I Want to go to Mars

Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I used this song in a previous blog this week. I am so enamored of this woman, and it appears as if she wrote the words for all of us, and none of us at the very same time. What I do know is that she knows the pain of betrayal, and possibly the pain of rejection, loneliness and addiction.

So, this is part two of my testimony. There will be an ending, as with all things-but I haven’t written it yet as my life has just begun to unfold. When you accept Christ, you die to this world. I wish I knew that as a child, banished to the kingdom of naught. It is more than enough that I know this now.

I write this blog in order to come alongside my brothers and sisters, the words written by the Holy Spirit and all glory going to God-my writing has taken on a life of its own-I am just the vessel in which He uses to communicate His message of hope and goodwill to all of His children.

“People” have never, ever understood me. Until I read Ezekiel I had no clue that the reason I didn’t fit in was because I was literally not a part of the game called life-I had no interest in popularity, no interest in money, not one iota of interest in what others find interesting. And although there have been times of extreme emotional pain? Each day in bed, each bout of depression and each earth shattering scenario has made me the person I am today-and I like her. I like her very much.

As a matter of fact? It wasn’t until very recently, and due to my salvation that I realized that God doesn’t make junk. My mother had some mental health issues related to her own upbringing. As a young child, I recognized the importance of pleasing her-and I did everything humanly possible to make her realize my profound love for her. I cleaned the house and took care of her Saturday hangovers. Oh, the joy I felt when she called me her little angel! That all changed when I reached the age of 11 and wanted my own friends, my own life.

“Only whores play street hockey,” she said to me one morning as I was placing her Tylenol and coffee on the side of the bed.

I didn’t understand. My heart crumbled into a million pieces and I had to do a double take-this wasn’t the mother I knew and why in the world would she call me a whore? The answers lay in her own insecurities, her need for control and her Borderline Personality Disorder-not officially diagnosed, but I know it wasn’t Narcissism because later in her life she changed, dramatically, and I knew we were loved.

My relationship with her in my formative years was indescribable. I remember picking her Tiger Lillys, telling her I loved her, begging her to love me-but as I grew her resentment of me took on a life of its own. She verbally abused me on a daily basis, then wondered aloud why I had no self esteem. This is when the shameful voices began, so ingrained that I distinctly remember the day that they stopped.

It was a few years after I got sober. I sat down at my computer early one morning, and instinctively knew that something had changed. But what? I called out to Jesus and asked Him, what is happening, am I losing my mind?

No. I was regaining perspective. Gone were the taunting, cruel and unusual whispers of persecution.

You’re a piece of shit. You can’t do anything right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lose some weight you pig, why can’t you touch anything without it turning to crap? Nobody loves you, why would they? You don’t deserve love, no whore does.

It was constant and I drank to get rid of the ghosts. I drank to feel something but less than, to quiet the rage and the thoughts that led me to weeks in bed at a time-depression so severe I often thought of offing myself-I just didn’t have the courage.

A few years ago I went to a doctor’s appointment-a specialist. I had been measured at 4’11” my entire life. When the nurse called out 5’1″ I thought she was talking to someone other than myself.

“Umm, can you take that again? I hardly think I’ve grown two inches in the past year,” I laughed.

She did take it again and with the same result.

It finally hit me like a ton of bricks. The shame, self loathing and mocking voices had kept me hunched over. As I grew in my recovery and healing, I stood straight for the first time in 50 years. My self loathing had been so horrific that I had literally crippled myself.

In tomorrow’s blog I will address my rebirth as a born again and how Jesus took me by the hand and taught me the greatest lesson I have learned.

Keep hope alive, dear ones. God is real and true and loyal and He wants you to know that above the din and darkness of this world? There is nothing but love awaiting you.

Adrift

In your darkest hours, in your finest grief-this is where Jesus does His absolute bestest ever work.  Of course, when you are adrift in a sea of confusion, rage and betrayal?  You don’t want to think about how strong or wise or ethereal His love-you are way too busy crying, railing or even vicariously throwing inanimate objects at the wall.  Your heart hurts so bad you swear it will break, the tears so salty dehydration sets in.

The lights are out.  There is nothing of comfort, you can’t see your way through the pain.  But here’s the rub:  the only way around the feels is through the feels.  In other words, to quote Richard Gannon, “you gots to feel the feels.”

As I hike the Spicebush trail, I wonder at the miracle that God still loves me, despite my Irish sighing and in spite of my ineptitude. I am an Israelite, awash in the desert of my own making-complaining about this or that.  I catch myself, and ask forgiveness of Him.  I have always had exactly what I needed at every turn of the page.  In recent times, God has blessed us beyond measure-my husband’s new job, my Social Security disability granted, and, more importantly?  We are in love and, for the most part, healthy.

I always turn to Jesus, eventually.  I have struggled with depression and anxiety my entire life.  I wish I had learned to practice this habit much earlier in life.  Perhaps it may have spared me the alcoholism, drug addiction and suicidal ideation.

I wanted to end my life because I thought myself a loser.  A miscreant.  A nobody.

I couldn’t keep a friend, let alone a job.  I knew I was different, that I didn’t fit in, and that for the most part I wouldn’t be missed.  The emotional abuse endured at the hands of the people I loved and trusted the most would prove to be a deal breaker.

I broke, into a millions little pieces not unlike the mess you leave when you break a Christmas ornament.

Shattered.

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I lost my friendships, my family, my identity in Christ.

I thought I was coming out of the woods, and I convinced myself that nothing bad would ever happen to me again because I was a child of God and I figured He’s seen me through the worst of it.

I was dreadfully wrong,

With the help of a mighty God I made it through each and every hairpin turn, but just as I was getting my bearings-another tragedy, another slip into isolation and chaos.  I noticed this, yes, but I also paid mind to the fact that with each and every arrow flung in my direction (the persecution comes from Satan, but God has the control) the more courageous I became.

One evening I called out His name, I couldn’t take another self sabotaging thought-my depression had resurfaced.

Please, Psalm 91…the arrows that fly by night…all that sort of thing.  HELP ME JESUS!!!!

And just as if I were taking out the trash, my body arched-my head flew back.  I had momentarily thought of that lion, the one who roars at the enemy-

I.  Am.  The.  Storm!!!

I.   Am.   The.   Storm.

I roared quietly, then not so quietly.

Together, Jesus and I are building my life back up-brick by brick.  He sustains me by the Living Waters and wipes the tears from my furrowed brows.

And then…I rally my senses, join forces with my soul and pick of my cross.

For I am His and for that?  Oh for that I am well pleased.

I Must be Hercules…

What is up with the folks who say God doesn’t give you more than you can handle?  I mean, even Moses couldn’t handle His mission without losing it, and as a matter of fact?  David deemed himself unworthy for his tasks as well.  Who handles a cancer diagnoses, the death of a child, or even the loss of a career?

Hey, you have the wrong person!!!

We cry out to God, then have the unmitigated gall to suppose that He doesn’t know what He’s doing.  That being said, the world is full of beautiful and very horrible things: the only way, truth and life is literally the only way.

I will be writing about my testimony in an upcoming blog, but for now I want to talk about what we do when our world, as we knew it, comes crushing to a bitter end.  How do we pick up the pieces?  How do we not put a bullet through our skulls, or have the faith that our persecution has a distinct beginning and end?

God will not ask you to suffer indefinitely.  

We need to know that there is always a purpose for trials, persecution.  When I think of how my life has been completely transformed (no, not saying I’m a saint) after a lifetime of abuse, despair and hopelessness?   My gratitude for the peace He has given me knows no bounds.  I mean, I went my entire life without a diagnoses of autism, which looking back?  I still catch my breath when I realize that not one single adult, teacher, doctor or family member caught this?  I grieve for the child and young adult who struggled so badly she turned to drug and drink.   Like my brother says, mom and dad were in the midst of their own struggles, their personal demons.  But how, you ask, how in tarnation can a child grow to become a woman and then some without the skills necessary for a healthy and productive life?

The answer will always be Jesus, no matter the question.

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As we drove to church this morning, I thought of my first day of kindergarten.  My golden retriever, Chipper, was so distraught that after she and mom dropped me off?  She ran back to the school and jumped through the screen window-  this happened twice, and after that she was no longer allowed to accompany us.

To my surprise, a tear dropped down my cheek to my chin, from my chin to my poncho.  I believe that Chipper knew full well that her human had some disabilities.  I also believe God sent her for that very reason, to love and nourish and protect.  She was the love of my life, and it is no surprise that her little brother lay at my feet, Jesse Bocephus Happy Hoffmananoff.  His love and devotion to me is not unlike his predecessors, but Jesse is special in a way that defies explanation; and he has been loyal and true and beloved, during the hardest six years of my life.

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I slowly succumb to the nurturing only Jesus can orchestrate, my sweetest boy at my side.

I marvel at what my beloved Jesus has brought me through-yet I know that this newest storm will not be the last.  As followers of Christ we will know the pain and isolation Jesus knew at the foot of the cross.

There is a beginning and an end, the pain does not endureth forever.   If we pick up our cross with the foreknowledge that we have the Holy Spirit in the stead of Jesus, and what the power behind that truly is?

We can do all things through Christ, who strengthens us.

After church I did some researching and finally reached out to a complete stranger on Twitter-I know I was led to him, because he gave me answers to questions that have plagued me for the last few years.

John F. Kennedy, Jr. is dead.

Dwain find me in the kitchen, regrieving Junior’s death, and beating myself up for my lack of discernment when Jesus whispers-you had hope, there is nothing wrong with hope.

The stranger tells me I should take a break, leave the truther community for a bit.  I am pondering this when my husband runs into the house.

You are NOT going to believe this!!!!

It is 42 degrees here in Pennsylvania.  My husband had given me a set of dragonfly and lights, of the solar variety.  I keep it outside during the day to charge, then bring it inside for the light show at night-red, blue, violet, yellow, red, blue…so surreal.

“Look honey,” my husband says.  “I was getting your light out of the garden and look what flew out of the ground!”

With that said he released the most beautiful red dragonfly.

This is how it has been for years-His presence made visible through the eyes of a child.

Pick Up Your Cross

Ah, Wednesday morning and I sit in the chair by the fireplace and try to once again get my bearings. This is Polly, a woman I have followed since the day I woke up, and saw my sister and many of my friends for what they were: slimy snakes in need of a bitch slap. Thing is? I don’t like violence, in any form.

The fact is that the likelihood of you exposing the serpents who hide in the darkness is akin to cutting off your nose despite your face-it will only lead to darker days ahead.

It is finished. Kaput. Over. I have walked away from the mess called my family and I can tell you I have not a tear left to cry. I hold my head high as I speak my peace-please, Craig, don’t contact us again.

In my naivete I thought I was helping my brother to come to the truth. I prayed, good grief there are people praying for my family all over the world. God put His foot down-do not throw your pearls before swine, my beloved.

There are times that we are asked to sacrifice what we deem most important in this life. We were never promised an easy road, but we are promised salvation.

I am numb to any vibrational pull at this moment. I find peace in the notion that soon this will all be over; soon we will find ourselves in a new dimension of time and space-I like to think of it as Heaven, yes, Heaven on this earth.

So take the arrows that fly by night and return them tenfold. Speak your truth until you are blue in the face. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re crazy, certifiably so-they are running scared, and they want you to pay the price for their stupidity, their darkness.

Save yourself. Pray for your enemies and rest assured that you will enter the Kingdom of Heaven as the meek shall inherit the earth.

The STORM Has Arrived

What if God took the evil, and not His people away?

Today was rough. I could feel the persecution from every fucking angle, and let me tell you-I acted accordingly. I raged. I wept bitter tears. I reached out to the Prince of Peace-and His grace was sufficient-oh yes, it was. After an argument with a family member, the last three years came at me all at once: the stigma, the arrogance, the hive mentality that leads people to abuse anyone who dares question the narrative. We are an army of digital soldiers, and we have paid the price for sticking our necks out for our duly elected president.

Oh, the humanity.

The left screams piercing adjectives in our direction on a daily basis. Most of the Deplorables are censored on every venue, our phones won’t work, our computers shut down. Our families hate us, our so called friends are long gone-it hasn’t been a walk in the park.

This is exactly how Jesus felt before His crucifixion.

I mean, I wasn’t there, but the Holy Bible tells us this. Here is where God asks us to pick up our cross, to put on the full armor that only his children have access to-and though we are not fighting against flesh and blood, there are days we feel as if we have, indeed, been tied to the whipping post.

Pic taken from the 8kun channel. That’s right, Ricky is an Anon. He looks like we feel.

We are on the eve of change, beloveds. Things, as they say, are about to get real. We are millions strong and we are taking our country back. We are putting God back into the schools. We demand unity and see our brothers and sisters as family of the best kind. There is real love, support and loyalty among us-we pray for your families, and bleed just as you bleed.

That’s right. AOC stood and gave an Oscar worthy performance.

Now, I have to get something off of my chest.

We are SICK of the HATE.

Don’t you DARE try and tell me that the infantile temper tantrums of the blinded supporters of a political machine that finally got stopped-dead in its tracks isn’t due to mass ignorance and in some cases lack of moral turpitude.

[They] are guilty of horrendous crimes.

Tomorrow you will see the beginning of an American Revolution.

Washington will cross the Delaware river in a specific type of boat.

A Durham boat.