Do What I'm Told

I have no idea what I'm doing, no idea of how to write a blog, or promote a blog; I have no idea how to link what I write in the blog to Facebook, even though a friend once did that for me. I somehow managed to delete it, and have no idea how to get it back. I have no idea about a lot of things these days, and these days have lasted for years now. But what do you do, when God talks to you? When an unseen hand jerks you up and out of your normal life, into what sometimes seems like dreams I had...only I know they weren't dreams. Visions, maybe, but not dreams.

It's not like a voice resounds in your head, or in the air; God's voice comes as thoughts, and of course, they're thoughts you never had before, and never anticipated having, ever. Although, in the beginning of it, there were no thoughts, per SE. There was an awareness in me, of something different about the world I'd been living in, a heightened awareness of smells, for one thing. I kept smelling something that was evil, and even as I said the word "evil", there was an awareness that that was an odd word for me to be using. The evil smell was plastic, at first, then the chemical smells of all different kinds of drugs that were being used at the first hospital they put me in. Yes, when you talk to God, and God talks back, everybody assumes you're nuts. I demonstrated my insanity by saying, "No, no. You cannot do this; you must not do this thing, for I am God's daughter. I am the Daughter of Zion." Police were manhandling me, and I remember being concerned for them, afraid that they'd be punished for mistreating me, so I was trying to be helpful, to warn them against the consequences of their actions. A good while after the first incident, I came to understand that the smell of plastic and chemicals IS evil, for it came from evil, and yes, that's an archaic word, but it's the one that fits. We were never supposed to go to the places science went to, to get the knowledge required to invent plastic, rubber, paint, hell, everything that makes up our world. We have become what the eggheads in the fifties warned us we would be : a plastic society. We're all a bunch of fakes, living in a fake world that we call "the real world."

So, what do you do when God talks to you and tells you to take off walking, and hitchhike for 400 miles? And you're a 43-year-old woman? If you're me, you hitchhike. That was because I doubted. Even after looking in the Bible to see if there really is "God", and seeing so many details of my life written thousands of years before America existed, I still wanted proof. So I flippantly said to Him, "Prove it. Prove to me that you are God, and real. Protect me from harm while I hitchhike from here to Carrollton." As soon as I laid down the challenge, it was accepted. I figured if this is God, I would be safe. If it wasn't, I'd be killed, and since I didn't care one way or the other about that, I took off walking when the thought occurred to me to head out. I took a purse, but threw it into a ditch about ten miles up the road. It was starting to get dark, and a little chilly, but I wasn't in the least concerned; I knew I'd be fine.

I accepted five rides on the interstate, the rides I was told to accept. Between these rides, there were times when cars approached, and the thought came to hide, so I would step over the guardrail, crouch down until all the cars had passed, then head out again. Five rides, from five men, not a hair on my head was touched. One even took me to his apartment for a shower and a sandwich before I headed back on my way. Another one gave me six dollars and the cup of coffee he'd just bought for himself. He was on his way to work. The six dollars was his drinks money for breaks. You know, it's not safe for a woman to travel alone along a dark interstate highway, not safe to accept rides from strangers, everybody knows that. Yet, I did, and I was safe from harm. You might say I got lucky that time....but that wasn't the only time. I was kept safe every time, and always helped a long the way by kind strangers. What am I supposed to do, what am I supposed to think about this? This is only one aspect of all that has happened since June of 1998, when I first was touched by the hand of God.

I've learned a lot in the last 25 years...but now how to blog. I've witnessed many miracles. I've had experiences that cannot be explained away, not to me. You see, what many many people call crazy is the way all the Old Testament prophets acted. At times they seemed like lunatics, ranting and raving, cursing everybody in sight, threatening all kinds of terrible things that would happen if they didn't listen! And change! Repent! Sin no more! In those days, people listened. Even if they didn't believe a word of it, they listened. Maybe for the entertainment value, I don't know, but they listened. They talked among themselves, wondering, speculating as to whether that guy knew what he was talking about or not. Today, they don't listen, and they don't wonder; they just lock you up, either in a jail, or an institution for the mentally ill.

But I have to keep trying.