This post, Christians Who Are Afraid, stuck with me as I caught up with Caris Adel’s #31days of Walking Brave. Everything she says in this, I have thought in the last year or so. It is almost impossible for me, even now, to separate the true philosophy of Christianity from the strangeness of the fundagelical subculture. It is almost impossible for me to separate gospel from legalism.
It seems to me that everything I was taught growing up in church was just a big exercise in isolationism. My faith was shaped by fear.
For cats, it is the best of times and the worst of times. The Internet proliferates feline memes, sure; but then there are all those lists of why cats are actually the worst and probably trying to kill you. A common example is the apparent trap they set by inviting you to rub their bellies then clawing you viciously if you do. What beasts, the web insists, what schemers! But known feline activism site Wired is finally clearing up this issue and others in Why Your Cat Thinks You’re An Unpredictable Ape. Turns out? It’s not your cat, it’s you.
“Exposing her belly is not a trap the cat is setting,” Buffington says. “The cat is biting you because they feel violated and afraid.” A cat’s belly is its most vulnerable body part, and exposing it is the cat letting you know she trusts you—not that she wants a belly rub.
I am almost finished with Brandon Sanderson’s Words of Radiance. Just two volumes — but more than 2,000 pages — into the ten-book series, The Stormlight Archive promises to be Sanderson’s best work thus far. (I wouldn’t make that judgement yet, if the Mistborn trilogy hadn’t fizzled so oddly after its spectacular debut; but it wouldn’t take much for the Archive to wrap up more satisfyingly than Mistborn did.)
I know I am really, really late to the Jim Gaffigan bandwagon, but consider this my official jumping on. My boyfriend introduced me to his Netflix specials a couple months ago, and we watched Mr. Universe this week. I literally laughed aloud too many times too count. I just want a mini-Gaffigan to sit on my shoulder all the time, making wisecracks.