#their hearts are shaped just like old palestine….

[firstfullmoon]

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Rumor Mill,” in The Tiny Journalist

#their hearts are shaped just like old palestine…. #it easier for them to go on living #w #poetry #naomi shihab nye #from the river to the sea

[schrodingerspsycho]

Were Is Sam? - Oneshot

Characters - Werewolf!Sam and Tara Carpenter

Warnings - Light mentions of blood

Word Count - 2.4k

Summary - Not long after the Ghostface attacks in Woodsboro, Tara discovers another shocking secret about Sam: she's a werewolf.

Author's Note - Finally completed this request from @screamqueen10! Sorry it took me so long 😅 but I really hope you enjoy it! I took inspiration from a werewolf myth I read about on Pinterest, but I couldn't find any more information on it (every variation of "werewolf clothes myth" I searched was just about whether or not their clothes get shredded when they shift) so please let me know if anyone knows more about it!

Help Palestine by clicking this link!🇵🇸

Tara sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding and her forehead slick with sweat. Another nightmare. She could barely make it through the night anymore without one since the attack. But this one was worse because it hadn’t been about Ghostface. It had been about Amber.

She shook her head and laid back down, willing herself to go back to sleep. But the image of her ex-girlfriend’s twisted smile was burned into her mind. She hugged her knees against her chest and let out an involuntary whimper. She hated how helpless she felt.

After a few minutes, she opened her eyes, a realization dawning on her. She wasn’t alone anymore! Sam was here! Sam, her big sister who had chased off all her nightmares when she was little. Maybe she could do it again now.

Tara got out of bed slowly and opened her door, her leg still a little weak from the attack. She had only gotten her cast off a few days ago, and the disuse sometimes made her feel like she had just stepped off a boat. She knew she had to build the muscles back up, but Sam often insisted on her staying at the house so she could keep an eye on her, and Tara wasn’t complaining. After five years apart and the Ghostface attacks, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave Sam’s side again.

Tara crept down the hallway to Sam’s bedroom door, but before she could push it open she heard a strange noise coming from inside. It was a low rumbling sound, like the one Chad and Mindy’s old dog used to make when Wes tried to pet him while he was eating. “Sam?” Tara called out uncertainly. The rumbling stopped, but there was no answer. She nudged the door open a crack and peeked inside, gazing into the darkness. She could make out a large shape near the bed, but it most definitely wasn’t her sister. “S-Sam?” she said again, quieter this time. The shape moved, and a pair of large, yellow eyes appeared near the ceiling, staring right at her.

Tara gasped. The thing let out a whine, and she reached behind Sam’s bookcase to grab the knife she’d taped there for emergencies. There were knives stashed all over the house, and Tara had never been more grateful for her sister’s paranoia. Then the thing moved toward her.

“Get back!” Tara screamed. She backed out of the room slowly and the thing whimpered again. “Stay the fuck away from me!”

Her knuckles were white from clutching the knife as she flicked on the hallway light. She felt safer with her back against the wall, but she didn’t dare glance away from those yellow eyes peering at her from the darkness. At least with Ghostface, she knew they were only human under the mask.

“Sam?” she called again, louder this time. Still no answer. Tara glared dangerously at the thing. “Where the fuck is my sister?”

The thing stepped slowly out into the hallway, its head down but still gazing at her. Tara gasped again when she saw it. It was big and covered in thick black fur, with sharp fangs and even sharper claws. Its pointed ears scraped against the ceiling and its long tail thumped on the floor, its snout dripping with blood.

A werewolf.

“Oh, g-god!” Tara let out a strangled cry, tripping over her feet as she tried to back up even more. It whined and bounded over to her, clearing the hallway in one leap. “No!” she shrieked, throwing up her hands as it bent down to sniff her.

It reeled back, startled, and Tara caught a glimpse of a jagged white scar on its stomach. The same scar that Sam had from Richie’s knife. Her head snapped up, understanding dawning on her face, but Sam had already bolted down the stairs before she could utter a word.

“Sam, wait!” she cried. She chased after her, any pain in her healing leg forgotten. There was a loud bang as the back door was thrown open, and she grabbed Sam’s jacket before following her outside. Thank god she’d been paying attention when Mindy was rambling about werewolf lore. She ran for as long as she could, but Sam had disappeared into the woods long before Tara even left the house. There was no chance of catching up to her. Her only hope was to know where she was going. Tara just prayed that she still knew her sister as well as she did when they were kids.

She made her way through the woods carefully, trying her best not to trod on any rocks or sticks with her bare feet. It was difficult, but luckily the full moon cast just enough light to illuminate the ground below her. She barely looked at the trees as she passed by them; she didn’t need to think about what path she was taking. Even all these years later, finding her way to their spot was second nature to her.

Tara hissed when she reached the creekbank and the cold water splashed her feet. An owl hooted as she rolled up her pajama pants and stepped further out into the muddy creekbed. She used to love the mud, how spongy and smooth it felt in her fingers as she played in it, with Sam shaking her head affectionately as she kept the towels ready. She smiled at the thought and wondered how Sam had ever convinced her to walk across their makeshift stepping stones instead. They seemed so much smaller as she passed them now, and she doubted that would be able to balance on them anymore.

But just as soon as they came, she had to shake the memories from her head. She could see it now, the large stone slab that spanned nearly the full width of the creek. It used to be their secret hideaway, their special place where they would go to escape the world. Now it was occupied by a big ball of black fur, curled up and still taking up nearly half the stone. Tara stepped closer cautiously and noticed that Sam was trembling.

“Sam?” she said quietly. Sam’s head shot up and she glanced around anxiously. “Sammy, it’s me. I’m here to help.” Tara stopped moving, afraid to spook her. When Sam finally spotted her she jumped to her feet, ready to bolt again. But she met her sister’s eyes and Tara saw her relax. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re safe,” she soothed as she stepped onto the stone slab. “I’m here to help.”

Sam sat down again and dipped her head. Tara reached out slowly and placed her hand gently behind Sam’s ear. Her fur felt soft, as if she was petting a big dog. She moved her fingers in the same way, and it seemed to have a calming effect on Sam. “You can understand me, right? I brought something that might turn you back,” she said calmly, and Sam’s yellow eyes flashed. Tara held up Sam’s jacket and Sam sniffed it. “I’m not completely sure it’ll work. Do you want me to try it?”

Sam whined and pawed at the stone near Tara’s feet. “Okay,” she nodded. “Just, uh… bend down I guess.” Sam obliged, and Tara draped the jacket over her shoulders. They locked eyes and Sam began to shrink, her fur disappearing and her features becoming more human. As her paws became hands she pulled the jacket tighter around herself, sighing in relief.

“Thank you,” she gasped, gazing timidly at Tara. How did you know that would work?”

Tara shrugged. “You know how Mindy likes to ramble about things. Lucky for us, she’s usually right.”

“I am so sorry,” Sam lamented, turning her head away.

“What for?”

“For not telling you. For hiding the truth from you again, for scaring you and putting you in danger! I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“I think it’s pretty fucking cool that you’re a werewolf, actually,” Tara smiled. Sam blinked up at her. “I mean yeah, it would’ve been nice to know. I was pretty scared when I first saw you. But this… this is different.”

“Thank you,” Sam said again, quieter this time.

“I do have questions though.”

“Like what?”

“What happened to your face?”

Sam glanced down, and even though she couldn’t see it, she knew her face must be covered in blood. She wiped feebly at her nose. “I… I did it to myself,” she croaked. “I was trying to stop myself from shifting. I thought that if I stayed indoors and away from the moonlight I could keep it contained but I-I couldn’t. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t stop it.”

“Well, it doesn’t look too deep, so that’s good at least. I think we’ll be able to take care of it with just the stuff in the first aid kit.”

“How are you being so calm about this?”

“Are you kidding?” Tara chuckled. “After what happened last month, this is nothing. Once a month you turn into a big puppy dog, so what?”

“Okay, I’m not a puppy dog,” Sam smiled, rolling her eyes. Then she sighed. “I’m a wolf. I’m dangerous.”

“You’re still in control when you’re a wolf though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re not dangerous,” Tara said very matter-of-factly. “If it’s still you in there, then I know you would never hurt me.”

“Thank you,” Sam smiled at her, eyes full of love. “What did I ever do to deserve you, huh? My amazing baby sister.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tara giggled, pulling Sam into a tight hug. “I love you, Sammy,” she mumbled into her shoulder.

“I love you too, baby girl.”

After a few moments, Tara shivered, and Sam was hit with the realization that she was still in her pajamas.

“We should get home, it’s freezing out here,” she said, pulling Tara to her feet. Then she looked her up and down with a sigh. “You’re covered in mud.”

“And whose fault is that?” Tara snapped back playfully. “Stop feeling guilty, Sam. I’m okay. I’m allowed to take care of you too, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied with a sad smile. “I’m just not used to it.”

“Well, get used to it. Because I’m not going to stop,” Tara said seriously. Then she grinned. “Even if you’re a wolf. I’ll feed you, I’ll take you on walks, I’ll give you belly rubs…”

“Okay, where was all this responsibility when I was taking care of your hamster ten years ago?” Sam laughed.

“It was there. Pumpkin just liked you better.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Sam rolled her eyes. “C’mon let’s go.”

They walked back in silence, holding hands the whole way. It seemed neither one of them had to think about the path back. The leaves shone gold, orange, and red in the moonlight. Sam hadn’t noticed how beautiful they were before.

“I was going to tell you,” she said when they reached the edge of the woods. “I wanted to wait until you were fully healed, and had time to process the last bomb I dropped on you. But I was going to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m glad that you know,” she smiled, and Tara squeezed her hand. “And I promise I won’t keep any more secrets from you. Ever.”

“Thank you,” Tara said, barely holding back a yawn.

“That being said, I’m sorry I woke you. I really picked the worst way for you to find out, huh?”

“Yeah, you gotta get better about that,” Tara joked. “But you didn’t wake me.”

Sam gave her a quizzical look.

“I had a nightmare,” she said, staring at her feet. “And you used to help me with them when I was little, so I thought maybe you could help now. That’s why I went into your room.”

“Oh, Tara. I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve helped you. I would’ve helped you.”

“But you did help me!”

“I did?”

“It was about Amber. It’s just so fucked up how someone I thought I knew- I mean, I spent every day with her! I loved her! And I thought she loved me too. I guess I’m just scared that that could happen again. But no matter what, you’re still going to be you. I mean, you couldn’t even hide who you were when you turned into a werewolf.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” Sam chuckled.

“And I got to be with you. That’s what always helped me before, anyway. It’s not like you were giving me incredible counseling at the age of nine,” Tara smirked.

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

“Me too,” she smiled. “So I was thinking we could make that our spot again since we need a place to go next month.”

“Next month?”

“Well, I’m going to be hanging out with you when you’re a werewolf from now on. Obviously.”

“Tara, you don’t have to do that-”

“But I want to! It’ll be so fun!”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think it’ll be fun staying in the woods all night with me?”

“Of course! Hanging out with a werewolf will be awesome! We should test how powerful your claws are. And I wanna hear you howl at the moon!”

“Do you want to ride on my back like I’m a horse too?” Sam scoffed.

“If you’re offering,” Tara grinned. “We’ll do things that are fun for you too! We can play fetch!”

“Alright, enough with the dog jokes!” Sam said exasperatedly, smiling in spite of herself. Tara gazed up at her with, ironically, puppy dog eyes. “You can spend full moons with me if you really want to.”

“Absolutely,” she replied quickly. “I definitely want to.”

“Okay then.”

They reached the house and Tara ran inside to get the first aid kit. Sam waited, finally feeling the stinging in her nose, and stared up at the moon. She’d been thinking of Tara the first time she’d shifted, she remembered. About how she loved those old werewolf movies and the wolf plushie she used to cuddle every night. As disastrous as this night had been, it was her most successful shift yet. And when Tara came back out with the first aid kit and some cold pizza because “Mindy said werewolves get hungry when they become human again”, Sam wondered once again how she had ever survived without her.

#carpenter sisters #tara carpenter #sam carpenter #werewolf sam carpenter #werewolf #scream #scream fanfic #scream 5 #scream 2022 #fanfic #request

[9amartt]

Once I walked by a statue in the shape of a tank, I had a 3 year old child besides me and he said “look that’s an Israeli car” I was surprised by his reaction so I asked him what do they do with it? He said “when people are praying outside they kill them so people bleed and cry and call the ambulance” i asked “where have you seen that” he said “I saw it on Al Jazeera”( he actually calls it jazeela & calls any news channel the same).

When I heard “Al Jazeera” I was actually min-blown, I used to be once his age, or maybe a bit older and I used to see the same images on that same channel from our brothers in iraq and palestine and afghanistan… , I used to, just like him, hold grudges and hatred for an enemy I didn’t know much about, many years ago, and nothing changed yet…

I didn’t know how to react, should I smile and rejoice because he knows the good from the evil, or should I grieve and cry because a new generation of Muslims is born to see the bloodshed of everyone who says la ilaha illa Allah?

“Instil love for shهاdah in the hearts of the new generations, if they don’t have the blessing of being children of Shuهada let them attain shaهاdah themselves.Raise men who will grant you shafa’a in front of the Lord of the heavens and the earth, Allah Subhanahu wa taala. And do not pay attention to those who may say “they’re too young for this” our children were never young to be kiااed in Syria and palestine and afghanistan and iraq and Kashmir and Burma?! But now they’re too young when we want to raise them upon hهte for the enيmies of Allah?”

-14/03/2023

#اسلام #islam #مسلم #tawheed #tawhid #amj

[dynsdiary]

chirstmas with steve harrington

pairing : steve harrington x reader

divider : @cafekitsune

DAILY CLICK

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

EDUCATE YOURSELF

ooooooooooooo i just know i would love spending christmas with steve even tho i don't celebrate it.

just imagine the night before christmas, Christmas Eve. the two of you having a chill and relaxing day and having dinner with the gang (robin, nancy, eddie and jonanthan). the six of you having wine and just talking about each other's life and reminiscing the past. soon after the four of them left, you and steve cleaned the mess while sipping on the wine. dancing in the kitchen with old christmas songs playing in the background. after dancing and laughing, the two of you cuddle and get all warm and cosy in front of the fireplace while watching Home Alone. as always, you are the one who falls asleep first and steve just looking at you with adoration in his eyes and tucked in your hair behind your ear to get a better view of you. steve smiles and thinks how lucky he is to have you in his life after all the things that he went through these past years and how lucky he is to be alive despite the time he is sure he's going to die nonetheless he is very grateful to survive it.

finally! Christmas here! you wake up with the smells of cinnamon, citrus and vanilla filling the air from the Christmas cookies that had been set out for guests (you & steve) to eat. you decided to make blueberry pancakes for breakfast and hot chocolate coffee for warmth. just as the breakfast is ready, steve is finally awake and walks to the kitchen to help you set up the table to eat breakfast together. you and steve wearing matching pyjamas, snow falling from the sky, milky and sweet hot chocolate in your hands. after breakfast, you know what time it is!! presents!!!! you have been wondering what steve has got you, every present he ever gave you always left you in awe. he just knows you too well. you eagerly opens your gift like a little kid excited to open her gifts.

"you're kidding" you said in disbelief.

there's a necklace with an initial s with a small heart shape beside it.

"thank you thank you thank you !!" you exclaims as you run to give steve a big hug.

"could you um help me with it?"

"yeah sure" steve takes the necklace from you and puts it on your neck before clasping it.

the moment feels intimated and special to both of you, the initial is on your collarbone just the way she likes it.

"thank you, stevie" you thanked him, not just because he put it on for her but for the gift.

"it's nothing, honey” he sheepishly smiles at her.

“glad you like it" he added.

the rest of the day, they spend with their families and friends.

the night ended with full of joy and laughter.

REMINDER !!

before you leave, have you DONATE TO PALESTINE today? ITS FREE TOO !!

#written by dayana ❦ #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #chirstmas fic #moodboard #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fanfic

[palestinian-fundraising]

PLEASE READ AND REBLOG🇵🇸

Help me to complete my study & evacuate my family

Message left by creator:

I am Dr. Sulaiman Ewaida from Gaza, Palestine, a human medicine student. Just had five months left to graduate, but wars and circumstances prevented me from achieving my dream of becoming a surgeon and providing humanitarian service to the world in general and to my country and my people in particular، I have been going through very difficult circumstances since I was young. I witnessed more than four wars. I was witnessing the suffering of my people as they were killed and displaced because of that. I wanted to help them and offer them what I could and was able to do, since in the 2014 war I was a volunteer in one of the humanitarian relief organizations, And helped in organize and distribute aid to people, when I was 17 years old at that time .

Then in 2015 I going to Sudan and study medicine at kassala university then after I finished three years from my study unfortunately infectious diseases ( Daung fever , chiconkgnia and Corona ) was spread so my university was closed for one and half year then traid war was started at kassala state and during all of that my university was closed so I decided to travel to Al-khartum and continue my study at IBN Sina university and started the 4th level but unfortunately the Sudanese Revolution started at September 2021 and that resulting to loos communication and stop all the life aspects in the country including my university and after I ended the 4th and 5th years when the last year Started the war in Sudan begun at march 2023 due to that we are forced displaced as a Palestinian student via Palestinian Embassy under the booming and snipers so the conditions was very dangerous for our lifes although some of them try to steal our passports when we tried to pass Arqin border that cross between Sudan and Egypt by buses that road taken about 20 hours without water, Food and tollit and when we reached the border we still in desert for 8 hours then complete our travel to Gaza by bus the way had taken another 15 hours and finally we reached our family with thoughts of being safe because we were forget that Gaza still war zone due to what we saw there actually we are coming with a lot of dreams because we are in our country among aur people so it's like a home for us.

But happy days ended at 7th October when the war started against Gaza so my feelings of hummenty and responsibility against my people made me decided to leave my family and going as voulanter at emergency department at Al-shifa hospital but actually I thought like whole Gaza people that will ended within month as long as possible like before wars but at my work I saw a thousand victims from men , women and children all of them friends, family, Neighbours and relatives so the main I idea in my mind when me or member of my family will came at emergency department as victims although I work more than energy but shape of injured child specially when should make amputation of his/her arm or leg or became with amputated arm or leg the sound of his craying still in my ear until now and I can't delete from my mind the shape of his/her mother when I said that her/his baby died, that I feel my heart was broken in every moment of Mass Casualty because we can't deal with a huge number of injured patients at the same time after each attack in small number of medical staff and medical science so we forced to make a comparison between the injured patients according the percentage of his live acutely it's the most difficult decision we did it but we don't have anything to do because the small number of beds in ICU and small amount anaesthesia for operation either small number of operations room and you can imagine all of that low service in main centre hospital in Gaza stripe although I worked for fifty day until I forced displaced to south after nine days of Al-shifa hospital seigal without food, water and electricity we are dependent of storied food that is not enough for this days we are try to made breads in hospital from flour that was remain after displaced refugees from Al-shifa

Then i was volunteering at Al Nasser hospital in Khan Yunis for month and the journey to thier is not easy (no transportation, hours of walking with high risk of been shot or bombed) , until the place there became unsafe and I had to move to Al-Mawasi in Rafah.

currently , I have been volunteering at different medical points for nearly two months in Al-Mawasi in Rafah,where this area become Epidemic with infectious diseases such as hepatitis A , Acute gastroenteritis, common cold, scabies, chicken box,meningitis and alot of different diseases due to lack of hummenty life such as dierty water and contaminated food and loos of detergents in crowding area although i refuce being still in the tent and my feelings of hummenty and responsibility against my people so i decided to continue as voulanter to help them and providing humanitarian service and what my conscience dictates is the direction of my country and my people.

And, like a million and a half residents of Gaza, I live with my family in a tent after we lost our home. We are now homeless and hopeless like many others due to the ongoing bombings in Gaza since October 7th. My family was displaced 3 times and since I didn’t want to flee to the south with them and leave all those injured patients behind, I’ve decided to stay and volunteer in the hospital while not being sure if they made it safely to the south or if I’d ever hear from them again.

This is my story, and I want to complete my studies in order to help my family and my people and provide humanitarian service to all the sick and injured in all this world, and I am in dire need of your donations and generosity in order to finish what I started, as I am the breadwinner and the remaining hope for my family, know We have reached a point where there is no hope left for us here in Gaza where we are unfortunately just waiting for our turn to die and even if there is a ceasefire, the destruction in Gaza is beyond prompt repair. To cross “Rafah” Gaza-Egypt Borders your need to have your name listed in the Crossing List (paid permit) and coordinators in Egypt who have the power to add my family’s names to the list at the border are now asking for anywhere from $5000-8,000 per PERSON! They will not add the names until we can prove we have the money ready and I can't leave my family in this situation.

So , Please help me get them out, I will sincerely appreciate any donation, even small ones that will make a significant difference in alleviating our suffering. Please consider SHARING my campaign widely with your family and friends to reach my goal as soon as possible since every second is death danger in Ga.za. I will be forever grateful for your kind assistance in this difficult time.

We are hoping to raise $70.500 . The proceeds of this fundraiser will go to an account managed by me.

#fundraiser #gaza #gofundme #mutual aid #palestine #donations #free rafah #palestine charity #rafah #signal boost #aid #palestine aid #humanitarian aid #financial aid #charity #all eyes on rafah #urgent #donation #donate #save gaza #save rafah #save palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #free palestine #free gaza #ceasfire now #ceasefire #operation olive branch #palestine fundraiser #fundraising

[kingluffy5]

You do Howl’s Moving Castle, right?

Can you do a Prince Justin (turnip’s true human name) x reader fluff? In his human form of course.

Hell yeah my first request, let’s do this, I will take a few creative liberties with this and I hope you enjoy

Warning: mentions of bombing and war, I know this is a touchy subject for everyone now with Ukraine and Russia and Palestine and Israel so if you have any problems with it I don’t want to upset you, I respect the topics as much as I can but Howl’s Moving Castle is a story that tackles it directly, if it will trigger you please don’t read.

Prince Justin a.k.a. Turnip Head x Reader

Reader P.O.V.

I’ve been traveling with Howl for a while now but in just a few months everything changed so much, an old lady named Sophie came to start cleaning saying Calcifer hired her. Then a cursed scarecrow she named Turnip Head started showing up around the castle, he liked hanging around me. Howl’s hair changed back to it’s blue after Sophie messed with his potions and elixirs. Then the Witch of the waste, who is looking really bad all of a sudden, and Madame Solomon’s dog started living in the castle. Then we moved, despite looking still looking older Sophie started looking younger and younger.

The war was still going on and after moving us Howl started appearing less around.

That leads us to tonight, we were all inside, me, Sophie, Calcifer who was looking worse for the wear, the Witch of the Waste, Solomon’s dog Heen, and Markl. Turnip was with the actual castle out in the wastes and Howl was fighting in the war.

He never picked a side in the war, he hated both sides, I agree with him, there are good and bad people on both sides of every war yet somehow innocent people always get caught in the crossfire.

The reason why tonight was so important was that this was the night that everything changed, it started with the war being brought right to our doorstep, we are in the townhouse in the city right now and bombs are being dropped across the city. Howl has come back to defend the house and everyone, but he looks worse than ever, while fighting he transforms into a bird monster and the more he does it the harder it is for him to turn back.

When Solomon’s monsters started appearing outside Sophie switched us to the castle. Everything started getting destroyed and it was pure pandemonium, most of the castle was gone and Sophie gave her braid to Calcifer to give him some extra power. We were almost able to reach Howl when the Witch of the Waste realized that Calcifer had Howl’s heart. She grabbed the heart and in extension Calcifer and was ignited into flames, Sophie grabbed some water to put her out but doused Calcifer as well.

When that happened the castle started to fall apart eventually all that’s left is a single platform that’s running quickly down the mountain.

After that happens Sofie and Heen fall down one side when the plateform starts to brake of the cliff while the rest of us stay at the peak.

Y/N(Sobbing): Sophie … Cal

———————————————————

After what felt like hours of crying my eyes out alongside Markl I notice a shape flying towards us and I realize who it is.

Y/N: Guys it’s Howl and Sophie

Now what happens next is a little complicated so here is the simplified version, Cal is actually alive, Sophie puts him and the heart back inside of Howl, Howl comes back to life, Calcifer is free to do what he wants we nearly fall to our death when the plateform starts sliding very fans at down the hill, Turnip jumps in front to stop the platform but his pole snaps devasting me in the process as we have grown quite close despite his inability to speak. We land at the bottom Howl wakes up and Calcifer comes back, and Sophie, who is young again, and Howl kiss.

I am now holding Turnip in my lap.

Y/N: Turnip, thank you

I kiss his cheek as a good bye.

But all of a sudden he springs up and turns into a human. It turns out that he was the missing prince from the neighboring kingdom and that he was cursed and only a kiss from his true love could break it. That last part made me blush furiously.

Prince Justin/Turnip: I best be off now, it is time I put an end to this dumb war

Y/N: I agree your highness

Prince Justin/Turnip: And after that I will come back to be with you

Once again I blush.

———————————————————

We had settled into a quiet and happy little life. We all lived in a flying castle in the sky. Howl and Sophie were at the front overlooking the city below, The witch of the waste was sitting in her chair, Cal was keeping the castle running, Markl and Heen were playing in the yard.

Meanwhile me and Prince Justin sit in the back as we pass the clouds and sit and enjoy life.

Prince Justin: You know if we get married you can become royalty

Y/N(Laughing): Royalty? Of what turnips?

Prince Justin: We could have our own castle someday, one that flies too

Y/N: That sounds nice, just the two of us, starting our own family, as much as I love this one we really should start on our own soon

Prince Justin: Yeah but not for a little while

Y/N: Yeah in a little bit

The End

#howls moving castle #turnip head #character x reader #character x you #character x y/n #turnip head x reader

[arctic-hands]

[Image Description: a rookie-level embroidered patch made of a light gray gauzy fabric, cut into the shape of an uneven heart. The heart is outlined in black and has a black fishnet pattern unevenly stitched within it. Off center in the heart is a cross-stitched Palestinian flag (three horizontal stripes of black, white, and green, with a red triangle facing right on the left side). The proportions aren't prefect, but it's recognizable for what it is. At the top of the patch is a simple safety pin going through it. End I.D]

Finally finished this patch for @thetabirb that took like three weeks after hospitalizations and headaches kept getting in the way. I wasn't sure about sharing it bc I don't want it to seem like I'm capitalizing likes for doing so, but I've also seen and heard people affirm that support for Palestine needs to be visible, so I figure I'd share. I'm going to paint my own pin later on, as I'm running out of black embroidery floss.

The original plan was to buy kufiyas from Hirbawi, but I missed their last stock before they sold out again, and it didn't feel right to just keep waiting to make our support visible. I did the fishnet background in an attempt to honor the traditional Palestinian kufiya. Hirbawi and a few other sources say the pattern is to honor the fishing community that keeps Palestine–especially Gaza–fed. I hope that's okay, esp since it didn't come out exactly like the fishnet pattern on the kufiya.

(Ignorable complaints on the actual creative proccess: naturally everything went wrong at the very end after three weeks. It wasn't until I had most of the green down that I realized how askew the red triangle is and how it messed with the amount of green relative to the white, so I had to go back and go over some of the white with the green. Nothing I could do to fix the red tho. Then when cutting it down to size the gauzy fabric–part of an old curtain that was too sheer but was the only white fabric I have–started to unravel fast after threatening to fray away the entire time it was in the embroidery hoop, so I had to quickly glue it down to another, studier piece of fabric. But then the glue I used–Arleen's Fabric Fusion–said it would dry clear and just... didn't. The fabric was originally bright white but now it's gray 😮‍💨)

Oh and if anyone's concerned this is just a hollow gesture, both of us have donated repeatedly to buy esims for Gaza.

#Palestine #Gaza #palestinian flag #patches #embroidery #cross stitch #image described #edit: typo in Hirbawi

[automatismoateo]

I'm just tired of being mad and lonely via /r/atheism

I'm just tired of being mad and lonely I'm a 19 year old male atheist from a third world country and I'm just so tired. I'm tired of religion, I'm tired of its marketing and influence over my country . I'm exhausted by how it affects politics, how it shapes and destroys my country. I'm astounded that people believe in something so ridiculous as a god. How they don't think it's any plausible Zeus existed compared to the abrahamic gods. I'm tired of being alone as a man. Because of toxic manosphere influences ESPECIALLY the ones that use religion as a marketing gimmic. Such as Andrew tate and Sneako with Islam, how they indoctrinate guys my age into their cults. I'm tired of being told, oh if you're lonely just go to church. Meet a church girl, make church friends, pray about it. Oh that existential dread you feel? It's because you haven't accepted j. Christ in your heart. I have friends, I have a healthy, fit lifestyle and am a practicing Buddhist and stoic. None of that takes away loneliness at least not all the time. I'm not depressed, I'm just tired, man. I'm tired of feeling like an outcast because I'm not religious. Because I don't talk about Palestine, not because I don't care but because I am not educated enough to know what I'm saying. I'm tired of my friend group (the religious friends) being weird incels that are scared of women. It's so hard to come by regular men my age I can connect with. It doesn't have to be atheism, but just please stop sending me bible quotes on whatsapp and instagram. Stop saying you'll pray for me, stop saying I need jesus. I need real, meaningful connection. I know this post is very vague and sounds like I'm 14 and this is deep. But honestly? The only place I feel comfortable letting out my feelings like this is on reddit. And that's just fucking sad, man. Even my therapist is a christian. Submitted April 11, 2024 at 11:56AM by LilWizard32 (From Reddit https://ift.tt/mpAWgMt)

#reddit

[diaryofdayet]

Mar 6 𓇢𓆸 Los Angeles

I did a quick workout on my yoga mat in the morning. Then I wrote until it was time for a meeting at noon with my old agency. There was a new guy in charge, a bald man with a silver wedding band. He was severe and implied he'd vet me before bringing me back on the roster. I didn't mind much and said I was excited to work together.

I dilly-dallied around the apartment, taking a few phone calls, singing, and peddling my furniture online. Outside, it was apocalyptically gray. The sky was getting ready to unleash something sad and horrible.

I forced myself out of the apartment—I had to return to the mall to exchange the shirts I'd bought the day before. The rain thrummed on my windshield while I talked to Stella on the phone. She told me about the man who'd messaged her recently asking for forgiveness. I thought maybe she should forgive him until she withdrew the memory for me,

"I woke up because he was suffocating me with his..."

I held my face in my hands as her voice poured through the speakers of my parked car, the rain still beating down on me in the dark.

I rushed into the mall to make my exchanges. It was an outdoor mall, and the rain poured through its cavities like a scene from Bladerunner. No one else was around, and when I was done the storm blurred the way back so much I got lost. As the water ate through my clothes I thought of how the rain falls in London without remorse. I thought of how it falls in Hilo like snowflakes on a breeze. How do you describe the rain in LA?

When I got home I changed into a sweatshirt and sat down to read the news. It was dismal. I stared at a photo of a child starving in Gaza.

"Stella, can I come over?" I asked through the phone, "I'm feeling really sad."

When I got to Stella's neither of us was in great shape. I'd sobbed most of the way over, singing through my tears to self-soothe, to pray.

She didn't really want to talk about it. She showed me photos of her niece and nephew. I looked at them with eyes half-open.

"Mm."

"You know, I was asking Alex about this Palestine thing...actually, it's late, now's not the time to talk about this."

"No, please, at least say what you were going to say."

I uncapped it. Her uncertainty, her fear. My anger. Though I tried to contain it it swept out of me like a bullet.

"I feel like you're condescending to me, I—" she said.

"What, just by telling you I hope you do more research? What else am I supposed to say? This is why I don't talk to my American friends about this because you're all the same, you're all scared. And I understand why you would be, this is hard. I don't blame you."

"Can't you let me get a word in?"

"Ok, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, go ahead."

"I feel like—You're making me feel like I'm thoughtless. You know I care about you, you know I—"

"Did I say you're thoughtless?"

She started to cry. My heart hurt at the sound. But I was angry. I was angry, I was angry, I was angry, I was so angry—

"I, I, I," My breath faltered as tears fell from my face. "Haa—I'm—hah—I, I'm—Haaaa—"

"Breathe, breathe," she said.

But I lost my breath completely and began to choke. "I'm—Haa—I'm sorry—I'm—I'm—hh—so sorry," I wheezed.

"It's okay, I've got you, it's okay." She put her arms around mine and brought her forehead to my temple as I shattered.

Time slowed to the feeling. I watched as whatever was deep inside me rose to the surface. Yes, some part of me watched and measured every contraction in my abdomen as I gasped for air, with Stella beside me saying, "I've got you, I've got you."

When it ended I found myself kneeling over the bed like someone in prayer. Sara took her hand off my shaking back and went to get me water.

"Has that happened before?" She asked quietly.

"It used to happen all the time, like almost every day when I was in high school. It's gotten a lot better. Now maybe once a year?"

I'd always thought I could control them. But just now I'd tried to and failed.

"Why does it happen?"

"I think it happens when I think too much about the war."

She sat across from me and held my face.

"I'm really sorry that happened, Stella. I didn't want to take away from your point by causing a scene."

"It's okay, it's your body, it wasn't your fault."

We apologized and fell into an uneasy sleep, both our faces still red and wet.

𓇢𓆸

Dayet

#writing #journal #diary

[spiltscribbles]

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency   that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

.-

The FIC this HC is from 

.-

So first off some background on his mum in the story 

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine,  so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!! 

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on  when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950  when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side,  she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

 They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network  was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in  1955,  subsequent to  Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became  absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely. 

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day  for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers.  And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone  by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda. 

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally  meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking  charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously,  she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst. 

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement. 

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that  if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled  with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually  to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery  and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all  under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE!  And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen  scarf that smelt like her perfume.

 It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like  he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while  the war was only getting worse and worse—  Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment  that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only  reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #HEADCANONS #HEADCANONS BY LEN #FIC: MAMA LUPIN IS A BABE

[mahinourabdou]

POST #1 (WEEK 3)

“We Are Welcome Here Too!”

Oil on double primed 18x24 canvas.

It is VERY IMPORTANT if you read the whole description, because this painting is not only important, but significant to those who are victims and still now being labeled as “different” types of human beings. I stand for Black Lives Matter and the Muslim, Hispanic, Latino, and Asian communities for this.

“Do you feel oppressed while wearing that head scarf over you?” “LET ME SEE YOUR HAIR!” “Oh my god, this terrorist has a bomb in her backpack!” “*gasps* DID YOU HEAR THAT WORD (ALLAH)? SHE IS AMONG US I TELL YOU!”——These type of slurs, discriminatory commentary, and uneducated attitudes are the reason why inequality exists, and I… no, WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH! Every single day, whatever the percentage rate or most growing hate comments/crimes increased are coming from how a high or middle-high class families (mostly being white) that label us being ‘different’ in a way that makes our blood boil. If a white individual, however, stands for that person of different race, religion, and/or color, and would do whatever it takes to make them recognized just like a real human being, then that truly is what equality should feel like.

That’s why in this painting, I describe what had been going on on few parts of the Middle East (Palestine, Afghanistan, Syria, Yemen, etc.) and what currently is happening at the mean time (Islamophobia, hate crimes, racial slurs by bully/abuse, harassment, etc.) I finished this piece exactly on 9/11 of this month but the day after that I had to add that piece of cloth for materiality. The piece f cloth is cropped off from my old tank top I had as sleepwear from overseas of Egypt, because, well, what else was there to ear during such heated weather experience? But, I want this piece of cloth to act as a damp fabric that can occupy the feel of the subject matter (being formed of shapes and colors of blue and light yellow) as if she is entering the real world to find herself the opportunity, love, community offers, and all sorts of good benefits she would end up in without having to overthink about the opposite of good benefits not only in America but anywhere else from the whole globe.

I hope I’m not the only Egyptian American Muslim to have to exemplify this sort of situation everyday, but has anyone ever heard this term before? I sure hope this is still being said by any supremacy-like white male or female anywhere of the United States of America, or the world in general: “Why are you still here when you were the one behind all what happened on 9/11. I hope they find you and kill you!” This is just an example, or, if I’m right, a real life-threatening and heart wrenching question that would upset and yet trigger a LOT (and I MEAN A LOT) of Muslims and those around them. What is still going on today is unbelievable, because what had happened on 9/11 was a tragically heartbroken day for all, and I MEAN ALL of us ! Not just the Americans, but also those whom were refugees, foreign tourists, and immigrants coming to America for the first time, or have lived in America for quite a while, to see such a atrocious act of hijacking incident plumbing towards the unforgettable Twin Towers. Till this day, Muslim Arabs and Arab Americans are still being approached as what others see them labeled as “terrorists”—FYI I do not particularly use the term “hate” on anything or anyone, but I REALLY HATE THAT WORD SO MUCH it triggers me the most when someone insults a Muslim or any Arab for being labeled like so, and it still hurts me day after day. But, what also came across my mind from this piece that I am not only showing a representation of a Muslim woman in her hijab getting ready to experience the valid nature of the world, but it also goes to other people who are form different places across the globe as well: Blacks, Hispanics and Latinos, Asians, Europeans, Canadians, and Indians whom are also the victims facing the same discriminatory/racist outbursts form the entire Earth. If, for once, in a human being would at least take a lecture or go back to school, read a book, and take notes about how beautiful Islam truly is, because in it, everyone is welcome to learn, acknowledge, adapt, and become converted to Islam one day. And because Islam is so beautiful, there is no such thing as hate, racism, or discrimination in it—just prayers, love, generosity, kindness, and knowledge. It takes a real human being to become a hero to save people like me and you, because, as titled, we are welcome here, too!

[farashe]

A farewell to my 20s

I turn 30 years old tomorrow so today is the last day I get to say I’m in my 20s. I’ve been thinking today about my life over the past decade and how much it has shaped who I am right now.

There was bad, lots of bad:

- My Grandma died. She was a wonderful woman that wrote me letters while I was in college and always included a stamped envelope so that I could write her back easily. She died while I was in a different country so I couldn’t even mourn with other people who knew her.

- I spent a lot of time unemployed and underemployed. I graduated in a shitty economy, and I definitely paid the price. I was lucky enough that I had the support system to survive, but my sense of self-worth took a beating. There were weeks, months where I was sure I would never have a job. And years at a terrible company where I only saw a hopeless future stretching out before me.

- And I was just generally adrift. I didn’t know what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be, and that made me feel like a failure. I went to grad school because I had nothing better going on. And when that degree didn’t get me anything, I felt like my life had been a waste of time.

- My cat Quillo died. He was an amazing animal. My mom got him for me when my parents divorced because I needed someone in my life that loved me without complication, someone I wasn’t angry at. He got me through so many difficult times in my life, and when he died, my heart broke in a way I’ll never entirely get over.

- I was desperately lonely. There were several periods during my 20s where the people in my life felt so far away, and all I wanted was someone to just be there with me.

But there was even more good:

- I lived in Tokyo for a year. Studying abroad was one of the most terrifying and incredible things I’ve done. I gained a new family (my host mom is one of the most wonderful people to ever exist), and I made friends and learned a lot about myself and how to be self-sufficient.

- And I did a lot of travelling in general. Besides my year in Japan, I’ve been to Korea, Palestine, Israel, Mexico, Canada, Germany, and Japan (again) plus some places around the US. Travelling is one of my very favorite things to do. I love seeing new places and meeting the people there.

- My friends. As I learn more about who I am, I learn more about who I want to share my life with. I have surrounded myself with a group of wonderful people. Some are childhood friends I reconnected with, some are friends that have been with me for this entire adventure called adulthood (so far), some are new friends.

- I moved to Chicago. I came out here for grad school and never left. I love this city. Yes, it has its share of problems, but it’s my home now.

- I got promoted. I feel like I’m in a good place professionally. I have skills and experience, and I feel like I’m building a career rather than just holding a job. And that’s fantastic!

- I met my boyfriend. He’s a good man, and we fit so well together. I love him a lot, and I’m so excited that we’re about to move in together.

All in all, things are really great right now. So farewell to my 20s. It’s been a wild ride, but it was ultimately a good decade. And I’ve set the stage for my 30s to be even better.

#personal #I got all serious here #but hey #it's only the last day of your 20s once

[ramrodd]

Why Are There Four Gospels? To break free of the gravitational pull of 2nd Temple Judaism.

COMMENTARY:

First of all, I agree completely that it is part of God's design that there are 4 Gospels and Acts. Among other things, the numerology/symbolism of the 3 synoptic gospels are the architecture of a SHAPE charge: 3 vectors of force and they combine at the point of John and blast Acts into the universe like a cosmic Dandelion, gone to seed.

Jesus is a test-tube baby in terms of His birth and life fully immersed in the culture of Israel. You go to Jerusalem, today, and the Ultra-orthox, the Haredis Jews are living the life of Jesus, before being baptised by John. And, of course, it was the ancestors of the Haredis Jews who cheered "Crucify HIM!"   The Haredim bred the assassin of Yitzhak Rabin and is Bibi Netanyahus' core constituence. Jesus grew up with people like that: you disagree with their life style as a theological fetish and they threaten to toss you off a high place, like ISIS with gay men, and Jesus in Nazareth. In Mark 7:13, He says all that tradition is crap, all 613 laws of the Talmud, which are based on the fallacy that Man is made for the Sabbath.  

That's the core reason Jesus was assassinated by the Children of Moses; like the Pro-Life doctrine of the Evangelical Spiritual Warrors are committed to their particular heresy of legalism, the Haredim inflict their version of God on everybody around them like Muslims in. the 16th century Arab garb and the Amish in their buggies.

Jesus says, throw all that shit away: the Sabbath is made for Man and the Super Bowl. Israel shuts down on the Sabbath out of respect for the martyrs of the Holocaust and it's a righteous thing. It 's good for the rest of the world when the elevators have been programmed to celebrate the Talmud just like when Jesus was growing up, only without the Roman martial law.  Instead, you have Netanyahu acting like Pilate to the Palestinians, just like the old days with the Philistines, and that rascal David collecting foreskins so he could fuck Herod's daughter.

David like to fuck, big time. And he was popular for that reason. among the women: "Herod killed his one thousand, but David killed his Ten Thousand!", Lala, Lala,Lala, Lalo.  A difference between David and Jesus is that Jesus died a virgin. That's how He was able to die during the 7th hour, precisely. He was like a serious Buddhist monk: there is a whole sub-genre of Buddhist literature devoted to the moment of death as a final display of enlightenment. Remember the Buddhist monks who lit themselve up in Saigon to warn America of the kramic trap Hanoi was trying to ensare us in: we ignored the warning, but Robert Heinlein describes the experience of the monk, setting his Lotus Seat, then setting himself on fire in "Stranger in a Strange Land", a Christian allegory. The monk "gave up the ghost" before the initial coolness of the evaporation feeding the flames vanished.

Jesus does the same thing because He dies a virgin. He is surprised by the women with the chronic period because He has no carnal knowledge of women in that regards: that whole region is, generally, unclean for the Haredim, today, and a basis for the potency of the Pro-Life heresy, and Jesus is a child of the Haredim.

And whatever Jesus does just before He dies puts the fear of the Lord into the heart of a very tough and god-fearing Roman centurion, is big medicine. Go review The Passion of the Cross or the Barrie Schwortz  TED Talk on the Shroud of Turin just to fully appreciate how fully the Romans kicked the shit out of Jesus from probably around 4pm on Maudy Thrusday until 9am Good Friday, when they hung Him out to dry. I'm a Protestant, but I think the Shroud is genuine. And, even if it isn't, pay attention to the forensics of the beating the Shroud reveals of Everyman on the Cross, which is exactly what Jesus means by "The Son of Man".

So, anyway, Jesus is pretty much used up sometime during the 10th hour and, as far as this centurion is concerned, the only thing standing betwewen him and going off-duty for an adult beverage or two. Another day in Paradise. His turn in the barrel. This was just one of the details of the military garrison that Rome conducted everyday with its Morning Report and this was just SOS/DD. He's watching and listening to this guy and he's been in Palestine long enough as a professional soldier that he could keep up with market place conversation, generally, if only as a habit of situational awareness. They were used to operating outside the wire and this guy had gotten special attention for reasons above his pay grade and, now, he's watching Him run out of gas.

Remember, there is a huge weather system gathering above the cross, the Spirit of the Lord coming to feast on the raw emotions Jesus was gathering unto Himself in His Passion, probably a little spooky, even for a centurion, but he's been wet before and they know how to hunker down in their capes and spears as tent posts.

And, then, suddenly, Jesus rares up and gives "A great shout".  John Mark is there at Jn 19:30 and hears Jesus shout a single word, Τετέλεσταιm, that can be translated “It is finished” and is apparently an accounting term that means something like "the account is complete" but, in spirit, it can be expressed as "Banzai" after a perfect ride on a starboard curl. Victory.

And Jesus shouts this in this centurion's face, and He has the aspect of the Messiah in Revelation with a sword for a tongue and all the rest. The Fear of the Lord doesn't go away: The Fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever. The transliteration of the centurion's response to this confrontation with The One in Mark 15:39 is "Truly, this man was the Son of God"  (if you notice, Luke reports that the transliteration was "Truly, this man was innocent" for reasons in regards to Theophilus that are clearly politic and reflect the original nature of Acts as being an amicus curiae to support Paul's defense of the legal argument of the Epistle to the Romans to the Praetorian Guard. And the reported reponse of this centurion was "Truly, this man was the Son of God" but, when his Pucker Factor was triggered, his first thought would have been "Oops!"

Where did I start with this? Oh, yes, God's plan. No question. Jesus turns the orthoxy of the "Man is made for the Sabbath" heresy on its head and declares "The Sabbath is made for Man" and strips all the kosher shit out of the Law and delivers this ethic in Mark 12:29 - 31: “The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  There is no commandment greater than these.”

Everything else is a life-style choice. And that's the message Jesus caused to break free of the gravitational pull of what has become the continuum of Judaism, running from Reformed to the ultra-orthox Haredim.

And the Roman legions was the way out. Among other things, the Romans appreciated the simplicity of the Christian ethic, as defined by Jesus and explicated by Paul to the author of Hebrews and, as it endorses the ethic of Socrates. Both Jesus and Socrates are secular humanists: the law is made for man and it is the duty of the citizen to submit to the rule of law for it to be a mechanism of a just society.

Cornelius wrote what we now call The Gospel of Mark as an intelligence up-date on the initial intelligence report that went to Tiberius reporting the resurrection of Jesus. Cornelius is a member on the Praetorian Guard seconded to Palestine as Pilate's senior administrative centurion, his Chief of Staff. It's how the True Warfare of Clauswitz begin to emerge, in contrast to the Real Warfare of David and the pre-republican political and military confederations of the Bible. Rome is the Lion with the jaws and teeth of iron in Daniel. According to Tertullian, Tiberius acts on this initial intelligence (probably reflected in the Gospel of Peter) by proposing to elevate Jesus to the status of legal deity. That was probably 33 for reasons having to do with the purge after the execution of Sajanus. It may have been 36, when Pilate was recalled to Rome and before Tiberius died in 37. And the Gospel of Mark is a result of the debriefing of Peter by Cornelius featured in Acts 10, an expansion on the initial intelligence report with testimony from someone inside the Jesus conspiracy.

Mark begins when Jesus appears above the Roman military horizon as a potential Zealot/Hebrew Nationalist and is contemporary eyewitness accounts from multiple sources collected and recorded before Jesus was arrested. The time-line of Mark is probably a slavish chronology in the military manner. The narrative is held together by the literary device of "immediately", the instance of which falls off as the Romans lose interest in Him as a threat (especially after Jesus heals the servant of Cornelius in Matthew 8/Luke 7) until He is dumped on Pilate's plate as a price for social calm during Passover. Mark isn't written for a Roman audience: it is written by a Roman to his Roman superiors.

The purpose of the Bible is epistemological, how to know progressively and constructively. The epistemology of Jesus begins with Socrates and runs, straight as a laser, through the Gopsel of Mark to Hebrews by way of Romans to the ΧΡ of Milivian Bridge to Isaac Newton to Apollo 11. As N.T. Wright observes, Paul describes a new way of knowing in his 13 epistles, but Jesus is epistemology.  

And that's why the Gospels reflect God's Plan for the Glory of the Lord to be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.

If it wasn't for the Gospel of Mark and the Roman legions, Judaism would have probably flickered out after Jerusalem was destroyed. Or Jerusalem wouldn't have been destroyed and Judaism would have remained a regional cultural aesthetic. like Buddhism or Hinduism or assimulated completely into Hellenism, As it is, it has a global presence and manages to irritate people everywhere it finds roots.

There's the old joke about the guy who says "I'm not arguing: I'm Jewish". Israel: to wrestle with God.

[yourkamagasakipost-blog]

The center is a stronghold of life for the workers of Kamagasaki/ The center’s shutters are open 24 hours

Content from a flyer that was issued 4/8/2019

The center is a stronghold of life for the workers of Kamagasaki The center’s shutters are open 24 hours

The sounds of an African djembe reverberate. “Fools who dance and fools who watch. If we’re fools all the same, let’s dance!”(*1)

Three hundred of us danced together—workers of Kamagasaki whose hearts ached, “don’t destroy the center,” and people who were pained by the thought of closing the center. The center is a stronghold of life for the workers of Kamagasaki. We danced and danced and danced into the dawn with the conviction that we can’t just hand over this fortress.

“First thing in the morning, as soon as the the center’s shutter opens, I go to use the toilet. I did this for twenty years. Once the shutter closes, where am I supposed to go? I’m going to fight,” a worker said. Hanasaka grandpa (*2) , who laid spread-eagled under the shutter to keep it from closing.

Everyone, everyone, we all put ourselves on the line and danced.

Midnight on March 31st, 2019. The Nishinari Labor Welfare Center’s contract had ended.

Osaka prefecture said, “We can’t close the shutters under these circumstances. We will withdraw.” and retreated in a daze, without any plan of action, to their stronghold under the Nankai railway guard.

The center remained. The sound of the djembe was reverberating even more loudly than before.

Solidarity, non-violence (*3) , and non-compliance suppressed the tyranny of power. The center is home for the workers of Kamagasaki. No other place can replace it.

Dear workers, the center’s shutters are open 24 hours. Those of you who have to sleep outdoors, you can use the bathrooms too. There is running water. Please claim your spot at the center.

The city should do construction to improve the center’s earthquake resistance at once, and then use both the current center and the newly constructed building.

Single day laborers should be allowed to reside in the 13-story city-managed housing unit with 170 rooms. The current medical center should be turned into housing towards the social recovery of people who have finished undergoing treatment for tuberculosis. Turn the showers in the basement into a public bath. Remodel the offices that housed the Labor Welfare Center and the Airin Employment Security Office (ESO) into a recreation room for the workers. And so on… Let’s share our knowledge with each other and turn this into a center that will be of use to the workers of Kamagasaki.

Let’s make sure the Airin ESO does its work right and connects workers to jobs. The useless Nishinari Labor Welfare Center should be merged with the Airin ESO, and so on. Let’s think of town-making that brings happiness to workers. Don’t crush the center—what a waste.

As of today, we will move the “Don’t crush the center” sit-in into tents inside the center. We will continue the protest soup kitchen inside the center for a while.

*Annotation notes

(*1) From the first line of a song sung during the Awa Odori in Tokushima.

(*2) From the old tale of the Old Man Who Made Withered Trees Blossom

(*3) The workers of Kamagaski have not only taken “non-violent” direct action, but have a history of struggle using a diverse array of direct actions and forms of strength. It is true that the fight to stop the center’s shutters from closing was fought non-violently, but it is not the intention of the person sharing this information to praise in particular that it was non-violent. This is because this carries the danger of in effect censuring struggles that have happened in the same Kamagasaki, for example, that have taken the shape of “violence,” like throwing stones at the riot police. Additionally, I do not want us to forget that the word “violence” is often used politically to criticize the many forms of strength used by those who are resisting power, while concealing the state's overwhelmingly greater violence—and the violence of a criticism that tacitly supports the state's prerogative to use violence. That is like, for example, justifying the Israeli military’s overwhelming use of violence in Palestine while calling children who respond by throwing rocks at tanks “terrorists.”

[theblacktemari]

Black Joy: Resistance, Revolution and Radical Love - My Congress 2017 Thinking Big experience

“Nothing radical is happening if a baby is not in the room” she said. I sit, nodding my head and humming in agreement, in understanding and I feel the same hum of agreement coming from Black people in the atmosphere around me. I thought of how it is always mothers who are the strongest fighters. I think of how it is love that leads mothers, particularly Black mothers, to strive for freedom even though they aren’t, knowing deep down that the progress they’re fighting for isn’t something they will ever taste or see in their lifetime. Deep in my heart, I feel angry. I feel like a scab somewhere was picked at and something within me aches a little. I think of how many times I was told that I needed to do something about an injustice somewhere and how those same people actively work to harm me. A mule; we are expected to work, haul, reconstruct and repackage the emotional luggage these people carry with them. To be the benevolent caregiver and never need anyone, to be strong, to be the backbone.  

She tells a story about how she learned love through stories, that it was women in her family laughing and being fully themselves, in imagining and bringing to life stories, how fully-into-themselves and how loud and joyful their energy was. I think to myself about how this is also true for my family, how the only place I truly felt myself is was during Storytime, less Robert Munch more Anansi the Spider, mahmahs and fables that teach us life and love lessons. She shared how she viewed what I interpreted to be a soul; an internal world that is encased by our bodies, she said, that story-telling helps to illustrate, heal and nourish.

Love was always personal for me, communal and familial. Love, as I understood it, gave me capacity, strength and made me tired. Scared me and at the same time helped bring me peace. Love to me was always in association with forgiveness, with apology and responsibility. Love is political, she said to us. I pause and I don’t understand fully. Yet the truth of that statement, the honesty of it made me hum in the way one does when one hears a line of a poem that is so raw in its truth it makes you nod your head and snap your fingers. I felt my perspective shift and I felt like I was walking through a mental doorway of understanding that I felt I always had within me. I felt like her language shaped the key I needed to bring my subconscious knowledge to the conscious.

She tells us of how children living in Palestine connected with youths in Ferguson, sharing tips on how to navigate state-sanctioned violence [read: genocide]; how to make cardboard shields, how to make home-remedies for tear gas. She tells us how communities under siege love, live, eat and share joy in similar ways. How young girls in Palestine use hip-hop as a medium to express themselves; reminding us that the reason why hip-hop is so popular is because of it’s true origins in telling stories that are routinely silenced by those in power. Hip-hop gave these young girls in Palestine a loudspeaker on which they can tell their own stories, much as it did for Black youth in the 80s and 90s. I hear in my head all the anger and pain that resonated with me as a child, how deeply “this album is dedicated to all the teachers that told me I’d never amount to nothing, to all the people that lived above the buildings I was hustling in front of that called the police on me when I was just trying to make some money to feed my daughter” resonated with me, 17 years old, angry and remembering being told that college wasn’t for me, maybe I should try an apprenticeship. How I believed that so deeply; that I was smart and how hopeless it made me feel. How I got used to my friends being stopped in the mall at lunch, asked to empty their pockets…even though the shop owner described blond not black.  

Then, she quotes a Bell Hooks line that I cannot remember and but goes something along the lines of “everything in your home should say I love you”; you cannot control your environment, but at least control your space, control how your home loves you”. I think to myself, “wow”. I grew up hesitant to mark my territory. It took me 2 years to make my room my space when my parents and I moved out of public housing when I was 15; how it took me one year to make my own apartment mine. Deep down - I still felt like a visitor in my own home. I felt hesitant, like I didn’t belong – so how do you make your home love you when you don’t think its yours? As she spoke, I made resolutions in my head to make my home a representation of my love for myself. To love it all, or to replace it. Black joy to me means to connect and love without any barriers. As I clapped along with the audience, I made a vow to love myself unapologetically and to let that radical love reflect in my own environment.

#congress2017 #black joy

[johnhardinsawyer]

Made in the Shade

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

6 / 13 / 21 – Graduation Sunday

Mark 4:26-34

Ezekiel 17:22-24

“Made in the Shade”

(Growing in Grace)

This past week when it was – as my wife and I called it – “Georgia Hot” right here in New England, we went into Boston where it was “South Georgia Hot.”  And, while we walked through the Boston Public Garden – sweat dripping down our faces – I looked over, and lying in the grass under the shade of a tree, was a man who looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.  There he was:  made in the shade – so relaxed and a few degrees cooler than everyone else.

My brother once joked that “Shade is one of the top three inventions of all time.”  I’m inclined to agree.

If you ever have the opportunity to go to the land where today’s two scripture readings come from, I can attest that it gets pretty hot there.  It’s a dry heat, but it can feel – at times – like you’re baking in an oven – and you’d give anything for some water and a little shade.  If you spend any time in Palestine or Israel, you might notice that the only trees that grow tall are the ones that are planted near water.  The rest of the trees – especially ones that grow out in the desert – are kind of small and scrubby.  But even these little trees offer some shade from the sun.  Both of today’s readings refer to the shade and shelter that can be found in and under the branches of trees – be they tall and grand or not-so-grand.

In today’s reading from Ezekiel, the prophet sings a song about a tree that is planted on a high and lofty mountain – a cedar tree that will produce big branches and bear fruit.  Just in case you’re wondering (because I wondered, too), yes cedar trees do produce fruit – these small blue berries that ripen in the fall.  Birds and squirrels usually eat this fruit, but humans can eat it too.[1]  Anyway, Ezekiel’s song is about the tree providing shelter and shade – even food – for “every kind of bird. . .  [and] winged creatures of every kind.” (Ezekiel 17:23)  It’s a beautiful image – a tree that is home to all kinds of birds.

But, if you really want to know about this tree, you need to know that Ezekiel isn’t really singing about an actual tree.  It’s all a big metaphor – a big poetic device.  You see, Ezekiel is really singing about a time when God will plant God’s people as a new kingdom and the house of David, Israel’s greatest king, will be established forever – rooted firmly in the soil of God’s holiest place, and growing strong and tall like a tree, with enough branches and fruit to provide a home, a shelter, and enough food for all of God’s children.  

Just so you know, Ezekiel was likely singing this song about God’s kingdom being planted and growing strong at a time when nothing was being planted and nothing in Ezekiel’s world was growing strong.  It was a time of destruction, and sadness, and exile, and there was plenty to be upset about.  But Ezekiel’s song isn’t a sad song – at least not the part that we heard earlier.  Instead, it is a hopeful song.  “Look,” Ezekiel is singing, “Things haven’t turned out like we had hoped they would.  In fact, it’s been one heck of a couple of years.  But things won’t always be this way.  There is still room for hope.  God is about to change things and it’s going to be glorious.  Everyone will see it and know.”

There are some who might think that it’s difficult to find places where the Bible speaks to their own life’s situation.  But I wonder how you might be feeling today in a time when life hasn’t turned out like you had hoped it would.  In fact, it’s been one heck of a couple of years.  

As I think about those of you who have graduated from high school during a global pandemic, I cannot imagine all that you and your families and your teachers have endured to get to this point.  I mean, we have all endured a lot because of Covid-19 – some more than others, over these past fifteen months.  And I imagine that today might find you hoping for something better than what is and what has been.  

Ezekiel’s people have been scattered to the winds and so, Ezekiel finds himself hoping for a time of regathering and rebuilding, of replanting and rest and renewal.  I wonder what you might be hoping for, today. . .

As I think about where we are as a church – scattered for fifteen months by the Covid-19 pandemic during a time of deep sadness, about to regather and rebuild our in-person community of faith, I do see some parallels for Ezekiel’s hope with the present day – wondering what God will plant in our midst and how we will grow and how we will offer a refuge and shelter and shade for all of God’s children.

But I can’t help but wonder how it will be when we do regather in person, starting next Sunday at 10 AM.  And I know I’m not the only one.  After this time of exile, how easily will we fall back into our old patterns of doing things and will the old patterns be a good way of doing things or do we need to do things differently?  After this time of exile, there will likely be a different set of faces who gather here in the shade of what God planted in this place, so long ago.  And, after this time of exile, how will the experience of all that we have been through shape us as we grow into the future God has prepared for us?  Now, I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, but I still have hope. . .  hope, because – like Ezekiel – I trust that God is doing something, working for good.  I have hope in the kingdom of God.

You know, Jesus spends a large part of his teaching ministry talking about the kingdom of God – especially in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  Jesus is always talking about the kingdom – or empire – of God, and, like Ezekiel, singing about that tree Jesus uses the symbolic language of metaphors and similes.  It would seem that talking about something that defies description means that you can only hint at it with words.  So Jesus says that the kingdom of God is something that grows (like seeds planted in good soil), or something that is precious (like a great treasure), or something that is mysteriously powerful and changes things – changes people – from the inside out (like yeast in bread).  How, exactly, does the kingdom work?  Well, as Jesus says in today’s passage, the kingdom grows but we don’t know how. . .  I like how Eugene Peterson translates it:

God’s kingdom is like seed thrown on a field by a man who then goes to bed and forgets about it. The seed sprouts and grows — he has no idea how it happens. The earth does it all without his help: first a green stem of grass, then a bud, then the ripened grain.[2]

The seed sprouts and grows, but the man has no idea how it happens.  It’s kind of like a little plastic cup full of dirt that my son brought home from preschool a little over a month ago.  One day, the seeds that were planted in that little cup started to grow.  And, now we’re just amazed every morning at how much it has grown.  It’s kind of like watching some of you grow over the years.  My, how you’ve grown – Toren, and Emily, and Carly, and Claire, and. . .  From a green stem, to a leaf. . .  to flowers and fruit that are surely on the way.  There is something miraculous about it.

The same can be said of the ways that the kingdom of God grows in the world and in the minds and hearts and spirits of every living person.  We have no idea how it happens, but it does because God is at work, and – all of a sudden – the kingdom is bearing fruit in your life, and in mine, and in the life of the world in wonderful ways.

You might wonder what this looks like.  As Jesus tells us, it could be something small – as small as a mustard seed – as small as someone at church who knew your name as a child and lived into the “We do” of the promise the congregation made at your baptism.  It could be something as small as a kind word from someone on a youth mission trip, or a gift that was nurtured, or someone who saw something special in you that no one else did.  It could be something as small as a feeling that something is not right in the world or in a relationship, but God has given you the drive and passion and gifts and skills to do something about it, for good.  It could be something small that grows into something big – like a tree, or a church, or a heart – that is big enough for everyone.  

You know, when Ezekiel was singing about the tree that God would plant, he was hoping for something that he, very likely, never lived to see – a new kingdom for God’s people.  I wonder if we might live to see what we’re hoping for.  I wonder if the kingdom of God is working within us, that we might grow, and work, and live to see what we’re hoping for.  This is Jesus’ hope for us.  You see, when Jesus came, preaching and teaching about the kingdom of God, he could actually see it at work in the world all around him, through God’s people.  “Do you see this tiny mustard seed?” Jesus asks.  “Do you see that big tree over there with all of the birds in it?  Well, that came from this.  There is room in God’s kingdom – even for you.  No, especially for you.  

The kingdom of God is within you.  (Luke 17:21)  How will it grow?  How will you grow and how will God’s kingdom flourish because of you?”  

Friends – beloved of God – there is no knowing what God will do through each of you as you grow in wisdom, and stature, and heart, and mind and spirit.  But, my hope and prayer is that the kingdom which has been planted in you – at the heart of who you are – would grow tall, and strong:  arms outstretched to embrace the world that God has made and saved. . .  the world in which God’s kingdom is at work, the world in which God is working for the restoration, and shelter, and care of every living thing, the world to which God calls you.  

May you rest in the glorious hope of God’s kingdom that was, and is, and is to come, by God’s glorious grace.  

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

---------

[1] According to one source, Native Americans used it as an herbal remedy for nausea and arthritis.  https://www.ehow.com/how_7441495_pick-fruit-cedar-tree.html.

[2] Eugene Peterson, The Message – Numbered Edition (Colorado Springs:  NAV Press, 2002) 1382. Mark 4:26-28.