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

The Cluster…

 

Well, it’s a good thing I can laugh at myself, ’cause nobody’s laughing with me.  I am a moron, of the highest order.  Before you accuse me of being too hard on myself?  Allow moi to explain:

In an attempt at sneakiness, I took it upon myself to begin a new blog site, one where no man would know my true identity.  I thought it would be freeing,  I could write with abandon about my really personal issues, get it off of my chest, even hide it from the famalam.  

Well, well, well.  The joke is on me!  HaHa!!!

As I was writing my earlier blog, I sighed in relief as I tied things up.  Enjoying the music (HUGE Hank Jr. fan here)

May I interrupt myself to tell you how fucking hard it is to write on a non partisan site such as WordPress?   May I tell you that I’m facing ridiculous problems with simply typing one sentence?  I wonder if McCallister T.V. has these issues?  If so, she certainly speaks nothing of this.

Anyhooser, my intent was to write under a surname no one in my family would recognize.  And like I said, after I published the last blog, I simply looked up and saw this:

The Hippy Chic by Sara Hoffman.

You all know I smoke medicinal marijuana.  It helps with the PTSD.  However, there are pitfalls-one of them being that my usual air head self is just a dim bulb after the fact.  I should not write, let alone attempt a new, hidden endeavor.

So, between you and me-my name is Michele Elkins-Hoffman.

No time for charades, I have shit to do…:)

 

Just Hillbilly

 

I grew up on the Main Line, attended Villanova and the Philadelphia Academy of the Fine Arts, and the most of the country I had seen was at my grandmother’s farmette in upstate New York.  We would visit once a year, and that just wasn’t enough for me-I loved grandma’s home grown garden, ate so many beets my pee turned purple, and even my brother’s attempts to electrocute me via the electric horse fence seemed folksy.

That, was many, many moons ago-and where did God plant me?  In the middle of bumfuck Lancaster County-one of His biggest gifts to date.  Don’t get me wrong-when I first moved here (relocated with my fiancée, who was a Metallurgical  Engineer ) I was out of my mind with homesickness, the party life and culture I had grown very accustomed to-it was nothing to run to New Jersey for a concert, the museums were plentiful and so was the five star dining experience-well, I griped and moaned and waxed poetic.

“I hate it here.  Nothing to do or see here, folks.  DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE IT HERE???????

I would scream at my current husband, who  thankfully ignored me for the most part.  I was a drinker, and the more I hurt-the more I imbibed.  Let’s just say I hurt…a lot.

Here we are in 2019, and if someone told me I would have to move from the embryotic fluid this area had become to me?  I would braid their nose hairs and call it a day.  God knows what He’s doing, and I am here to tell you that country living is the bomb-hiking, fishing, trapping, hunting, fresh air and even a man made lake-right in my back yard!

One thing country living doesn’t do, and that is educate.  Nope, you’re on your own in these sleepy little towns-not only are people asleep?  But they don’t want to be woken, and to attempt that is just Tomfoolery at best.  I joined an exercise class last Fall, at our local Lutheran church.  I decided, half way in between a muscle pull and extreme fatigue, to red pill my fellow athletes with a little diddy I like to call trainwreck, which went something like this:

“Hey, did you guys know Interpol attempted an arrest on the Pope, but his goons beat them up to the point that the arrest was unsuccessful?,” I asked.

Like a bitch in heat, those mothers jumped me-

“FAKE NEWS!!!”

What the hell are you talking about?,” and my personal favorite?

Michele, you have no idea what you’re talking about.  But if we hear anything along those lines, we’ll let you know.”  hahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

I was shocked.  These were educated women, smart and tough women.  Not one of them knew?

When I returned home, I got to work.  Emails, Twitter, Facebook-I used what means I had and spread the news-Q was in town, and he would aid our Father in heaven with the demise of the Deep State Cabal-horrible, Satanic things were afoot-I could feel it in the air.

Once again, I questioned myself.  Have I, indeed, gone bat shit crazy?

No.  I had not.  The evidence was everywhere.

Turn it UP!

God wants us to be seekers of the truth.  This man’s voice is a healing balm to my soul, and he is the voice behind Serial Brain, another informative and true news venue on YouTube.

It’s your choice

 

 

Life During Wartime

 

This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around..

I saw a video this morning that kind of, sort of, somewhat saved my sanity.  Her name is Polly, and I had subscribed to her two years ago, while up in the mountain cabin we call our second home.  We don’t own the cabin, but our friends are generous enough to allow us free reign, and for that we are incredibly thankful.  Here’s the thang:  I didn’t remember following her, and I saw her in a new light as she was doing vids on The Great Awakening.

 

What is the Great Awakening?

Many people mistake this movement as a blatant political statement geared towards wiping the planet of liberals:  I caution you not to fall for that, as this movement does not discriminate exclude anyone, of any denomination or political affiliation.  Quite simply?  We have been lied to, manipulated, and poisoned-literally-by the people we were taught to trust.  Once you go down the Rabbit Hole, so to speak, you cannot unlearn what you are faced with-and afterwards?  After you are AWAKE (I believe God chooses when and if we are to awaken, and frankly?  It has been an ongoing process: it begins where Elizabeth Kubler-Ross left off-you will grieve, you will deny, you will bargain and in the end?  It is up to you to decide what your heart and soul are telling you.

Discernment.

Patriotism.

Faith.

A purpose driven quest to get to the truth, no matter the cost.

In my case, as in Polly’s, I lost my family.  Everything I thought I knew fell away.  At first, I was screaming the facts at anyone who would listen.  I made mistakes.  I wept daily.  And to this day I am alone in my fight, to be a seeker of the God’s honest truth.

I don’t try to red pill anyone any longer.  You can use this information in any manner you choose.  I don’t write on it very often as I am still working on a way to begin a blog under an assumed name-my life is no longer my narcissist’s business, but she is loathe to understand this concept-and reads my writings daily.

I pray we can all come together, as a nation, as a people, as God’s children.  For only then will this bitter war of words and flesh end; for the good of all nations under our mighty Savior.

Say brave things-you have a roaring Lion inside of you, and he is begging to be heard.

 

High Heeled Boys

 

Good Sunday afternoon to you, I’d like to explain my absence:  my personal computer took a giant crap on Saturday morning, leaving me bitchy and floundering.  I have been in such a state of turmoil that I thought about quitting writing altogether-and then my husband lent me his business laptop.  Problem solved, if only momentarily.

I was stewing and spewing when the Holy Spirit spoke to me, loudly and clearly.

Consider the next few days a Spiritual retreat of sorts.  Just you and me, no television, computer or phone.

I mentioned that my husband is leaving for New Hampshire tomorrow morning in my last blog.  I can’t say I relish the thought of the next few days; but I am certain of one thing:  Jesus will be with me, like always, and He alone will give me the strength to manage on my own.

I have never been keen on being without my husband.  This brings to mind the trip we took out to LA, in 2005, to see my brother.  We had a lovely time, truly, until the night we met a high school friend for dinner.  My drinking was at its very worst at that time, and I clung to the tequila that evening, in a Mexican restaurant far, far away from home.  Afterwards, the boys headed to a cigar bar, while my sister in law drove me back to my brother’s home.  Unfortunately, I hid my Ativan from the baby sitter, and drunk as I was?  I couldn’t find it, not to save my life.  I began having the Mother of all anxiety attacks, and cried out loud for Dwain.  Poor Julie had to drive back to downtown LA, where she found my brother, husband and friend, drunk as the proverbial skunks they were-barely hanging on to their barstools.  As Julie waited for my brother, who was in the men’s room, she heard a loud bang accompanied with a few choice words.  It turned out that her husband had fallen into the trash can, and couldn’t find his way out.

“You are a grown man!  And you! (She pointed at Dwain) Your wife is at home having a meltdown because you’re not with her.  She can’t find her anxiety medication.  Get your asses home.  NOW!”

Back at the townhouse, I heard a scuffle in the hallway.  The door swung open, Dwain wobbling back and forth, my brother on his knees.  Julie was livid.  My niece was three at the time, and Craig was ordered to bed-only he couldn’t get up.  According to my husband, after I crashed, my brother crawled around aimlessly-the harder Dwain laughed, the angrier my sister in law became.

“Help me!  Dwain, man, help me….where are we?”

Ah, good times…

So, I will try to write when this lap top is available.  We don’t have funds for a brand new computer; not after Christmas, a new chimney, and prescription glasses for the two of us.

I am working on a new blog as well, but this one will be private, hidden from the prying eyes of my family.  I will be inviting each of you personally, as I just can’t imagine writing to a better, more supportive audience than you~

Grown Ass Woman

 

I’m having a bad hair day, and even though it’s Friday afternoon, I just can’t relax-I have a case of the My husband is leaving on a business trip Blues.  Why, we’ve only been apart twice-once when he went to Idaho for a ten day hunting trip, and a business trip to Pittsburgh last Spring.  Hey, I’m like every other woman on planet Earth-I like to put my hair down, my feet up and order some Chinese takeout.  I love watching what I want to watch (not that it makes a difference, I can’t watch television without him beside me.)  I can play the music loud, dance barefoot and naked, and even eat in bed with no repercussions.  Not a one.

It has been like this for as long as I’ve known him-and the fact is, I don’t care what people think-never have, never will.  Yes, I have my own interests.  Yes, I am very much my own woman, and fairly independent.  After a day of humanity, I want my man at home, in my bed, snuggled close for comfort.

And that’s not the entire reason I could spit nails (better than weeping, which is the current situation.)  I have a friend who suffers from horrible NPD abuse, and she is extremely sensitive.  We had a huge falling out a few months back, but we talked it out.  As is my wont, I don’t really trust that she won’t melt down again, and I am having none of her current temper tantrum.   As I was multitasking my ass off today, I received a text from her, asking me to join her in February-for a painting class.  I readily agreed and went for our hike.  I came home, two hours later, to this message:

But you didn’t sign up for the class, Michele.   Did you pay for it?

Stefanie gets confused easily, a combination of her medicine and neurological damage from Lyme disease.  I am extremely patient with this, even when I am preparing to, say,  pull my own teeth out of my mouth, set my hair on fire, or, preferably?  Find some unsuspecting telemarketer to ream.  Maybe I should call Verizon and bitch about my lack of wi-fi-.  No.  I’d probably end up in the slammer.

Speaking of hair, I found my first greys today-and surprisingly-it stings.  I hadn’t thought myself that vain, go figure.

Okay, back to that conversation…

Me:  What?  Okay, I’ll stop by the church and pay.

S.:  Michele, I go to ________ why would you stop by St. Paul’s to pay?  Why would you do that when I offered to sign you up?

Me:  Okay, sign me up.  🙂

Now she isn’t speaking to me.  I am telling you, I had a very bad hair day.

Just as things appeared to be calming down, my husband sent me a Meme-on how to be stronger and not so sensitive.  He didn’t know about my day, but after that little number?  Oh, he’s hearing it baby, every stinking word.

Enter Sandman…

 

God is asking, He is asking her to fight, fight, fight…in her dreams she is a warrior, with Gladiator skills and she garnishes a sword.  She knows they are coming, the satanic pedophiles…yet she is not sure of the form this war will take.  Will it be through her blogging?  Or will it be personal, meaning in person, mano et mano.  She has known for at least a few years, but shock and CPTSD had taken its toll-the more she learned, the more frozen in fear she became.  Stifled.  Helpless.  No-one-is-going-to-believe her mode.

I just received a phone call from my friend, Helen.  She is a dear, dear woman, and when I hear the words, “Now don’t be alarmed,” you can bet your sweet ass cheeks that I am going to be alarmed!!!!”  She was calling to speak to me in person about an email she had sent out to the Worship Team; (I am on that team and I work at the Welcome Center) the police had put flyers everywhere, warning a dangerous sexual predator had moved to the area. 

“Be careful, ” she said.  I laughed out of shock, I am sure.  No one wants a predator in a neighborhood with churches and schools-yet that is where you are likely to find them.  I hang up the phone and sit.  Stare.  Let it all sink in, every emotion, every thought.

I am not worthy, nor do I feel prepared for the task.  I only know what the Holy Spirit has been whispering for the past two years:  I have known you were coming, EVIL, and I will do everything in my earthly power to make a difference.  I will go slowly, heeding Abba’s call.  But when I meet up with you?  Oh sweetheart, you won’t even see me coming.

Fight.  Fight.  Fight!