praying children

The events that happened in Manchester are not a joke

I’ve seen many posts on twitter joking around about the Manchester event claiming they don’t blame the bombers or “last time I listened to Ariana Grande, I died too.” All of you need to take a step back and look at what you’re joking around about;

Saffie Rose Roussos (girl on the left) was eight years old, killed by the Manchester blast. She was described as “ “simply a beautiful little girl.. quiet and unassuming with a creative flair” by her teacher.

Eighteen years old Georgina Callander (girl on the right) also reported dead from the events. 

“At least 12 victims aged 16 or under are being treated at a children’s hospital for serious injuries, some of them fighting for their lives, a Manchester health official said.”

Anyone remember Olivia Campbell (fifteen years old)? The girls face has been retweeted over and over again on Twitter, and she’s still missing. 

These young girls and many other children have had their lives taken away and some of you have the audacity to joke around about it. I don’t care if it’s “dark comedy,” it’s horrible and heartless to even think for a moment “Ya I don’t blame the bomber for doing what he did” simply because it was an Ariana Grande concert. 

Get your head out of your ass and be respectful of those who have passed away and the families that are now suffering because of these losses.

All my brujas, light workers, healers, indigos, priestesses, priests, gurus, alla y'all. Please keep me in your prayers as I go for a very beneficial opportunity this June. On the 11th to be exact. I don’t have any substantial support in my life so prayers, well wishes, positive vibes and good intentions sent my way are much needed and greatly appreciated. I’m superstitious so I’m not gonna say what I’m doing until it’s over but please please pray for my success 🙏🏿✨

Maybe in ten years from now they’ll make a movie about the world today.

Maybe they’ll make a movie about a father in Syria contemplating whether to kill himself, his wife or his children in a desperate attempt to stop the Regime from getting their hands on them.

Maybe they’ll make a movie about an 8 year old Rohingya boy who was thrown into the fire in front of his mother after his village was set alight.

Maybe they’ll make a movie about a young orphaned girl in C.A.R, crying as she remembers her sexual abuse at the hands of UN “peacekeepers” who do as they please without consequences.

Or maybe they’ll make a movie about a daughter in Gaza who picks up the phone to hear an unfamiliar voice letting her know her family has 60 seconds to run before the bombs drop.

And maybe we’ll see it and shed some tears - but we shouldn’t be crying because of the atrocities that occurred.
We should cry because we watched as these horrors unfolded and in our silence betrayed them.

DUA THAT GUARANTEES YOUR KIDS WILL OFFER SALAAH :)
inshaAllah <3

My Daughter was 12 years old and prayer was like heavy burden on her, So I told her to pray one day and I monitored her. She took the carpet and threw it on the ground. I asked her have you prayed - she said yes - Believe me, without feeling I slapped her face - I know I made a mistake. The situation has troubled me and I cried and I have repented to God to forgive me The slap, the talk, the reminders did not benefit my child.

One day A friend told me a story. She went to one of her friends for a visit. Her friend was not that religious, but when the Adhan prayer was called, her children rushed for prayers without reminders or quarrel. I said to her how do your children pray by themselves without quarrel or a reminder?!!!
She said I have nothing to tell you, but before I got married I supplicated this Dua and still do.

After she shared with me the supplication Dua – I began to recite it in every Sujud in my prayers before Tasleem and anytime I could. My Sisters and Brothers! Since I began to recite the supplication Dua my daughter is now the first to pray without reminders or quarrels.

She gets up during Fajr prayer without any alarms. And all her brothers are now eager in praying without any difficulties. Even my mother visited me once and went to sleep and I have to draw the attention to my daughter to wake us up.

I know You are now eager to know this Supplication Dua..

The Supplication is in the Surae Ibrahim [14], ayah # 40 سُوۡرَةُ إبراهیم

And Supplication is … رَبِّ ٱجۡعَلۡنِى مُقِيمَ ٱلصَّلَوٰةِ وَمِن ذُرِّيَّتِى‌ۚ رَبَّنَا وَتَقَبَّلۡ دُعَآءِ (٤٠)

14:40]
O my Lord! make me one who establishes regular Prayer, and also (raise such) among my offspring O our Lord! and accept Thou my Prayer.
“Rabbi-Ajal'ni muqeema salaati, wa min Dhurriyyati, rabbana wataqabbal duaa”

Start today, do not wait until you get married and until you have kids.

anonymous asked:

Ok but armin and eren relationship would be so amazing because the two of them would be so happy to be with each other SO FUCKING HAPPY. But mikasa and eren would be like a :v the tipical hetero relationship just with Mikasa being a lovely lady that smiles tenderly like ??? And eren being more pasive I guess... I am not shitting on eremika but eremin is the best

agreed.

honestly.

do you have any idea how bummed out I would be if Isayama naruto'ed his ending?

swear to god.

If snk ends with Eren and Mikasa raising three children named Erwin, Mike, and Petra, I’m going through my entire snk tag and deleting every post I ever made about snk.

And I’ve made a LOT.

I’ll never speak of it again and if you ask me about it, I’ll say I’ve never heard of it.

Don’t naruto that ending, Isayama. Don’t do it.

I don’t know what it is with the Japanese and having the happily docile couple married with children ending.

Almost like a cultural imperative stressing that being married with children and contributing to the economy and the existing social structure is the key to happiness.

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it.

Come on. Middle finger your audience. Middle finger Bleach and Naruto.

Five Husbands.

Part of my hospital chaplaincy duties is to write a reflection on how it’s going. Identities may be altered for privacy. All the writings are here.

The doctor tells him in one long breath, “Your wife didn’t make it, she’s dead.”

Just like that. Irrevocable, irreversible change. I’ve seen this so many times now, the air suddenly pulled out of the room, a drawstring closed shut around the stomach, doubling over, the floor opened up and the house caving in.

“Can I … can I see her?” he asks the doctor.

The doctor points at me and tells Michael that I can take him back. The doctor leaves, and Michael says, “I can’t yet. Can you wait, chaplain?” I nod, and after some silence, I ask him, “What was your wife like?” and Michael talks for forty-five minutes, starting from their first date, down to the very second that his wife’s eyes went blank and she began seizing and ended up here.

I’m in another room, with a father of two, Felipe, whose wife Melinda is dying of cancer. She’s in her thirties. She fought for three months but that was all the fight in her; she might have a few more days. Felipe is asking if his wife can travel, so she can die with her family in Guatemala. The kids are too young to fully comprehend, but they know something is wrong, and they blink slowly at their mother, who is all lines across greenish skin, clutching a rosary and begging God to see her parents one more time.

“Can I see them?” she asks the doctor.

Another room, with a man named Sam who has just lost his wife and kids in a car accident. Drunk driver, at a stop sign, in the middle of the day. Sam was at home cooking; his wife was picking up their two daughters from school; the car had flipped over twice. The drunk driver is dead; Sam doesn’t even have the option to be angry. Sam was hospitalized because when he heard the news, he instantly had a heart attack. He keeps weeping, panicked breaths, asking to hold my hand because he doesn’t know how he can live through this. He hasn’t seen the bodies of his wife and daughters yet.

“Can I see them?” he asks me.

Another room, and a nurse is on top of a patient, Maria, doing chest compressions, asking another nurse to take over. Maria has been coding for over two hours. The doctor was able to chemically induce her back to a pulse, but the chemicals and compressions have stopped working. The entire family is in the room: Maria’s husband, Ryan, their two sons and a daughter, and Maria’s brother and sister. Ryan wants the staff to keep working; he doesn’t want to say it’s over; and really, could you? Could I? There are so many stories of last-minute miracles and all those Hollywood scenes of people gasping back to life. Ryan tells me that he and Maria had planned a vacation to Greenland, a tour package and everything, and it was their first vacation in six years. Maria is pronounced dead at 2:32 pm. The nurse asks us to leave for a moment so they can take apart the room, and then the family can properly say goodbye. I sit in a private waiting room with the family, each minute too long, as they weep and share stories about Maria and ask me to pray for her soul.

“Can I see her now?” the husband asks me after we pray.

Another room, and the doctor tells the husband Terry that his wife Shannon has died. Terry asks, “Can I see her?” and I escort Terry back to the Trauma Bay, where his wife had suffered a massive heart attack. We walk in and Sherry is still attached to some equipment, an obsolete tangle of wires, a white sheet drawn to her chin. Terry leans over on his wife, suddenly sobbing and sobbing, grabbing her shirt, kissing her forehead, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I could’ve been better. What am I going to do without you now? What am I without you?” And I weep with him, and after a few moments I step out of the room to give him space, but I can still hear him in there, pouring out all his regrets, how much he took her for granted and how they should’ve traveled more and laughed more and fought less and got off their dang phones and taken more walks and how he was so bad at following up on things and, “I should’ve kissed you this morning” and “I had so much more to say” and “You were everything that was good about me.”

He steps out of the room, turns around, and whispers goodbye to his wife. He turns to me. “Okay, chaplain. I’ve told her what I wanted to say.”

We walk back to the waiting room, back to the place where his life was cut in half. Terry tells me, “I’m not doing this again. Why even love somebody, and you know that one of you have to see each other like this? I mean, is it really worth it?”

And I wanted to say yes, because life cannot be life without risk—yet that risk is so scary and brutal and unfair sometimes, and loving someone that much always has a clock, an hourglass, a waiting room, and the moment you choose to say hello is also when you choose to say goodbye. But I’d like to think that saying hello is better, and it’s what makes everything that is good about us.

“Yes,” I tell him. “I think so. I hope so.”

Terry grabs my shoulder. “I see your ring. Go home tonight and kiss your wife. I’m begging you, go kiss her and hold her and tell her everything. You hear me? Go make it weird. And tell her hello for me.”

That night, I get home and pull off my tie and fall into a chair and weep. I pray for those five husbands. I pray for their children. I think about the river of memories cut short, and if we ever really get enough time. My wife walks in like she does, not turning on a light, knowing when I have a hard day, and we hold hands across the table, and she gives me room to grieve.

After a while, I look up, and even in the dark, I can see her. I’m so glad to see her. I do my best to smile, and I tell her, “Hello, babe. Thank you, for everything.”

J.S.

I’m too nervous to post a selfie so I’ll just type a bit!! I’m 13 years old and straight trans guy. I have anxiety and depression, which makes my relationship with God a bit rocky at times, but I’m proud of call myself a Presbyterian Christian!! I enjoy baking, dogs, movies, and playing with my little brother. I have yet to transition but I hope that I will in the near future. It’s so cool to see all these lovely people on this blog!

If sangwoo dies

Yoonbum would go crazy depressed if sangwoo dies. I can see it. He’ll lost the only person that gave him the affection he craved and the care sangwoo gave him.

Same goes to sangwoo too if yoonbum dies. He’s gonna be alone again. There’s no one else to love him except yoonbum.

I pray for these children to stay together forever.

A moment...

Ok I want to share my thoughts and love to all the families and friends affected by the Manchester Arena Bombing.
Manchester is actually the closest city to where I live, all but a short train journey away. So it’s really hit home about just how fucked up this world we live in is.
My prays are with Manchester at this time and I hope all the lost children are reunited with their families.

“What A Catch,Donnie”

Pairing: Pregnant!Reader x Daddy!Draco

WARNINGS: low self-esteemed,hormonal,pregnant reader. Mentions of depression. 

A/N- You’re pregnant again with a girl. This is a long one-shot.


You lie awake in your’s and Draco’s shamrock green, Queen-sized bed. Tears prick your eyes and your throat begins to swell. You stroke the large bump on your stomach softly while Draco’s large hands rub soothing circles into your hip and caress the bump. Resting your head on Draco’s chest, you let his steady heartbeat calm your thoughts. 

(y/n), love?” Draco asks quietly. “Please tell me why you’ve been distant lately. I’m here for you, sweetheart. I hate seeing you like this. Please.” he begs.

You suck in a shaky breath. Trying fruitlessly to hold in the tears. It ruins you bottling up all your feelings. One thick, hot tear leaves your eye and soaks into Draco’s black t-shirt. Your hands begin to shake uncontrollably and a strangled sob escapes your lips. “You can cry, sweetheart.” Draco says softly before kissing your temple.

You let it out. All the stress and self-doubt you’ve been trapping, you let escape.  Countless tears cascade down your cheeks and you fist Draco’s shirt tightly.  “It’s ok baby. I’m here.” Draco coos, and holds your fisted hands in his. Draco presses gentle kisses on your cheeks and gently runs his fingers through your (h/c) hair. 

“I c-can’t Draco.” you sob. You try to quieten; not wanting to wake up Scorpius who’s asleep in the next room. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, love.” he whispers softly.

“I’m not good enough, Draco.” you whisper. Your voice has levelled out, yet the waterfall of tears refuse to seize. “I’ll never be good enough.”

“What makes you think that, darling? To me and Scorpius you’re perfect. You saved me. I wouldn’t be here without you. You’re so kind. So beautiful, loving, caring, smart, strong, PERFECT. Don’t ever think otherwise.” he says staring into your (e/c) eyes the whole time. Sincerity and honesty reflecting in his cobalt eyes.

You sit in silence watching him. The love you feel for your family makes your heart warm. “I-I don’t want our daughter to be anything like me. What if she becomes like me? I won’t know what to do, Draco.” you confess. Your lip trembling.

“If our daughter was anything like you I would be the proudest father alive. Hell, I already am. I pray everyday that our children will become more like you. You are so important to us and our daughter will feel the exact same.” he says resting his forehead against yours.

“And…Scorpius loves and cares for you so much more.” you mutter quietly. Draco laughs softly in reply.

“You don’t think he loves you as much he does me? He’s been doing nothing but trying to ‘be a grown up’ to help look after you and get your attention these past few weeks. It’s hard on both of us to see you like this, love. We want to help you.”

You didn’t realise it. You’ve been so isolated and trapped in your thoughts that you didn’t acknowledge the important things around you. You wrap your arms around Draco’s neck and pull him into a hug where you cry into his shoulder. You hate yourself so much for abandoning them like that. Draco rubs up and down your back; while muttering sweet things into your ear. You pull back only to capture his lips in yours. 

The sound of the door creaking open causes you and Draco to break apart. You look towards the door to see a thouroughly dishevelled looking Scorpius. Rubbing his eyes tiredly and yawning adorably. “Mummy?” he says sleepily. “Are you ok….? Is-is baby ok?!” he says suddenly wide awake. You watch in shock as his little figure runs towards your side of the bed.

Scorpius stares at you wide-eyed and concerned. His bed hair sticking up in all directions like a crown. You turn towards Draco too see him grinning proudly at him.

 “I-I~” you’re speechless. 

Scorpius’ tiny body makes a few attempts at climbing on the bed but is unable to reach. You’re about to reach for him but stop after you see him look away. His bottom lip trembling. “S-Scorp…?” you ask uncertainly. 

“I won’t be able to look after you and sis, Mummy.” he mumbles, on the verge of tears. “I-i’m not big enough.” you feel your heart break. You feel so crap about yourself for ignoring him this whole time. 

You reach over the bed and lift him and lay him in between you and Draco. Grabbing his small frame, you hug Scorpius as closely as your seven month bump will allow. Carefully and slowly he wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you back. You’re in tears again. They run down your nose and cheeks. Looking up through your tears you see Draco’s handsome face holding a soft smile. You’re feeling so unbelievably loved and there’s such a fulfilling love for your family that you feel in your heart. Which previously felt so heavy with, guilt and self-doubt but is now filled with the light expanses of love and care for all of them.

“D-did I hurt you?! I’m sorry Mummy! I didn’t mean it!” Scorpius exclaims. Shuffling back into Draco once he sees the tears on your face. A look of pure horror resting on his pale face.

“No, baby, no. I’m just happy, is all. I love you so much Scorp. I’m so proud of you.” you say cupping his cheek softly.

He smiles proudly. Looking to Draco in delight. Draco ruffles Scorpius’ soft blonde hair. The exact same as his own.

“Can I sleep with you and daddy, mummy? I miss you.” Scorpius pouts softly. A tired yawn leaving his lips and causing his eyes to water. 

“Of course, darling. I’ve missed you too sweetheart.” you say while brushing the hair out of his face.

You move him again so he’s on the left of you and you’re next to Draco again. Draco kisses your lips and grins widely at you. Which you return whole heartedly.

Turning around you cuddle Scorpius’ small body. Planting a soft kiss onto his cheek. Watching as his eyes droop slowly. You feel Draco’s gentle and tentative arms wrap around you. He snuggles into your back. Resting his chin on your shoulder. One of Draco’s arms rests on Scorpius’ hip. 

Glancing back at him, your (e/c) eyes meet his icy blue ones. A happy smile rests on both your faces. “I told you.” he mumbles smugly. 

“Hm.” your smile drops slowly. Remembering the reason for not noticing in the first place. 

Self hate has always been something you’ve had a problem with. You can’t remember when it started or when you realised it but it’s always been there. You called them your ‘demons’ as a teenager. They were there for you when honestly, no one else was. Almost like the arms that catch you when you fall. Only to let you go. To laugh and taunt, trap you under their feet, as you try so hard to get yourself up off the ground without any motivation to do so. Along with all the other people in your life who hurt you. But then he saved you. Draco beared and kept away your demons as you did his. Protected each other from others yes, but also ourselves. 

(Y/N), love. Are you ok?“ Draco asks softly while kissing your cheek. His vunerable, cobalt irises reflect his perpetual love for you like a mirror.

“I love you. I love you all so much. I’m sorry for being the way I am.” you mutter quietly. Your tears are thick raindrops in a torrential storm; leaking from the blustery heavens which are your tear ducts and soaking the parched Earth that is your pillow. 

“We love you FOR being you. Never think otherwise. We’ll always be here for you.” Draco states candidly.

“I know.” you mumble. 

“Do you want anything? I could make you some warm milk with cinnamon if you’d like?” Draco asks, lifting up the covers.

“I want milk!” Scorpius suddenly wide-awake. Turning around with a hopeful smile and gleaming eyes like sun rays illuminating diamonds. Love filled laughs erupt from both you and Draco.

“That would be nice.” you say tiredly. Tickling Scorpius’ stomach evily. The sweet sounds of his giggles resonate around the room.

“Ok then love. Rest, you’ve had a long day. Come on then Scorp.” Draco says cordially. Sauntering around the perimeter of the large bed and scooping up Scopius’ awaiting body; arms outstretched and giggling like children shown a surreal magic trick. 

Giving you a quick peck on the lips, Draco takes Scorpius to the kitchen where you hear frustrated sounds and loud whines emitting from. With a chuckle and a  knowing shake of your head, you carefully crawl out of the luxurious warmth of the bed and down the icy, marble stairs.

Shoulder resting on the jutted door frame, you silently observe the events. Draco furiously stirring the curdling milk while Scorpius obviously took it upon himself to latch onto his leg. Shaking with laughter at the sight you awkwardly stumble, due to the bump, towards the counter. 

“Need any help?” you ask cheekily, watching as they both whirl around and stare at you.

“What’re you doing down here, love? And not at all. Everything’s under control.”

“I can see.” you chuckle softly. 

“Come here Scorp. Let’s go upstairs.” you say. Taking his small hand and leading him up the stairs.

Just as you’re both tucked in Draco comes in with three floating mugs of steaming milk. 

You grab yours gratefully and soake up the new source of heat while helping Scorp drink his. Draco places the empty mugs to the side while you wrap an arm around Scorpius’ body and pull him into your side and snuggle into Draco’s welcoming chest. 

Wriggling into your previous position, you let Draco’s muscular arms encase you. Experiencing the gentle feeling of protection from him. Delicately you run your fingers through Scorpius’ hair as a soothing method.

Draco’s breaths even out and Scorpius begins to drool slightly. Their peaceful, sleeping forms are the bare trees in Winter. Vunerable, stoic and silent like the deathly appearance they take when sleeping. Only the rise and fall of their chests keeping you sane.

Closing your sore eyes, you try and clear your exposed mind. With the presence of the people you love next to you, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

And as the song goes: “I’ve got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match. What a catch, what a catch.” 

I wrote this a while ago for someone close to me…It was just floating in my drafts so I decided to post it. 

Originally posted by couplenotes