It’s always cute how people think there’s like … a monolithic meaning from a book or piece of art that academics agree on, as if people haven’t been screaming about how wrong various interpretations are for … ever.
I’m going to let you in on a secret: there is no such thing as “good” Christianity.
No. Such. Thing.
Christianity is just that: it is Christianity.
It does not need an adjective in front of it to make it whole.
Sometimes Christianity is sobbing at a sink because it’s 10:30 pm and you’re so, so tired and you still have so much to do.
Because there aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all .
And you wonder, with your soapy hands and aching heart, if God really hears you after all.
Sometimes Christianity is triapsing under bridges with food and water and life blood for those touched by disaster.
And, hearing the stories of those around you, you wonder… how are you so blessed? Especially in the face of such trial?
And your heart grows a little fonder.
Sometimes Christianity is acknowledging that hole in your gut and not allowing it to win.
Even when it screams at you “please, just sin for me.”
But sometimes it is allowing the hole to win just one more time.
Because it’s hard to fight those temptations.
And you want to feel satisfied just one more time before you really “give it up to God.”
Sometimes Christianity is countless hours spent volunteering, sweating from the heat and the spirit.
You are worn, but you are joyful.
And you saw it today: you saw the bigger picture of a true body of Christ.
And you are thankful.
Sometimes Christianity is staring fear right in the eye and reminding yourself you’re brave. Even when your hands are shaking, you’re brave.
So you take that first step into fear, trusting God has you close.
Sometimes Christianity is simply going through the motions: mechanical. Unfeeling. Cold. Methodical. Just because you have to.
Sometimes it is a mountain top experience: happiness and peace and love accompany you with each step you take.
Sometimes it is a valley: you trudge, tired, hurting, and lonely.
Because, although you’ve been told differently, it feels like God doesn’t care much for you after all.
Christianity is messy. It is beautiful, it is wonderful, it is painful, it is bold… but it is not perfect.
Because it deals with very imperfect beings.
Stop trying to be “good” enough, my dear.
You are already enough.
A/N: Well, first and foremost, I literally had a dream quite similar to this last night (of course I added onto it) but man that dream hurt my heart and I thought I’d turn it into a one shot/fic. If anything, this is more Poe x Reader than Kylo x Reader…but, it still kinda surrounds him. It’s kind of modern in a way…so, consider it a modern au. Enjoy the angst and the cuteness, and don’t forget to request! [Gif not mine]
Word Count: 2.8K+
An overbearing pain wrung throughout your body, beads of sweat dripping down your skin as you could feel your veins wanting to pop out of your forehead. “Ben!” You cried out, clutching onto the arm rests, “B-Ben!” You screamed once again, your blurred vision not allowing you to see who had been there with you. “BEN!” Giving a forceful push as you lied there, you felt a hand come into yours. Ben’s hand was unique when it came to being held by your own and you could easily tell it wasn’t him. “Where…where’s Ben?” You whispered, vision slowly becoming clear as the tears drained out, realizing it had been Master Luke.
HEAVENSPAT’S STARTER CALL !! osu. so you guys know what this means , right ? it’s self-explanatory. it’s a starter call. a call for starters. starters get to call on this. calling all starters. anyway , now that you know what a starter call is , let’s get down to business ( & subsequently , defeat the Huns ). by clicking on that cute little heart on the bottom right of this post , you’re giving me permission to:
-> write you a starter that varies on the length. -> send you asks or send you puns. whatever. -> tag you in stuff. maybe what reminds me of your muse or the mun. -> give my muse absolute permission to shit on your muse. -> your muse is also allowed to shit on my muse but expect repercussions. -> screaming to you via IM or ask or asking for your skype. -> generally full of screaming -> might be some plotting as well -> be part of my exclusivity list -> mostly manipulating you to watch gintama if you haven’t watched it -> buy me sweets & strawberry milk. i’m out of it , bastard. -> eternal suffering -> just let me write jfc i want to write
so if you’re okay with all that i’ve mentioned , go ahead & click that like button ( click the like button already , you lil bitch. buy me strawberry milk i’m begging you i’ve been out of it for almost a week now ) !! also heads up. lou-sama ( a.k.a mun ) is often compared to the muse. so if you’re a sensitive lil marshmallow , talking to me isn’t good. so yeah , if you want a starter , i’ll make you one !!
Trust your heart, even when it’s broken. Let yourself feel what your heart feels. Mope. Cry yourself to sleep. Scream. Allow yourself to go back to the last time you touched her and allow yourself to feel her again in your mind because that’s the only way you’ll be able to fall asleep. You remember her smell? Wallow in it for a while. Let it take you away to her. Your memories will hurt you more than anything. Memories of how good she made you feel and damn you just want to feel that way again. Let your heart go there and let it break even more. Love her, hate her, miss her, crave her. Continue to trust your heart though because one day your heart will decide it’s had enough. You’ll notice when you start to think of her, your heart will say no and it will direct you to something else because it’s tired of breaking. Tired of taking the beating. Then one day out of nowhere you’ll realize it’s almost noon and you’ve been up since seven and this is the very first time she’s crossed your mind all day. You’ll smile. You’ll thank your heart for moving on and letting go. You’ll thank your heart for being strong enough to go through something like that and still survive. You’ll thank your heart for breaking because now you feel stronger, wiser, and free. To get over a heartbreak, let your heart break. Trust it.
I haven’t written in a while and I’ve been super into Wonwoo lately so why not? I hope you enjoy some Seventeen angst and thank you for reading!
Plot: You and Wonwoo have broken up…again.
Your house was covered in pictures torn in half, necklaces he bought you split into pieces, and frustrated screams sounding from your crying body. You had allowed yourself to fall into this madness and now Wonwoo had torn your heart to shreds once again.
Something that really annoys me about the phandom is that non shippers are just as bad, if not worse, than obsessive shippers. Like, okay, you allowed to have your opinions and everything but screaming at people about how platonic they are and calling people disgusting for calling them boyfriends doesn’t mean you have an opinion, it just makes you a dick.
y’all are getting way too pissy about someone’s opinion over a cartoon. people are allowed to have an opinion without you screaming your heads off, and sending pathetic messages most certainly won’t change anyone’s mind.
it’s very rude, and incredibly childish. i can only imagine how annoying this must be for them because you just can’t handle someone thinking a little bit differently than you do.
I would lie if I wrote about how I feel in love with you. I didn’t, not in the traditional sense. I never want to fall in love alone, and I didn’t realize how long I had been standing at the edge of the cliff alone and I think it was because I could still feel your presence in my veins, I imagined the existance of you when in reality, you were but a ghost, and if I had listened, I would have heard the whispers of caution from the wind and I had been dreaming when reality could not compare, made up the memories of how sweet you tasted, my tongue unable to detect the bitter undertones of your words. You’re fading, slowly, but eventually I’ll barely remember your scent. I fought until I no longer had any fight left, and as much as I want to feel the sharpness of a blade slice your skin open, the way my heart was ripped by your fingers and scream how worthless you allowed me to feel, I’m letting you go, giving you a funeral and taking my medicine, easing myself off your addiction.