thanks to god for giving me the abilities to learn this craft

Healthy Christian Craft

Is your craft healthy? Does it make you a better you? Does it bring you closer to God? Does it bring you peace? For me, craft is a respite, an escape from a busy world. It takes me back to the earth. It reminds me to rest. It reminds me of how powerful God is and how powerful He chose to make me. It enforces my dependence on God and my interconnectedness with nature. It empowers me amongst my fellow humans and humbles me before God.

Christian craft becomes unhealthy when:

  • We forget God as we explore our own power.
  • We spend more time with other spiritual energies than with God.
    • We spend more time learning about other spiritual energies than God.
    • We spend more time honoring other entities.
    • We give undeserved worship to other entities.
    • We develop unhealthy habits because of craft.
      • We forget self-care.
      • We forget to make allowances for our own safety.
      • We favor craft over mundane assistance.
      • We replace our devotional times with performing craft that is separated from God.
      • Our identity can no longer be separated from our magick.
        • This means our identity is no longer in Christ.
        • If magick was taken from us we would lose ourselves.
        • We cannot function in our daily lives without magick.
        • We stop providing mundane assistance when promoting justice and only use craft.
        • We refuse to take communion with other Christians who do not recognize our path as valid.
        • We separate ourselves from anyone who we perceive would not understand our magick.
        • We stop thanking God for the goodness that we reap because we falsely believe we brought it to ourselves by our own power.

        The ways craft becomes unhealthy center around separation–separation from God, separation from others, and separation from our own needs. That is not to say that there won’t be times when you deliberately separate yourself from the world, but these separations will have definitive start and end times. You are not of the world, but you are in it.

        These reasons are why not everyone should practice Christian craft. We are a broken creation. If we were not, everyone would have the ability to practice craft. It takes a lot of time and effort to address issues of brokenness within ourselves. The truth is though, we don’t have to be perfect. We don’t have to have all of these figured out. As long as we can recognize our vices and humbly lift them to God, we will be all right. Also, just because you can practice Christian craft healthfully does not make you a better Christian than others. It only means you are broken in different places.

        Unexpected (1/3):

        (Tayvin baby series)

        Okay… So I got a lot of asks suggesting writing about Tayvin babies and the enthusiasm was too much to NOT write about it. Some people wanted different stages so I’m splitting this into a series of 3 parts. I actually found this hard enough to write. That’s why I haven’t posted anything in a while and why some parts might seem forced. I really tried to work on the dialogue in this because I’m not that great with dialogue and description together but I’m happy with how it turned out.
        Also, any ideas, just send me an ask. Enjoy!

        ———————-

        “Adam Wiles,” I called loudly, emerging from the upstairs bathroom in worn shorts and an oversized shirt.

        I stood at the top of the staircase, my hip lightly bumping against the bannister and one hand wrapped around the polished wood. A large smile spread across my face, an uncontrollable motion at that moment.

        “Babe, I’m making dinner. If this isn’t important…” he moaned in complaint, swinging open the kitchen door and stepping into the hallway. He came to a stop at the last step of the stairs, arms crossed and an impatient frown twisting his lips.

        I took my time to lean my elbows against the smooth, wooden railing that ran along the stairs and gripped my chin with curled fingers. “What are you doing in January?”

        I smirked secretively to myself at his painfully confused look, now, from my cryptic language. “One second, let me just ask The Queen, I’m sure she’ll know my schedule like, 9 months fr-” the sarcastic words died on his tongue, fading into the tiniest of echoes bounding off the walls.

        His face changed from impatient to disbelieving as he realised what I was insinuating. “Are you-” he pointed to me while ascending the stairs in a daze. I nodded frantically, my smile quickly growing ecstatic.

        “I- oh my-” he stuttered in shock, unable to comprehend the idea. I was still in shock myself.

        “You know, forming a sentence might help me figure out whether you are coming up here to hug me or to pack your bags.” I teased with a small smile.

        His face deadpanned, unimpressed - a stark contrast from the once shocked expression - at my sarcastic words. “Don’t make me change my mind,” he muttered equally as sarcastic, making me roll my eyes just as we met in the middle of the stairs. “I can’t believe it! You’re pregnant?” his face resumed its disbelieving expression, a hint of a smile tracing his lips, and I nodded once again.

        His hands instantly flew to my stomach, wiggling their way under his shirt that I stole years ago, resting carefully against the soon-to-be rounded flesh. A questioning look took over his features after a second.

        “But, didn’t the doctor say it wasn’t possible?” his eyebrows furrowed. I had been told by the doctor a few months ago that the chances of me getting pregnant we’re slim. Next to impossible.

        We had sat in that office room on stoic white plastic chairs for ages, my shoulders slumped and shaking with sobs, tears rolling down my cheeks and onto Adam’s
        shirt as he soothed and comforted me with calming words. Only, I remembered the waver in his deep and usually smooth voice at points. The almost unnoticeable cracks in his hard defensive exterior he had built for both of us. I wasn’t the only one who had basically lost the chance to become a parent.

        “Well, it wasn’t impossible. Just very unlikely.” I shrugged, almost as if it wasn’t a big deal. We both knew that wasn’t true.

        The smiles were quickly back on our faces. Two grinning idiots; me staring at Adam’s face, just watching his amazed reaction, him staring at my half-covered tummy with his head dipped slightly, shoulders hunched, to stare where his hands rested against the flat skin.

        “We’re gonna be parents,” he mumbled, the way he stressed and twisted pronunciations of words with his accent mesmerised me while he moved his piercing forest green eyes to my tear filled blue ones with admiration. I tilted my head back more to look at his face, now he had straightened up. Even when I was standing a step above him, his height easily outdid mine.

        I nodded in confirmation, my short, wavy hair bounced around my face and my palms came to press against his hands through the gathered and creased material of the grey shirt.

        Adam took another small moment to glance at my belly before catching my loving gaze. He let his lips grow wide and smiled. It was sincere and genuine and… honest. It had me believing we had the ability to move mountains, change grey skies, control fate, cure illnesses. But it had me knowing I wouldn’t do any of those things, if it meant giving up my life as it was now.

        It was almost selfish, but I didn’t feel guilty in the least. Years ago, before we met, I had said I was happy. I was the closest to happiness I’d ever been. And I was. This though, I knew, was genuine, untarnished, complete and utter happiness. This was what it felt like to have your life be complete.

        I couldn’t help it. It was as if my brain was automatic in its response to our stare down, and I pressed my palms against the rough, stubbled skin of Adam’s cheeks and stood on my toes to reach his lips with mine. Two forces collided. Two universes collided. Intensity filled every crack and crevice in the passion-filled kiss.

        And I thanked every god in the sky for sending this perfect creature of a man to me. I loved every tiny habit and detail, from the way he blinked rapidly, really squeezing his eyelids together in a brief but forceful motion, as he gave himself a pep talk when he was nervous before a gig, to the way the intricate black ink of his tattoos stood out starkly over his lithe, tanned arms and got stretched and twisted as his muscles moved.

        This man was no human. He had made the mistakes of humans, he had had successes of humans, he had the manner of a human but his smile was otherworldly. His laughter, transcendent. His imagination, uniquely creative and completely boundless.

        He was the work of a perfectionist, crafted by skilled hands that had endured and learned from flaws, mistakes and experience to finally create a masterpiece.

        He was not perfect. Not to everyone. But to me, he was perfect enough. He was a completion to my already fulfilling life.

        Our lips moved to a harmonious, silent tune, keeping us in time with the erratic pounding of our healed but scarred hearts, the raspy breaths that were taken in split seconds before being smothered by addicted swollen lips, crashing together like waves chipping at tall, sturdy cliffs. We were hooked on the feeling of our tongues battling like glinting swords, high on the pressure our smooth lips put on one another just to be that millimetre closer.

        Eventually, the gasps for air lengthened to heaving chests pressing against the other with every desperate inhale and the passionate, firm kisses slowed to light prolonged pecks.

        My senses sharpened gradually once my breaths had returned to a normal rate, and I felt the small pressure of Adam’s fingers igniting tingling sparks along my slightly exposed waist travel along the curve of my hips and up to my stomach again.

        I don’t know how long we stood there on the stairwell, shifting gazes between my stomach and each other, letting out disbelieving breathy laughs and squeals of excitement, but when we did, it was because of the smell of burning, and the wispy, miniature sheets of smoke peeking through the crack under the kitchen door.

        We glanced at each other in anxiousness, both trying to be serious but laughing giddily anyway, as we sprinted down the stairs to the kitchen. Just as we stumbled through the door and recovered mildly from an onslaught of coughs the thick blanket of smoke we inhaled was responsible for, a smoke alarm suddenly beeped wildly in a screeching rhythm that reverberated around our ears painfully.

        I pressed my palms tightly against my aching ears and ran from window to window, flinging them open carelessly while Adam opened the doors and tended to the smoking pot, little flickering flames dancing under the boiling hot lid.

        Adam dropped the pot of an unrecognisably burnt dish in the sink under a cold stream of water and turned around with an exaggeratedly relieved face, slumping against the counter dramatically behind him. I couldn’t help but let laughter bubble up through my lips. I laughed until my stomach hurt and I was keeled over, wheezing inbetween uncontrolled giggles, one hand placed on the counter beside me to keep my balance as I tried not to tumble onto the ground. I laughed until I gradually heard Adam joining in, starting with small bursts of chuckles before forming into loud booming laughter that mixed with mine in the smoky room.

        * * * *

        Later that night - when our stomachs were full of takeaway pizza and the TV was playing Law & Order reruns in the background - Adam and I curled up on the couch, his long legs stretching out either side of mine, dwarfing them, as his strong arms encircled my waist in a comforting embrace, tingling my skin in their wake and my head tilted back onto his shoulder. We were murmuring lowly back and forth between small presses of lips to the top of my head, keeping a slow, broken conversation. That was when the subject of godparents came up.

        “So, I was thinking, on the subject of godparents-” I started.

        “Taylor, we were literally just talking about how big your stomach would get.” Adam laughed at my unsuccessfully subtle change in subject but I hushed his laughter quickly and he settled with a wide, amused smile.

        “Technicalities,” I muttered. “So, I was thinking, what if the godfather is one of your friends, and the godmother is one of mine. But, we’d have to agree.” I explained.

        “Sounds good.” Adam agreed, slowly trailing off into thought. I did too. This was going to be hard.

        “Matthew.” he muttered after a few moments, mulling over his choices. “Matt should be the godfather.”

        “Like, Burns?” I question, unsure of the formalities of his real name after the habit of saying ‘Burns’ rubbed off on me as his nickname.

        Adam hummed in confirmation and I nodded. “I mean, I wouldn’t trust him not to teach our baby how to chat up a girl before he’s 2, or to not drop him, but he’s a loyal son of a bitch and he has never made me doubt him throughout our years of friendship in such a corrupting business. Whadya think?” Adam added, his deep voice rumbling all through his chest and vibrating under my head, never failing to relax me and settle my worries and racing thoughts.

        I loved it when he spoke. It wasn’t how he said things. It was what he said. He made every word count. He wasn’t just a person of pointless passing remarks. When he spoke, it meant something.

        Everytime he spoke, he made me laugh, smile, blush or really think about something. He had that effect on a lot of people. To throw them off guard by catching a weakness or to point out something that made them question their thoughts and motives. There was never a dull moment with him. I think that’s what kept us interested all these years. We always had something meaningful to say, and it was never one-sided.

        I nodded again, slipping back into my original thought process. “Yeah. I even trust him.” I agreed, looking up at Adam to find his gaze transfixed on me. I smiled in content, returning his own lazy expression before twisting and manoeuvring myself around onto my side and resting the side of my face against his chest, fitting into his embrace like two matching puzzle pieces. His lips touched the top of my head again and his arms pulled me tighter against him.

        “I think Karlie for the godmother.” I said abruptly after a while. “I mean, I’m close with every one of my friends but I’m closest with her even though I’ve only known her a few years. And she would be the most bullish and honest godmother any child could wish for. She’d be a really good example too. She’s one of the strongest women I know and she’s always calm and happy. She’s so optimistic about everything. Yeah. Definitely Karlie.” I tipped my head up and waited for Adam’s approval. He nodded silently and smiled, satisfied with my choice.

        I finally closed my eyes, at peace with my thoughts and decisions. I mulled over what my life might be like if I hadn’t made some regretful decisions in my life years ago.

        I had regretted things but I wouldn’t take them back. Not for what I had now. Not for the world. My world. And every unexpected thing that cropped up every once in a while. Like, an effective breakthrough treatment for my mum when she had been told she didn’t have long left, a marriage of more than one close friend that made me emotional to the point of reapplying my makeup more than once in a day, a man that wrapped me up in his arms when it wasn’t even cold, just because he wanted to hold me, two rings sitting, almost unassuming now, on my left hand at the knuckle of my fourth finger, and mostly, the swell of unconditional love I felt for a tiny being that I would be able to hold in under 9 months and I knew I would grow to love even more.

        Almost every important thing in my life was surprising. But there was something romantic and inspiring about that that made it all okay. No matter how unexpected it was.

        ——
        Fun fact: the part where Taylor asks what Adam’s doing in January was actually how my mum announced (kind of) to my dad that she was pregnant. I just found it really unique so I put it in.

        Anyway, thanks for reading! X
        ~Maeve

        The Harsh Truth about being a Writer here

        ((This will probably kill a lot of people inside. Frankly, toughen up. I’m not here to hug you or make sure you’re okay. In fact, this post isn’t here to comfort you at all - rather the opposite.

        Also, might lose followers. Again, oh well. As I will outline below, if you cannot handle what Tumblr truly is, then you should probably leave for the sake of your own sanity and health. I’m serious - getting recognised here is not a good reason to be joining.

        Anyway, ramble away!

        Keep reading

        Radio Times: Scarlet Lady

        Natalie Dormer has had it with bit parts - she’s ready to take the lead in the BBC’ raciest ever costume drama.

        Natalie Dormer has made her name playing strong, sassy and, yes, sexy female roles. Anne Boleyn in The Tudors, Cressida in the blockbuster movie franchise The Hunger Games and Margaery Tyrell in the worldwide hit Game of Thrones. So the lead part in what’s been described as the BBC’s raciest ever costume drama must have had her name inked in.

        After much adjustment to her busy filming diary, Dormer finally struggled into a corset to play the fiery and free-thinking Seymour, Lady Worsley just before Christmas. Is she glad that she did? You bet. “This is a story of a remarkable woman in a man’s time,” she says. “It’s about a human being who is in a psychologically abusive relationship. She is vulnerable, and then she slowly empowers herself. That’s a great arc.”

        The one-off drama is based on the biography of the 18th-century scarlet woman written by historian Hallie Rubenhold (see page 13). Lady Worsley is a rich and accomplished Georgian lady whose love match to Sir Richard Worsley (Shaun Evans) swiftly becomes an emotional prison thanks to the fact that he would rather watch her in bed with other men than make love to her himself (this is a film through which several scenes are observed through a keyhole).

        However, when she and one of her many lovers, Captain George Bisset (Aneurin Barnard), run off together, she finds not freedom, but infamy: Sir Richard sues Bisset for £20,000 in compensation, a man’s wife then being considered his property. Not wanting Bisset to be ruined, Lady Worsley has only one option: she will reveal to the court the full number of lovers, and the fact the her husband knew each and every one of them. Her value thus being reduced in the eyes of the law, no damages will be due.

        Keep reading

        Dreams by Alice : Chapter 1

        So here’s a new story for you lovely people. I really worked hard on this lol Like different level of “working hard” so I hope you enjoy it. :) Feel free to let me know what you think about it.

        Also, if it’s not too much to ask, I just wanted to see how many people this post reached. So I was wondering if you could do me a favor, if you see this post like it just so I know. Just feeling curious. Thank you. :)

        Hope everyone’s having a jolly good day or night!


        xx

        -Alice

        ==========

        Your POV

        “I swear by Apollo the Healer, by Aesculapius, by Health and all the powers of healing and to call witness all the Gods and Goddesses that I may keep this oath and promise to the best of my ability and judgment. I will pay the same respect to my master in the science as to my parents and share my life with him and pay all my debts to him. I will regard his sons as my brothers and teach them the science, if they desire to learn it, without fee or contract. I will hand on precepts, lectures and all other learning to my sons, to those of my master and to those pupils duly appointed and sworn and to none other. I will use my power to help the sick to the best of my ability and judgment. I will abstain from harming or wrong doing any man by it. I will not give a fatal draught to anyone if I am asked, nor will I suggest any such thing. Neither will I give a woman means to procure an abortion. I will be chaste and religious in my life and in my practice. I will not cut, even for the stone, but I will leave such procedures to the practitioners of that craft. Whenever I go into a house I will go to help the sick and never with the intention of doing harm or injury. I will not abuse my position to indulge in sexual contacts with the bodies of women or of men whether they be freemen or slaves. Whatever I see or hear, whether professionally or privately which ought not to be divulged I will keep secret and tell no one. If therefore, I observe this oath and do not violate it, may I prosper both in my life and in my profession, earning good repute among all men for all time. If I transgress and foreswear this oath, may my lot be otherwise.”

        The Hippocratic Oath that I have been reciting probably before I could even start reciting the alphabet.

        “Princess, where are you?” I heard my dad calling out to me.

        I quickly run out of my room down the stairs and saw my parents standing by the door smiling back at me.

        “We’re going to be late, darling.” My mom says as I ran towards them and my dad carried me up and swung me around before putting me down.

        “Where are we going?” I ask excitedly.

        “Anywhere you want, princess.” My dad says as he pats my head.

        “Wake up, Y/N.” my dad suddenly says but with a girl’s voice.

        “Dad, what’s wrong with your voice?” I ask him curiously.

        “Wake up, Y/N!” he shouts at me with the same girl’s voice, which startled me.

        “For a minute there I thought you were dead.” Pam the E.R. nurse says to me as I yawned and lifted my head from the counter.

        “Hey you. I got you your drink.” I say to her as I yawned again and handed her a cup of coffee.

        “Thanks and you look horrible. How many hours have you been up?” she asks me as I took another sip from my coffee.

        “Not sure. What day is it?” I joke and we both laugh.

        “You’ve been reciting that weird oath again in your sleep. You need to take care of yourself, doctor.” She says and continued reading the charts.

        “I did?” I say and laughed. “ Also, being a resident doesn’t really permit me doing that does it?” I tease and we both laugh again.

        “Oh gosh!” she squealed, “I just remembered! Can I set you up with someone?”

        I roll my eyes and laugh, “Pam, you know I can’t. Why do you always ask?”

        “No! You don’t understand. He works here too! Another nurse said she heard him say that you’re cute. Also, I’ll only stop asking when you finally agree.” She says threateningly.

        “Cute like a dog?” I say and laugh.

        “I really don’t get your humor.” She says to me seriously as she rolled her eyes at me and I laugh again “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re trying to change the topic, little missy.”

        “What’s so funny?” a familiar voice interrupts us.

        I turned around and smiled really big “Hey Calvin.” I say to him and handed him a cup of coffee too.

        “Hey kid. Thanks for this. So what got you two gorgeous ladies giggling?” he asks again with that sly sweet smile on his face that I liked so much.

        Doctor Calvin Wood is my mentor and he is the most sought after bachelor here in the hospital that his family owns and not only is he smart, kind, super hot, he’s also my childhood friend whom I’m so in love with.

        “So?” he says again and Pam just giggled and pretended to work.

        “I need to make my rounds, doctor.” I say to him and smiled shyly before excusing myself as I played with my necklace.

        I couldn’t remove my smile on my face. When Calvin called us gorgeous it really made my insides do backflips, it definitely made my night. I shake my head and wiped the smile off of my face before entering the room.

        “Hello Mr. Styles, my name’s doctor Y/L/N. I’ll be your doctor today.” I say as I checked his chart.

        “Good evening, doctor” he says and when I looked up from my chart, I saw that it was none other than Harry Styles himself, a famous singer from a well-known band.

        I didn’t really know him, I mean, I didn’t really have time to keep up with what was happening in the world but I wasn’t completely clueless, they are very famous after all and I couldn’t deny that he looked really good.

        “So according to your chart you have a fractured ankle.” I say as I take out his X-ray and showed it to him.

        “Yeah? Give it to me straight doc. Will I ever walk again?” He asks me and I knew he was teasing but I was just too tired to ride with his flirting.

        “You will, Mr. Styles. We just need to put on a cast on you and you need to stay off your foot for a couple of weeks.” I say and typed in my iPad what he needed to have done.

        “Well doc you just broke my heart. Are you saying it has to be a couple of weeks before I get to see your lovely face again?” he says to me and I knew he was flirting again but I just smiled and nod my head.

        “Yes, Mr. Styles. We can remove your cast after a couple of weeks. I already set up the appointment for you. Our staff will call you when you can come back again.” I say and smiled back at him.

        “Harry.” He says and flashed me a smile and he looked even better.

        “Sorry?” I say and tilt my head to the side.

        “You can call me Harry.”