Calmed and Broken

Every once in awhile, I think Jesus likes to remind me of something:  I am not of this world, meaning I don’t fit in and have no intention of changing one thing about myself.  I have never fit in, but today the point was driven home in a cruel and devastating way.  It may be the enemy in attack mode, but I am a work in progress, and I am God’s work in progress.

I don’t want anyone to think I pity myself, as I find that a very undesirable character trait.  Spend enough time with the narcissist population and trust me, you’ll feel the same way.   However, I will say that I was pushed to my very limit this afternoon, resulting in a public display of rage and a headache at volume eleventy.  The following story may sound shocking to you, but I have learned to expect the ludicrous, as apparently that is my cross to bear in this dimension.

I came here from the Philadelphia area, to Lancaster County-by all appearances the quaintest of the quaint.  Loads of history, horse and buggies everywhere (I never tire of it) and a few of the finest restaurants around.  Beautiful countryside, small town charm, the whole shebang.

There is something disturbing about these people.  Not all, I have met some very lovely people and you know what?  They are almost always from somewhere else.  Living on the Main Line was different for me-I had many close friendships.  I didn’t realize how very accepting these fine people were, until I entered the Twilight Zone that is this one horse town.

I don’t keep up with the Joneses.  I keep to myself, unawares of what other folks are thinking.  I go to the grocery store without  makeup, usually with my stained hiking clothes.  Not a touch of makeup.  My long hair tied in a knot, lucky if my socks match to be frank.  This isn’t to say that I don’t clean up pretty, but when I do?  Vintage clothing, the more unique, the better.  My mother was a fashion plate, but when it came to me?  Let’s just say she liked to experiment.

I remember the first day of seventh grade, because mom made me wear velvet purple knickers, matching shirt and white lace up boots.  The kids were vicious, the taunting and pointing went on all day.  It didn’t bother me as I had become accustomed to children taunting me, as they did in elementary school-simply because I did not conform.  I was my own person, never a follower of anyone else.

I am helping out a close friend, he is dying of cancer.  For the second time in a week I was a hot mess in mucks.  I entered the house to a very angry man.  He told me he had just told his wife and son that he didn’t care what they thought, he wanted me to help him.  The narrative goes back and forth between everything’s groovy to his wife hates my guts.

“Now what?,” I asked.

The other day while in the grocery store, making conversation, I told the cashier I was helping out with Scott.  Apparently, she ran with this information (wow, scandalous I know) to Scott’s mother in law, who immediately phoned her daughter.

“She’s mad because her mother told her that you were in Dutch Way, bragging about how you’re taking care of me.  I just screamed at her and told her I didn’t care that she thought you were crazy, I wanted you around, period.”

“Can you please go back to the ‘crazy’ part?,” I stammered.

“You know, your hair isn’t perfect, everyone thinks you’re crazy.  Not many people in this town like you, who cares?”

I left the house enraged.  Truly enraged.  I drove to Dutch Way at eighty miles an hour, peeled into the parking lot, barely stopped the car before getting out.  I stormed in and asked for Cindy, the cashier, who had left earlier.  I then asked for the manager, and was directed toward the office.  My friend Lu Anne stood there, looking at me with anticipation.  I told her what happened.   I was shaking and livid.

“I want her job.  I want her job.  She is FUCKED!!!,” I screamed.

I felt their eyes burning holes through my backside.

I drove home, hugged my pooch, cried in the shower.

Children of God need to realize that they will be persecuted, rejected and even shunned because the “worldly” don’t understand us, they despise us because we frighten them.  They are broken people who’ve never truly known Christ in their heart.

I pity them.

 

 

 

You Fucker, Get up!

I know the band members of Disturbed are pretty scary monsters, but they wrote this particular song about child abuse.

Unless you are QAnons or an extremely woke Patriot?  You won’t know the following facts, and I believe, with God’s permission-it’s time the world knew.  No denial.  No fear.  No flaking out.

WAKE THE FUCK UP AMERICA!  The powers that be are taking our children, selling, raping and terrorizing our children, then murdering them as a satanic ritual to Molech and Baal.

I live in Lancaster County:  it’s human nature to think these things do not occur in our backyards, but sadly-they do.  Harrisburg is a mecca for human trafficking, and after a talk with a local teacher who warned me that SRA is alive and well in our area?  After finding single shoes, and a little boy’s underwear at the lake down the street, after trying to make sense of my irrational fear of white vans?

It all came together in one tumultuous awakening.

This is why I’m here, isn’t it God?

I won’t lie to you-after the supposed death of my friend Isaac Kappy?  I went rogue.  I ran up the stairs, did a nosedive into the abyss that is my bed, and didn’t get out for three days.  If I was awake and vertical, the daymares hit me at a velocity I could not control.

It was the worst few months of my life.  Because I am a recovering addict, I had to knock myself out with Benadryl, or Nyquil cold medicine.  When like a Medusa I rose to get a drink, in my fuzzy bunny slippers and torn robe, my husband appeared to be alarmed, to say the least.

They got him, they got to Isaac,” I wailed.

Who the hell is Isaac?  my husband retorted.

I ran like a harry canary up to my bed once more.  No one understood.  No one.

I still cry, like right now.  I can’t see the keyboard through my tears.  It took all I had to watch this video again.

Isaac exposed pedophiles in Hollywood.  The last time we interacted was right before he went on the Alex Jones show, and I was worried about him.

“I got this.  I know he’s going to try and discredit me, but I got it, don’t worry.”

I’m in no shape to tell the rest of the story.

Don’t let his death, at the hands of the cabal (Tom Hanks, we see you) be in vain.

Isaac was fighting for your children too.

Farewell My Friend, Farewell

This tops any list I may have previously held for myself, in terms of the most painful things I have had to write.  I don’t want to write, but I know deep down, that if I don’t-I will free fall into the dark recesses of my depression.  God knows how badly I want that never to happen again.

I met John eight years ago, when I worked at their family owned kennel.  My husband grew up with him, but I knew very little; only that he had suffered from the same oral cancer as my brother in law.  I knew he was in remission, but his wife worried constantly about his health.  What began as straight out intimidation soon turned to a quiet fondness of his gentle spirit and obvious physical strength.   I could talk to John, be myself, content in the knowledge that he felt the same way.  It wasn’t long before our relationship was misconstrued.  We didn’t speak for two entire years.

When we did rekindle our friendship, it was with the knowledge that his cancer had returned, and he didn’t want treatment.  I spoke with his wife on several occasions, stopping at the kennel to offer support.

If you asked either one of us, we would not be able to explain our bond; yet it is that of a brother and sister.  No boundaries were ever broken, not even a kiss on the cheek.

I hadn’t stopped in for weeks, and my guilt was getting the better of me.  I was also terrified, out of my mind.  Over the weekend, I told him I would visit today; not realizing he had taken a turn of the very worst kind.  As I pulled into the driveway, I caught a glimpse of him on the deck.  My heart smashed to pieces, and before I had a chance to think, John whisked me away in his golf cart.

“I want to talk, let’s go for a ride,” he said.

I argued about him driving, he shushed me away.  I was concerned with the dog, worried he wouldn’t turn the bend and find us.  He pointed toward the weeping cherry he had planted as a reminder of his place on this earth.  I was here.  I mean the world to you, and I will always, always love you.  Don’t, oh please, don’t forget your time with me.

It was explained in so many heartbreaking words that I wasn’t exactly welcome around the house.  I was shell shocked.  I thought we had worked through this and I couldn’t have felt more betrayed or misunderstood.  But I couldn’t begin to imagine her pain-if I was grieving, I couldn’t imagine how she must feel.  I gasped for air, shifted in my seat.  I began talking and stopped, it was his illness, not mine.

We sat under the apple tree and wept, for what appeared to be hours, but was only moments in time.

“I know you understand, you have to go now.”

I understood,  and said farewell.

Farewell is not goodbye.

 

 

You Can’t Handle the Truth!!!

 

If you didn’t unsubscribe from my blog, this doesn’t concern you.  If you want to read a scathing reaction to the absolutely incomprehensible stupidity of some people?  Carry on.

I wrote about the SOTU last evening-and each end every time I write about President Donald J. Trump?  I lose subscribers.  Yep, it really is that obvious.  Before I go off on my tangent, this is what I have to say to the sheeple, Socialists, MS13, Black Lives Matter, MeToo movement and the other .245% of the population who a.  doesn’t want the truth, 2.  thinks this is about politics, and c. has no concern for what our country and its precious people have been subjected to over the last fifty some years.

If you don’t care about Satanic Ritual Abuse, Election Fraud, Comet Ping Pong, human trafficking,  or the plight of our every person living in this country who is subjected to radiation poisoning, chemical trails in our skies, or baby fetus particles in our Pepsi? Step.  The.  Fuck.  Off.  I don’t want you anywhere near my writing-trust me!

There are actual demons walking this earth, some are sitting in GITMO, some are in political positions and ALL of them are subsisting on the blood of our children.  Yep, I said it.  Do your homework on SRA, do your own investigating and by the way?  Get used to it, because those of you who are even remotely interested in the truth?  Well, say goodbye to that as well-you won’t get it from the MSM, and by the looks of the increasing numbers of those alternative media sources who are peddling facts?  You won’t have anywhere to go once we are gone.

What the hell is wrong with America?  Let’s start with the cowards who troll decent, hard working, citizen journalists who only want to provide a service and work their behinds off to support the critical direction of this country.

If you’re in denial about any of the above topics, see ya.  Don’t let the door hit you in the behind.  This is not a game, people.  I am absolutely done with fools who live in their own Private Idaho while the rest of us suffer because of their ignorance.

I make no profit, no money actually-for providing a service that is close to God’s heart.

I won’t sugar coat this-heed my warning.

If you are not with us, bloody hell,  you’re against America.

 

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Rally Round the Family…

Before I alarm my readers, I want to say that I wrote this in December of last year.  If you are a regular, your eyes would be bugging, you’d be thinking –

For crying out loud?  Is she left unattended on a regular basis, and if so, why?

That reminds me of the time my step son was pulling into the driveway one day last Spring.  I was in the garden as he turned into the driveway.  And then, I wasn’t.  Yep, stepped on a rake-just like you see in the movies-and knocked myself into a concussion.  To this very day?  I mind my business around them, try not to get too close.  Sneaky bastards.

This is the season of my content.  And that is precisely what I was thinking as I stood in my garden and thrilled to the Monarchs and hummingbirds.  I was feeling pretty overcome with emotion, gratitude on a level that is hard to put into words.  This was all I had dreamed of and more.  Not just the garden…

And then, all hell broke loose.

I bent down to watch a particular butterfly, caught by her beauty and grace.  It took approximately three seconds for me to realize that a mother effing praying mantis was eating her head.  There were muffled cries, lots of cursing mother nature, and, inevitably?  The hysterical spraying of said praying mantis with dawn dish soap I usually reserve for my roses.

On that note, have a fab Sunday and hope you enjoy~

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Life goes along at warp speed until something stops you dead in your tracks: As was the case Sunday morning, after a full weekend of loving and socializing, the enemy came to take his due-you don’t think he isn’t out there trying to devour everything good in your life? Au contraire, mon amies! But here’s the good news-call out to Jesus, and you are free. He can’t hurt you if you are covered in the full armor of God.

But what about those times when evil does strike? Well, Abba will protect you in ways you couldn’t imagine, and that’s why I’m alive and writing this blog-my Lord and Savior sent His angels, and they protected me from a massive head injury and internal bleeding.

Just out of Dwain’s truck, exhausted from a weekend of frivolity, I could barely pick up my feet. I had promised my husband that I would collect the myriad of dog toys that lay around our yard, at the whim of my golden retriever, who thinks he has to entertain the grasshoppers and blue jays with his cacophony of babies. It’s so sweet, until it isn’t.

I had my purse in one hand, my drink in the other, AND I was carrying six, that’s SIX dog toys to boot. We have concrete stairs, no railing, and the stairs are ridiculously dangerous. It did not escape my mind, while sitting in the ER, that I had traipsed up and down said steps while drunk, high on cocaine, and worse. Never once even tripped. But yesterday was different. My boots caught on Jesse’s blue elephant, and down I went. I had no hands to put out, and I landed on my noggin.

I immediately called for Dwain, who could hear me, but couldn’t find me. Pain so severe I thought I would vomit, I remained perfectly still until my husband arrived on the scene. I am an EMT, and a CNA-I have volunteered in the Emergency Room, with hospice and prison ministries-I have seen it all and maintained my composure. This is the precise reason I am prone to freaking out when I get hurt-I simply know too much.

Head injury? I was out of my mind hysterical. It didn’t help when my husband picked up my head and his eyes bulged out of his-

“My GOD, is it THAT bad?,” I wail. He didn’t answer, he was too busy putting my ample white behind in his truck, grabbing ice and driving like a bat out of hell, towards the ER I had recently walked out of-after calling out the employees no less. As I walked in, I immediately placed my eyes on Dawn, who calmed me as she directed me towards the door. I knew where to go all right. I just didn’t know if they would help me, or hurt me. They had so much power at that moment.

A friend of mine, Katie, was the charge nurse, praise God. She gave me a hug and an ice pack, told me the doctor would soon be in. As Dwain sat on the bed, this came over the PA System:

ATTENTION: SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER. SEPSIS ALERT IN THE ER.

“Fabulous,” I murmured. And then it hit me, we were the only people there, aside from an 83 year old man with a dizzy spell. What the Harry???? They were talking about me for crying out loud! I couldn’t figure this out as the knot on my head was the size of a peach, but the wound wasn’t bad, it bled very little.

Dr. Ammons didn’t waste any time checking me over. I was told it would hurt like hell for a few days, but that I was extremely fortunate as if I had hit one inch below, I could have had serious eye trauma. If my cranium had hit a few inches lower? I could have knocked out my front teeth. But I knew about head trauma, and I was frightened. I kept what I knew to myself, forgetting that my man is a first responder.

And so it was, that I woke this morning with a shiner the size of Texas, and a headache to beat the band.

And because of His love? I’ll be strutting my stuff, sooner than you can say the words accident prone.

Are You a Targeted Individual?

 

I don’t even know where to begin, so many thoughts and emotions, so little understanding until I heard this man speak earlier today, as I watched the rain pour down like buckets-God’s tears, I imagine.  That or the powers that be, fucking with our safety-all in the name of depopulation.

Depopulation and rage, that is.  You see, the enemy is shaking in its very boots as we speak.  In one week I have witnessed the unraveling of the monster Jeffrey Epstein, discovered that M.J. is indeed alive, and a vice president going down in the flames he so richly deserves.

Mike Pence is a pedovore.  Not only does he rape and murder children, he is involved in sex trafficking, satanic ritual abuse (I refuse to capitalize it) and cannibalism.  That’s another fifty blogs in itself, so I’ll get to the point.

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The above is over a year of QAnon information, gathered by President Trump and his team.  This is not debatable, these are the hard and gruesome facts.  So, added to the stress and ostracism afforded all God fearing patriots who love their president?  Let’s add the targeted individual into the mix.  Feeling queasy yet?

This is for those of you who have fought the good fight, stood your ground and spoken your truth for the last three or so years.  We are God’s anointed, and every bit of evil will be eviscerated from the planet earth.

Take note you demons, you Jezebels and fools:  we’re coming for you.  And we have God Almighty on our sides.

Move over, bitch.

What She Said…

Have you every dry cried?  It is a phenomena I had never experienced until this day.  Apparently, I’ve no tears left to weep-and that is why God led me to Thessalonians.  Paul speaks passionately about the truth and how raw the need for transparency in a fallen world.

I admire the heck out of Roseanne.  She has been through the ringer, and then some.  I think she exudes God’s wisdom and grace.  She means so much to me because she is gutsy, and that is so very rare in today’s pansy ass environment.  How can people not see this?  How could you allow your child to be taught to bow to Allah?  Or learn about the eleventy hundred ways to identify:  God bless them they must be so confused.

Roseanne is right on the money.

This is about the children.

I am joining this community of women, as we are growing in numbers and strength.  In the days and months ahead, may we comfort the mothers who blindly followed the vogue, the trends, the Joneses.

I would much prefer a bitch slap, but hey-you can’t have everything.