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.

 

 

It’s a Gas, Man

There are days, very few and far between, when I seethe in an unholy rage-directed at those who have wronged me, in particular, my sister.  I don’t dwell in this space, at least not for long.  Jesus warned us about acting out in anger, and it just doesn’t feel good.  Yet to deny the anger is not healthy either.  If there is one thing I have learned in my sobriety?  As Richard Gannon would say, you have to feel the feels.  There is a good reason why we experience the traumas in our lives, and that is to strengthen us and give us compassion towards others who have experienced same.

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Dogs are incapable of hurting the ones they love.

I wouldn’t change my history for the world, it has literally made me the woman I am today, and I am proud of her.  It took a very long time to come into this space of self love,  I respect myself.  The woman I am now seeks justice for the child I was then.  I often miss the big and open heart she once possessed.  Never thinking for a moment before offering help, often taken advantage of by narcissistic bottom dwellers of whom I pray for daily.

As I sit, putting on my oils and potions-I catch a glance of my face.

Who is that woman?

She has eyes of steel and a vengeful heart; numbed by years of scarring, emotional vulnerability.

It is in these moments of truth that she is humbled by what her Savior has done-finally, she is protecting her heart.

Like a mother bear.

Instant Karma

 

I don’t know about you, but I am sick to death of gloom and doom, evil that cuts you off at your knees, leaves you shaken, breathless.  The enemy is losing, in leaps and bounds, but the news, the mainstream?  They want you frightened and feeling vulnerable, to be honest, at times I don’t know what to believe, but I do believe in QAnon, and let’s just say the concentration seems to be about the blood lines, the Illuminati and their puppets-satanic symbolism and transference runs RAMPANT in every mode of entertainment to be had, the news is enough to make me cry, and never, ever stop.  But I need to stop investigating and start living.  I know more than I should, and by that I mean I wish I knew nothing at all-but then I wouldn’t be me, and I have felt spiritually led through the entire process.

I had a good week, socially.  Lunch with a friend two days in a row!   I actually made my commitments over the last few days, and it feels so, so good.  I also, after 40 years, began eating a small meal at lunch.  I had a hard time pulling it off as of late, I was having dizzy spells and acid gut.  Please………….I deserve it.

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This cracked me up this morning. Enough so that I actually posted on social media! 🙂

Speaking of deserving……how in the harry do these people sleep at night?  Do they hang upside down from trees, waiting for some unsuspecting dope to come along?  Do they NOT KNOW where they are going at the end of the day?   Seriously, what is their thought pattern?  They are blatantly throwing it up in our faces, but know this: they are running scared.  President Trump, with the aid of the United States military, has put a few of their Cabal buddies in GITMO.  Do they not see a common thread?  What did they THINK would happen when Trump began to wage a war, drain the swamp, look at evil so bleak that a group of NYC policemen vomited and wept when looking at evidence.  I hear they are all still receiving therapy.

So, karma is real, man.  I wouldn’t want to be a thug/pedophile/Satanist right now, because the tables are turning.  I am heartbroken and angry, but life is for the living and I have a heavenly father who wants me to thrive, to be genuinely content and at times, euphoric.  I try to have a sense of humor about these happenings, and I find great fun to be had looking into the Q Memes.

AwakAF

The only, yet most important thing we can do right now is pray.  Pray like your lives depend upon it, He is listening, this I know.  Instant Karma’s gonna get you Bitches, it’s going to knock you right. in. the. face.

 

 

 

The Girl You Want…………(ed)

If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to hold tight to the female friendships I have cultivated.  Let’s face it, when you head for your forties-well, you start to realize what is important in life and what is detrimental.  You begin to stand up for yourself, and by the time you reach menopause?  You’re a whirling dervish of angst on the road to having no female friendships because you have told off just about every friend you have, for one reason or another.

But what about the girls who don’t make the cut?  Who, as it turns out, are toxic as 5G on hormones?  The nervous breakdown you had last week?  You thought it was your dark mental health history, turns out it was your dark Jezebel worming her way into your psyche.  Is it really as simple as just walking away?  What if NO CONTACT isn’t an option, say because you go to the same gym.  Class.  Mother of God.

I knew I had to go, I had no choice.  I wasn’t sure I would go, but that strength I prayed to Jesus for?  It came the next morning-in buckets.  As I finished my makeup, I consoled myself with this thought: Maybe she won’t be there.

But that was the point of going to class: as a sufferer of PTSD, and while in the midst of a horrible episode due to this particular “friend.”  I had blocked her on all of my social media, but was still reeling from what had occurred before I ran away, like OJ on crack.

“She’s here,” my friend Sasha stated, as if she were announcing the bride of Satan.

I admit it, I panicked.

Haul ass, I’m not standing next to her, I blurted.

She walked in on three women who appeared to be doing some odd rendition of a Shakespearean tragedy-we tripped over one another as we hustled to find new spots on the floor.

Nothing to see here, folks.

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What my classmates saw last Tuesday…

After the class, as I was talking to Sasha, the Jezebel interrupted me.

“Can we talk for a moment?,” we had already exchanged pleasantries, even after I had threatened to call the state police if she didn’t cease and desist.  She made the Rocky Horror Picture Show look like Bambi Has a Family.  I was delirious.

I stood up to her, spoke my peace, but not without multiple interruptions.  I told her she had ridiculed, stalked and threatened me enough.  I told her I had been self harming, as a result of our last exchange.  I explained PTSD and what it does to a person.  She, of course, already knew this, as we have been acquainted many years.  All throughout my speech, she interjected this sentence:

But Michele, I’M DEPRESSED.”

I drove away praising Jesus, for answered prayers and for taking the scales off of my eyes, as it were.  Gawd.   Good riddance.

I have lost sisters near and dear to my heart (and a few quite recently)-but the loss was temporary, as those were the women who treated me with disrespect, dishonesty or the worst sin in my book- condescension-they were not  the friends I thought they were,but it didn’t make it any easier to end the relationship.  My best friend in sixth grade (let’s just call her Shitstorm) threw a bowling ball at me because I had the highest average in the league.  Straight out, in front of our teammates. She was also responsible for bringing a picture of me (in the seventh grade) into school in my senior year; one in which I had cut my own bangs, and let’s just say she passed it on to my high school crush.  Mortifying.  I was friends with her for 30 more years, until she did the unthinkable…..that’s right, she was another narcissist, and crossing her was akin to playing hopscotch with Satan. After one too many brushes with death? I let her go, stopped all contact-to this day I have nightmares. To. This. Day.

But when you hit your fifties?  Why, you hold on to your female friends like grim death-the ones who love you no matter what state you’re in, root for you when you are up against it, speak to your husband when you’ve relapsed. Why, they are your true blue tribe, and you have earned each other’s trust.  I am not saying there won’t be disagreements (holy crap on a cracker, that’s part of the equation ladies) but you will learn that nothing is more important than women who get and cherish you, zits, nervous breakdowns and relapses be damned.

I have spent an entire lifetime trusting women I had no business trusting, not seeing the inevitable pain that came with illumination-it’s a process. Yet, as Abba works in my life? The new friendships are more stable, enduring and incredibly comforting. You teach people how to treat you, and the only way you gain respect is by being a bitch right back. As soon as I stand my ground, the bullies run for cover.

Today I am blessed beyond measure with an abundance of loving, nurturing and life sustaining women. I am thankful they feel safe calling me friend.

I Will Find the Center In You…

This is the darkest post I hope to ever write.  This is a story about how alcohol kills-everything that is good, pure, worthy, decent……..alcohol is a vampire, it sucks the life blood out of you, then leaves you in a heap of disgrace, humiliation and nothingness.  I may have been “sober” for ten years, but I have slipped on more than one occasion, each time the lull of “It will be okay, just one drink” has seduced me….and each and every time I have wallowed in despair.

I would like to tell you about the last ten years of my drinking career.  A vocation so evil, so pummeling that I literally lost those years of my life.  Sadly, I cannot, as I was so far gone that the last years were swallowed by indignity, fear, and Godlessness.   Or so I thought.  I got sober when I was 46 years old, and for the longest time I honestly thought I was ten years younger.  Ten years of our lives, gone up in smoke. 

I weep just thinking of what could have been, but there is hope and we must lean not on our own understanding.  We have to summon every ounce of courage in our souls to rise up and fight this demon.  And together, with Jesus, we can do it, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.

What I do remember is locked behind a door that can only be unlocked by God, and only when it serves His kingdom.  I am taking off the deadbolt and releasing the ghosts that have kept me silent.  We are only as sick as our secrets, and becoming sober is the most freeing, healthy and frightening place we can be.  You have to hang on for dear life, but don’t be afraid of the ride, you have nothing to fear and everything to gain by telling your truth.

My last drunken event was my husband’s sister’s wedding.  I had consumed at least a bottle of wine before the ceremony, and that was 2:00 in the afternoon.  I do not remember the wedding, or the bride…….but what information I do have came at a cost, and that was my husband’s dignity.  I know that we didn’t stay for the cutting of the cake, as I had been playing footsies under the table with an unwilling participant-my husband’s cousin.  I also told a dear friend that I had enlightened my family with the news that he and I were having an affair-which led to some heavy duty amend making on his part, and I have never, to this day, as much a held his hand.  We are friends again, but that took ten years, 200 or so AA meetings, and the good Lord above-only now am I at peace.

In the Dark I Have No Name…..

After I wrote my positive outlook on life blog yesterday, things changed and quick.  I  had been referred to a specialist for Lyme, however, she wouldn’t take me unless I faxed all 4.6 billion pages of my family practitioner’s files-a feat so great, so daunting, that I crossed her off the list.

So, now I am on the phone with practice after practice, looking for some enlightenment, and receptionist after receptionist gives me a hard time.  Why, one of them was so rude I hung up on her-because she was about to get a fresh can of WHOOP ASS, and I have offended God enough in one week, thank you very much!  

The thing is, I have never been diagnosed with Lyme.  They did bloodwork twice, and both times told me that I had an autoimmune disorder.  Do you have any idea how many immunity disorders there are?  However, I had the tick bites and bullseye to go with my other symptoms.  Now I need REAL answers from a REAL Specialist.  I finally found a woman in Lancaster, an internist.  I have to wait a few weeks, but do have to tell Peter about it, my physician for all other things Michele.  That should go over well, NOT.

So, with Lyme you have so many symptoms of depression, mood swings and outbursts-and now I can’t tell if I’m truly depressed, or is it the Lyme spirochete?  So, I am on the verge of a full out meltdown.  I’m not going to lie, I thought about taking a drink.  Unfortunately, or should I say FORTUNATELY every bartender within a fifty mile radius of my home knows I’m in recovery.  Seriously floundering, I began yelling at God.  I do this very, very rarely-only when I am distraught.  The mere thought of hurting Jesus is enough to make me faint-I wasn’t so much angry as frustrated, and frightened.  And that just isn’t me.

I decided on a joint and a sit by the lake, and drove away from my house like a bat out of hell.  Actually, I didn’t know my little jeep had it in her, but I was doing 75 when I saw her.  Laying in the road, blood everywhere, surrounded by three elderly women.

I jumped out of the jeep, horrified, and tried to contain the situation (I am a highly trained EMT) when the news hit me that no one had called 911.  I didn’t have my cell, so I drove back up to the house and called.  This is what I abhor about phoning 911-the idiotic questions.  You are sitting by a woman who is bleeding out, right there in front of you, and this jerk wants to know if she’s alive.  WHAT THE HARRY BELLAFONTE??????  I told him three, count ’em THREE times I was an EMT.  Finally snapped and just told him to send the flippin’ ambulance.  Not before he said this to me:  “don’t touch her.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, why can’t people do their jobs?

So, the ambulance comes, to see Nora.  She is a kindly and mentally challenged Amish woman who lived down our street.  She has diabetes, and her sugar crashed-she took a face plant into the concrete, with her glasses on.  The blood was everywhere, and, as always-a woman on the scene who thought she knew everything.

The bus (ambulance) arrives.  I am busy directing what little traffic there is, and I (seemed like slow motion) turned to see the paramedics lifting her by her arm pits on to a gurney.  No concern whatsoever for her back or spine.  I have never, ever seen such malpractice in my life.  She should have been C-spined, and put in the gurney with padded protectors to keep her spine straight, but she wasn’t.

I left the scene when all was over, the know it all blubbering (she was as upset as I was, to see their lack of skills) and various neighbors talking amongst themselves on the pavement.  I turned towards home, and I let out a holy cry-God knew what it would take to get me out of the house yesterday.  I never leave the house after noon unless I have plans-I am too busy cleaning and cooking and baking and…………………He knew, and he used me even though I was the biggest, whiniest brat on the planet.  He used me to help save a woman’s life.

Cast your burdens upon the Lord and He will sustain you: He will never allow the righteous to be shaken.

-Psalm 55:22

Into His Arms…

I have to start out by telling you I have consumed my happy juice and am a bit crosseyed at this time.  But praise Jesus, for he has given us every herb, plant and fruit bearing tree so that we will live healthy, peaceful lives.  Medicinal.  Used for my CPTSD, it can take me from despair to joy, and that my friends is worth its weight in gold.

I’ve been thinking about what is happening in this world, and obviously, it all but freaks me out.  After watching a video I shouldn’t have, I was overwhelmed-feeling as if the entire three ring circus was on my back.  First sad.  Then frantic.  Then Jesus.

I tell him, Jesus! I am clinging to your robes today, I need you badly!

These are the times when I run, full throttle, all engines on to God.  I picture myself running in to his amazing hug, and hear him say There, there child.

I can’t do this Jesus.

I know too much, why do I know so much and when did you make the decision to take a scaredy cat like this girl, and lead her in the direction of Doom.  Real news.  Investigative reporting.  I have felt the Holy Spirit driving me in this direction, and some days?  Down with the ship I go.

He never pushes, never demands.

I come to the realization that He alone is my Lord and Savior.  He will not leave me nor forsake me.  He is in control.  

I take a long hot shower.  I plug in my tiny white lights strategically placed all over my home, to give comfort.  Put some cinnamon on the stove.  And then He takes me back to who I was before I got clean.  I am profoundly grateful.

I fall into His arms.