[They] Want You Deaf, Dumb and Blind

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I apologize for not writing more often these days, but the truth of the matter is this:  conservatives are being attacked and censored on every level.   I have spoken of this in previous blogs, but now the Cabal is desperate, unhinged you might say.  They are desperate to keep you brainwashed, terrified that the truth will have a domino effect on evil players, demons if you must know.

Perhaps 10 to 25 percent of you are woke to the truth, maybe not.  I can tell you that my awakening came after years and years of drinking, drugging and messing around with the New Age.  My story is not unique, not by a long stretch.  Sadly, there is a population of vulnerable, impressionable peeps out there-they have been abused their entire life, be it physical, emotional, sexual or circumstantial.  They fly to the “answers” they have searched for their entire lives, and I was one of those victims.

In 2015, I attended a funeral for a young man who happened to be my friend’s one and only son.  We sat in the balcony, and when Sherry walked into the chapel?  Every muscle in my body tightened.  I dug my nails into my husband’s thigh, trying to stifle the scream I felt surfacing-Jason was her only son:  an expert on motorcycles, a truck driver found him in a ditch, on a sunny day.  Sherry received the news while grocery shopping, when a friend called to voice her sympathies.  A part of my heart died that day, and my life took on a frenetic rush to prove that life on this planet had purpose.  

“This can’t be it, Jesus.  Why are we here?  Seems a tad more like hell on earth, not life.”

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Already suffering from CPTSD, my life became smaller by the day. I had no hope, no courage, no vision.

During the funeral, I was startled to find the woman behind me had placed her hands on my neck.  She began gently massaging my scalp, and I retreated in a not so nice way-as if to say-look lady, I don’t know you and why in the harry are you TOUCHING me?

“Honey, this is Lydia.  I went to high school with her,” my husband whispered.

The very same Lydia who sold gorgeous, handsewn purses made from old wool sweaters?  That Lydia?  I had heard of her wares, and she was quite renown in our sleepy little town of Kleinfeltersville.  Everyone loved Lydia.

As an artist, I am drawn to others in the field.  I envied her, it seemed she had an idyllic life.  But why was she massaging a stranger’s neck?

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I’m studying to be a Reiki Master. Why don’t you come by for a free treatment?

Lydia explained that she was studying for her Reiki Master license.  All “treatments” would be free, at least for the coming month.  As a victim of narcissistic abuse, I had plenty of healing to do-was this what I had been looking for?  I jumped at the chance to see her home, let alone receive Reiki (I had no clue what it was, but my mind is always open)  I was not disappointed on my first visit.  Lydia sat down with me, I glanced at her kitchen table and noticed a deck of what I thought to be tarot cards.

Ten years prior, I had been at a superbowl party in which there was a “psychic” in attendance for the party goers.  Hounded by the host to go up and be “read,” I finally caved.  I had attempted to have my palm read years and years ago, in a tiny flat on South Street, in Philadelphia.  She read my sister well, so I was excited (and terrified) of what she would say to me.  She took my palm.  The look on her face said stranger danger, and before she could scream GET OUT, we headed down the steps, taking two, three at a time.  My sister laughed the entire way home, but I was tormented.

Why would she kick me out?  She told me to call her and she would explain, but that she could not be in my presence.  It wasn’t until years later that I realized a very, very important fact:

Practitioners of black magic, fortune telling, Reiki, or witchcraft simply can’t deal with the children of the Most High.  They know who we are, and they don’t mess around with God-even if they worship satan, they know who we are.   It’s as simple as that.

My visit with the super bowl psychic proved disastrous as well.

“I don’t like tarot cards, or having my palm read,” I explained.  I told her of my past experience.

“Oh, I know why she did it, but that was cruel.  You must have been frantic,  Nothing to fear, let’s get started.”

As my heart began to pound out of my chest, she shuffled the cards.

“Pick one.”

Long story short, I picked the death card.

“Within the week, someone will die in your home.”

Well, that made me fly up out of my seat and run to my husband.

Honey, I thought you didn’t believe in psychics, that isn’t going to happen.

Two days later?  My beloved Dalmatian, Chipper, began having a series of strokes.  By the third day we had to call the vet, and he lapsed into a coma in my lap.  I sat there for five hours, legs numb, railing at God.

The poor dog was diagnosed with encephalitis, a brain swelling.  The trauma hit us both in the face, like a bowl of ice cold water.  In my grief, I had more questions than answers.  I will never forget that day, the darkness, the heartache.

After a few Reiki “treatments,” I found myself becoming more depressed by the day.  I would have days that were so dark?  I couldn’t move, get out of bed, even feed the animals.  I tried to reach out to others, but no one had a clue what I was talking about.  Black crows followed me everywhere, and I mean a murder of crows.  Snakes were found in my kitchen, one dead, with his head sticking up as if he were warning:

Something wicked this way comes.

To be continued.

Ringing The Bell

Now that I finally have the time to sit and write what has been on my head and heart?  I find myself at a loss for words.  Earlier today, I felt the Holy Spirit tug at my heart.  After convincing myself that a few of the YouTube channels I frequent had to go?  I had to admit, the honing of my discernment is pleasing to my soul.  What people just don’t understand?  We are told by God (it’s in the bible, in many a scripture) to be seekers of the truth.

The truth.

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Again, it would be swell if WordPress could make my inserts just a TAD smaller.

Okay, zoom this picture as high as you can without distortion.  The person in the very back, with the watch?  That is John F. Kennedy, Jr. himself.  He is alive.  It isn’t a conspiracy theory gone wild, it isn’t a lie, and it isn’t fake news.

JFK, Jr. walks amongst the living.  He has two children, a daughter and a son.  He is the master of disguise, having learned makeup in the Drama department of an Ivy League School.  He shows up in the strangest places, and I laugh each and every time I miss the clue, and then it’s obvious when someone points it out.

John F. Kennedy, Jr. will be running for Vice President in the coming election.  I’d bet good money on this, and the only question is when.  When will he show his gorgeous mug?

There is a battle, a Spiritual battle that is being fought on the frontlines of the Donald J. Trump administration.  Pedophiles and human traffickers are being arrested in droves, more than at any time in presidential history.  That makes sense, as the last four presidents were needy baby, greedy babies.  Demons, if you will.  They sent our men and women to wars that had no reasoning, simply for profit.  They were in the penthouse suites, toasting with the Dom, cheering each other on.

“We fooled ’em again!  We took their kids, their livings, their hope!  Hail satan!!!”

That’s right.  Can you smell what I am stepping in?

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But God had more He wanted to show me.  I see how many people are falling for the change in narrative, the subtle whispering that Trump is not winning, that he is to blame for the last two mass shootings (Cabal initiated) or that anything but good things are happening.

There is no room for fear, God anointed Trump for this very time in biblical history.

The epic era in which one third of this world will be eradicated from planet earth.

All evil will come to light.

And then I did my Bible dip and came upon my favorite book, 2 Corinthians.

Finally, brethren, farewell.  Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you.

Greet one another will an holy kiss.  All the saints salute you!

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost be with you.

Be still, and know that He is God.

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.

Let The River Run Like Wild

Starting off with a little bitch fest-when I began my blog two years ago, I wanted it to be unique, to help others and to set myself free from the chains that bind.  I have always loved music-and I had a song for so many events in my life, so the next step was easy.  I began using music videos to start off each writing.  Now everyone is doing it and it yanks my chain.

There.  I feel better.

I thought we had found a church, the little chapel in the strip mall, where my in-laws worship.  We live along the Bible belt in Amish country-there are no lack of churches.  Yet my man and me have a dilemma:  every church we attend falls apart after three or four years.  Is it us?  No, not at all.  After putting things in perspective, I realized that when you are growing in your faith?  Well, the more you know the more critically you think about what you do and do not want in your worship haven.  That’s right:  church and fellowship is so intimate, so important-it matters who you surround yourselves with.

We left Hosanna, our last church, because I began to see the forest through the trees.  Lovely people, truly lovely men and women-it’s just that I lost the Holy Spirit connection somewhere along the way, and for me-well, that is everything.  Our pastor was a very kind man, but hesitant to step on any toes whilst preaching.  The worship became more about keeping congregants than preaching the Word.  Personal opinion, of course.  I miss my friends, my beloveds-and that point was driven home yesterday:  after testing the waters that are the congregants themselves.

I bought a gorgeous, Tiffany blue, vintage hat on Saturday.  I collect them, adore them, and wear them on occasion to church-as is my wont.  A few weeks in to attending a new place of worship, I wear a hat-to see how it goes over.  I insist on being accepted for who I am, not what others want me to be.  As we walked in the door, Dwain’s parents were greeting.  Dressed in matching pink outfits (I kid you not, they do it all the time) they handed us the bulleting and we took a seat.  My favorite, favorite Christian rock band of all time is Damascus Road-the very same praise team who sang at our first church.  That band ruined me for life-there is simply no comparison to Miles’ voice and inherent joy that is evident when he praises God.  

This band was visiting the Bridge of Hope church, and I almost peed myself when I saw my friend, the leader of the band, smiling at me from the back corner of the building.

“This is going to be awesome!!!,” I said to my husband.  He smiled and kissed my cheek, clearly thrilled to see me smiling once again-it had been awhile.

Have you ever seen the commercial about the movie in which a family is torn apart because of the way their father praises Jesus in church?  He runs around the church, hands up in the air, thrilling to the beat of his own drum.

“Mommy, why can’t we have a normal daddy?,” the son asks.  I fall into fits of hysterical laughter each and every time I see it-because that is me.  I don’t run around, but I dance and flail my arms, not caring a hoot about anything but worshipping my Lord and Savior.

“Dad, you best move over a seat-when the band starts Sara is going to need room to move.”

So we danced and sang and hooted and hollered.  It was even better than I had imagined-so amazing to see people actually happy while performing and worshipping-not like they swallowed a rather unpleasant surprise, not like they want to end it all immediately after said service.  For crying out loud that disappoints and irritates me to no end.  If you aren’t excited, and on fire for God?  It will show in your performance.

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My weapon of choice.

Simply stated:  many people gawked, a few gave me the hairy eyeball.  It was as if I were carrying a poster that said, MURDER FOR HIRE, I kid you not.

And so it was this morning, when I had to stop at the Monster In Law’s house to pick up some shoes, that I was shot out of the proverbial cannon in response to the MIL’s comment:

“I like the outfit you were wearing yesterday, but I have to say I don’t fancy the hats.”

Well smack my ass and call me Judy.

Thus ended the going-to-church-with-the-MIL experiment.

People, my dear friends, suck the big one.

 

 

Slap Me With the Splintered Ruler

 

Good Saturday morning to y’all.  I need you to know that I only have a laptop on the weekends, as mine took a crapola last week.  Of course, my husband offered to take me to Best Buy this weekend, but I am not ready.  Very interesting…a week ago I felt like someone took my nubby-How Will I Ever Exist?  I won’t be able to write, go on Twatter, see the REAL news.  Yet God, in His infinite wisdom, had much greater plans.  Goosebumps….

Let’s just say that I had been way too preoccupied with the web, and with my addictive personality?  I had cut down on pc time, but still carried the computer with me, room to room.  True confession time:  I took it to the bathroom with me.  Don’t judge me, that room is the only room in the house with a door!  Sometimes a girl needs to breathe.  So, while my husband, friends and support network were extremely concerned (I have to say, my brother was probably ready to send for the men in white coats-haha!) Wouldn’t that be special?  My sister tried to have me committed to a facility the night I tried to take my own life-wise, you are saying to yourselves.  I just covered my ears until the social worker on duty promised me there would be no psychiatric institutions.  The very next morning they released me, gave me an Atarax (boy, if I could get my hands on some of those babies-but nah, just the drug addict in me) which allowed me to sleep my entire first day of sobriety away….giving my man time to drain the booze, and anything expensive was given to the neighbors. 

When I awoke that stormy October afternoon, back in 2007?  I went directly for the booze cupboard, searching for something-anything alcoholic-to my surprise I found a jug of white wine.  I sat that baby on the table and we had a talk, until Jesus intervened.

My precious child, when?  When will you say enough?  How much more of this life will you waste?

That did it.  I put the jug back where it belonged and waited it out.  This would be the beginning of years of cravings, big and small.  Relapses.  Drinking upstate without my husband’s knowledge-at the beautiful cabin we are gifted access to from time to time-I knew that was a big bowl of WRONG, yet I couldn’t, or wouldn’t give that once a year libation up-and one day, I thought of all of the miracles that Jesus had performed for me, personal triumphs, freedom from cancer, the very fact that I was alive and breathing spoke volumes to me.

What if I made a covenant with God?  What if in exchange for all He has done, I put away the thought of ever drinking alcohol again, and prayed for Him to give me the strength to do so.

That conversation took place a year ago.

Not.  One.   Craving.

 

I could not give up on the worldwide web, the loss was profound…and if I can tell you anything about myself, I can tell you that I am highly adaptable to almost any situation.  They say it takes two weeks to form a habit, and that is why I said “No thanks,” when Dwain offered to buy me a lap top.  I am perfectly content writing on the weekends, and once I am convinced my internet addiction is tamed?  Only then will I purchase new equipment.

It turns out?  I have a life to live.  I cannot fathom the chunks of time I wasted, sitting in my hidy hole, reading every bit of the Great Awakening news I could find… I went down Rabbit Holes no person in their right mind would want to travel.  And again, once I got the monkey off of my back?  I began getting things done.  Actually working on the farmhouse, baking, cooking, finding me again.

My husband drove out to New Hampshire for a business trip last week.  And so it was, on Monday evening, the house quiet, no music, no television-that I found a picture of me and my father.

“Wow.  I always hated this picture of myself.  Not so much anymore, huh dad?  Umm…it’s/been/hard…”  The words tumbled from my mouth, and before I knew it, I was crying-my body wracked with emotional pain, I sensed something huge was in the air.

Jesus spoke to me again.

Child, it is time to let go of your shame.

Was I hearing Abba correctly?  Why, I didn’t realize I still carried it with me, the deep seated self loathing.  It took some time, but everything came together, as if a giant piece of the puzzle had been found.  I turned the pain into gratitude, as I remembered why I had such shame to begin with.

As a child, I knew shame.  My mother would go for days without speaking to me, and for the life of me, I truly never knew what provoked her ire.  I stopped a moment to think about what deep shame could do to a child in her formative years.  Eventually, I would buy her a card or pick her flowers.  I came across one such card in my mother’s bible just a while back.

Mom, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and I love you very much.

Your daughter,

Michele

In school I suffered total shame because of my weight.  The kids were cruel, and the taunting was so persistent?  It took me well into my thirties before I could jog or walk past a group of teens.  No matter that I had lost the weight, I still felt the shame.

In High School, considered a jock and oddball, (Varsity Crew Coxswain) I began to realize that this wasn’t going to resolve itself, but I had no idea where to begin.  At Villanova, my shame came from not having or being enough.  Surrounded by incredibly wealthy and beautiful people, I made up a story about being a Jontue model.  Unfortunately, people not only believed me, they spread the word.  I mean, who doesn’t want to be friends with a famous model, right?  In college I learned to reinvent myself, and the only person I was hurting was me.  Why wasn’t I enough?

After college, my drinking career became legend in some parts of King of Prussia.  I began seeking attention (love) through a series of promiscuous love affairs-and the reputation stuck.  I began doing cocaine as a way to lift my spirits and self esteem; what could possibly go wrong?

The day I found myself on the doorstep of my rented home, due to losing an eight ball of coke.  I had given my brother a birthday party, and while I had my back turned, one of my nearest and dearest friends (I had only invited people we were very close to) had lifted the bag I had hidden, way in the back of my closet, under a stack of love letters.  I had promised Ted, my landlord, that I would sell it all that night.  There are no words to express my horror at finding I had been robbed.  I had no money to give him, and that didn’t sit well, not at all.

Ted sold drugs for the Gambino crime family.

I went on the run.  My room mate and best friend, Mel, beside me-we drove away like bats out of hell, and didn’t look back, not once.

So, with my worsening alcoholism and drug addiction, there were reasons to be ashamed.  And as I sat in my bedroom, weeping between the litter boxes, I asked myself this question:

What is there to be ashamed of now?  Why do you feel unworthy?  Why do you punish yourself for simply existing?

Let me light my lamp, says the tiny star; and never debate whether it will dispel the darkness.

– Rabindranath Tagore

May you shed your shame like the cloak of darkness it has become.

You are special, unique and loved-let your freak flag fly, baby~

 

I Choose Joy

 

Momma never told me there’s be days like this, and that’s because momma didn’t know.  I often wonder what my beloved parents in Heaven think, when they look down at all of the despair, the outright terror and searing pain.  And then I remember, there are no tears, no pain, not even a stubbed toe! in Abba’s Heaven.

My parents know that their children are living in the end days.  I often look up and say, “it’s alright, mom and dad, Jesus has this.”  And again, I remember that they have a totally different perspective in that realm.

I spent the last week being red-pilled myself, and it wasn’t pretty.  I look back and think to myself, what the hell just happened?  Where am I?  Who am I?  And the answer is always the same:  I am in the arms of our Creator-no matter what the world is doing, saying or debating.  I need to remember from whence I came-and remind myself that I was born for such a time as this.

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For the last two years I have immersed myself in the real life battle between good and evil; played out in living technicolor on YouTube, Twitter and the evening news.  I have neglected my family, my husband and myself.  More disturbing, I set off on a journey I thought was imperative, only to find out that it was a drop in the ocean, an atom among molecules if you will.

I thought I was following the right Patriots, turns out I wasn’t.  I feel betrayed, but schooled as well.  What was I thinking?  Me, a puny human-and Jesus, THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD!  Don’t misunderstand me, I had the correct information alright-it was the PAYtriots who had me, and by the balls.  I don’t believe in coincidences, I never have.  And so it was, one day last week, when a man who plays a pretty important role in the NSA and current administration, happened to be tweeting about the same information that had me awake at night:  who was this Dustin Nemos (aka, Dustin Craig Krieger) who came out with the Amazon bestseller about QAnon?  And more importantly, why was he taking credit for the entire Great Awakening?  Why did it bother me, I mean, what do I care?  But here’s the thing:  my conscience couldn’t, wouldn’t let it go another minute.

I teamed up with this man Morpheus on Twitter.  I knew nothing of him, only that I had been following him for two years.  I asked him his opinion on the matter-what transpired between us was a friendship I could never have foreseen.  He knew things.  He knew things no one else seemed to know.  He was a bad ass for sure, and he set me straight on quite a few things.  We worked together for a week, had a good laugh or two, and shared our testimonies.  Actually, he shared his-turns out he had died at the hands of a vicious gang, as a young man.  The brawl began in a bar and ended in a playground across the street.  And as he lay there, his vision changed-he saw himself, on the ground, bleeding, dying, and alone.

Enter Jesus, stage left.

He did not go on to explain the private exchange, but suffice it to say?  I believe every word.  Morpheus had a near death experience, and it changed him in profound and intangible ways.  He left a mark on my soul, and for that I am grateful.  More importantly?  He reminded me of what is truly important, and that God will give you the strength you need to endure the plans He has made.

And so it was that Abba, Jesus and I made a new plan-one in which I get to live out loud, play in the woods, work in my garden, write at whim.  I no longer carry my pc from room to room.  I don’t watch videos, I don’t tweet my fool head off.

You see, if you have the faith of a minute mustard seed?  You can achieve good and great things-by praying, sharing and loving the God who created you with all of your heart and soul.

I did my job.

I planted the crap out of that seed.

I will be taking my readers through the entire time line of events, beginning with the video featured below.  I pray this comforts and enlightens you-I will be supplying you with information from the No B.S. Zone, as I’ve learned my lesson about who and who not to trust.  See?  I just made it so much easier for you.  🙂

I will leave no stone unturned.

The choice to know will be yours.