also NOTE that i said 'nearly every'

Beyonce is no one’s mammy.

So the record-scratching comments from Adele and Faith Hill shortly after Beyonce’s Grammy performance came across as absolutely bizarre. In her earnest acceptance speech for her Album of the Year win, Adele praised her fellow artist’s vision for “Lemonade,” the album Adele’s “25” bested in the category. She also all but said Beyonce deserved the Grammy.

She then turned inward and noted how difficult it was to re-enter the music business to record the album, particularly as a young mother. As a music lover and mother, I was nodding in appreciation of her vulnerability and openness.

But then she said this: “My dream and my idol is Queen Bey, and I adore you,” she gushed to Beyonce in the front row. “You move my soul every single day. And you have done for nearly 17 years. I adore you, and I want you to be my mommy, all right.”

Shortly after, Faith Hill repeated the sentiment: “I’m older than you, but I want you to be my mommy, too.”

Both comments were made without the least bit of irony, but for this black mom, those words made me bristle — seared me down to my soul.

Beyonce Is Not The Magical Negro Mammy

Photo: Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images

Dancing in the Rain // Kim Myungjun

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sure the title’s bulky but ya girl didn’t know how to title it. this is what you get.

the prompt: could i have a fluffy sanha/mj/jinjin fic where you’re at a party and its you and him are quite close and you’re very awkward so he tries really hard to make you happy or comfortable? :) ++ KISS MAYBE?? IDK sorry ^^

words: 1292

category: fluff

author note: don’t be sorry, everyone loves kissing scenes every now and then. wish i could write them better for you. also, i chose myungjun bc i’ve missed him. also i said pizzas a lot in this scenario sorry.

- destinee

Originally posted by papajinjin

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There are two headcanons I feel nearly every Spn fan had the first time they watched the show:

  1. Ben is Dean’s biological child. 
  2. Someone picked that goddamn Samulet up out of the trash 

title: I Can’t Help Falling (In Love With You)
word count: 2,594
summary: in which ronan says something when he thinks adam can’t hear him, except that adam can. 
note(s): for kieva (@alwaysemrys), because she’s an absolute gem, and also it’s her birthday!! This is unbeta’d so all mistakes (spelling or otherwise) are completely mine alone. +prompt fill for things you said when you thought i was asleep


Adam hates driving back to Henrietta when Ronan isn’t by his side. The nearly 6+ hour drive from his college campus in Washington D.C. back to the Barns in Henrietta drags on and on, heavy, quiet, seemingly endless as he gets stuck in pockets of traffic nearly every hour. He finds himself wishing for nothing more than to just be home already at least seventy-six times.

It’s getting dark by the time Adam reaches Henrietta. Before he’d gone away for college, Adam hadn’t taken the time to truly appreciate the winding driveway leading to the Barns. Now he couldn’t be more thankful, it feels like he can (finally) breathe again. Like he’d let out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding until the very moment he turned down the worn down road. He takes in the familiar autumnal colors as he drives, redgoldbrown leaves clinging to the branches of trees lining the driveway,  the cotton candy sunset sky peeking through intermittently. The fresh air rolls in through the open window, and Adam breathes—inhale, exhale, repeat—lets all the stress from the school semester so far leave through the window. He can hear the cattle lowing in the pasture, rolling green hills dotted with the outlines of their blackbrownwhite bodies. He’s home, finally home, and the drive was definitely worth it. 

Parking next to Ronan’s BMW, Adam climbs out of the driver’s seat, his bag slung over his shoulder. Gravel crunches and shifts beneath his feet as he walks towards the faded white farmhouse, skipping the porch steps leading up to the front door. He drops his bag in the breezeway, sets his shoes down beside it and wanders towards the kitchen. Ronan’s standing at the stove with his back towards the doorway, making sure whatever’s in the pan he’s using doesn’t burn. The sleeves of his deep green Henley are shoved up to his elbows, as per usual when he’s cooking. Opal sits at the counter top, absently chewing on a carrot while scribbling wildly with an assortment of colored pencils. Music plays a little too loud from a speaker beside her. The speaker isn’t plugged in.

Opal notices him first. 

Clambering down from her seat at the counter, she trips over her own hooves when running to meet Adam in the doorway. She screamsquawkmangles his name at the loudest volume possible, arms outstretched as if waiting for Adam to pick her up. Ronan turns around, a quick intake of breath the only indication that he’d been caught off guard. When he sees Adam standing there, Opal perched on his hip with her arms thrown around his neck, he visibly relaxes.

“Didn’t think to call on you way over?” Ronan sets the fire on the stove to a lower setting and wipes his hands off on a dish towel before walking over to greet Adam. He presses a kiss against Adam’s mouth, chaste, and Opal squirms to get down so that she’s not trapped between the two of them. Adam sets her down, then casts a smile in Ronan’s general direction.

“Would you have picked up if I did?” He follows Ronan back over to the stove, where he’s now adding an unnecessary amount of ginger to what looks like stirfry. Ronan hums in reply, which is neither here nor there. “Besides, I wanted it to be a surprise.“ 

Ronan shuts the stove off, moving the pan to the back burner, “Well, color me surprised then." 

Adam laughs at that, a bright sound that seems to fill the room, and reaches out to curl his hand into Ronan’s shirt, tugging him closer. Ronan wraps his arms around Adam’s waist, rests his head against his shoulder. Their bodies slot together in a way that feels safe, secure. Adam can feel Ronan’s eyelashes fluttering against his neck, they’re pressed so close together. He feels more than hears Ronan say, "Don’t stay away for so long next time, Parrish.” Then, a moment later, “I hate having to use a phone.”

Briefly, Adam recalls all the phone calls and text messages he’s received since the semester started. He thinks of every snapchat Ronan had sent, silly videos of Opal and grainy photos documenting life as it was at the Barns. “I know,” he says, his voice warm and light, an audible depiction of the happiness that crowds his chest knowing Ronan put effort into keeping him posted with the everyday goings-on of life back home, “I appreciate that you use yours anyway." 

Ronan pulls away, just barely, "You better, that thing’s a terror.” He steps away fully, turning to grab a stack of plates from the overhead cupboard to the left of the stove, “Anyway, you’re just in time for dinner." 

Adam is really glad he made it home.


After dinner, they move into the living room. Opal is laying stomach-down on the floor, a blanket lazily tossed over her back. Hercules sings his hero ballad on a TV that doesn’t have a power source. Adam and Ronan are tangled up on the couch, bodies pressed close together. Adam rests his head on Ronan’s chest, listens to the stutter of his heartbeat, leans into his touch when he traces cirlces over the expanse of his back. The movie rolls on, but he doesn’t pay it much attention. Rather, he closes his eyes and lets himself doze. 

When the movie ends, Ronan shuts the TV off and herds both Adam and Opal up the stairs. They tuck Opal in and both make sure to press kisses to her forehead before leaving the room. 

"How come you came back?” Ronan asks, when they"re lying in bed, facing each other. When Adam is silent for a beat too long, he adds, “Don’t get me wrong, I like that you’re home, but aren’t you supposed to have class?”

“I missed you guys, class was cancelled this afternoon, and my next lecture isn’t until Monday. Made sense to come back for a while." 

Ronan wasn’t going to complain about Adam being home.


When Adam wakes up, everything is groggy and disoriented. He isn’t aware of much beyond the fact that it is still very dark out, he is still very tired, and Ronan is still not asleep. In fact, Ronan is talking, to Adam it would seem. Which didn’t make a lot of sense to Adam himself, as he was sure he had been sleeping just a few moments ago, until he registered what Ronan was saying. It starts with

"I love you, and I know that I don’t tell you that enough,” His voice is soft, as if to keep from waking Adam up. Adam lays very still, trying to keep his breathing the same as it would have been had he still been asleep. He wants to know what Ronan is on about, and is fairly certain that if he were to let Ronan know he’s awake, it would cause him to stop talking all together, “But I do. I love you, and that scares me. 

"Not a lot of things scare me anymore, but the thought of loving you does. Not because you’re hard to love, Adam, but because loving you comes too easy.” Ronan pauses, sighs. He brushes the hair away from Adam’s face, causing Adam’s heart to jackrabbit against his ribcage. Ronan never says these sorts of things outloud, has always been the kind of person to show instead of tell, for as long as Adam has known him. Adam wonders if this sort of conversarion has happened before, in similar fashion. 

“I am so sure of you, and that’s dangerous. Or at least, Declan says it is. He says being sure of anyone is dangerous, because you never really know what version of a person you’re being sure of.

"But this is you, Adam. You.” Ronan’s hand comes to rest, gently, on Adam’s jaw. His thumb traces lazy half circles on his cheek. “And I’m so overwhelmingly sure of you. So sure that I want to marry you, some day. If you’ll have me.”

Adam wants to say of course. Of course he’ll have Ronan, through the good and the bad and the bitter anger. He doesn’t have to, but Adam chooses Ronan every day. He has for the past six months. He wants to tell Ronan of course, so he does. Blinking slowly, Adam shifts farther into Ronan’s touch before saying, “Of course I’ll have you, Ro. It’s always been you." 

Ronan doesn’t look surprised at all, but he still asks, "How long have you been awake?" 

"Hm, Long enough.” Adam says, “And I mean it, too. I’ll have you.”

“Yeah?” The smile on Ronan’s face is soft, warm. Adam’s chest feels flooded with love. 

“Yeah.” Adam smiles back, equally soft, equally warm, equally endearing.

And that’s enough for now. Ronan pulls Adam closer, kissing him even though the fact that they’re both smiling makes it awkward. When they settle back in to catch a few more hours of sleep before Opal wakes up, Adam whispers, “Hey, Ro?”

Ronan hums, his eyes still closed.

“I’m sure of you, too.”


When Adam wakes up again, later in the morning, Ronan’s side of the bed is empty. He scrubs a hand over his face to get rid of the last dredges of sleep, taking in the smell of coffee that drifted up from the kitchen. 

The hardwood floor is cold against his feet when he wanders downstairs, sockless, into the kitchen. Ronan is standing by the stove again, a growing tower of French toast sat on the counter beside him. Chainsaw perches on the sill of the open window above the sink, preening. 

“Morning,” Adam says, voice still a little scratchy from sleep. Ronan looks up from the stove, smiles at him over his shoulder.

“Good morning.” Ronan drops another slice of French toast into the pan.

Adam wanders over to him, wraps his arms around Ronan’s waist and hooks his head over Ronan’s shoulder. “How long have you been up?”

“Since sunrise, to take care of the animals.” He flips the slice of toast over, the pan hissing when it comes in contact with the egg batter. 

“Why didn’t you wake me? I would’ve helped." 

"I already woke you up once this morning, Parrish,” Ronan states, turning down the heat on the stove just barely, “Besides, you need all the beauty sleep you can get." 

The sound Adam makes can only be described as an indignant squawk,  and it causes Ronan to laugh, his shoulders shaking. 

After Ronan finishes cooking breakfast, they carry full plates and mugs of coffee out onto the back porch, settling down on the wicker swing. Opal romps around in the grass, chasing after Chainsaw, who’s flying back and forth nearly three feet above her. 

"I can’t tell you enough how much I’ve missed your cooking.” Adam says, cutting his slices of French toast into even squares before dowsing them in maple syrup. He chews three squares at a time, watching as Opal trips over her own hooves, toppling onto the ground. She sits up, quickly glancing over to them as if to check if they’d seen. (They had.) 

“It’s just French toast, Adam.” Ronan balances his plate against his knee, grabs his coffee mug from the ground and takes a swig. 

“I know. But it’s so much better than dining hall food." 

"Well, obviously.” Then, Ronan directs his attention to Opal, who is laughing, delighted, while still trying to grab Chainsaw. “Hey, brat, come eat. You food is getting cold." 

Opal gallops over, wedging herself between Adam and Ronan with her plate in her lap. Adam smiles at the whole of them, his chest feeling too small to hold how happy and content and in love with it all he is.  For the rest of breakfast, they talk and laugh and revel in the calm that’s settled over them all. It’s nice. 


Adam has to drive back to Washington D.C. the next day. His car is once again packed with the things he’d brought with him, in addition to a collection of drawings from Opal that he was instructed to hang in his dorm room. He shuts his trunk a little more roughly than necessary, turns to look at Ronan and Opal who are standing a few feet away. 


Ronan asks, "Will you call later? When you get back to school?” but it sounds like, “Let me know when you’re safe." 

"Will you pick up if I do?" 

"If not me, than Opal, probably. She always does.” Which is true. Opal’s voice is almost always the first one Adam hears when he calls.

Adam steps into Ronan’s space, tugging him into a hug. Ronan wraps his arms around Adam, holds him tight and hides his face in the curve of Adam’s neck. 

“Adam?” Ronan’s voice is soft when he speak, careful. It reminds Adam of that first night so many months ago, reminds him of the night sky and dreamt up fireflies. 

“Yeah?" 

"Marry me?” Adam’s heart stutters, his mind leaping back to the early hours of the morning again, leaping back to Ronan laying his heart bare, leaping to how sure he was of Ronan, too.

Adam says, “Will I get a ring?” and it sounds like, “Of course.” It sounds like, “I’m sure of you.” It sounds like, “Yes.”

Ronan smiles, his laughter fanning out over Adam’s neck. “I’ll dream you one, if you want. The best there ever was.”

Adam almost says, I don’t need the best, I just need you, but he settles for, “You’re such a sap,” instead.

When Adam kneels down to hug Opal, she all but launches herself at him, sniffling unhappily into his shoulder. Adam smooths her hair down, pulls away enough to be able to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll only be gone a few weeks.” He says, gentle, swiping a stray tear away from her cheek, “You’ll hardly even notice.”  She nods, still frowning, and goes to hide behind Ronan.

Adam stands, kisses Ronan one last time before climbing into the driver’s seat. Opal waves at him as he drives away, only stopping when the road curves, and he drifts around the corner. 

The drive back to his campus is essentially the same as the drive to Henriettalong, uneventful, full of traffic. He sighs when he lets himself into his dorm room, eyeing the stack of textbooks and homework papers he neglected in favor of driving home for the weekend. He sets to work emptying the bag he’d brought with him, stopping when he reaches a folded up hoodie that is decidedly not his. He brings the faded black fabric up to his nose, breathing in the smell of Ronan and the Barn—Of home. He picks up his phone, dials Ronan’s number. It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Voicemail. “I’m back. Traffic was awful, as always. Thanks for the hoodie.” Then, a beat later, “I miss you. Call me back, or have Opal call me. I love you guys.” He hangs up.

Adam moves to sit at his desk, flipping open the topmost textbook in order to start on his assignments. Ten minutes later, his phone buzzes. 

(1) New Message 

From: Love❤︎

For you. 

[Image attached] 

Swiping open his phone, Adam checks the message. It’s a closeup of a ring, thick silver band engraved with dark swirls like ivy vines. Adam’s heart swells. Quickly, he types out a reply before turning back to his homework assignment;

To: Love❤︎ 

It’s official, then. I love you.

From: Love❤︎ 

I love you too.

Okay, so how I’m personally reading everything that’s come out today about Once and a Season 7 is…

You’ve got EW pushing a hopeful narrative with the possibility of some cast leaving by the end of Season 6 with it seemingly likely there’s a Season 7 on the horizon…. Then you’ve got Deadline pushing a doom and gloom narrative that if there’s a 7th season, it’s all gonna be different and sound like that Season 6 wrap up all storylines going on now.

Originally posted by realitytvgifs

One of these is spinning things a certain way to get hits and I’m thinking it’s Deadline… What better way to drive eyes to your site then make it seem like a popular, fan-base heavy show is ending and/or whatever follows won’t be the same…

EW, all day, kept pushing the ‘good ideas’ for Season 7 narrative - and that’s the article both Jen and Colin retweeted (not far apart from each other, I might add. Jen RTing it is especially noteworthy, I think.). And now suddenly we have an article from a completely different website twisting what was said to sound negative and ‘show ending’ like? With a very click-baity lead in… (this is after nearly every renewal predictor has been saying Once was a good bet for renewal, I’ll add…)

I think ‘panic’ is what Deadline wanted because it’s gonna drive more eyes to their site (anybody else notice how they used a Regina pic for their lead-in image? Not sure if that means anything, I just personally noted it myself). They’re gonna be the one every starts to reference as talk about Once continuing (or not) amps up. Also, on top of that, Carlyle’s interview from a handful of days ago might be playing some factor here…

We won’t really know for sure until ABC officially announced something, of course. I’m just seeing two narratives being pushed from two difference sources and I also saw which narrative was ‘promoted’ by my two favorite cast members from the show.

anonymous asked:

what are your favorite iwaoi fics that you would recommend?

[cracks knuckles] ah yes i was wondering when i’d get this ask. i really need to browse the iwaoi tag for new things, but (at least for me) it’s hard reading work for a ship while i’m writing it. part of the reason is that subconsciously stealing elements of another story is a real concern. anyway, i’m going to list those that i’ve read so far and really enjoyed

to be first, to be best | long oneshot | complete: Hajime is apparently something of a masochist, and as he stares down at the tie-dyed AREA51 T-shirt in his hands, he thinks “I’m totally in love with this asshole, aren’t I?” | note: this is easily my favorite iwaoi fic, at least as of yet. i highly highly recommend it

we can do better than that | long oneshot | complete:  Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn’t go as expected, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all. | note: first iwaoi fic i ever read! it has a special place in my heart

Build A Temple In Me | long oneshot | complete:  But intertwining of destinies can be ugly business, Hajime finds, when their first meeting begins with blood and the too-human eyes of a beast. | note: ryan is an incredible writer!! i recommend anything by setter-kun​ and this one is exceptionally beautiful 

no room for pretend | long oneshot | complete:  “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says again, quieter. When Iwaizumi turns his head back around, Oikawa isn’t even looking at him anymore, fixated on the frayed threads of their cushion. He looks up after a moment and smiles faintly. “Please be my fake boyfriend.” | note: i’m a sucker for this trope, and this writer handled it so well

I Choose You | oneshot | complete: There’s a tiny clock on his wrist, bright red numbers. It’s supposed to tick, supposed to move, supposed to tell him when he’ll meet his soulmate. The time will run to zero when they’ve met, moving numbers will become stationary—the ticking that signified uncertainty transforming to the silent stability of forever.Iwaizumi Hajime’s clock hasn’t ticked for as long as he can remember.| note: gotta love the soulmate au’s

Kotov Syndrome | multichap | complete: Corruption is brewing in Seijou’s police force. Oikawa Tooru, the captain of Special Investigations, is put onto a case where he cannot afford to fail.But despite his best efforts, not everything goes according to plan.A standalone fic in the buddycop AU series; reading the other two isn’t necessary if you’d just like to read this one! | note: ren is also fantastic!! aetherdrive​‘s buddycop au’s are phenomenal so check them all out if you get the chance

on lightning, on luster | multichap | ongoing: Maybe it’s because Oikawa is more than something gilded. When Hajime thinks of those seventy-two kilograms of wonder and weight, his one-hundred and eighty-four centimeters, arms outstretched, he knows his best friend’s still learning to tower. Oikawa Tooru. That name of his races through his head like it’s making a rallying tour, a victory tour, honestly, because there’s no doubt about it by now—Hajime wants Oikawa, likes him even, but not because he’s made of myth. Oikawa’s first death might have come by lightning, but Hajime doesn’t seek such flash.Because for all the love Oikawa gets as Miyagi’s golden boy, Hajime will love everything under the luster.Or, a tale in which Iwaizumi Hajime is born into the world with twenty-five lives. His best friend, Oikawa, isn’t quite as lucky. | note: justine is a fabulous writer, too. companions​ has written several other fics that i definitely encourage you to look into 

Hot Pink | multichap | ongoing: Mankind is dying out, thanks to a virus that instantly weakens the immune system. The only way to survive after catching the virus is for ones entire identity to be compressed into data and transferred into an artificial host, an android if you will, but everyone knows these people as Synthetics.Iwaizumi Hajime is a borderline-celebrity in the field in which he is finishing his Masters, Synthetic Humanoid Ethics, when he finally proposes to long-time Synthetic boyfriend Oikawa Tooru. Known nearly worldwide for his stance on Organic and Synthetic human relationships, somehow, he’s upset the wrong person and everything is crashing down on him. He doesn’t know how or why this is happening, but in a world where humans are slowly dying and being replaced by the artificial, Iwaizumi may have an android uprising on his hands. And it may or may not have been something he said. | note: if you enjoy sci-fi like i do, this fic is for you. also, alphie (semi-eita) is an awesome writer!!

It’s Tradition | oneshot | complete:  Every year, without fail, on Oikawa’s birthday, Oikawa has somehow gotten a kiss out of Iwaizumi. | note: super cute and a quick gratifying read

Like One of Your French Girls | oneshot | complete | nsfw:  “I, Oikawa Tooru, captain of the Aobajousai volleyball team and all-around specimen of charm and talent, am completely and 100% a virgin.” | note: really good if you’re looking for iwaoi smut

like i said, i’m sure there are other great fics out there that have been posted  recently. once i finish “it’s lonely on jupiter,” i plan on reading more! i hope this helps and, if you asked this because you’re currently reading my own iwaoi, i hope you continue to enjoy that, too!

“IN RETROSPECT---” Hannibal 3x10 Again

**Warning: rewatch live-blogging, written with knowledge of the full series

I’m in a weird nervy mood right now, so let’s SEE HOW THIS GOES DOWN.

Season 3, Episode 10: “And the Woman Clothed IN Sun”

Heh, Francis practicing his plosives in front of the mirror, I’d forgotten.

From the outside of his laptop I would have sworn it was a Dell or something, but then the desktop is clearly Apple, so this is for sure a metaphor about Dolarhyde containing The Dragon. It’s not, please don’t believe me.

Hannibal’s lawyer is literally named Byron. You guys.

THE OVERWHELMED GASP THO. Francis is the person who brings his favorite book to be signed by his favorite author at the local Barnes & Noble and then ends up lurking by the periodicals too nervous to go up there.

Hannibal’s just like, “refreshing, someone who wants to Become.”

Unfair reviews. At last someone who recognizes the artistry of your work, Hanners. Or, well at last someone who admits it. Rough.

Huh. Dolarhyde, being perfectly amenable to a number of Hannibal’s wants in a murder protege, is sorta another Dimmond, isn’t he — proof that the traits he wants in Will on paper don’t actually gel into someone he wants in person. That, frustratingly, remains Will’s role alone. Ha ha, YOU DOOMED LOSERS.

This is totally cool. AND EERY.

“I want to see you ~meld~ with the ~strength of the Dragon~.” W O W, Dolarhyde.

Wait, a Joke:

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kings-and-lionheart  asked:

Hi friend! Just wondered why you define yourself as a skeptical Christian instead of just a Christian? I have read all your answers and find myself mostly in the same ball park as you, except I believe that these doubts are not something that should define me as a "not strong Christan", but in fact a strong one. The doubts that I face everyday about Christ force me to turn to him for answers, to discover what little of him I can comprehend. You make it seem as if the doubts make you lessen you?

Hey there dear friend, I believe you’re referring to this post and my bio.  Thank you for being so generous and encouraging.

I call myself a “skeptical Christian” because my natural default mode is to doubt God.  I’m on the spiritual edge of the abyss more often than I want to admit.  Really.  I’m like that guy in school who mostly gets good grades but has to study hard like crazy to get them. Some students are just whip-smart and they can both party it up and get the A’s.  I’m not like that.  I fall out of the zone very easily, and there are many nights where I look up at the ceiling fan at 3am and ask myself if I’m just crazy to believe all this.

I don’t say that to sound hipster or relevant or emergent.  Skepticism and doubt are immense burdens that I do not wish upon anyone.  It’s not a popularity contest for me to say “I’m a struggling Christian.”  I wish I wasn’t. 

But I had to quit fighting so hard to be like one of those on-fire emotional super-Christians in the front pew.  I had to eventually realize that two kinds of people went through the Red Sea: the victoriously triumphant fist-pumpers and the terrified toe-tipping screamers.  I’m a screamer.  I’ll cross the Red Sea with the rest of them, sheerly by His grace — but I’ll be running for my life nearly the whole way through.

God has room for both the victorious and the doubting.  He has room for the guy who takes notes in every sermon and the guy who can’t stand journaling.  God has room for the loudest singer and the quiet contemplator.  Jesus himself said that even a tiny mustard seed of faith can move a mountain.  And certainly God wants us to grow beyond a mustard seed — but God also knows we each have a tempo, a pacing, an individual rhythm to find Him. 

I’m becoming comfortable with the grace that God has apportioned me.  I will not compare my journey of faith with anyone else, neither my success nor my failures.  And nor will I let my doubt become permission for someone else to be lukewarm, including me.

But in the end, I choose Him.  Amidst the swirling darkness of confusion and uncertainty and the spinning ceiling fan, I choose to believe the story of God.  It’s a daily choice, and it doesn’t happen perfectly — but even one percent of my tiny seedling faith is enough for Him, and it’s enough for me too.

— J