I wasn’t sure if this was the version of the song that I wanted, but man am I glad I thought it through. Miss K.D. Lang hits ever note, and then some. I love her range, her twang-she’s chicken soup for the soul music.
Speaking of souls.
Mother of God this was a rough one-and I didn’t see it coming, to be frank. Giving God alone the glory, I have managed to raise my head above the raging river that is my life. Mercy me, shook me right out of my loafers.
I want this blog to offer hope to those who are suffering this season; I want to pick and choose each word, so I know that the love of Jesus that flows into me will then trickle on to you, beloved.
I lay in bed, for five straight days. Not so sure, but pretty sure it was the flu: I haven’t felt like this since, well since last year’s flu season. I won’t even whisper about getting a flu shot, and would advise all mothers to educate themselves on the horror of what they are injecting into our children. I pray with each passing day that Donald J. Trump will make headway in the battle against evil, transhumanism and genocidal ideations-you get my drift?
Sorry, I get worked up about it. Anyway, my husband and I did not attend my mother in law’s Thanksgiving. In an effort to end the abuse, I have gone no contact and have felt much better ever since. My husband appeared to be supportive, but the day came and he was forlorn. Still angry about a miscommunication between us, he let me have it the other day. Twisted every word I said, and slew nomenclatures I would prefer not to share-making turkey day the winner of the most God awful holiday ever award.
My husband doesn’t do sick. He says that seeing me sick makes him think of my mother in the final days of her life. I mean, I was dehydrated and depressed, wrapped up in a ball of wet sheets-nothing to eat for three days, nightmare.
And then I felt well enough to open my King James bible. I sought solace, comfort and wisdom. Yet because of the trauma inflicted? I felt as if God were angry with me, that Jesus didn’t love me anymore. I am just now shaking that notion out of my head, as satan is the father of all lies-and this was persecution in the form of spiritual warfare I have not experienced thus far. It was if there was a struggle for my soul. I fought back like the tigress God taught me to be. I asked for prayer, I actually told my loved ones that I was struggling-and I never do that. I don’t trust people, but let’s just say that Jesus showed me that the beloveds in my life are real and true and precious.
One evening, I stared at the ceiling and thought about what Jesus went through on that cross, even hours before. Jesus was persecuted for the very same reasons that His believers are persecuted. Immediately, I thought of the martyrs-the people all around this world who are suffering in the name of Jesus Christ.
In the year 1948, on a Sunday while I went to church I was kidnapped by the Communists. I knew that even in the van of the secret police, I am in the hands of the Almighty God, and this gave quiet to my heart. – Richard Wurmbrand, Voice of the Martyrs
For three years, Richard Wurmbrand sat alone in his prison cell set 30 feet below the ground. Aside from short interactions with his guards, he saw and heard no one. Yet in that dank and dark cell, he cried out to God and dreamt of beginning a new ministry that would serve Christians in Communist countries. Within days of his release, he wrote his best selling memoir, Tortured For Christ. Not long after he founded a mission called Jesus to the Communist World, which eventually turned into the organization Voice of the Martyrs.
I needed to pick up my cross, no matter the shape I was in.
I am reaching my arms out to father Abba, and He will catch me, this I know.