a martyr of her, I nevertheless made her obey." Children can easily be "fussy" at table. St. Therese's parents never gave way on this point. At table, children had to behave themselves and no grumbles at dishes they did not like much were ever tolerated. This may seem trivial matter, and how often parents take the easy way out by just yielding to their children. No one will deny that it is a trying task to train children to eat everything, but it is of much greater importance than it may seem at first sight. In fact, you do not only train your children's eating habits, you also train their will, and they will need a strong will to remain Catholic in our apostate world. In Lent, Mrs. Martin would subject the menu to some restrictions and all the fasts of the Church were scrupulously observed, which is an example all Catholic families should follow. It proves to be a great means of promoting a true spirit of mortification in the children.

You may raise the objection: "What a dull life for children!" Oh, no! The Martin family was happy and cheerful and the five girls were very lively. Mrs. Martin had a real gift for stimulating the generosity of her children. She always used supernatural motives to persuade them to fulfill their duties: a sinner to convert, to console Our Lord, etc... In a letter, she reports that her eldest daughter, Marie, valiantly faced the dentist -- remember, they did not put your mouth to sleep in those days! -- to obtain graces for her grandfather who had died recently. Marie was only 9 years old then, and she even felt sorry when the dentist did not pull out her tooth. "It is a pity", she exclaimed, "Grandpa would have left Purgatory!" 

Later on, when her eldest daughters had reached their teens, Mrs. Martin knew how to let them talk freely with her. She deemed it very important that her girls could express their mind fully so that, with much tact and kindness, she could rectify her daughters' judgment and teach them how to look at everything from the standpoint of Faith. The best praise of her "educational system" was given her by her own daughters at the process of beatification of St. Therese: "We were not spoiled. Our mother watched very carefully over her children's souls, and not the smallest fault ever went unreproved. Her training was kind and loving, but attentive and thorough."

St. Therese of the Child Jesus is probably the only Saint about whose childhood we have so many details. In the first four and a half years of St. Therese's life, Mrs. Martin wrote over 120 letters, mainly to her brother and to her daughter Pauline. These letters are an invaluable source of information. They reveal to us the dawn of sanctity in a soul as well as the important part played by the parents in the formation of a Saint. In spite of all her good qualities, St. Therese was not born a Saint. Like the rest of us, she had been wounded by original sin and if her defects were small, they were nevertheless real. there is, for instance, the delightful incident of the two sugar rings, a treasure for a little girl. St. Therese, who had a heart of gold, resolved to give one of the rings to her sister Celine. Alas, on the way home she lost one of the precious rings. What was she to do? Should she give the only ring left to Celine or keep it for herself? The shrewd little girl soon found the solution to this dilemma and declared that, unfortunately, it was Celine's ring that got lost! And the Saint comments: "See, how from childhood we instinctively safeguard our own interests!" And who will not see the "daughter of Eve" in the little Therese who thought she would have looked much nicer with her arms bare when her mother had her wear a pretty dress but with long sleeves?! St. Therese had remarkable qualities too, especially her crystal-clear honesty. Mrs. Martin could write, with some legitimate parental pride: "The little one would not tell a lie for all the gold in the world." Little Therese would always avow her baby faults to her parents without seeking any excuse and would then ask for forgiveness and await her punishment. There is something very charming in this innocent child and it is best expressed in Mrs. Martin's own words, in a letter to Pauline: "She (Therese) had broken a small vase, the size of my thumb, which I had given to her that morning. As usual when she has any accident, she came at once to show it to me. I showed some displeasure. Her little heart swelled...A moment later, she ran to me and said: 'Don't be sad, Mother, when I earn money, I promise you I will buy you another.' As you see it will be a while before I get it!"

St. Therese was an oversensitive little girl. Her eyes would easily fill with tears. One day Celine accused her of "bringing up her dolls badly and letting them have their way." That was enough to make Therese cry. Yet she did not have a weak character, on the contrary she had a very strong will and could even be stubborn. Referring to her two main "weaknesses", i.e. her oversensitiveness and her strong will, St. Therese wrote: "With such dispositions, I feel sure that, had I been brought up by careless parents, I would have become very wicked, and would maybe even have lost my soul." Such a statement should arouse in parents a salutary fear and make them realize their responsibility. Try to imagine what St. Therese would have become if she had spent most of her time sprawled on the carpet watching TV or listening to rock music, if she had been free to indulge all her whims...A good form of examination for parents would be the answer to the following question: "Would St. Therese have become a Saint if she had been brought up the way I bring my children up?" If the answer is "no", then think of the account Mrs. Martin would have had to render to God if, through a careless upbringing, she had deprived God and the world of St. Therese... We are sure you will then lose no time in reforming your method of education, for the greater good of your soul and of your children's souls.

Let us place ourselves at Mrs. Martin's school. The first thing to bear in mind is that, by baptism, any child is God's child. Several times a day, Mrs. Martin would put on her little girl's lips this little prayer: "My God, I give You my heart; Take it, please, so that no creature may possess it, but You alone, Jesus." St. Therese was taught to do everything to please God, and for love of Jesus. One day, Therese could not open the door of the room where Celine was having her lessons. In her frustration, she lay down in front of the door. Her mother told her that she should not behave like this. But the next day, when she found herself before the closed door, she lay down on the floor again. Her sister Mary told her: "Little Therese, you hurt the little Jesus very much when you do this." Therese looked up at her sister. She had understood and she never did it again. Her mother initiated her from a very early age in the art of making sacrifices and when St. Thérèse wrote that since the age of three she had never refused anything to the Good God, it was a tribute not only to her personal holiness but also to Mrs. Martin's method of education.

There is no cry-room in France and St. Therese had to behave herself in church. She loved to go to Mass and at two and a half she would cry if she could not go not only to Mass but also to Vespers. Even though she was very intelligent, she nevertheless surprised her parents when she declared one day: "The sermon was better than usual, but it was long all the same"!! Cry-rooms are not bad in themselves, but alas, too often parents use them as nurseries. It is certainly easier to let your little ones cry, play and eat in the cry-room than to discipline them and teach them how to behave in the House of God. But how many children are drastically retarded in their spiritual growth because up to the age of three, four, or five they have never attended Mass outside of a cry-room, playing, eating, etc... Parents must apply to themselves the words of St. Paul (I Cor. 3:9). They are "God's helpers", and their children are "God's tillage, God's building". God found in Mrs. Martin a faithful collaborator. To be the mother of a Saint was her happiness on earth and it is her glory in Heaven. This happiness and this glory are meant to be yours too, if you cooperate with God in the work of the sanctification of your children.

[tessa-lisbon]

mentions: lisbon family, scott, nathan

timeframe: at some point while 2gen was happening

location: st agnes church

notes: just catching up with my lil sunflower. drug/addiction mentions.

Considering how firmly Tessa had clung to her faith compared to her sisters, using it as both a comfort and a punishment where she saw fit, it would probably be surprising for anyone who knew her to discover that she hadn’t been in a church since she’d graduated from St Agnes. There’d been the chapel in the hospital, the point to which she’d practiced her walking after the fire, and where she would go when she needed to be alone to mourn in ways that felt all too selfish, but aside from that she’d just never considered her faith as something that existed outside herself and the quiet moments she spent in prayer in her bedroom when no one was watching.

“Tessa?” the whisper carried across the empty pews, bringing a comforted smile to her face as she looked up to see her sponsor making her way toward her. 

She greeted the woman with a hug, a skill she was regaining now that her burns were no longer open wounds, and didn’t waste any time getting to the point of her call. It was obvious enough that there was a reason they were meeting since she’d called her sponsor at all, so she obviously needed help in some form. “My pain medication,” she pulled the bottle out of her handbag and passed it over, the sound of the pills rattling like thunder in the silence of the church, “My doctor says I can still take them when I need it, with supervision, but--”

“You’re worried you won’t be able to tell when you don’t need it anymore.”

It had been her fear since the start, since she’d woken up in the hospital and seen the morphine line in her arm and the button to administer it on the bed next to her hand, just waiting to be pressed. If her sisters hadn’t begged her to stop trying to fight her pain with sheer willpower, a battle she never would have won, she couldn’t imagine she would have willingly dosed herself. Of course the morphine had worked, but she was still weighed down with the shame of how much she’d liked it, and of the thrill that snaked through the guilt every time she swallowed another painkiller.

“Tessa, you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t see how strong you are. And you can’t argue with me because I’m your sponsor and I’ve known you for years. Your self awareness is your strength, and the fact that you can tell the difference between it and when your addiction is trying to worm its way into your ear. Work with it, listen to it. Trust yourself. You know l’ll never stop trying to hammer that into your head.”

That was what she appreciated so much about her sponsor, she was endlessly supportive, and honest about things Tessa didn’t always want to hear, but never harsh. She knew how to talk to an addict whose first instinct was to run because she’d been in her shoes, young and overwhelmed.

“Do you think you still need them now? Or do you want to get rid of them?”

The question was one that she’d been mulling over while she’d been waiting. Her more stubborn thoughts were telling her to flush them, that she’d survived the worst pain imaginable so the discomfort she felt now was nothing. Couple that with the guilt that engulfed her every time she had to see someone she cared about worried when she showed pain, and it was a pickle indeed.

“I’ll keep them,” she eventually nodded, “I do need them, I still have real pain. I... shouldn’t let myself suffer out of fear. I’ve been clean for a long time now. I should trust myself.” she smiled, a cheeky glint in her eye, “Someone very inspirational once said that to me.”

For a long while after her sponsor left, Tessa sat with her thoughts, doing as had been suggested and listening to herself. Fear had been an issue for her for a long time. Fear of her mother’s wrath, the outside world, leaving her sisters, disappointing them, hurting them... and more recently of her pain, of her feelings for Scott and Nathan, of never being able to play her violin again, of being alone in rooms that might explode. The list was so extensive that it was a wonder she hadn’t drowned in her fear yet. Maybe that was it, the sign she needed but hadn’t been sitting far enough back to see the bigger picture. After everything, finding the drugs Scott had been dealing, the fire, her arduous recovery, she could proudly say that despite the universe’s every effort to bring her down she still hadn’t relapsed.

She had never been the type to do anything triumphantly, so quietly, Tessa made her way out of the church with her pills in her bag and a promise to herself. While her fears were given roots by her anxiety, she was ready to settle into a point in her life where she didn’t let them overrun her. She didn’t know how exactly she would achieve that, but she figured it all started with a change in perspective. If she trusted herself, realised that wanting things to be better for herself wasn’t selfish, then maybe she would feel like she was heading in the right direction.

[ravensandthings]

On Silent

Based on this prompt by @mad-the-swine

“so I like to think that every Sunday when Ronan goes to church, he thinks about stopping by to see adam but never does because maybe sundays are the only days the garage is closed and he can get some sleep for once, and then one day as the organist is playing in mass he realizes that adam must be able to hear everything, there’s no way he could sleep through it. So one day he dreams some noiseless headphones and leaves them outside adam’s door, and well-rested adam starts smiling more after that”

Thank you so much for submitting i looveeed this idea, you’re so creative!!

This is 1,714 words, pre relationship

He was so close.

Just for fun, Ronan tried to calculate the distance in feet between him and Adam during mass. The distance in yards, inches, meters.

Shuffling brought him out of his daydreams. The service was over, people were getting up to leave. A certain distinct part of Ronan became thrilled.

Maybe he could do it today. Maybe he’d casually stop by Adam’s scrappy appartement on this bright Sunday, he was in the area anyway, right?

As Ronan walked out of the old church building, he looked up to where he knew Adam lived and sighed. He wouldn’t go to Adams, he never would on a Sunday morning- the only day Boyd’s was closed and Adam could even attempt to sleep in. Adam needed the rest.

With a deep breath and a considerable amount of restraint, Ronan walked by the door of Saint Agnes’, saying a simple prayer to whoever would listen on behalf of Adam’s well-being.

Thinking about seeing Adam tomorrow made Ronan excited about the start of the school week. The fact that someone could do that to him was more than uncomfortable but also more than thrilling. Just twelve hours more.

In deliberate nonchalance the next morning, Ronan flopped down into the chair beside Adam’s, hardly sparing a glance his was. Hardly holding himself back from looking more.

Adam’s eyes were sunken it and glazed, not in the classroom or aware. Disheveled hair and sustained blinks were all the clues Ronan needed.

“Sleep much Parrish?” He pried with carefully disguised concern.

“Hm?” Adam looked to Ronan for the first time that morning, revealing the full vacancy of his expression.

Ronan found himself struck with an unfounded feeling of anger. Of course a few hours extra of sleep wouldn’t really change much. He just wanted better for Adam. How dare sleep in Sundays not help this boy more?

Ronan had been staring and Adam hadn’t been awake enough to realize, when Gansey arrived in class wearing some horrible new boat shoes that disgustingly matched his Aglionby uniform.

Ronan cracked a joke that Adam didn’t catch and Gansey reprimanded Ronan for his lack of preparation for class. Ronan didn’t care. He had one reason for coming to school this morning, and that reason was currently a sleepy dead man walking.

A bell rung, class began and Ronan couldn’t stop think about Adam. Wondering about the dark rings under his eyes and how to change their existence. Why didn’t thoes few extra hours of sleep make any difference for Adam? Ronan avoided him after church just so he could catch up on sleep-

Wait.

Church. Maybe that was it. Of course. It had to be. The church’s organ was scarcely well played, never well receive and always incredibly loud. And at seven thirty every Sunday morning, it began blaring some underrehearsed hymnal right below Adam’s room.

No wonder the extra hours asleep did nothing for Adam- he wasn’t getting them. Ronan couldn’t blame him; who could sleep through those atrocious sounds?

Fuck the organ. Fuck the organ player. But this was good. At least Ronan knew the problem, that meant he could dream away to stop it.

Ronan dreamed without sound.It was disorienting to be cut off from the senses within his own head.

He saw Adam. They were, both of them in the forest, but Adam was laying down on that shitty mistress from his apartment. He was tossing around, holding hands to his ears.

Ronan sat in the edge of the bed, next to the restless Dream Adam. Still, Ronan couldn’t hear a thing. Adam sat up and looked st Ronan- his eyes glassy with this dream world. Reaching his hands out, Dream Adam brushed his fingers by Ronan’s ears.

Shivering unwillingly, Ronan watched as Dream Adam pulled solidly black earbuds from Ronan’s ears. Sound came back at once.

“Oh,” Ronan mused, “I get it.”

Ronan took the headphones from Adam, savoring the way their fingers brushed in the exchange.

Following the thin headphone cord to his pocket, Ronan found them connected to a solid black cube, printed with simple white letters, reading:

ABSOLUTE SILENCE

Perfect.

It was Saturday night before Ronan finally found the guts to bring the noise eliminating gift to Adam. He had to bring them tonight so the church organ wouldn’t wake Adam in the morning.

He pulled up into the gravely parking area of St. Agnes’s, noted the absence of Adam’s shitbox and opted to wait in the hallway outside Adam’s door.

Ronan stretched his legs out strait in front of him, back against a wall of peeling paint. He put the dream buds into his ears and closed his eyes.

Almost, Ronan thought, he could dream like this. This particular brand of silence was like a blanket, protecting whoever experienced it from whatever pain and noise existed outside of it.

Ronan started when he felt a gentle kick to the side of his knee. Ripping the soundless ear buds from his ears, he looked up to see Adam Parrish, messing with the apartment key before unlocking his door.

“Sleep much, Lynch?” He smirked. Adam had the sleeves of his blue coveralls tied around his waist, white tee shirt hugging his chest in a way that forced blush to Ronan’s cheeks. He got up and followed Adam inside, deciding to have some fun.

“Listen to this new song I found Parrish?” Ronan said, meeting Adam at his desk where he already stood looking over the weekend’s homework.

“Ronan I swear, if you’re talking about the Murder Squash song-” Ronan cut Adam off by bringing the headphones to the boy’s ears.

Ronan held his hands over Adams ears, thumbs along his jaw bone. Ronan told himself this action was necessary in order to ensure Adam didn’t rip the buds away, but in actuality, Ronan wished he could hold Adam’s face like that all day.

“I don’t hear anything!” Adam said, a bit too loudly. Ronan hesitantly removed his hands from Adams face in order to dangle the connected ABSOLUTE SILENCE CUBE by Adams face.

Ronan smirked and Adam laughed. This reactions supercharged Ronan’s state of being. His stomach felt light and his eyes felt on fire.

Ronan reached to take the ear buds from Adam, wishing to make some snide comment he hadn’t thought of yet. Ronan was saved the trouble of figuring out some witty remark when Adam grabbed his hand.

It seemed like maybe he would swat it away, but Adam just kept his fingers on Ronan’s palm, thumb on the back of his hand

“I like you better on silent.” Adam joked, adjusting his voice to what he probably thought was a normal volume but just came out low and undeniably sexy. Adam still held Ronan’s hand in his own.

Touch was electric.

Breathing shallow and heart thoroughly wrecked, Ronan stumbled away from Adam in an awkward tornado of too long limbs. Adam caught Ronan by his left arm, took out the ear buds and laughed.

“So, standing? Were you skipping school the day that was covered?” Adam quipped.

“Fuck off Parrish.” Ronan snapped, but he made no move to leave Adam’s grasp. Standing was one thing, standing in the presence of Adam Parrish was another.

They both smirked. Adam headed to the shower leaving Ronan with the soundless headphones and the dimming light in the room.

If he stayed, Ronan knew what would happen. He’d try to kiss Adam, he knew he would. It was just one of those nights where Adam was extra irresistible. The firework touches didn’t help.

Ronan resolved to go home. He left the soundless earbuds on Adam’s pillow and quietly left.

Sunday was torcher. All through mass, Ronan could only hope Adam was getting the extra sleep he needed. What if he didn’t notice Rona had left the headphones, or just disregarded them all together? Adam was used to Ronan’s accidental dream creations, maybe he thought nothing of the ABSOLUTE SILENCE creation.

The urge to stop in at Adam’s was stronger than ever but Ronan tore himself away from the church apartment buildings and prayed for a well rested Adam.

When Ronan entered his first period class the next morning his eyes went strait to Adam as they always did. He looked slightly more at ease and aware of his surroundings. Adam jerked his head in greeting as Ronan walked in, even smiled at him for the seconds before obnoxious classmates began to fill the room.

This time, when Ronan commented on Gansey’s strange style choices, Adam laughed and ignited the electricity in Ronan from that weekend. He felt on top of the world, like he was finally doing something worth any amount of time put into it.

Adam seemed better during class, he smiled more, his notes were more organized. Ronan was sure he was imagining it but it seemed like Adam kept stealing glances his way. Even the possibility made Ronan soar.

After class, Adam held back until Ronan was ready to leave. They walked out of the room together into the already emptied out hallways. Adam stopped before heading out of the building to his next class.

“You’re gonna be late Parrish, the entire faculty with shit their pants if-”

Ronan couldn’t continue, not with Adam’s mouth pressed against his own, Adam’s fingers gripping his uniform tie.

Adam leaned against Ronan with his whole body and Ronan felt he would melt into the wood paneling behind him if he didn’t hold onto something. He gripped Adam around the waist and closed his eyes.

Ronan couldn’t be sure if this was real or not. He needed to remember it forever, he needed to understand what was happening in his brain.

“Adam,” was all he could manage to say.

Adam pressed one more kiss onto Ronan’s mouth.

“For the record,” Adam began simply, “I don’t like you better on silent.”

Ronan laughed even though he didn’t have the breath for it.

“Even when you’re being and asshole.”

Ronan smiled against Adam’s check and kissed him there without thinking before bringing their lips back together.

Really, if all Adam need was a few extra hours of sleep to be interested in this, in him of all people, Ronan figured silent headphones were a small price to pay.

[lennoncarroll]

i.

the blake-carroll household is quiet. all too quiet due to the fact the dark haired boy with boisterous laughter hasn’t been home in days… weeks… months. this keeps the elder blonde, with her hair knotted on her head, ironing the nonexistent worry lines out of her uniform for work and waiting for keys to discover the front door’s lock with ease - like before. she misses him, she does, and while she scolded herself for sending her boy — her baby boy off into the harsh streets with nothing but a farewell, good riddance. as a mother, one who was already concerned about who he was hanging out with and what girls were kept in his company, it was putting her at the edge that she pushed him into whatever harm’s was lying ahead.

she had fucked up royally, in laymen’s terms.

because while the boy was smart beyond his wits, he was still young and naive to fall for anything that sounded good — that seemed as if it was glazed with a sweet coat of honey. he may have seen a lot, did a lot but at the end of the day, she knew the truth witnessed in those very eyes and the futile warnings of staying out, staying away only seemed to gravitate him further to the deep end with no opportunity of escape.

he should’ve been here by now.

presently, she was pacing back and forth in the living room. terribly manicured hands toyed with the cross pendant dangling from her neck as lines of prayer fall from her lips quietly, other things managing to slip out as well.

“forgive me, father.”

“you were right, mama. i couldn’t do this by myself.”

“you probably hate me for not raising your son right. i wish you were here. i need you h-.”

the alarming sounds of the door trying to open takes her out of her senses, rushing to the door immediately and opening it to reveal the nearly desperate appearance of her son.

lennon.

his name wants to escape her but for a brief moment, she’s rendered speechless when her emotions dominate her system a little too quick. it’s then that she pulls him into her arms and into the house, despite the fact that he’s begging, pleading with her to let him go.

but she doesn’t. because she’s too overwhelmed, too elated with the fact that her boy has returned home. when she does lets go, their presence has engulfed the living room but the awkward tension from their last encounter still lingers in the air. she wants to give him the most and she offers him food, something to drink, anything but his reply is simply,

“no.”

and she understands that. why would he want anything from the same woman who practically didn’t want anything to do with him when she didn’t realize the signs before?

instead, she performs the task that she had created for when she asked him over earlier.

“maybe you should come back home. for everyone’s sake and for my damn heart not to have palpitations every three minutes, wondering if you’re okay.”

the words that his mother, meredith, speaks are almost soothing and soft to the boy she’s standing over while her baby blue eyes travel his disheveled appearance once and then, twice over. she didn’t really have a good look at him when he first arrived, too busy caught up in her reunion moment that it simply was overlooked. now, that she sees it, her lips twitch for a frown but she manages to stay composed under the observations being made.

dark circles linger for permanence underneath his bloodshot eyes, ones that she remembered being so different a long time ago. his dark hair is unkempt with a desperate call for some help since it’s nearly splitting at the ends. his body lacks the weight it possessed months ago with his clothes nearly swallowing him whole and most essentially, it’s taking everything within her not to resort to the old days of giving him a bath. he looks like death to the say the least and while she knows that he definitely knows this, it’s no point to argue considering the fact that she’s got him right where she wants him.

“every three minutes? that’s a trip to the doctor, don’t you think?” he cracks a joke, his hoarse voice sounding like its aching for relief.

“don’t be a smart ass, lennie.” she smiles, softly, her hand hesitantly reaching to run through his hair and she loses her nerve when he lets her. “you know what i meant.”

“i’m fine, ma.”

the two words that were once a lie through his years of middle school and st. agnes we’re making an appearance again. hearing them for the first time in months, it sounded like the truth because of the fact that he had been so accustomed to what his surroundings were that nothing else mattered. he was good, despite what weird looks he received and how people utilized this soft, almost “i’m not gonna hurt you” tone of voice whenever he spoke with them. he was better than good. he felt invincible in the sense that nothing could hurt him, nothing would hurt him since his form was high in the clouds and reluctant to descend back to earth. so what, if he appeared to be a ghost of his former self? so what, if the distance between him and his friends were increasing dramatically? who needed friends at this point? who needed anyone at this point? he was perfectly content with cruising down a lonely road with just him, himself and… —

“you’re not fine, baby boy. i think i know you better than that.”

with those words, her other hand traveled to his where his chin and jawline met, cupped it gently and perked his head up so she could really look at him, really see what it’s done to him. she couldn’t recognize the eyes that were trying to rip away from her state of concern terribly, the sucking of his teeth that was produced accompanying it as well. those once electrifying blue eyes were presently pale, swimming in a state of unconsciousness though he was awake and clouded with uncertainty.

“i get that you’re eighteen and you want to do things for yourself but living in nixon’s poolhouse or wherever you decide to lay your head at night, isn’t right. you may not want to hear that right now but it’s true, and i’d rather have you home then – …” her words cut off in an instant. with the knowledge of the words that had been engrained in both of their heads since the moment she discovered that a ten year old lennon carroll had successfully stolen a few items she didn’t remember buying during a trip to the corner store.

“ … in the streets, yeah. i know, i’ve heard it before.” lennon finished, wanting to roll his eyes at the statement.

it was peculiar to him how he did the exact opposite whenever he had the chance to, that roaming the streets were much more like a home to him than anything before especially now. it felt like every person he discovered became a distant relative, in some sense, and that’s just what it was: a dysfunctional family. so he listened — more like endured the lecture his mother was spewing with his leg bouncing animatedly to keep his nerves together before her lips found his forehead sweetly, then telling him to go upstairs and get some rest.

so he followed that instruction, not long before sneaking into the bathroom and shifting through the medicine cabinet for something worth to hold him over until tomorrow. the door shutting, the mirror revealing a face full of features that belonged to him but not so much anymore. his nose was running, that much hadn’t changed, and he took a short look at the bags collecting under his eyes and then, sucked his teeth soundly as he left the small room.

lights flickering off in a haste.

ii.

“what do you want, kid?”

the elder looks at the young boy who he remembered to have so much potential, who was bright and going to be somebody out of this neighborhood, long and hard.

lennon’s body is twitching, aching after what seems to be an eternity of not having his fix. he tried his hardest to score some cash — taking whatever he deemed fit and selling it off for nothing close to the item’s original price. but that doesn’t make sense to him anymore. nothing does at this point because when you’re high, nothing truly matters but the drugs.

he rubs at his arms, in attempts to hide the grimace threatening to appear on his features at the thoughts trickling in his head to get the rest of the money. it made him feel as if there was a thick coating of slime covering his skin, as if the dirt claimed residency on his body and that not even a million showers – scorching hot water pelting onto his back, couldn’t fix the damage that was done.

“you know what i want. i don’t think i have to spell it out to you anymore.”

he coughs more like hacks up whatever’s plugging his throat, looking around the park with that feeling creeping up on him again. that feeling of someone following him, that someone’s there to get him.

“when are you gonna learn that this stuff can kill ya? i’m not trying to have a death on my hands here.”

lennon rolled his eyes at the elder’s words, wanting to deliver a snarky remark but resisted.

“listen, man. if i wanted the same tired ass story about me killing myself, i would’ve went to one of my friends and last time i remembered, we’re not fucking friends. now, are you gonna give me what i want or do i have take my money elsewhere?”

“you know what? fine. it’s a slow night anyway.”

after short deliberation, the man sighs loudly as if in defeat and exchanges the baggie for the money with ease. lennon thanks him immediately, an immense amount of joy racking his system when he realizes that there was another bag added to his usual inventory. his face scrunched at the recent observation, the rainbow of pills at the bottom of the clear bag is making his head spin for some reason and he wants to ask a question but the elder reads his expression quickly and explains.

“Don’t be an idiot about this, kid. The white and yellow ones are the ups, right? The pink and blue are downers so don’t try to turn that shit into some metaphor to remember, alright?” the younger boy nods his head, still fascinated by the pills in his possession. “they should hold you over ‘til you get some more cash. so, listen to me: don’t fuck that up. if you do, i can’t help you, alright.”

lennon nods again and quickly heads home. he addressed that he’s back to his mom before heading up to his room. retrieving the two bags out from his pocket, a thought dawned on him for the first time since the short walk home.

“oh, shit. fuck.”

which ones were the ups again?

he couldn’t remember.

the one thing he was supposed to remember but couldn’t.

it wasn’t like he could’ve phoned the guy, either. He never answered the phone for whatever purpose.

he couldn’t think. he couldn’t bear to think straight right now with the more important task at hand so he did what he did when he didn’t want his mom finding any of his shit.

He hid it underneath one of the faulty floorboards.

pictures of his escapades and adventures with the boys that weren’t to be mentioned by anyone but them, forged detention slips,  that st. agnes yearbook filled with his former headboy past and a long list of innocent individuals he sent to keating for the hell of it.

he stuffed the baggie into the floor, assuring that they were safe and sound and then, moving the board back into place to get to what really stayed in his mind. he pours some of the drug out on the surface of his desk, taking a moment to find the razor blade he regularly used behind the clutter of papers in one of the drawers.

“you promised,“ a voice whispers to him as he uses much of his effort to crush the rocks.

“you promised, kit,“ the ghost of his former self seems to scream out but he can’t hear it as the blade sorts the white dust into various lines.

what exactly were promises to a street kid like himself? promises were always made to be broken, though. It was a universal thing and besides, lennon was far too deep that half the words, half the things he told his friends that he could stop, were faulty to begin with.

lies, that’s all they were. lies to tie them over and deliver some sort of hope that maybe, just maybe he could stop but his willpower and consciousness was currently being flooded by the presence of his dark lifestyle.

the strung out boy braced himself for the first line, the tip of his nose pressing slightly into the desk before he dragged his nostril along the white powder. fingertips touched his nostrils as he sniffed, throwing his head back a little as his eyes gazed up at the cracked ceiling. his heartbeat is thundering in his ears like all the other times, feeling as if it’s going to burst out of his chest any moment. he repeated this process a little while longer, a warm sensation washing over him as he finished. his heart nearly leaped at the sudden intrusion of knocking, making him lean against his desk to catch a bit of his breath.

“lennon?” his mother’s voice echoed, muffled by the door.

“i-in a minute, ma!”

his finger swipes along his desk for the remnants of the drug, then sticks his finger into his mouth and his fingertip rubs at his gums rushed. it’s not long before he sweeps the evidence into the drawer, throws an old book over the surface of the desk and then, pretending to be in his usual state when he opened the door.

with her hair pushed back into a ponytail and the appearance of her uniform, he assumed she was off to work but if that was the case then why was she standing here?

“i just wanted to know if you needed anything before i left out. i left you a plate out on the stove and- are you feeling okay? you don’t look too good, baby.”

he dodged the hand reaching for his forehead and instead, leaned against the doorframe.

think of something good, carroll. you can do it.

“i’m good! never better. in fact, i’m gonna be even better than that because i was uh, i just gonna heading out anyway,” he lied, treading into the room and grabbing his jacket quickly. “phoenix wants us to come over to his new place – remember? i think i told you about that the other night! him, gina and that jessie rodriguez girl are all living together now, remember. i told him living with girls was going be a bit of a challenge and i guess that’s coming into fruition sooner than i originally thought but uh, gina won’t forgive me if i don’t make an appearance so i’ll be with them, alright?” he pecked her cheek quickly, then carried himself down the narrow hallway and down the stairs.

he deflected the cautious words his mother gives him when he leaves the house and all he wants to do is find somewhere to enjoy his newfound state of euphoria.

iii.

“what do you mean you flushed it, ma?”

presently, lennon carroll is performing resistance towards the anger and frustration wishing to dominate his system right now. he was just arriving home from the time he spent out when to his surprise, his mother was still at home, waiting for him. evidently, she had other plans than what she once told him and that was going into his room and discovering things he thought she’d never find. he knows that she’s joking, that she would never do what she’s telling him she did, and that if she knew what he had to go through in order to get his fix that she would definitely be singing another tune.

“i meant exactly what i said, lennon dennis carroll,” she assured him, snapping slightly when her hands arrived on her hips. her eyebrow raised at his overwhelming reaction and pursued his fleeting body upstairs, to find him sitting on the bathroom floor with his hands masking his face. “i flushed all of it so you don’t have to worry about that anymore. how did you even figure out that thing with the floorboards – you know what? i don’t even want to know right now.”

what was wrong with him? the more important question was: where did she all go wrong? maybe the mothers in their neighborhood were right, after all. there was no absolute way she could handle nurturing and providing for a young boy, especially when he desperately desired the knowledge and strength that his father possessed. maybe she had been idiotic for so many years; idiotic for assuming that she didn’t need anyone, for declining help from her own parents when they offered and more importantly, for being so stubborn and selfish for falsely assuring his father that they were going to be okay, that he didn’t need someone to tread in and out of his life where he deemed fit, no matter how much of a success he claimed to be since it was given to him on a silver platter.

she should have done what was right but it was too late to speak about regrets – the should’ve, could’ve, would’ve of this situation.

it was time to take responsibility for these actions.

“it’s one thing to be out all hours of the night but it is another to start selling drugs.” she tells him, her voice shrill from the shouting she’s doing. “did your scholarship fall through or something? you don’t talk to me anymore so now, i have to pretend i’m pulling teeth here and for what, huh? for you to gallivant around here, thinking you’re some big -

“no.” he croaked, the usual ability of handling the situation by maintaining his piece, by remaining quiet and enduring these lectures, failing him.

“excuse me?” she wondered in disbelief.

the boy huffed out in frustration, hands flailing up and over his head and eyes narrowing at the form currently standing over him.

“i said no. is that okay with you? can i utter that for once, in my life?

i’m not that fucking stupid to assemble a drug ring in this goddamn house with you always up my ass all the time,” he spat towards her, the expression her features had taken were indescribable in the sense that shock and confusion were battling for permanence.

it was all crashing down, brick by brick, and the both of them couldn’t exactly be forced to assemble the fortress they forged together again.

not at this exact second…

                                              minute…

                                                                                moment.

“i… -- i am so exhausted, ma. i really am. i can’t sleep. i can’t eat. i find myself bored – no. irritated by the same things that brought me an ounce of happiness in my life like basketball and i – i’m tired of you telling me what to do all the damn time. i’m sick and tired of everyone telling me what’s wrong with me like, like they know what i have to deal with every damn day of my life.”

by now, his voice was wavering slightly and the tears swelling up in his eyes, were threatening to fall.

“i’m tired of this, returning home every day and having people whisper that i’ve wasted my potential. i know that! i don’t need anyone else thinking that because we couldn’t afford to send me off to columbia and sometimes… sometimes, i fucking wonder how different things could be if i wasn’t here, if i wasn’t – if i wasn’t…”

“if you weren’t what, lennon? talk to me.”

“if i wasn’t getting high every day, that’s all.”

the confession falls from his mouth as he crawled towards his mother, wrapping himself around her legs and hugging them as if they were his final lifeline. the woman above his figure couldn’t handle the overwhelming news of his truly honest activities, and choked out an uncontrollable, dry sob as one of her hands arrived at her mouth and the other delivering gentle strokes to his hair. the moment remains still for what feels like an eternity, the both of them coming to terms with what this night has delivered them.

“that-that’s why i need some money.” lennon’s voice then rasped, warm tears flowing freely from his eyes, rolling down his sullen cheeks, onto her skin and wetting his shirt. “please. i-i need a few bucks, j-just until i figure something else out.”

“you’re sick, baby,” she manages to croak out, her eyes shutting momentarily from the reflection from the medicine cabinet had given her. “i think you need something else right now.” she whispered, completely unfazed by the words he recently spoke. “i’m going to give you the money but first, i need you to do something for me, okay?”

and he nods, anything to receive what he truly desires.

[maxwellyjordan]

Argument analysis: Argument analysis: Justices divided in debate over “ministerial exception”

This morning the Supreme Court heard oral argument in a pair of cases filed by two teachers in southern California, who sued the Catholic schools where they worked after they learned that their contracts wouldn’t be renewed. The Catholic schools have urged the courts to throw out the teachers’ cases, relying on a doctrine known as the “ministerial exception,” which bars ministers from suing churches and other religious institutions for employment discrimination. In 2012, the Supreme Court ruled that the exception prohibited a lawsuit filed by a teacher at a Lutheran school who was also an ordained minister, but it expressly declined to provide a formula for courts to use to determine whether other employees qualify as ministers in future cases. The 2012 ruling was unanimous, but after over an hour and a half of oral argument today, it appeared less likely that the justices’ eventual decision in today’s cases would be.

One of the teachers, Kristen Biel, taught fifth grade at St. James School in Torrance, California, beginning in 2013. When the school did not renew her contract for the following year, Biel – who had told the school that she was being treated for breast cancer the following year – filed a lawsuit in federal court alleging that she had been the victim of disability discrimination. Agnes Morrissey-Berru, who taught fifth grade at Our Lady of Guadalupe School in Hermosa Beach, California, from 1999 until 2015, filed an age discrimination lawsuit when she learned that her contract would not be renewed. In both cases, the schools argued, and the federal trial courts agreed, that the women’s suits were barred by the ministerial exception. But the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 9th Circuit reinstated the suits, concluding that the ministerial exception normally requires the employee to play a “religious leadership” role, which in its view Biel and Morrissey-Berru did not.

Arguing for the schools, lawyer Eric Rassbach told the justices that, if the separation of church and state means anything, it means that the government cannot interfere with a church’s decisions about who is authorized to teach its religion. Because the teachers in these cases were the “primary agents” for teaching the Catholic faith to students “for hours on end over the course of a week,” Rassbach emphasized, they fall within the ministerial exception and their lawsuits should be dismissed. By contrast, Rassbach suggested, the teachers have urged the court to focus on their title, which would elevate “form over function” and “hopelessly entangle” courts in the affairs of religious institutions.

Some justices expressed concern that the schools’ interpretation of the exception would sweep too broadly. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg asked Rassbach to explain who would not be a minister in his clients’ view.

Rassbach responded that any school employees who were not performing important religious functions would not be covered by the exception – for example, a janitor or an IT professional. A coach, Rassbach suggested, would not necessarily be regarded as a minister unless he was performing religious functions.

Ginsburg pushed back, asking about a scenario in which a coach leads the players in an opening prayer.

If the only religious activity in which the coach engages is the opening prayer, Rassbach suggested, then the coach would not be a minister, because the religious role would be minimal. And more broadly, Rassbach sought to assure the justices that courts would not have to make such decisions often.

Justice Stephen Breyer chimed in. Federal laws, Breyer noted, allow employers to hire someone who belongs to a particular religion if there is a connection between the job and the religion. And the ministerial exception would apply to bar a lawsuit by someone in a leadership position in a church. Why, Breyer asked Rassbach, do you need more than that?

Justice Sonia Sotomayor echoed Breyer’s and Ginsburg’s questions. You are asking, she told Rassbach, for an exception that is broader than the ministerial exception and broader than what is needed to protect the church. Biel (who died last year, but whose husband has continued the lawsuit) and Morrissey-Berru aren’t claiming that they were fired because the school thought they were teaching religion wrong; they are claiming that they were the victims of discrimination based on their disability and age. You are asking, Sotomayor continued, for an exemption from a variety of laws, such as the Family and Medical Leave Act and “all sorts of laws, including breach of contract.”

Justice Elena Kagan fired a series of hypotheticals at Rassbach, ranging from a math teacher who teaches “something about Judaism for ten minutes a week” to a nurse at a Catholic hospital who prays with sick patients and an employee at a soup kitchen who leads grace before meals. What’s the connection, Kagan asked Rassbach, between the employees who would or would not fall under the exception, in your view?

Kagan’s questions embodied the apparent concerns of several justices on the court: How exactly should the court draw the line to determine which employees are “ministers” for purposes of the exception? For Rassbach, this meant answering questions like the one he received from Justice Clarence Thomas, who pressed him to explain how a court would determine whether an employee performs an important religious function.

Rassbach pointed to some of the roles described in the court’s 2012 ruling in Hosanna-Tabor Lutheran Church v. EEOC, such as preaching, teaching and leading worship. And if other roles are at issue, Rassbach suggested, courts should give some weight to the church’s understanding of the employee’s role.

Justice Neil Gorsuch was skeptical. Even when courts defer to the religious institution, Gorsuch told Rassbach, you are still asking us to make some decision about what is important and what is not. Gorsuch envisioned a hypothetical school in which everyone pledged to try to help kids be part of the faith. What, Gorsuch asked, do we do about that?

Justice Brett Kavanaugh also worried aloud about how to distinguish between different kinds of teachers. Would an English teacher “who sprinkles in references to Matthew 25 and ‘feed the hungry’” or an art teacher who discusses art in the Vatican be covered by the ministerial exception? Rassbach responded that they would not be, but Kavanaugh seemed unconvinced. Are we going to have litigation, Kavanaugh queried, over what particular students take away from particular coaches or students if you win this case?

Arguing for the federal government, which filed a “friend of the court” brief supporting the schools, Morgan Ratner, an assistant to the U.S. solicitor general, faced similar questions, including one from Chief Justice John Roberts: Is a court supposed to look at what is a significant religious function and what is an insignificant one?

Ratner sought to reassure the court that looking at the functions described in Hosanna-Tabor – such as whether the employee engaged in preaching, teaching and leading worship – would address most ordinary cases in this area. This standard been around since the 1980s, Ratner reminded the justices; it is not something that the federal government is inventing, nor is it a rule that courts will struggle with.

But Ginsburg disagreed, describing the breadth of exemption that Ratner was proposing as “staggering.” What about a lay teacher, with job duties similar to those of Biel and Morrissey-Berru, who is fired after she reports a student’s complaint that she has been sexually harassed by a priest. She has no remedy?

In his questions for Ratner, Gorsuch seemed to suggest that the government’s position doesn’t go far enough. In other contexts, Gorsuch observed, the Supreme Court has emphasized repeatedly that courts shouldn’t examine how central someone’s religious beliefs are; it is enough that the beliefs are sincerely held. But here, he told Ratner, the government is asking the court to decide who is playing an “important” religious role and who has a minimal one. Doesn’t that create, Gorsuch asked, the same kind of entanglement that we have tried to avoid elsewhere? Why can’t we just say that a church’s sincerely held religious belief about who is a minister should decide the case?

Arguing for the teachers, lawyer Jeffrey Fisher told the justices that they were “absolutely right” to be concerned that a focus on whether an employee serves an “important religious function” would result in courts’ being enmeshed in the affairs of religious institutions. Instead, Fisher argued, the Supreme Court should rule that courts should look at “objective factors,” such as an employee’s title. Such a rule, Fisher contended, would be consistent with how the lower courts had been applying the ministerial exception in the decades leading up to Hosanna-Tabor, when they consistently held that lay teachers were not covered by the exception even if they taught religion. Fisher cautioned the justices that if the court were to rule that all “important religious functions” trigger the ministerial exception, it would see a flood of cases, involving employees at all kinds of workplaces operated by religious institutions. We are talking, Fisher emphasized, about hundreds of thousands of nurses’ being stripped of employment protections, for example. Moreover, Fisher added, the schools’ rule would call into question things like credentialing requirements and criminal background checks for teachers at religious schools.

Roberts characterized the teachers’ position as more “formalistic” – that is, more focused on titles than on whether the teachers are performing religious functions. My concern, Roberts told Fisher, is that different faiths may put different stock in titles, and that such standard would be “pretty manipulable”; religious institutions could simply shield themselves from liability by giving everyone a title.

Fisher explained that titles are an important first factor to consider, but that courts should generally follow the multi-factor test that the justices outlined in Hosanna-Tabor. Courts should look not only at the title but also at whether the employee had specific training or needed to belong to the same religion, Fisher noted.

Thomas highlighted what he saw as a contradiction in the teachers’ argument. Biel and Morrissey-Berru, he recounted, sometimes led their students in prayer or took them to church services, which they could not do at the local public school. Fisher responded that although such actions would indeed cross the line for public school teachers, the distinction doesn’t shed any light on what makes someone a minister. But Thomas countered that he found it a “bit odd” that something that would violate the Constitution when done in a public school would not be enough to qualify for constitutional protection in a religious school.

Although his colleagues had earlier expressed concerns about how to draw the line between different kinds of religious functions, including different roles for teachers, Justice Samuel Alito seemed more sympathetic to the schools’ argument. He asked Fisher whether the ministerial exception would apply to a middle- or high-school teacher who taught only religion all day. Fisher did not concede that a teacher in that position was a “minister,” but he seemed to suggest that it would be a closer case than those of his clients, elementary school teachers who taught all subjects and just happened “to pick up the workbook for 40 minutes a day and teach religion.”

Alito did not appear to agree that the two kinds of teachers should be treated differently. “For a school that is set up by a religious body,” Alito emphasized, “the teaching of religion is central.” Otherwise, Alito suggested, the students could simply go to public school.

In his rebuttal, Rassbach warned the justices that upholding the 9th Circuit’s decision would “replace Hosanna-Tabor’s well-designed framework for deciding delicate church/state questions with a constitutional thicket.” Virtually all of the justices appeared to share concerns about avoiding a constitutional thicket, but it was far less clear that there was any consensus on the best way to do so.

A decision in the case is expected by summer.

This post was originally published at Howe on the Court.

The post Argument analysis: Argument analysis: Justices divided in debate over “ministerial exception” appeared first on SCOTUSblog.

from Law https://www.scotusblog.com/2020/05/argument-analysis-argument-analysis-justices-divided-in-debate-over-ministerial-exception/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[johnchiarello]

Kings 3

KINGS 3 [Wisdom]

13 For he hath strengthened the bars of thy gates; he hath blessed thy children within thee.

14 He maketh peace in thy borders, and filleth thee with the finest of the wheat.

Ps. 147 [News at bottom]

https://youtu.be/OsFFErCmcuY  Kings 3

https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2017/04/4-4-17-kings-3-wisdom.zip

https://ccoutreach87.com/4-4-17-kings-3-wisdom/

https://youtu.be/4UGEa_bbQXk  CCCF

ON VIDEO-

.Take a walk on the ‘wild’ side

.Mary- Agnes- Laredo streets

.Car at the shop

.Rhema word

.True legacy

.Imprecatory Psalms

.Wisdom works well

.Martha Stewart

.Mother Theresa

.Apostles

1Kings 3:28 And all Israel heard of the judgment which the king had judged; and they feared the king: for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment.

NEW-

Just A few notes- I’ll add my past commentary on this chapter below.

The scenery for this video is not as ‘nice’ as some of the others.

I’m trying to do my ‘series’ teaching by the waterfront.

But this day I had to drop the car off at my mechanic on Agnes [brakes- rotors were bad].

And I have been having problems with my laptops-

So- I thought I would take a day off from teaching- but wasn’t sure.

So I taught walking down Agnes/Laredo streets.

The West side of Corpus.

I even mentioned how I like these walks because I run into my friends.

Sure enough- if you watch the video- that happened.

One more note.

Sunday I taught the verses from Church Unlimited- Pastor Bil spoke on Jehoshaphat the king from Chronicles.

The next day [video ‘the fellowship’] my friend Charlie also brought up Joel chapter 3- which speaks of the valley of Jehoshaphat.

There was sort of a theme- both from the Churches [Mass- C.U.] as well as my friends on the street.

I find it interesting how the ‘un-planned’ teachings seem to ‘allow’ the Spirit of the Lord to connect things.

Ok- thats it for now-

God bless.

ONE MORE NOTE-

In the past I used to do my own brakes- but Oscar the mechanic always gives me a great deal.

I had the rotors and front brake pads changed on both sides [front]- the parts were 80.

It’s about a 3-4 hour job- The labor was also 80- a regular shop would have charged around 350- 500 for this job.

That’s why I take the car to Oscar.

For my local friends- his shop is on the corner of Port and Agnes streets.

MY PAST TEACHINGS-

https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/04/08/battle-is-the-lords/

https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/04/10/the-fellowship/

https://ccoutreach87.com/1st-2nd-kings/

https://ccoutreach87.com/james-2015/

KINGS-

https://ccoutreach87.com/1st-2nd-kings/

https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/03/29/kings-2/

 (1050)1st KINGS 3:1-15 this is a prophetic chapter, Solomon goes to Gibeon to offer on ‘the great altar’. What is the great altar? There is a remote verse [somewhere in the Old Testament- I didn’t look it up] that says Moses tabernacle is located at Gibeon. How it got there we don’t know, but the picture is important. The tabernacle of Moses represents the Old Covenant [law], during David’s rule the Ark of the covenant that was stolen, David retrieves it and places it at Jerusalem [the tent that he puts it under is called the Tabernacle of David- a type of the new covenant people who have free access to God, no more veil!] So Solomon more than likely sacrificed at Gibeon [picturing the Old Covenant] and then has the famous dream where God appears to him and he asks for wisdom. This ‘dream’ can be a type of death. Jesus referred to death as ‘sleeping’ Paul too. So after ‘the dream’ [death] he goes to Jerusalem and is at the place of the Ark [a type of Gods presence, it was not in Moses tabernacle, but under the tent that David set up] and eventually the remnants of Moses tabernacle [at Gibeon] will be joined to the Ark [at Jerusalem] and there will be ‘one new temple’ [Ephesians speaks of the 2 becoming one in Christ, both Jew and Gentile]. So under Solomon’s rule [a type of Christ] we have the joining of the Old Covenant people of God along with the Gentile church. Jesus did not forsake his ‘people that he foreknew’ [Romans] but thru his death he took away the ‘law of commandments contained in ordinances and nailed them to his Cross’ [Colossians, Ephesians] thus removing the enmity and making in himself ‘one new man’. Solomon was definitely prophetic! [see 2nd Samuel study, chapter 7- entry 923]

 (1051) 1st KINGS 3: 16-28 Now to the famous story. Two women [harlots] come to Solomon with a problem. They both had children within a few days of each other, and one night one of the babies died. The other woman woke up and had the dead baby with her, but after she looked at it she realized it wasn’t hers. The real mother of the dead child did a swap at night. So as they are pleading their case to the king, they both claim that the living child is theirs. So Solomon calls for a sword, they bring him the sword and he tells his men ‘take the baby and divide it in two, give half to each mom’ sounds fair enough. Of course the real mom says ‘no, don’t divide it. Give the baby to her’ and the fake mom says ‘no, divide it!’ Ahh! Got ya. Solomon says ‘give the child to the one who did not want to divide it, the child belongs to her’. A few things, it just so happened that the last book we studied was Ecclesiastes, I didn’t plan it like that, it just ‘happened’. Ecclesiastes was written by Solomon. One of the verses I didn’t cover says Solomon wrote on all types of subjects and put together three thousand proverbs. Proverbs are short, concise bits/nuggets of wisdom that get the point across in a nutshell. While there are times when you need to read large volumes and stuff, yet wisdom allows you to cover a lot of content in a little space. In this case Solomon used his wisdom to quickly come to a conclusion that could not be refuted; Jesus did stuff like this with his parables. Notice also that after the judgment was made, there really was no ‘if, ands or buts’ about it. He was right and that settled it. I still have old preacher friends who can’t discern the most basic stuff. Now, I don't want to be mean or condescending, but there comes a time where things are right or wrong. Many years ago I taught how leaders were making a serious mistake when they grasped on to the prosperity interpretation of Jesus parable of the sower [read the chapter ‘twisting the parable of the sower’ in the book ‘house of prayer or den of thieves’ on this site]. Basically many preachers, good men, were going around and teaching that Jesus was speaking about getting a huge harvest of cash. In the parable Jesus says one of the things that hinders the full harvest is ‘the deceitfulness of riches’, so I taught how Jesus was not saying ‘the deceitfulness of riches is holding back the cash’. Now, this is really elementary stuff, but some preachers still can’t discern this, after 20years! There comes a time when Solomon [Jesus] sends a judgment forth, and we ultimately become responsible for what we do with it. In this case, one of the ladies was right the other wrong. Solomon plainly told us who was telling the truth. [note- the other day as I was flipping channels, I stopped at a ‘prophetic’ brother who I haven’t watched in a while. In the past he has had some good words that were right on. But I felt that too many ‘prophecies’ were going forth on a yearly basis that were not really accomplishing anything ‘this year is the year of increase, Rebuke the demon of poverty’ stuff that was being repeated over and over hundreds of times, and yet the word of God was not being taught. Well on the program I tuned in on, the brother was saying how all the media complaints about Sarah Palin's expensive wardrobe were ridiculous [I agree] but then he said that it was nothing but a ‘spirit of poverty’ that needed to be rebuked. Are there ‘spirits/demons of poverty’ no. At least we see no cases of Jesus casting out spirits of poverty in scripture. There comes a time when preachers/media outlets need to return to a sober message of the Cross. I believe in prophecy and miracles and have experienced many of these types of things over the years, but we need to stop being silly with some of this stuff.

 [parts]

VERSES-

1Kings 3:1 And Solomon made affinity with Pharaoh king of Egypt, and took Pharaoh's daughter, and brought her into the city of David, until he had made an end of building his own house, and the house of the LORD, and the wall of Jerusalem round about.

1Kings 3:2 Only the people sacrificed in high places, because there was no house built unto the name of the LORD, until those days.

1Kings 3:3 And Solomon loved the LORD, walking in the statutes of David his father: only he sacrificed and burnt incense in high places.

1Kings 3:4 And the king went to Gibeon to sacrifice there; for that was the great high place: a thousand burnt offerings did Solomon offer upon that altar.

1Kings 3:5 In Gibeon the LORD appeared to Solomon in a dream by night: and God said, Ask what I shall give thee.

1Kings 3:6 And Solomon said, Thou hast shewed unto thy servant David my father great mercy, according as he walked before thee in truth, and in righteousness, and in uprightness of heart with thee; and thou hast kept for him this great kindness, that thou hast given him a son to sit on his throne, as it is this day.

1Kings 3:7 And now, O LORD my God, thou hast made thy servant king instead of David my father: and I am but a little child: I know not how to go out or come in.

1Kings 3:8 And thy servant is in the midst of thy people which thou hast chosen, a great people, that cannot be numbered nor counted for multitude.

1Kings 3:9 Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that I may discern between good and bad: for who is able to judge this thy so great a people?

1Kings 3:10 And the speech pleased the LORD, that Solomon had asked this thing.

1Kings 3:11 And God said unto him, Because thou hast asked this thing, and hast not asked for thyself long life; neither hast asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine enemies; but hast asked for thyself understanding to discern judgment;

1Kings 3:12 Behold, I have done according to thy words: lo, I have given thee a wise and an understanding heart; so that there was none like thee before thee, neither after thee shall any arise like unto thee.

1Kings 3:13 And I have also given thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches, and honour: so that there shall not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy days.

1Kings 3:14 And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to keep my statutes and my commandments, as thy father David did walk, then I will lengthen thy days.

1Kings 3:15 And Solomon awoke; and, behold, it was a dream. And he came to Jerusalem, and stood before the ark of the covenant of the LORD, and offered up burnt offerings, and offered peace offerings, and made a feast to all his servants.

1Kings 3:16 Then came there two women, that were harlots, unto the king, and stood before him.

1Kings 3:17 And the one woman said, O my lord, I and this woman dwell in one house; and I was delivered of a child with her in the house.

1Kings 3:18 And it came to pass the third day after that I was delivered, that this woman was delivered also: and we were together; there was no stranger with us in the house, save we two in the house.

1Kings 3:19 And this woman's child died in the night; because she overlaid it.

1Kings 3:20 And she arose at midnight, and took my son from beside me, while thine handmaid slept, and laid it in her bosom, and laid her dead child in my bosom.

1Kings 3:21 And when I rose in the morning to give my child suck, behold, it was dead: but when I had considered it in the morning, behold, it was not my son, which I did bear.

1Kings 3:22 And the other woman said, Nay; but the living is my son, and the dead is thy son. And this said, No; but the dead is thy son, and the living is my son. Thus they spake before the king.

1Kings 3:23 Then said the king, The one saith, This is my son that liveth, and thy son is the dead: and the other saith, Nay; but thy son is the dead, and my son is the living.

1Kings 3:24 And the king said, Bring me a sword. And they brought a sword before the king.

1Kings 3:25 And the king said, Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one, and half to the other.

1Kings 3:26 Then spake the woman whose the living child was unto the king, for her bowels yearned upon her son, and she said, O my lord, give her the living child, and in no wise slay it. But the other said, Let it be neither mine nor thine, but divide it.

1Kings 3:27 Then the king answered and said, Give her the living child, and in no wise slay it: she is the mother thereof.

1Kings 3:28 And all Israel heard of the judgment which the king had judged; and they feared the king: for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment.

Luke 16:9

And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

Psalm 122:3

Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together:

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

Psalm 109:8

Let his days be few; and let another take his office.

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

1 Corinthians 6:5

I speak to your shame. Is it so, that there is not a wise man among you? no, not one that shall be able to judge between his brethren?

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

Matthew 23:34

Wherefore, behold, I send unto you prophets, andwise men, and scribes: and some of them ye shall kill and crucify; and some of them shall ye scourge in your synagogues, and persecute them from city to city:

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

James 1:5

If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

King James Version (KJV)

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[bottleofspilledink]

God's Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter I

September 10, 1993, St. Agnes School For Girls

Eve stared at the bible she was so desperately clutching, her nails creating indents on it's fine, leather cover.

"Hail, holy queen,

Mother or mercy,

Hail, our life, our sweetness, and our hope..."

Her stomach twisted as she switched from one prayer to another in her head.

"Glory be to the Father,

And to the Son,

And to the Holy Spirit..."

She wasn't even sure if she'd finished before beginning a different one, thoughts continually straying, focus nearly non-existent.

"Our Father,

Who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be thy name..."

If she was more aware of herself, she would have thought it miraculous that the book didn't simply slip from her grasp.

They had just finished the first gym class of their senior year and she could still picture it so vividly.

Airy sighs of relief echoed through the showers, mixing with the sound of running water and murmured complaints of aching limbs.

Warm water cascaded down them all as her chestnut eyes wandered, gaze flitting from the floor, to the nude girl next to her, to the faucet knobs, then to the floor once more.

She couldn't help but envy Claudia's soap, the lilac bar sliding over the soft, supple skin of her thighs, gliding over the gentle swell of her breasts, leaving sweet smelling suds and translucent bubbles in their wake.

It hardly got better when she towelled off. Girls roamed around the room in various states of undress.

When the prayers didn't work, she brought her sweaty hands up to palm at the rosary that, despite dangling at her neck, had always felt too tight.

Just a bit.

Her face flushed as even more of earlier's memories surfaced.

She recalled how her classmate, Tabitha, leant down to ask for a turn with her brush, entirely bare save for a towel that, instead of covering her body, had been used to wrap her wet hair.

She recalled how Naomi had slipped on the wet tile, bumping into her in an attempt to stay standing, wet hair dripping onto Eve as she was pressed into the locker, body hot against her back even with the towel between them.

And once that failed to purge the thoughts from her head, she shifted her gaze to the crucifix above the whiteboard, exchanging prayers for pleas so desperate that would make anyone who heard it cave and help her.

Though unfortunately for Eve, no one was listening.

She wanted to stop the thoughts.

She needed to stop the thoughts, the frantic beating of her heart, the pulsing heat that came from between her legs, lest she risk losing everything in this life and the next.

"Please," she thought, eyes clenched shut, her ivory hands were slick and shaking as she brought them together, fingertips growing red with each pleading squeeze, "help me."

"I know you wouldn't put me through this if you thought I couldn't handle it, but I'm begging you, help me." The words were now a mantra, repeating over and over til it lost all meaning, words meshing together in her mind in a senseless fashion, fading into the background of her thoughts all together.

Her amber eyes brimmed with tears at what could happen to her, to her soul, if she wasn't able to stop, if this wanton depravity escaped her mind, if she decided to go forth and search for ways to fulfill this sick fantasy of hers.

And through some miracle or curse, her prayers had been realized in the form of the shrill shriek of the fire alarm. Her heart beat in panic instead of longing and arousal receded, replaced by fear.

"Get in line, girls. Remember our drills," Sister Jane said, calmly rising from her seat, somehow immune to the fear and worry that now permeated the air.

At the order, lines were formed, rushed and frantic and the complete opposite of their usually pristine formation as they speed walked through the cloisters.

The place was bustling with life, tiny heels clicking and voices buzzing as the already crooked lines dissipated completely as people shoved and bumped into each other.

Eve could barely move, her right side pressed firmly into the walls. She shuffled along as best she could, making way for one of the nuns fighting against the crowd trying to reach the telephone to call the fire department.

They arrived at the courtyard quickly and despite the attempts to settle them, some girls were running all over the grass, shouting names, looking for friends and ensuring their safety.

Though the source of the fire was still a mystery, it was clear that calming the students would take a good while.

Eve was shivering in the crisp autumn air, a crunchy leaf smacking her in the face as she rubbed her hands together. In all the commotion, she had left her coat behind, the thick wool remaining draped over the back of her chair and utterly useless to her now.

Just when the sisters were at their wits end, one of the more elderly nuns and girls in aprons rushed out of the west wing door with their hands and handkerchiefs covering their mouths.

They donned flour stains on their school-mandated black aprons and reeked of smoke. Most were violently coughing, one of them dry heaving  onto the grass because of the force of it.

The girls were far too distracted to notice one of their fellow classmates slipping away from them.

"Sister Agnes!" The women rushed over to her as she fell to the ground, habit nearly slipping off when her frail body collided into the damp grass.

"What happened? Did all the girls make it out?" Mother Cecilia asked, nearly hysterical as she knelt by her fallen friend.

"Thank the Lord, I believe so, yes." Sister Agnes pushed herself up and hid the bit of hair that escaped her hood. "Oh, I don't know what happened! We were just baking, and- and I- That girl! She put it in the oven! That wretched girl! She must have started the fire!" The woman marched over to her students, face distorted in rage.

"Where is she?! Where's Lilith?!"

Eve, being so far from the commotion, hardly noticed it all as she sat alone on one of the wooden benches. She was far too occupied with warming herself. A violent shiver went through her as her leg brushed against the cold metal nail of the seat.

"Feeling chilly?" A girl with striking red hair asked her, taking off her oven mitts and waving them at Eve.

"Oh! Uhm, no, I'm fine. Thank you, though." She said, straightening herself. A gust of wind had blown past them, allowing Eve to catch a faint whiff of the smoky scent emanating from the girl.

The other merely smirked, "Shy? There's no need to be. Besides, I can see you shivering."

The blonde gave an awkward laugh, feeling her face flush as she was caught lying.

"You got me there! But really, I'm fine, it's nothing I can't handle," Eve tried reassuring the girl, who only raised a brow at her.

"Sure about that? I don't mind letting you borrow them, it's not like I'm using them or anything." The girl practically insisted on taking the oven mitts, holding them out to Eve.

Even from afar, she could feel it's warmth, her hand gave a tiny twitch, completely revealing how much she wanted it.

"If you're sure..." She reached out and took the mittens from her, their fingers briefly brushing together.

And for a second, a single, fleeting moment, the overwhelming desire to hold the other girl's hand overtook her, and she froze, head spinning at the other's heat.

She wanted to feel her smooth skin, her warmth, and have her soft hands encompass her own.

But no such thing happened and Eve pushed the thought aside to slip the oven mitts on.

"Thank you. I honestly don't think I could have taken it much longer, I have more goosebumps than an actual goose at this point."

The girl laughed at this, hearty and loud and absolutely stunning as her frame shook with the force of it all. The autumn sun made her hair shine like a ruby, it's tips grazing her apron as she moved about.

"My name's Eve, by the way." She clumsily brushed her own hair from her face, oven mitts making the task more difficult than it should have been, then stuck out her hand for the other to shake.

"That's pretty. It suits you," the girl said nonchalantly. Eve would have thought it to be sarcasm if it weren't for the seemingly genuine smile still on her face.

"I'm-"

"There you are!" Mother Cecilia pushed through the crowd of students and grabbed the dark haired girl's outstretched hand, preventing it from reaching Eve's and pulling her up. "Come with me! Now!"

And so, the girl was gone before Eve could make a sound. She could do nothing but watch as people around them parted to let the two pass, not wanting the wrath of Mother Cecilia to befall them too.

They stayed out there for another fifteen minutes before the fire department arrived.

The girls were craning their necks as they crammed themselves at the windows to get a glimpse of the firemen as the ran through the halls, hose trailing behind them. Whispers of excitement ran through them as one of the men actually entered the courtyard to talk to the nuns.

After an hour long role call, they were ushered back to their classes, chatter untamable due to all of the events that had transpired.

There was only one girl who stayed silent through it all.

Eve was still staring at the red oven mitts when she reached her seat, wondering how on earth she would return them, til the answer presented themselves through the tag that slipped out when she took them off.

On that tag, scrawled messily in a thick black marker was the name Lilith Damien.

[pamphletstoinspire]

A Padre Pio Inspirational Story

Blessed Padre Pio, who on the altar elevated a never-ending prayer to Our Lord and gathered much spiritual fruit for himself and others, must be an example of holiness to everyone, because all men are called to sanctity. – Cardinal Francis Arinze __________

The Clergy Remembers Padre Pio – Part I

Fr. Flavian Willathgamuwa CMF, PhD who resides in Duarte, California shares his testimony regarding the three months he spent with Padre Pio in 1967.

Born in a village in Sri Lanka in 1919, Don Maximus Willathgamuwa entered the De La Salle Congregation of Christian Brothers when he was 17 years old, and thereafter became known to everyone as Brother Flavian. The mission of the Christian Brothers, which is a teaching Order, is to give a Christian education to youth, especially to youth who are poor. Brother Flavian served as the rector of St. Benedict’s College in Sri Lanka and later was elected by his congregation to be the Provincial Superior of the Christian Brothers for the province of Sri Lanka, India and Pakistan. He was appointed as Minister of Education by the President of Sri Lanka and served in that capacity for a time.

In 1967, Brother Flavian was sent to Rome to complete a year of studies. While in Rome, he read a newspaper article about Padre Pio, whom he had not heard of before. The article said that Padre Pio had a reputation for holiness and went on to mention some of the miracles and extraordinary spiritual gifts that were manifested in his life.

Brother Flavian had always been greatly attracted to individuals who had a reputation for sanctity and as a Brother of the De La Salle Religious Congregation, he had met a number of very holy people in his life. Living in Sri Lanka, very close to India, he had the privilege to meet and work with Mother Teresa. She invited him to come to India and be the Chaplain for her Missionaries of Charity sisters. He accepted her invitation and served at her convent in Calcutta.

He also met Sister Lucia Dos Santos, the Carmelite nun of Coimbra, Portugal, who, along with Jacinta and Francisco Marto, (both have since been beatified) received the apparitions of Our Lady of Fatima. He felt fortunate to visit the stigmatist and suffering soul, Sister Agnes Sasagawa of Akita, Japan. For years, the apparitions of the Blessed Virgin Mary that were received by Sister Agnes in the convent chapel in Akita were scrutinized and studied by the Church. In 1988, the Prefect for the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, at that time, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, gave definitive judgement on the Akita apparitions as supernatural in origin, reliable and worthy of belief. In New York, Brother Flavian worked with the famous Catholic advocate for human rights, Dorothy Day, and at the Trappist monastery in Gethsemane, Kentucky, he met the famous Christian writer and Trappist monk, Father Thomas Merton.

Brother Flavian found the newspaper article about Padre Pio so interesting that he decided to make the four-hour train trip from Rome to San Giovanni Rotondo to visit him. He arrived at his destination in the middle of the night and was told that if he wanted to attend Padre Pio’s 5:00 a.m. Mass, he should go at once to the church and wait for the doors to open. Brother Flavian did just that. He couldn’t believe the large crowd that was already assembled in front of the church, waiting in the darkness. When the church doors finally opened, the crowd of people rushed forward and ran to the seats in the front of the church. The local Italian people jealously guarded the best seats, close to the altar where Padre Pio would be saying Mass. Brother Flavian had to sit in the very back of the church.

Brother Flavian went to the monastery afterward and introduced himself. The Capuchins welcomed him and asked him to stay in the monastery for the duration of his visit. The next day, he was invited to be up on the altar when Padre Pio celebrated his Mass. He knew what a privilege it was to be so close to Padre Pio at the Mass. During the Consecration, Brother Flavian happened to glance down at Padre Pio’s feet. He saw that they were not touching the ground. He looked again very closely to make sure he was seeing correctly, but there was no doubt. There was the carpeted floor. Padre Pio’s feet were elevated above it. His half gloves were removed during the Mass and Brother Flavian could see the wounds of the stigmata in his hands. He was awestruck by what he had witnessed.

Brother Flavian called the Father Provincial of his Order in Rome and told him that he had been planning to stay in San Giovanni Rotondo for five days but he wanted to stay longer. He told his Superior that he was in a holy place, the very air he breathed was holy. And Padre Pio was a saint. He could not bear to leave so soon. The Provincial gave Brother Flavian permission to stay for three months.

Every day, for the next three months, Brother Flavian attended Padre Pio’s Mass and every week he made his confession to him. He did not speak Italian and Padre Pio did not speak English, but oddly enough there was no language barrier. He spoke to Padre Pio in English and Padre Pio understood him. Padre Pio used to say that one of the special duties of his guardian angel was to translate foreign languages for him.

During Brother Flavian’s three month stay in the monastery of Our Lady of Grace, he was able to observe closely the life of the Capuchins, and in particular, Padre Pio. Padre Pio got up every morning at 3:00 a.m. to pray and begin his preparation for Mass which he celebrated at 5:00 a.m. Afterward, he would have a glass of orange juice and then hear the women’s confessions. Brother Flavian noticed that Padre Pio had a slow and dragging walk and he limped as he made his way to the confessional each day. It was extremely painful for Padre Pio to walk on his pierced feet. He once said that he was always in pain when he carried out his priestly ministry.

Brother Falvian observed that people from all over the world were at Padre Pio’s monastery to attend his Mass and make their confession to him. The confession lines were very long. Everyone had to take a ticket and wait for their number to be called in order to make their confession to Padre Pio. People sometimes waited eight days or longer.

He heard the women’s confessions until 1:00 p.m., had a very light lunch, and then heard the men’s confessions until 4:00 p.m. It was not unusual for him to hear confessions much longer and at times he would spend sixteen hours a day in the confessional. In his lifetime, Padre Pio reconciled thousands of people back to their faith through the sacrament of confession.

Padre Pio had a great capacity for work and a great capacity for suffering. It was extraordinary that he was able to spend such long hours in the confessional, especially considering his chronic health problems. His doctors were never able to successfully diagnose and treat the mysterious illnesses that plagued him throughout his life. He once said, “Confession is a work, but when one is ill, it becomes a sacrifice.” Pope Paul VI said of Padre Pio, “He was a man of prayer and suffering.”

After Padre Pio finished hearing confessions for the day, he walked on the veranda of the monastery for a short time of relaxation. Even then, people were trying to get near him, to speak to him a moment, to ask for his help and his prayers.

There were letters too, hundreds of them, that Padre Pio received every day from all over the world. One of the rooms in the monastery was converted into a small post office and a team of Capuchins, who spoke a variety of languages, were assigned to help. For many years, Mary Pyle, who lived nearby, answered the mail almost singlehandedly. Although Padre Pio prayed almost continuously throughout the day, he felt the need to pray even more, considering the tremendous number of prayer requests that were coming in through the mail.

At 4:30 p.m. Padre Pio blessed religious articles. At 5:30 p.m., he had a glass of beer and afterward gathered with the other Capuchins for a brief time of fellowship and conversation. After the evening prayers with his religious community, he went to his cell. The Superior of the monastery told Brother Flavian that when Padre Pio retired to his cell, it was not to sleep but to continue his prayers. He slept very little, not more than three hours every night.

Brother Flavian was curious about the daily glass of beer that Padre Pio drank. Being from Sri Lanka, this was not a part of the culture that Brother Falvian was accustomed to. In Sri Lanka, the clergy did not drink beer, wine or any other alcoholic beverages. He asked the Superior of the monastery about it. The Superior explained to him that there was a problem with the quality of the drinking water in San Giovanni Rotondo. Practically everyone drank beer instead, enjoyed it, and considered it much safer to drink. Brother Flavian also noticed Padre Pio’s extremely small intake of food. Every afternoon in the refectory, while he and the other Capuchins enjoyed their meal, Padre Pio would take only a few bites of food. He skipped breakfast and dinner altogether.

Several times Brother Flavian walked passed Padre Pio’s cell at the monastery, and saw that he was kneeling, deeply absorbed in prayer. His whole life was prayer, suffering the wounds of Christ’s Passion, carrying out his priestly ministry, serving the people, more prayer, more work, more suffering, more service.

For Padre Pio, every day was exactly the same as the previous. The schedule never changed. The article that Brother Flavian had read in the newspaper in Rome had been right. Padre Pio was indeed, a man of miracles, but perhaps the greatest miracle of all was his ability to endure the exhausting schedule, day in and day out, with very little rest or leisure. He kept up the enormous burden of work for more than fifty years without taking even one day’s vacation.

The three months passed very quickly and when it was time for Brother Flavian to return to Rome, he knelt down and asked Padre Pio to give him a word of advice for his religious vocation as a De La Salle Christian Brother. Padre Pio said to him, “Have a great love for the Mass and for the Holy Eucharist and have a great devotion to the Virgin Mary and to her Rosary. If you do this, you will enter Heaven and I will meet you there.”

Brother Flavian took the advice of Padre Pio to heart and consecrated his religious vocation to the Eucharist and to the Blessed Virgin Mary. He has also made great efforts to promote the Holy Rosary, the prayer that Padre Pio loved above all others.

While studying for an advanced degree in Chicago, Illinois, one of Brother Flavian’s classmates, a priest who was Chinese, told him that he was going to his father’s funeral in Beijing, China. He asked Brother Flavian if he would like to accompany him and he agreed to go. When they were at the cemetery, as the priest was saying the funeral Mass, soldiers came and arrested him. He was never seen nor heard from again. There are severe restrictions regarding religious services in China and it is illegal to celebrate Mass in public.

The people who were at the funeral begged Brother Flavian to continue the Mass. He tried to explain to them that he could not do so since he was not a priest but a brother. The people did not understand. To comfort the people, Brother Flavian then led a prayer and the sentiments he expressed were more for their sake than for his own. He prayed that if it was God’s will, he would become a priest and would some day return to China and say Mass for the people. Strange to say, shortly after saying the prayer, he began to feel for the first time in his life, a burning desire to enter the priesthood. He searched for a religious congregation that had a strong devotion to Mary, the Mother of God. He found that congregation in the Missionary Sons of the Immaculate Hear of Mary, also known as the Claretians, founded by St. Anthony Mary Claret. At age sixty, he began his studies for the priesthood.

After ordination, Fr. Flavian was able to return to China and celebrate the Eucharist. However, he was arrested by Chinese police officers and put in jail and later ordered to leave the country.

Later, while in England, Fr. Flavian became gravely ill and spent many weeks the hospital. His condition was so serious that he was given the Last Rites. The Mother Superior of the Carmelite nuns in California learned of his illness. Fr. Flavian had regularly celebrated First Saturday Devotions to the Blessed Virgin Mary at the Carmelite chapel when he resided in California. The Mother Superior asked him to come to the skilled nursing facility that the Carmelite Sisters own and operate in Duarte, California. The Sisters wanted to provide him with the best medical care possible.

Fr. Flavian accepted the invitation and has lived at the Santa Teresita skilled nursing home for three years. Although confined to a wheelchair and almost blind, and weakened by many serious health problems, he has been able to carry on a busy and fruitful apostolate. He offers two masses daily to the people who visit him at Santa Teresita. Seven days a week he invites everyone to pray the Divine Office with him, followed by the Rosary. The Divine Mercy chaplet is recited at 3:00 p.m. daily. He organized the Pro Life Prayer Warriors prayer group who pray the Rosary together in his hospital room every Saturday for the sanctity of life. He also leads the First Saturday Devotions to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Our Lady of Perpetual Help Devotions are held every Wednesday. In between, Fr. Flavian manages to pray fifty decades of the Rosary daily. “I plan to serve the Lord and use my time for God’s purposes, until I draw my last breath. I consider everything else a waste of time,” Father Flavian said.

At 88 years old, Fr. Flavian is not too many years away from the gate of Heaven. “Stay very close to the Holy Mass and to the Blessed Virgin Mary. If you do, you will enter Heaven and I will meet you there.” These words that St. Pio spoke to Fr. Flavian so many years ago have been a great consolation to him and he has stayed very close to the Holy Mass and the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Ed. Note: Another individual we know whose wife comes from Sri Lanka is Mario Bruschi who runs a Padre Pio prayer group in New York and has done extensive evangelization promoting Padre Pio in Sri Lanka. ________________________________

A Testimonial

I met Padre Pio only once in my life, when from Rimini, I went to see him in 1938, in order to make my confession. At that time I was 17 years old. I had just left the Capuchin noviciate of Cesena and I had no special program for my future life. During our talk, Padre Pio told me that I would be a missionary and would work in many countries. At that time I had no intention to join the friary again. So I didn’t know if his words were a prophecy.

But the fact is that on November 13, 1938, I was received into the Capuchin noviciate of Cesena and ordained a priest on May 25, 1945. In 1947, I was sent to India where I worked in the diocese of Lucknow up to 1964. After that, I was transferred to Tanzania, then sent to Ethiopia and for the last 12 years have been working in Dar es Salaam.

Now, remembering the words that Padre Pio told me in 1938, I realize that they have come true. So I am convinced that Padre Pio was a saint, who had the gift of prophecy. He has followed me silently in my missionary activities, though for a long time I did not remember him. Now, more than ever, I feel that he has protected me in all the critical moments of my life and so I feel very grateful to him. – Fr. Costanzo Perazzini ________________________________

Memories of Padre Pio

Padre Pio had a great, lifelong esteem for the missionary vocation. Even before he was ordained, Padre Pio had thought about becoming a missionary. After he became a priest, he approached his Superiors and requested that he be sent to serve in the Capuchin missions in India, but his Superiors did not grant him permission.

On February 17, 1921, Padre Pio wrote a letter to the Capuchin missionary, Angelo Poli, O.F.M. Capuchin, Bishop of Allahabad, India. He asked Bishop Poli to pray regarding his fervent desire to become a missionary. Padre Pio wrote, “May you also recommend this affair to Jesus and tell Him that if He wishes me to be among His missionaries, let Him dispose my Superior’s will accordingly. And meanwhile, since it is not yet conceded to me to be in reality, one of His missionaries, I will do my best to be a missionary in spirit.” In another letter to Bishop Poli, Padre Pio wrote, “How much I desire and how content I would be if I also could find myself there so as to offer my poor work for the spreading of the faith.”

However, Divine Providence had other designs for Padre Pio and serving in the foreign missions was not a part of God’s plan for his life. One is reminded of the French Carmelite nun, St. Therese of Lisieux. Padre Pio had a devotion to St. Therese and had read her autobiography, “The Story of a Soul.” She, too, expressed a desire to be sent to the foreign missions but it was not meant to be. As a cloistered Carmelite nun, Therese’s vocation was to prayer within the convent walls.

Padre Pio wanted above all things, to live and act according to God’s will. Without ever leaving the monastery in San Giovanni Rotondo, he carried out an immensely fruitful apostolate and helped countless souls by his wise counsel, by his continual prayers and by his fidelity to God. Instead of going out to the world, as in the ordinary missionary sense, the world came to him. The poor and obscure monastery of Our Lady of Grace became the destination of thousands who were seeking a deeper spiritual meaning in their lives. For more than fifty years, Padre Pio exercised his priestly ministry in a true missionary spirit.