The Girl You Want…………(ed)

If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to hold tight to the female friendships I have cultivated.  Let’s face it, when you head for your forties-well, you start to realize what is important in life and what is detrimental.  You begin to stand up for yourself, and by the time you reach menopause?  You’re a whirling dervish of angst on the road to having no female friendships because you have told off just about every friend you have, for one reason or another.

But what about the girls who don’t make the cut?  Who, as it turns out, are toxic as 5G on hormones?  The nervous breakdown you had last week?  You thought it was your dark mental health history, turns out it was your dark Jezebel worming her way into your psyche.  Is it really as simple as just walking away?  What if NO CONTACT isn’t an option, say because you go to the same gym.  Class.  Mother of God.

I knew I had to go, I had no choice.  I wasn’t sure I would go, but that strength I prayed to Jesus for?  It came the next morning-in buckets.  As I finished my makeup, I consoled myself with this thought: Maybe she won’t be there.

But that was the point of going to class: as a sufferer of PTSD, and while in the midst of a horrible episode due to this particular “friend.”  I had blocked her on all of my social media, but was still reeling from what had occurred before I ran away, like OJ on crack.

“She’s here,” my friend Sasha stated, as if she were announcing the bride of Satan.

I admit it, I panicked.

Haul ass, I’m not standing next to her, I blurted.

She walked in on three women who appeared to be doing some odd rendition of a Shakespearean tragedy-we tripped over one another as we hustled to find new spots on the floor.

Nothing to see here, folks.

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What my classmates saw last Tuesday…

After the class, as I was talking to Sasha, the Jezebel interrupted me.

“Can we talk for a moment?,” we had already exchanged pleasantries, even after I had threatened to call the state police if she didn’t cease and desist.  She made the Rocky Horror Picture Show look like Bambi Has a Family.  I was delirious.

I stood up to her, spoke my peace, but not without multiple interruptions.  I told her she had ridiculed, stalked and threatened me enough.  I told her I had been self harming, as a result of our last exchange.  I explained PTSD and what it does to a person.  She, of course, already knew this, as we have been acquainted many years.  All throughout my speech, she interjected this sentence:

But Michele, I’M DEPRESSED.”

I drove away praising Jesus, for answered prayers and for taking the scales off of my eyes, as it were.  Gawd.   Good riddance.

I have lost sisters near and dear to my heart (and a few quite recently)-but the loss was temporary, as those were the women who treated me with disrespect, dishonesty or the worst sin in my book- condescension-they were not  the friends I thought they were,but it didn’t make it any easier to end the relationship.  My best friend in sixth grade (let’s just call her Shitstorm) threw a bowling ball at me because I had the highest average in the league.  Straight out, in front of our teammates. She was also responsible for bringing a picture of me (in the seventh grade) into school in my senior year; one in which I had cut my own bangs, and let’s just say she passed it on to my high school crush.  Mortifying.  I was friends with her for 30 more years, until she did the unthinkable…..that’s right, she was another narcissist, and crossing her was akin to playing hopscotch with Satan. After one too many brushes with death? I let her go, stopped all contact-to this day I have nightmares. To. This. Day.

But when you hit your fifties?  Why, you hold on to your female friends like grim death-the ones who love you no matter what state you’re in, root for you when you are up against it, speak to your husband when you’ve relapsed. Why, they are your true blue tribe, and you have earned each other’s trust.  I am not saying there won’t be disagreements (holy crap on a cracker, that’s part of the equation ladies) but you will learn that nothing is more important than women who get and cherish you, zits, nervous breakdowns and relapses be damned.

I have spent an entire lifetime trusting women I had no business trusting, not seeing the inevitable pain that came with illumination-it’s a process. Yet, as Abba works in my life? The new friendships are more stable, enduring and incredibly comforting. You teach people how to treat you, and the only way you gain respect is by being a bitch right back. As soon as I stand my ground, the bullies run for cover.

Today I am blessed beyond measure with an abundance of loving, nurturing and life sustaining women. I am thankful they feel safe calling me friend.

High Heeled Boys

 

Good Sunday afternoon to you, I’d like to explain my absence:  my personal computer took a giant crap on Saturday morning, leaving me bitchy and floundering.  I have been in such a state of turmoil that I thought about quitting writing altogether-and then my husband lent me his business laptop.  Problem solved, if only momentarily.

I was stewing and spewing when the Holy Spirit spoke to me, loudly and clearly.

Consider the next few days a Spiritual retreat of sorts.  Just you and me, no television, computer or phone.

I mentioned that my husband is leaving for New Hampshire tomorrow morning in my last blog.  I can’t say I relish the thought of the next few days; but I am certain of one thing:  Jesus will be with me, like always, and He alone will give me the strength to manage on my own.

I have never been keen on being without my husband.  This brings to mind the trip we took out to LA, in 2005, to see my brother.  We had a lovely time, truly, until the night we met a high school friend for dinner.  My drinking was at its very worst at that time, and I clung to the tequila that evening, in a Mexican restaurant far, far away from home.  Afterwards, the boys headed to a cigar bar, while my sister in law drove me back to my brother’s home.  Unfortunately, I hid my Ativan from the baby sitter, and drunk as I was?  I couldn’t find it, not to save my life.  I began having the Mother of all anxiety attacks, and cried out loud for Dwain.  Poor Julie had to drive back to downtown LA, where she found my brother, husband and friend, drunk as the proverbial skunks they were-barely hanging on to their barstools.  As Julie waited for my brother, who was in the men’s room, she heard a loud bang accompanied with a few choice words.  It turned out that her husband had fallen into the trash can, and couldn’t find his way out.

“You are a grown man!  And you! (She pointed at Dwain) Your wife is at home having a meltdown because you’re not with her.  She can’t find her anxiety medication.  Get your asses home.  NOW!”

Back at the townhouse, I heard a scuffle in the hallway.  The door swung open, Dwain wobbling back and forth, my brother on his knees.  Julie was livid.  My niece was three at the time, and Craig was ordered to bed-only he couldn’t get up.  According to my husband, after I crashed, my brother crawled around aimlessly-the harder Dwain laughed, the angrier my sister in law became.

“Help me!  Dwain, man, help me….where are we?”

Ah, good times…

So, I will try to write when this lap top is available.  We don’t have funds for a brand new computer; not after Christmas, a new chimney, and prescription glasses for the two of us.

I am working on a new blog as well, but this one will be private, hidden from the prying eyes of my family.  I will be inviting each of you personally, as I just can’t imagine writing to a better, more supportive audience than you~

Broken Halos

 

Sitting here thinking, left to my own devices and dwelling on forgiveness, my family and how much things have and will change for reasons that may surprise you.  I was devastated by the loss of my family, but if it weren’t for the broken spell of codependency?  I would not be writing, creating, and, quite possibly, breathing.  I simply could not be my authentic self and survive their disrespect, hostility, or apathy.

So, now that we got the crappy part out of the way, I was daydreaming about how God picks us up and takes us away:  from the pain, the angst and the scary monsters.  A year ago today?  I was a sniveling coward, awaiting the latest news on the possible Zombie Infiltration.  Ok, maybe not zombies, but definitely black eyed children.  I was so sure that September 23 would be the return of Jesus, that my poor husband drove all the way home from work just to comfort me.  I now know that no man can come close to even guessing at the day of Jesus’ return, and that the idiots who produced the videos were looking for likes, or subscribers. Gawd.  How pitiful.  But wait?  Was I a charity case, or was my brokenness a blessing in disguise?  The latter, actually, as it strengthened my faith and made me so much stronger in the process.

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The men pictured above, Jesse and my husband Dwain, are the true loves of my life, and I praise God each and every day for their presence in my life.   None of this would ever be remotely possible if Yah didn’t give us second chances.  And third.   And eleventy hundred.  I am not admitting to murder, or some other heinous crime-don’t get me wrong: but even if I was?  Well, I would have to confess and repent, but yes, there would be forgiveness.  People get hung up on the word “repent.”  Translated from the Holy Bible, repent  means “think anew,” and of course we must change our behavior-actions speak so much louder than words.

When I get angry or hurt by those in my intimate circle, or even colleagues at church or volunteering, what have you-I think of them as broken, and in just as much if not more pain than I could possibly know.  I may be estranged from my family, but I forgive them because I love them.  I don’t know about liking them at this juncture in our history; but I know they have pain.  I know they try their very best, as strange as that may sound.  They are loving parents with successful careers-what more could you possibly want?  But regardless, I am only too aware that they, too, have moments of despair.  My sister’s youngest child is in college, and I can’t imagine the sadness.  Of course, she thought I was contagious while going through perimenopause, and not only withheld every iota of compassion-but would not stand close to me at family functions.  Yes, this is true.  🙂

Hate your boss?  Think of him/her as a young child-it helps with prying the sympathy out of our hardened hearts.

Want to strangle your better half?  Think of the last time they touched you in your secret, hidden places, where no one else has the power or accessibility.

The elderly person on the walker, you know, the one who is in front of you when you are going anywhere.  You are in a hurry, and bloody hell why is this happening to me?  They may not have anyone left to visit them, or possibly dying a slow and painful death.  Repent!

The world is out there waiting for us, as they will know we are Christians by our love~

Red Letters

Things involving team Hoffman have mellowed out, mended at the seams, and no one is worse for the wear.  The inconvenient truth has been released, and I know that in Christ I am free-and that is precisely what this writing is about.

Are you able to tell the difference between a real follower of Christ and a true follower of self?  Meaning, do you know what it means to be a real Christian?  I have seen Social media and YouTube expound on New Age philosophies-and because I was once dabbling in yoga, Reiki and Doreen Virtue (who has renounced her previous work and lost her family, money and friends to follow Jesus) I am qualified to tell you what this false paradigm is accomplishing-and none of it, none of it is good.

Jesus is not an ascended master.

Jesus if fully God and man.  He died on the cross to pay for our sins, and He lives within us-at least those of us who believe.  The Holy Spirit will give you discernment, which might look like confusion at first.  In my case?  I had been reading an article by Steven Bancarz (former New Age guru and owner of the website Spirit Science) in which he spoke of the dangers of the New Age.  It was a winter’s day three years ago, one which I will not soon forget.

Sick with Lyme symptoms, I sat at my pc and read Stephen’s story.  My eyes almost popped out of my head.  What had I been playing with?  I was deeply frightened, but Yah wasn’t done with me yet.  Stretching, I noticed my little black cat on the front porch.  He had just been neutered, and he never was an inside cat-yet today he wanted to be in, so I opened the door and sighed as he ran on by.  Great, one more inside cat-I had six in the house as it was.  Oh well, read my thought cloud.

As I read on, I remembered a blog I had recently read authored by a friend of mine.

“I sent away for the Doreen Virtue Tarot cards and MY HAIR FELL OUT!!!”

I laugh when I think of her horror, because I had some terrifying moments myself.

After hours of videos and articles, I ascended the stairs to my bedroom.  Suddenly, I was thrown on my knees, in despair, with the notion that I had unknowingly hurt my Lord and Savior.  I wept bitterly, repeating the words I have grieved your heart and for that my heart is torn in two.  The crying went on for hours, and I asked for forgiveness.  I promised to repent of these things, and as I walked into my back room I saw him, the cat.

Twisting and contorting his little body, he hisses when I look at him.  I repeat the words, In the name of Jesus, demon release that cat! Only much later did I realize that the demon in me had already been released into that poor little critter, just as Jesus put the demons in the swine who jumped to their death off a cliff.

I sat down for a cigarette, this was too much to take.  My gaze was drawn to an empty bag of catfood–F R E E D O M.  In the midst of my tears and confusion I smiled, if only a half smirk.  This was always God’s way with me, making his presence known in the simplest and grandest of ways.  I went to look for the cat, and found him dead-laying in the bedroom.  I ran downstairs, phoned my husband.  We were being hit by a heavy amount of snow, and he promised to be home soon.

Honey, where did you say the cat was?

A shiver followed my spine, up and down, down and up.

The cat was not in the bedroom, he was nowhere to be found until the next morning.  I found him by the commode, and by all accounts he was dead, as dead as a doornail.  Thankfully?  My husband was home due to the snow.  I called him upstairs.

“Is the cat REALLY dead this time?,” he queried, no humor or irony in his voice.

And so it was that I sat down at my grandmother’s desk, while Dwain went out to bury the feline.

BOOM!!!!  BOOM!!!  BOOM!!!

What was he shooting at?  The driving snow hindered my view.  Dwain entered the house.

“The cat had nine lives, he came back to life and I had to shoot him to put him out of his misery, poor thing.”

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I retreat, bible in hand, to my boudoir.

I search for the scriptures, the letters in red, in which Jesus speaks to satan:

Get behind me, Satan:  for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord they God, and Him only shalt you serve.

 

 

He is~

Ladies and gents, may I introduce the man God used to restore my sanity-Mr. Richard Gannon.  Although we’ve never met, I feel a solid closeness to this man as I’ve watched him go from traumatized and triggered to victorious and free.  I love him, adore even, and I find his videos a panacea to those of us who have been around the block a time or two with a toxic, dehumanizing relationship.

I deleted my last writing as, turns out?  That happened to be the one he did read, and three times at that.  His Reader’s Digest version?

You told the world I was a satan worshipper.

No, I am not the only half of this couple who has a vivid imagination, and he does have a knack for missing entire points of conversation.

Post argument I spent my days busy, looking for apartments, and praying/sleeping.  Jesus always combines tragedies for me in a way I can’t quite describe, as if he is killing two birds with one stone.  I discovered a swollen lymph node last evening, which means I either have Lyme or I am down with the ship sick.  Almost every argument we have had?  It coincides with the absolute necessity that I slow down and heal, emotionally and physically-something my nervous energy does not allow, ever.  I also think there is a self-attached stigma to my boudoir, as through depression and illness I’ve done my time there.

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If I feel as if my inner child is being attacked? It’s not going to be pretty, for anyone.

So, today I feel so punk I call it a day, and head right back up to bed after skimming the headline news.  I am drained, dehydrated and dangerously depressed.  I phone my husband, there is a small breakthrough.  Misunderstandings are corrected, words taken back for prosperity.  BUT, there is the reason I was triggered (the full moon, my period and being under the weather only added to my veracity) and that reason had years and years of build up.

I would have thought my temper would have been calmed by now, but interestingly enough?  I find that I am more ferocious, fiery that ever before.  It’s as if the Holy Spirit is fighting with me, or for me, I can’t say.  I can literally feel the Lion’s head rearing, and a force much stronger than me takes over from within.  The result is animalistic, intense and frightening.  Here’s the rub-I don’t get angry like I used to, I’ve been there and find it does nothing for one’s tendency towards migraines.  I know a thing or two, and I consider myself to be a calm and loving force of nature.

Alas, then it happens, I am T R I G G E R E D, a wound from childhood or even years ago will surface, along with a trauma memory-and Sara doesn’t live here anymore.  I have prayed about this phenomena, and it turns out it is healthy for those of us who have been abused, to feel the emotion of anger.  In other words, rage is good.  It means you respect yourself and in my case it also means I am defending the little girl who had no way of defense.

My war is not with my husband.  Nor my monster in law.  My war was with powers and principalities unseen, yes, in the spiritual realms.  However, I will not dine in the presence of mine enemies.

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Jesse and Maybelline pile on the bed. I slowly succumb to the nurturing only Jesus can orchestrate.

Cried out, I did a bible dip for relief.  I say a prayer, and flip to a page to find His wisdom.

The comfort I received was read from Isaiah, a book I read from often.  My kitten snuggled close, kissing every centimeter of my face, tickling, delighting. Isaiah speaks to the reality that as Christians, we will be persecuted.  God will use these trials and heartbreaks to refine us, to strengthen us.  No, we will not be spared sorrow in this life.  Yet we can live this truth with certainty-Jesus will see us through safely, each and every step of the way.

He alone has the victory, and if you are His you will feel this in your very bones.

No one ever said that picking up your cross would be easy.  God assures us that it will be well worth the tears, and that He is carrying us-each and every step of the way.

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Into His Arms…

I have to start out by telling you I have consumed my happy juice and am a bit crosseyed at this time.  But praise Jesus, for he has given us every herb, plant and fruit bearing tree so that we will live healthy, peaceful lives.  Medicinal.  Used for my CPTSD, it can take me from despair to joy, and that my friends is worth its weight in gold.

I’ve been thinking about what is happening in this world, and obviously, it all but freaks me out.  After watching a video I shouldn’t have, I was overwhelmed-feeling as if the entire three ring circus was on my back.  First sad.  Then frantic.  Then Jesus.

I tell him, Jesus! I am clinging to your robes today, I need you badly!

These are the times when I run, full throttle, all engines on to God.  I picture myself running in to his amazing hug, and hear him say There, there child.

I can’t do this Jesus.

I know too much, why do I know so much and when did you make the decision to take a scaredy cat like this girl, and lead her in the direction of Doom.  Real news.  Investigative reporting.  I have felt the Holy Spirit driving me in this direction, and some days?  Down with the ship I go.

He never pushes, never demands.

I come to the realization that He alone is my Lord and Savior.  He will not leave me nor forsake me.  He is in control.  

I take a long hot shower.  I plug in my tiny white lights strategically placed all over my home, to give comfort.  Put some cinnamon on the stove.  And then He takes me back to who I was before I got clean.  I am profoundly grateful.

I fall into His arms.

The People Have the Power

My entire focus has changed.  Not even a week ago I lay in the fetal position, doomed to the land of the unheard, the voiceless.

As I always say, first the LESSON, then the BLESSING.

I never cared how many followers I had-some people strive for thousands, but  as for me, I am much happier in life and on social media if keep my circle small.

God has put a new dream in my sites, and that is to bring people together.  This has virtually nothing to do with politics, but everything to do with freedom from government and bringing the masses out of the forced slavery of rhetoric, psy-ops and propaganda.

The truth, as always, will set you free.

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What we are experiencing at this very moment has been prophesized in the bible.  The part that speaks about “everything dark and hidden being brought out into the light.”  What if we were to look at the book of  Revelations again through different goggles?  What if the second coming of Jesus is right around the corner, and the separation of the wheat and chaff were done in ways we don’t understand or even comprehend?

I am not suggesting that you put away the bible, on the contrary!  I am asking that you consider the present to be the Tribulation, and that Jesus is real and very present.  Could it possibly be that He is already here, and that the evil in this world is not only being exposed, but the evildoers are being eradicated?

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Something to think about as we face the dramatic rectifying of good against evil.

We need one another in this spiritual battle.  Pink hats and camouflage must put down their arsenals and stop the wretched hate.  We are so much stronger together, and like it or not, it’s time to set ourselves free of the Illuminati brainwashing.  We need to return to one another, arms open, hearts afire.

 

Exiled

I have no carrots, I find myself no sticks.  There is an abhorrent storm, raging within my flesh-an unholy war.  I rail at God.  I scare myself screaming at satan, I run from the house in a nightmarish state-I even think the unthinkable.

What impact have I made in the spiritual realms of Good vs. Evil? 

What was the point?

Is the gun upstairs loaded?

For the past three years I have been fighting the good fight over this putrid, evil world.  I had a following on Twitter of over 3000-many of them friends I kept in touch with on a daily basis.  Some reached out to me with their personal stories, and many of us prayed for one another.  Frankly, without my brothers and sisters on Twitter, I feel exiled; banished to the land of gloom and doom that is conservative censorship.

Last night I was notified that my account was “suspended.”  I was not given a reason, I was told the case is closed when I tried to appeal this morning.  They didn’t just suspend my account, they wiped it, clean.  All of my work for the past three years is for naught, I have no way to contact my partners in arms.  My small family of patriots is no longer available to me.

This account does not exist.

Google, Facebook and Twitter are censoring conservatives worldwide, and it appears we can do nothing to fight it.  We are discriminated against because of our Christian belief system, which is, indeed, against the constitutional rights given to us at birth.

Wake up, Sara.  You have no rights.  You are but a cog in the machine, you don’t matter, none of you fighting the good fight matter.  Game over, you lose.

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It was 10:40 a.m.    I procrastinated sending the paperwork to our new dentist; the receptionist was alarmed when I burst into tears.  Whenever PTSD is triggered?  You are at the mercy of your emotions, your very darkest and troubling thoughts.  Trying to control the trigger is akin to trying to stop an avalanche with a twig.  

“Please just get the paperwork in the mail by today, okay hun?”

I am sick, in my pajamas, and I drive to the local post office.  I argue with the post master, she tells me to come back at 12.

“Please, are you serious?  Do I look like I will be alive at 12 noon?  I am sick, this shit has to go out today, please just two stamps?”

Her face softens.

You have change, right?

Back at the house I waste an entire two hours trying to beat the system and get a new Twitter account.  Every avenue I pursued was a dead end, so now I try to find an attorney.  I will sue their fucking pants off, that’s what I’ll do.

I have finally exhausted myself.  I am too tired, too angry, too depressed to give a crap.  I search the heavens for an answer and am given, once again, nothing.

My husband tells me I have rage issues, I agree.

I don’t know if I will ever get my mojo back.  I am depleted, no fight left.   I smoke some medical weed, and for now I am calm.

Life has shot me down so many times?  Maybe down is where I need to be.

No fight left, not an ounce in me.

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I wanted to help my president.

I wanted to raise awareness about the victims of SRA, and the ruthless monsters in our government, music and entertainment industries who drink their blood at whim, after they torture and rape them for adrenochrome.

I return to my exile in darkness.  I pray for the babies.  I ask His forgiveness~

 

   

 

The Storm Is Habbening, Baby

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My sources are telling me that Barry was executed yesterday.  The news is that he was executed by firing squad, he spoke with a Muslim cleric moments before, and that he did not give up the goods.

And yes, I am sure.  I did my homework.  He is gone.  If per chance you do see Santero walking amongst the living, please know that this is a clone-which is a blog for another time.  This blog is to inform and comfort those of you who are either not yet woken or are woke and frightened.  If you are a follower of Jesus Christ?  You have nothing whatsoever to fear.  President Donald J. Trump was asked over a year ago:

What is the Storm you speak of Mr. President.

His response?

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“I am the Storm.”

GITMO is full of treasonous pedophiles, famous treasonous pedophiles.

Sadly, Barry was one of them, perhaps the most demonic of them all.

The United States Marines serve at the pleasure of Donald J. Trump-and only the president.  Two hundred thousand troops have been asked to deploy, and the following video can give you the facts.

The Storm is coming for the treasonous, the evil, the scum.  He is draining the swamp and if you are a pedophile I would think twice about committing a crime.  Chances are the DOJ is already on your tail.

There will come a day when these people will not be able to walk down the street.                                                           -Q

Just as Daniel and his intel advise, go about your business and have faith.  Do not engage in any protesting or arguments.  We will be instructed further in the upcoming days.  No, [they] are not coming for your guns, nor your constitutional rights.  POTUS is taking care of [them]  As citizens and as believers, our job is to love one another and obey the law.  Those of us who are awakened should be available to our friends and family, to explain, love and comfort.

In the upcoming days and months there will be hundreds of thousands of arrests.  This could involve someone you know-a friend, or neighbor or pastor even.  The arrestees are guilty of horrendous crimes against humanity.  Trump wants to stomp out all evil, and he has moved mountains with the help of God himself.  When you know the facts?  You will love and respect the man that I have known to be anointed by Jesus.

Not as much as I do, perhaps.

Now would be a really good time to turn the page.   Call out His name and Jesus will be there.  And yes, He will forgive you-after you confess and repent-you can be free of the chains that bind.

Luke 12:1-3 New King James Version (NKJV)
Beware of Hypocrisy
12 In the meantime, when an innumerable multitude of people had gathered together, so that they trampled one another, He began to say to His disciples first of all, “Beware of the [a]leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy. 2 For there is nothing covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known. 3 Therefore whatever you have spoken in the dark will be heard in the light, and what you have spoken in the ear in inner rooms will be proclaimed on the housetops.

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