Stay Close to Your Commanding Officer

I have written about the revelation God gave me about being close to him and treasuring the experience as though he were a loved one who just returned from the dead. He is a loved one who returned from the dead, so this makes sense.

I had a little bird that loved me, and he died suddenly from an infection. Afterward, I had a few dreams in which he came back to visit. In the first dream, he glowed like a light bulb, and he was overjoyed to see me. I held him and kissed him, and it gave me closure. I pressed him to my face and savored the feeling of his nearness.

Eventually, God helped me to feel similarly about him. When God helps me to feel close to him, it’s like pressing myself into a clean, soft mattress after three days without sleep. It’s like drinking from a big jug of water after spending a day digging ditches in the desert.

People who will read this will have lost loved ones. They will be able to imagine how tightly they would hold them if they came back. In a situation like that, you don’t need to speak. You just need to hold on and receive relief and new life.

Today God helped me to rest in him for quite a while. This was right after I woke up. After a certain amount of time, I took a look at my phone to see what was happening in the world.

Talk about contrast.

I saw a “news” story featuring a list of tales from people who had bad dating experiences. These days, “news” often means lists of regurgitated text messages, tweets, and Reddit posts about obscure individuals.

A woman went on one date and then texted the man to ask if he would pay for her health insurance. When he refused, she told him he was ugly and gay. A man texted a woman he barely knew over and over and called her a whore when she wasn’t interested.

I saw another piece featuring lists of bad experiences people had had with human resources employees. They cut off health insurance for a full-time employee. They backed up a boss who expected an hourly employee to be on call around the clock.

I saw a piece by a woman who must be a leftist. She said her elderly father had lost weight he could not afford to lose because of a lung disease. He had no appetite. His life was in danger.

He and her mother had always been dietary extremists (vegetarians), but while he was sick, her father felt a sudden desire to eat McDonald’s food. He started eating it several times a week, and he started putting weight back on.

His wife and the lady who wrote the piece were upset. The wife ate meals with him while “tight-lipped” and “predictably disgusted.” The daughter said, ” I have to admit, their Big Breakfast tastes surprisingly good on a Sunday morning.”

Like McDonald’s serves dog food no sane person enjoys. Why would anyone “have to admit” the food tastes good? Is eating McDonald’s food something to be ashamed of?

In what universe is McDonald’s “predictably” disgusting or disgusting at all?

McDonald’s describes the Big Breakfast as, “a warm biscuit, fluffy scrambled eggs, savory McDonald’s sausage and crispy golden Hash Browns.”

Biscuits contain flour, fat, and milk, with a couple of other minor ingredients. Sounds like the same stuff that goes into any roux made by a French chef. Eggs contain eggs, which are featured prominently in dishes served by Michelin-starred restaurants. Sausage is pork and a couple of seasonings. Pork has won Iron Chef contests. McDonald’s makes the best hash browns in the business.

The Big Breakfast is not a plate of popsicles covered with marshmallow Fluf and crumbled Pop Tarts.

Leftists bash McDonald’s all the time, as if Hitler owned the chain. Why?

I once saw a magazine story in which leftist Candice Bergen bragged that she had never eaten a McDonald’s hamburger. Who is that supposed to impress? She thought she was making people admire her, but she looked like an idiot.

Now McDonald’s is associated in the leftist spleen, not mind, with Trump, which must make things worse.

I also saw a story about a woman who gave up her daughter for adoption. The story said the daughter had sent a two-word text which was unexpected. I thought maybe she had said something uplifting. It turned out the text said, “I’m trans.”

I read about a lady who took her kid to Disney World, where bearded perverts abuse little boys by selling them princess costumes. She complained about the prices and said the best experiences were a cheap ride and seeing her daughter chase lizards outside the hotel. She said people took on debt to take their kids to Disney World. She said Disney World put on a Mickey-Mouse-themed Halloween party and charged $180 per head.

Disney used to be relatively innocent. I went a couple of times as a kid, and it was fairly harmless, and ordinary families could afford it. Now it’s like paying for heart transplant surgery, and the corporation is all about anti-white racism, alternative religions, leftism, and sexual perversion.

Mouse ears cost $35 now. They could probably be sold profitably for $5.

I read a lot of depressing things in a few minutes, and I thought about how much I hated this world. I talked to God, and I said the people here were like foreigners to me. They were so miserable. They were heartless. Their pursuits were worthy of pigs.

They were so busy trying to be their own gods and providers, they had no time for the Lord, and they didn’t receive his blessings. They missed out on the best experience there is: being with the one who loves them most and who will do the most for them. They were making up moral codes that led to disaster.

I started to tell God they were like dogs, but I stopped, because dogs are loyal and altruistic to a fault. People are not much like dogs at all. They are more like rats or monkeys. They are selfish and treacherous. An animal can’t be treacherous. Animals can’t understand the concept of betrayal.

I said people were trashy. They had no class. And God told me that classy people make sacrifices. That is the essence of class. Being nice to your neighbors who throw loud parties and steal your apples. Choosing not to correct snotty strangers in front of their kids. Holding doors for people you know will walk past you without even looking your way.

God is classy. The privilege of class is being better to other people than they are to you and not being infected by them.

I thought about my son. I realized he might have to spend a hundred years here. I felt as though I had pronounced a sentence on him.

I ran back to God and got back into his presence, and suddenly, warmth came back into me. I felt cheerful and optimistic. I wanted to forget everything I had just seen on the web.

I realized how blessed Christians who spend time with God are. We live in a different world that occupies the same space as the rat world. We don’t have to strive as much. We don’t have to play by the same rules. We can have the vexatious people removed from our lives and live in peace.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were better off in the flames with Yeshua than the men who threw them into the furnace and stayed outside. The men who threw them in were burned to death, but God’s favorites weren’t touched by fire at all.

The most important thing I will teach my son will not be to live by religious rules, and it certainly won’t be how to get ahead by playing the world’s game. It will be to love God and hold onto him like a big down pillow. If he does that, and he listens, everything else will take care of itself. A thousand will fall at his side, and ten thousand at his right hand, but it will not come near him. Even if he does everything wrong by rat standards.

I really, really hate this place. I feel like I live in a comfortable little cottage on the grounds of a hospital for the criminally insane. No matter how pleasant my life is, I will never let myself think the world is anything but a catastrophe.