If I Were the Devil…

 

I haven’t been writing on the subject of our reality in this day and age:  the fight of GOOD against EVIL, the thinning of the veil, pure evil being brought into the light-simply because the good news comes now, at warp speed.  The Good News meaning a myriad of things, but first and always foremost it is the story of Jesus.  He was born to Joseph and Mary (a virgin) in the little town of Bethlehem.  He grew to fulfill His purpose, which was to sacrifice himself, on that wretched cross, to pay the debt for our sins.  He died, but He rose again-bringing with him the Holy Spirit.  He now sits at the right hand of our Father, in heaven-with all of the Saints and Angels.

People.  If God could save a wretch like me?  He can, and will, save the likes of your sorry butts 🙂 All you need to do is ask Him to come into your life.  If you ask Him to, he will forgive all of your trespasses-and welcome you with open arms.  In my case, as bad as my life had become for so many reasons?  I needed to hit bottom-which ended up being my husband telling the social worker in the emergency room that I had pointed a knife at him, over a bottle of wine.

And then, he burst into tears.

I was accompanied to the bathroom by a police officer, who stood suicide watch on me through the night.  They gave me meds so strong, that I slept through the next day-as my husband emptied the house of any vestiges of booze.  The next few years were the absolute worst/best of my life.  But mostly worst.  I clung to Jesus for dear life!

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I want you to know a few things, such as I was not awake myself until two years ago.  The PTSD and Lyme had taken their toll on my mind and my immune system.  My anxiety and depression left me incapable of dealing with any stress whatsoever.  Ironically, the quest for truth God put me on has added to the trauma.

But yet when I am my weakest, only then am I strong.

This sentiment in this scripture  speaks to me, speaks to my very soul.  I have lived through a life that could not have been lived by the faint of heart.  From the time I was a young, chubby girl yearning to be loved to the anorexic fright of a waif, weighing in at 73 pounds, Jesus has been with me.  Even in my isolation, there was a solace and peace-I was never truly alone.  I desperately needed Him.  A  grueling battle with alcoholism and addiction to opioids left me feeling unworthy, unloved and unwanted.  I can honestly say I despised myself, and drifted away from the church.

This isn’t the story I want to be telling, but one day during the first year of my sobriety, I fell to my knees in eight inches of snow, and cried out to Jesus.  I wept and wept and prayed that He forgive me for my transgressions-it took me awhile to believe it, but he did, and I felt it.  To this day I literally take one moment at a time, one day at a time asking the Holy Spirit to guide my endeavors.  On paper?  God waking me up at such a time as this is objectionably hilarious.  Me?  The girl that screams bloody murder when she mistakes her slippers for a rodent?  The gal who can’t read Dean Kuntz at night, even with her husband right beside her?  The girl who has to light every candle in the house for aromatherapy, just to write a check?

I have really bad issues with money.  Oy vey.

Yes.  Apparently so.  The Great Awakening is about a movement of like minded people,  who begin to realize that the life they had been living was an absolute shit show.  We just didn’t know it at the time.  The treason and evil go deeper than a hundred blogs could cover.  We are at the inception of a mass awakening, as the Trump administration (through QAnon) begins the delicate unraveling of the truth.  The corruption.  The evil on a scale that “would put 99% of America in a hospital.”

I have news for the enemy.

President Trump wants to control the drop of information, so as not to alarm and cause mass hysteria.  I want this blog to be a place where you can come to get the absolute truth, in a loving and humble manner.  All glory goes to God, thousands of people have this information-and we are okay, for the most part.  There are support groups, those who will answer questions, and those that offer the truth in a safe, timely and responsible manner, that honors God and country.

Tomorrow we’ll take it from the beginning,

AboutQResearch

No Guilty Party

Was it Erika Jane (of Beverly Hills Housewives) who said, “I am an enigma, wrapped in a riddle?”  It doesn’t matter, I deplore that woman.  I gave up watching the show after a rather disturbing birthday party scene in which Miss Thang had naked dancers, sprayed in 14k gold, placed in cages for effect.  I am not judging, just saying I have better things to do with my life, than watch hers implode.

And it will.  Implode that is.  More on that later, in another blog.

Notice the occult symbolism in this video?  The bathtub, the one eye, the MK Ultra sex slave spreading her oh so expensive legs.  That’s right, she’s had more plastic surgery than Michael Jackson.

Google the Guatemalan House of Culture.  My brother lives in LA, and even he had no idea about the Blackhawk operation that took place a few weeks back.  It appears, no it’s a fact, that her husband owns that building, and his law offices are conveniently located directly across the street.

Nefarious at best, these people.  The lifestyles of the rich and famous, do I yearn for that life?  No.  But to be honest, I did.  People magazine, Us, even the National Enquirer would keep me company more nights than not, but that was before God took the scales from my eyes-woke me up so to speak.  Please heed my warning:  these people, the elite?  Turns out they’re dog crap on the feet of humanity.  The last two years of my life, after a Spirit led quest for the truth, have left me a different person.  I am jaded, depressed and more than a bit paranoid.  That can be the price we pay for getting to the bottom of reality.  Was the whole journey worth it?  Indubitably.

When people change, truly change-the people around them are somewhat perplexed and disheartened.   When a codependent people pleaser ditches the cloak of door mattery  and tries to right the wrongs?  Well, at least in my case, people flee the scene of the crime: as if to say, call me when I can abuse/ignore/dump on you again.  I liked the old Michele-big heart, gullible and apologetic for existing.

I am alone, yet not really lonely.  I have a small group of  friends (it gets smaller by the day) but no one I would call in an emergency; fact is?  People don’t talk on the phone or even text these days.  It’s as if social media has replaced society as a whole.  I understand those who drop everything to begin life anew, in a hut somewhere west of Haiti, no phone, no contact with humanity.

But we need people, don’t we?  Isn’t that how God intended us to be?

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Yes.  The answer is a resounding YES.

My brother wrote a song, years ago, about how the ones you love slip away, but the fools stay put-nope, they aren’t going anywhere- they’re stuck to you like white on rice.

I attempted a friendship with my neighbor a few weeks ago.  That relationship fell flat before it even had a chance-she turned out to be even more unreliable than me, and that’s saying something.  I am prone to avoiding people at all costs, but I thought she was different-turns out, not so much.

Please excuse my attitude, let’s chalk it up to cabin fever…if that’s what you call losing all hope in humanity.

Here’s the rest of the LA story.  The truth will be revealed in God’s perfect timing.

 

 

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.

https://youtu.be/iyEwt9H6aP0

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.

 

Down to the Jordan Stream

One of the very best tunes I have heard in some time-this music soothes my soul.  I love old things: antiques, vintage clothing, the elderly, and I am reminded of simpler ways, kinder times.

Oh, hold on a second!  My husband is lecturing me about my absolute drive to come to the truth about our world, our society, our government.  

“I don’t know why you do it to yourself.”

“By the way, Tom Hanks is a pedophile,” I retaliate.

“Tom Hanks is a pedophile?” (giggle, guffaw, belch)

I say this with a lightness in my heart that hasn’t been seen since the day I married my man.  I know we are winning the war, the insidious little somethings that gradually grow and eventually manifest into full out plagues.  Sex trafficking.  ANTIFA.  Pedophilia.  Corruption.  Hellyweird…it’s getting to the point that people are waking up, and it encourages me.

Waking up was a process for me that, had I known what lay ahead?  I would have run for the hills.

Ah, Lord, I know I’ve been changed; I said Ah Lord I know I’ve been changed.  The angels in Heaven done signed my name-lyrics I relate to, believe me.  Here’s a little secret that I have been holding on to, wondering in what manner to bring it up in my writing-the closer you come to Jesus, the more you love Him?  Well, the more transformed you become.  I knew something was drastically different when I found myself loving my irritating, self righteous neighbor.  I am convinced she sells information about us all around this block, if you can call two square miles of countryside a “block.”

Yes, out of the blue, right after I became sober, the Grinch’s heart began to soften.  It came as a huge surprise because when I got sober-I got good and pissed.  At everything, really-I was a whirling dervish of RAGE and despondence.  Grief had crept up from the grave, and I went back and forth between crippling sadness over everyone I have lost thus far-especially my father-and the urge to beat the living crap out of anyone who even looked my way.  It’s like someone took you blanky, for crying out loud.  EVERTHING bothers you, my husband’s chewing was so irritating to me that I came close to sending him packing.  You cannot, and I REPEAT, you can NOT grieve, well, anything or anyone if you are using.  And when us addicts have to face pain, what do we do?  We medicate as quickly as possible.  Here’s something many don’t understand: alcoholics and addicts are extremely compassionate, empathetic and sensitive.  I know this for a fact.  I also know that I had, out of self preservation, put up an unsightly wall-against others, including myself.

When I was baptized by water last Easter, I wasn’t expecting any change, as I had been baptized as a child.  When I was saved, my life began anew-so I recommitted myself on a Sunday, in ice cold water-in front of a full church.  I was utterly and completely alone-no husband, family nor friends attended.  The air conditioning was on high, and I embarrassed myself by running from the altar, after having my clothing thrown at me by our Worship minister.  Not a pretty site.  Did I mention I had a sinus infection at the time?

Ah, I have totally veered off of my original point.  You will absolutely believe, deep in your soul, that Jesus is in and with you-when your heart begins to soften.  You stop thinking that you are any better/worse than the next guy.  I repeat that often, I am no better nor worse than my brothers and sisters.  You begin to put others first, and might even find yourself wanting to help others every chance you get-and it feels good and right and perfect.  The rage diminishes.  The cravings vanish.  Jesus sought after you, and you allowed Him into your very being.

So, if you think you’re turning soft, or that the hormones are raging-just call out to Jesus-then you will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He will answer~

And She Was……

There is a well known fact in this household, rarely spoken of, but my heart beats for him continuously, and he has earned my adoration.  David Byrne, MARRY ME.  🙂  I had the pure privilege of seeing the Talking Heads at Emerald City in Philadelphia, circa 1980.  Front row.  The rolling melodies and heart thumping bass can still be heard in my head, and I am dead serious when I say that the female guitarist made a pass at me.  Ah, the good old days when rock was rock and  a spade a spade.

I had a horrible nightmare last night.  Or I should say this morning-Dwain had decided to go to work, despite the blizzard conditions-he wasn’t answering my calls, he was nowhere to be found.  I awoke in a cold sweat, extremely anxious and confused.  Moments later, while sipping hot coffee, I phoned my husband and my nerves were calmed just by the sound of his voice.  Strange way to start the day…….

As I walked down to the garage, to feed the feline community, I felt it-or, perhaps didn’t feel it is a better way to say this.  No pain.  During Lyme flares, my feet are constantly in pain.  Bone pain, muscle pain-I don’t let it slow me down, but the mere fact that I was pain free was reason enough to look up at the sky and praise Him.  My lymph node has diminished, and there is even a noticeable lift in my loafers.  Oh, how beautiful life is.  And here’s the thang-none of us are promised more than this day.  We have a choice-to be positive among the chaos and confusion, carpe diem,  or, as I did yesterday-we can pout, stomp our feet and be a miserable pain in the ass in general, bringing everyone around us on edge, walking upon proverbial eggshells.

I fail Him each and every day, by thought and deed.  I repent, ask for forgiveness, and concentrate on my future-with my main man, golden retriever and Yeshua-and between the four of us?  We have this, He is working in our lives, whether we see rainbows or coffins-the choice is ours, and I choose life-oh, my dear friends, I choose life~

Like Some Heroine….

Every other Sunday, I work at our church Welcome Center.  I genuinely like my coworker, (names have been changed to protect the criminally insane, mainly me) Alice.  When we began working together, about two years ago, she frightened me to death.  I feared she may be judgmental, and I’ll be honest-she intimidated me-two years ago, that is.

When I first began attending Hosanna, I wasn’t in the best place at that time in my life.  I hadn’t dealt with my poor self esteem issues, and was not aware that my PTSD was eating away at my life, making me cripplingly insecure, and a people pleaser.  I tried to hard.  I wanted everyone to love me.  I had just come from a very broken church, and the grief enveloped me to the point where I am sure it showed.

Alice is pleasant, and I admire her status as a cancer survivor.  She likes things done her way, so we have fallen into a pattern of her doing the desk work, and me doing the people work.  I know she means well, but I am beginning to tire of her putting me down.  I am beginning to feel as if I should protect my heart, as she criticizes almost everything I do-but here’s the catch-she’s my sister and I love her, so therein lies the rub.

I told Alice about a picture of one of the congregants cats, who had just passed away.

I don’t do any social media.  You have to be very careful being on the internet, it is very evil and you are swayed way too easily.  You have no idea what goes on, (she is shaking her head as if I am a toddler) and we (Christians) would do best to stay away.

I mentioned that I wrote a blog on WordPress, a Christ centered one at that.  She mumbled underneath her breath.

I wanted to say something, yet gone is my rage.  I find it impossible to remain angry with some folks, and what is the point of harboring resentment?  I need to speak up or shut up.  I will pray for a way to approach her-say my peace and be done with it.

I believe she would be horrified to think she has hurt me; and I know I enabled the behavior simply by allowing it.  I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, she is kind and compassionate-yet today it kind of stood out, and gone are my paranoid ways: as a sensitive and intuit, I found it excruciatingly difficult to discern between being oversensitive and just plain hurt.  Over the past two years, Jesus and I have been working on my self esteem, values and perceptions.  I now know that I am okay, worthy and pure in God’s eyes.  This has changed not only my persona, but my boundaries.

I have found freedom in authenticity.  It has been a tiring, painful journey to get to this stage in the game-where I have tired of the human punching bag role in life.  I think myself equal with all people, no better, no worse.

How is Jesus working in your life?  Anyone have a similar experience?  I’d love to hear your thoughts~<3

An Open Letter to Joe M. @stormisuponus

Awhile back, I lost my cool on a guy on Twitter-Joe M. @thestormisuponus-it was back when Q told us that JFK, Jr. was not alive, after leading us in the direct opposite direction for months. I cried out in rage, almost convinced that QAnon was a Psyop, and that didn’t sit well with my discernment.

Literally two seconds after I left the boards, poor Joe M., in an attempt to console me, said that there is “disinformation on the boards as well.”

My response?

“This is the ULTIMATE betrayal!!!!”

A good shrink I used to see told me that anger is rooted in fear. And when we fear, whom do we go to? That’s right, Jesus.

And so it was, a few hours later, that I walked the trails of a wildlife sanctuary with my golden retriever. I looked up, I looked within, and popped the question.

“Abba, is John F. Kennedy, Jr. alive?”

Now Joe, you don’t know me from squat. You wouldn’t know that I have CPTSD, am a victim of NPD, and have suffered great heartache in my life because the people I treasured betrayed me. They lied to me. They manipulated me. They devastated me. As a result, I trust no man.

However, my friend, I do trust God. And in answer to my question? The Holy Spirit moved me to look down. What I saw was a Tiffany Blue feather, literally shining brightly by the corn stalks. I knew at that moment that John John was alive and well. My gratitude knew no bounds. I was uplifted and inspired-QAnon was no Psyop.

Just like you say, Joe, there must be disinformation-the black hats are watching. But I wanted you to know that I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s show, and between you and me?

I think you’re him.