Threefold Cord in Action

Even if you know leftism is just a collection of Satanic brainwashing myths, it makes an impact when you see your beliefs proven right. This is normal when things God tells you are demonstrated right in front of you.

Leftism is rebellion against divine authority. That includes every form of leftism, including feminism.

Christians are supposed to be baptized with the Holy Spirit and communicate with him throughout the day, submitting to him and listening to him. A man is supposed to be the anointed authority over his household, backed up by the authority of God. A wife is supposed to submit to both God and her husband.

A man and his wife are supposed to have different jobs. A man has the primary obligation to guide, provide, and protect. It’s a position of self-sacrifice. He provides a stable environment in which the wife and kids can thrive in safety. A woman is obligated to look after the house, and she is supposed to handle the bulk of childcare. The childen are supposed to submit to both parents as well as God. The dog submits to everyone. Satan and his fatherless imps are somewhere below the dog and the rats and roaches.

Before my wife got here, I had to do everything. Manage the business. Bring in the money. Look after bills and taxes. Look after the buildings and grounds. Shop. Cook. Clean. I had to buy a back scratcher.

Leftists hate it when you say this, but it’s true: men are not that great at homemaking. Our standards are completely different. Even if we are clean and orderly, the homes of unaccompanied men lack the peaceful, warm atmosphere of homes ordered by women.

I was reasonably clean, but I had a plastic folding table from Home Depot in my kitchen. I had plastic chairs around it. I had an ammunition press and a large cache of cartridges in the dining room, along with two benches and a lot of tools.

The garage was chaotic. I sprayed it with pesticide, I kept the garbage from backing up, and once in a while, I opened the doors and ran the leaf blower. That was good enough for me.

There was a lot of junk on the kitchen table, because I ate in the living room. Left to their own devices, men will eat in three places: the couch, the patio, and standing over the kitchen sink.

Walking in my master closet was very difficult because I had left a lot of guns and other junk in there.

I was tired of cooking, not because cooking was a lot of work, but because I also had to clean and shop. Sometimes I made good food, but often, I made things that were simple, that I could choke down in order to prolong survival. It saved me work.

I had $20 white sheets from IKEA. I got hooked on them while caring for my dad. Cheap and easy to bleach. On top of the sheets, I used either a quilt I found among my sister’s abandoned belongings when she moved to rehab, or a cheap Chinese electric blanket.

Things were good. Men are not like women, so I was okay with my standards. Things are better now, however.

My wife nearly freaked out when she got here, saying she could not be happy unless things were in order.

All junk was removed from the master suite. We went through things I had been ignoring, and we threw out stuff I should have dumped long ago. I was relieved to have the motivation and help. We laundered the pillows. We made several shopping trips for real bedding.

My wife emptied and cleaned my dresser and end tables, and she put things back in, in ways that made somewhat more sense. She vacuumed. She dusted. She organized the closet. There is so much room in there now, you could have home church in the closet. She goes in there to pray for long periods.

We emptied the kitchen cupboards and pantry. My wife cleaned, we threw stuff out, and things went back in. We got a rack that hangs on the pantry door, and we filled it with things like condiments and cookies. We like it so much, we have a second one on the way for the other door. The pantry seems three times as big now.

My friend Mike stayed here last year, and he left a household’s worth of junk and food-related things. We threw out a lot of expired Mike items.

She organized my laundry room, where I keep my paranoia shelves full of nonperishable food. They seemed full when she arrived. Now they seem empty. Simply moving stuff around made a big difference.

She attacked the garage. Mike had left a huge box of seasonings, oil, condiments, and other food items in there. Unbeknownst to me, he had left a box of starch and a box of confectioner’s sugar open, which explained why I had a roach problem in a garage where the garbage was always sealed up and dumped regularly. The box containing all the food items was full of roach poop and irate live roaches. I had to blast it with Raid and leave it alone for hours before I could put it in the car to take it to the dump. Roaches will colonize a car if you let them.

I sent Mike photos, and he said he wanted to save some things. Mike is a man, too. Everything went to the landfill.

Mike had left a couple of hundred pounds of random items in the room where I keep the piano. My wife moved it all into a smallish space in the garage.

I sold Mike my Moto Guzzi motorcycle a long time ago, in order to get it out of the garage. This plan backfired, because he left it where it was. Inspired by my wife, I put it outside under a tarp. We now have so much room, we can bring the pickup inside.

Mike keeps saying he’s going to fly down and haul his things off. I don’t know how long I can protect them from my wife.

My bathrooms were pretty clean, but now the cabinets are ordered. I redid the sink P traps, so now we are safe from leaks. My wife bought post-poop spray for use after people drop a deuce.

We plan meals together. We shop together. Generally, I cook. When I cook, I get to go sit down afterward. My wife cleans up the kitchen. That’s totally new. I can’t get used to it.

While I sit and she cleans, I can almost hear shrill, high-pitched voices with New York accents, telling me women aren’t supposed to do that.

Yesterday, she cooked a neat African meal. It was the first time she cooked an entire meal here. It was really good. I didn’t know she could cook. I got up to do the dishes afterward, and she sent me to the living room and cleaned the kitchen herself.

When I work on things like the tractors and the grounds, I don’t have to think about things I’ll have to do in the house later. I don’t concern myself with vacuuming or cleaning toilets. It’s all done for me.

I’m having problems with my old gate opener, so I have to keep opening it up and working on it. I have a kitchen cart I’m building, and there is still some welding and painting to do. While I work on things like that, my wife is in the house, imposing order.

I haven’t done a load of laundry in weeks. Clean clothing magically appears in the dresser. If I spill something on my shirt, my wife insists I give it to her and go get a fresh one.

I showed my wife how I clean toilets when she got here. Since then, I haven’t cleaned a single one. They’re always shiny and fresh-smelling, like only the angels used them. I’m not positive, but I think she keeps leaving the seats up. I’m afraid to ask. What kind of woman does that in feminist-ruined America?

We got on the living room. We looked at a zillion couches and chairs. We bought a really nice vintage rocker at a consignment store, which we visit frequently. I learned about Howard Restor-A-Finish, a product that works wonders on used furniture. I picked out a traditional wool rug like the ones my grandparents had, and we’ll get one after the turn of the year.

I’ve been on Ebay, buying traditional kitchen stuff. I got some old copper Jell-O molds for the walls. I bought some Griswold cast iron trivets to replace my mother’s trivets, which were looted and lost. I may pick up a few more century-old cast iron items.

We bought a bunch of picture frames, and we are putting family photos on the walls and coffee table. We have dedicated a hallway wall to future photos of friends and relations.

When my grandparents died, my relations took things that were ostentatious or valuable. I got my grandmother’s kerosene lamps. They’re worth around $30 each, but I remember seeing them on the mantel in her basement. We took them out and cleaned them up, and now they’re on our mantel, along with a couple of clay whiskey jugs I inherited. I’m considering putting an old butter churn on the hearth.

We go to the flea market and look for other vintage junk. Not something a man does when he lives alone, unless he has hopes of attracting another man.

I bought some vintage postcards of scenes I remember from Kentucky. I got a frame for them, and we’ll put it on a wall somewhere. I have a 1950 stamped postcard from the post office at the kibbutz where I worked. It commemorates the opening of the post office. We’ll frame that, too.

Furniture stores have sales in January and February. We plan to take advantage. We couldn’t find an old bedroom set we liked, so we chose one, and we will buy it next year.

Men create quarters. Women create homes. I would never have done any of these things had I not gotten married.

The difference is tremendous. The house seems bigger. It’s more peaceful. It’s a good place for prayer. I’m much more on top of business obligations, because now I have more time as well as a person who depends on me.

My wife doesn’t have to think about food, clothing, housing, protection, car problems, anything related to tools, or medical care. I don’t have to occupy myself with wife duties. It’s tremendous. It’s traditional. It’s correct. It works.

Of course it works. It was God’s idea.

Meanwhile, the US is full of 35+ career women–feminists–who live with cats, worry about their eggs, and put out because they think it’s the way to find husbands. They learned this from feminist leaders…who didn’t marry.

They’re miserable. They have no one to look after them. They have no one to look after. They have to compete with girls who are younger and therefore much more attractive. They think about buying ideal semen from tall, high-IQ, handsome strangers they will never meet and who are probably mostly transients and fast food workers. Women who bought the lie try to buy sperm from the kind of men who won’t marry them. They know most of their kind will die single.

Single men are better off than single women. Harsh fact of life. My life was very good before I met my wife. She was poor. She lived in a hovel with two other women. She had no reason to think kids were on the way any time soon, and she had no way to provide for them. I was sitting in a big house on a farm, enjoying my hobbies and my relationship with God, lacking for nothing except someone to pray with and make sacrifices for.

Our relationship is unusual in that she was in another country, but American single women are also worse off than single men. They are not as capable of looking after themselves as men. No one ever says, “It must be tough, being a man, living alone.”

They crave kids most men don’t crave. They have biological clocks, but it’s possible for a 100-year-old man to have kids.

My great-grandfather had 11 kids by his second wife, my great-grandmother. She was 15 when he married her, and he was already old. He and her father arranged his second marriage without consulting her. He married her on her 15th birthday, and they were married when he died at the age of 78.

He was about 55 when my grandfather was born. He ended up with 21 children. He was about 70 when his last child was born. Women can’t do that.

My great-grandmother was probably saved from additional children by menopause, not any deterioration on her husband’s part. Meanwhile, American women in their twenties are freezing eggs.

We pray together at least twice every day. We share testimony and revelation. We discuss the Bible. We help motivate each other.

This is a good system, but because I was raised in Satan’s world of sick relationships, somehow there is a part of me that feels I have to defend it. Like the part of me that used to feel like I was walking into porn theaters when I walked into gun ranges.

God’s system is right. It works. It’s for everyone.

I feel as though I am working harder than expected to make this home feel homey, and I think this is because the world is washed up. It’s a hard, cold place now, full of perversion and outright insanity. A traditional home is insulation from, and a counterbalance to, the filth of the persecuting, trans-worshiping, phone-addicted world, and it’s a reminder that we will eventually live in a world filled with God’s light and warmth.

I’m writing this not long after Jill Biden put out a stomach-twisting video of the left’s vision of a proper Christmas. You must have seen it by now. Christmas is supposed to be a sort of second Thanksgiving, in which we celebrate the gifts of Yeshua and the Holy Spirit. It’s about the love of families. We celebrate these things in our homes, where we try to rekindle our warmth and love for each other. A home is never so much a home as it is on Christmas.

Ms. Biden’s video is a sickening parade of sexual oddities in bizarre costumes, with fake grins of the sort you would expect to see on kids high on molly, prancing among creepy decorations as though recreating the kind of thing an unsaved person might see while descending into hell after a Christmas Day overdose.

It’s terrible when the left tries to destroy Christmas, but it’s even more nauseating when they try to take it over. The Biden video has nothing in it to remind us of Yeshua. It’s full of dancers who are about as charming as horror movie clowns. Their insincere grins are supposed to be cheery, but they come off as threatening, like the grins of demons awaiting the arrival of the dead.

It reminded me of something I hadn’t thought about for years: the distaste homosexuals feel for Christmas.

Young people may not remember it, but we used to hear a lot about the misery homosexuals endured over Christmas. Other people were celebrating with their husbands, wives, kids, and other relations. Homosexuals had nobody and no relationship with the God they knew detested their behavior. Christmas was a yearly reminder that a lifestyle of alcohol, drugs, selfishness, sex with feces-smeared anuses instead of vaginas, and too many sexual partners to remember was vastly inferior to normal heterosexual life.

I don’t know if it’s true, because self-pitying mythology was common, but they used to say many homosexuals committed suicide over Christmas, recognizing the emptiness of depravity and not knowing any way to be delivered.

The church has done an extremely poor job of delivering people from sexual perversion and compulsive fornication, but to be fair, not many people are interested in deliverance.

There is no way homosexual families will ever be “right.” It’s a hopeless quest, like putting a wig on Bruce Jenner, giving him a girl’s name, slicing his penis off, and expecting normal men to ask him out. It’s terrible when people give up everything to chase toxic mirages.

Jenner has actually complained that men don’t want him. It is astonishing that he didn’t expect that. You can put icing and candles on a cow pie and tell people it’s a birthday cake, but no one in his right mind will want to eat it.

There is a HUGE difference between a woman and a castrated man full of wrong hormones. Huge. Ask any man. The flesh feels different. The mannerisms are feminine, not effeminate. The mind is different. The skin has a different scent. Women don’t make noise when they walk. And women don’t have big man hands built for swinging swords and axes.

I think Biden’s video is motivated in hostility toward the “haves,” like all of leftism. Other people have decorations with crosses. They read the Bible to their kids. They look at manger displays. They hold hands and thank Yeshua, knowing he has prepared a perfect future for them. Leftists are out in the cold, so they try to make Christmas about nonexistent elves, a maladjusted fat man obsessed with other people’s kids, reindeer, trees, drunkenness, fornication, and gifts bought on credit, which assure a miserable New Year full of bills and interest.

I see Biden’s video as an act of aggression. It’s an effort to replace Yeshua and Christians with sexually ambiguous weirdos in costumes straight out of a child’s nightmares. Maybe it’s a deliberate effort to mock Christmas and Christianity. “It’s our White House now, and THIS is your White House Christmas.”

And the choreography and music are horrible.

All in all, I think a Christmas tree lighting ceremony ruined by perverts and angry Muslims is easier to watch.

How could “Dr. Jill” look at this video and not realize it was a belly-churning abomination?

“Dr. Jill.” The doctor of education. Like Bill Cosby.

I’m a doctor, too. I’m a doctor of law, like every lawyer under a certain age. I don’t go around making people call me “Dr. Steve.” Ridiculous. If you want people to call you a doctor, get a real doctorate. Become a physician or a mathematician. Learning how to teach kids to clap erasers isn’t the same as mastering neurosurgery or real analysis.

Shaquille O’Neal has a doctorate, and he insists the world is flat. He says he has seen it through airplane windows.

Dr. Shaq.

Great guy. An inspiration in many ways. Not a real doctor.

We need to stop questioning God’s guidelines. The person who created them is God, after all. He knows what works. His ways work. There are millions of normal families all over the world who do things God’s way, and they get results. They’re not buying sperm and cutting themselves.

I am extremely grateful for the change in my life. I wanted this even when I was a kid. I wanted it even after hormones kicked in, and other boys were only thinking about nailing up as many pelts as possible. I knew it was right, even though I was a terrible Christian.

I pity the people who won’t listen. It doesn’t matter how hard and long you suck on a poisoned pacifier. You will never get any milk.