I Choose Joy

 

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.

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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.

Broken Halos

 

Sitting here thinking, left to my own devices and dwelling on forgiveness, my family and how much things have and will change for reasons that may surprise you.  I was devastated by the loss of my family, but if it weren’t for the broken spell of codependency?  I would not be writing, creating, and, quite possibly, breathing.  I simply could not be my authentic self and survive their disrespect, hostility, or apathy.

So, now that we got the crappy part out of the way, I was daydreaming about how God picks us up and takes us away:  from the pain, the angst and the scary monsters.  A year ago today?  I was a sniveling coward, awaiting the latest news on the possible Zombie Infiltration.  Ok, maybe not zombies, but definitely black eyed children.  I was so sure that September 23 would be the return of Jesus, that my poor husband drove all the way home from work just to comfort me.  I now know that no man can come close to even guessing at the day of Jesus’ return, and that the idiots who produced the videos were looking for likes, or subscribers. Gawd.  How pitiful.  But wait?  Was I a charity case, or was my brokenness a blessing in disguise?  The latter, actually, as it strengthened my faith and made me so much stronger in the process.

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The men pictured above, Jesse and my husband Dwain, are the true loves of my life, and I praise God each and every day for their presence in my life.   None of this would ever be remotely possible if Yah didn’t give us second chances.  And third.   And eleventy hundred.  I am not admitting to murder, or some other heinous crime-don’t get me wrong: but even if I was?  Well, I would have to confess and repent, but yes, there would be forgiveness.  People get hung up on the word “repent.”  Translated from the Holy Bible, repent  means “think anew,” and of course we must change our behavior-actions speak so much louder than words.

When I get angry or hurt by those in my intimate circle, or even colleagues at church or volunteering, what have you-I think of them as broken, and in just as much if not more pain than I could possibly know.  I may be estranged from my family, but I forgive them because I love them.  I don’t know about liking them at this juncture in our history; but I know they have pain.  I know they try their very best, as strange as that may sound.  They are loving parents with successful careers-what more could you possibly want?  But regardless, I am only too aware that they, too, have moments of despair.  My sister’s youngest child is in college, and I can’t imagine the sadness.  Of course, she thought I was contagious while going through perimenopause, and not only withheld every iota of compassion-but would not stand close to me at family functions.  Yes, this is true.  🙂

Hate your boss?  Think of him/her as a young child-it helps with prying the sympathy out of our hardened hearts.

Want to strangle your better half?  Think of the last time they touched you in your secret, hidden places, where no one else has the power or accessibility.

The elderly person on the walker, you know, the one who is in front of you when you are going anywhere.  You are in a hurry, and bloody hell why is this happening to me?  They may not have anyone left to visit them, or possibly dying a slow and painful death.  Repent!

The world is out there waiting for us, as they will know we are Christians by our love~

MoJo Rising

 

Good Friday afternoon to y’all.  I write to you on this dreary, but freakishly exciting Winter’s day from my sick bed.  It takes a lot to get me into bed, especially because of the years and years I spent in bed because of depression.  The common flu or virus, the catch o’ the day, so to speak.

Yesterday was ROUGH on my husband, poor Dwain.  I get really, really, really mean right before I get sick.  I remember two years ago, when I was going through a bout of Lyme: I was standing my the trash can, picking up clutter, when my husband spilled the brand new bag of French kitty litter all over the driveway.  When I say it’s French, I mean it’s from Paris-I get it at the local bent and dent, for $5.99 and it’s the best cat litter I have ever used in my 51 years of cats.

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Yep.  I can be the biggest beatch  this side of the Pacos.  So, getting back to the story-I was filled-not only with rage but superhuman strength.

“I.  Could.  KILL.  You.”

I ran at him full force and scared the shit out of both of us.  Well, yesterday can be likened to that scenario.  I had to go for a Suboxone pee test.  I had put this appointment off approximately 5. 457 times.  Between the shady weather (sleet, snow, jackasses) and my current bug du jour?  I didn’t feel like driving 30 minutes to have someone irritate me-and, sadly for her, that is exactly what happened when my doctor’s receptionist screamed:

“You have to CHECK OUT!!!!!!!”

First off, her name is Rocky, I kid you not.   Short for Raquel (?), this woman earned the nickname:  two hundred pounds of Hispanic attitude on crack, having a bad day.  (No, I am not prejudice against Hispanics.  Pleasssssssssssseeee.  The politically correct can go blow their horn, this is my blog.

Okay, I admit I try to escape the time consumption of checking out of my physician’s office.  I do it, almost every time I go-but you should have seen her face!  Honestly, she looked like she had just swallowed glass.  And,  she looked like she could cut a bitch.  She messed with the wrong altar ego, I can tell you that.  Right there, in front of everyone, I retaliated:

“Jesus Rocky, do you have to be irritable 150% of the time????”

I don’t know what happened next, as the other receptionist was having such a hard time unlocking the door, for me to CHECK OUT, that I got caught up in the drama, and hey-she kind of deserved it.

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That’s what I wanted to say. “BITCH, PLEASE!!”

Prior to that, the doctor declared my “weight was up a few pounds.”  The very same doctor who threatened to hospitalize me if I didn’t gain weight ten years prior.  I can’t begin to tell you how badly that pissed me off.

“What’s up with that blood pressure, anyway?,” he laughed.

Wrong.  Move.

First of all, I have my period.  Secondly, my clothes fit just fine, thank you very much, and C.  why do I still go to this Douchebag, anyay?

Hours later, after shelling out $100 on prescriptions, I find myself beginning to relax, whilst shed hunting with my main dog, Jesse.  I revel in the fresh air, the snow covered inlets and bubbling brooks…my phone rings, it is my husband.  What fresh hell appears on the horizon?

“Please deposit my check today, you already spent 175 bucks!”

You poked the bear, Mister.

I drove to the bank, leaving all thoughts of hiking behind.  I cried at said bank, then drove home to write my husband a hate-mail.  I went on about rolling pennies when we first met, to not having a vacation for the last two years, and only God knows what else.

See what I did there?  You can ignore an email.  And I had no desire to see the results-I was too busy crawling under the sheets, and turning the people off.

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I’ll have a new blog written for tomorrow, about QAnon, the global agenda that is Q, and the news keeps getting better and better.

Now, back to bed.

 

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.

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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~

Cuffed on a Dirt Road

 

Okay, I have a million different things on my mind, it’s my 26th wedding anniversary, and I forgot my husband’s card.  I have eleventy hundred boxes of cards-as a matter of fact?  I collect them.  I.  heart. cards.  Big time.  I guess I could use one of those, but hey-it’s not the same.  Somehow, spending twenty bucks on a card makes it mean more, and Hallmark?  You have enough of my money, thank you.

Dwain and I have moved mountains since we met, or should I say God has moved mountains for us.  Financial instability,  cancer, anorexia, a motorcycle accident, the almost-divorce, alcoholism and drug addiction, the death of my parents-issues that would normally drive a couple apart, only served to bring us closer.

I wanted to find a way, if underwhelming, to put those years into a blog.  But there aren’t enough hours in the day-I have so many memories, which will turn into stories, perhaps, one day.  So, here’s the Reader’s Digest version, ’cause it’s our day and my man is kicking me in my kidneys.

I was engaged to a decent man.  Or so I thought.  We brought out the worst in one another.  He became abusive on our honeymoon.  He knew I was in love with another man, and despite my pleas, we were married on June 9, 1990.  Allowing myself to be coerced, I made the worst mistake of my life.  I had cervical cancer at the time.  The stress was overwhelming.  I sent Dwain a card from my honeymoon.  

The marriage lasted one week.

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The biggest challenge and love of my life.

 

I moved in with Dwain not long after.

It was wild, all consuming, raw and passionate love.  We couldn’t keep our hands off one another, it was a sickness-a curse.  When he left the room, I ached.  When he came back?  I swooned.  We are still as passionate and crazy in love.

God protected us from murdering one another over the years.  Alcoholism.  Drug Addiction.  Anorexia.  A shit ton of mental health issues, denied grief and a violent temper-all on my part.  We never laid a hand on one another.  We have never cheated on one another.  Although, I deliberately tried to run him over when I caught him driving his secretary back from lunch one Spring afternoon, years ago.

We were poor.  Dirt poor.  His first wife took everything but his soul.  I was a violent, malicious drunk-and the tears flow every time I think of how I must have wounded him.  There was emotional abuse on both sides.   Cops.  Court orders.  And, finally?  Jesus.

He is the song I sing.  He will always have me, heart and soul.

What a beautiful gift He has given me!

 

 

Physician, Heal Thyself

 

I’m back BABY!!!!  I am back amongst the living, trying to adjust to my new laptop.  I almost walked out of Staples on Saturday: I had one picked out-the cheapest one, and I was dead set on that model-when Mr. Staples, Jr. abruptly said:

“We don’t have that in stock, you’ll have to drive to Hershey.”

I mumbled a few choice words to my husband.

How convenient.  I’m not driving to Hershey!  Seems a bit fishy, they can’t keep the cheapest computer in stock…..let’s go, I’m done.”

The twelve year old salesperson stared at me, stunned I wouldn’t fall for the next to cheapest model, which was $100 more.  And then, by some twist of fate, I ended up walking out with that more expensive laptop.  And so it goes…

Oh what a delight to be back, writing, researching, and coming up with new ideas for my blogola.  I hope I didn’t forget how to write.  It’s not like riding a bike, folks.  I was thrilled with the idea of writing weekly, until I remembered the words of Christian Mahai-write, write, write.  The frequency of my blogs isn’t important, it’s the content.  So, let’s get right into it, shall we?

The above song is by Flyleaf, a Christian band I love.  I don’t believe they are together, and I know the lead vocalist took time away from singing to have a family-the point of this song?

Notice the voice in this video, by Joe M., The Storm is Upon Us.   This is the voice of John F. Kennedy, Jr.  The fact has been verified that John John is very much alive and well.  If you really want hour by hour coverage of The Plan, follow Joe M. on Twitter, you won’t be disappointed.

In other news:

Remember this:  the truth shall set you free.  God is with us and for us, no man can stand against us.

Be blessed.

 

Mean Old Mrs. Jones

If I had known you could play the license plate, well, shit howdy I would have signed up for it!!! I adore these two, and it was with wild relief that I came upon this song. The song going through my head?The Beautiful People, unfortunately, I loathe Marilyn Manson, and will never, ever use him in a blog. Weirdo.

Oh my, not sounding like the Christian I am supposed to be today, eh? No, quite the contrary: I could punch a stink bug. Not proud of my blog yesterday-when I lost my integrity and called out my family. Here’s the thing-the magnanimous thing to do would be to not write of them; however, this is my personal property, as much as they hate the fact that I have something to call my very own. If people don’t like you writing about them, well, maybe they shouldn’t have behaved so poorly in the first place. For reasons I only half know? I love them still. Yet they are toxicity itself when it comes to my sanity, but that doesn’t mean I hate them. Sadly, I almost wish I could.

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I forced myself to go to Bands today. Down and isolating, I haven’t been out of the house except to go to church, in the past two weeks. I promised my friend I’d send out a care package, she’s having a hard time of it lately-my tiny town’s post office is open but two hours a day, and I hit it wrong each and every time. It bothers me, and I mean BOTHERS me, when I don’t follow through on my promises. Lately, it’s almost as if there is a silent force, keeping me back, holding me from moving forward. I don’t force anything, because at this stage in recovery, I am way too fragile.
I remain my worst enemy, and can’t catch a break with myself.
My issues begin when I know I must follow through-I literally make myself sick with dread.

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This isn’t what the blog was supposed to be today. I wanted to write about recovery from narcissistic abuse-and the changes you go through while in recovery. We need to do the hard work necessary to change our hearts, motivations and boundaries. Most of us with CPTSD never had boundaries to begin with; and another commonality is that we trusted, with our very lives, people who tore us to shreds, took us for granted or simply weren’t in to the friendship/relationship as seriously as we were.

The changes our personalities go through are shocking to those around us.
They expect you to assume the position, take whatever they’re dishing out, look the other way when they break promise after promise after promise. No. No. NO!

Today is my eleventh anniversary-I have been sober (with the exception of a few slips)for this many years. Yes, sobriety changed my character, faith and friendships. Yes, there were adjustments to make, along with changing my behavior I found I simply could not inhabit the places I had, prior to quitting drugging and drinking. “Friends” stopped calling-the change in our lifestyle was drastic, daunting and downright depressing; but you will find your attitude about that changes too. The past is where it should be, some good and some putrid memories were made. I have stories (oh, believe me I’ll tell them one day)upon stories of drunken faux pas. The one that immediately comes to mind is this:

I had gone out with the girls on a Saturday afternoon. We were to go on a scavenger hunt and each clue was offered at bars around the area. By the fourth clue, my friends had dropped me off at home because I was sloppy drunk-I suppose I passed out directly. When I awoke, I was disoriented and wild-where the Harry was my husband? It was 8 o’clock in the morning!!!! (NO, it wasn’t. It was 8 p.m. and I had lost an entire day. Convinced he had been out all night cheating on me, I went into a rage. I did not remember this, but trust me, Dwain surely did. The story goes like this: my in-laws were entertaining folks from their church, in the quaint little gazebo they erected across the street from our home. We had lived in this house, directly across the road from Dwain’s parents, for ten years. Although things are better, I did not get along well with them. They disliked me from the very beginning. I must have been dwelling on these thoughts when I stripped down to my flesh, went out on our roof, and screamed this:

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT THE NEIGHBORS THINK!!!!!!!!”

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For years I carried the shame of my addiction. I allowed people to walk all over me, so codependent that almost every one of my friends took it for granted that no matter what, I would forgive and forget. I figure it this way-bullies don’t like it when the underdog comes alive, sticks up for herself and demands to be treated with dignity and respect.

My family didn’t like it, my former friends were not pleased, hell, my dog even noticed-what had happened to the doormat who allowed herself to be treated so poorly?

She doesn’t exist. There’s a new kid in town. She’s kicking ass and taking names, so don’t get in her way.