Momma never told me there’s be days like this, and that’s because momma didn’t know. I often wonder what my beloved parents in Heaven think, when they look down at all of the despair, the outright terror and searing pain. And then I remember, there are no tears, no pain, not even a stubbed toe! in Abba’s Heaven.
My parents know that their children are living in the end days. I often look up and say, “it’s alright, mom and dad, Jesus has this.” And again, I remember that they have a totally different perspective in that realm.
I spent the last week being red-pilled myself, and it wasn’t pretty. I look back and think to myself, what the hell just happened? Where am I? Who am I? And the answer is always the same: I am in the arms of our Creator-no matter what the world is doing, saying or debating. I need to remember from whence I came-and remind myself that I was born for such a time as this.
For the last two years I have immersed myself in the real life battle between good and evil; played out in living technicolor on YouTube, Twitter and the evening news. I have neglected my family, my husband and myself. More disturbing, I set off on a journey I thought was imperative, only to find out that it was a drop in the ocean, an atom among molecules if you will.
I thought I was following the right Patriots, turns out I wasn’t. I feel betrayed, but schooled as well. What was I thinking? Me, a puny human-and Jesus, THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD! Don’t misunderstand me, I had the correct information alright-it was the PAYtriots who had me, and by the balls. I don’t believe in coincidences, I never have. And so it was, one day last week, when a man who plays a pretty important role in the NSA and current administration, happened to be tweeting about the same information that had me awake at night: who was this Dustin Nemos (aka, Dustin Craig Krieger) who came out with the Amazon bestseller about QAnon? And more importantly, why was he taking credit for the entire Great Awakening? Why did it bother me, I mean, what do I care? But here’s the thing: my conscience couldn’t, wouldn’t let it go another minute.
I teamed up with this man Morpheus on Twitter. I knew nothing of him, only that I had been following him for two years. I asked him his opinion on the matter-what transpired between us was a friendship I could never have foreseen. He knew things. He knew things no one else seemed to know. He was a bad ass for sure, and he set me straight on quite a few things. We worked together for a week, had a good laugh or two, and shared our testimonies. Actually, he shared his-turns out he had died at the hands of a vicious gang, as a young man. The brawl began in a bar and ended in a playground across the street. And as he lay there, his vision changed-he saw himself, on the ground, bleeding, dying, and alone.
Enter Jesus, stage left.
He did not go on to explain the private exchange, but suffice it to say? I believe every word. Morpheus had a near death experience, and it changed him in profound and intangible ways. He left a mark on my soul, and for that I am grateful. More importantly? He reminded me of what is truly important, and that God will give you the strength you need to endure the plans He has made.
And so it was that Abba, Jesus and I made a new plan-one in which I get to live out loud, play in the woods, work in my garden, write at whim. I no longer carry my pc from room to room. I don’t watch videos, I don’t tweet my fool head off.
You see, if you have the faith of a minute mustard seed? You can achieve good and great things-by praying, sharing and loving the God who created you with all of your heart and soul.
I did my job.
I planted the crap out of that seed.
I will be taking my readers through the entire time line of events, beginning with the video featured below. I pray this comforts and enlightens you-I will be supplying you with information from the No B.S. Zone, as I’ve learned my lesson about who and who not to trust. See? I just made it so much easier for you. 🙂
I will leave no stone unturned.
The choice to know will be yours.