big expanders

Telling George

Jack is nervous when he knocks on the front door of George’s house. He’d wanted to have this conversation in person, but it’s not one for public consumption, and he feels like he owes it to her to let her be the first person in the Falcs to know since she’s the one who scouted him. He doesn’t know a lot about George, aside from the fact she’d played in juniors, then for a couple of the few professional women’s hockey teams they’d had prior to the NWHL, and she’d played in the Olympics. He doesn’t know anything about her personal life except that she wears a wedding ring, he realises.

And the door opens. The woman on the other side is not George, but she looks familiar. It takes a moment for Jack to place her due to the weird context, but he realises she’s Thirdy’s wife Carrie.

“Oh hey Jack,” she says, sipping the wine she’s holding. “George said you were coming by. Come on in. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

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Incarnations of Romana: the First (Mary Tamm), the Second (Lalla Ward), the Third from books (based on Louise Brooks) and Trey (Juliet Landau).

“I still love you.”

Three years ago, God gave me a revelation of how much I’m worth in His eyes while buying a new mug. I bought the simplest mug I’ve seen to remind myself that it doesn’t matter who I am, what I’ve done, or what I’m going through—God bought me with a price. That price was Jesus Christ, and it didn’t matter if that payment was too much for me. God is happy with His purchase, He is satisfied with Christ’s finished work, and I—seemingly small and ordinary human being that I am in the big, expanding universe—am valued.

I kept that mug. For the past three years, I’d been drinking in that mug, placing it beside me during long nights of schoolwork, and refusing to buy a new one. Granted, part of the reason for the last one is I had no need for another one. I also didn’t think of God’s ultimate love for me whenever I see the mug. Most of the time, it’s just another thing I have to pack and unpack, use, wash, and fill every semester.

This afternoon, though, as I washing it, my hands slipped, and the mug broke. I was preoccupied with the things I still have to do tonight. It hit the edge of the sink, its handle broke off, and its lip was cracked. Goodbye, mug. I stared at it for a moment, assessing the damage, when felt the God whisper in my heart. He told me, in the damp, dimly-lit washing area of my dormitory, that, “I still love you. You’re still loved, valued and precious to me. You’re still special. Even if you think you’re broken and failing and flailing, I still love you.”

And I was, you know, actually thinking of those things to myself the past few days. I felt like a failure, a demoted and worn out version of my old passionate for Christ self, a girl lost not because she didn’t know the right directions, but because she’d forgotten what her initial destination was. I was confused, tired, and weary of the things I was doing, thoughts invading, and the mistakes I can’t seem to escape.

But look at our Father. I was that mug, in all aspects. I bought it because it was simple and plain; no one would look at it twice in a shelf filled with bigger and more colorful cups and mugs. I was that kind of mug, but God saw me. He bought me. I don’t think I’m really worth it, but He was firm that I am, and He gave everything up to have me. I was valued, loved, and special—I had a place in God’s heart—not because of what I can do, what I have, or where I’ve come from. My life was changed from the inside-out, my value was given, and my life was rerouted all because He redeemed me. All because He chose to. All because He wanted to and that He loved me.

Now, even if I have failed, even if I have forgotten that sacrifice for a while, and even if I tried to work out my own value futilely in my own ways for a while, He still loves me. He didn’t discard me even if I was ungrateful and forgetful. He’s still, still, still so in love me. That value, love, and favor He held in His eyes when He looks upon me is still there.

I looked at that mug, broken and cracked, and I saw myself, so very different than who I three years ago. Still, in the span of three years that took me from then to now, God never changed. He still cared. My standing and position in Christ were never tainted or lessened by my forgetfulness and lack of focus.

And here, the metaphor between me and my mug ends. The mug, after serving me so well for three years, will find itself in the trash and tomorrow will be replaced. I’ll never forget about it, though. It’s become a symbol of God’s work and grace in my life, even if the mug had to go. On the other hand, God will not discard me. He’s more than able to work His grace and carve something beautiful out of the broken. He’s even doing it right now. Breaking, shattering, failing, forgetting, compromising, falling, sinning—no matter one’s history constitutes, His grace can and will work through it.

At some point, we may think that we are already too far to be redeemed. We may think that we are too weak to still be able to make that journey the prodigal son made to come back home. We may think that we’re too broken, too dirty, too notorious, too shunned by society, too ugly, or too changed to still be loved, used, and embraced by God.

Not true.

God also wants you to know that: “I still love you. You’re still loved, valued and precious to me. You’re still special. Even if you think you’re broken and failing and flailing, I still love you.” The price that He’s paid for you was so great it had no limit. I’d like to believe that the Universe is still expanding this very moment just to contain what Christ has done, to try to fit that love whose height, depth, breadth, and length could never be measured. That love that was poured out for you.

Wherever you are right now in this journey, He’s still for you. He loves you. He doesn’t just see the broken, He holds them and loves them. He heals them, beloved, and gives them fresh beginnings, redeemed hopes, and abundant futures.

“I was once buried alive—for 60 years! If that didn’t kill me… if the Sith and the Mandalorians and the Bloodboilers of Kragis couldn’t kill me—then you will not kill me!”


created by @cosmicjourney1995
dedicated to most badass fucking bounty hunter in the Star Wars universe!

green-217  asked:

Found the super secret blog a while ago, but just thought I'd mention here and now how much I enjoy both the secret blog and sdm. Your posts always bring a smile to my face and Carl and Ted the animators are some A+ characters :)

*starts being less sick today, realizes he’s missed all kinds of asks and such*

Aww, thanks!

I really appreciate the support, and have loved making y’all laugh… lately, SDM’s opportunities has grown a lot.

Not only have there recently been – in my opinion – some of the most-fun posts ever, but the world of what’s possible has expanded big time. 

After the Carl & Ted Rudolph discussion post did so well, SDM’s material is now officially infinite.

See, that post had nothing to do with Scooby-Doo, animation errors, or derpy frames.

It was just a short standup-esque routine I wrote about Rudolph, expanded into a small sketch with two characters of my creation, plus some illustrative frames to make it more engaging… and then, humblingly, it somehow got 395 notes.

Carl and Ted are the perfect bridge between the Scooby posts and other humorous topics… they can have a discussion on anything, and it automatically fits into the SDM world.

Fans are rightly wary of new things… no one wants something they enjoy to change, and possibly start sucking. You have to earn their trust, and for that exact reason I’ve introduced new stuff to the blog, super slowly, for the last half-year or so. 

Gotta prove to the world that they can trust anything they see on SDM to be enjoyable, and that a different type of post doesn’t mean other content is going away.

Carl and Ted are a great framing device… anything is funnier if they’re talking about it, and people are far more willing to give something a chance if the post involves them.

Wonder what they’ll talk about next.

Stupid things I love about the Eighth Doctor Fandom
  • The way every artist draws Eight with one curl that flies straight up in the air and defies gravity
  • The stupid, silly movie which we’ve all seen and snort over but love anyway (because McGann was precious in it and don’t you dare say otherwise)
  • Being meta
  • Tea (no really, I have a single-serving tea pot with blue butterflies, letters and postage stamps on it and it is so Eighth Doctor Era that I can’t even and I love it so much also tea is awesome long live tea)
  • no seriously Charley Pollard is too good for this world. She is our queen and one day the rest of the fandom will realize that.
  • Awkward Eight!
  • Scary Eight!
  • ridiculous big finish SFX
  • Eight being a precious innocent child (because wow)
  • Charley being a more convincing Time Lord than the Doctor
  • Charley playing the bad cop X-D
  • All the wonderful lovely people
  • fic writers and artists who are so in character alsg;ksdashdg;lkdfklh;khl;sdl
  • Eight being a precious innocent child and also outwitting their enemies and being actually kinda scary
  • Posh accent
  • the way Charley teases the Doctor sometimes
  • Eight’s beautiful, beautiful steampunk-y TARDIS
  • the ridiculous, laughably inaccurate costume shop outfit
  • the Shoes TM
  • the way Eight switches topics in the middle of a sentence
  • Ramsay the vortisaur
  • beautiful, beautiful impossible voice actors
  • i don’t know what else ya got

Bottom line: Charley is our queen. Also give Eight a chance.

I really love Hey arnold. To this day it remains one of my favorite shows. Period. But all the progressive stories I see about the gang don’t live up to my high expectations especially those concerning 1.Miss. Helga G Pataki.

I’m tired of seeing stories where she ends up depressed and on drugs and out of control of her life and family. Stories where she is magically saved by Arnold. Those stories, however true they might be to some only sadden me.

Tell me how after arnold leaves for San Lorenzo, Helga calls Olga to reconcile. Tell me how she and Olga force their parents to quit cold turkey and join AA. Tell me how she gets her family the help they need by taking them to her therapist. How Miriam sticks to taking her anti depressants and Bob takes his mood stabilizers.

Tell me about Helga encouraging Miriam to take up swimming again, and helping Big Bob expand his company to all electronics. Tell me about 8th grade Helga going to her sister for help and standing up for 4th graders who now idolize her. Tell me about Leader Helga Pataki, Class president Helga Pataki who organizes an after school and summer care program for kids who have no place to go.

Tell me about an, albeit gruff and forceful leader, an altogether kind hearted Helga Pataki who understood her life was in a disarray and took matters into her own hands. Who wouldn’t stand for a broken household and picked up the pieces and put them back together better than they were before.

And when Arnold comes back, if he comes back, it doesn’t take him being there to prompt her to get her life in order. He’ll come back to find she did it all on her own.

While she had her sad moments, she was only 9. The potential of the strong willed, born leader that is Helga Pataki is who I grew up with, that’s what I want to see.