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

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.

10454918_10201133838867546_1710984949571415948_n

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.

1597671_10200491268483688_1195465175_o

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.

WE HAVE BOTH WON OUR BATTLE OVER VICTIMHOOD. WE ARE SURVIVORS. WE ARE LOVED UNCONDITIONALLY BY A GOD WHO SENT HIS ONLY SON TO PAY FOR OUR SINS, SO THAT WE MAY SPEND ETERNITY WITH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST.

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.

10492546_10201511085338472_4357884074414569740_n

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.”
JOHN F. KENNEDY

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~

15095550_1812089809073862_3374301090125037312_n

 

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~

15095550_1812089809073862_3374301090125037312_n

 

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.  🙂