False Alarm

I am attempting to get my bearings, as what I have just experienced has left me sickened, without hope or desire.  I am shutting down.  I indeed shut down two days ago, when the latest Holiday loomed, as I had recently let my mother in law know that we would not be attending their Thanksgiving festivities.

And, as is the case with all narcissists, my husband has taken my dread of the Winter months to a new low.  A kick below the belt.  He achieved his annihilation of me by telling me that I had ruined his holidays because I am a selfish brat.

I am out of here, and for the life of me I cannot figure out why I kept forgiving, praying he would change, never hurt me again.  And as per usual, there would be promises made, promises broken.  You see, narcs want your attention-when they don’t get it, they think nothing of the getting the wrong kind of attention.  In all actuality, I was having a peaceful and meaningful day.  The hot shower pelts felt so good on my aching body.  I decided to dress up and even put on the dreaded makeup.  I looked forward to going downstairs and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

I played Pandora, played with my kitten, even a touch of Chanel No. 5.  I got into the word, and asked for forgiveness for my attitude over the last few days. The lack of food over the last twenty four hours had been a fast of sorts, I supposed, resulting in a clarity and spiritual peace I hadn’t felt in months. I was feeling content, and didn’t mind the loneliness.  As I stepped into the living room, my husband stepped out.  I went upstairs, he came down.  I was thinking he needed his space.  I worried that he was feeling guilty, as anyone would after treating another human being like he did.

Jesus, please speak to his heart.  I don’t want him to hurt.

I went to check on him, and that’s when I was accused of ruining his life, his family, our churches and friendships.  His eyes turned black, the vitriol unnerving.

He did feel guilty, but he projected that guilt on to me, his wife of 30 years, during a time when she was incredibly vulnerable, teetering on the edge of admitting herself to Philhaven.

 

 

 

As we argued, I could see it-the Jezebel spirit, alive and well.  I am voiceless, still sick, haven’t had a thing to eat in days.  My blood pressure goes nuclear, along with my rage.  When I am injured, I am eerily capable of pouncing back-with the force of an untamed Lion-yet today, it was different.

Today I fought back with facts.  In the past, the gaslighting-at the hands of some of the most proficient narcissists know to mankind-I would be confused, caught off guard with the projection.  I was depressed, anxious and my PTSD was triggered each and every fucking time.  I would lay in bed for days, punishing myself when I was the one who needed self love and nurture.  My nature is one of love, compassion and fierce loyalty.  I can be irrationally Irish at times, cripplingly sad at others.

Today was not that day.

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As weak and fatigued as I felt, the lion roared.  Armed with facts, my faith and a raging migraine-I spat back better than I got.

 I have no family, not a soul to spend the holidays with.  I get morbidly depressed at this time of year, and you are fully aware that I will not spend one more moment with abusers.  Yet you care for me by completely ignoring me for two days, while I languish in bed with the flu and withdrawals?

You are blaming me for the actions of your son, who almost put me in a psych ward, and I am to fault because?

Did I hold a gun to your parents’ heads, making them neglect and abuse me; treat me like the most insignificant part of their life?  Did I ask your parents to tell rumors to the neighbors, so I could anticipate the shunning that followed?

I am betrayed and forbade to enter the kingdom of peace.

I don’t know what lies ahead, none of us do.  I will not be a victim, that train left the station, I will fight back with all I have in me.  If that means leaving him for an apartment in the country, just me and my dog, well then?

I pray He will grant me the strength.

I pray that Dwain will open his heart, and listen to the God who loves Him.  I pray for better, brighter days ahead~

 

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~

You Talking to Me?

Nothing like having your smile ripped right off of your lips.

There is nothing in this life that irritates me more than labels. People simply cannot be defined by one trait, be it color of skin or disability-we are multi faceted, and extremely complicated creatures.

And then there’s husbands.

I put them in a category by themselves, as often is the case that I find myself absolutely flabbergasted that I have not, indeed, murdered my life partner and then, as an afterthought? Cut him into pieces.

Sure, it’s funny NOW.

Before you think me full blown mental, please listen to my side of the story. My husband is, shall we say, extremely sensitive. 24/7. This used to drive me to the point of calling my shrink, hysterical because I thought I had done something to displease him. And, back then, I was in recovery from my demons, but also extremely codependent on Dwain.

I let alot slide, trust me. And I only now realize how very blessed I am that he didn’t leave my drunken Irish ass. HOWEVER, there are power struggles each and every day-and it can and does get fugly.

When I’m sick, I don’t get depressed like some-I become hair triggered temper itself, and even my pets walk on eggshells during “my time of the month.” My mother was a screamer, and as embarrassing as it is to admit? Due to extreme duress under which most would be institutionalized -I tend to rant and rave. I am prone to punching the living shit out of inanimate objects, or, say, threaten my casts-in a nice way, of course.

It does take quite a bit to blow my fuse (God has changed my heart as well as my impatience) but every so often the conditions present themselves to be nothing less than a perfect storm. That’s when all bets are off.

True story.

Getting back to the subject of labeling others. I have been emotionally manipulated by the people I love most for a lifetime. My mother excelled in this department, and to this day it rattles my cage-no, sends me into orbit, when my husband practices this malignant behavior. I am much wiser for the years, however it hurts me to the core when he belittles me by categorizing the reasons for treating me like crap. There. I said it.

“Oh, well, you’re stoned so…….”

“Obviously, you’re in a mood, so I’ll just….”

“Never mind.” As if I would break out the machete had he uttered word one.

I admit there was a time when I would beg him to love me, or at least treat me with some modicum of respect. Our faith has transformed our weaknesses, mostly, into strengths and given us compassion for those that struggle with disharmony on a day to day basis. We get it. We do.

Back to what happens after Dwain says something incredibly stupid: I almost always laugh, at first. I laugh because I can’t believe he’s being serious, and because I know it will be my last laugh for days, in some cases -weeks. Case in point: it is 3:30 in the afternoon. He enters the living room and sees that I am content to be writing, even have a smile on my face.

“I want to pack all that shit up, and I’m not waiting until the end of the day to do it.”

He has leverage because my computer took a crap two weeks ago, immediately after my blog about Ms. Belenoff. I do not like being indebted to anyone, especially my husband. Does he really need to pack his computer now? My guess is no, and here we go again.

And here’s the rub-I have a zero tolerance for bullshit of any kind. I absolutely refuse to let things of this nature slide, no one gets away with belittling or manipulating this girl, sorry. This drives him to frustration, at which point I grab my things and isolate myself for the duration.

I know, I know-the bible tells us not to go to bed angry. These words are in my VOWS people. In the 28 years of my marriage I have yet to practice this rule. Stubborn yes, a doormat? Nope.

A few weeks ago our pastor brought this subject up. He preached a lovely sermon about the subject, and the importance of forgiveness.

I can’t tell you I’ll never go to bed angry again, but my God forgave me-He made me as white as snow.

Thing is, same goes for my thug of a husband.

Always, always forgive. Even if it’s a major pain in the anal cavity, forgive.

Her Bloodstained Hands

I am fresh out of Wheaties, too angry to speak. At some point in the game, you expect to gain a point or two-from my perspective a half-point would be lovely.

Fact is, I don’t see the world waking up, not from my sleepy town of 500. The young’uns are too busy partying, the old timers too tired to care. And many of those in between and in betwixt are tied up having families, working and enjoying their lives. We are coming to the point of no return. I figure you may want to see or hear these things from me, not the evening news.

Forewarned is forearmed. Viewer discretion is advised and PLEASE, no children-this is enough to scar them for life.

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The above is what Mr. Tony Podesta deems “art.” In his humble estimation “art is documentation,” and from what we see here? He demonstrates an evil nature, the down and dirty demonic kind. I first saw these pictures three years ago; and haven’t gone looking since. I don’t watch the videos or read the tweets that involve precious children being brutally tortured in an effort to kill two birds with one stone: adrenochrome and blood sacrifice.

This is old news. The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.

Never forget who is in control, who loves you more than words could possibly aspire to convey. This putridity will all be gone as the rats scramble. But I have news-there is NOTHING under the sun that will remain hidden.

The rats are gonna pay, baby. And soon? [They] won’t be able to walk down the streets.

Rally Round the Family…

Before I alarm my readers, I want to say that I wrote this in December of last year.  If you are a regular, your eyes would be bugging, you’d be thinking –

For crying out loud?  Is she left unattended on a regular basis, and if so, why?

That reminds me of the time my step son was pulling into the driveway one day last Spring.  I was in the garden as he turned into the driveway.  And then, I wasn’t.  Yep, stepped on a rake-just like you see in the movies-and knocked myself into a concussion.  To this very day?  I mind my business around them, try not to get too close.  Sneaky bastards.

This is the season of my content.  And that is precisely what I was thinking as I stood in my garden and thrilled to the Monarchs and hummingbirds.  I was feeling pretty overcome with emotion, gratitude on a level that is hard to put into words.  This was all I had dreamed of and more.  Not just the garden…

And then, all hell broke loose.

I bent down to watch a particular butterfly, caught by her beauty and grace.  It took approximately three seconds for me to realize that a mother effing praying mantis was eating her head.  There were muffled cries, lots of cursing mother nature, and, inevitably?  The hysterical spraying of said praying mantis with dawn dish soap I usually reserve for my roses.

On that note, have a fab Sunday and hope you enjoy~

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Life goes along at warp speed until something stops you dead in your tracks: As was the case Sunday morning, after a full weekend of loving and socializing, the enemy came to take his due-you don’t think he isn’t out there trying to devour everything good in your life? Au contraire, mon amies! But here’s the good news-call out to Jesus, and you are free. He can’t hurt you if you are covered in the full armor of God.

But what about those times when evil does strike? Well, Abba will protect you in ways you couldn’t imagine, and that’s why I’m alive and writing this blog-my Lord and Savior sent His angels, and they protected me from a massive head injury and internal bleeding.

Just out of Dwain’s truck, exhausted from a weekend of frivolity, I could barely pick up my feet. I had promised my husband that I would collect the myriad of dog toys that lay around our yard, at the whim of my golden retriever, who thinks he has to entertain the grasshoppers and blue jays with his cacophony of babies. It’s so sweet, until it isn’t.

I had my purse in one hand, my drink in the other, AND I was carrying six, that’s SIX dog toys to boot. We have concrete stairs, no railing, and the stairs are ridiculously dangerous. It did not escape my mind, while sitting in the ER, that I had traipsed up and down said steps while drunk, high on cocaine, and worse. Never once even tripped. But yesterday was different. My boots caught on Jesse’s blue elephant, and down I went. I had no hands to put out, and I landed on my noggin.

I immediately called for Dwain, who could hear me, but couldn’t find me. Pain so severe I thought I would vomit, I remained perfectly still until my husband arrived on the scene. I am an EMT, and a CNA-I have volunteered in the Emergency Room, with hospice and prison ministries-I have seen it all and maintained my composure. This is the precise reason I am prone to freaking out when I get hurt-I simply know too much.

Head injury? I was out of my mind hysterical. It didn’t help when my husband picked up my head and his eyes bulged out of his-

“My GOD, is it THAT bad?,” I wail. He didn’t answer, he was too busy putting my ample white behind in his truck, grabbing ice and driving like a bat out of hell, towards the ER I had recently walked out of-after calling out the employees no less. As I walked in, I immediately placed my eyes on Dawn, who calmed me as she directed me towards the door. I knew where to go all right. I just didn’t know if they would help me, or hurt me. They had so much power at that moment.

A friend of mine, Katie, was the charge nurse, praise God. She gave me a hug and an ice pack, told me the doctor would soon be in. As Dwain sat on the bed, this came over the PA System:

ATTENTION: SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER. SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER.

“Fabulous,” I murmured. And then it hit me, we were the only people there, aside from an 83 year old man with a dizzy spell. What the Harry???? They were talking about me for crying out loud! I couldn’t figure this out as the knot on my head was the size of a peach, but the wound wasn’t bad, it bled very little.

Dr. Ammons didn’t waste any time checking me over. I was told it would hurt like hell for a few days, but that I was extremely fortunate as if I had hit one inch below, I could have had serious eye trauma. If my cranium had hit a few inches lower? I could have knocked out my front teeth. But I knew about head trauma, and I was frightened. I kept what I knew to myself, forgetting that my man is a first responder.

And so it was, that I woke this morning with a shiner the size of Texas, and a headache to beat the band.

And because of His love? I’ll be strutting my stuff, sooner than you can say the words accident prone.

I Came To Win

I have always been competitive. There was an “incident” when I was about thirteen years of age. My brother and I were having a ping pong game on the deck of the Canoe Island Lodge beside the beautiful Lake George-to this day my favorite place in the universe. We played back home, and may I humbly say we were good? We were damn good.

I lost the match. Before I could even think (I can still see the look on his face) I hurled my paddle as hard as I could, in his direction. To this very day it haunts me to think of what would happen had he not moved out of the way? The joke was on me, as there wasn’t another paddle, and that ended our sibling rivalry for the week.

I peed my pants after beating Kathy Quarto in a mile race. The girl had plagued me from the moment I met her, literally. She was one notch above in academics, a few notches in the athletic field. I just couldn’t beat the bitch, until one day I’d had enough. I remember the looks on my team member’s faces-shock, hilarity and pity. As happens in marathons and other fields of energy expenditure, one may lose control of their bowls after pushing their bodies to the limit. I wanted to explain this to my crew mates, but I was too busy running past them, peeing my pants the entire way to the locker room.

Good times.

I had the highest average on my bowling team in high school, Mom bought me a bright purple ball, and bag set for my efforts. After winning my trophy, my bestest ever friend, Denise threw it at me and let’s just say-she didn’t miss. I walked with a limp for a whole semester.

And yes, she was one of many Jezebels who hurt me and are no longer a part of my life.

Nanner, nanner.

No, Barry, the economy is not your accomplishment. Vomit, belch, fart.

So, to finally get to the point of this blog, and that is to tell you I did not spend the last three years of my life immersed in the 4 and 8kun boards to lose. No siree dee.

Year of the BOOMERANG
https://youtu.be/RerQ7uPv9nM

Wowza. [THEY] didn’t want THIS video uploaded.

Wink. Wink.

My Weapon of Choice…..

Scrolling through videos this morning, waiting for inspiration. This video caught my attention, and it is just perfect for the topic. What is your weapon of choice when the haters are getting you down? How do you escape the bullets shot in your direction? What do you do when cruelty and evil darken your door?

Of course, my weapon is the full armor of God. At least that is the first place I go…….for strength, love and compassion-wisdom, grace and peace. I
submerge myself in the scriptures, and there I find truth, a rare commodity in this day and age: but always on pointe, never changing-it comforts me to know that Jesus knows my heart, inside and out. I have faced challenges this past year that would break Hercules, yet I am stronger by the minute, so much so that I am not the same person I was mere weeks, months or years ago.

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He keeps me strong. On the straight and narrow. Do I slip up? Often. Does He forgive me? Indubitably.

And after I come out of my bible-induced trance? Why, I dance…..of course!

Constant As a Northern Star

Constantly in the darkness?

I was minding my own business the other day when I received a text from a friend. Clearly upset, she reached out to me for advice.

“Sally’s husband is going to a church where they DON’T BELIEVE IN JESUS.”

Well, I Sherlocked the shit out of that church, and she was correct. The saddest fact of the matter is that a few of the people at our old church are now members of a New Age, Prosperity church. The first thing that caught my eye?

We accept ALL people despite their beliefs or sexual orientation.

Now, as an investigative journalist who works for free? I wanted no part of the rabbit hole. I didn’t have the time, access to a computer or even the energy to do my research. I sat down with my cup of coffee and the nudging came…the Holy Spirit said, “Not so fast, you have a phone.”

Argh!

Gimme a break!!! Why?

Now, I don’t believe in coincidence. I don’t worry anymore because I know that if God draws me to it, He will see me through it.

And that is most certainly what He did. While shopping on Friday-I came across a book that I had been unable to afford. Although the store had a vast selection? This was the only book I took note of, and I grabbed it before another soul could see it-I knew right away that this was the answer to my prayers about how to discern and understand the times we are living in-the religious worldviews of our day, and the Search for Truth.

When we understand the ideology behind the battle for our hearts and minds, we have a firm foundation from which we can better navigate the secular world. I dove into the non fiction with a passionate furor-and immediately knew that the information would be shared in the next day’s blog.

Source-SECULAR HUMANISM

  • Theology-Atheism.
  • Philosophy-Naturalism
  • Ethics-Ethical Relativism
  • Biology-Darwinian Evolution
  • Psychology-Monistic Self Actualization
  • Sociology-Non-Traditional World State Ethical Society
  • Law-Positive Law
  • Politics-World Government-Globalism
  • Economics-Socialism
  • History-Historical Evolution

I understood why God allowed my venturing into the New Age four years ago. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was being given an opportunity to share a complex but key part of the puzzle. I must note that the book, written by David A. Noebel, was written in 1991.

You mean, I could have figured all of this out in 1991?

No, I couldn’t have. I was too busy shoving my cranium up my anal cavity: partying, paying attention to what other people thought, but giving no credence to my own intelligence. This is key, because I want you to understand that Jesus leads us in His timing, not ours. We simply don’t have the time to beat ourselves up for the mess we as a people allowed to slip through the cracks. And because of Project Mockingbird we were not given the truth, far from it-that is the Illuminati’s biggest fear! The last thing they want and the thing they fear most is us waking up.

News you can use.

Now let us compare the above information to that of Biblical Christianity :

  • Theology-Theism
  • Philosophy-Supernaturalism
  • Ethics-Ethical Absolutes
  • Biology-Special Creationism
  • Psychology-Dualism
  • Sociology-Home- Church- State
  • Law-Biblical/Natural Law
  • Politics-Justice, Freedom, Order
  • Economics-Stewardship of Property
  • History-Historical Resurrection

What is the dominating worldview? Secular Humanism. We find this in our colleges and universities. We as Christians considering higher education must be well versed in the Humanistic worldview or risk losing our Christian perspective by default.

In the words of Dr. Fred Schwarz-

The colleges and universities are the nurseries of communism. The ranks of the communists are replenished each and every year by the equivalent of the college draft that maintains the supply of professional football, baseball and basketball players. In every country, the leader of the communist forces is almost always the one recruited as a student.

Included in this Globalist network? Universities, news media, entertainment industry, judiciary, federal bureaucracy, business medicine, law, psychology, sociology, arts, public schools and Congress.

We are all given a choice in this human landscape-far too many young Christians are ill prepared to lead. As it was in my case, the vast majority have no concept of the components of their world view and stand in darkness perpetuated by left-wing professors.

What is the answer?

In darkness there is no choice. It is LIGHT that enables us to see the differences between things; and it is CHRIST that gives us LIGHT.

-J.C. & A.W. Hare

Love Is Wild……

What is love, really? And how do you know if you’re on the right track, if you are loving someone enough, or …in a way that tells them they are loved?

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not anger,
nor does it boast.

This is what we find in our bibles, and make no mistake-God meant what he said, but how many of us can rise to that place? For me? Love is compassion. Love is validation. Love may take it up a notch or two-as lovers are passionate, and the frenzy can make us crazy. My husband and I still rant and rave, but at the end of the day? Love, somehow prevails. I remember not so long ago the days of begging him to love me, and now the tables have turned-love doesn’t hold anything over your head, and if you wax and wane poetic, but have no understanding or compassion, what does it amount to? Dust. Dust in the wind.

True love allows the other person breathing space. It listens, nods its’ head in sorrow, puts you in the shoes of the lovee.

Don’t you speak over my words. My reality is hard won, and I won’t trade my newfound jewels for stones-not today, not ever~