3
" For Christians to influence the world with the truth of God's Word requires the recovery of the great Reformation doctrine of vocation. Christians are called to God's service not only in church professions but also in every secular calling. The task of restoring truth to the culture depends largely on our laypeople.
To bring back truth, on a practical level, the church must encourage Christians to be not merely consumers of culture but makers of culture. The church needs to cultivate Christian artists, musicians, novelists, filmmakers, journalists, attorneys, teachers, scientists, business executives, and the like, teaching its laypeople the sense in which every secular vocation-including, above all, the callings of husband, wife, and parent--is a sphere of Christian ministry, a way of serving God and neighbor that is grounded in God's truth. Christian laypeople must be encouraged to be leaders in their fields, rather than eager-to-please followers, working from the assumptions of their biblical worldview, not the vapid clichés of pop culture. "
― J. Gresham Machen
8
" Amo amas amat amamus amatis amant amavi amavisti amavit amavimus amavistis amaverunt amavero amaveris amaverit… Everything was love. Everything will be love. Everything has been love. Everything would be love. Everything would have been love. Ah, that was it, the truth at last. Everything would have been love. The huge eye, which had become an immense sphere, was gently breathing, only it was not an eye nor a sphere but a great wonderful animal covered in little waving legs like hairs, waving oh so gently as if they were under water. All shall be well and all shall be well said the ocean. So the place of reconciliation existed after all, not like a little knot hole in a cupboard but flowing everywhere and being everything. I had only to will it and it would be, for spirit is omnipotent only I never knew it, like being able to walk on the air. I could forgive. I could be forgiven. I could forgive. Perhaps that was the whole of it after all. Perhaps being forgiven was just forgiving only no one had ever told me. There was nothing else needful. Just to forgive. Forgiving equals being forgiven, the secret of the universe, do not whatever you do forget it. The past was folded up and in the twinkling of an eye everything had been changed and made beautiful and good. "
― Iris Murdoch , A Word Child
11
" They sat in a sphere of quiet, save the sound of theirbreathing and the carriage’s creaks and sways. Outside,the coachman yelled his encouragement to the steedsmoving them forward. The whole carriage cocoonedthem in a peculiar world with the heaven’s wool-thickmists pressing against the windows. Her hand didn’t stop rubbing his neck, but sheshifted her leg, bending her knee to rest her leg onhis thigh. Her patten slipped off, dropping to the floorwith a thud. Cyrus’s head moved off the squab. “Are youundressing for my benefit?” His smile’s wicked curve played on her. From herstays to her drawers, everything was too tight, toomuch against her skin. Cyrus reached for her handworking his neck muscles. He brought it to his lips andkissed her knuckles thrice with slow adoration. “We don’t have to stop,” she said, her voice breathyand quick. “I’m sure you have more aches and pains.” Mid-kiss, he smiled against the back of her hand, hiswarm breath brushing her skin. “There are so many ways a man could go withthat.” Humor lightened his voice. “But I’m sure youmean to provide tender care to my neck only.” She grinned at her unintended innuendo. This wasthe experience she craved—to flirt and tease, to kissand touch. Cyrus put his lips to her wrist, marking herwith hot kisses. A spangle of pleasure shot up her arm. “You would break down the meanest soul withyour soft heart.” He set her hand on the blanket’sscratchy folds, his thumb caressing her wrist. “High praise, indeed, sir.” Tinseled sparks danced across her skin, not lettingher recover from those gentle touches, his lips to herarm. He stroked a lone finger on her hand that restedbetween them. “And you don’t care one bit that I’m the son of aMidland swine farmer, do you?” Cyrus asked the unexpected question, but his voiceconveyed confidence in her answer. Was her chivalrousbrawler showing a hidden spot? She peered athim, wanting a better view of his shadowed features. How was she to decipher this latest turn? The carriage bumped and rocked, and the outsidecandle lantern swung another shaft of light inside. Hisquicksilver stare pinned her. “Miss Mayhew, have you ever wondered how afreehold farmer got to be in such a fine place? "
12
" Gentleman,” I purr smoothly in greeting.
Ezra and Cort circle me like sharks scenting blood. I know who they are, but not who is who since they’re wearing black hoods over their heads. It covers them to the shoulder and has holes for the eyes and mouth. Their clothing is identical Italian designer label suits. Even their shoes are the same. Their eyes glow like steel ball-bearings from the safety of their masks. The mouths are different- one serious, one snarky- both ruby-red and kissable.
While they circle Fate and me several times taking our measure, the other Master stands in a sphere of his own confidence. He’s older and I don’t mean just in age, but knowledge. Ezra and Cortez feel like babies compared to this man. I bet he’s who I really have to impress.
I wait, always meeting their eyes when their path moves them back to my face. I don’t follow them with my gaze- I wait.
“Hello,” the hood with the serious lips speaks in a smooth deep tone. I know it’s not his true voice, but the one Kris calls The Boss. His eyes are kind and assessing.
No one pays Fate any mind as she cowers at my thigh. I hold their undivided attention. Curly-locks is quiet- watchful- a predator sighting its quarry. Snarky mouth is leering at my chest and I smirk. Caught ya, Cortez Abernathy.
“I seem to be at a disadvantage conversing with you while you’re hooded. I can’t see you, but you can see me.” I try to get them to out themselves. It’s a longshot.
“And who are you, Ma’am?” Ezra asks respectfully.
“Please call me Queen.” I draw on all of my lessons from Hillbrook to pull me through this conversation. The power in the air is stifling. I wonder if it’s difficult for them to be in the same room without having a cage match for dominance. I feel like I’m on Animal Planet and the lions are circling.
“Queen, indeed,” Cort says snidely under his breath and I wince. I turn my face from them in embarrassment.
I should have gone with something less- less everything. I know I’m strong, but the word also emulates elegance and beauty. I’m neither. Have to say, tonight has sucked for my self-esteem. First, the dominant one overlooks me for Fate and now Cortez makes fun of me- lovely.
“What did you say to upset her?” Ezra accuses Cortez.
“Nothing,” Cort complains in confusion.
“Please excuse my partner. Words are his profession and it seems they have failed him this evening. I will apologize for not sharing our names, but this gentleman is Dexter.” He gestures to the dominant man. I wait for him to shake my hand like a civilized person. He does not- he actually crosses his arms over his chest in disobedience. This shit is going to be a piece of cake. "
― Erica Chilson , Queened (Mistress & Master of Restraint, #6)
