Monday, December 24, 2018

On Bullies and Silence


Part of a series. Start here.

As a de facto only child for nine years, I was quiet and secretive. Even those few times when I did speak up, I’d say what I had to say only once, and let it go if no one listened.

My secretiveness served me well when I held a security clearance decades ago. The Non-Disclosure Agreement we signed had a length of ten years, but many years passed after its expiration before I told my parents what my job had been. And I mentioned it only incidentally and after reminding myself that I wouldn't go to jail if I did it.

As I get older, I get mouthier, but my natural tendency remains, especially with things which are meaningful, painful, and emotional.

I’ve been bullied often – as a child, a teenager, a young adult, in middle age, and as an adult approaching senior citizen status. I don’t hate the perpetrators – several of them are on my personal prayer list – nor do I feel sorry for myself because of it. In fact, I’ve come to view it as a symptom of a greater factor in my life: God’s protection of my physical and mental/emotional selves – a pattern I’ve noticed only in recent years. He has even protected me from the more catastrophic personal consequences of my own sins. Here's the evidence.

The bullies have had one thing in common: an inexplicable aversion to me.

Now, I’m not saying that I haven’t had people who dislike me for explainable reasons. I’ve mentioned that I’ve done some bad things. Also, I can be a pain in the backside, sometimes intentionally.

But, I’m not talking about those cases.

There have been people who have disliked me on sight and would have nothing to do with me. Others have turned their faces away from me after claiming to love me and this is about more than romantic relationships. Of these, I can look back and see that the aversion may have been spiritually-driven: that their faces were turned away from me for my protection and by that, I mean all facets of protection mentioned.

But it was only during my homelessness stint that I was able to truly see the spiritual aspect of it. And He gave me a taste of what we are all up against by allowing the insertion of a servant of the Adversary into my living space.

I was bullied by that servant. Oh, she never laid a hand on me; that would have been easy to solve, since I believe in using blunt instruments. This was worse.

And I have been silent about it – except to a few – for four years. But, I think it’s time to talk about it. Bullies rely on silence.

It won’t be what you expect.

I felt that it was necessary to give some sense of what it’s like to look back on these things. God gave me a love of identifying patterns and I hope that this post assists you in seeing that pattern also.

Call it the glue that links to posts together. Now I think I'm ready.

PREVIOUSLY IN THE SERIES:

Banishing the Voice of the Enemy

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Friday, December 21, 2018

Baldilocks Top Traffic Magnets in 2018

Logo by Jerry M.
Excerpts along with. If I get a new one in the next ten days, I'll update. Traffic is way down from last year and that is my fault.

Most of the swarms of eyeball were born of links from Instapundit and from Thomas Wictor's late Twitter account. (Thomas is blogging a Quod Verum.)

These are listed from earliest to most recent.

And, in view of my present and on-going series, several of these older posts address things supernatural, just so you know.

*****

I Don’t Miss George Bush Anymore
George W. Bush thinks we should all thank the illegal aliens for picking the fruit and vegetables that I can barely afford, does he? I’m a huge berry fan. Strawberries run over $3 a pound.

But if I wanted to eat shit, literally and figuratively, pennies.
That Time When the Scales Fell Away From My Eyes (this one was also my favorite)
At best, I acknowledged God’s existence and that was all. I spent my young adult years ignoring Him, which seemed only fair. He had been ignoring me since I was born – or so I thought at the time.
The True Root of the Square-Root Debacle
If I had kids, I'd homeschool them. And I'd teach them about guns, not to mention math.
Principalities and Powers
I can’t discount, however, that the Devil’s advocates are so fearful of Donald Trump that they continue to intercede to their father regarding the man. My enemies’ enemies aren’t necessarily my friends, but there is no way I’m going to agree with a bunch of Devil worshipers
Lock Your Doors
It’s all unprotected [corporeal and spiritual] networks out there, ripe for the intrusion. Unlocked doors and open windows.
Which Guns Do They Want? All of Them
There are dozens, maybe hundreds of street gangs and drug/human-trafficking cartels just salivating at the thought of a disarmed America.

And this leads to the true reason that the Organized Left wants us disarmed.

It's this: any real attempt at confiscation will lead to a lot of death: of gun owners and of confiscators. And after that dies down – no pun intended – there will be only a terrorized remnant, beset on every side by tyrants, thieves, murderers, rapists and child molesters.

And that’s just in the government.
The Tactic of Floating Outrageous BS
[H]ere's the intended aftereffect of the tactic: even after the truth comes out, there will still be a significant segment of the public who believes the falsehood. And there will be nothing you can do to show them that they are wrong.
Why I Was Hesitant to Blog About Obama When He Was President
President Trump say that he would pardon conservative writer and filmmaker Dinesh D’Souza. That made me happy and it made me think about the fact that I’m slightly acquainted with Dinesh: I was slated to appear in D’Souza’s documentary 2016: Obama’s America.

Why? Because I am the mirror image of a president.



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Wednesday, December 19, 2018

Banishing the Voice of the Enemy

When I published and shared the last post in this series, initially I received very little feedback – “likes” and a few comments. It came only from those who I know follow my blog closely and/or are like-minded spiritually. I had that Gideon moment that I’ve often had over the years that I’ve been blogging.

“What’s the use?”

“No one is reading.”

“No one cares about this.”

You’d think by now that I’d recognize the whispers from the Adversary and that these would be especially recognizable, considering the overarching topic of my series. But it still took me a good half hour to banish the voice of doubt – the voice of dis-faith, as it were.

However, when I said that, if I received little to no feedback on the series, I would cut the series short, more people spoke up to say that they are looking forward to its continuation.

And one person asked, in private, the most pertinent question.

“Are you doing this for the feedback or are you doing this for God?”

The answer: I’m doing it because I think it’s what God wants me to do. I’ve kept a lot of this stuff bottled up, because I’ve found that I cared what other people thought more that I previously admitted to myself.

I’d like to shake the last vestiges of that dust off my feet. And the rest of me.

I know what I saw and what I heard.

Regarding the part of the series which will immediately follow, I reviewed the material this morning. It’s set up in the dry, boring fashion in the manner I originally documented – date, time, who and what. Therefore, it’s necessary to rewrite it in narrative form. Good thing that I have some experience there!

And, that’s what I’m up to today and, probably, tomorrow. I’m a perfectionist when it comes to story-telling.

So, be patient. The tale is already told.

PREVIOUSLY IN THE SERIES:

The Heralding

NEXT:

On Bullies and Silence


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Tuesday, December 18, 2018

The Heralding

If, like me, you’re of a certain age, you’ll remember the TV cartoon Casper the Friendly Ghost. Looking it up, I discovered that the series was based on a short film from 1945.

One night, I found out how the illustrator might have conceived his creation. Or, perhaps, it was how my own mind interpreted things using concepts familiar to me. Either way, the dream I had was riveting, to say the least.

When I lived in the homeless facility, there were rooms set aside for veterans and I lived in one of them. I had been there alone for about a week when I got a roommate. Small black lady -- an Army veteran -- who seemed normal enough when we were making our get-to-know-you small talk on that first day. She had a Caribbean accent, which I found out was Haitian.

That night, I had a dream about God and Satan talking to each other. Both appeared as white, faceless apparitions against a black background. They appeared very much like this.


At first, I heard murmuring voices, but then they faded in. The two were speaking in a language I had never heard before, but I could sense the nature of the conversation: point and counterpoint.

At some point, God stopped talking and just looked at Satan because the latter was saying one word over and over again in the unknown language. Then the word became English.

“Felon! Felon! Felon!”

Initially, I thought that Satan was saying that God was a felon; but when I looked up the word ‘felon’ later that day, I realized that Satan was talking about humanity.

One of the definitions of ‘felon’ is a criminal worthy of death.

Then Satan noticed me, turned to a vapor, came at me incredibly fast, and enveloped me. I was paralyzed and could feel the vapor on my skin -- a tingling on every inch of my body. I specifically remember feeling the sensation on the bottom of my right foot. Allegedly, the soles of our feet are porous absorption points.

The pressure of the entity tightened against my skin. It was trying to enter my being, but could not. When, I called out to God, Satan gave up. I woke up after that.

My roommate would not speak to me for days and, afterward, began a reign of terror against me.

More to follow.

PREVIOUSLY IN THE SERIES:

That Time When the Enemy Showed His Face

NEXT:

Banishing the Voice of the Enemy


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Saturday, December 15, 2018

That Time When the Enemy Showed His Face

I'm reposting part of a post from three years ago -- at the end of my mercifully short homelessness stint -- because it's necessary to the flow of the posts which will follow. Edited a bit because that's who I am.

*****

Almost on a daily basis, I read or listen to Christian commentators. Many of them discuss eschatology or break down scripture. But one topic has interested me: missionary work in Third World countries. Oh, I don't feel lead to do it, but I find a consistent observation fascinating: that the evil side of the supernatural is often more overt in African, Central American, South American, Middle Eastern and Asian countries than in the USA and Europe, due to the prevalence of non-Christian and/or occult practices in many of these places. Observers have also said that this often makes prospective new converts in these places more open to God's supernatural manifestations than is so for First World converts.

We "sophisticated" Westerners -- even Christians -- tend to scoff at the otherworldly. But what are incidents like this, this and this (ad infinitum), but supernatural manifestations? Jesus healed demoniacs and I bet that if those demoniacs had lived in the 21st century, they'd be posting manifestos against God and everyone on social media before they went out in a blaze (pun intended) of "glory" -- or before the Son of Man had mercy on them.

But I saw nothing so horrendous. However, I saw things that my previously sheltered state rendered me powerless to explain using "rational" means. Was the homeless facility in which I lived a portal for the Enemy? I'm sure it was; it was an aggregation of fear and hopelessness, which is what the Enemy is selling. That much I know.

Day after day, I could sense the evil working in the facility. Occasionally, I would allow those feelings to affect me, but it was never for very long. Prayer, reading the Bible and regularly attending church would push those feelings back. But it was a constant effort. (One of my prayers is that I don't let up now that the attacks are not as overt.) I'd say that I wasn't all that successful, as my writer's block might indicate.

And a few times, I got to see the works of the Enemy up close. Let's talk about a guy named Dean.

Dean,* a Navy veteran, was slim, had long brown hair and blue, glassy eyes. He walked around the courtyard of the facility in full ramble mode. If one actually listened, it sounded like gibberish --usually. And, usually, it involved Jesus. Dean's main theme: that he, himself was Jesus.

I heard of one supernatural incident in which he was the star and saw one myself.

I was sitting on one of the benches in the smoking area having a conversation with someone else and Dean was behind me, babbling. The facility appears to have once been a hotel. The smoking area is a small, area in the corner of the courtyard and it's boxed off by planters which are separated by wooden benches. In the planters are trees in various stages of growth. (Interesting aside: if one sits under the trees, it feels as if it's raining; the trees "weep.")

Dean had an odd habit of pulling the leaves off of the trees and tossing them randomly. But, this time, he was pulling them off and tossing them on my back. I cut off my conversation, turned to him and said, "stop that." I was looking him directly in the eyes.

Suddenly his glassy stare cleared and he responded.

"Get off my land. Go back to your husband."

I felt a chill go down my back. I could only think to rebuke him in the name of Jesus the Christ and that's what I did. On the mention of Christ's name, Dean stalked away from me.

The second incident involving Dean is second-hand, but, to me, it's more jarring.

Two other residents of the facility--Rodney and Janice--got to see what I'm about to relay. Neither person is particularly religious (though, after the following incident, Rodney began attending church with me for a time).

The two watched as Dean climbed up on one of the planters described, babbling as usual about Jesus. Then Dean put up his arms in Crucifix fashion and began to exclaim: "I'm Jesus, I'm Jesus!"

"Get the f*** down from there," Rodney said, and, just as he finished speaking, both Rodney and Janice say that they felt an unnatural wind blow between them and Dean; so strong that it pushed them back. They saw the wind hit Dean directly, knocking him off the planter, and onto the ground --on his backside.

The word in Hebrew for 'spirit' is ruah (רוּ×—ַ). It is also the word for 'wind.'

The Holy Spirit smacked Dean.


Weeks later, Dean ended up getting kicked out of the facility for violence against security and, for months, he hung around on the perimeter of the place -- as did several others who had been ejected for various offenses. (Just as I was about to leave, he was allowed back in, as were several other similarly afflicted persons who had been kicked out. And I could feel the level of spiritual chaos rising.)

*All names are pseudonyms.

PREVIOUSLY IN THE SERIES:

Their Father

NEXT:

The Heralding


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Friday, December 14, 2018

Their Father

Part of a series. Start here.

Before I get started, I need to remind you of something I said last year:
We Christians are familiar—some only passingly familiar--with Jesus’ assertion that the Devil is the Father of Lies. That is, he is the progenitor of everything that is false. Let’s stipulate that and go further: he is the architect [and builder] of Lies. God is building His kingdom, and so the Adversary is building his.

This adversary does deal in simple falsehoods, but those aren’t his most lethal weapons. He is an imitator of his enemy, God, and therefore, his deceptions are high, wide, deep, broad, complex—and, long-term.

These types of deceptions are four-dimensional at the very least; they are his weapons of mass destruction.
I received little to no feedback on this observation. But I know with every fiber of my being that it's true. In today's news alone there are dozens of examples of the complex lies and corruption woven into the institutions of this country -- of this world.

Thousands of text messages sent by fired FBI agent Peter Strzok and former FBI attorney Lisa Page were erased


Ace speculates on a link between Fusion GPS, the Weekly Standard, and George Soros

VA Whistleblower Visited by FBI Sent to Psych Ward

And let's not forget about that other whistblower.

I don't know how anyone can not see this -- unless there's something else at work here: the unseen spiritual forces of our Adversary. His servants -- his worker bees build edifice after edifice and few are able to see those structures for what they are. Or those who can see feel helpless.

That's what I was feeling when trying to keep up on current events and, therefore, why I've had trouble even being interested in it.


PREVIOUSLY IN THE SERIES:

Shift in Focus


NEXT:

That Time When the Enemy Showed His Face

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Shift in Focus


I've been holding back on you. Maybe I've been too concerned about what my audience thinks of me, but I can't do that anymore.

God has given me tiny little glimpses into the reality of things and I have to tell others about what I've seen.

Relax. He hasn't told me the day that Jesus will return for His church or the day when California will slide into the ocean -- I would be dictating this post while on the highway instead of sitting here calmly in my LA apartment if he had told me that last thing.

But He has given me enough so that I have seen evidence that this visible world is not all there is.

We are told that we are to accept that on faith and I did so before he started showing me stuff. It's great but also unnerving. And it does this one thing: it shifts ones perspective about current events. Things which used to be so important now seem so silly that I can barely stand to read much of the news and commentary. Conversely, formerly hidden patterns emerge.

Therefore, in the next few posts, I'm going to tell you what I've seen. I don't know if the telling will make any difference in the life of my readers, but I do know that God exists and I don't think He intended for me to keep all of this to myself.

 Some of you might find it all mundane and boring. But, then again ...

Hold tight! I'm writing.

PREVIOUSLY IN THE SERIES:

Weapon of War

NEXT:

Their Father


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Friday, November 23, 2018

The Left Worships Your Mamma


Recently, Former President Obama said that the Right has "mommy issues" because many of us don't believe in the doctrine of Climate Change. Resisting the urge to talk about the former president's mamma, I'd have to say that inserting "mommy issues" into that conversation (Mother Gaia?) was bizarre. And it reminded me of something I've seen the Left do quite a bit lately: bring up your parents.

One of the Left’s shaming tools used against conservatives -- especially those who are not white -- is appealing to us in the name of our dead ancestors or, rather, their vain imaginings of who our ancestors were and what they might think of what we, the living, think and do. Example:


This appeal is based on an unexamined delusion: that all non-whites give a rip about pleasing our ancestors.

I, for one, have at least two ancestors who probably had more to worry about upon reaching the afterlife than whether I or any of their other progeny were shaming them or not. But that’s a side issue.

The main one is this: Christians and Jews are strictly forbidden to practice this or any other form of idolatry. This would include appeasing them or ordering our lives to what we think they might want. Simply put, our goal in life is to please God and Him alone.

Also, I think that trying to atone for the actions of one’s dead ancestors – something the Left seems so on about, what with all the obsession with about “white privilege” and the various campaigns to refute and repudiate “whiteness” – is a twisted Leftist form of this.

They hate their ancestors, worship mine – or so they think -- and then try to shame me when my political beliefs don’t match up with what they conjure about the gods they venerate.

They're always trying to put something in that God-shaped hole of theirs -- anything except for the actual God.

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Monday, November 19, 2018

Rhythm, Flow, and Coincidence

As I mentioned here, I used to be a huge NFL fan but stopped paying attention many years ago, beginning long before the kneeling controversy. However, I couldn’t help but notice this, especially since it appeared on Drudge.
Washington Redskins quarterback Alex Smith was lost for the season on Sunday when he broke his tibia and fibula on a scary, freak tackle by J.J. Watt and Kareem Copeland. Smith, who was immediately in devastating pain, was quickly carted off the field and was reportedly headed to surgery just minutes after his team’s comeback bid fell short.

Anytime a quarterback breaks his leg on the field, NFL fans of a certain age think of former ‘Skins quarterback Joe Theismann, who suffered a gruesome broken leg during a Monday Night Football game in 1985. (…) 
Joe Theismann broke his right tibia and fibula on Nov. 18, 1985 in a game in Washington that ended 23-21. The only three-time Defensive Player of the Year Lawrence Taylor was involved in the injury, which occurred around the 40-yard line
Alex Smith broke his right tibia and fibula on Nov. 18, 2018 in a game in Washington that ended 23-21. The only other three-time Defensive Player of the Year J.J. Watt was involved in the injury, which occurred around the 40-yard line.
People who read this blog will not be surprised that I’m fascinated by these types of “coincidences,” since my own being is an eerie parallel – and, in many ways, polar opposite – to that of one Barack H. Obama.

There are too many other "coincidences" to name here, the most famous being the parallels between the assassinations of Presidents Lincoln and Kennedy.

My own belief about this is that the world we live in is a fallen version of the orderly one that God created and there are still patterns in it. God can and does enter in to these patterns if we ask and even if we don’t.

But even if one does not believe in an omniscient, omnipotent deity, these types of rhyming and flowing events and on-going stories serve to make ridiculous the idea of a random universe.

I think that, sometimes, God just sits back, let’s them happen and lets observers make of them what we will; draw our own conclusions.

I conclude that stuff doesn't just happen.

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Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Baldilocks Road Trip: First Video for GoFundMe.com

I created the campaign two days ago and I plan to give a daily update. The trip will have to begin in September, because I have to be in town for the next couple of weeks; I'm ready to get out of here now! Click here to donate or you can do it the usual way (below).
 

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Friday, August 10, 2018

About Sarah Jeong's Hatred

So, I'm testing the new-to-me method of blogging. Twitter blogging.
There are 12 tweets in the string. I think regular readers of this blog will find my take interesting.

If clicking a Twitter link is against your religion, go here.

Must diversify the signal!

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Monday, August 6, 2018

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

Why I'm Planning to Drive Across the Country and Back

For obvious reasons, this will be part of a series of posts.

As many know from following me on Facebook and Twitter, I’m planning a two-month road trip across the United States and back and I’d like to give a little background as to why I’m doing it.

As I’ve indicated in a couple of other posts, back in February, I found out that an old boyfriend had died. Through contacting his employer – a learning center that helps people get their GEDs – I discovered that the employer had built a memorial garden for him. Since I found out about this, I have longed to see that memorial and I asked God to let that happen before my own exit from Earth.

Not long after I made that request, I received two unrelated invitations to visit Kentucky and Tennessee, respectively in September and October. Both inviters will help me get there and accommodations are already assured. Additionally, I have a friend who would provide me with free air travel if I wanted it.

But I got to thinking that it sure would be nice if I could drive there and see my family, friends and some longtime fans of this blog along the way.

So, I tested the idea on Facebook and got an avalanche of requests to visit from every state in the lower 48! Even one of my friends who lives in South Korea is joking with me about visiting.

Of course, I don’t have the money for this and my car is too old to stand up to the rigors of such a trip, but what if I could do it through a campaign and through day-labor during the trip?

That’s what I going to attempt. And I want to document every part of the trip online.

So, that’s the plan.

Right now, the departure date is August 15 or thereabouts and the main thing I need at the beginning point is to reserve a rental vehicle. I check at Enterprise and two months for an intermediate-sized SUV will be about $2200, but I think I’d like to reserve one for one month at a time.

I have a list of roughly 20 people who have requested a visit – if only for me to swing by in their town and enjoy a cup of coffee – but I will be adding more.

A 57-year-old black lady, two months on the road alone in “terrible, horrible, racist” America; that is how many naysayers will think of such a trip. But I know better and want to see my country for myself, up close and personal.

I will start a GoFundMe campaign, but I’d like to reserve the vehicle now and take care of a few things in the two weeks before I leave, so if you want to hit the tip-jar, please do. When I get the vehicle reserved, I will post a photo of the receipt.

Looking forward to seeing every one of you.

PREVIOUSLY: Baldilocks Saddles Up

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Monday, July 30, 2018

Gift For My New Followers




I have many new followers on Twitter who don’t know that I’ve been blathering online about conservative politics, Christianity, and other stuff for quite some time now. So, I thought I’d give them a taste of some of my work.

Some of the links below are from my old Typepad blog which is still active. I’ve been thinking about combining it with this one.

Going back to 2003 – the year I started blogging – is more than a notion; I cringe at some of my old posts. But, writing is like weight-lifting: painful at first, but you become stronger and sleeker if you don’t give up.

These aren’t necessarily the ones that received the most traffic.

Disclaimer: I like to rant and am sometimes snarky.
Disclaimer 2: Some of you may not like what I wrote about Donald Trump prior to the 2016 election. I did vote for him and now I’m glad I did, but back then? Not so much.

When I’m wrong, I don’t hide my errors.

Enjoy … I hope.

Throwing Away the Crutches
The Scattered: Spiritual Reasons for Black Failure
To a Young One Who is an Apologist for a Terrorist
The Herding Series
View From Under the Bus
Don’t Make Me Whip Dis Out
I Accept the Shame You Cast Upon Me
Passing for Super Heroes
Message to the Black, White, Man, Woman: GROW UP!!! Language alert.
It’s a Trap!
Donald Trump and Our Current Level of Deception
Gun Control and the Desire to “Improve” Humankind
Yamasaki’s Towers

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Monday, July 23, 2018

Baldilocks Saddles Up


I'm planning to begin a road trip in a little over a month. Multiple destinations, fully documented.

Here's an audio intro to the idea.

I do plan on taking donations for the trip and I will post before and during the trip via multiple platforms. I'm also thinking about day laboring. Can Americans still do that?

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Pet Peeve: Your Behind

It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door.
-- Bilbo Baggins, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. J.R.R.Tolkien (1954)
It’s always something.
-- Gilda Radner (1946-1989) as Roseann Rosannadanna; this is also the title of her autobiography.

This morning, I committed an act of self-restraint, but don’t pat me on the back yet.

I opened the vestibule door of my building to see a girl standing on the porch directly in front of the doorway. When she heard the door open, she turned around and looked at me. I looked at her as well, but neither of us said anything.

Normally, I give everyone a chipper “Good Morning” or “Hello,” but not in this case. The girl was committing what I consider one of the most egregious non-violent sins.

After about five seconds, she unblocks the exit. So, I’m thinking that she must be a mind reader, because I was thinking the following. Multiple foul language alerts.



It’s one of the few pieces of modern hip-hop that I will tap my foot to. Listening to it all the way through is another story, however.

I see people blocking egresses all the time. Grocery shoppers are the worst violators of this infraction – my favorite is when a person is blocking the aisle with his body and his cart -- and it cuts across racial and gender lines. I’ve had people look at me with confusion when I said, “excuse me” or “pardon me.” Three people – all men – have even started an argument with me!


I suppose that if, in these cases, I ungagged my inner South Central ‘hood girl, the message would be much more speedily and clearly received.

Is this simple form of lack of consideration for others symptomatic of something deeper? Probably.

In the meantime, take a moment to consider that your backside may be in the way of progress. Love your neighbor and (re)move it.

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A Nigerian's Uncomfortable History

For the geographically deficient among us.
At the New Yorker, Nigerian novelist Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani writes about her great-grandfather Nwaubani Ogogo -- a prosperous and honored man who became so by being a slave-trader. (For the record, I am not Nigerian. People keep asking.)
Long before Europeans arrived, Igbos enslaved other Igbos as punishment for crimes, for the payment of debts, and as prisoners of war. The practice differed from slavery in the Americas: slaves were permitted to move freely in their communities and to own property, but they were also sometimes sacrificed in religious ceremonies or buried alive with their masters to serve them in the next life. When the transatlantic trade began, in the fifteenth century, the demand for slaves spiked. Igbo traders began kidnapping people from distant villages. Sometimes a family would sell off a disgraced relative, a practice that Ijoma Okoro, a professor of Igbo history at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, likens to the shipping of British convicts to the penal colonies in Australia: “People would say, ‘Let them go. I don’t want to see them again.’ ” Between the fifteenth and nineteenth centuries, nearly one and a half million Igbo slaves were sent across the Middle Passage. (...)
My father succeeded in transmitting to me not just Nwaubani Ogogo’s stories but also pride in his life. During my school days, if a friend asked the meaning of my surname, I gave her a narrative instead of a translation. But, in the past decade, I’ve felt a growing sense of unease. African intellectuals tend to blame the West for the slave trade, but I knew that white traders couldn’t have loaded their ships without help from Africans like my great-grandfather.
The Igbo also used their slaves for human sacrifices to dark spiritual forces. In the last portion of the piece, Ms. Nwaubani gives accounts of the stigma still attached to Nigerians who are descendants of slaves and of her family's attempt to cleanse itself of the evil forces and their consequences.

It's a fascinating article and I make no judgment on the Igbo tribe or Ms. Nwaubani's great-grandfather. That's God's job.

The piece is just a reminder that, in the affairs of men and women, no nation or ethnic group is clean.

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Friday, July 20, 2018

This Is Why I am Not Married

 
The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?
-- Jeremiah 17:9 (KJV)

Dr. Helen features a study which finds that a bad marriage can kill you quickly. That may prove the theory there are some fates worse than death.

Some people have openly wondered why I’m not married, but I don’t.

Rarely do I get in the weeds about my personal relationships for one reason: there are a lot of weeds. There are many things in that area of which I am not proud.

I’ve been married only once and have been divorced since the early 1990s. My ex is the one who wanted the divorce and one of his complaints against me was that I didn’t love him. While he was correct, this was his evidence against me: that I was calm when we argued. I didn’t curse or call him names or throw things. Crazy, no?*

People do so love drama in their lives; some think it’s evidence of passion. Well, I’ve felt great passion for one man (not my ex-husband) but I despise drama, especially in my home. But, one way or another, it seems to find me in my love relationships. Over many years of prayer, reflection and honesty with myself, I think I know why.

It would be easy to say that my ex-husband and former boyfriends didn’t understand me. While true, it’s mostly irrelevant, since I didn’t understand myself for most of my life. But, in recent years, God has revealed some things to me about my relationships with people in general and with men in particular and the overarching theme of that revelation is this:

It's usually me rather than them. And when it's them, it’s because I picked them.

I’ve always felt a great deal of relief when a relationship ended – that is, after I was able to extricate myself from the emotions and vanities of the relationship. Once my emotions subsided, there was no way I would take the guy back.

There was one exception – the one object of my great passion -- but he’s no longer with us. (And, no, I didn't kill him with matrimony.) Thinking about him, there was another factor present in our relationship that was missing with the others.

Joy.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve seen the pattern of how much being in a relationship hinders my ability to think straight and the peace of my soul. I long wondered how other people do it, but then I remembered that I’m the problem. Recently, God showed me that I had not confronted this one thing about myself: how much I am capable of taking what I want regardless of who is hurt by that taking.

Undoubtedly, every single person has an issue like this – it’s translated as ‘iniquity’ in many English versions of the Bible. A secret sin.

An iniquity like this may be one that we no longer act on or have never acted upon. But if we don’t confront it head-on, it lodges itself deep with our souls and bides its time. Then, when conflict with our spouse happens, it rises to hurt those whom we claim to love.

I knew that there was a pattern of iniquity in my relationships, but it took me a long time to actually face it. And I bet that many people die before getting to that point.

I can see how living with a person who has not confronted her own character defects – her demons – can adversely affect one’s health. And since well-meaning men tend to quash their anger for the good of the family, they will suffer more internally – spiritually and, ultimately physically. We women tend to let things out. (For the record, I'm more inclined to hold things in for a long time until I've had enough.)

In the comments to Dr. Helen's piece, there's a lot of justifiable blame cast upon women and that's fine, but as I read it, I kept thinking, "you picked her, so whose fault is that?" Thinking about my ex-husband's words, I wonder how many men choose to marry drama-queens and airheads for whatever reason then are puzzled when that choice jumps up years later to bite them in the backside. (I had a boyfriend who said I was boring because I like talking about politics, religion and history.)

It isn't as if I haven't had many opportunities to pair up -- even now when I'm in my late 50s. (Heck, I could get my rent paid every month right now if I were a different kind of woman.)

But I remember all the tears, the anxiety in the pit of my stomach, the unanswered questions, and all the rest of it. The complete misery. And I know deep down that my own choices and my own iniquities were always the cause.

Until my iniquities are fully dealt with by God, it's just me and Him. And since one of His names is Jehovah Shalom -- God is our Peace -- I'm holding onto that.

*Long after we divorced, I found out that the ex had been fooling around. They married right after our divorce was final and are still married. I've long forgiven him, but I can't help but hope that he has all the "love" he can handle.

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Monday, July 9, 2018

California is Still Paradise Compared to These Places

Ten years from now? I plan to be gone.

On July 4th, a woman was arrested for climbing the Statue of Liberty.

Her name is Therese Patricia Okoumou. Why did she climb the Statue on Independence Day? To protest Trump in particular, white “supremacy” in general, and call for the abolition of the ICE.
Therese Patricia Okoumou, 44, was arrested on Wednesday after she climbed the statue’s pedestal and began a three-hour standoff with police that led to the evacuation of the landmark on the Fourth of July holiday, celebrating U.S. Independence. (…) 
An activist group called Rise and Resist said on Facebook that Okoumou was part of a protest at the base of the statue against immigration policy.
The protesters unfurled a banner that read “Abolish ICE,” the acronym for the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency. Created in 2003, the agency has become a focus of criticism over U.S. President Donald Trump’s policy of “zero tolerance” for illegal immigration.
That chick is an immigrant from Congo, of all places.

This Congo?

This demon-possessed Congo?

She wants ICE abolished, eh? ICE is what's keeping her savage countrymen out of here.

The evil in that country didn't just start a couple of years ago. But Okoumou has been in the USA for 24 years, so, perhaps she has forgotten. Maybe she should have her memory refreshed.

*****

Back when Congo was called Zaire, and after the late boxing legend Muhammad Ali returned from his triumphant heavyweight championship bout in Kinshasa against George Foreman, aka the Rumble in the Jungle, Ali was asked what he thought of Africa.


Ali responded thus: “Thank God my granddaddy got on that boat!” Of course Ali was referring to the slave ships. That was a typical slice of honesty from The Greatest.

****

There's a deleted scene from the movie Tears of the Sun – a movie about a bloody civil war in Nigeria – during which a Nigerian tells a black American SEAL team member that he looks Nigerian and that, were it not for the Trans-Atlantic slave trade, the SEAL would have been born and raised in Nigeria “with us.” The SEAL has no response to this and it's easy to see why the scene was deleted because the only logical response is, “thank God for slavery.” Hollywood writers aren't brave.

Then, last week, there was reality in Nigeria.
In what the Christian Association of Nigeria is calling a "pure genocide," 238 more Christians were killed and churches desecrated by Muslims last week in the west African nation. This brings the death toll of Christians to more than 6,000 since the start of 2018.
According to a joint statement by the Christian Association, an umbrella group of various Christian denominations, "There is no doubt that the sole purpose of these attacks is aimed at ethnic cleansing, land grabbing and forceful ejection of the Christian natives from their ancestral land and heritage." 
The statement condemned the recent attacks, "where over 200 persons were brutally killed and our churches destroyed without any intervention from security agencies in spite of several distress calls made to them."
The statement adds that the majority of those 6,000 Christians massacred this year were "mostly children, women and the aged... What is happening in ... Nigeria is pure genocide and must be stopped immediately."
And, today, Haiti.
The Haitian government suspended a fuel price hike Saturday after widespread violence broke out across the capital and in the northern city of Cap-Haitien.

Prime Minister Jack Guy Lafontant had originally said the country needed to raise prices to balance the budget and gave no indication he would back down.

But his administration bowed to pressure after demonstrators took to the streets in protest.

A journalist from The Associated Press reported seeing several hundred people on Saturday attack a Best Western Premiere hotel in Petion-Ville, one of the capital’s wealthiest neighborhoods. Guests were forced to remain inside as rocks were hurled through windows around 10 a.m. local time.

Security manned the building, but rioters shattered the main entrance before moving to another hotel. 
*****

Four years ago, I speculated that Africa and those of black African descent, who are not followers of Jesus the Christ might be under a 4,000-year-old curse. And yesterday, the essay got a lot of new publicity, along with some criticism, because whaah slavery and because other people have done a lot of bad things over the centuries. Well, hey, they are subject to curses too, but not in the same ones we are.

And, as I said in 2014, how can we tell the difference between cursed and not-cursed in when it comes to places like Congo and Haiti?

I'm just glad I live here -- yes, even in California -- and not in those places. Safe ... for now.

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Sunday, July 1, 2018

The Demonic Nature of Mob Justice Plus a Cleanser


People throw around the word attack too freely, especially online. There are only two ways, however, that a person can be attacked: physically and spiritually.

The mechanics of a physical attack are obvious, but spiritual attacks are less recognizable. Spiritual attacks sometimes come directly from the source, but, other times, they come from people in the physical world. In reality, such people are only conduits, the means through which the source of the attack -- the Devil -- sends his munitions -- his demons.

Think of such people as rocket launchers. God uses people and, since Satan is a mimicker of God, he uses people, too.

And Satan does this one thing very often: he deploys a Legion.

On Friday, the three US Senators who are black, Cory Booker (D-NJ), Kamala Harris (D-CA), and Tim Scott (R-SC) introduced an anti-lynching measure in the Senate. Many are deriding it as a race-pandering measure and it probably is, but, considering what I wrote above, I have a different take on it. And, if you think about it, you’ll notice that lynchings are not always race-based.

This one is an example.

We rarely think about this, but nation-states and ethnic groups are subject to the spiritual forces of the actions of their past: of their foundations, their good deeds, and their crimes. And those nations and groups will feel the effects of its crimes in particular throughout the generations unless one of two things happen: God intervenes and/or a nation or ethnic group repents of its crimes and embeds that repentance into national body and does so on its own.

Of course, it can be argued that this country has already embedded into its body the repentance of its crimes against Americans who are black via the Civil War, the 13th through 15th Amendments, the Civil Rights Act, and the Voting Rights Act. Fair enough and I agree.

But consider the following.

I think that lynching and any other gang or mob action against any target is carried out by people who are possessed by demons. This applies to any death of an individual at the hands of any mob when that individual has not been subject to a fair legal process and when the mob has no authority to carry out an execution. (This is why I’m not against all capital punishment carried out by the state.)

And, since this nation has refused identical anti-lynching measures 200 times – refused to disavow a method of human sacrifice carried out by Satanic forces -- this new measure is necessary for spiritual reasons, other reasons given notwithstanding. (Consider this when you think about Roe vs. Wade and about how many abortions have been carried out in this country since that court ruling.)

This horrifying lynching story in Texas epitomizes  – at least to me – the demonic nature of mob justice. [UPDATE: Dead link. Go to here.] It happens that the victim was guilty of the crime and probably demoniacally possessed himself, considering the nature of his crime. In some stories there are no good guys.

Read that last link before you continue.

*****

A funny thing happens when you read about things like that. You desire the cleansing of your mind and spirit. For me, that’s an instinctive process – or maybe it’s something that God does for me. As it happens, reading about that horror reminded me of a family story, also set partially in Texas. It's one of love and of individuals.

I’ve mentioned that, for the first part of my minor years, I was raised by my great-aunt and great-uncle, Alma and John Simpkins. Aunt Alma was my grandmother’s older sister.

Uncle John was from Texas, but he and a significant portion of his family had moved to Southern California starting in the 1920s or 30s. This move probably began with his own aunt and uncle, Lucy Collins – his mother’s sister – and her husband, J.B. Collins.

Aunt Lucy and Uncle J.B. lived in Fontana, CA and I always enjoyed visiting them because Fontana was quite rural back in the 60s. The two had been married since they were in their late teens or early 20s, but never had any children, so, they doted on all of us. I was not their blood niece, but they didn’t care and neither did I.

After Aunt Alma and Uncle John were divorced and I went to live with my mom and dad, I didn’t see much of Uncle John’s family. Much later, I found out that Uncle J.B. died in the 70s and around 25 years later, Aunt Lucy followed. I wasn’t surprised to find out that she had been 100 years old or more when she died because she and Uncle J.B. were old back in the 60s.

And here’s the interesting part, told to me by Aunt Alma.

Uncle J.B. was very pale-skinned and he shaved his head, so we had always thought that he was a “one drop rule” type of black man. But when he died, and his relatives came to the funeral, all of them were white. Uncle John’s family discovered that Uncle J.B. had no known black ancestry.

None of the relatives who attended the funeral were of his generation. They were all his nieces, nephews and second cousins. All his older relatives had died and/or disowned him.

It turns out that Aunt Lucy and Uncle J.B. met in Texas and had fallen in love there. But, of course, back then it was illegal in Texas for a white person and a black person to marry. So, unwilling to just cohabitate, they ran away to California, got married, and settled there. They were married until the day he died.

I only knew Aunt Lucy as an old lady, but Aunt Alma had a photo of her as a young woman. Suffice it to say that she was the kind of woman that a guy would ditch his family for: smooth brown skin, slanted eyes, high cheek bones, long, thick hair and a beautiful smile.

I hope that Aunt Lucy and Uncle J.B. are in Heaven. I envision them as two handsome young people, walking hand-in-hand, serving the Lord.

Fun fact: my sister’s husband is a white guy from Texas. They have five children and one granddaughter. They live in Fort Worth and in peace.

*****

I don't know if our nation has truly repented as a corporate body of its past and here's something else: if the descendants of those who were wronged refuse to forgive, they, too, will remain prone to the evil forces that desire to take this country down. Other countries have their own spiritual issues to face, but that their problem. I'm concerned about this one.

Repent and forgive. I try to do both every day, for myself and my people: Americans. Pray for this country.

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