Meeting Mathias

I’ve been meaning to write this blog for three days now, and now I’ve forgotten what seemed so pressing at the time.  I know I wanted to talk you y’all about God’s grace, and how often, after a struggle or mountain to climb?  He rewards us in wondrous ways-but you have to be aware of what is going on around you.  A good way to tune in is to pray for the Holy Spirit to guide you in all of His ways.  I just plain say,

Abba, I know I’m a little slow on the uptake, so please make things clear to me.”

Actually, I used to be an incredibly oblivious person.  And I must tell you that I am becoming more observant by the day.  You know why?  Because of QAnon.  The military boards on 8 and 4 chan, Trump’s tweets and videos decoding the maestro’s genius 3D chess game is intricate.  I have learned to look at the entire picture, not just what is in front of my face.  It knocks me off of my feet to think of all that I have been missing all these years.


After Tom Hanks threatened me for I blog I wrote about my late friend Isaac Kappy’s death?  I began all out war on the enemy.  I carry, have mace and a dog.  God blessed me with bionic hearing, and I am eerily aware of my surroundings.  I always pray before a hike or any other outdoorsy activity.  I pray the blood of Jesus wash over us and protect us.  As a matter of fact, if you are ever in a situation where you feel threatened?  Call out His name!  He will help you, this I know for certain.

See something, say something.

I mean, after everything I have learned in the last three years?

I am just coming out of a deep depression, brought on by too much research, too much isolating and a few extenuating circumstances.  One being the terminal illness my best friend is battling.  He is okay with going, even eager, or so he says.  A few weeks ago I thought we had said our goodbyes.  He had told me that his wife, a good friend for years-was not exactly my biggest fan.  In fact, he told me she wasn’t too keen on our friendship-and Scott, being a man, said this:

I don’t know what it is, but Sara and I share a special bond.

After a gut wrenching goodbye, (See Farewell My Friend, Farewell) I wept for three days straight.  My heart was so grieved!  Another best friend, Barb, had died from cancer 15 years ago-she wouldn’t let us near her-I am a nurturing person and I wear my heart on my sleeve.  I understand why Barbie did what she did, but it left a gaping, grievous wound that resurfaces now and ag”ain.  Now I wouldn’t be able to be of help to Scott, and so selfishly-I ached.

Long story short, much to my surprise, Scott phoned me yesterday.  He told me he had died, but that his son and wife had brought him back.  And then?

“Hey, can you pick me up three chicken thighs and a pound of butter?  I’m making Fettucine Alfredo tonight…”

My heart skipped a beat!  I was torn between elation and the realization that I would have to say goodbye, eventually, again.  As Dwain and I pulled into the driveway, I took notice that his wife was at home.

Honey, I don’t know if I’m going to get out of the truck.

You have to know my husband, and you had to be there-but the look on his face said:

What you talkin’ about Willis?  Where are your sensibilities?  Have you gone mad?


And so it was that his wife and I sat and talked, outside, privately.

We worked it out, and in a loving and authentic way-no cat claws whatsoever.

I offered to help in the kennel they own.  She shook her head, but offered this up:

“I could use your help with Scott in the mornings and evenings, if you could, I don’t know about your schedule, I…”

She couldn’t say anything else, I had my arms so tightly wound around her neck, by head burrowed in her long black hair, choking the life force out of her, I’m sure.


I was torn up, I can tell you that.  So thankful that God had changed things around, my attitude being one of immense gratitude.  We pulled into a car wash, waved down by kids with signs.  As Dwain moved up to the proper spot, my eyes were drawn to a small child in a wheelchair.

I approached the family with caution, bending down to touch the little boy’s hair.

“This is Mathias, and the car wash is to raise money for his sixteenth operation,” a young man informed me.

I sat down in front of him, in utter awe of his spunk.  We made quick friends, sharing blueberries and laughing out loud.  Matt was four years old, and his single mother was struggling to survive after a series of complications he suffered.

“Down Syndrome,” she nodded.  “I couldn’t help but notice how fond of you he is, thank you.”

And this is how God works-just when you’re thinking there’s no point in living?  He will blow you away by answered prayer and abundant love~


I’ll Not Be a Gentleman

Yesterday was Mother’s Day, and I pray you all had a great one-mine started out precariously, and it proved that no good deed goes unpunished.  Indeed.

In a moment of weakness, compassion and dumbassery-I asked my MIL if she would like us to join her on Mother’s Day-at her church.  Actually, my husband brought the notion up last Sunday-and I told him I’d pray on it-only to find that he had been joking.  JOKING.  Unfortunately, it was too late.  My heart got the better of me, and I set plans for 9:30 a.m.  We would be meeting in the strip mall that held her place of worship (Dwain and I called it The Cult) thirty minutes prior to the service.

Dumbassery at its finest.11156399_828561477221503_5855406605992417646_n

Anyhooser, Dwain was none too pleased with the news, but I held my ground.

“What could POSSIBLY go wrong?  We’ll be in church, sort of,” I stammered.

You have to understand a few things before I go on.  My MIL is a narcissist with possible Sociopathic tendencies.  She can scream at volume eleventy hundred with the best of them, and at one point in fact-she locked herself in the bathroom on my husband’s 35th birthday because his WIFE was taking him out to eat.  The histrionics were impressive, but I’m no longer intimidated.  Things have become manageable between us, as I take no shit and she knows this-she knows better than to mess with the likes of this girl.   Everything turned around the day I stood up to her-any attempts to bring me under her control have failed-and with my new strength I laugh in the face of danger, daily.


So the cult, I mean church fills up to maximum capacity.  I have to admit, between the praise music and the guest (a Christian comedian who had us in hysterics) my husband and I were truly enjoying ourselves.  We sat there for two hours, no major faux pas-I did spill my Kombucha on a stranger, but nothing major-patiently awaiting the blessing.

From the corner of my eye, I see the veneer on her face.  It has cracked, and the pieces are falling all over the place.  She was even drinking her water in an angry fashion, which made me pee myself a little, but thankfully I was wearing a carefree panty liner.

What’s wrong with my mother?

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?,” I reply.

Dwain, still mildly petrified of his mother, shook his head in definitive protest.

Before I could even ask, the tirade began.

Well, I’m not even going to clap for him.  (The comedian)  I wanted my pastor to be here (he was on vacation) and the real praise team (he was on vacation) to be here. And…”

I quit listening.  A seething rage began from the depths of my being:  I held it in, but I could feel the monster within, pushing and prodding at my insides-he wanted out, and in the worst way.

I stand outside in the semi-hurricane and wait for my husband to pick me up-which he does every Sunday.  The wind is blowing people’s umbrellas inside out, I think I hear a woman scream, where the HARRY is my husband?  I re-entered the church four times before I finally stormed out and to the truck.  I open the door…

“What the FUCK?????????????????????”

I scream these words at volume coxswain, and sit my ass in the seat.

“I was on the phone with your son.  Sorry.  And by the way, there may be people in upstate New York who didn’t hear you.”

“DRIVE,” the monster says.

“Just fucking DRIVE.”






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.


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

Miss Maya and the Missing Link

One of my favorite felines, Maya Angelou, has come so incredibly far in her quest to find herself. I am a firm believer in the notion that animals have souls, and like Angelou she is a fearsome lioness, a freedom fighter-a survivor.


Born 8 years ago, the last of my longhairs (I kept the entire litter, four cats in all)she was petrified of her own shadow. The runt of the litter, she was always last to get nursed, last to be bathed, pushed aside like so much dander. She immediately found a hidey hole, up in the rafters of our bedroom. Incredibly tiny, I often feared she would fade away. It was because of her frailty that I put off having her fixed- rather than take her to the Humane Society clinic for thirty five dollars, as I did with each and every other cat before-I had her spayed by our family vet, who charged me over four hundred. I know. I know. This made my husband cringe and carry on-one of the reasons Maya hides to begin with. Dwain has a strong and deep voice-he frightens all of our cats; yet Maya would run upstairs and jump to her happy place-not to be seen for days.


We have cared for a myriad of cats over the years. Living out in the country, desperate people have done desperate things, like drop their cats and kittens off at a stranger’s home: but I look at it this way-they were meant to be with me. I have my favorites (current cat population:17)and thirteen of them live outside. They have a really groovy pad under the giant pine out back, and a covered cat home beneath our deck. We feed them, nurse and vaccinate each and every cat, thanks to the generosity and passion of Nobody’s Cat Foundation. They neutered/spayed fifteen cats, giving them vaccinations as well, at no cost to myself. I will be sending them something at Christmas, for as long as they are up and running.

She doesn’t hide any longer. She lives in our bedroom, proud and precious, content in the world she has created. She likes her pillows just so and her catnip must be placed to the right of her toy mouse. I feed her can food once a day, and as long as her needs are met? She purrs at warp volume, she kills me with kitty kisses and blinks her undying affection.12311171_932332183509072_157103928902352993_n

Fresh out of the shower, and feeling a bit more positive, I played with Miss Thang in her sun spot. She has put on weight, and her coat is like mink. And then it all came together in this supernatural way. I could see it in her cat eyes, the strength, courage and love-emanating from a cat who was at one time so depressed she pulled her hair out, in clumps.


Me and Maya?

We got it licked.

Laughter After Tears

Two of my all time favorite artists in one video-you can’t beat that with a stick! And as I was led to this song, I knew exactly what to write about. I have learned, once again, that through intense emotional pain we can grow leaps and bounds in our faith, relationships and overall mental health. I spent the past few days in bed, albeit sick with the flu-but depressed and anxious about the chance that my marriage could fail miserably, and at any moment.


Because I am a grown woman, and have plenty of life experience-I know that I can cling to Jesus during the desert places, praise His name and look forward to a beautiful lesson and blessing that would surely follow.

It always does.

We should not let our fears hold us back from pursuing our hopes.”

As miserable as I was, I immediately felt shame; I thought of the least of these.

I have lived half of my life as one of the least of these.

There are times where life is so good, when I am surrounded by love-my social calendar full, and a peace that surpasses all understanding. Actually, He has answered my prayers-I live a quiet, creative and authentic life, and I owe every single step toward my recovery, every breakthrough and success to God. To Him goes the honor and glory. But what happens when you have become accustomed to this life well-lived, and the bubble bursts, leaving you blindsided? Do you question God? Do you find yourself shell shocked and incredulous? Do you feel hopeless?

Some were fools; they rebelled and suffered for their sins. They couldn’t stand the thought of food, and they were knocking on death’s door.
“Lord help!,” they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He sent out his word and healed them, snatching them from the door of death. Let them praise the Lord for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. Let them offer sacrifices of Thanksgiving and sing joyfully about his glorious acts!
-Psalm 80

Dwain and I are fine, and mea culpa-I was being incredibly sensitive. Yet when we argue, I shut down completely-although I am much better than I used to be. I’ve gone from hysterically phoning my therapist, to not crying at all.
Yet I cease to function or care-and that isn’t the place we need to be-yet I know Abba is pruning me-as He does to all of his children. I know in my secret places that something amazing will come out of the melee.

Call out to Jesus.

He wants you to trust Him. You are so very special to God-each and every one of you.

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.  🙂

Seven Sad Forests…

I wrote a blog the other day entitled A Hard Rain is Gonna Fall, speaking of the coming Easter weekend.  Yes, I know that Easter is a Pagan holiday, but I believe that if you believe you are celebrating the resurrection of Christ, his crucifixion and the deep betrayal, the crushing pain, the glorious freedom we now have in Jesus?  The demons have taken enough from us, and they ain’t getting my holiday any time soon……who’s gonna do that?  I love everything about this holiday, and have since I was a child-the egg hunts-my brother and I could hardly wait until mom parked the car, we were so competitive and so excited to find the intricately painted eggs.  I would happily eat hard boiled eggs for eternity, so after I ate mine, I usually had theirs too, as my siblings weren’t fond of them.

Hard boiled eggs, martini onions, broiled liver and onions, chocolate mint ice cream-bizarre cravings, yes, but to this day I love each food group, equally, as I am an equal opportunity lover.  I was going to write about how really bad this Easter went; how Dwain’s son broke his heart, and mine by insisting he did not owe me an apology for the incident.  Rather than talk to my step son, my in laws decided to let two hours of his company go by without saying on word about his behavior.  They then went on to invite Brad to Easter, knowing full well that we would not be attending if this was ignored, swept under the rug or avoided.  My husband and I went away for the day, as family gathered down the street.   Bradley was there for a total of 5 hours, and my husband just shoved aside, like so much hair on the floor, like an untouchable-he now knows how they have made me feel for the past 27 years, and he knows that I will not pretend anymore, not to or for anyone.  I have never tried harder in my life to love the people that are his kin, but time after time, slight after narcissistic slight, my husband would ask me to let it go, or tell me I was paranoid-I ate so much crow that I no longer hungered for manna, I’d forgotten the taste of love and acceptance.

I knew this would happen, even after we pled with them to ensure that Brad was accountable for his actions, apologized and hopefully got some help, with our support, of course.  I was this close to being committed to the local psychiatric facility as a result of his rant, very ill at the time with Lyme, my body broke down and I developed an infection in my lymph node, and suffered a relapse due to the stress.  I prayed about filing a Protection From Abuse, and only avoided it out fear it would ruin his life.  Excuse me, but isn’t that a trait of a psychopath?  No remorse.  No accountability.  I look back and remember the time, when he was a child.  He lost a board game, and kicked our dog.  I flew out of the house like a screaming banshee, and my heart races in the retelling of this story, I can feel the rage, the fact that I wanted to ring his arrogant neck, the wariness I felt from that point on.

But rather than dwell on the fact that for all intents and purposes we are the only family (we are quite close to our brothers, praise GOD) we have, I decided to concentrate on the incredible blessing and amazing life he has given us.  The last holiday I enjoyed was before my father became ill, almost twenty years ago.   My husband’s family is so incredibly different than mine, dysfunctional in ways that my family wasn’t.  I have drank to excess just to be in their presence.  I have been strung out on pain pills, high on weed, and even sedated to get through family gatherings.  And I now know why:  I knew I wasn’t accepted, and that I was resented (I couldn’t have children and my mother in law was devastated) and that they thought Dwain could do much better.  Little did they know that he was abusing me as well, at home, behind closed doors.  More evenings than not?  I drank alone in my bedroom, as Dwain and his son carried on, laughed and talked hunting for hours.  I was incredibly alone, and to this day I thank Jesus for healing his heart.  I was not an angel, not even close.  But, as God would have it, I was convicted, repented and redeemed.

And for that?  Oh for that I am incredibly grateful~