ReDiscover Christmas: ReDiscover Hope

THE LION IN WINTER

The Lion in Winter just jumped up on my lap. The thought sruck me as the grizzed old man cautiously planned his way aboard, his eyes dim, his whiskers being his most outstanding characteristic now. All of seventeen, there seems to be little trace of the tiny kitten scurrying under the dog food pallets at Everybody's, which me and the other gal rescued 17 years ago. I say two of us, because I was crippled up needing hip surgery and getting on to being Senior, and she was a young thing whose husband would kill her if she showed up with another kitten. So we teamed up, and even though I had about four or five cats already, I can't remember now how many, I had to save the little guy. He was only about three to four weeks old, starved, cold and hungry. Of course, the only name for a tuxedo kitten with a masked face was Batman, and thus he joined in our journeys. We traveled from Washington stae to Colorado to Utah, 9 cats survivng a trip to Tennessee in Ol' Red, the F250 Ford pick'em'up truck I drove at the time, back to Utah, then on up to Washington State as he was the next to oldest surviving cat. Buddy had showed up at the empty lot next door and the guy who owned it was afraid his dog would kill the cat, so we adopted him into the family, too. Buddy and Batman both claimed the sweetest natures, (for being cats) and were best buddies til the striped tabby got sick with a slow-wasting disease, and I found him still warm one morning, having gone on to glory while attempting to claw the couch. (My animals mean more then the condition of my couch). I am down to four cats now: The patriarch, Batman; the bully, Tramp, a throw-a-way someone discarded in my neighborhood---handsome, huge, white with stripes, a bob of a stump tail, liquid eyes, disarming face, and a pushy manner. Well, Jazzy was before him--Jazzmine a Siamese I bought in the parking lot of Wal Mart in Port Orchard: "A small ear problem," the guy said. (So I'm thinking, ok, ear mites). Not. A fungal condition which vets wanted $1,000 to laser out. Until Doc Dowling, who cut it out the old fashioned way with a knife and only charged me $150. And me at my wits end battling the messy junk, when such a reasonable vet was just down the road. Amen. Finally, there is Tri-Pod Charlie, a three legged cat we I rescued from folks who couldn't care for him properly. He is, as you'd suspect, a rather small cat with a big attitude. He rules. When I first got him, Tramp accidentally bumped him, and poor Tramp has been "responsible" for Charlie's every "ill" since then. So now the Old Man has come to the twilight of his years, though Goblin lived to be 22. Batman wants on my lap; he wants under the covers; he wants near me. And this morning when he slid hardly noticed onto my lap, I did notice him: I noticed his proud head , his white whiskers, his dimmed eyes, and his loud purr that told the world he still had it. It is winter in Tennessee. This wasn't the little cat I rescued so long ago. This wasn't the kid, the buddy, the boycat who was everyone's friend. At this moment he reminded me of the majestic lion, the proud lion, the mighty King of the Jungle......the Lion in Winter.

Day One With A Skittish Wild Mustang

ReDiscover Christmas: ReDiscover Hope

Aragorn's Journey - Saved from Slaughter

Loren Culp Live Clip: Setting the Record Straight with the Seattle Times...

THE NEW NORM: THE BIG LIE by Norma A. Vincent

                                                        AARP?
                                           The Association for Arrogant
                                                       Retired Politicians


      I just received the June 2020 issue of AARP, heading blatantly "Insights from more than 100 Experts":
                          THE NEW NORMAL
     
          I BROWSED through the pages, then tossed the thing in disgust. More propaganda. If the "Association for retired people" thinks that us old timers are going to leap for joy and embrace the highly touted "New Norm", they have another think coming.
           We are Americans. Our forefathers FOUGHT to be free of British tyranny. We didn't spend all these years awaiting the day when we would become like any other nation--enslaved by dictators through Communism, Socialism, Anarchy and all the other humanistic powers that roam the earth, gobbling up nation by nation---we were independent--free--altogether different from any other nation in the world. We had become a client nation to God, as had Israel before us until they rejected their Messiah-- under His care and His protection, because of the Christian prayer Warriors . We joined in wars against our allies to protect them from the invaders who wanted to conquer the world. WE were mighty. We were powerful. We were invincible.....we were careless in all our glory.
           Brainwashing wasn't in our programming. It is now. The enemy slipped in under the door, oozing oil into our very standard of living, into our beloved Republic, slowly spreading poison laced with lies and deceit,  and it seemed Americans jumped on the oil slick and went sliding right on down into the puddle of Socialism.  Now we are there!
           The Enemy used a virus, fear, division, dictates, liberalism, and anything goes tactics. Death to Freedom! Death to the Constitution of the United States! Death to the free choice as an individual. Death to Old Folks, who've lived their lives anyhow and are just a burden on our society. Death to babies, who can't earn their keep anyway. Death to God-- our false religions are doing fine without any God.
       They think they can destroy God.  They will not.
       Fear tactics.
       Even many Christians are full of fear, when our God has commanded that we "Do not fear"---the only fear allowed in His Word is the fear of God's wrath, His justice, and His power over all, His judgment of the ungodly, the unrepentant. It is coming.
       Those of us who know Bible Doctrine because we have delved into His Word and discovered where all this is leading---know, and have known, what His plan for earth's future is, and for mankind's salvation from evil and the Spiritual grave. We knew that in order for there to be a World Ruler, the United States would one day have to fall.
        We just never thought we'd see it in our lifetime.
         The beginning of the end for life on earth as it has been known for centuries. The beginning, the forerunner, of the worst chaos and destruction mankind has ever known.
         No, we do not know the date. In fact, we are warned not to precisely name any date, which only God knows. But we are also warned to be prepared for what is to come. We Christians will be snatched up at the sound of His trump in the air, which only we will hear. We'll vanish, and all the little children and those who can't decide for good and evil. The last seven years promised for the Israelis will begin, and at the end of that time, Christ returns with ALL His Heavenly Army,---including us and the angels! He then judges all those who rejected Him, and they are thrown into everlasting torment.
         So now we come to those scorners, scoffers, ridiculers of God, His Word, and His people----all Christians, including those Jews who recognized their Messiah---Jesus Christ, the King of Kings, the Savior. Theirs was a spiritual covenant, and those who reject Christ will not inherit any kingdom, for all who believe in Christ become as one body of the Church. No unbelievers will ever inherit the Kingdom of God.
         These unrepentant are in the world today working according to God's plan, although they are by no means aware of their place in it. So, we fall. It may seem that the "Propaganda" and Brainwashing by the "New Norm-ers" is working, and to an extent, it is. We here in the United States are watching the Destruction of a Nation, while our forefathers cheered the Birth of a New Nation. 

          Those who purport and support "The New Norm" have chosen their side. We who belong to the Lord are Warriors. We are the sheep of His pasture, not the goats of the World's "New Order". We serve ONE Master--Christ the Lord.

       There will be Christians who disagree with me. It is your right. But think for a moment:  Where would Christianity be today if Moses had obeyed Pharoah instead of God? Where would faith and grace and power have been, had the three Jewish boys meekly followed orders---instead being tossed into the furnace so hot it killed the ones doing the tossing, yet they were spared. Where would Christianity be today if Daniel had not refused to worship evil rulers? Where would Christianity be today if David had not survived numerous attempts to end His life?  Christ descended from the human family of David, although He was not of any genetic male coupling---He was uniquely-born, the vessel used to bring Him into the world by the Holy Spirit, a young virgin woman. He came into the world to save the world and deliver us from Evil. To deliver us from the Devil, who is the father of all living until that one choice made to believe on the Name of the Only Begotten Son of God.

        So there is hope, you see. There is no "New Norm" for the Patriotic American, nor the Christian---the true Believer in Christ as Savior.

       This hope is extended to all who have not yet believed. It is not too late, in this moment, at this time--while you yet have life's breath in your soul, to believe on Christ and accept Him.   You'll then be one of us: clothed by Christ's righteousness, saved by grace through faith in Him. Faith alone in Christ alone!

          Live your life in fear--

          Or not.

                          

People Who Got Raised By Animals In The Wild!

A Pain-filled Life

                                                    The Road to Maturity
                                        
                                                                    by



                                                           N. A. Vincent


    
     I woke up this morning as I have for a little over two decades --or more--of my life: in pain. It was as when I went to bed, wanting a blessed, pain-free sleep, hoping that when I awoke in the morning I would be free of pain. Thinking, maybe I'll wake up in Heaven, being a Christian, where there is no pain: But, instead....another day in pain: I resolved, as always: Do what you have to do--live with it.
    Looking through another window,  a  small frame of black and white,  Back in Time in the 1940's, to a housing project in Tacoma, Washington . A small girl doesn't know much --except about the neighborhood: what happened in it, who comes to it, and her life while she was in it. Pain as an acknowledgeable part of young life was not in the picture. Not even the pain of the fist fight with a neighbor girl named Sandra.
      I don't even remember who won. Just the little crowd of little neighborhood kids excitedly standing around watching.
     Remembering around age four, growing up with a brother I adored . A father who was not there, someone not remembered because he did not come around. Ignorant of war and what it did or who caused it, but seeing in this window frame Mom and parties and uniforms of soldiers coming to the house to having fun. The old wind-up Victrola, the records, the heavy arm you lifted to reset the needle; laughing, and fun for the adults.
    Remembering being led by the hand up the stairs by a soldier who, to this day, remains headless and faceless. There is a bed, and I am lying on it. He is doing something to himself, but I have no idea what, anymore than I know if he did anything to me or not. I'm only 4 or 5, after all. I do not even remember the trip back down the stairs, just the vivid black and white memory, a clear Kodak shot of a headless soldier in khakis holding the hand of a little girl going up the stairs.
    No feeling is in this shot, no knowledge that a war was heavily being fought, that soldiers were having a last fling by a kind-hearted but party-loving gal before they left for duty and country, maybe to die in a foreign land or on a ruthless sea.
     No feeling much, until one morning my brother and I were taken to a busy place, all kinds of people, and they took my brother away and would not let me be with him because he was in "the boys' section" and I in the "girls section". But later Mom came for us and we went home.
      My recollections of feeling anything were not deep in those days: little things, my first boy friend Dale Faulk, who rang the bell, dropped the bouquet of wild flowers, and ran for home before I had a chance to open the door. The little blonde-haired girl named Karen who was kidnapped on her way to school, and we had been walking behind her a short distance away, but luckily, they got him before any damage was done.
       I don't remember pain in those days, but as I was growing older, just the adventures I had in that housing project in Salishan, then, moving out in the country and a new school near the State's madhouse, being kissed on the school swing by a little Negro boy, Sammy, but to my bewilderment, being chastised by the teacher, that a little white girl did not let a little Negro boy kiss her: I was 5! I had no idea such a thing caused pain in anyone. Indeed, I didn't know much about pain at all--just the mixed-up emotions of dislike and confusion in some areas of my life.
     It was just starting. 


     Eventually, we moved to Shelton, Washington, to a grand old house out on the bay in Agate. It was called the old O'Neil place, and was wonderfully enchanting, a roomy old house with lots of rooms and plenty of woods and beach to explore.  I think it was then that pain began making inroads into my life and my body, though I can't say exactly what age I began to hurt physically.  As a preteen, it was then called "rheumatism', but whenever it started in, as a child, it was  a vague nuisance. It didn't deter my adventurous life any. These years I'm skipping, to be told later in "Little Ones", the story of my life.
     I think my first emotional pain was when the old collie dog died.  I got off the schoolbus at Agate, picked up the old collie I had been given, and walked him home. I loved collies, and he was my first. My second traumatic pain in life came later, after my Mom had married again, and my brother was murdered, but deemed "a suicide". It was made to look like a suicide, but most of us knew it wasn't. The trauma in the years between these events is for telling at a later time.
      This was pain, losing a brother I loved, in spite of all that happened. In my teen years, I began to get violent headaches as well as the rheumatism. What we called "sick headaches"----the migraines that ruin people's lives.
     There were times I had to baby myself, but I'd get through it: I wasn't one to cry over spilt milk. My life had become one emotional and physical roller-coaster which never seemed to end as I slowly matured in all ways. We weren't a family who took pills as a cure-all for everything. 
     If you hurt, you lived with it.
     But Migraines required medicine, which didn't always help. I learned, much later in life, how to combat them before they erupted full-fury. You would find one coming on. You would grab a bowl of cold water, a wash cloth, go lie down in a dark room with the bowl of water on the floor: reach down, dip the cloth, wring it out, place on the heat of the migraine. When the cloth got warm, you turned it over, then dipped into the cold again, placing the cold over the eye or the temple, and gradually, that rush of blood and nerves would subside, and you'd be woozy but not helpless for 3 days.     
     Plus I got to thinking, I think it's stress or worry plus the bright lights, not just the lights, so I tried to begin the 'Don't Worry' thinking part of my life that Mom had been trying to teach me. I had learned, from the early life, that the Lord was able to handle everything, and I was always grabbing my daily life away from him and trying to do it all on my own.
     It doesn't work. 


     Over the years, as the migraines lessened, Arthur moved in. The high energy, misadventurous life I lived took its toll: being knocked about in sibling fights, thrown from automobiles, thrown and dragged by horses, falling down from higher places, twisting about in wrong pretzel-like gyroscopic moves to rock music, wrenching a knee already damaged, plus a zillion other things resulted in pain, operations, free for awhile, then attacked again in some other spot.
      Meanwhile, the emotional side of me took a beating as Good against Evil started all the fights in my mind. I made a lot of wrong choices, hurt a lot of people along my road to life: My conscience wouldn't let me rest. Sometimes I don't know which hurts most, the physical pain or the emotional pain, the trauma of not forgiving yourself for what you have done to others, for something that could have been different had you been wiser, made better choices, not did what you did, not hurt who you hurt.  I 'forgave and was forgiven' so many times, only to have the memory of it come crawling back when I least expected. God forgave me much. How can I then keep tossing coals on old ashes?
     Because Memory has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it.
     When you're young and learning these things, and have the energy to overcome the nuisance physical pain causes, you cope, shrug it off, and keep on keepin' on.
    Sometimes, though, the emotional pain is much more difficult to live with,     because the stuff that caused your emotion to run wild in the first place
keeps on keepin' on, as well. 
     Again, you leave God out and try to go it alone. So you are constantly in both physical and emotional pain----the one, you can't do much about: the other, you can, but don't: stubborn refusal to take it to the Master, the only One who can relieve any pain, both physical and emotional.
     Even when you know better.
     Then, before you know it, you are old and crippled and damaged, both in body, soul, and spirit. Every day you wake up hoping you have awoken in Heaven by the Lord's grace, if you are saved. (If you are not, I don't know what you hope for, because you have nothing to look forward to).
     But 'no such luck'.
     You are still alive, functioning to go on another day, and knowing you will have pain all day long, old, crippled, but still able to see, to feel, to hear, to do. Still able to move, to walk, even though it's a shuffle and you have to wear a boot brace to lesson the pain. Thank God for physicians and scientists who make gadgets to help us live with less pain, at least.
      That is grace.
       That is blessing.
      Whatever else pain is, it is a Teacher of life, to learn how to do with less than you had, and live how you are, to do the best you can with what you've now got.
       And count your blessings.
          

    

WILL YOU BE LEFT BEHIND

                            MILLIONS DISAPPEAR

                                                       by
                    Sam James
   
       "A day that will live in infamy"  Decades ago, President Roosevelt spoke these words on December 7th, 1941, when the Japanese declared war on the United States of America by bombing Pearl Harbor, even as the horror of the destruction of millions of Jews was being carried out by Nazi Germany.
       Since then, wars have come and gone, and America has become complacent, fat and sassy on Her fame and fortune as History and Time march on. Forgetting that this country was founded upon belief in the Lord God, and the freedom to worship God the Creator, the Powers that Be--the grinding machine of liberalism and dishonest politics--have slowly eroded these truths which were so dearly held to be unalienable rights, sacred, in our Constitution and by our forefathers.
      Thus it is that in May of 2020, all seems forgotten and lost. In the early days, parents taught their children from the Holy Bible, the Living Word of God, which not only was authored by God the Son (Jesus Christ) the Creator, but was revered and honored in every household.  People believed in following the precepts set down by the Lord for honor and integrity not only in daily and personal life, but in National life as well.
       Eras and decades have come and gone, but gradually, honor and integrity, all the values of truth, have been shoved aside. From being a client Nation of God, America has become as ungodly as have socialistic, communistic nations which not only renounce God, but hate Him.
        All our lives, devout Christians have learned the history of the Word of God, the Holy Bible, the means of living life, the Who, What, Where, How and Why  (and sometimes, in order, When) God cares about mankind and His solution to sinful living. He has provided a Way, and the Way has been rejected by many.
         He has foretold the events of the world long before they happened.  All that has been foretold to this point, May, 2020, has been fulfilled, and now a catastrophic event has fallen upon an ungodly world: a plague virus, causing panic and random, reasonless thinking, destroying thousands in fear.
        Fear. 
       Yet, for Christians, we have been told, Fear not, for I, the Lord your God , am with you.
        Christians are now in  awe as a frightening but fascinating possibility that our most-hoped-for prophecy might be nearer at hand than we could have ever imagined: THE TRUMPET CALL, in which The Lord Himself shall descend from His throne in Heaven to the clouds above, awaiting us, as He blows the trumpet: ALL Christians, those truly born'again, will DISAPPEAR suddenly from the face of the earth, all babies and small children and those who have not reached the age of accountability (being able to choose) will vanish.  
       MILLIONS WILL disappear from this earth. Those left behind are family, friends, acquaintances, strangers , who have rejected Christ the Lord, as Savior of all mankind. These will be left to face seven years of what the Bible has foretold is "The most terrible time this earth has ever known"
         The sorrow for mothers and fathers and grandparents  who have raised their children "in the Lord" as commanded by Him in the Word, is that many children brought up in the Lord opt to reject Him. While we as parents cling to the promise, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."---sadly, we see the years slipping by, the children---the sons, the daughters, the grandchildren--nephews and nieces grow to age entering a world of arrogance, scoffing, rejection of God's Holy Word, rejection of the command to "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ", and thus choosing to be left behind when the glorious trumpet sounds.
        I do not know how the Lord's plan engages this matter, but since His plan is perfect, it is certain that our happiness at being with Him cannot be marred by sorrow of those of our loved ones left behind.
        We do know that during this blackest of times in the last three and a half years of the Tribulation, God sends witnesses to the unrepentant Jews and thus Gentiles also who have REFUSED the "chip" of the World Ruler, either on their foreheads, or on their hands.  Their only hope during that dispensation is REFUSAL to have the chip, thus another chance to believe that what Mom and Dad and Gramma and Grampa  and Aunt and Uncle, cousins, said was true: Christ is Real! He is alive! We are too late! We have been LEFT BEHIND.
        This has been written for my loved ones and for the loved ones of all Christians everywhere--who as of this moment have rejected the call of the Holy Spirit to believe on the Savior.
        I urge you to--and hope--that you  'change your mind' about our King of Kings, whose judgment will fall upon the ungodly when He returns after the seven years of Tribulation: Words of everlasting consequences, regret for the  rejecters, joy for the believers, "Believe on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved."  "Those who have not believed are condemned already, because they have not believed on the only uniquely born Son of God."
       And when He returns, those who stand before Him condemned, will see the pit opened, the abyss of burning fire, and as the angel of the Lord approaches them and takes hold, they shall be thrown into torment forever and ever.
      May God have mercy on your souls if, after knowing, and still not believing, you are one of these.

Dr. Anthony Fauci's ex-employee, was jailed, finally tells all.

BUMBLE BEES, HONEY BEES, WES STUDI and the MAKING of a MOVIE

                       by Sam James
                       (Norma A. Vincent)


     some time ago, when I lived in Utah, as well as cleaning and scrubbing and rubbing elbows with celebrities as a motel maid in Green River , Utah, I had another of my frequent misadventures, and today's Facebook posts brought back how Time ties our adventures and misadventures together.
       In the early 1990's, I was fortunate to clean Wes Studi's room in River Terrace, Best Western, while he was making the movie "Geronimo". At the time, I didn't know who he was because I never watched television, nor went to the movies. We maids would get autographs or save stuff from the rooms.
        I saved stuff. What I saved was the box of trash that was the only thing left in the room: Dually labeled, it became labeled "Wes Studi's stuff from his wastebasket."
        I have since learned very definitely who he is and what a fine actor he is. But this is about bees, so I will move on.
        Over the course of years, I ended up in Port Orchard, Washington. I stored Wes's stuff in a cardboard box out in the shed and it was kinda buried under a bunch of other stuff.
        How all this relates to a Facebook page in May, 2020, is, a man posted that the honeybees killed off the bumblebees and that's why there aren't any more bumble bees --which we all love-- and that when I lived in Port Orchard, I saw both bumblebees and honey bees around my fruit trees, flowers, and lilac bushes. 
        The bumblebees went on about their business, but the honeybees sorta messed in mine:  I was in the backyard and saw honey bees going into the shed, which door was partly opened, so I goes in to investigate, and here they had built a nest in my Wes Studi box of scripts and paperwork from the movie. Well, I had to rescue that box.  While thinking about it, I knew I had to back off before the little buggers got about the business of protecting their nest, which was MY property, my keepsake.   Whilst pondering, one small bee looked up at me. It stared at me with its large eyes. I talked to it. Quick as a wink, ZAP, it was up out of the nest and bit my lip.  I guess my talking to it didn't work. I exited pretty durn quick, kind of surprised how little a honeybee sting hurts, having been stung over a hundred times by bees when I was about four, and other times as a grown-up (debatable.....)
        As I shut the door, I plotted how I'd get my treasure back, and that night I fixed a box full of old papers, etc. , went out into the shed after the bees were asleep for the night, transferred their nest to the new box carefully but quickly and loosely shut the lid in the four corner old method and hurriedly gave it a toss over the fence to the wilderness area.   (in the blackberry bushes).
       The next day I went out and as I neared the fence, a couple of the bees made a bee-line for me so I hastily retreated. I don't know whether or not they relocated their nest, but all of this came to mind again because of a Facebook Post that the honeybees had killed off the bumblebees.
      Hence Bumblebees +honey bees + Wes Studi box + motel maid + movie making ='s a grand misadventure.

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