Merry Christmas Sleepyheads !

yeah actually every trans person is blessed by god, protected under the virgin mary's mantle, prayed for by the saints and fought for by the heavenly host hope this helps

in my mind jesus looks like bahaa sultan

ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɢᴀɴ ᴡᴇɪꜱᴛʟɪɴɢ

John sleeps. 

He’s the youngest, the sweetest, the one who picks up flowers to put them in your hair, who joins in every time Mary starts to sing, who kisses the back of your ear when you’re stressed.

He’s also the one who drinks too much wine very early in the evening & passes out accordingly. & hey, you say, it happens. He looks at you with half-lidded eyes & a lopsided smile. He’s tired, he says, & you put a hand on his forehead & let him go. The remaining eleven will tease him mercilessly once he wakes, but for now they’re too busy passing bottles of wine around. 

Before God took him by the hand this cherubin-faced fisherman would spend the hours down the dock with his father. Sunrise to dawn, the sun hitting his naked back, turning soft skin into gold. Sharing with his brother jokes only they could understand. Calloused hands where there should only be gentleness. But then again, only time for resting was time for prayer, & you swear you can see him: fresh-faced & even younger, on his knees asking for his neighbours to have something to eat that day, for the ache in his father’s back to diminish, for his brother to sleep soundly for one night.

The wind makes the curls in his head dance, & there’s a phantom ache somewhere inside you, a divine calling to let your fingers card through them. Wake him up. Ask him to pray with you. Kiss the palm of his hands. Rest your head on his shoulder.

There are so many things a body can do when it loves. So many things this skin will long for once it is all done. 

Tonight the light disappears down the garden, as it always does. Tonight you get to carve the edge of his nose for the last time. Tonight, alone & frightened, you have nothing but the memories of warm bodies against your own, & it should be enough. The soft caress of a memory, it should be enough. 

Tonight, the night you know will be the last night, he’s there, peaceful & beautiful & surrounded by the golden evening light. 

It should be enough, it isn’t. 

But you know that, just like the rest of you, he doesn’t get to sleep much these days. 

John sleeps, & you let him. Your only wish that God doesn’t wake him before you’re gone. 

⁠— John Sleeps, Dante Émile

The Vicar in the Pulpit Church Mouse // MedievalKnight 

thinking about when a door-to-door missionary asked my dad if he had a personal relationship with jesus and he replied, deadpan, "I eat him."

Above all, serve God, love well, and commit to the Bit

did you hear? there was another sunrise this morning. the clouds are parting to let love in. birds still live in the trees and rabbits still live in the ground and God still loves you

“Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

St. Teresa of Avila