Let The River Run Like Wild

Starting off with a little bitch fest-when I began my blog two years ago, I wanted it to be unique, to help others and to set myself free from the chains that bind.  I have always loved music-and I had a song for so many events in my life, so the next step was easy.  I began using music videos to start off each writing.  Now everyone is doing it and it yanks my chain.

There.  I feel better.

I thought we had found a church, the little chapel in the strip mall, where my in-laws worship.  We live along the Bible belt in Amish country-there are no lack of churches.  Yet my man and me have a dilemma:  every church we attend falls apart after three or four years.  Is it us?  No, not at all.  After putting things in perspective, I realized that when you are growing in your faith?  Well, the more you know the more critically you think about what you do and do not want in your worship haven.  That’s right:  church and fellowship is so intimate, so important-it matters who you surround yourselves with.

We left Hosanna, our last church, because I began to see the forest through the trees.  Lovely people, truly lovely men and women-it’s just that I lost the Holy Spirit connection somewhere along the way, and for me-well, that is everything.  Our pastor was a very kind man, but hesitant to step on any toes whilst preaching.  The worship became more about keeping congregants than preaching the Word.  Personal opinion, of course.  I miss my friends, my beloveds-and that point was driven home yesterday:  after testing the waters that are the congregants themselves.

I bought a gorgeous, Tiffany blue, vintage hat on Saturday.  I collect them, adore them, and wear them on occasion to church-as is my wont.  A few weeks in to attending a new place of worship, I wear a hat-to see how it goes over.  I insist on being accepted for who I am, not what others want me to be.  As we walked in the door, Dwain’s parents were greeting.  Dressed in matching pink outfits (I kid you not, they do it all the time) they handed us the bulleting and we took a seat.  My favorite, favorite Christian rock band of all time is Damascus Road-the very same praise team who sang at our first church.  That band ruined me for life-there is simply no comparison to Miles’ voice and inherent joy that is evident when he praises God.  

This band was visiting the Bridge of Hope church, and I almost peed myself when I saw my friend, the leader of the band, smiling at me from the back corner of the building.

“This is going to be awesome!!!,” I said to my husband.  He smiled and kissed my cheek, clearly thrilled to see me smiling once again-it had been awhile.

Have you ever seen the commercial about the movie in which a family is torn apart because of the way their father praises Jesus in church?  He runs around the church, hands up in the air, thrilling to the beat of his own drum.

“Mommy, why can’t we have a normal daddy?,” the son asks.  I fall into fits of hysterical laughter each and every time I see it-because that is me.  I don’t run around, but I dance and flail my arms, not caring a hoot about anything but worshipping my Lord and Savior.

“Dad, you best move over a seat-when the band starts Sara is going to need room to move.”

So we danced and sang and hooted and hollered.  It was even better than I had imagined-so amazing to see people actually happy while performing and worshipping-not like they swallowed a rather unpleasant surprise, not like they want to end it all immediately after said service.  For crying out loud that disappoints and irritates me to no end.  If you aren’t excited, and on fire for God?  It will show in your performance.

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My weapon of choice.

Simply stated:  many people gawked, a few gave me the hairy eyeball.  It was as if I were carrying a poster that said, MURDER FOR HIRE, I kid you not.

And so it was this morning, when I had to stop at the Monster In Law’s house to pick up some shoes, that I was shot out of the proverbial cannon in response to the MIL’s comment:

“I like the outfit you were wearing yesterday, but I have to say I don’t fancy the hats.”

Well smack my ass and call me Judy.

Thus ended the going-to-church-with-the-MIL experiment.

People, my dear friends, suck the big one.

 

 

And She Was……

There is a well known fact in this household, rarely spoken of, but my heart beats for him continuously, and he has earned my adoration.  David Byrne, MARRY ME.  🙂  I had the pure privilege of seeing the Talking Heads at Emerald City in Philadelphia, circa 1980.  Front row.  The rolling melodies and heart thumping bass can still be heard in my head, and I am dead serious when I say that the female guitarist made a pass at me.  Ah, the good old days when rock was rock and  a spade a spade.

I had a horrible nightmare last night.  Or I should say this morning-Dwain had decided to go to work, despite the blizzard conditions-he wasn’t answering my calls, he was nowhere to be found.  I awoke in a cold sweat, extremely anxious and confused.  Moments later, while sipping hot coffee, I phoned my husband and my nerves were calmed just by the sound of his voice.  Strange way to start the day…….

As I walked down to the garage, to feed the feline community, I felt it-or, perhaps didn’t feel it is a better way to say this.  No pain.  During Lyme flares, my feet are constantly in pain.  Bone pain, muscle pain-I don’t let it slow me down, but the mere fact that I was pain free was reason enough to look up at the sky and praise Him.  My lymph node has diminished, and there is even a noticeable lift in my loafers.  Oh, how beautiful life is.  And here’s the thang-none of us are promised more than this day.  We have a choice-to be positive among the chaos and confusion, carpe diem,  or, as I did yesterday-we can pout, stomp our feet and be a miserable pain in the ass in general, bringing everyone around us on edge, walking upon proverbial eggshells.

I fail Him each and every day, by thought and deed.  I repent, ask for forgiveness, and concentrate on my future-with my main man, golden retriever and Yeshua-and between the four of us?  We have this, He is working in our lives, whether we see rainbows or coffins-the choice is ours, and I choose life-oh, my dear friends, I choose life~

We are winning the war against hate, despite what that serial liar, Ilhan Omar would say-don’t be persuaded.  She and her posse will be run out of this country, you can quote me on that.  Yes, “some people did something.”

And we know exactly who they are.

No one escapes this, no one.

911Conspiracy

 

She Killed it With Kisses…

My cup runneth over…it is well with my soul-even after the email I just received from a member of my family.   Are you SURE you don’t have BPD???????

Jesus Mighty, Mary and Joseph.  When will this end?  When do I get to stop apologizing for breathing?  For being a modest success and overcoming alcoholism and addiction to opioids?  I am no longer the black sheep, but I am sure as Hell the Scapegoat-and that shit is over, whether or not the narc “approves.”  My poor brother is worried.  He thinks my anorexia led to Borderline Personality Disorder.  Stop the madness, step off and WHAT THE HELL YOU TALKING ABOUT, WILLIS?

I know.  It’s a holiday weekend!  We must ensure she not enjoy it, maybe terrorize her with a new diagnoses?  Yeah, that sounds good.  Not that he knows what he’s doing, but I can tell him what he’s doing wrong, and that would be talking to our sister.  He is concerned about my anger during his last trip to my home, in which he stated, flat out:

“I don’t believe you.”  Courtney, you can wipe that demonic smirk off of your face.  Are you proud of the person you have become?  Are you right with Jesus?  Why have you deemed therapy a no-no?  Why did you call me two years ago and beg me not to go no contact?  Why did you admit to keeping the children from me?  Why did you admit keeping me from family vacations?  Why do you care?

I can answer every one of the questions, but rather than do that, I will stop reading emails, taking phone calls and feeling guilty because my kin is a psychopath.

I have earned this time of relative happiness.  My husband has been through enough.

Consider this your CEASE AND DESIST.

Your opinion doesn’t matter.

Nothing you say is true.

Deep down inside?  You are a coward of epic proportions.

Step off.

You have been served.

Rumor Has It

 

I apologize for disappearing off of the face of WordPress-the fact is that I simply cannot keep up with the rapid fire Q drops, the wait-for-it has turned into the make-it-stop-but I wanted to touch base with my tribe.  The news is good, if you consider treason and attempted assassination good news: God is winning this battle, and those of us who have been closely investigating the entire QAnon phenomenon are enjoying the show.  John Q. Public, however, has no freaking clue because a good portion of them don’t know they’re being lied to-they don’t even suspect what is about to become mainstream-and in a very big way.

Awaken

But here’s the thing-through prayer and conversation with Jesus, I have realized that I have been going about this the wrong way.  I want to explain this whole movement, the Great Awakening that has been prophesized for years;  I must preface any further writing with a few facts:

I was asleep myself; for years.  I in no way judge those who are in the dark-we all live busy lives; if I had been working these past two years this wouldn’t be possible.

I believe that God has called me for this place and time in history-to fight for the truth to be told, and to be a loving force for those who are overwhelmed by the magnitude of what we are about to learn-the public will soon face some pretty horrifying stuff-I went through all eleven stages of grief while doing research about The Storm.  I learned of SRA (Satanic Ritual Abuse) human trafficking, the despicable evil the people we trusted were and are to this day capable of manifesting.

I must stress that what I share with you comes straight from the tippy top.  The Cabal will use the MSM to blatantly discredit the QAnon movement.  Inside Edition has called the phenomenon a “hateful cult,” when nothing could be further from the truth.  At some point, and very soon, there will be a FISA declassification that will take the scales from the eyes of the brainwashed masses.  I am here for the outcry-I am here to encourage and comfort you-as we all know, God is in control-he has this and we need to trust our very lives to a Lord and Savior who loves us more than we could possibly imagine.

So please be patient with me as I work hard to ensure you get the truth, and nothing but.

Be blessed~

And She Was……

There is a well known fact in this household, rarely spoken of, but my heart beats for him continuously, and he has earned my adoration.  David Byrne, MARRY ME.  🙂  I had the pure privilege of seeing the Talking Heads at Emerald City in Philadelphia, circa 1980.  Front row.  The rolling melodies and heart thumping bass can still be heard in my head, and I am dead serious when I say that the female guitarist made a pass at me.  Ah, the good old days when rock was rock and  a spade a spade.

I had a horrible nightmare last night.  Or I should say this morning-Dwain had decided to go to work, despite the blizzard conditions-he wasn’t answering my calls, he was nowhere to be found.  I awoke in a cold sweat, extremely anxious and confused.  Moments later, while sipping hot coffee, I phoned my husband and my nerves were calmed just by the sound of his voice.  Strange way to start the day…….

As I walked down to the garage, to feed the feline community, I felt it-or, perhaps didn’t feel it is a better way to say this.  No pain.  During Lyme flares, my feet are constantly in pain.  Bone pain, muscle pain-I don’t let it slow me down, but the mere fact that I was pain free was reason enough to look up at the sky and praise Him.  My lymph node has diminished, and there is even a noticeable lift in my loafers.  Oh, how beautiful life is.  And here’s the thang-none of us are promised more than this day.  We have a choice-to be positive among the chaos and confusion, carpe diem,  or, as I did yesterday-we can pout, stomp our feet and be a miserable pain in the ass in general, bringing everyone around us on edge, walking upon proverbial eggshells.

I fail Him each and every day, by thought and deed.  I repent, ask for forgiveness, and concentrate on my future-with my main man, golden retriever and Yeshua-and between the four of us?  We have this, He is working in our lives, whether we see rainbows or coffins-the choice is ours, and I choose life-oh, my dear friends, I choose life~

Tears Dry On Their Own

 

I don’t understand, why do I stress the man? When there are  much greater things at hand?                                                                                 -Amy Winehouse

 

I had a bad hair day, and as I lick my wounds, I will do what I am wont to do when grief, of any kind, beckons. I turn to my writing, and process best I can.  I spent my former life running from anything “feeling.” As a result I suffer a backlog of grief.  I have worked through so much, the glory going to Jesus, who has shadowed my life, since childhood.  And of course, it was the Prince of Peace I turned to-after a hike and shower did nothing to shake the chill of a sadness I could not name.

I hadn’t felt this dull malaise in a long time.  The full moon always takes a toll on my psyche-I suffer a bizarre change of attitude at this time of the month, and it just happens to coincide with my period.  No, it’s not pretty-trust me!  I don’t relish having the temperament of Medusa on crack, but hey-who am I to question?

animal avian beauty bird
Pexels.com

I think we all have our codependency days.  Days when you’d be happy if your monster in law called you-just so you know you aren’t invisible.  This morning I checked my blog stats, and although I’m a big girl with a medium-thick skin?  Well, let’s just say I awoke to no texts, Facebook notifications, phone calls or fuck-yous.  As the morning went on, I had the unpleasant task of having to pick something up at my in laws home, conveniently located directly across the street.  Insert hair pulling here.

I spotted my monster, standing out on her front porch.  I told the dog to stay, and yelled my intentions, hoping she would hear me, so I wouldn’t have to knock on the door and go through the whole, sordid pretense.

OMG, WE HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN WEEKS, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY MOST RECENT PURCHASE, THIS DISH CLOTH-CLEARLY THE MOST SUPERIOR DISH CLOTH THIS SIDE OF THE PACOS, AND LOOK!  IT MATCHES MY COFFEE POT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Nah.  I’ll pass.

But something really weird happened.  She. ran. from. me.  I knew this to be true, because I have the moves of a full out ninja when it comes to avoiding my in laws.  I know all the tricks.  As I walked down the road, she walked faster.  I approached the front door, and knocked.

No answer.

She reappeared after I had returned to my home, picking weeds in a garden that is frozen solid.

Now, on good hair days this would not have phased me.  However, as the possibility of my invisibility grew, I was actually offended.

Later in the day, I phoned a girl friend to see if she’d be going to aerobics class.  She never returned my call.

These ridiculous nonissues prevailed the entire day.  I got good and quiet with God.

“What’s wrong with me, Abba?  Where is this over sensitivity coming from?  Where’s my self esteem?  Remind me of who I am in You.”

Tears dripped down my cheeks.  I knew this feeling only too well, although I hadn’t felt it in some time.  I have found myself in the midst of pain and confusion, as I wonder aloud why I had allowed it to happen.

My best friend is a narcissist.  I have known this for months, since the day she spat venom at 45 mph, into my voicemail.  Called me a liar, told me she’d tell the girls in class what I said about my in laws.  None of it made sense, but then again-I never listened to the entire voicemail.  After this incident, she begged me to forgive her-and that’s when I made my fatal mistake.

monster illustration
Pexels.com

I couldn’t put my finger on the sense of loss, anxiety and sense of impending doom.  I began tearing at my skin, stymied by my own inertia.  Recently, she was giving me the silent treatment-a well known, passive aggressive technique of the Jezebel.  They gaslight you into thinking it is you who’s the psychopath.  Narcissistic Injury-feel free to do your research in that department, if God forbid, you too are suffering.

I listened to the entire voicemail.

My skin crawled as I heard the vitriolic rage.

The moral of the story?  Go with your gut, especially if you have been the victim of Narcissistic Abuse.  There are resources online to help you understand the disease, the symptoms of CPTSD, and begin to heal the codependency that brought you to this place of utter despair.

Kill Jezebel.

 

 

The Christ Child

Be patient with me, I am mid allergy flare (stupid dust from the wood stove) and my eyes are closing as we speak. I haven’t written in some time, as I try not to force anything, if I don’t feel it? I move on, baby, I move on! Plenty of things to keep my busy around a mildly run down farm house. A two hundred year old one, at that. I need to paint, my entire house no less-and have a kazillion things to fix, mend or glue. I mean, bathroom floor, refinishing our hardwood floors, the list goes on.

As it turns out? I love this old house. I treat her with kid gloves, and in return she gives me joy amidst the toil, a thank you of sorts, for continuing to love and respect what she once was, what she will be again, some day. I have done almost everything humanly possible to create a warm and inviting space-big, soft blankets strewn across our leather furniture. Each room an individual feel, no two rooms alike-that’s for sure. I suffer from depression at times, and it is my prayer to refinish her in a way befitting of her old, stoic beauty.

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This is our view from the deck at the pond.

So, finally getting to the point, I want to tell you that I was not myself over the last few weeks. Seasonal blues, combined with the side effects from my recent head injury and ensuing concussion (nausea, mood swings, headaches, and fatigue)put me in a place of utter despair.

I gave it all to God, and that helped immensely. Yet I still felt deeply saddened, as if the grief were going to swallow me whole-suffocate me with its deadly black cloak. I didn’t want to do, be, talk to or even participate in the holiday festivities. I had been depressed around this time of year before but this year? I had the added burden of wondering if we should be celebrating this holiday with pagan origins. I look at it this way: we know that 12/25 is not the date of Christ’s birthday, but we are celebrating our Lord and Savior as tradition has taught us for eons. I got into a quarrel with a Youtuber named Daniel Lee of Torah Restorations Ministries on his channel. This is what transpired, the cause and effect of an almost-ruined Christmas Eve:

Me: Merry Christmas Steve! (talking to another subscriber, not the MAN himself)

DANIEL: HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY SAY THAT TO SOMEONE KNOWING WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT SATANIC RITUAL ABUSE!! DON’T CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS, MICHELE, DO WHAT JESUS DID, PRACTICE HONUKAH INSTEAD!!!

I want to preface the next few paragraphs by telling you that I was a big fan of his channel, and we had grown to be like brother and sister. So much so that he was planning on staying with us this Spring, as he tours the universities of the East Coast to preach his message.

Me: Daniel, calm down. I’m not judging others, not my job, and Merry Christmas? Really, Daniel.

DANIEL: NO! YOUR HUSBAND AND YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER….BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!

It was brutal, and on Christmas Eve, no less.

I dressed, unceremoniously for Christmas Eve service, we had to be early, as we were helping set up. I slowly went around, to each window, and plugged in the gorgeous wreaths. Nothing. I sat in the chapel while the band practiced, hoping the music would inspire me. Zilch.

Nope, it looked like I wasn’t going to rally for the cause. Christmas would come and go, and I would be left in the dust, blindsided by regret and pain. I held back tears as I sat for the service. The evening was beautiful, and as I watched the children take the stage in a haphazard way-I leaned forward, in order to see, in order to listen.

I watched as my pastor, Tony Blair, looked at the children on stage. His face softened, his eyes grew moist. He gazed at those precious little people, with such tangible joy and love-it was heart wrenching.

There are good people in this world-well meaning, honest human beings who truly care about the least of these. The world became a brighter place, instantaneously. As we lit our candles, one by one, I had drifted off to the landscape of the starry night in Bethlehem, and the very thought of the Christ child lifted me up and out of my inertia, my numbness.

Back at home, hours later, I sat in the dark and took in the beautiful Christmas tree, my dog and cats asleep beside it, dreaming of sugarplums-no doubt. I say there for some time and prayed.

I felt a bit of childhood whimsy, the spark of pure adrenaline a kid feels when they even think of Santa Claus. But this time? The floaty stomach and profound love in my heart was due to the love of my Lord and Savior, my Prince of Peace, my evening song-Emmanuel~