|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
It doesn't mean...Being a Christian...
...doesn't mean I will shove my faith down your throats.
...doesn't mean I wear a suit to church.
...doesn't mean I regularly go to church.
...doesn't mean I won't get tattoos or piercings.
...doesn't mean I can't use curse words.
...doesn't mean I care about every little tragedy.
...doesn't mean I hate you for being gay.
...doesn't mean I'm boring.
...doesn't mean that I protest abortion clinics.
...doesn't mean I can't eat until I pray.
...doesn't mean I don't like Santa Claus.
...doesn't mean that I know everything there is to know about the Bible.
...doesn't mean I'm perfect.
...doesn't make me less of a human.
Being a Chrisian just means I believe in Jesus.
Get over yourselves.
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
Keep in Touch!