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~

I’m Gonna Kick Tomorrow

 

I love this song, so much so in fact-that I pushed the band’s lead singer off of the stage on my 41st birthday, but not before taking his mic, and belting out this tune.  Sadly, the only words I knew were I’m gonna kick tomorrow…two Grand Marnier and a line of coke later, my husband carried me out of the bar.  Caveman style.

By now, you all know my background.  It should come as no surprise that I have “stories” in my past-but what do we do with these memories?  At first, thinking of anything to do with my partying days was paralyzing.  I cannot stress to you enough that it is a miracle that I am sober today.  The first year brought me to my knees, but it also brought me to Jesus-I have no regrets in some regards.  I regret hurting my loved ones, but I have made my amends.  I don’t beat myself up anymore, as God helped me to let go of the shame, the pain and the blame game.  However, I take very seriously the plight of the sober, those who aren’t yet but desperately want to be sober, and those who don’t think it necessary to get sober.

Saturday, I ran into a man who used to party in my circle of “acquaintances.”  I recognized him, but when I say he looked like something the cat dragged in, I am seriously understating the facts.  Sweet mother Mary and all the Latter Day Saints-I truly felt horrible for him.  He was drunk, and he opened up to me about the death of his brother-who drank himself to death.  He told me Vince was so far gone, that his body exploded in the ER.

His brother, Vince, was instrumental in getting my ass straightened out for good.  He helped friends of mine, who he had admitted to the Caron Foundation (local rehab to the stars) in the middle of the evening.  He would have given the shirt off his back, to anyone in need.  He was sassy and bigger than life.  Everyone loved him.  He had a beach house in Rehoboth, and a beautiful cottage here in Lancaster.  He had everything to live for, yes.  But you know what he didn’t have?

The fortitude to face his pain.

That is the blunt truth of addiction.  We run from everything and everyone who ever hurt us, because we are so incredibly sensitive, so buck naked in this world-we cannot bare to face the reason we began running to begin with.

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I had all but given up hope.  I had no faith in myself whatsoever.  I stopped drinking and drugging because I attempted to end my life after an argument with my sister.

You know who didn’t give up on me?  My husband.

I knew of the power in the Almighty, yet I didn’t trust it.

If you want to live a life of wonder, you have to walk through the depths of hell to get there.  I wish I could tell you differently.

Get help.  There is hope.  Trust someone to take your hand and help you, out of the muck and the mire-for good~

 

 

Born Again

 

Day three of forced captivity, after a few days of ice and snow.  I gave it a try, I really did-but with my knee in the healing process-and not wanting to crack my head open, again, one slip feeding the cats and I was DONE.  I don’t do well with mandatory anything, and I’m quite sure that if I had hiked the mountains of Pennsylvania this morning?  I would be dreaming of a stormy day nap.

The grass is always greener.  That isn’t my nature, though.  I have always tried to make the best of each and every circumstance-sometimes it worked, more often than not-it didn’t.  You see, when you are a victim of emotional abuse as a child, you don’t think you deserve to be treated fairly, be happy, or even loved for that matter.  What I’m saying is, those of us who have faced the crushing despair of abuse are experts at making the most hideous situations look like a trip to Disney World.  This is the very characteristic that makes us such targets for narcissists.  Let’s face it, we allow or better yet enable the bullies for the very reason they abuse-we think nothing of ourselves.  Frankly, we are terrible with boundaries, because there were none as children and way into adulthood. So, what I am saying is this: if you don’t expect good things/people/blessings to happen to a poor sod like yourself?

Think again.

Christ has brought me out of the darkness and in to the most surreal of lights.  I am beyond blessed by a life I never expected, in my wildest dreams, to have.  I praise God each and every day for healing my Lyme, healing my heart, and bringing me home.  It’s hard to put into words, this ethereal lightness of being.  It often takes me way longer than it should, this vision of the tapestry my beloved Abba is weaving in to the very fibers of my life.  We can grow in leaps and bounds if we allow God to do the work, and get out of our own ways.

When you stop judging and start loving as Jesus taught us to love?

Miracles happen~

 

 

 

 

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Time alone is time on my hands and that means I am prone to deep meditation.  This morning, while praying, I saw them-the scars on my wrists from that dreary October evening twelve years ago.  They startled me out of my talk with Jesus, and a tear fell from my face, onto the book I was reading.  I was back there, that evening, and the awakened remorse, pain and shame were too much to take.

I stumbled into the kitchen, feeling it necessary to fix this situation by making brownies.  And I remembered a line I have repeated over and over again,

You gotta feel the feels.”    – Richard Gannon, psychiatrist

I had been on my high horse as of late, judging people like crazy.  Not the people in my life, but the principalities in high places.  The rich.  The elite.  The treasonous.  That’s when God took my hand, and led the way to a breakthrough that has been weeks in the process.

Rather than judging them, how about praying for them?

I’m a survivor because Jesus Christ picked me up when I was at rock bottom-leading me out of the despair, the hopelessness-into a blessed and beautiful life.

I Think it Strange You Never Knew

I took what I wish I could tell you was my last drink in the beginning of October, 2007.  I ended up in the hospital after a suicide attempt, which is another story for another day.  What sobered me up was a combination of my husband’s frailty, my will to live and a gift-the blessing of clarity that comes from Jesus.  I won’t even try to tell you that this road has been easy.  We addicts push down the truth, and push our loved ones away-fact-and until we achieve sobriety?  Well, there will be no healing, no peace, no end to the pain that holds us in bondage.

Months afterwards, I was hiking in two feet of snow with my golden retriever, Dylan.  A shining star and beloved pet, it hurts my heart that I wasn’t with him for the first 5 years of his time on this earth.   I was here, but I wasn’t present, and I have no memory of what could have been the best years of my life, had I not succumbed to the melodic pull of oblivion.

So I am trudging up this hill, and I am overcome with love.  I feel forgiveness surround me.  I cry out to God and confess the absurd backslide I have taken with alcohol and pain medication.  I cry out to Jesus and I tell him to take my life, it isn’t mine to begin with, take it Jesus, mold me Jesus, cry with me and then I’ll get tough, I promise…….

“I have been here with you from the very beginning of time.  I have cried your tears, tasted the salt of your remorse, and I will deliver you from this travesty……”

I think it strange, I never knew….

Fear is a Liar…

I know this is going to make me sound like a cranky old cat lady, but do I give a flying fig that Simon Cowell was in a bad mood last night?  That would be a resounding NO.  Because the television is my husband’s blanky, I am subject to the most inane bullshit this side of the Pacos.  But that drew my attention, and then I’m pissed because Simon made a little girl cry, and holy melodrama batgirl!  It is an exhausting process.

What do they do, I wonder, to make it so addictive?  I don’t even turn it on during the day, I find it depressing and suffocating in its banality.  Then again, give me a good old Hitchcock thriller and a bag of Skinny Girl popcorn (sea salt and lime please) and I’ll sit in front of the boob tube-no pun intended.

I am sharing a blog from the past, and it is my prayer that someone who is truly struggling reads this, and realizes they are not alone.   As always, I love you.

Be blessed~

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I hope you never know the pain of addiction.  The terror within, knowing you could lose every person you have ever loved; the fear of life without your drug of choice can be more overwhelming that the addiction itself.  Twenty years ago, a reputable (and I lose the term lightly) dentist prescribed me 100 Vicodin, rather than fix a cracked tooth.  I had just had my wisdom teeth removed, and I had suffered a dry socket, the pain affected each and every part of my life-I welcomed the relief.

I just watched my beloved Donald J. Trump give a speech for National Prayer Day.  If he only knew what those words mean to recovering addicts nationwide-I bowed my head in prayer, and threw up my hands to a savior who changed my life-one day at a time.  I don’t think I will ever be able to adequately describe the miracle I am now living; sober, healthy and despite the enemy’s attempts?  Holy laughter fills my weary, leery heart.

Alcoholics Anonymous is a façade: an absolutely useless tool for people who are too desperate to question the twelve step program.  I had no idea, not a clue, until recently when I found my first three chips-one month, one year, five years.  I was cleaning out a drawer, and the spirit within nudged me to look closer.

Do As Thou Wilt

The words surrounded a pyramid.  You could have knocked me over with a feather.  Was that the reason I watched friends die, divorce, and relapse over and over again?  I think so.  Satan is the father of ALL lies, and he seeks to destroy you.  Our only weapon against him is Jesus, and I hope you never have to test my theory.

I remember being corrected when I gave my testimony in a meeting one evening.

Don’t say God, just say your ‘higher power,’ it offends people.

That was my last evening in the building.  What I endured in those five years of meetings was nothing short of an onslaught of misery.  The hits kept coming, until the day I decided that life was too short, my faith too strong.

I didn’t need AA.

It is my prayer that God gives you the strength and the rage to get through recovery, which is a lifelong process.  If you are willing to trust in the Prince of Peace?  There you will find your freedom from oppression, dependence and the powers that presently rule this earth.

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You simply cannot fathom how good it gets when you let go of the chains that bind.

I Got It Figured Out (NOT)

If you are one of those still in the dark, then maybe this is the blog for you.

Then again, maybe not.

I have run out of carrots, no sticks left.  I write this in the hopes that it helps awaken even one person, as the times have changed-to the point that ignorance is dangerous.

I also understand how it is to be given information you don’t want to hear, as I have a friend who brings doom and gloom, and in the guise of educating me-God bless her she is almost always wrong-and that is because she is gullible and trusting.

I don’t trust anyone, with the exception of my Jesus, my man and my dog.  Period.

I used to trust everyone.  I am like my father in this way.  His life was ruined by trusting the wrong person, and I took that kind of personally.  He was always being taken advantage of and it broke my heart.  After numerous therapist betrayals, ended friendships and broken family?  I like it just fine by my lonesome, sad, but true.

If you are still believing any mainstream media, including FOX, you must know that you are putting yourself and those you love in jeopardy.  Frankly, I get tired of writing about this subject-no one comments, no one reads me.  I attribute that to stupidity and cowardice, there, I said it.

WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!!! WAKE UP!!!

Oh, and find yourself a safe city to live in-it matters.

[They] Want You Deaf, Dumb and Blind

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I apologize for not writing more often these days, but the truth of the matter is this:  conservatives are being attacked and censored on every level.   I have spoken of this in previous blogs, but now the Cabal is desperate, unhinged you might say.  They are desperate to keep you brainwashed, terrified that the truth will have a domino effect on evil players, demons if you must know.

Perhaps 10 to 25 percent of you are woke to the truth, maybe not.  I can tell you that my awakening came after years and years of drinking, drugging and messing around with the New Age.  My story is not unique, not by a long stretch.  Sadly, there is a population of vulnerable, impressionable peeps out there-they have been abused their entire life, be it physical, emotional, sexual or circumstantial.  They fly to the “answers” they have searched for their entire lives, and I was one of those victims.

In 2015, I attended a funeral for a young man who happened to be my friend’s one and only son.  We sat in the balcony, and when Sherry walked into the chapel?  Every muscle in my body tightened.  I dug my nails into my husband’s thigh, trying to stifle the scream I felt surfacing-Jason was her only son:  an expert on motorcycles, a truck driver found him in a ditch, on a sunny day.  Sherry received the news while grocery shopping, when a friend called to voice her sympathies.  A part of my heart died that day, and my life took on a frenetic rush to prove that life on this planet had purpose.  

“This can’t be it, Jesus.  Why are we here?  Seems a tad more like hell on earth, not life.”

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Already suffering from CPTSD, my life became smaller by the day. I had no hope, no courage, no vision.

During the funeral, I was startled to find the woman behind me had placed her hands on my neck.  She began gently massaging my scalp, and I retreated in a not so nice way-as if to say-look lady, I don’t know you and why in the harry are you TOUCHING me?

“Honey, this is Lydia.  I went to high school with her,” my husband whispered.

The very same Lydia who sold gorgeous, handsewn purses made from old wool sweaters?  That Lydia?  I had heard of her wares, and she was quite renown in our sleepy little town of Kleinfeltersville.  Everyone loved Lydia.

As an artist, I am drawn to others in the field.  I envied her, it seemed she had an idyllic life.  But why was she massaging a stranger’s neck?

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I’m studying to be a Reiki Master. Why don’t you come by for a free treatment?

Lydia explained that she was studying for her Reiki Master license.  All “treatments” would be free, at least for the coming month.  As a victim of narcissistic abuse, I had plenty of healing to do-was this what I had been looking for?  I jumped at the chance to see her home, let alone receive Reiki (I had no clue what it was, but my mind is always open)  I was not disappointed on my first visit.  Lydia sat down with me, I glanced at her kitchen table and noticed a deck of what I thought to be tarot cards.

Ten years prior, I had been at a superbowl party in which there was a “psychic” in attendance for the party goers.  Hounded by the host to go up and be “read,” I finally caved.  I had attempted to have my palm read years and years ago, in a tiny flat on South Street, in Philadelphia.  She read my sister well, so I was excited (and terrified) of what she would say to me.  She took my palm.  The look on her face said stranger danger, and before she could scream GET OUT, we headed down the steps, taking two, three at a time.  My sister laughed the entire way home, but I was tormented.

Why would she kick me out?  She told me to call her and she would explain, but that she could not be in my presence.  It wasn’t until years later that I realized a very, very important fact:

Practitioners of black magic, fortune telling, Reiki, or witchcraft simply can’t deal with the children of the Most High.  They know who we are, and they don’t mess around with God-even if they worship satan, they know who we are.   It’s as simple as that.

My visit with the super bowl psychic proved disastrous as well.

“I don’t like tarot cards, or having my palm read,” I explained.  I told her of my past experience.

“Oh, I know why she did it, but that was cruel.  You must have been frantic,  Nothing to fear, let’s get started.”

As my heart began to pound out of my chest, she shuffled the cards.

“Pick one.”

Long story short, I picked the death card.

“Within the week, someone will die in your home.”

Well, that made me fly up out of my seat and run to my husband.

Honey, I thought you didn’t believe in psychics, that isn’t going to happen.

Two days later?  My beloved Dalmatian, Chipper, began having a series of strokes.  By the third day we had to call the vet, and he lapsed into a coma in my lap.  I sat there for five hours, legs numb, railing at God.

The poor dog was diagnosed with encephalitis, a brain swelling.  The trauma hit us both in the face, like a bowl of ice cold water.  In my grief, I had more questions than answers.  I will never forget that day, the darkness, the heartache.

After a few Reiki “treatments,” I found myself becoming more depressed by the day.  I would have days that were so dark?  I couldn’t move, get out of bed, even feed the animals.  I tried to reach out to others, but no one had a clue what I was talking about.  Black crows followed me everywhere, and I mean a murder of crows.  Snakes were found in my kitchen, one dead, with his head sticking up as if he were warning:

Something wicked this way comes.

To be continued.

The End Won’t Be For Everyone

Here we are, it’s July 9, 2019-and every single thing that Q predicted, future proves past, is coming to light.  Life is never like you imagine it will one day be-you lose people and places along the way.  One of my favorite bible verse says that what we bind on earth will be bound in Heaven; what we loose in this lifetime will be loosed in Heaven.   I saw it today-bold and big, right in front of my eyes!

The reason we (patriots and Christians) are unable to red pill, or awaken others is because we all have a choice.  The Word is ripe with the fact that God gave us a choice in the matter of our salvation.  We must choose to follow Jesus, we must choose to follow the truth and nothing but, and we need to decide-once and for eternity-which side we are on.

In Revelations John speaks of a time when Jesus will cut through the ungodly, the demons, the hypocrites and pedovores:  I believe that time is fast approaching, and what struck me when I had my aha  moment was this:  despite my best attempts at red pilling family members and friends alike?  No one budged.  Not an inch.

God is asking us to turn to Him.

No matter what you have done, He will forgive you if you turn to Him in repentance.

The news is grim, and it will only get worse.  Choose this day whom you shall serve!

As for me and my house, we will follow the Lord.