The Grandeur

Some Christianity, but mostly about hope.

“Bring me my Bow of burning gold!

Bring me my Arrows of desire!

Bring me my Spear! O clouds, unfold!

Bring me my Chariot of fire

“I will not cease in my Mental Flight,

Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand,

Till be have built Jerusalem

In England’s green and pleasant land.”

When he came to the end Tony suddenly felt shy. He added in a great hurry, “I don’t see how you can build anything with a sword.”

“Well, it isn’t the best of instruments, perhaps, but there are times when it has to be used. Do you remember those men in the Bible who built the walls of the earthly Jerusalem and fought their enemies at the same time, one hand doing the work and the other hand holding a weapon? Doesn’t it say, For the builders, everyone had his sword girded by his side and so builded? Blake may have meant something like that.”

“You can tell me of it presently, if you have time,” said Tony. “I don’t know it. Who were the enemies Blake was fighting?”

“Exactly the same enemies that we’re fighting now, Max: the powers of darkness enslaving the souls of men… Blake’s song isn’t really a song for England alone,” said Dym. “It’s a song for every land. We’re all building the unseen Jerusalem together.”

–Quote from Constance Savery’s Enemy Brothers, Paraphrased in some places.

As long as I can stay angry enough IT can’t get me.

Is that what I have that IT doesn’t have?

“Nonsense,” Charles Wallace said. “You have nothing that IT doesn’t have.”

“You’re lying,” she replied, and she felt only anger toward this boy who was not Charles Wallace at all. No, it was not anger, it was loathing; it was hatred, sheer and unadulterated, and as she became lost in hatred she also began to be lost in IT. The red miasma swam before her eyes; her stomach churned in ITs rhythm. Her body trembled with the strength of her hatred and the strength of IT.

With the last vestige of consciousness she jerked her mind and body. Hate was nothing that IT didn’t have. IT knew all about hate.

“You are lying about that, and you were lying about Mrs. Whatsit!” She screamed.

“Mrs. Whatsit hates you,” Charles Wallace said.

And that was where IT made ITs fatal mistake, for as Meg said, automatically, “Mrs. Whatsit loves me; that’s what she told me, that she loves me,” suddenly she knew.

She knew!


That was what she had that IT did not have.

She had Mrs. Whatsit’s love, and her father’s, and her mother’s, and the real Charles Wallace’s love, and the twins’, and Aunt Beast’s.

And she had her love for them.

–Quote from Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
 World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
–Gerard Manley Hopkins, “God’s Grandeur.”
I took poetry in Seventh and Eighth Grade. I had to read “God’s Grandeur,” and frankly, all it was was confusing then. But, only about a month ago, I was riding in the car, and it came back to me, and I realized how beautiful it is.
I probably read A Wrinkle in Time first when I was in Sixth Grade.
And Enemy Brothers, my old friend… That is a book I raised myself on. My parents left all kinds of books on the shelves, and because I loved Constance Savery’s other book, Reb and the Redcoats, I found her triumph. This book spoke to me for years upon years. I probably read it first in fifth grade, five years ago, and I understood it alright then, but it grew with me. It is truly one of the finest books I have ever read.
All of them are triumphs, not just because of the writing, not just because of the story, but because of the hope.
“God’s Grandeur” is about the true beauty of this world, the true light that shines through grime and darkness and fog and cruelty and pain.
“A Wrinkle in Time,” is about Meg Murry, whose father went missing several years ago. Meg is friendless and alone, and pretends to like it. Her only real companion, when the book starts out, is her little brother Charles Wallace. She finds an unexpected friend in Calvin O’Keefe, who tells her his popularity is a result of “all the most unimportant reasons.” But the story is about hope. All of Madeleine L’Engle’s stuff is. She’s brilliant, really.
Finally, “Enemy Brothers,” perhaps my favorite, is about a boy called Max Eckermann, who was raised in Nazi Germany. He is brought to England in a fluke, and meets an older boy, (a young man really,) named George Dymmory Ingleford, who claims to recognize Max as Anthony Victor Ingleford, his kidnapped little brother. Max is subjected to the kind, good-natured welcome of the Inglefords, who all insist on calling him Tony and treating him as their brother. Only Dym, who started the mess in the first place, calls him Max and is bearable. Despite everything he has been taught, the Inglefords seem kind and gentle, and Max begins to wonder if everything he knows to be true is actually a lie.
“Enemy Brothers” is one of the best books I know of, and whether you are ten or fifty, an atheist or a committed Christian, you should read it.
At any rate, every one of them has lead me in one way or another, or inspired me in my darkness. To a certain extent, I would almost say we are what we read.
“For the rest, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever modest, whatsoever just, whatsoever holy, whatsoever lovely, whatsoever of good fame, if there be any virtue, if any praise of discipline, think on these things.”
–Philippians 4:8, Douay Rhiems version
The truth is, there are books we can visit with and then there are books we can live on, and can hardly live without. Some books may be remarkably good, but they aren’t the books you read till the covers are torn to shreds and till the words are hardly recognizable. There are family books too, books I love, and books I withstand, but there are ones I will always return to. There are books I will take with me when I leave home, or buy another copy if I have to. Those are the books that I read when I don’t know what to do with my life.
It’s like the Lord of the Rings. It’s like C.S. Lewis. It’s like Constance Savery.
These books are hope when I haven’t got any.
What books do you include in your healthy diet?
Feel free to tell me.
God bless you all.

Winter Poetry

So… This happened a long time ago. It isn’t as good as it could be, but I like it.

A frosty winter wonderland—

For as roses must have thorns,

And clouds must grace a sunny day,

Cold this day adorns.

Snowflakes have crowned the hills

Tiaras of sparkling white,

And ice kisses the evergreens

In glittery silver light.

The ground is littered with diamonds,

Which twinkle, wink and gleam

As Christmas lights coat houses

And round the crèche we teem.

Sleds, skates and boots drip constantly

From adventures of a child.

And up in heaven I’ll bet

That the gentle, sweet and mild

Christ-child looks down on babies

And smiles wide to see

The laughter and the cheers

That the snow has brought to me.

Trees are placed in houses,

And crowned by heavenly stars

To remind us of a Holy Night,

No matter where we are.

Or perhaps a little Angel

Laughs atop the tree

And peers at the presents,

Reminders, Lord, of thee.

Most birds have westward flown away,

Though cardinals we see.

Blue jays like thy mother’s veil

A blood red breast like thee.

The sky is cloudy often,

But when the sun shines above,

It seems so like the Child

Who crowned the world in love.

And when the dawn in violet

And rose doth paint the air

We look up to the heavens

And it takes away our care.

My Jesus, Lord and Master,

I cannot see your face,

But here I see your beauty

Reflected by your grace!

Happy Christmas! Happy New Year to the whole world!

God bless you all.

A late Christmas Story

This is all Writefury’s fault. Blame her for everything. Its shameless fluff which her stories unintentionally inspired.

Captain America is Santa Claus

Nellie hopped down the stairs, humming ‘Joy to the World,’ quietly so Mommy wouldn’t hear her and guess why she was up in the middle of the night.

Mommy had said Christmas would be small this year… Just a couple presents because poor Santa was sort of poor like they were after giving gifts to everyone in the world. Mommy had said Nellie would understand, unlike those spoiled rich kids who gave up believing in Santa after they didn’t get a thousand presents. Mommy said she’d told Santa that Nellie would understand.

It wasn’t that Nellie wanted more presents, really, she just wanted to see if maybe Santa could get Mommy that nice dress Mommy had wanted. Since Daddy had died, Mommy hadn’t had Christmas presents. Mommy should get Christmas presents too, and that dress couldn’t be that hard to get. Santa had a magic bag and reindeer that could fly anyway, how hard could it be?

Nellie landed on the couch, shrugging up Daddy’s old hoodie from his military days with SHIELD to warm her ears. You wouldn’t think that SHIELD gave out hoodies, but hey, turns out they did. Nellie loved Daddy’s hoodie, even though it didn’t really smell like him anymore, and even though it was fading fast.

She had brought a quilt to snuggle with while she waited for Santa. Nellie was so excited she was sure she wouldn’t sleep.

The next thing she heard was a soft female voice saying, “We’re in, Rogers.”


Nellie sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking at the front door, which had just swung open. Nellie grabbed for her pocket knife, wondering what sort of robbers would come on Christmas Eve.

A woman in black leather with red hair slipped through the door, scanning the room, and met Nellie’s curious and slightly frightened gaze. The woman blinked. “We have a kid, Rogers.”

“When did that happen?” A voice Nellie thought sounded suspiciously like Tony Stark from TV said.

“Don’t taze her, whatever you do, Natasha.” A voice that Nellie was absolutely certain was Captain America’s voice said, and then Captain America appeared at the door.

“I’m not stupid, Rogers.” Natasha said.



“Captain America is Santa Claus!” Nellie gasped.

“Wow, and she totally overlooks the guy who actually has a red suit to assume that the star-spangled capsicle is Santa.” Tony Stark’s sarcastic voice remarked from somewhere Nellie couldn’t see.

Nellie ignored him.

A huge sack of something was tossed over Captain America’s shoulder, he was wearing his red, white and blue suit which was sort of dirty and had a little blood on it, and he looked tired, but really nice and really pretty. Nellie remembered Daddy’s stories about Captain America. His name was Steve Rogers and he was a kid from Brooklyn, and he had been born about ninety years ago, which was plenty of time to become Santa Claus.

“Uh, Natasha, can you put the presents down and get their dinner in the fridge?” Captain America said.

“Sure, Rogers.” Natasha said with a grin.

Captain America sat down next to Nellie on the couch after handing Black Widow the bag. (Black Widow didn’t have the advantage of super strength, and glared at him.) “Hi, Nellie.”

“You really are Santa Claus!” Nellie exclaimed, bouncing up and down. “Did you get my Mommy her dress?!”

Captain America blinked at her for a minute, and then he smiled at her. “Tell me all about it. We’ll see what we can do.”

Nellie crawled up into his lap without further invitation, a bit to Captain America’s surprise apparently. “I haven’t sat in anybody’s lap since my daddy died,” She confided, before launching into her story. “See, Mommy doesn’t get presents like I do, and it isn’t fair, and I can only ever seem to get her lame things, so I thought I could stay up till Santa Claus came and have him get her this nice dress she wanted and couldn’t,” Nellie frowned, “Afford.”

Steve Rogers looked at her for a long minute. “I remember wondering why my Mommy didn’t get presents too.” He confided.

“That’s why you became Santa Claus, right?” Nellie asked hopefully.

Steve Rogers grinned at her. “Well, I’m not exactly Santa, but let’s see what we can do. Do you remember where your Mommy saw this really nice dress?”

“Oh, the store.” Nellie said logically.

“Well, what was it called? And did you walk there, or did you drive there, or take the subway?” Steve Rogers asked.

After the information was ascertained, Iron Man went to the store to get her Mommy the dress. Cell Phones are ‘real’ indispensable for this sort of thing, and Tony Stark texted them pictures of all kinds of dresses before they found Mommy the really proper dress.

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning by the time that the dress arrived, and Nellie was getting sleepier and sleepier, and Captain America had fed Nellie the cookies and milk Nellie had left out for Santa, promising that Santa wouldn’t miss it.

Nellie and Captain America wrapped the present, and left it under the tree with the enormous pile of presents for Nellie. Tony Stark had even gotten Mommy a nice necklace that matched the dress.

If Nellie hadn’t been so tired and Steve Rogers hadn’t been so comfy, Nellie would never have fallen asleep. But Steve Rogers was incredibly comfortable, and smelled almost like her Daddy had. Nellie just barely remembered Steve Rogers (Santa Claus) tucking her into bed and telling her that this was all going to be their little secret.

“Or enormous secret,” He’d said, grinning at her.

Nellie had kissed Captain America’s cheek, and Tony Stark had taken a photo of the moment.

On Christmas morning, Nellie and her mother had the best Christmas ever.

Her mother never found out, but to this very day, Nellie believes that Captain America is Santa Claus.

This was unedited, just so you know.

Love it? Hate it?

Feel free to tell me in the comments!

God bless you all!

What is truth?

This post will contain Christianity and Catholicism. You have been warned.

I took the ACT and SAT this month. I’ve been busy dancing in preparation for a performance in January, and the Exams in March. I practiced songs for hours upon hours. I have waited, and watched, and grown.

They say that Emanuel means God with Us. And yet, they had no room for him in the Inn.

I’m not going to preach. When I was younger, there was no room for him in my Inn. There was no room in my soul. I have been selfish. I have forgotten that Christmas was coming before, or only half-worked at getting ready for it. I have made conditions for God to come by.

I have done less than I should have. There was no room for him in the Inn.

People say that Catholics are hypocrites. People have seen hypocritical Christians and judged the whole faith for them. People judge other people, which is a very human fault. I have met Catholics whose intentions were not pure or true to the faith. I have also met Christians who were better servants to Christ than many Catholics will ever be.

I believe in people, though.

I believe people can learn.

One of my best friends is Jewish. I am friends with an atheist.

But I won’t judge them for that, because God didn’t judge me for having no room in my Inn.

God has blessed me with countless blessings. He has been faithful to me all my life. He has loved me more than I will ever deserve. The day after tomorrow will be Christmas Eve.

Please God let there be room in my Inn.

Merry Christmas. May God bless you whether you believe in Him or not.

And if you don’t believe in God, at least know that He believes in you.

Humor. Lots of humor.

What do I like writing?

Humor or depression.

I just generally write one or the other.

Like, for example;

“Why do you always want to punch me in the face?”

“It’s nothing to do with me. It’s just something about your face.


Do you want an English muffin in your face? I can give you an English muffin in your face. I think you’d look good with an English muffin in your face.


“I was wondering what could make the class refocus on you Sir, and I didn’t actually plan to do anything and one of the images that popped into my mind Sir, was water appearing out of nowhere, Sir and I didn’t even entertain the thought that my thinking about it might actually make it happen, Sir and then the water just… happened. I didn’t even think I had magic, Sir, I certainly have never done it before until… well, water got introduced to your head. I’m sorry, Sir, it won’t ever happen again, Sir, I promise, Sir!”

I won’t explain that one. It’s just funny.

Sorry, this is one of my more random posts for one of my more random months.

Alter Egos and Humor

If you have ever heard of the television show Miraculous Ladybug, then rejoice and be glad because the fandom got me hooked. It’s got your regular teenage superhero plot (i.e., the secret identities make mistakes or have problems, something goes wrong, they fight a villain, and with the obtained knowledge, they fix their mistake.) It has a couple unusual quirks and plot ideas, but the rule of ‘by the end of the episode, all is well in Gotham City,’ or in this case Paris, still applies.

It does, however, have a rather humorous twist that is irresistibly funny. I won’t be spoiling anything; this is more like the ‘everybody knows Bruce Wane+Spandex=Batman.’ You need to be more careful about video cameras in your BatCave, buddy.

The story follows a girl called Marinette, whose alter ego is the Miraculous Ladybug, and her humorous escapades with her partner in crime fighting, Chat Noir. Marinette is your average teenage girl who attends High School, has a vendetta against the school’s resident mean girl, Chloe, has a best friend, Alya, and has a crush. Adrien.

Who, (unbeknownst to her,) happens to be her partner, Chat Noir.

Who, (completely unaware that Marinette is really Ladybug,) has a crush the size of Texas on Ladybug.

Who, (if you’re confused by now, we’re talking about Ladybug/Marinette,) has by accident turned down her crush at least five hundred times, considering Chat/Adrien hits on her every single time they have a minute between climactic fight scenes.

Le Me: *Facepalms into eternity.* *while laughing so hard she can scarcely breathe.*

The moment when Ladybug/Marinette kisses Chat/Adrien to break a spell and somehow misses that she kissed her crush and then Chat/Adrien doesn’t remember that he got kissed by his crush…

Me: *this is just embarrassing* “When you figure it out, both of you will be kicking yourselves. But technically, with the ‘true love’ theme of the episode, it kinda makes sense that Marinette (Ladybug) has a crush on Adrien (secretly Chat) otherwise the kiss thing would not work. Which is kinda funny when you think about it.”

Superhero Secret Identity Problems: When your alter ego turns down your crush’s alter ego. Repeatedly.

Thanks for bearing with this idiotic post.

It’s just…

It struck me as funny that they are so oblivious.

Isn’t it nice to be young, have most of your limbs and be completely clueless?