There are no Stars in Hell

God’s training program continues to unfold. Usually, it’s pleasant. Sometimes it’s not. It’s always profitable.

The two big themes right now seem to be correction (nothing new) and relief from demonic activity.

I ask God for a lot of good things, and a lot of them are things I expect to sting. I don’t think too much about the prospect of my own suffering when I pray. It will come soon enough whether I think about it or not, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because when you need something, you have to get it, whether or not it hurts. You wouldn’t reject an important operation because the doctor said you would have pain afterward.

For a long time, I’ve been asking God to help me accept criticism and admit fault. I don’t want to live on a high horse. I need all sorts of correction, and if I can’t bite the bullet and accept it, it won’t take effect. If I reject a correction, God will either give me something worse or give up, and I would like to avoid both of those things.

I have learned to try not to get on the high horse to start with, and that’s not so hard. What’s hard is admitting it when I get knocked off.

It’s somewhat difficult for me to perceive what’s wrong with me, but changing myself once I’m aware is even harder. In reality, it’s not possible. I can make little adjustments in myself, like an astronaut using retro rockets to make minor course corrections, but that’s about it. I created strongholds of bad behavior and attitudes in myself with the help of powerful spirits. Only another spirit can set me free.

Demons love pride. It’s their armor. They sit in you behind their armor, listening to arrows of correction as they bounce off. That’s bad, and now we have a problem that makes it worse. For the first time in Christian history, we have a culture that teaches us that pride is a virtue. We are taught to strive to be proud. Even as recently as 1960, we knew better. What happened to us? Was it the Sixties? We started celebrating pride, not realizing we were sealing demons inside us and helping them bring friends in.

Not long ago, I said something very ugly and unnecessary, and it hurt someone. Afterward, I was oblivious, as though I hadn’t done anything wrong. I can’t explain it. I had a supernatural blind spot. The victim was kind enough to let me know what I had done, and when I got that information, I was amazed. It was as though I were hearing about something someone else had done. I had done something I hate doing.

I felt very bad. I couldn’t eat. I ended up taking generic Imodium and Zantac so I could face lunch.

I was forgiven, but I don’t know if things will ever be quite the same. If not, I can’t complain. I don’t have anyone else to point the finger at. The best I can do is to keep working at it in prayer.

I’ve learned a few things as God has worked with me. I’ve learned that I can have an inquity I hate. To pull an example out of a hat, it’s possible for a person who hates drug addiction to be addicted and to have a demon infestation related to it. I’ve also learned I can have iniquities I don’t even know about.

The other day God told me something very surprising. He said I had a spirit of “church-worship.” That was not something I foresaw. As I understand it, he was talking about a spirit that wants me to worship pastors instead of God and put the success of churches above the success of the Holy Spirit.

I have no desire to have a position in a church or get heavily involved. I don’t want to sit and be taught doctrine any more. I would like to go just to be among Christians, but I don’t expect to learn much, and you would have to hold a gun on me to get me to accept a title. I have a desire to see megachurches dry up and vanish, and I long for a time in which people are so aligned with God they don’t need to build organizations and buy buildings. I feel a little sick when I see a church named after a human being, like “Andrew Wommack Ministries.” I don’t feel like a church-worship person. But I know what God said.

Maybe it’s something that lies dormant until it’s awakened.

I knew someone whose father was a Muslim. Presumably, there weren’t a lot of drinkers in the father’s line, because Muslims are not supposed to touch liquor. This individual drank a great deal, habitually. It was startling to watch this person put it away, night after night. I used to wonder if there was a dormant alcoholism curse in their family. With no alcohol around to expose it, an alcoholism curse might never manifest. I wonder if the church-worship spirit is like that.

I have fallen into church-worship in the past. I supported people who should never have been able to fool any intelligent person. A long time ago, I actually supported Robert Tilton, which is about as low as you can go.

I thought church-worship wasn’t a problem any more, but maybe it’s still there, hoping to jump out and take over.

This isn’t the first time God has surprised me like this. He told me I had a spirit of murder and a spirit of antichrist. I would never have figured those things out on my own. He was talking about things I truly hated. I didn’t think they could get me to cooperate, but now I know that I did. Murder manifested in rotten things I said and thought. The spirit of antichrist manifested in embarrassment I felt over being associated with “holy rollers.” Even when I overcame and ignored these things, they were still there.

I don’t know everything, but I know what spirits do inside me. They make my interior like hell. They make it a place of anger, fear, filth, and torment. When I listen to them, I let filth in. I think about people in a way which is like holding them captive in my mind and torturing them. I listen to spirits of fear, and I worry. I know I’m supposed to be like heaven in my heart. I’m supposed to be a place of love and peace. A temple.

This morning I was thinking about this, and I thought about the stories I’ve heard about hell. People who say they’ve seen it often say the individuals there had a burning desire to tell people on earth not to follow them.

That made me think about myself. I put a lot of nasty things in myself. I made myself like a little portable hell.

I have often thought my job was to help people become like me. By that I mean I thought I was supposed to help people get baptized with the Holy Spirit and hear from God and be corrected and repaired. In view of the hell analogy, I am forced to think that my actual job is to help people avoid becoming like me.

I screwed up very badly when I was in my twenties. God gave me the key to a successful life, and I discarded it. I didn’t maintain a prayer habit. I let all sorts of spirits in to rule me. I turned my inner world into a little hell. I should be helping younger people avoid that.

I know younger people who have serious problems, and some of them listen to me and look up to me. Sometimes I remind them that their lives should be better than mine. I tell them they’re doing much better than I was at their ages, and that when they’re as old as I am, they will be much better off than I am.

I have wondered what their future perceptions of me would be. Decades from now, when they look back and understand how badly I performed as a Christian, will they wish they had never known me? Will they feel contempt for me?

It doesn’t really matter. Other people’s esteem doesn’t put food on my table, and the objective isn’t to make people admire me. It’s to get them connected with God. Directly.

I no longer watch network TV, and I spend very little time watching reality TV. I watch old movies when I need empty distraction. Sometimes I look stars up to learn about them. Hedy Lamarr invented something that is supposedly the basis of wifi. Jimmy Stewart was an Air Force general. I remember little things like this, so I go to the Internet to find out more.

Lately Errol Flynn has been featured prominently on Turner Classic Movies. I didn’t really know who he was. While I was watching him, I thought about rumors I had heard. Some people think he collaborated with the Nazis. I looked him up.

Man, was I surprised. The Nazi business seems shaky, but I learned a lot of other things. He was vile. He had as much sex as humanly possible. He owned and lived in a hotel in Jamaica, and he used to get penicillin injections before his frequent visits to the local brothels because he thought it gave him 6 hours of immunity to syphilis. He drank constantly. He was tried for statutory rape. He had one-way mirrors and peepholes installed in his house so he could watch guests. He couldn’t serve in world War Two because he had VD and other health problems related to debauchery. He used opium and cocaine. He used to expose himself. He would sit down to dinner naked with his own mother.

Shortly before he died at the age of 50, he wrote an autobiography called, My Wicked, Wicked Ways. He was proud of himself. The book was so filthy, it had to be edited for the public.

His evil nature surprised me, but I was even more impressed by the contrast between his onscreen persona and the man behind it. In movies, he’s charming. He’s self-deprecating. He’s decent and unselfish. He makes you think he has to be somewhat like that in real life. No such luck!

I learned that the movie My Favorite Year is about him. Mel Brooks worked for Sid Caesar in the Fifties, and Flynn appeared on his show. Brooks had to babysit Flynn to make sure he showed up and did his job. The Peter O’Toole character in the movie is based on Flynn.

In the movie, the Brooks character shows O’Toole that deep in his dissipated heart, he really is the noble character he played. It’s a moment of redemption. In real life, nothing like that happened. Flynn was never redeemed. He dropped dead from a heart attack, happy in his sins, and the coroner found him so diseased and atrophied he compared him to an octogenarian.

It makes me think about the contrast between what I am and what I want people to think I am.

Last night I was watching some movie or other with the birds, and TCM showed the faces of a bunch of stars, zipping by the screen. TCM was celebrating them like Greeks lionizing the false gods of the pantheon. I thought about Flynn, and I thought about the other people I was seeing, many of whom were no better. I knew most of them were in hell.

People who go to hell don’t disappear. Everyone who has gone to hell is still there, suffering more than we can imagine. They’re all conscious right now.

It seemed like a cruel joke. These people were in hell, crying in agony, wishing they could tell people not to imitate them, and here Satan was, using images of their happy faces to make people admire them and want to be like them. Think how you would feel, in hell with maggots eating your bones, looking up and seeing naive human beings staring at your image and wanting to pattern themselves after you.

The world is very perverse. It’s full of deception and traps, and it’s a huge mistake to take it at face value and get caught up in the whirlpool.

Trusting human beings too much is very dangerous.

All of this knowledge is good. It tastes harsh, but the effect is worth it.

I hope you won’t make too much of bad examples. There is only one true way, and he ascended 2000 years ago.

Not Really

I finally did what I should have done a long time ago. I bought a tarp so I could shoot semiautos in the pasture.

A semiautomatic firearm doesn’t just eject shells. It throws them. They can land a good ways off. That’s bad when you’re shooting in grass and you want to save your brass. I’ve been putting off shooting reloads because I didn’t want to lose anything.

I don’t know why I’m worried about brass. I had this idea that I was low on brass, and then I went in the garage to look for .45 reloads. It’s time to admit it. I have an illness. I have enough brass to start a bell factory. I still hate losing it, though, especially since I shoot by myself. I used to shoot at a public range where free brass was all over the ground. Now I have to buy it.

I still lost 10% of my brass, but that’s better than 93% or whatever.

Here’s what I learned from today’s shooting session: not practicing is BAD.

I used to shoot every pistol I have well enough to put just about every shot into an area roughly the size of a half dollar at 7 yards. Today things did not go that well. Here is the first target.

Disturbing. Doubleplusungood.

I worked on remembering the things I used to do. Tightened my grip. Aimed small. Avoided jerking. Tried to get a good and consistent sight picture. Thought about follow-through.

Every target was better than the last one, and I finally ended up with this.

I am not happy, but that’s better than the first one.

I had 5 shots go through one big hole, and then I must have changed something, because I got the other hole below it. And I’m pulling everything to the left. The shooter’s “Wheel of Misfortune” says my problem is “too little trigger finger,” but I think my fingers are average-sized.

Rimshot.

I’m pretty sure my rifle problems are different from my pistol problems, which makes you wonder if the Wheel of Misfortune is really the Big Giant Wheel of BS.

It could be that I’m just bad at getting a correctly aligned pistol sight picture.

Oh, man. I just realized I was focusing on the target, not the front sight. I can’t believe I did that. Rifles (and lack of practice) did that to me. When you shoot through a scope, the target is beautiful and sharp, and so is the reticle, so you naturally focus on the target.

I was using free Hornady hollow points that came with my loading press. I don’t know if they’re any good for self defense, and I don’t really care, because the odds that I will ever use a 1911 to protect myself are pretty low. They’re heavy, the bullets are slow, and the capacity is low. Even a compact Glock holds a lot more.

I know saying things like that makes 1911-lovers squeal. Hey, I have issues with Glocks, too. They look like little L-shaped cardboard boxes. But comparing a 1911 to a Glock–in a firefight–is like comparing a 1965 Corvette convertible to a new Porsche 911.

I know. I know. I would rather have the Corvette, too. The 911 is really just Hitler’s People’s Car with some body refinements and a better engine. But you wouldn’t want to race a 911 in an old Corvette.

Ordinarily, one would shoot cheap 100% lead bullets for practice, and I have a lot of those, but I truly don’t see any purpose in conserving Hornady hollow points. They won’t expand in a burglar, and I wouldn’t use them for that purpose to begin with, unless he attacked me during target practice.

I still feel funny about it.

I had forgotten how filthy the powder was. I think it’s Unique. Anyway, it’s so dirty the fingers on my right hand turned grey. I may actually have to clean a firearm; a practice I frown upon.

Is it nice shooting my own reloads in my backyard in a super-red county, into my own berm, while listening to Christian music on bluetooth headphones? You could say that.

Perhaps I should get a .22 pistol for practice. I need one anyway for hunting. It would allow me to shoot cheaply, and the path to excellence is practice.

The Ruger Mark IV looks very good, but it’s very expensive compared to the other gun I like: the S&W something or other. The Smith is light. It practically falls apart for cleaning. It comes with cute fiber optic sights. Not bad.

I want a Colt Woodsman, but I don’t like the idea of wearing one out on targets. A Woodsman is a classy gun. Too nice to ruin with Remington Golden Bullets.

You know how these questions tend to resolve themselves. “Which one should I get? Why not both?”

I’ve been looking at gun prices, and I realize I should have bought more weapons in the past. They keep going up in value. I probably should have gotten a Swedish Mauser when they were cheap, to learn how to use iron sights on a high-powered rifle without going broke. I keep seeing things I wanted to buy at $250 or $375, selling for $450 or $600.

It’s funny; you see a gun that used to sell for $150, selling for $200, and you feel like it’s too late to get one. Then a year later it’s $300, and it’s still a bargain.

I wonder which cheap-in-2018 gun I should be buying right now. Maybe the Smith. It’s extremely cheap, and it’s hard to see why. Under $400.

I plan to get the kinks out of my shooting, now that I have no excuse not to. I may need a bigger tarp. Whatever it takes. There is no way to explain away a failure to practice when you live on a gun range.

Tomorrow I may take the .204 Ruger out again. I got all 57 batteries charged up, and I believe I can cure my too-high-bipod problem with my shooting rest. I have a funny feeling that gun is going to be very, very accurate with factory ammunition, and when that ammunition is gone, I can reload it, and then I’ll have the best ammunition possible. All I need is a fat coyote that doesn’t move much.

I feel like apologizing to the world for letting my pistol skills deteriorate, but I think I can redeem myself.

Helpful Stuff Straight From the Source

I said I was going to pass on things God said to me, so here I am with new material.

The first one came on March 25, and I already wrote it here as part of a blog post: “Men are supposed to be stable and level-headed.” God’s plan for couples is for men to lead and women to cooperate and support. Women are less stable than men. A woman is a different person every week. Men are pretty much the same every day, and we are supposed to function as anchors.

Men from sick matriarchal cultures tend to be emotional and unreliable. Men from matriarchal cultures can’t be relied on, so the women have babies out of wedlock and turn the government into their husband.

A husband should be led by God. Compared to a man, God is more stable. God leads and steadies the man, and the man leads and steadies the wife. This is the pipe through which blessings are supposed to flow.

Women should marry up, spiritually. Women want men who are smarter and more reliable than they are. If a woman marries the wrong man, she may end up raising him along with the other kids. She may end up in a stronghold from which she can never escape.

A man should not be a burden to a woman. He should pull his own weight, especially with God. He should be able to have a conversation on her intellectual level. Women get tired of being around kids all day. I assume a woman doesn’t want to have another kid walk through the door in the evening. They must look forward to a different kind of interaction.

Most people don’t know God, and they choose spouses very badly. Only God knows which shoe fits. When you marry the wrong person, you are yoked in a very real sense. Oxen can’t get out of a yoke, and marriage and kids are hard to get away from. I’ve seen people struggle with carnal spouses. It’s not good at all. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Having kids out of wedlock is damaging whether the mother marries or not. If she marries, she may get a man who will always be a drain. If she doesn’t, she will have kids with no male around to keep them in line and make sure they treat her well. The boys may rebel, or they may become effeminate and weak.

I know God will work with people who admit fault, to bring about the best possible outcomes. But they have to repent. You can’t stay in an ungodly relationship, doing what got you into trouble the first time around, and expect much. Not if you know better. That’s not repentance.

The next thing I wrote down is, “Thank you for wanting to know me.” People who want to avoid spiritual responsibility like to say we are all God’s children, but the Bible says otherwise. Most people never know God until they die, are never transformed by him, and end up in hell. Jesus said he chooses people. We think we choose him, but that’s not the whole picture. I’m glad God saw fit to select me and work on me.

Months ago, I heard this: “My father and mother abandoned me.” I need a replacement, and no new parents are available except for God. Only he can undo the effects of a bad upbringing and turn me into something useful.

Next thing: “I defiled myself, and I knew better.” Can’t argue with that. God told me about prayer in tongues, and I turned away and sinned about as much as possible. I let every available demon move in and vandalize me. I’m glad I didn’t compound my misfortune by marrying an atheist or a Catholic santera or some other contrary woman who would have been harder to get rid of than demons. You can cast a demon out, but women don’t leave that easily.

The next two things God told me are nearly identical. About 10 days ago, God gave me this: “I am God’s temple.” Today he gave me, “I am the temple of the Lord.” I must not have been listening the first time.

This morning I was thinking about the things I have put inside myself over the years. If I really thought of myself as a temple, I wouldn’t have brought evil things in. Dirty movies, black humor, pornography and willful thoughts about sex, cruelty, covetousness, drunkenness, prolonged anger…who would bring things like this into a church? Yet I brought them into myself.

We are tempted all the time. Satan puts little seeds in front of us and tries to get them to take them inside and water them. I have a new, heartfelt understanding of the need to burn them in the doorway while he watches.

The Bible says the children of a righteous man speak with the enemy at the gate, not in the living room.

We don’t get healed. Our enemies walk all over us and laugh. We experience debt and poverty. We have bad marriages or no marriages at all. We experience sterility. We fail in our careers in spite of tithing and praying. We stay addicted. We stay fat. We remain trapped in cities where Christians don’t belong. We can’t get our problems fixed. Then we complain to God, as if he owed us. Meanwhile, we are filling his temples with sewage. We sign contracts with demons, giving them power over us, and then we want God to break the leases.

Our society is extremely sick. We are blind. The things we consider normal and acceptable are poisonous and outrageous. There are Christians who support Caitlyn Jenner and get angry at people who say he’s a man. There are Christians who cut up and tattoo their bodies, thinking they do it for Jesus. There are Christians who fornicate every day and still go to church; many are pastors and volunteers.

Still we wonder why God doesn’t help us.

In the Bible, God talks about making Baal’s temple into an outhouse. Of course he does. We make ourselves into the enemy’s temples, and we let the enemy fill us with excrement and garbage. There is always symmetry in the supernatural.

God turned Molech’s place of worship into Jerusalem’s city dump, and it’s where Judas hanged himself.

You don’t have to earn God’s help, but you do have to stop spitting in his face every day.

Mary Kay Baxter claims she visited hell. She said she saw demons that were embedded in the walls with only their upper parts free. I thought of that today. We have demons we can’t cast out. Maybe they can’t get out because they’re embedded in us. We give them the right to stay. Maybe we’re so good at embedding them, they can’t leave even if they want to.

We make our hearts like the interior of hell, so there must be a lot of unexpected similarities.

When we finally understand what Christianity is supposed to be, we are going to be very surprised, because we are extremely deceived right now. The life of a righteous person in 2018 is probably worse than the life of a prostitute was in 1700.

I hope these things are useful to you. I will update you from time to time.

Pitch In

My friend Alonzo texted from Orlando today. His wife Teri is in the hospital for tests, and she may need surgery. I don’t have details. He asked for prayer.

My former church let the head deacon down when he had breast cancer. They thought faith was all that mattered. They didn’t tell him he needed to confront the iniquities that gave demons the right to harm him, so he never repented, and he died.

I am speaking defeat to the spirits that work in Teri to make her ill and to cause iniquities that give illness protection. I am asking God to heal her and help her repent of anything that is in his way. I am asking him to send others to pray and guide and bring healing. I would appreciate it if people would join in. Thanks.

New Rifle off to Promising Start

It finally happened. I shot my .204 Ruger today.

Getting this thing ready to fly was much harder than I thought it would be.

First problem: the scope I bought (ATN X-Sight II 5-20x) eats batteries fast. You might get 2.5 hours out of 4 really good AA batteries, but people have reported much shorter times. Realistically, you need the ATN external battery to run it. This is an extra hundred bucks, and you have to fit it to your buttstock.

Second: the ATN scope will not fit separate Weaver bases. You need a Picatinny rail. I had to pay $44 for one, and then I had to install it.

Third: you have to make sure you have the latest firmware for the scope. The scope is equipped with wifi, so you just put it next to your PC and upload ATN’s newest file. HAHAHAHAHA. That was a joke. In reality, you have to get a micro SD card (the scope has no memory without one), load the firmware into it, move it to the scope, turn the scope on, and make the scope update itself. The problem with this is that you may not have a micro SD card reader on your computer. I had to use a phone. Don’t make me describe the process.

Why can’t you upload video via the same wifi that allows you to download from the scope? Good question.

Fourth: the rifle was very tight when I got it. It was hard to turn the bolt lever down after racking it. That told me something was not completely normal. Today when I put a round in the chamber, the bolt refused to close.

I didn’t know what was going on. I wondered if the ammunition I bought had some peculiarity to it. People say Fiocchi brass is very good, though.

I took the bolt out. In order to do that, I had to take the battery pack off the buttstock. I looked the bolt over and couldn’t find anything wrong. Not that I would have recognized a problem had I seen it.

I didn’t want to force it, so I took the golf cart back to the house and got a cleaning rod. I figured I would knock the round out of the chamber and make sure nothing was stuck in there. That’s when I learned that my cleaning rod was over 0.204″ in diameter. It wouldn’t go in.

I bounced the rifle on its butt, and the round came out. I kept fiddling with it, and I finally found I could close the bolt if I gave it a good hard shove.

By the time I got the gun working, the scope had been on for quite some time.

I started shooting, and the rig was not comfortable. The ATN scope has a big eye relief problem. You need to mount it very close to your face. I put it as far back as I could, and I still had to lean forward. I was straining to get close enough, and strain makes you shake. Not good for accuracy.

I set up maybe 75 feet from the berm, so I wouldn’t shoot over it and kill anyone while zeroing the scope. I got it working, and then I moved back to something over 50 yards. I put the scope on 20x to see how it looked.

The video was not that great. It was hazy. Not like a real 20x scope. I have a 14x Burriss, and it gives me razor-sharp images. The ATN was so fuzzy I was not able to see all of the holes the bullets made. I knew it wouldn’t be as sharp as a glass scope, so I can’t complain.

I zeroed it as well as I could and started shooting at a clean target to see how well it shot. Here is the result.

After that, the screen went black. No juice. I shot a grand total of 12 rounds today, and only three were real shots. The rest were spent on adjusting the scope.

The group you see is not very good for 50 yards. The two shots that are almost touching are fine, but the flyer is pretty bad. I think it’s the result of having to wrestle with the gun.

The rifle’s trigger is wonderful, although I plan to see about reducing the tension. There is no creep. There is no grit. There is no staging. You pull, and it goes off. I am also happy about the recoil. It’s not nonexistent, like .17 HMR and .22 recoil, but it’s not going to be fatiguing or leave bruises. I didn’t find out whether it permits me to see shots land. I was too preoccupied with other matters.

The mechanics of the gun loosened up, so now it’s possible to chamber rounds and cock the gun without wondering if I’m breaking something or crushing a cartridge.

The eye relief is probably impossible to fix without some sort of custom rail. I need to figure out a way to get a decent cheek weld. I also need to start shooting from the other end of the pasture, because it’s hard to aim low with my table and chair at the west end. The pasture rises toward the west, so if I put my table to the east of the berm, I should have a trajectory that’s more level, so I won’t have to keep lifting up on the gun’s butt when I shoot.

It’s time to get a rear bag for the gun. I don’t want to use one when I hunt, but for sighting the scope in, I need it.

Will I be able to get coyotes? I don’t know. They’re out there. I may have to train them before I kill them, so they’ll lose their fear and show up where I want them to, but I think I can get them.

Tonight I saw what looked like a herd of pigs in a pasture a mile away. I realized I’m the only person in Florida who doesn’t have wild pigs and is jealous of those who do. Everyone else wants them to go away. If they came here, I’d be tickled pink.

I didn’t get a good look at them, but they were roundish black and white animals of assorted sizes, standing in a pasture. I haven’t seen goats that looked like that, and they were too small to be cattle. Also, they were in an area where I have never seen cattle. I believe it’s a horse farm.

My feeling about the scope is that it will work fine at night at relatively short ranges, but that a traditional scope would be infinitely preferable during the day, except on occasions when recording video of shots is important. Okay, not important. Desirable. Fun.

It would be hellacious on pigs in the pasture. I think I might want a semiauto for that, however. When you shoot pigs, you want volume. Kill as many as possible so they don’t replace themselves fast.

I love my neighbors more than ever. I was out there shooting, and I kept thinking about the lady who started asking me questions when I was hunting squirrels. Was I making anyone mad? Was I going to have another confrontation? Then I heard someone else shooting close by. Rapid fire, and then what sounded like a bump stock. Fast, but not as fast as full auto. I was thrilled to death. They kept doing it after I came inside.

She needs to desensitize her horses. I read about it on a horse forum. Some granola-based life form started complaining about people shooting near her babies, expecting sympathy and legal advice, and all the other horse people told her off good. They said she should be shooting on her own property to prepare her horses for gunfire and thunderclaps! Evidently the lady who lives near me is not a responsible or knowledgeable horse person. I’m not the problem. It’s all her.

I’m not a bump stock fan. I think it’s stupid and counterproductive to provoke liberals by trying to get around the law, especially given that you can fire a gun about 5 times per second without a bump stock. But it was nice that someone made it very clear that I’m small potatoes in the local noise pollution scene.

Now I have to take all my batteries out and recharge them. As soon as I can, I’ll get back out there and shoot.

Plus New Repentance

I did not go to church today. Maybe it will eventually happen. I watched a few Tom Fischer videos.

This morning I woke up while it was dark, and I felt tense. I have been pretty relaxed lately, so I knew something was up. I started praying, and I felt God was telling me to think about pride and hypocrisy. I had a long prayer session about these things. I examined areas in which I demanded more from other people than I did from myself (hypocrisy), and I considered the difficulty of being honest with God about it (pride).

God didn’t decide to help me because I was a wonderful person. He did it because he was full of love and willing to forgive and work with a person who was headed for hell, and I am still less than wonderful I have to keep that in mind when I deal with other people.

I saw that Fischer had a video about hypocrisy and self-righteousness, and I watched it. Then I decided to watch his latest videos. He has been visiting Florida, and I wondered if he might include Marion County in his itinerary.

A few days back, he uploaded a video from West Palm Beach. I decided to watch. There were several other Christians ministering with him. I noticed that one of them looked like someone I knew.

It WAS someone I knew.

Fischer was out on the street evangelizing with my friend Dave.

Dave used to go to my Saturday prayer group, which was led by the overseer of all the volunteers from Trinity Church. Dave wasn’t a Trinity guy. As I recall, his wife had serious reservations about Trinity. He attended the prayer group anyway.

He brought a friend named Stu. Stu’s wife was Jewish, and she was an atheist. Jewish religious authorities say you can’t be a Jewish Christian, but you can be a Jewish atheist, Satanist, Muslim, or Buddhist. Go figure. You can probably be a Jewish Jehovah’s Witness, since they don’t worship Jesus. I don’t know.

Stu’s wife would not let him have a Bible. I’m not clear on how a wife can prevent a man from having a Bible, but some marriages are like that. He took foil and used it to make a book cover so she would’t know what he was reading.

She took him to a Jewish psychiatrist who was also an atheist. She believed Christianity was a mental illness, and the psychiatrist agreed to treat him for it.

There are a lot of people trying to get laws passed, prohibiting doctors from trying to get people delivered from homosexuality, but it’s legal to try to cure Christianity.

I haven’t seen Dave or Stu in quite some time. I sent Dave a text today because I realized he did not have my new number.

I can’t tell you how strange this is. How many Christians are there in South Florida? Hundreds of thousands, probably, omitting the backsliders. How many do I know? Maybe two hundred? How likely is it that one who was in my cell contacts would pop up in a Youtube video I chose to watch?

Dave is an interesting guy. To say he’s enthusiastic is an understatement. The prayer group met at a Denny’s in Broward County, and we used to talk in the parking lot after it was over. Christians do that. You will see the serious ones standing in the parking lot after church for half an hour.

One thing I learned about Dave was that if he started talking to me, I had to move into the shade quickly. I burn easily, and Dave is not a person who has short conversations about God.

Dave wasn’t a preacher. He was an elevator repairman. I can’t even guess how he hooked up with Tom Fischer. It’s not like he’s a prominent healing evangelist any traveling preacher would expect to meet. He’s obscure.

It’s neat when God does things like this.

Another man appeared in the video, and it’s not totally clear, but it looks like God told him Tom’s wife’s name. Judge for yourself.

Regarding my own inner issues, I have to keep digging. I was such a mess by the time I turned back to God, there was a huge backlog of deferred maintenance. It’s good to have God continue to expose stuff to me.

I don’t know what will happen next with Tom Fischer. Maybe I’ll run into him at Tractor Supply.

Rail Installed

I’m sitting here doing my gun thing.

My Picatinny rail arrived, and I stuck it on the new rifle. I attached the night scope to it. It looks fine, but the eye relief is a bit excessive. I expect to have to lean forward a bit to shoot. It’s not good to have tension anywhere in your body when you shoot, but I believe this is the best I’ll be able to do without some kind of custom rail or adaptor.

The word “Picatinny” is capitalized. A place called the Picatinny Arsenal was important to its adoption. The arsenal is in New Jersey. Things could be worse. It could have been the Piscataway rail. New Jersey place names are awful. They sound like diseases that make you vomit.

I’ve been thinking about my long-range options. I can’t believe how lucky blessed I am to have this property. I should be able to shoot 400 yards with no problems at all. I could go longer if I had another berm.

“But why not go to a range? You live in gun country. There must be long-distance ranges all around you.”

No.

This is why I count myself even more blessed than I used to.

I assumed there would be all sorts of shooting options up here, because northern Florida is about as red as Wyoming. I have discovered that this is not the case. I can only find three outdoor ranges in this county, and they’re pretty sad. The options in Miami are actually better.

One is a private club that only goes to 100 yards, and it has 150-member cap. There’s a waiting list. You can’t join until someone dies.

Which probably happens a lot. I think I have the only car in the county without a handicapped permit and a mobility scooter rack.

I might have to wait as long as a week.

There’s another private club which has lanes up to 50 yards long. That’s all you get. What good is that? I’ve seen people shoot pistols that far.

The final option is the public range operated by the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission. “Operated” is a very loose way of describing it. It’s unsupervised.

How would you like to go to an unsupervised gun range? No range officers. No one using a P.A. system to tell people the line is hot. No one to shout at idiots walking around with their rifles pointed at other visitors. You just get out of your pickup and start blasting. Presumably, there is no prohibition on drinking beer.

Cherry on the sundae: the limit is 100 yards.

I’ll resummarize my own situation: 400 yards. Berm. No other shooters. Handguns allowed. Rifles allowed. Hours unrestricted.

It’s phenomenal.

Someone recommended I try a Project Appleseed event. I know little about Project Appleseed, but it’s an organization that claims to teach marksmanship. I get the feeling there is some paranoia associated with it. I don’t mean my healthy Christian paranoia, which contemplates the necessity of shooting hordes of entitlement junkies who will one day descend on rural America but does not contemplate shooting federal agents. When I read up on Project Appleseed, a little voice in the back of my head whispers “Ruby Ridge.” But even if they’re extreme, they are probably people I can get along with, and they might be able to help me shoot better.

I read that they teach history at the events and talk about taking back America.

There will be an event less than 40 miles from here this month. I might give it a shot. It’s hard to get away from my dad for a two-day event that involves a hotel stay, but if it’s less than an hour away, I should be able to make the commute from my house and return here at night.

I’m very glad God put me on an unusual property where I can shoot pretty freely. When I’m even farther in the sticks, on a larger property with some hills, I’ll be unrestrained. I’ll shoot a howitzer if I want.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll finally try the .204 Ruger. Should be a blast. Then eventually I’ll get to work on the .308 and a 6.5 Swedish.

I Don’t Need a Nightlight

For years, I had a problem with my pillows lighting up at night. I would roll over or whatever, and little green spots would light up all over the pillow. It was the craziest thing.

I found I could reproduce the lights by crumpling and slapping the pillows.

Thought they were some kind of static electricity, but in my experience, static electricity moves quickly when you discharge it. You get a brief spark and then nothing. The green lights were usually quick, but I remember seeing one dissipate slowly over maybe half a second.

I used to wonder about it. Was it some kind of electrical thing I didn’t understand, or was it some sort of Holy Spirit residue, from praying with my head on the pillows?

Here in my new home, I am still having the problem. I rolled over in bed the other day, and my hand brushed against the contoured sheet. As my fingertips dragged over it, little light trails followed them. They were bright bluish white. They were maybe half an inch long.

You really notice things like that in the middle of the night in a dark room.

Some day I want an explanation for this. When you’ve had experiences you know were supernatural, it’s easy to give up on natural explanations and attribute paranormal causes to things that are really just physical. No one wants to be the guy who saw a goose fly past his window and told people it was the Holy Spirit.

When I think about this, I always think about Ed Harris as John Glenn in The Right Stuff, hollering, “Get out of here, you gadgets!” at a bunch of sparks coming off of his capsule.

Nothing is Ever Simple

I have had my new rifle for several days, and I still can’t shoot it.

I guess I should say I have two new rifles I can’t shoot. In March, I got a Ruger Model 60, which turned out to be a Remington Model 60, and I got groups as big as your hand from 50 feet away. I had to have Gander Outdoors send it back to the factory. The people at the factory kept calling me, which is how I found out the gun was a Remington. My caller ID said “Remington.” Gander Outdoors put the wrong phone number in the paperwork, so when Remington tried to call Gander Outdoors, they got me instead.

After all the wonderful things blundering Obama did for the firearms industry, you would think gun makers would be rolling in dough, but they are not. At least, some aren’t. Remington filed for bankruptcy recently, which made me wonder if I would ever see my gun again. Smith & Wesson is also going Tango Uniform.

Guess who made my other new gun? Smith & Wesson. It says “Thompson Center” on the box, but when it arrived, somehow or other I learned that it was actually made by S&W. I’m entitled to a $75 rebate because of a promotion they’re doing, so naturally, I wonder if I’ll ever see that. I thought I was getting a neat rifle for $375, but it may be more like $450.

My head is spinning, and if you haven’t clicked away yet, yours must be, too. I’ll clarify. I bought two guns a month apart. Both were made by companies which are going bankrupt. Both carry brand names which are different from the actual makers.

Any company that couldn’t sell guns and make money between 2008 and 2016 needs a change of management. Selling guns during that time was about as hard as selling liquor the day Prohibition ended.

I’m learning things as I go. My understanding is that the old Marlin guns were made by Marlin, in a succession of factories belonging to the Marlin company. Then Remington bought them, and they moved production to Remington plants. People, predictably, like the older Marlin guns better. They look for guns with “JM” stamped on them. I don’t know what JM means (maybe John Marlin), but people like it. I assume it indicates guns made in real Marlin factories.

I don’t know how Smith & Wesson ended up owning Thompson Center. I don’t care. I know I don’t like conglomerates buying up small companies. It always seems to lead to the same end: extinguished brand names, consolidated (therefore inferior) R&D and design, and fewer choices for consumers. Remember Oldsmobile? Remember Pontiac?

I think what when conglomerates take over small companies, inevitably, some genius stands up in a meeting and says, “EUREKA! We can cut costs by cutting back to one line of products!” Like this wasn’t obvious at the start.

The T/C (gun slang for Thompson Center) I bought is a Venture rifle in .204 Ruger. I have a night scope. I have a special huge battery. I have rows of pretty cartridges. What I don’t have is a mount for the scope.

T/C doesn’t use a single scope mount that runs from one end of the action to the other. It uses two little mounts about 3″ apart. My night scope has a small base not much longer than the distance between the mounts. You can imagine the temptation. “I’ll just put it between the mounts. It will grab a little bit of each one, and I’ll be fine.”

I’m not doing that. I’ve matured.

I had to blow $44 on a new mount, and it won’t arrive until tomorrow. If everything lines up absolutely perfectly, the earliest I can reasonably hope to shoot this thing is Saturday.

The gun seems very nice. I’m not in love with the cheap synthetic stock, but it will work fine, and I got it on purpose because I figured I would want to get a better stock later.

T/C rifles have a fun feature. If you take the bolt out of one, you will find a tiny black hex screw above the trigger. You can adjust the trigger pull with it. Loosen it to reduce the tension. Guess how you increase it. Go on. Guess.

I cleaned the gun for the first time today. You have to clean new guns. I have plenty of guns, yet I did not know this until recently. People told me the Marlin might be shooting badly because I didn’t clean it before I used it.

I don’t want to talk crazy, but some people would assume a new product would be ready to use right out of the box. It has always worked for me.

I could not clean the Venture until today because I didn’t have a Boresnake or any other type of cleaning implement for it. I was afraid to buy stuff until the gun arrived in one piece. I got a Boresnake with two-day shipping from Wal-Mart, and the price was excellent. Cheaper than Amazon Prime.

Today I ran the Boresnake through the Venture after shooting Break Free CLP into it, and guess what came out. LINT. A wad of lint. What on earth are they doing at the factory? I don’t know what ill effects a wad of lint would have on a rifle barrel, but I’ll bet it’s a bad thing to push out with a 4000-fps round.

I wiped the barrel and other metal parts of the gun with a paper towel with CLP on it, and when I looked at the towel, it looked rusty. I’m not too happy about that. Is that normal? I realize gun bluing is a form of iron oxide, and it would not surprise me to learn that there is typically a bit of rust in there with it, but rust is not what you want to see when you wipe down a new gun.

I guess it could be something like cosmoline, but if I recall correctly, a tiny film of cosmoline would not be dark enough to stain a towel. Hope I’m wrong about that.

Tomorrow I hope to install the scope, and then we’ll see if I was stupid to buy it.

The scope is insanely heavy. I’m considering putting a magnet on it to see if the case and tube are steel. I believe it weighs three pounds. The battery is heavy, too, but it mounts on the buttstock, so it’s not out there pulling the front of the gun down.

I assume a heavy scope like this is not intended for hunters who walk. It must be for shooting prone or from a bench. My hope is to use it from a blind.

The scope is a toy. I admit that. It should work quite well, but a real night scope would cost eight times as much and use thermal technology. I’m not going to blow that kind of money at this stage, and I am willing to toss away a few hundred bucks on something I may put away for good in two years. I feel that it’s better to use a cheap scope at night for a short time than to waste a couple of years doing no night hunting at all.

I’d love to have thermal stuff. Imagine walking in the woods and being able to see animals that are partly obscured and likely to be missed with IR night vision. I would think that the glow from a possum or a coon would light up the reticle and give him away. The IR scope I got won’t do that. It’s like looking at black and white TV. It will show you Barney Fife if he’s standing in front of you, but it won’t light up the heat from his rear end if most of him is hiding successfully behind a tree.

I’m just guessing at what thermal scopes do, since I don’t have one.

The Venture has a very sweet trigger, and I want it as light as possible without worrying about the gun going off when the wind blows. I worked on it tonight. I put a hex wrench in the adjusting screw and tried to loosen it, and it would not budge. I was afraid I was going to bend the wrench or strip the screw.

I Googled around and read that another Venture owner had had the same problem. He found out his gun had shipped with the trigger eased all the way, so the screw could not be loosened any more. After reading that, I tried tightening my screw, and it popped loose. You would think that meant the screw had come to me loosened all the way, but when I was done, the wrench had moved about 30 degrees from its original position, so presumably, I loosened the screw a twelfth of a full turn.

My understanding is that the trigger spring can be cut if I don’t like the minimal tension setting. I won’t try that until I shoot it, and I’ll definitely order a spare spring first.

Once I get the gun working, I’ll have to get .204 dies, powder, primers, bullets, and whatever other stuff rifle reloading requires. I’ve never reloaded a rifle round. I’ll have 200 cases once I shoot all my ammo. I think that will be enough for a while.

If I ever get really serious about shooting at night, I’ll take a stiff drink and buy a real thermal scope. I shouldn’t feel too bad about it. No one feels bad about spending 20 grand on a bass boat, and bass fishing is truly stupid and pointless.

I’ve figured out what my next gun will be, and it’s a shocker. It will be 6.5x55mm Swedish.

Probably.

I kept going back and forth between 6.5 Creedmoor and its near-twin, .260 Remington, and then I learned that 6.5 Swedish does what they do. It has been around for ages. People use it on everything up to mooses. Europeans kill the crap out of large game with it.

People write about the Creedmoor and .260 Remington as though they were amazing ballistics breakthroughs. If I understand things correctly (place your bets), that’s codswallop. They are amazing short-action ballistics breakthroughs. A short-action round has a short cartridge that will run well in a semiauto like an AR-10.

The 6.5 Swedish is a longer cartridge that does what the Creedmoor and .260 will and offers a ton of reloading options. The only drawback I know of is that you have to use a bolt gun. Which, hello, is what hunters use. And they’re not as expensive as AR guns. More money for glass.

I have read that one of the big advantages of the short-action rounds is that commercial match-grade ammunition is easily had, but if you reload, what do you care about that?

Maybe I’m wrong about all of this, but it sounds good. Less-expensive guns. Reloading options out the wazoo. Great accuracy. Long range. Versatility that will fill every hole that currently exists in my rifle inventory. It sounds perfect.

The scope mount for the Venture can’t come soon enough. Once that happens, I will have to get serious and try to shoot a stinking coyote. If I pull it off, you will hear about it here.

Are You Sure You’re Sure?

It’s remarkable how many things I “believe” but don’t really believe.

Of course, I am contradicting myself on a superficial level, but receptive people already understand, without my having to explain. Which I will.

Consider the times I prayed to be healed and then received miraculous healing. While I was praying and commanding my body to be healed, I believed God would heal me. Had I not, I wouldn’t have prayed, right? But I didn’t believe completely, in every corner of my heart. When the healings came, there was still some surprise.

People are fuzzy thinkers and fuzzy believers. When we reason, we aren’t afraid to discard things that appear to be facts, when they conflict with other evidence, our desires, our emotions, and our intuition. Surprisingly, fuzzy logic often leads to the better conclusions than non-fuzzy logic. When it comes to faith, we can hold a mixture of belief and unbelief.

It can be frustrating to deal with folks who think the human mind takes a binary approach to thought and feeling. The world is full of individuals who can’t tolerate the notion that a person can think or feel two ways about something at the same time. It should be very obvious that human beings have internal conflicts, but many of us look at the mind and heart the way engineers look at toasters, and they draw simplistic, half-baked conclusions about the way we work, the way children do.

I guess I started this blog entry with a digression, but I don’t care.

Today I looked at Youtube over breakfast. I wanted to watch some Christian material. I chose Tom Fischer; I’ve been watching a lot of other people, and today I felt like it was his turn.

I saw a video labeled “Street teaching with Tom Fischer-evil spirits” [sic], and I was drawn to it. I have been the site of an internal battle lately, between evil spirits on one side and the Holy Spirit and me on the other. From watching Fischer’s other videos, I knew he was likely to have something important and USEFUL to say.

About 97% of the time, preachers tell us things that are useLESS or counterproductive. Actually, useless and counterproductive are synonyms when it comes to religion. Neutrality doesn’t exist.

I am only interested in teaching I can put to work. Keep the fables, traditions, and feel-good stories to yourself. If powerful material is meat and less powerful material is milk, the slop most preachers serve is colored water and valium.

A few years back, God showed me interesting things about evil spirits. He showed me that demons are actually dead human beings. You can see it in the book of Enoch, and there is also evidence in Genesis. Rebellious angels married women and reproduced with them, and they gave rise to a race of vile beings that were stronger than ordinary humans. At least some were giants. They abused and dominated people, and they also ate them.

Am I making a stretch when I call them human? I doubt it. Jesus was the result of a spirit/human coupling, and he was human. In any case, demons are our dead brothers and sisters, and they really hate us. They were going to run the world and either destroy us entirely or keep us around as slaves and food. We got it all, with eternal life in heaven to follow, and they got nothing but the promise of eternity in flames.

Supernaturally, we are the 1%.

I’m not saying we make up 1% of the beings that have lived on earth. I’m saying we’re privileged, like the mythical 1% liberals love to hate. Heard of white privilege? We have human privilege. Among humans, God’s children are even more privileged.

The Bible is all about genocide. Churches don’t get that. The earth contains two races: God’s children and the children of darkness. God and Satan battle to exterminate each other’s seed and put their own seed in charge. Read Joshua.

God said Noah was “perfect in his generations.” I take that to mean he had no demon blood. Why? For one thing, the phrase makes no sense otherwise. It doesn’t mean he was righteous, because had that been the case, God would have said, “Noah was righteous.” The bit about “in his generations” makes no sense in that context, but if you take it to mean the generations that gave rise to him were untainted, it all comes together.

Genesis lists Noah’s ancestors carefully. Why do that if you’re not proving a point? His great-grandfather was Enoch, who was so righteous God removed him from the earth. His grandfather was Methuselah, who was so righteous God waited for his death before sending the flood. You won’t see Og the giant in the list.

God flooded the earth to kill off the seed of the angels, and he chose a pure male to repopulate the earth.

The dead children of the angels are stuck here. At least some of them are. Jewish legend says the earth was cleansed of them, and that Satan persuaded God to release 10% to tempt mankind. Mary Baxter, who claims she visited hell, says there are beings partially embedded in the walls there. They can’t come here.

Like whorish girls throwing themselves at rock stars, women had sex with angels, so now we have disembodied demons that cause disease, murder, perversion, mental illness, and all sorts of iniquities.

No man taught me these things. I read Enoch, I read the Bible, I prayed in tongues every day, and things fell together in my mind.

This is what I “believe.” I think God showed it to me. But my faith in what I believe is not perfect. I like having it confirmed by other sources. It proves I’m not making things up.

Fischer’s video was made in 2012. I don’t recall when my understanding of the origin of demons came to me, but it was at around that time. I was going to Trinity Church, which I attended from 2008 until early 2012. I had no idea who Tom Fisher was, and he still has no idea I exist. We didn’t conspire or listen to the same preachers.

If you watch the video, you will see that he says pretty much the same things I say. He says demons are the spirits of giants. He mentions Enoch. That’s confirmation. If there were people teaching these things on TV, and we both watched those people, or if we had seen similar teaching on the web, you could say we drank someone else’s Kool-Aid. That’s not what happened.

He says things I don’t say. He says people have found bones from the giants all over the world. I have never heard anything about that, and to say that I doubt it would be an understatement. I don’t think we’ve found grossly outsize bones that appeared to be humanoid. Sometimes stories and pictures go around the web, using fossils to prove the Bible is true, but they are generally fraudulent.

It’s not unusual for Christians to be fooled by fake news or bogus science.

The Internet is so weird. I started thinking about giants, and I remembered a famous discovery: the Holly Creek giant. The story of the giant says that in 1965, man named Kenneth White found a huge skeleton buried under a cliff in the area of Kentucky known as Holly Creek. When the bones were put together, they measured almost 9 feet in length. The skull had slits instead of round eye sockets, and it was about 30 inches in circumference. White later reburied the bones, and of course, there are no photos, and no one has dug it up to prove the story’s veracity.

My mother was born on Holly Creek. It’s a tiny place. Not even a town. If Kenneth White exists, she probably knew him. I knew an Artie White and a Stan White, from the next county to the west.

I looked around to find evidence supporting or refuting the story, and I came across the obituary of my grandfather’s buddy Earl Napier. I wasn’t looking for it. The name showed up in Google results.

I had wondered what happened to Earl. He died in a hospital in Lexington in 2010. Now I know.

I remember the night Earl punched out a guy named Gary at the Dixieland Lounge in Winchester, where I worked the door. Gary called him a dirty name, and Earl Punched him immediately, right in the mouth. I would say Earl, a former boxer, was 5’7″ tall, and Gary was about 6’6″. Gary was upset afterward because Earl punched him without any warning. I think he felt a man was obligated to respond to a bar challenge orally before attacking. It was a matter of etiquette.

Earl did okay against his giant.

Sometimes I wonder if the dinosaurs were demons. With their outrageous physical adornments, dimensions, and accessories, they remind me of the demon-controlled people who pierce themselves, split their tongues, cover themselves with tattoos, put fake horns under their skin, and so on. God made people look fairly uniform and boring, and he banned body modification under Moses, but Satan is driven by pride and a craving for attention, so his children look for ways to sensationalize their flesh.

Imagine what would happen if a doctor in San Francisco got complete control over people’s genes, and he could turn you into anything you wanted. Imagine the crazy competition that would ensue. Giants. Huge birds. Creatures from Avatar, with upgrades. It would be something to see. It would be like gays competing to get the most attention with their costumes, in parades like the one they have every year in Key West on Halloween.

If God allows us to live long enough, one day we’ll have that kind of control over our flesh, and the excesses will be astounding. Antlers. Fins. Whatever you want.

Enoch said God killed the giants because they were giants in the flesh but not the spirit. That makes complete sense. Satan is all about peaking early, and so are his children. It makes sense that they would be spectacular on earth but pathetic in the afterlife. Look at his famous human children. Beyonce. Madonna. Elvis. Jeff Bezos. Bill Gates. The living ones are very impressive right now, but one second after they die, they will be pitiable, unless they repent.

Satan is like “Peaked in High School Rob Lowe.”

There are dinosaurs whose bodies don’t seem to make sense. What possible evolutionary advantage can there be, on land, to weighing 70 tons? Think of the crazy structures dinosaurs had. Spinosaurus had a huge fin on its back, which would have hindered its movement. Tyrannosaurus had front legs that were too small to reach its mouth or the ground, and scientists can’t figure out how they could have evolved. There were dinosaurs with huge, inexplicable, inconvenient structures on their heads. If you look for physical justifications for these things, they are hard to explain, but if you consider what body modifiers would do if they could change their DNA, they look logical.

I know it doesn’t make sense. We date things using radioactivity, and the dates say dinosaurs disappeared about 60 million years ago. It’s just a funny thought.

I do wonder if our dating techniques are reliable. God and spirits can change the physical world’s properties. For example, there was no rain until Noah’s time. God could change a constant here and a law there and leave us very confused. He held the earth still in the sky for Joshua. He can do whatever he wants.

Why God would allow us to have a misleading fossil record is beyond me, but it’s something I think about. I know God is real; he has proved it over and over. That gives me a firm premise, so the things I see in the physical world, by comparison, are not reliable.

Genesis tells us many things happened, but there are many possibilities it does not mention and doesn’t exclude. We don’t know if the six days of creation were consecutive. It’s not clear whether the days were 24-hour earth days, longer days in an earth that turned more slowly, or longer days measured by heaven’s standards. We don’t know if creatures existed before those named in the creation story.

When I was a kid and I awoke and saw demons crawling on the walls, floor, ceiling, and bed, they appeared to be reptiles and bugs. The reptiles weren’t so large they would be considered unusual on this planet, but the bugs were up to a couple of feet long.

There are fossils of three-foot-long centipedes and an eight-foot millipede as wide as a bathroom scale. Paleontologists have also discovered a dragonfly 17 inches long. There was a two-foot scorpion.

I don’t know how to explain the fossil record, but I have proof that God is real, so it doesn’t matter. Somehow or other, the facts will reconcile when they are known.

Tom Fischer says it’s harder to get demons out of Christians than unbelievers, because Christians know better than to let them in. We allow them in through deliberate sin, and then we hold onto them through denial. We don’t confess or repent, so God allows them to stay. When they are allowed to stay, they corrupt our hearts and give us physical ailments. If we can get rid of them, the iniquities and ailments will leave.

I’ve been confessing and repenting like crazy since I saw Fischer talk about these things in other videos.

I can tell God is destroying the influence spirits have on me. Sometimes I feel things leave. My mind is much quieter than it was a month ago. I think fewer invisible things are speaking to me. My desires are changing suddenly, too.

Fischer and I agree on something else: the eradication of the giants in the promised land was shown to us to symbolize our own obligation to drive demons out of ourselves. No one taught me that. Moses sent spies into the promised land, and when they returned, they said the people who lived there were too strong, and some were giants. Ten spies wanted to quit, and God destroyed them and a bunch of other people with a plague. Two–Joshua and Caleb–had faith and wanted to keep fighting. They were preserved and rewarded with land.

Fischer is the only person other than myself whom I have heard saying these things.

A while back, God told me I was one of many, and he was not kidding. I don’t have to feel proud or special. God is saying the same things to many people. I’m just disconnected from them, as Elijah was disconnected from the 7000 people who had not bent the knee to Baal. God has an army tied together by the Holy Spirit. It’s not something I imagined.

Unfortunately, that army has almost zero influence in organized churches.

Compare modern humans to the 10 weak spies. We are defeated by all sorts of spirits. We give up in the face of cancer, addiction, mental illnesses of all types, blindness, allergies, arthritis, infertility, homosexuality, obesity, and a host of other ills. The vast majority of addicts will die addicts, even with the best help available. Medicine has never cured a cold or the flu.

Lately we’ve adapted by declaring that our demon-driven problems are actually virtues. Fat women are “curvy.” The retarded are “differently abled” or whatever the euphemism of the week calls them. Homosexuality, in which men use highly specialized reproductive organs to deposit reproductive fluid in orifices in which reproduction cannot occur, is considered normal. We glorify cripples instead of healing them. We have a “new normal” attitude toward these things, and worse, we treat people who offer hope like child molesters and rapists. A Christian who tries to help a homosexual will get about the same treatment as a Nazi.

Healing and other types of deliverance have been available, free of charge, for 2000 years, and we have turned away, and we have persecuted those who could help us, because we’re afraid to believe.

I’m going to keep going forward. If I drop dead while trusting God, so be it. I will eventually drop dead anyway, and I don’t have that many years left. What difference does it make? The people who are against me only have a few years to peck at me. After that, I will be beyond their reach and out of the way of all harm.

If you think it would be helpful to you, take a look at the video. It certainly helped me.

Another Youtube Resource

I got up today and watched healing Youtubes over breakfast. Excellent way to start the day. Much better than political blogging or driving off to an office to help people sue each other.

I’ve been writing a lot about a man named Tom Fischer. He quit working and began traveling the world, healing people. He also helps them receive salvation and the baptism with the Holy Spirit. He helps people start praying in tongues. Sometimes he teaches.

I embedded a few of his videos here. I felt he was confirming a notion God gave me a few years ago. I believe God is killing off organized churches. I believe the church era is ending. Churches are human organizations, and Satan is very good at taking those over. He can’t deal with independent individuals connected to God by the Holy Spirit. He’s too small and weak. He doesn’t have the resources.

Through Tom Fischer, I found other people doing the same thing on Youtube.

The other day, reader Steve commented, saying a guy named Tom Loud was doing it. Today I took a look. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but Tom Loud knows Tom Fischer.

It appears that there is an informal network of Holy Spirit Youtube healers out there. They know each other. Sometimes they visit each other and make videos together.

It’s great, the way it works. These people can’t be controlled by preachers.

What if Tom Fischer gets a great revelation, and he talks about it on his channel, and fellow Youtube healer Doug Collins gets out of line and disagrees? He can’t do anything to Fischer. He can’t tell him he’s expelled from the church. He can’t take away his position or keep him away from people. All he can do is sit and fume, ineffectually, while Fischer obeys God. He can’t spend Tom’s money on vacations and spas, either. That’s a very powerful church model.

I have no reason to think Doug Collins would do any of that. I picked his name because it was one I knew.

Think how different the Catholic Church is, to pick an extreme example. They can excommunicate you if you stand up for God. Excommunication includes damnation.

At least they can’t torture people to death any more.

My old pastors had the power to separate me from my friends (people I thought were friends). They could keep me from speaking in front of the church. They could take away my offices. Good luck trying that now. I can only say that to Trinity Church, because New Dawn Ministries no longer exists.

Maybe we finally have a viral church. I don’t mean a church that spreads via the Internet. I mean a church that spreads like a virus, from ordinary person to ordinary person. That would be nice. Selfish, attention-whore Preachers are like fat ticks and leeches that need to be sliced off. They are completely unnecessary.

Eat up, Little Buddies

I set up my game camera again and left it in place for two days. The result? No bears. No coyotes. Just the usual coons, plus a third fox.

I am eat up with foxes.

How can I tell it’s not one of the other two foxes I filmed? Easy. This is a small fox with a red tail. The first fox was the same size, more or less, but it had a dark tail. The second fox was much bigger.

Again, I decry the disgraceful policies of a benighted government bureaucracy that won’t let me shoot him. Three foxes! This isn’t a normal population of helpful predators living in balance with their environment. This is a PACK. A deadly fox PACK. Waiting to ambush some…some HELPLESS OLD LADY. And nibble the tennis balls on the feet of her walker. Ruthlessly.

Why does our government want to kill helpless old ladies?

I hunted foxes once. My grandfather found a literal foxhole–they exist–in a pasture, and he dumped me near it with a .22. He told me to kill whatever came out. It never occurred to me to ask him whether he actually knew anything about foxes. I wasted an afternoon and came home with nothing except fresh grass stains.

I had a similar bad experience with a groundhog hole he located. He said there was definitely a groundhog in it because there was fresh dirt in the mouth of the hole. For all I know, he dug the hole as a gag and kicked dirt in it to fool me.

Our coons seem to be quite fat. I don’t know why that is. I am forced to speculate that some snowflake has been making pancakes for them.

Gluten-free.

Coons are horrible. They kill poultry. They throw trash all over the place. They poop in swimming pools. Nonetheless, there are misguided people who think coons are cute, and they have been known to feed them.

This is like feeding a rat, only a thousand times worse.

It makes me wonder: if I blast the coons and they stop showing up for handouts, will I have to deal with angry hippies coming to my gate and forcing me to get out the 200-foot hose?

In the videos, the coons appear to waddle. They’re probably full of Ho-Hos and crunchberries. Liberal stoner forage.

The other day I found out there are confused people who feed coyotes. A lady told me some foreigner rented a house near her and started feeding the “dogs” that showed up in the yard. They would wait for him to come out with a bowl of food. Someone had to tell him they weren’t dogs.

Naturally, this gave me an idea. Bag of dog chow. Dog dish in yard. Hunting blind in yard. Me in blind.

It might get me some easy coyote hides, and if that didn’t work, at least I might manage to harvest a neighbor’s poodle.

I don’t think anyone is feeding the coyotes. Intentionally. They look like kind of strung-out. Like Faces of Meth coyotes.

Speaking of addicts, my squirrel feeders have come online. One of them has, anyway. I put one on a tree in the front yard, so I can shoot from a rocking chair. The other is out back, across a small pasture. That will allow me to use the air rifle and scope while maintaining crucial proximity to the refrigerator and microwave.

The one out front has been attacked. The squirrels are trying to chew up the clear plastic window that holds the food in. They’re so stupid they haven’t found the one behind he house. I never gave them much credit for brains, though, even though squirrel brains are a delicacy. Which I have no plans to try.

When I saw that the squirrels had tried to break the feeder and eat everything at once, naturally, I thought of Democrats.

Self-explanatory.

SLDM. Squirrel Lives Don’t Matter.

My plan is to get the squirrels fat and stupid. Then the reckoning.

If size doesn’t mean anything, this must be one of the world’s premier squirrel hunting grounds. Nearly every tree here produces acorns. It’s like me living in a forest of trees that produce pizza. If I had made a real effort to kill squirrels this year, instead of goofing off until the season was nearly over, I could have lived on the miserable things. When I walk outside, sometimes I’ll see four of them running around like they own the place.

This fall it will be different. I will have the blind, and I will have given up on rifles. It’s going to rain startled rodents.

I’ve done nothing about turkeys since I tried and failed to find their roosting places. I don’t think they’re here. I could get a call and see what happens.

My night scope should be here tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be able to dispatch some coyotes at last. I’m not sure what to do with them. I want to use my hunting knives, but I don’t think the pelts would be very good. Florida is hot, and animals here look mangy. I guess I’ll skin some if I can, just to build skill.

Someone said I should order a scalpel handle and a bunch of #22 blades. Right after I bought three nice knives. I suppose he’s right, but dang.

I haven’t shot the .204 Ruger yet. Waiting for the scope. Once I get it, I’ll figure out how well it works at various distances, and then I’ll try to use it to hunt.

I have to learn what I can here. Then when I move to a bigger piece of land in an area where there is more game, I’ll be in a better position to get it done.

Time to go to the store. I plan to get marshmallows while I’m there.

They say coons like those.

Heh heh.

Musings from Patmos

It’s nice when I find out I’ve gotten a harvest from a seed I’ve sown (or unsown). It happened today. I got rid of Facebook a while ago, and today I’m very glad I did. Winnie Mandela just died, and I’m glad I’m not seeing mournful, respectful Facebook posts from people I know.

Winnie Mandela was a sadistic woman who ran a murder gang. She openly endorsed “necklacing.” In South Africa, a “necklace” is a tire with gasoline poured over it. You force it down over a person’s trunk and arms, and then you light it. The victim can’t use his arms, so he is trapped while the tire burns.

Tires burn for a very long time, and they are hard to put out, especially when a gang of people prevents anyone from trying. A person trapped in a burning tire roasts alive, thrashing and screaming in agony. Winnie Mandela was in favor of this. In 1986, she said, “With our boxes of matches and our necklaces we shall liberate this country.”

Winnie Mandela ran a mob that lynched black people, but many black people admire her.

If I still had a Facebook account, I would be tempted to log in and see what my old friends were saying. I know a lot of people who don’t hear from the Holy Spirit. They accept the BLM line without reservation. Some supported Bernie Sanders in 2016. The rest supported Hillary Clinton. They like to go to church and dance and sing, but it’s all make-believe. Church is just a nightclub to them. A place to socialize and be seen and admired.

I don’t care what your political opponents do to your country; if you believe in burning them alive, you serve Satan. Civilized people don’t do things like that. The worst offenders among the men who created and ran the Nazi death camps got trials and humane hangings which caused death instantly. John Gacy was executed painlessly with drugs. Human beings were created in the image of God. There are certain things you just don’t do to them. Not if you have a choice.

Imagine the torments Satan has thought up for this lady. People who claim to have seen hell say Satan tailors the punishment to fit the crime, so the damned experience magnified versions of the things they did to others here on earth.

I am glad I don’t have to deal with the disheartening spectacle of rebellious people praising Winnie Mandela.

On a related note, I’ve been thinking about the kindness God showed me when he got me out of toxic churches and away from Miami.

Charismatics in South Florida are completely out of line with the Holy Spirit. They’re caught up in leftist identity politics. As for Miamians in general, they are generally very weak Christians, atheists, or demon worshipers. Cubans and other island people sacrifice goats and chickens to demons in Miami. There are “churches” where these sacrifices are performed legally. They got the United States Supreme Court to side with them when local officials tried to ban their practices.

I have seen some crazy things in Miami. I volunteered at a church where voodoo practitioners showed up at night uninvited, to light candles and speak curses. We found a voodoo doll on the property, with a big red hole where its heart should have been.

The doll worked. The people who formed the believing heart of the church were driven out by the pastors.

I used to have a photo of that doll stored in a phone. It disappeared.

People say you can’t curse a Christian, so how can I claim a voodoo doll worked? Think of the things that have happened to Christians and ask yourself if they’re really immune to curses. You can’t curse someone who walks with God, but how many Christians fit that description? The voodoo buffs beat the Wilkerson family (the people whose corporation owns Trinity Church). Real devil worshipers will beat insincere Christians every time. That also goes for ignorant Christians. It’s hard to think of a charismatic pastor who has served as long and learned less than Rich Wilkerson.

I looked over a series of blog posts I wrote during the final weeks of my relationship with New Dawn Ministries, the extinct church I belonged to until 2015. I saw that I had misremembered a few things. For example, I thought I was a deacon and armorbearer when I left. That’s not exactly true. A few weeks before I was given notice that I was unwelcome, I quit serving. Officially, I was “taking a break,” not quitting, but I never served again.

The day I stopped serving is when I started healing. It was as if breath returned to my lungs.

Before I quit, I had been coming to church at around 8:00 a.m. I helped get things ready. I participated in the volunteer prayer session, which the pastors and “house prophet” often skipped. I sat around a lot. The pastors and “prophet” often showed up late, but we were required to arrive too early. In order to accommodate my morning prayer routine, I had to get up between 5 and 6 a.m. The services usually ran until early afternoon. Sometimes they were longer. On some occasions, they kept going because God was moving. A lot of the time, it was because the pastor wanted to talk.

It was a burden, and burdens are what Jesus said he would take away from us.

The time of the volunteers was wasted, as though it had no value. We had to spend too much time at church, and on top of that, we were serving a man and woman who were undermining everything we did. The pastors were killing the church with painfully loud music and services that went on forever. We were on a treadmill. In fact, one day while I was sitting in church, I heard God say, “Stay on the treadmill.” I wrote it down. He wasn’t giving an order. He was summarizing the sermon. He was telling me we were going nowhere, and that the pastor was commanding us to continue doing things that did not work. The river was supposed to be carrying us forward, but we were trapped in an eddy.

When I quit serving, I felt like I had put down a huge barbell. I started coming to church at 10:30 and leaving when I thought it was appropriate. I didn’t have to stand outside and open the door for people. I didn’t have to go to early-morning volunteer meetings and be chastised for not giving the pastor enough money for his birthday, or for not honoring his marijuana-promoting, disrespectful son. I didn’t have to listen to his out-of-order wife. I didn’t have to put up with her writing things like “PLEASE DELETE THIS POST!!!” when I said things on Facebook.

The Jezebel spirit is real. A friend of mine thinks Satan is effeminate, and I think he’s right. Satan acts like a jilted first wife or a bitter ex-girlfriend, and he does marvelous things through overbearing, masculine women and effeminate or lazy men. God cursed Adam with curses that reflected Adam’s behavior toward him. One of the curses was that his wife would seek to control him.

When you reject a controlling woman, she doesn’t just seek to reconstruct her own life. She devotes her time to making you suffer. Satan is like that. He lived close to the throne, clothed in glory that came from God, like an arrogant wife wearing clothes her husband paid for. God has a new “wife” now. He has the body of Christ. No ex can stand a new wife who is prettier and more supportive. No ex can stand to see a doting ex-husband giving beautiful things to his new wife or raising kids with her. No wonder Satan’s only pleasure comes from making us suffer.

There is no way I could go back to that kind of life. Some ex-convicts say they would rather die than go back to prison. I know the feeling. That’s how I feel about fake churches and South Florida. When God frees you from a slave master who destroys your dignity, the thought of going back is too vile to contemplate.

I loved the freedom I had after I quit. If the pastors felt this way or that about something, it wasn’t my problem. I didn’t have to listen to them. If they came up with a hopeless project God clearly wasn’t behind, I didn’t have to get involved.

I remember the pastor saying we had to give more money, because he wanted a new building. I had started giving LESS money, and I was very happy about it. I didn’t do as he asked.

His brother-in-law started an orphanage in Haiti. This was a guy with a history of failed church projects, and he was involving desperate kids in this one. Suddenly his tendency to fail was dangerous.

I didn’t touch it. There were better people running orphanages already, and sending money to proven winners seemed like the way to go. God doesn’t back failure. He takes from those who lack and gives to those who already have. Remember him saying that? He blesses people who are capable of receiving blessings.

The pastor’s brother-in-law couldn’t raise money to get a new building. He failed. He also failed when he tried to increase church membership. He failed when he tried to get a men’s ministry off the ground. With the creation of the orphanage campaign, we were supposed to trust him with the welfare of fragile children.

Not possible.

He also failed when he tried to rally the troops after the pastor was arrested. He accused them of “running.” There was no way they could continue to follow the pastor, and it should have been obvious.

They had some kind of fundraising banquet which was disastrous. People said the food was extremely bad. I didn’t go. I wasn’t A victim any more. Also nice: I no longer had to contribute to birthday collections for the pastors or the many “pastor appreciation day” collections the church demanded. It was beautiful.

I was tired of photos of the pastors being massaged and pampered at our expense. I can understand doing something nice occasionally for tired servants who work hard, but our pastors were very lazy. They only opened the church for services. The rest of the week, it was closed, and they had lives of leisure.

The best thing about the change was that I didn’t answer to the pastors or “prophet” any more. If I felt like saying this or that about God, I said it. I said it, publicly or privately, as I felt moved by the Spirit. There was nothing they could do. I could take down the prosperity gospel. I could debunk the feel-good gospel.

They were conspiring about me behind my back, and they gave a close friend the assignment of spying on me (for which she later apologized), but I was unaware and unconcerned.

After I cut the cord, I took the gloves off. The pastor’s brother-in-law butted in on a Facebook entry I wrote, because he thought I was commenting negatively on his orphanage project. I was actually talking about something else.

At New Dawn Ministries, like Trinity, negativity was worse than blasphemy. Once they committed to a mistake, they did not want to hear any back talk. They would point the ship toward the rocks, and everyone had to cheer until they ran it up on the rocks.

The pastors at New Dawn didn’t even accept negativity from prophets. Their official doctrine was that a prophet only said encouraging things.

The brother-in-law was mistaken about me criticizing his orphanage, but since he brought it up I decided to treat him like a man and not a porcelain doll. I stated my misgivings about it, and he blew up. He wrote a long outburst accusing me of speaking as though I were “the voice of God.” He ended it with some incongruous Christianese boilerplate about loving me and wanting to help me and so on.

When Christians are furious at you, they will often tell you they love you and want to help you.

We have all experienced this. “You lying backslider and wolf in sheep’s clothing: Satan has prepared a special place in hell for people like you. Get ready to burn for all eternity. You will pay for your heresy unless you repent. I say this with love, my Christian brother, so call me if you want prayer.”

Who accepts an offer like that?

When you don’t take up their very attractive offers of help, you’re the one who looks like a heathen. At least they hope so.

In what must was a tremendous affront to a member of the pampered inner circle, I flatly stated that I didn’t think the stuff about love and good wishes was sincere, given the things that immediately preceded it.

I committed other offenses. I reached out to people about lazy pastors who let their wives abuse churchgoers. When I found out the pastors were urging members to shun people who left the church, I called them and their church out by name and told people they were welcome to remain in my life. I had a public discussion with three other people who had been shunned, and we held nothing back, because we wanted others to wake up and be protected. The freedom was very pleasant.

You can’t imagine what a sensation this was. The pastors of this failed one-room church were extremely proud and very quick to anger, and so were their relatives and associates. That anyone would contradict them publicly was unthinkable. You just couldn’t do it. It could not happen. Yet it was happening.

I can see why John the Baptist taught in the wilderness, far from the rabbis.

It’s not surprising that the head pastor got charged with felonies. God uses progressive punishment: hints, then strong warnings, then little problems, and then very big problems, with hell the biggest problem of all. The pastors were incapable of self-examination. They closed their ears, so the consequences kept building. A friend of mine says God would have spared him, had he listened. I believe that’s true.

I have rejected correction myself, so I know how it works. I am grateful to God because he got through to me before I exhausted his patience.

Recently I realized God had put me in northern Florida to heal me of the wounds I received in the snakepit of South Florida. Now I understand that he is also keeping me away from church so I can be healed of the wounds I received from backward Christians.

I doubt I’ll ever go to church regularly again. God showed me that almost everyone who has mistreated me or held me back in recent years was a Christian, going after me because I was open about sick doctrine. That’s quite a testimony. I have to be concerned about unequal yoking, not just when I associate with heathens, but even when I walk through the doors of a church. That’s a little too much opposition to put up with consistently.

Church should be like a wife. It should give you support and rest. It should back you up and help you succeed. My churches were like hookers. They only wanted me for what I could do for them. I sincerely wanted to help them do well, but they didn’t care about me at all. I was just a john.

My churches’ leaders provoked me to anger with consistent abuse. Provocation is temptation. I have enough temptation in my life without finding it at church. I know I have to forgive people, but I don’t want to subject myself to unrepentant, self-righteous people who require forgiveness over and over.

Jesus said you should forgive a brother seventy times seven times, but he didn’t say you should be grafted to such a person at the hip. Hanging around with abusive people is like remaining on a beach after the topless girls come out. The first time a person tempts you to be angry, it’s his fault. Every time you allow him to do it after that, it’s your fault.

None of this should be controversial. There is nothing unusual or surprising about receiving bad treatment from Christians. It’s what’s supposed to happen, in this world of deaf and blind believers. It’s normal. God told us it would happen.

Jesus and the prophets were killed or sent to be killed by Jews who believed in God and thought their persecution was pleasing to him. Jesus never had a problem with a pagan until the rabbis gave him to the Romans, and even then, the Romans did their best to turn him loose. The Jews insisted he be killed.

The Jews, not the Romans, stoned Stephen to death because he admitted he saw Jesus in heaven at the right hand of God. Paul sat by and approved. Before his conversion, Paul was a pious Jew whose job was to round up Christians and have them imprisoned by other pious Jews. He wasn’t a pagan.

Through a psalm, Jesus said he was wounded in the house of his friends. He said his own friend had lifted up his heel against him. If I draw close to God and then experience abuse from Christians, it’s not an anomaly. It’s confirmation of God’s word.

Life is so strange.

I’m not concerned about church any more. I will focus on healing, and if God sends me to a church later on, I will go. It’s a good arrangement. I don’t want my Sundays screwed up any more. Somewhere, there are people who can be blessed, and God will put me among them, church or no church.

Maybe you’re enslaved, like I was. Are your pastors proud? Do they listen to correction? Do they have a bunch of corrupt, inept relatives and friends who get cushy jobs and lots of unquestionable authority? Do they hide their finances the way my pastors did? Is your church languishing and failing to grow? Are you expected to donate excessive amounts of money, time, and work? Do you feel like you’re being restrained? Have you been persecuted for telling the truth? If you have had these problems, you may be in a cult.

It’s okay, and it’s important, to ask God to help you understand your situation. He didn’t create you to serve a self-anointed pharaoh, and he will be happy to set you free.

And Shabbat Shalom

If you read this blog, you may know that I visit Internet forums to keep up with my hobbies. I always complain about the negative attitudes I encounter. Rudeness is amplified on the web because people feel safe. It’s hard to punch someone who insults you from across the country. Today I got up and looked at my email over breakfast, and I found I had a private message at one of my forums. Someone was wishing me and another person a happy Easter. I don’t use the word “Easter” because it’s pagan, but other than that, it was a great surprise. Much better than starting the day with a message calling me a Nazi or asking me to cite multiple sources for a controversial claim such as “iron rusts.”

After responding to the message, I watched some Youtubes. I found a new series of healing videos. I thought watching God heal people would be a good way to acknowledge Passover, which is the real name for Easter. Tom Fischer, the guy I’ve been watching lately, has friends in Canada, and they go around healing people.

I want to stress that none of the people I watch ask for money when they heal. Tom Fischer has a Paypal account and so on, for donations, but those are for people who watch, not people he helps. He quit his job and uses the money to pay his bills while he wanders around pursuing his ministry.

It seems strange to watch Canadians heal people. I think of Canadians as naive, starry-eyed leftists, and leftism is enmity to God. But every country has a remnant of serious believers.

I’ll embed a video so you can see what they do.

It’s terrible that the church gave up on miracles. What a monumental sin church leaders committed when they started preaching cessationism (the belief that manifestations of God’s power stopped). Look at the weapons we threw away. Look how we blocked God in his desire to help people.

Carnal men took over the church, and because they were carnal, they didn’t know God. They didn’t know anything about him. They made up doctrine from thin air and pagan scraps, and they created the Catholic and Orthodox churches. The leaders didn’t know God, so they couldn’t do miracles or manifest any of the fruit or gifts of the Spirit. To save face and keep their slaves in line, they taught that God had stopped working in the earth. The black poison then ran down onto the Protestant churches, in a grotesque parody of anointing oil running down Aaron’s beard and clothing.

It’s bad not to be able to flow in God’s power and righteousness, but what about preventing other people from receiving his gifts? That’s infinitely worse. Millions of people have died with unsolved problems God was eager to fix, and millions more have been turned off by our powerless, corrupt churches. The apostles healed people as a matter of course, to show them God’s power and love, but all we can do is hand people a list of rules and tell them to tough it out until they die.

God wanted hordes of ordinary people to go around teaching and healing for nothing, and he intended to use ministers to replicate themselves, but man preferred a few ignorant old men in big, fancy, ridiculous hats.

You can go into established churches today and have ignorant old men tell you miracles are rare or nonexistent, while people who don’t go to their churches are actively working miracles all over the world. Here’s supernatural symmetry for you: the old men replicate themselves just as real ministers are supposed to. People who listen to them pop up in Youtube comments and criticize people who heal in God’s name. I’m talking about Christians, not unbelievers.

The Christian church has a sad history as one of the world’s largest and most successful terrorist organizations. We’re pretty peaceful now, but it hasn’t been that long since disagreeing with a pope or a preacher could get you tortured to death. Today I can talk about prayer in tongues and miracles, but not too terribly long ago, a person like me could have been falsely accused of heresy or witchcraft and then murdered in a way that would have caused great suffering.

An “infallible” pope threatened to torture Galileo, imprisoned him, and kept him under house arrest until he died. Pope John Paul II “recanted,” to use a term Galileo would have liked, long after Galileo’s death. Two infallible popes disagreed about a matter clearly well within the realm of doctrine, and the doctrine of infallibility didn’t suffer. That’s really something.

The Jews killed prophets, kidnapped and beat Jesus, and had Jesus murdered. Christians have a long history of crushing people who prove God is alive. There are no new types of error under the sun.

I’ve been healed numerous times. What am I supposed to do? Write a letter to the Pope or the heads of the dead Protestant churches and apologize? Should I get some matches and burn myself, to undo healings I’ve received? Should I say I don’t really pray in tongues or that I haven’t seen spirits, just to make dried-up old men who know nothing feel better about the nonsense they dispense?

Catholics teach that people like me–all non-Catholics without exception–go to hell. All. They have a temporary version of hell called purgatory, which contradicts scripture, and they say I may be lucky enough to go there instead of grown-up hell, but it’s still a hell. Jesus visited me personally twice and never mentioned this. I don’t know, but I’ll bet the pope has never met him. I base that on his leftism and his bizarre remarks about religion.

Think how different the world would be if men stopped fighting the Holy Spirit. A few people here and there are healing others and getting them free from things like addiction and homosexuality, but most churches are against them, and generally, if you go to a church for healing or deliverance, you will get…NOTHING. Then we expect people to stay in the faith, with no reason to believe there’s anything to it. What if most Christians were capable of healing people and setting them free?

Uptight Christians say we shouldn’t follow signs, and they use this doctrine to shut down the miraculous, but who provided more signs than Jesus and the apostles? They were sign factories. They shed signs like trees shed leaves. They healed people so they would know God was real and that he loved them. The Bible says signs will follow us, and it doesn’t provide a cutoff date. How can that be squared with cessationism?

On one side, we have churches that hate miracles, and on the other, we have huge TV ministries that fake them for money. They seem different, but it’s the same thing. Both types of churches work to discredit God and come between him and people he wants to adopt.

Seeing people set free is wonderful. It’s so great, it’s tempting to try not to believe it. We hate having our hopes shattered, so instead of risking it, we kill our own hope and miss the obvious. We feel like we can’t lose if we don’t play, but that’s not true. Everyone is on the field, all the time.

Youtube has startled me by turning out to be a blessing. Can any good thing come out of Youtube? It’s a celebration of idiocy. If you’re careful what you search for, you can find wonderful things.

My advice is to go after the supernatural. Paul said, “Follow after charity, and desire spiritual gifts, but rather that ye may prophesy.”

Christianity is a supernatural thing. It’s not a list of rules. It’s not a lifestyle. It’s about spirits and supernatural righteousness and power. We can’t make it work on our own, and we were never asked to.

Squiddly Diddim Bop Em Diddim Plop

I have been resting today. Earlier I had a supernatural experience, and I have already written about it. Since it happened, I’ve felt much better, but I’ve also felt drained.

I finally got up and did something relatively useful. I walked to my game camera and took it down. Yesterday I put it up near a place where animals cut under my fence.

There were several videos in the camera, not including the one of me taking it down or videos that don’t show any animal life. The first two were the usual coons, but I also got a coyote and a fox.

The interesting thing to me is that these predators showed up during the day. I thought coyotes were nocturnal, but one crossed my fence between 1 and 2 p.m. I’ll post a capture.

The fox showed up at around 8:30 this morning. I had put some stuff down to attract animals, and it appears that it was gone before he arrived. He nosed around looking for it.

I’ll post a shot of the fox I filmed earlier this month. As you can see, it’s a different fox. It’s younger, and its coloring is more brilliant. It’s much smaller than today’s fox. So it looks like I have at least two foxes here, and our backward government will not let me shoot either one of them!

What do they want? Do they want foxes overrunning the place? Do they want them crowding me off the recliner and fighting over the remote?

Don’t tell me tyranny doesn’t exist.

Today’s fox seems nearly as big as today’s coyote. The coyote seems small, although I’m not equipped to judge. Maybe it’s young.

Their behaviors are different. The fox seems carefree. It’s intent on finding food. The coyote seems worried. He raises his head over and over and sniffs the air, like he knows there is a guy on a recliner, thinking of coyote pelts.

It’s as if they know the hunting laws. Coyotes are legal 24/7/365. Foxes are sacred. You can’t hunt them at all. No wonder the fox is relaxed.

The coyote video is encouraging because it shows I don’t have to be up at 4 a.m. to shoot one of these guys. It’s discouraging because the coyote is already nervous even before my arrival. I think he’ll be as wary as Donald Trump speaking at a Sierra Club dinner. Of weeds and mold and whatever it is they eat.

I’m disappointed that I haven’t filmed a bear. That would be neat. People keep expressing doubt that we have a bear, but you know what they say. Poop don’t lie.

I found some exciting new poop today. Poop is my new hobby. You could call me a poop watcher. I don’t know what it is. It’s not a coon. I don’t think it’s a bear. It’s not a bobcat or a coyote. It doesn’t look like fox poop. It’s sort of like very small, more or less rectangular cow manure.

Scanning the numerous helpful poop sites on the web, I have to conclude that it must be a bear after all. Maybe it’s a very small bear. Maybe it’s a big one that eats too much cheese.

You’re supposed to call poop “scat.” Seems pretentious. Looks like plain old poop to me. Scat is poop with a college degree.

I don’t want to think of poop when I listen to Ella Fitzgerald.

I have never seen deer poop here, and I’ve only seen a couple of things that looked like they could be turkey poop. When we bought the property, I made a big mistake. I had it surveyed. I had it inspected. I had a title search done. I did not do a poop inventory.

Live and learn.

I heard a bird of prey call while I was walking in and I saw what must have been a big hawk. It was sitting in the top of a hickory tree. It was huge. We have little hawky-looking birds here the size of crows, but this one would have fed three people.

When I got to the house, two sparrow sort of things were flapping around in the garage. They could not find the giant open door, so I opened the other one, increasing their odds of escape by 100%. They made it.

I have started putting seed in our feeder, partly to attract birds to amuse my dad (who turned out not to be interested in them), and partly to attract squirrels and get them fat and stupid for squirrel season. I’ve seen some strange birds going after the seed. I saw some that were tiny and bright yellow. I think that’s what I saw in the garage today.

It has occurred to me that I could go out and look at birds. But the only good optics I have are attached to rifles. I don’t know if I want to have a game warden spot me aiming a .308 at an eagle. There is probably a law against it, even if you take the bolt out of the gun. Wardens have heard a lot of clever excuses. “I’m just carrying my friend’s rifle.” “I’m just sitting in a covered deer blind with a Ma Deuce because it’s hot out.” As a result, the laws prevent you from doing just about anything that resembles hunting, unless you do it to animals in season. You can probably get fined for saying “BOO” to the wrong animal.

I think I’m forbidden to even walk within a certain distance of a tortoise hole. Like I know where they are.

I like the game camera. I should have bought a better one, but this one is fun. Maybe I’ll eventually see something other than a crow, coon, coyote, or fox. If I do, I will certainly let you know.