loss of faith

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watch a good weird anime from 1985

Good morning!!!

Every change in your life is your choise, love yourself enough to have a healthy lifestyle, you deserve to feel fine and be happy, to be proud of you and to conquer of all your dreams,…..  


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Good Morning!!!! 


For more motivation, fit tips, happy quotes, food benefits and fun……check out my fitness blog!!! 


Lallybroch Nights

For @iwanttodriveyouthroughthenight <3

 It had been almost four months since Claire and Jamie had returned to the Highlands. Four months since the tragedies of Paris had threatened to cripple them completely. But Scotland - and Lallybroch - had been restorative. The pace of life in the Highlands had given them a chance to slowly heal the gaping wounds left by the loss of Faith. Everything from the air, to Jenny and Ian’s understanding, to Murtagh’s gruff affection, to wee Fergus adjusting to a quiet, more homely atmosphere among family, helping tend even his more darker memories.

Intimacy had slowly made its way back into their bed as well. They didn’t rush or force it, only let it develop naturally between them once more. Long Lallybroch nights that turned words into quiet exchanges of touches and caresses. One night, two months after returning, those small touches and caresses became more. They’d turned wordlessly to one another in the hushed stillness of a warm summer night, finding again what they once feared had been lost to them forever. A connection that only forged itself from their intense coupling, a soul-deep connection stronger than even the darkest dungeons of Wentworth or the devastation of the loss of their blood. A connection that was their sanctuary. Through tenderness and later, raw, blinding passion, Claire and Jamie found themselves once again in one another.

Most evenings were spent with Jenny reading to them all by firelight. Claire and Jamie cuddled on the settee, drowsily passing the time relearning the shape of each other’s fingers and hands, exploring the tiny changes that came with working long hours with their hands in the fields or tending patients. One night - while looking for something she hadn’t read before - Jenny had found in amongst the old musty books in the library, one of Jamie’s books from the Université. A collection of poems both in Latin and English, that she said had been frightfully dull for her, and given it back to Jamie - who looked as though he could barely control his excitement. That night, as they readied themselves for bed, Claire took the book from him as she lay back against the pillows and opened it at random. Jamie took his time undressing.

“You’ve read this in both languages, I take it,” Claire said, scanning the pages.

“Aye,” Jamie replied as he slipped his shirt off over his head, watching her. “I quite enjoyed it actually, committed most of them to memory.”

“To regale all the dainty young French lasses, nay doubt,” Claire teased. “Nothing more erotic than a dashing young man who can pull Catullus out of thin air.” She glanced at him as he unbuckled his belt. He snorted.

“Och aye! Nothing like regaling lasses that hardly spoke neither Latin nor English enough to understand yon dashing lad! Falling a little on deaf ears, no?” He looked up at her then, a cheeky smirk lining every inch of his face. She laughed and went back to skimming the pages, then paused, intent, as a passage caught her eye.

“This is quite lovely,” she said quietly. He smiled, seeing her eyes light up as her smile touched them. He thought he knew which passage she read, but asked anyway. She settled more comfortably, angling herself so the candle by the bed illuminated the page better and began reciting; he could hear the grin plastered on her face clearly in her voice.

“Come and let us live my Dear, Let us love and never fear, What the sowrest Fathers say, brightest Sol that dyes today. Lives again as blithe tomorrow, But if we dark sons of sorrow, Set then how long a Night, shuts the eyes of our short light!”

Just as she was about to go on, she felt Jamie slide into bed behind her, naked, his arms coming around her body, thighs fitting neatly behind her own and his hoarse voice muffled in the clouds of her hair, as he continued - from memory - where she’d left off.

“Then let amorous kisses dwell, on our lips, begin and tell, a Thousand and a Hundred score, a Hundred and a Thousand more…”

He moved her hair off her shoulder, placing a tender, lingering kiss in its place. For some inexplicable reason, Claire found her eyes brimming with tears, emotion catching in her throat. It took a couple tries to swallow them away, even then, when again she spoke, her voice croaked and cracked. ““Da mi basia mille…”” she turned her head, pressing her cheek to his forehead.

Jamie’s arms tightened about her, pressing her back to him, his lips still on her shoulder. Then his hand slid down her body, pulling her leg back onto his. ““…Deinde centum…”” he replied, so faint she’d felt the vibration in his chest rather than heard the words themselves. He shifted then, gliding gently home.

But the thing is: I don’t believe C.S. Lewis ever mentioned superficiality as the reason for Susan’s loss of faith.

Her being superficial was mentioned by Jill and Polly, two females that seemed to be “progressive” in the sense that they turned their nose at anything feminine. I think by Lewis adding the “nylons and lipstick and invitations” he was just throwing an excuse for others to dislike Susan. The other friends of Narnia seemed to dislike her enough already because she lost faith in Narnia and Aslan. By pointing out Susan’s “femininity” - or whatever anyone wants to call it at this point - we see that the other characters are just finding more things to make Susan seem more problematic than she really is to further back their negative view of her.

If Lewis had wanted to prove a point about materialism, he could have done it a few books previous. He could have done it in The Horse and His Boy very easily, yet he didn’t. It’s because he doesn’t believe that materialism is what keeps you out of heaven. He constantly described Susan as the beautiful and gentle queen. Susan had grown up in Narnia and had most likely experienced what was the Narnian equivalent of “nylons and lipstick and invitations”. He could have had a character call her out on it and she could have changed her “feminine” ways. Yet he didn’t. Because he didn’t care about materialism.

I think we put too much weight on Jill and Polly’s (specifically Jill’s) words when we should really be taking them with a grain of salt. Jill and Polly don’t know Susan. They don’t know her the way that her siblings would. And her siblings didn’t support the words that Jill and Polly were saying but rather cut the conversation short and changed the subject. Jill and Polly weren’t there to see Susan after the first time she left Narnia, or the second time, or the time between the ending of Prince Caspian till The Last Battle. Her siblings, however, were, and they probably knew more about Susan than they were letting on. If anything, Jill and Polly’s commentary says more about them than Lewis.

To say that Lewis blamed materialism in Susan’s loss of faith would be to ignore her actual book appearances. So many times throughout The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian Susan is shown as doubtful and reluctant to believe. I feel like even during her reign she was reluctant to believe that it was all real and that it was really just a dream. And I feel like the other friends of Narnia were upset about this because they couldn’t fathom a reason as to why Susan wouldn’t believe a wonderful thing like Narnia. It was to the point where when she wasn’t around, mean things would be said about her to make themselves feel better. I’m going off into a theory now but I think that because Susan, the logical one, questioned Narnia’s existence, they began to worry. They didn’t want to question Narnia’s existence because it all seemed so real to them, so the only way to ignore Susan’s doubt was by writing it off as her just being a woman too preocuppied with other unnecessary things. If they could write off her doubts, then they could solidify their faith.

Lewis saw himself in Susan. The more I read about his past, the more that seems true to me. Lewis was reluctant to go to church and to be a Christian. Susan was reluctant to believe in Narnia. Lewis saw himself as “logical” and above that Christian “propaganda” and lost faith in it. Susan also saw herself as logical and above the “silliness” that was believing in Narnia. It’s pretty obvious throughout the books that Lewis put a bit of himself in Susan.

The only reason why people can’t grasp that idea is because she’s a woman and the other characters blamed her “materialism” as being the reason for her loss of faith. Had it been Edmund or Peter who’d lost faith due to “materialism” everyone would have nodded their heads and said “Well, boys will be boys”. But because of this “feminist” belief that women can do no wrong, we have people immediately pointing the sexism finger at Lewis because he must obviously be a sexist if he’s blaming a woman’s materialism as the reason for her loss of faith. Nobody is bothering to look at the fact that Susan had always been reluctant to believe in Narnia - and had probably never truly believed in it - and had just gone and done what normal young women her age were doing because she wasn’t just going to sit down and wait to see if Narnia was real. Had it been one of her brothers, Nobody would be saying the word “materialism” but because it’s Susan that’s the only word used to describe her loss of faith.

Susan just wasn’t a believer of Narnia while everyone else was. And the ones that were believers didn’t bother to figure out why but decided that it’d be easier to just assume that it was because she was “embracing her sexuality”. Lewis was making a commentary on the Christians that see many lost souls that are struggling for faith but only help themselves and strengthen their own faiths to ensure salvation. If Lewis had written more about Susan that took place after The Last Battle, we probably would have seen portrayals of his Christian friends (one of them being J.R.R. Tolkein) as characters there to support and finally wholely bring Susan to that Narnian faith. Susan was basically Lewis before he returned to Christian and the Susan we see in the books is the Lewis that had run from his faith and turned his back on it.

So, in conclusion, it’s not about materialism and never has been and that’s not the point Lewis was trying to show us by having Jill say “nylons and lipstick”. He was trying to prove two points: one about how some people just never believed and it was never about materialism, and the other point is about Lewis trying to show himself - the lost boy who’d turned away from Christianity and toward paganism and occultism - in Susan - the girl who’d had many doubts and had no one sit down and help her through her doubts and had decided that she would just live her life enjoying it rather than sitting and wondering whether Narnia was real or not.

the castaway - SearchingforSerendipity - A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Davos Seaworth & Stannis Baratheon
Characters: Davos Seaworth
Additional Tags: castaway, Alone in an Island, Desperation, Starvation, Isolation, Elements, Gods, After the Blackwater, Loss of Faith, Existential Crisis, Angst, Loyalty, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

or, disillusionment in nine parts

iii- Men are men. All do some measure of evil, to differing degrees, and all do some goodness, small as it may be. Most are born small and stay small, other are born great and what they do about it is entirely their choice.

Men are men. Men, no matter how just or strong or admirable, cannot be gods.

how they changed their minds: guest post from Ben

Following my blog series in spring 2015, How I Changed My Mind, I thought it would be cool to do a series where I invite others to tell stories about how they changed their minds on faith-related issues. This post is from my friend Ben. We started at Christian liberal arts university together, back when many things seemed simple to both of us. We now both understand what it is to grieve a sense of safety and certainty. This is a powerful expression of something that I don’t think everyone understands about those of us who doubt and who lose faith: we would have chosen to stay where we were if it had been a choice, but it isn’t. 

Dear God,

I loved you.

You gave my life meaning, kept me going through everything that life could throw at me. You gave me certainty and the confidence to push forward in life without having to worry about screwing it all up. After all, there’s nothing to worry about when you are completely certain that an all powerful, all knowing deity has your back. I knew you loved me, and I knew that you would always be there.

Then I went to college.

I studied biology and physics, and found an earth that seemed billions of years older than I believed that it could be. But this didn’t shake me, after all, there are a thousand creationist responses to all those pesky observations. Even if those failed, there was no reason you couldn’t have meant that first bit of Genesis in some symbolic way.

I studied history and learned about how the evangelical tradition, which I accepted as obvious, had arisen from seventeen hundred years worth of traditions interpreting and reinterpreting the story of a man named Jesus. But, while this caused some discomfort, I was still certain that there was nothing in history that was outside of your plan. Maybe I could adopt practices from those traditions which would bring me even closer to you.

I studied the bible, and learned that there are a thousand different ways that people have read and interpreted the scriptures. Scriptures that I had read and re-read dozens of times and believed were your literal, inerrant word. But this didn’t cause me too much grief, you were still there, and you still cared. Besides, the scriptures can be just as powerful as inspired works that contain spiritual truths, even if they aren’t totally inerrant.

Slowly I began moving more and more into a liberalized version of Christianity. New information that didn’t sync up with what I knew about you had to be synthesized. Often it would be necessary to force two cognitively dissonant ideas together.

The bible doesn’t talk a lot about homosexuality, but where it does, it doesn’t come off as very enlightened. It was easy to say things like “well, it’s their choice to live like that” or “God will give them enough grace to overcome this struggle” when I didn’t know anyone who wasn’t straight. But once I did it became very clear very fast that a) no good god would put someone into this kind of impossible situation, and b) I couldn’t love someone and expect them to try to carry a burden that I couldn’t touch. So I strained all my cognitive musculature, and pulled together the idea of an inspired scripture and of you being a loving god as tightly as I could manage.

Then I studied philosophy.

And I loved it. I loved learning about crafting arguments, and being logically consistent, and discovering meaning in the world. I loved philosophy because of you. Because I knew that loving wisdom and loving you were the same thing, and I was totally convinced that following any direction to the truth would necessarily lead me back to you. After all, you were the way, the truth and the life. But every day philosophy challenged the way I thought in some new subtle way. I’d run to apologists who might have a good answer to these challenging ideas, but rarely got a satisfying answer. I’d chalk it up to your mysterious nature, think to myself that you were beyond my comprehension and move on.

I tried more and more to escape from rationally explaining your existence by throwing myself into a more experience oriented version of Christianity. I attended worship services, spent more and more time in prayer, and devoted myself to spiritual practices. But I couldn’t find anything beyond some emotional tears once a week during a music service. But my faith was still there, whether I could feel you or not I wasn’t about to give up. I still had certainty that you would be there when I needed you.

Then philosophy broke my back.

I’ve read the bible from cover to cover nearly fifteen times, I’ve practiced lectio divina, and I’ve prayed my way through Augustine’s confession and a hundred other devotional works, but I have never prayed over a written work so fervently or for so long as I prayed through Anthony Flew’s parable of the gardener. It was only a two page excerpt, but just twenty four words were required to cause my whole world to disappear right beneath my feet:

Just how does what you call an invisible, intangible, eternally elusive gardener differ from an imaginary gardener or even from no gardener at all?

As I read those words you disappeared. Your presence, which I was so certain of even if I’d never really felt it, evaporated. The lights all turned off and I was all alone. I spent months afterwards trying with a renewed sense of urgency to find you, failing. Reading and rereading scriptures that promised that if I sought you, I’d find you, but you were nowhere to be found. I prayed for four hours a day every day for six weeks just to get some inkling that you were there, or that you at least cared a little. But you were either hidden behind a veil so thick that I couldn’t hope to find you without your direct intervention, or simply a being that never was.

So, here I am, trying to build something out of all the furniture that was built with you in mind, left to rearrange ideas with the knowledge that you aren’t going to show up, even if most days I still wish you would.

there’s a lot of posts about chirrut mourning baze’s loss of faith, but consider chirrut teasing, yes, but being 100% gentle and accepting of it, which confounds baze – the force is so important to chirrut, used to be so important to him, but chirrut tells him that when he says ‘all is as the force will it,’ he does mean all, that if the force has willed baze’s skepticism, chirrut will accept it

and that confuses baze but comforts him too – that chirrut doesn’t resent him for losing his faith

This is a message for all those who give far too much. Don’t be afraid to let go. Allow me to be the first person to say, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your pain. Believe me, I know you are haunted by all that you’ve invested. I know that you feel it was all for nothing. But please trust me, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is your peace of heart *now* and moving forward. Let go of the past. Let go of all you’ve given. Let go of the ending you thought you wanted. Let go of all the unanswered questions, and all the parts that made no sense. Once you do that, only once you do that, something amazing happens. The loss becomes a memory. At first that memory is a beast sleeping outside the door of your heart. But, with each passing day, that beast gets smaller and smaller. Until a day comes when he’s gone. And you actually begin to forget. That’s when the real peace starts. This doesn’t happen overnight, but believe me… it happens.
—  Yasmin Mogahed

Memo to EW

Sam Heughan’s bare chest
(Although it’s scrummy)
It is so much more
It is
Vapour inspiring

Get it right please EW