The Weeping Cherry

Sometimes I like to watch him sleep, or run my fingers through his once long curls.  Sometimes I want to braid his nose hairs, but that’s not my aura right this minute.

The holidays are over, and as for me and my house? We will serve the Lord, whilst picking up the tornado wreckage that is our abode. Boxes, tissue paper and gifts, looking like a scene in Toy Story, which by the way? That movie ain’t for any kids I know, serious sexual undertones and witchery abounds…take your kids to see Halloween, trust me, the therapy bills will be much lower.

I had lifted myself out of the funk I was in by Christmas Eve. As I sat, crumpled over in my chair, I heard the faintest of words, and they grew, in volume and enthusiasm…it was our Children’s Choir, and singing Silent Night at that. I felt a surge of hope, a hope that this year, we win the war against Human Trafficking, Suicide and Homelessness. Anything is possible with God.

As I finished up the dishes, I walked out on to our deck Christmas evening, to see the stars and find some peace.

What at first appeared to be a shadow of a man, (Good Grief!!!!) appeared instead a Weeping Cherry tree. A gift from my husband, as I have wanted one to place at our golden Dylan’s grave out back.

I dried my hands on the dishtowel; and ran to the man who embodies my soul, and makes all my dreams come true.

And then I gave Dwain a hug, a big fat kiss on the lips.

 

 

ThanQ

I woke this morning and turned on my pc. Gravitating towards reading a blog or two, I was stuck on my stats: 3,000 people read my blog entitled, FUQ, and the comment section was a veritable mine field.

I was given love and support, and I also had more than a few trolls (blocked immediately) who cursed me out for being “naïve” enough to believe in the “brainwashing” to begin with. And now, I am at peace in the knowledge that what I am about to say may indeed ruffle even more feathers. So be it.

32130600_2077766002509019_9049220660714274816_n

As last night unfolded, I sunk into a funk and put my computer away. In the shower, I cried out to God, for wisdom, peace and understanding. I sat and brought out my devotionals; and to His glory? He led me with wisdom and Grace.

The title of the devotion for December 13? Perfect Wisdom. Below, in its entirety, is the entire writing.

The wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight.
-1 Corinthians 3:19 NIV

The world has its own brand of wisdom. Unfortunately, it’s a brand of wisdom that’s often wrong and sometimes dangerous. God, on the other hand, has His own brand of wisdom, and it’s a wisdom that will never lead you astray.

Where will you place your trust today? Will you trust in the wisdom of fallible men and women, or will you place your faith in the wisdom of the infallible, all-knowing, loving God of the universe? How you answer that question will profoundly affect the course of your life.

I did some research on the theory that Q is a Psyop, but quickly realized that every article naysaying the phenomena had either false information or character assassination by proxy.

QAnon is a marvelous tool for research, but there are bad guys on the military channels as well. “Disinformation is necessary” were my three most hated words yesterday. Huber failed to show up at Comey’s testimonial yesterday, but for good reason. It occurred to me that Trump is the ingenious mind behind all of this rhetoric, and I trust him. I truly believe he was anointed for such a time as this. I also know that you can’t let the enemy in on your plan, and I have accepted that fact.

This morning I am trying to apply what I have learned, and that is that God is our source of knowledge, Donald Trump’s presidency is the most transparent of our time-he leads us to Q for that very reason. The infographs are full of the God’s honest truth, and I owe him and the other Anons so much-in terms of waking me up and leading me to be a better Patriot today and in the future: I love my country and its people, I know what I personally need to know.

And so it was that I went to the infinite wisdom of God this morning, as I walked among the creeks and streams.

“Abba, is JFK, Jr. alive?”

What happened next was so surreal, I thought I may be dreaming. On a dark and dreary day, fog so thick you could slice it with a knife, my attention was directed to a Tiffany Blue feather, sparkling in the sun, directly in front of me. That’s right, there was no sun

Go with God for answers. Do your own research. And, as Q would say-think for yourselves.

Because the world is deceptive, it is dangerous. The world can even deceive God’s own people,and lead them to trouble.
– Warren Wiersbe

Faster Than the Speed of Light…

 

HELL hath no fury greater than a gardener who can’t find her gardening tools; and if that raging lunatic is me, well, then so be it.  I believe I have told you all that my in laws live directly across the street-and they have silenced me for years and years.  Well, homey don’t play that crap anymore.  I will play my music as loud as I can, and when I find out that you have taken my last kitty litter jug, which I use to water my flowers, man, I have ZERO SYMPATHY.  BLASPHEMER.

I didn’t even begin to garden until I got my butt good and sober.  In my late forties, a doctor had recommended it to ease the symptoms of menopause, and I will be forever grateful.  My father was a master gardener, but the only thing I could get close enough to learn (mom didn’t want us in the kitchen, dad didn’t want us in the garden) was Miracle Grow, Miracle Grow, Miracle Grow!

So, here we are, this morning…I’m happy, I am amongst the roses.  Even though it rained for the last few days, the soil is parched, and I go for my watering cans.  Well, what fresh hell is this?  My father in law has taken at least ten of these containers over the last two years.  He did not ask.  They are quite well off, but apparently, rather than buy their own containers-they walked up the road and took mine.  Sounds silly, not?  Oh, silly isn’t the word, baby.  I didn’t find out who had taken them until a visit last Spring, when my father in law said:

“Hey, Shell, I took a few of your watering jugs, you know, we fill them with rain water and use it for the gardens.”

If looks could kill, he would be laying on his garage floor-trust me.

It added to my thought process at that time:  you don’t matter, you are irrelevant, no one cares about your property, why would ANYONE respect you or your things?

Amen and AMEN-I don’t think that way any longer.  I do have boundaries, and, even though I may seem to be a harmless, little honey bee, in reality I ROAR LIKE THE BUMBLES!!!  When those closest to you have messed with your head, it changes you.  Once you stop feeling sorry for yourself, God plants a seed.

Go move that mountain.  Go break some rules.  Ensure people respect you.

And it was with those thoughts in mind that I played this song at volume ear bleed, and danced my way through the garden this morning.

Laugh out loud, they can dish it out, but man o’ day-they can’t take it.

Not for a second.  🙂

Baby I’m Worth It

 

Jesus mighty I am on an emotional rollercoaster-and I really, really want to get off-any moment now…yep…that would be really cool, Jesus.  And then His peace hits me smack in the face, and I chill out.  With the help of some cannabis.  In my reality?  I love everything God put on this great, green earth-but my favoritest ever-ever gift?  That of the marijuana  plant.  Thank you Jesus.  Thank you Jesus.

Oh the flipping melodrama.  As the Hoffmans Turn, or The Young and the Witless…whateve.  I am over it, over it I say.  Heavy sigh, thank you-I feel so much better.  🙂 It’s that time of year again, when my brother and his family fly in from Los Angeles to stay with my sibling for two weeks.  They frolic on lakes like that of George, we grew up vacationing at Canoe Island Lodge-my father’s ashes were spread there by the family, and on Lake Pleasant years later by myself and my husband.  Last year, my brother gave me the information and we booked a house a few miles north.  The resulting meltdown, on my sister’s part-caused us to reschedule our vacation to September.

Even though we were to be in separate homes, my brother agreed, the risk was too high.  I broke down and cried, then broke down and drank a half of a bottle of vodka.  This was to be the last time I have spoken to my sister’s family; which includes my Godchild, niece and nephew.  I told her to look me up when she decided she wanted healing, through whatever avenues (meaning therapy, reconnection and some hard work) meaning I had finally figured it all out.  All those years, years of thinking it was me, my drinking-and for years I had absolutely not one stick of self esteem.  Things would be fine, and then I wouldn’t hear from her for an entire Summer, but by Fall she was a completely different person.

I walked on eggshells my entire adult life.  Nothing was good enough.  And when I got sober?  Matters worsened, and although it was subtle at first, the in-your-face red flags were evident.  Who disinvites their own sister and her husband at Christmas?  So many signs, and one weekend upstate I did my research.  NPD.  Narcissistic Personality Disorder.  Heartbreaking.  She wouldn’t even allow her children to eat here.  On one occasion, a Christmas long ago, I remember the kids bugging her, pleading they were hungry..mommy, mommy can I have something to eat?  Pleaaaseee????  We had an entire spiral ham complete with all of the homemade fixings.  I had invited them for dinner!  What fresh hell was this?  

I wasn’t invited on any family vacations.  Inevitably, during one of our visits one of the kids would let it slip.

“Aunt Michele, last week, when everyone was at the beach…..”

“Aunt Michele, why weren’t you at Uncle Craig’s birthday party?”

The pain was both psychological and physical.  I would try to keep my head up, at least until we made it to Dwain’s truck.  I would cry for days.  Why?

“Why am I not worthy?,” I would ball to my husband.

This went on for twenty years.

So, this ended up being much harder than I had previously imagined-I find writing cathartic.  Yet as with any successful therapeutic work, the strife is real.  Bringing up old wounds is the Bizarro world equivalent to Chinese torture, water boarding and, quite possibly?  Multiple root canals.

And so it was, that after planning to pick my brother up and take him to dinner.  I had already planned on asking him to stand at the corner, as childish as that sounds.  I do not roam where I’m not welcome, thank you very much.

I get a text from my brother saying, “hey, why don’t I just rent a car and come up for a few hours during the day tomorrow?  It’s crazy hectic around here, so it would be better if I just drove up to you.”

I’m no Forest Gump, but it took me about 2 seconds to seal that deal.  The translation?

She doesn’t want you at the house.  You might accidentally run into one of her children and make contact.  My God!  What if the kids got a glimpse of their aunt, who, jiminy cricket, never did a thing but love the absolute crud out of them all.

And so it was with cheeky rage that I allowed myself some snarkiness.

20106744_1864093580362233_2583180271432005518_n
No she DIN’T…

Please tell Squeaky that I would not darken her door if her ceiling shat golden eggs.”

My poor brother.    He doesn’t deserve that, seriously.  But DANG THAT FELT GOOD.

 

Faster Than the Speed of Light…

 

HELL hath no fury greater than a gardener who can’t find her gardening tools; and if that raging lunatic is me, well, then so be it.  I believe I have told you all that my in laws live directly across the street-and they have silenced me for years and years.  Well, homey don’t play that crap anymore.  I will play my music as loud as I can, and when I find out that you have taken my last kitty litter jug, which I use to water my flowers, man, I have ZERO SYMPATHY.  BLASPHEMER.

I didn’t even begin to garden until I got my butt good and sober.  In my late forties, a doctor had recommended it to ease the symptoms of menopause, and I will be forever grateful.  My father was a master gardener, but the only thing I could get close enough to learn (mom didn’t want us in the kitchen, dad didn’t want us in the garden) was Miracle Grow, Miracle Grow, Miracle Grow!

So, here we are, this morning…I’m happy, I am amongst the roses.  Even though it rained for the last few days, the soil is parched, and I go for my watering cans.  Well, what fresh hell is this?  My father in law has taken at least ten of these containers over the last two years.  He did not ask.  They are quite well off, but apparently, rather than buy their own containers-they walked up the road and took mine.  Sounds silly, not?  Oh, silly isn’t the word, baby.  I didn’t find out who had taken them until a visit last Spring, when my father in law said:

“Hey, Shell, I took a few of your watering jugs, you know, we fill them with rain water and use it for the gardens.”

If looks could kill, he would be laying on his garage floor-trust me.

It added to my thought process at that time:  you don’t matter, you are irrelevant, no one cares about your property, why would ANYONE respect you or your things?

Amen and AMEN-I don’t think that way any longer.  I do have boundaries, and, even though I may seem to be a harmless, little honey bee, in reality I ROAR LIKE THE BUMBLES!!!  When those closest to you have messed with your head, it changes you.  Once you stop feeling sorry for yourself, God plants a seed.

Go move that mountain.  Go break some rules.  Ensure people respect you.

And it was with those thoughts in mind that I played this song at volume ear bleed, and danced my way through the garden this morning.

Laugh out loud, they can dish it out, but man o’ day-they can’t take it.

Not for a second.  🙂

To Offend You…..

I am getting my groove on, gaining speed in my endeavors, and feeling my proverbial oats.  I have an attitude of gratitude, and it ain’t going away any time soon…..I, my near and dear, have a lift in my loafers-it is well with my soul.  Not that the past two days have been perfect, they haven’t; what is changing is my ability to adapt (all Jesus here) to stressful situations and maintain life on an even keel-stopping to gaze at all that is good and lovely, feeling my heart soften-and letting a few people off of the hook.  Time heals all wounds, a wise man once said-and it comes down to this:

Do I really want all of this tension between my in laws, my step son and his girlfriend, and people who have crapped on me in general?   NO.  Is it possible that it is time to let go of the chip on my shoulder?  My brother once told me you simply can not be happy if you kick a family member to the curb, but then again, Craig hasn’t suffered from the abuse.  No, my sister was necessary-I pray with all of my heart that she finds Jesus and healing, but it is way, way too toxic for me to stick around and wait.  As far as my in-laws and step-son?  It is my increasing hope that this may, and I do say may be worked out-in God’s perfect timing.  God works so mysteriously, yet He always pulls us through-and ninety percent of the time?  We are better for the lesson, tragedy or pain.  He rewards us for walking through the pain, and not away from it.

The incident a few months back has taught the entire side of Dwain’s family, and myself, that love isn’t perfect; it’s a hot mess in heels on a good day.  Hate is not the opposite of love-animosity is.  Sometimes those we love hurt us so badly, so grievously that in our flinching we find ourselves swearing them off, banishing them to the Kingdom of Gloom and Doom, never to darken their door again.  There is no such thing as a perfect family.  I don’t care if you’re Ozzie and Harriet, you have issues-we all have bags packed full of crap that we haven’t dealt with.

If you’re lucky, or blessed I should say-you will get to keep your crappy family-for as long as they’ll have your ass~

 

 

See Right Through Them

I might bitch about my situation, you know, with all of the people who have a hard time dealing with my new found confidence, and Zero Tolerance for Bullshit of Any Kind policy-but God has placed a treasure trove of good people in my life-I may not see them as much as I would like to-but my friends are true blue, and they love me, no matter what others may say…..and this is where future proves past.  I haven’t been mistreated or bullied for years (not counting my family and ex-best friend) but now find myself fending off attacks from every which way.  Speaking with my gal pal extraordinaire yesterday at the grocery store:  I had sent her a few videos with the hopes of red-pilling her; but as it turned out?  She ended up red-pilling me.

We were talking about the current state in which the world has been turned upside down, dumped out for all to see:  pedophilic sex trafficking rings, involving VIPs in high places; corruption at every turn, blood in our streets.  The American population has been spoon fed a lie.  And the Cabal is now running at warp speed: everything they have done is being exposed-and He will have his vengeance, it’s right there in Revelations 18.

Do narcissists every worry about Karma?  I am doubtful, as they don’t believe they are accountable for, well, anything whatsoever.  It is a statistical fact that 85% of known narcissists with the full blown personality disorder suffer early death-from Alzheimer’s primarily.  That isn’t a pleasant thought, I am not wiping my hands feverishly while gleefully spewing the facts, just the facts ma’am.  I do, however, think it ironic that those with NPD, who gaslight, malign, triangulate and misinform others about you-that so many of them end up with their memories erased.  There is a poetic justice in that they will get paid back, tenfold, in the end.

I now know why I have been given some raw deals in life-it has made me stronger, much tougher, to the point where I feared I was losing my humanity.  And just like that, while going through my Facebook feed, seeing that a good friend had lost her fur baby?  I wept like a child.  No, Jesus hasn’t taken my humanity.  He has given me the wisdom to know the difference between an insufferable hypocrite and a friend, family member, associate.

I was once a very self involved girl, who plagued friends and family alike with her inability to make decisions, or function in a grown up fashion; I needed others’ validation to even exist, but with Jesus I have found incredible FREEDOM from the burdens others put upon me-sticks and stones, yada, yada, YADA.

I don’t judge others because I know not what they are dealing with, or suffering from.  Unless you give me proof that you are, indeed, an ass?  None of my business.  So talk all you want Kleinfeltersville-it doesn’t phase me-I’m too busy winning at happiness to be brought down by your insensitivity-and I like myself just the way I am, thank you very much.