I’ll Give You Fish…

A few blogs back, I promised you a story about the day, fifteen years ago, when I caught my husband “cheating” on me.  We were taking care of my father, who was extremely ill; we moved him to a house out in the country, where he lived for a year-on his terms-no nursing homes, praise God.  I loved my dad more than I have ever loved another soul, or perhaps the love I have for my husband is equal-but completely different types of love.

Dad was my best friend and, quite honestly, the only person besides my husband who really got me.  We were extremely close.  We laughed at the same things, had the same interests, and thought hiking was the greatest thing next to grilled cheese sandwiches.  I take after daddy, in almost every way.  Mom was the writer in the family, and she was very talented.  It is no small wonder that my brother and I are the artsy, fartsy, poetic side of the family.  I think it rather neat that my brother is a musician who writes amazing songs-not unlike myself-who writes about music-daddy was the musician.  I can still hear him singing the Midnight Special, banjo in tow, at three a.m. after an argument with my mother.  Good times.  Good times.

I would do anything to have those times back.

So, between working evenings as a waitress in a busy diner (one of the biggest tourist spots in Lancaster County) and taking care of my family-well, I guess you could say I was just a tad stressed out.  If you saw me in passing, you would think me a demented Flakka head, on the verge of going off the deep end; at any given moment in time.  You would also be correct.  About the losing my shit, not the Flakka.  When my husband complains about the two cigarettes I smoke each day with my coffee?  I always say:

It could be worse.  You’re lucky I’m not on Flakka.  Or crack.  

Jiminy Cricket, I was wound so tightly, I actually pitied the fool who got in my way.  Back then?  I was anger personified.  I seethed with an all consuming rage that basically enveloped me-my mother abused me emotionally, and my memories were a big reason I drank to begin with.  I wanted to take care of dad, believe me, but the sad truth?  I was scared senseless.  My alcoholism had progressed, then eased after he died.  Eventually I came to a place of rewriting my story, and forgiving mother.  Years of my life, consumed with bitter ire-and a tragic notion that I needed to be punished, put in place-as mom had made it perfectly clear that I was undeserving.  Forgiveness is incredibly freeing, and you should do it often-not for them, but for you.

Finally, to the point of the story.  I was in the aforementioned condition while driving my Jeep Wrangler up Route 501 on a Friday afternoon, headed in the direction of the pharmacy in Myerstown-to get my father’s refills.  My hair is fried, not tended to; I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth.  I am breaking out-not only in zits but pimples as well-my first outbreak of acne, ever.  Stress pimples and blackheads.

I head North and see my husband’s baby blue Chevy pick up headed in my direction.  I believe I went into a fugue state the moment I saw the blonde.  I was a jealous madwoman back then-it wasn’t my husband I didn’t trust, let’s just say that.

“OMG, who the FAZUCK was in Dwain’s truck?  How long has this been going on?  I’m taking care of my invalid father and the bastard is cheating on me?  What the FUCK?”

I ran into the pharmacy, almost hyperventilating when I see the long line.  This is the most impatient moment of my life.  I fantasize about killing the man behind the counter.  I want to slap the woman who forgot her insurance card, and truth be told?  My thought cloud was rated RRR.  If not ZZZ.

I raced to the jeep and drove like a stunt car driver all the way to Dwain’s work.  I see him in the park, akin to his business.  I aim for him as I drive, he jumps out of the way.

“Oh my GOD honey, what is wrong with you?”  He looks more than mildly alarmed, but he knows on many levels what this is all about.  I jump from the vehicle, not thinking to put the jeep in “park.”  Dwain jumps into said car and saves it, saves it from going directly into the pond behind us.

I scream and holler.  He tells me he took her to drop off her car, to have it inspected.  I eyeball him from toe to head.  Calmer, yet not quite assured that all is well; I head for my car.  He gives  me a hug, chuckles and says these exact words:

“Honey, why do you have spaghetti sauce all over your face?”

Finding Nemos

 

This is the story I have been telling you about, and it’s a good one!  It may take me days to write this, and I’m okay with that.  Let’s just say, when you commit yourself to God and the truth-it’s a wild, wild ride.

I am truly enjoying this Sunday:  we made it to church, which always cheers me up in the dead of Winter, early Spring.  This time of year finds me cocooning, nesting deep within my she shed, only leaving for emergencies-such as hiking, or food.  Oh, and shed hunting.  🙂  Speaking of sheds, we went out for a hunt today,  my man, myself and my boy-Jesse Bocephus Happy Hoffmananoff.  The.  Best.  Dog.  Ever.  At least in this realm.  We find the mother of all antler sheds after an hour of determination and prayer.  Yes, I asked Jesus for a shed: as always, he answered-and in a not so insignificant way.  I hid the monster behind my back, and the look on Dwain’s face when I pulled it out?  Worth every sweaty movement.

Just moments ago, I receive a message from a dear friend, and one I have only known for less than a week.  I do not know his name, only his Twitter handle-and I trust him more than I probably should, but Jesus gave me eyes to see and ears to listen this week.  The tale I have to tell is as gut wrenching as it is nauseating.   In a time when it is virtually impossible to trust anyone?  After finding that our government lied to us about the moon walk, the wars, history itself and 9/11?  After one third of American women (and men) wear pink vagina hats (that’s FINE) but a red MAGA hat will get you thrown out of school, if not in jail!  If that wasn’t enough, we have the PAYtriots we took a chance on trusting the most?  Well, I am here to tell you that there is a very special place in hell for these monsters.  Some are just in it for money, but some are [THEM] and I cannot begin to scratch the surface, to muster a way to tell you how outraged I am at this very moment.

What was the message, you ask?  From your new friend?  I am not even sure if I should say her name, so I will not.  She is pretty much the official spokesperson for Satanic Ritual Abuse and SAVING THE CHILDREN.  Cute little bitch of a blonde, had a surfing accident recently in which she lost part of a finger.  If this is true (and my friend is UP there with #POTUS and #JFK, JR, so I do trust him) she is one of the most reprehensible human beings on earth (if she is, indeed, human.)

The week began with the announcement of the number one best seller on Amazon!  Q-The Great Awakening, written by Dustin Nemos (an “authority” on Q) and a few other authors ( McAllister TV, Praying Medic, Jordan Sather, Joe M, Sara WestallI watched Dustin’s video on the subject, saying that the people who were upset with him for selling out-were “angry, shill buttholes.”  He went on to say that not only did he have General Flynn’s permission to gather these twelve authors, but that there was a chapter written by Flynn himself!

He didn’t and no, Flynn most certainly did not write a word of that book.

The whole thing didn’t sit well with me, and after two days of praying I dug deeper.  I found that Dustin Nemos was really Dustin Craig Krieger.  A wealthy investor (we were led to believe he was destitute) who had a list of felonies, including trafficking heroin and selling “opium candles to six year olds.”  I found an article and sent it to one of the people on Twitter I knew I could count on, and the result was a spiritual and human connection.

@Morpheus, may you be blessed with all of the goodness that God has to offer.  

 

What makes these people despicable is pretty obvious.  They pretended to be concerned and vocal MAGAs who were going after the evil, the treasonous, the corrupt.  We felt safe and of course, many of us trusted them.  Have we as a nation not suffered enough?  How putrid these people are-the love of money, the very evil we are fighting against.

This is the video my friend sent me two days ago.  We have a choice:  choose to fix our eyes on the glorious good God has given this world; the bravest man in the world, accompanied by the best president in history, is going to avenge his father’s death.  Or give in to the disillusion, and allow these pukes to get away with it.

I stand with God.

I stand with Donald J. Trump.

I stand with John F. Kennedy, Jr.

This is the battle of good against evil, written in the book of Revelations.

We will have our books and movies, written by the heroes who lived this amazing and bewildering time of tribulation.

In the meantime, we need to know that this is not our burden to carry, it is His.  Ask Jesus to guide you in all your ways.  Put on the full armor of a God who sacrificed His one and only son to pay for your sins.  Rejoice.  Redeem.  Renew.

And don’t you ever give up!  FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

 

 

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~

Sunday Papers………….

 

Day two of staying quiet, listening to the Holy Spirit’s comforting whispers, and plain, good old fashioned rest.


Every month, and I do mean every month, there is an unholy collaboration of hormones and the full moon that have their way with my mind, and I, and everyone that loves me, is put through a series of tearful phone calls, disturbing Facebook posts, and blogs that could make the Grinch cry out in anguish. I never remember this until I am, quite frankly, hysterical. I get to the point of outright paranoia, and my fears run wild, like so many deer chasing the wind. I cry on and off for a day or two, suffer fits of irritation few could survive, and scream Hare Kari at my cats, husband and, well, anyone who darkens my day to the point of pitch black preparedness-meaning, I learn to EXPECT bad news.

When the Eclipse happened, I was so frightened (stupid YouTube) that my husband left work to come home with special goggles-first to allow me to actually see the Eclipse, and second-to walk out of the house for the first time in days. What had me so terrified, you ask? Well, it was LA Marzulli’s video on BEKs, better known as Black Eyed Children. This phenomena has been discussed, at length, on sites such as his and a few others, Stranger Than Fiction, A Call For An Uprising, and Richie From Boston.

So here’s the story, in Reader’s Digest form: there is a little known phenomenon called BEKs, Black Eyed Children-who, for all intents and purposes, appear out of absolutely nowhere and ask to be allowed into a person’s home, car or business. They are children, sometimes teens, who have soulless black eyes. They talk in a way that tips you off, a stilted, 19th century vocabulary. Their clothes don’t come from any stores you and I frequent. Au contraire, they are clothes from the 20’s, even 30’s. Their main objective is to get inside your house, where they will cause disease, freak accidents and untimely death.

Do I really believe in this phenomenon? Yes. I have seen enough pictures and reputable videos to know that these demonic energies are a little known fact of life, the life we are currently living, otherwise known as THE END DAYS. My question? How in the Harry Belafonte does ANYONE know that these are the end times? Is there a manual I am not aware of? Didn’t the end times begin when Jesus said, centuries ago, “It is finished?” The reality, in my opinion, is that these strange and mind blowingly frightening oddities have occurred since the beginning of time. Yet now, we have the World Wide Web, where we can look up just about anything that suits our fancy: Illuminati, Aliens, Demons, New Age-why, a person as impressionable as myself might be convinced that the world is a scary place, and if the internet isn’t a problem for you, just look at the Main Stream Media.

What is a person to believe? Do your research thoroughly, use reliable sources, and if that doesn’t work? Run. Run like your bloody hair is on fire.

Hunger Strike

 

Here I sit, fresh off of 8chan, and my mind is blown:  not that I didn’t know that Chris Cornell didn’t kill himself, I knew alright.  And here’s the shocker:  Chris knew, and maybe he knew too much.  Pay attention to the words:  I am a lyric junkie, yet in my wildest nightmares, I had no idea.  I had no idea that the Illuminati ate children.  Never even heard a rumor to that affect.  They say that only those with “eyes to see” can understand the severity and depravity of these facts.

Chris was telling us that he wasn’t about to join the diabolical crowd.  Is that why they murdered him?  I simply do not know.

Awaken

The Illuminati has infiltrated governments across this planet.  Latin for ‘enlightened ones’, the Illuminati was founded in the southern German state of Bavaria on May 1, 1776, by a religious law professor named Adam Weishaupt.  The 20 year old believed that through enlightenment, society would have to become more orderly and efficient.  He incorporated mysticism, to add intrigue and make the group a mysterious enigma, wrapped in cloaks and daggers.

This system was based on the Freemasons’ structure of orders and ranks.  His first group contained five members, all given aliases to provide a modicum of anonymity.  Weisthaupt  chose the name Spartacus.

Professor Weishaupt, as it turned out, was a huge control freak.  The initiation rites prospective members endured included bizarre costumes and chilling ceremonies.  By 1779, there were only 54 members.  Everything changed when Baron Adolph Freiherr von Knigge.:  a renowned diplomat and Master Mason occultist with connections to numerous secret societies.  Von Knigge was very successful in his recruitment of new members, including royalty, powerful politicians and leading Freemasons.

The Illuminati Hierarchy

Weishaupt’s model for a New World Order involved three basic classes:

Class 1-he called this the “nursery,” consisting of Noviciate, Minerval and Illuminatus Minor.

Class II-the “blue lodge” (Masonic) categories of Apprentice, Companion and Master-separated from the higher “Scottish” grades of Scottish Novice and Scottish Knight.

Class III-the Mysteries: Priest and Prince, followed by the more enigmatic Mage and King.

So, in essence, when Jim Carrey appeared on Jimmy Kimmel to discuss the “Illuminutti” conspiracy freaks, his agenda was clear-to disparage and discount the very organization that donned him a High Priest of Satanism.

Don’t let anyone call you a conspiracy theorist if you mention Secret Societies.

They ain’t so Secret any more.

 

 

I’ll Give You Fish…

A few blogs back, I promised you a story about the day, fifteen years ago, when I caught my husband “cheating” on me.  We were taking care of my father, who was extremely ill; we moved him to a house out in the country, where he lived for a year-on his terms-no nursing homes, praise God.  I loved my dad more than I have ever loved another soul, or perhaps the love I have for my husband is equal-but completely different types of love.

Dad was my best friend and, quite honestly, the only person besides my husband who really got me.  We were extremely close.  We laughed at the same things, had the same interests, and thought hiking was the greatest thing next to grilled cheese sandwiches.  I take after daddy, in almost every way.  Mom was the writer in the family, and she was very talented.  It is no small wonder that my brother and I are the artsy, fartsy, poetic side of the family.  I think it rather neat that my brother is a musician who writes amazing songs-not unlike myself-who writes about music-daddy was the musician.  I can still hear him singing the Midnight Special, banjo in tow, at three a.m. after an argument with my mother.  Good times.  Good times.

I would do anything to have those times back.

So, between working evenings as a waitress in a busy diner (one of the biggest tourist spots in Lancaster County) and taking care of my family-well, I guess you could say I was just a tad stressed out.  If you saw me in passing, you would think me a demented Flakka head, on the verge of going off the deep end; at any given moment in time.  You would also be correct.  About the losing my shit, not the Flakka.  When my husband complains about the two cigarettes I smoke each day with my coffee?  I always say:

It could be worse.  You’re lucky I’m not on Flakka.  Or crack.  

Jiminy Cricket, I was wound so tightly, I actually pitied the fool who got in my way.  Back then?  I was anger personified.  I seethed with an all consuming rage that basically enveloped me-my mother abused me emotionally, and my memories were a big reason I drank to begin with.  I wanted to take care of dad, believe me, but the sad truth?  I was scared senseless.  My alcoholism had progressed, then eased after he died.  Eventually I came to a place of rewriting my story, and forgiving mother.  Years of my life, consumed with bitter ire-and a tragic notion that I needed to be punished, put in place-as mom had made it perfectly clear that I was undeserving.  Forgiveness is incredibly freeing, and you should do it often-not for them, but for you.

Finally, to the point of the story.  I was in the aforementioned condition while driving my Jeep Wrangler up Route 501 on a Friday afternoon, headed in the direction of the pharmacy in Myerstown-to get my father’s refills.  My hair is fried, not tended to; I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth.  I am breaking out-not only in zits but pimples as well-my first outbreak of acne, ever.  Stress pimples and blackheads.

I head North and see my husband’s baby blue Chevy pick up headed in my direction.  I believe I went into a fugue state the moment I saw the blonde.  I was a jealous madwoman back then-it wasn’t my husband I didn’t trust, let’s just say that.

“OMG, who the FAZUCK was in Dwain’s truck?  How long has this been going on?  I’m taking care of my invalid father and the bastard is cheating on me?  What the FUCK?”

I ran into the pharmacy, almost hyperventilating when I see the long line.  This is the most impatient moment of my life.  I fantasize about killing the man behind the counter.  I want to slap the woman who forgot her insurance card, and truth be told?  My thought cloud was rated RRR.  If not ZZZ.

I raced to the jeep and drove like a stunt car driver all the way to Dwain’s work.  I see him in the park, akin to his business.  I aim for him as I drive, he jumps out of the way.

“Oh my GOD honey, what is wrong with you?”  He looks more than mildly alarmed, but he knows on many levels what this is all about.  I jump from the vehicle, not thinking to put the jeep in “park.”  Dwain jumps into said car and saves it, saves it from going directly into the pond behind us.

I scream and holler.  He tells me he took her to drop off her car, to have it inspected.  I eyeball him from toe to head.  Calmer, yet not quite assured that all is well; I head for my car.  He gives  me a hug, chuckles and says these exact words:

“Honey, why do you have spaghetti sauce all over your face?”

Copperhead Road

This is more than likely the most important blog I will ever write: I have chosen to take the coward’s way out-well, I wouldn’t call myself a coward; let’s just say I like blogging on WordPress, and it’s hard enough to write an article about, well, anything-oh the inhumanity, sticking computer keys and the site going down multiple times as I try to get my point across.

Tomorrow is election day. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. For those of you in the know, or awake-you know the importance of a Red Wave across this country. And for those of you who may be sitting on a fence or on the left: this article is not meant to insult, condemn or even belittle you. I need you all to know the truth, as the truth will set you free!

We have had no voice, as we (patriots across America, including POTUS) have been avalanched on every side. ABC, FOX, CBS, PBS, NBC and CBS-they are a product of Project Mockingbird. If you watch these news venues, I can 100% guarantee you that you have no idea what the real news is-I only know because of the path God led me down, after a brush with the New Age. Slowly, but oh so steadily the scales were taken off of my eyes. We have been lied to, stolen from, silenced and betrayed on a scale so tremendous that most of us don’t see the forest through the trees. The DEPLORABLES of this awesome nation have had it up to our eye teeth with FAKE NEWS. We know what the CABAL is up to, and it ain’t good. No, it is EVIL of the greatest magnitude.
Below is a video that explains this illegal, deadly and evil process.

Tomorrow, we will be at these polls-across the country Patriots will be monitoring the circumspect behavior; tour groups or random buses pulling into voting booths-we have been alerted to the means and ways of DNC corruption, and we are prepared. I myself will be out and about, have mace-will travel. We need to come TOGETHER, as one nation, and fight the corruption that tried to rob us of our dignity, morals and children in a Sex Trafficking scandal that involves Barry Santoro, HRC, Bill Clinton, Joe Biden and many, many more. The evidence is overwhelming.

Please, do everything you can to get out and vote. As we speak, there are three separate caravans heading to our borders. American troops have been deployed to the border, NOT BECAUSE WE ARE INTOLERANT, RACIST OR UPTIGHT. Absolutely none of that is true for the majority of us. If you want this country to become a corrupt, Socialist, baby killing machine, by all means, vote blue. They want this caravan full of MS13, ISIS, ANTIFA and other terrorist factions here to get the votes from illegals.

Do yourself a favor-take a look at San Francisco–Nancy Pelosi’s territory. She lives in a million dollar mansion-have you seen what they have done to California? Is she or any other democrat with the power to do so cleaning any of this mess up? Of course not, THEY DON’T CARE. They got what they wanted, these people have been used and abused. They were PROMISED the world, and this is what was given to them.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN. Take your country back, put God back in business, VOTE RED.