masks, lemon juice & juan o’savin

it was sunday morning. she got up early, declaring, “this is the day the lord has made, i will rejoice and be glad in it.” she said it again for good measure, so the liar clearly understood he had no entry today. 

she fed the cat. made coffee. listened to another podcast. in her thoughts, she said, “thank you, lord, that i have a mind like a steel trap.” she would not be ashamed of it again. all the information and data she was absorbing would be critical in the future.

she powered through her morning prayers and prayed in tongues for a bit. then the shopping list came to mind. 

she is a planner. anyone who *knows* her knows this. while some make fun, they are secretly pleased she’s gifted this way. she has a plan for every contingency. wisdom sees ahead and makes plans. #hello. 

there were a few nagging things to get before the truckers went on strike after thanksgiving. holy spirit spoke up, “go get your things.” she messed around on amazon checking prices until he nudged her again with a spiritual cattle prod. angels nearly pushed her out the door. “okay, okay, i’m going!” 

what was the urgency here? timing. timing is everything. 

she walked into the store like she usually did: no makeup, no eyebrows. and no mask. 

pulling up her list on the phone, she quickly filled empty water jugs and grabbed the first few items on the list. after that, she searched out the right aisle to get two bottles of organic lemon juice. a pretty, energetic younger woman with a mask on called her out. “you don’t have a mask on.” 

ugh. another karen. great. she met the woman’s eyes and gave her usual response of a having a medical exemption with barely concealed irritation. the woman said, “oh.” she began walking back down the aisle toward the lemon juice muttering, “mind your own effing business.” 

when she got to the lemon juice, she discovered she couldn’t reach the large sized bottles. several had been sold, so the remaining stock was at the back of the shelf. the man behind her with a cart came to the rescue, offering to help. he was taller, kind, saying he was happy to help where he could. 

somehow, conversation began. the trucker’s strike in support of the trump administration was the first topic and they quickly learned they were of like minds.  mask conversation ensued (of course it did) and she shared her recent experience with the woman a few minutes earlier. 

as they talked and discussed shared similar mindsets, a woman walked up on them from the other direction. no, you can’t make this up, and yes, it was..

it was the pretty younger woman who’d asked about her mask. the light bulb came on for all them at the same time. the woman was actually giving her a compliment for not having a mask on, not criticizing her. but because she had a mask on, her smile of encouragement wasn’t visible. oi vey.

she was mortified. that was the first time she’d ever told anyone to mind their own business. they were all laughing. and it was all okay. clearly, father god had set up the entire exchange for them to meet and connect. 

she gave them her contact information. they were stoked at how they met because they didn’t usually shop on sunday morningsneither did she..

it was time to mobilize the local warriors. 

and juan o’savin’s new book, “kid by the side of the road,” would be very useful.

Artwork credit: Chris Taylor/SeraphimChris

copyright 2020 © jane doe productions llc

obedience and reward

glorious and grueling. those were the best descriptors to tie the whole week together. events and details were interwoven for eternity. god assignments, god moments, god words, god plans, god words. “unconventional.” “stay in wonder.”

you couldn’t make it up. nothing compared as she watched the movie reel of their time together. glorious and grueling. warfare was off the chain, but mercy and grace followed them every day. her love was more tangible and unconditional than it had ever been. she wanted to know what love was. this was new, a new height and a new depth. 

when the week was over, life was different, the apartment too quiet. the struggle to move forward into the next assignment was real. she cried out for help from heaven. once the destination hotel reservations were made, breakthrough came and grace covered the route planning and remaining details.

moving forward was like slogging through knee deep mud. packing was hard. frankly, everything was hard at that point. her heart was shattered but there was no time to manage that. there was work to do. healing could wait but forgiveness could not. forgive willingly, completely, and unconditionally. do it often.

the lord sent help. he always does. the cloud of witnesses is real. one witness showed up with tangible support. she shared jesus with this one in another realm months ago, watching as he crossed into heaven after he received the truth. he was grateful and in turn, was assigned to look after her. they were fast friends now.

as she processed events in her big chair, she heard a knock on the door. she opened it to find the witness standing there. she collapsed into his arms. he held her as she sobbed. he was a good friend.

a few days later, she packed the car and turned her keys over to another faithful friend. this one stood in strength and prayer at home, a significant, critical role.  

an ice storm hit that morning (of course it did) making the first few hours of the journey a minefield. old triggers tried to attach as vehicles slid into ditches. holy spirit coached her, encouraging her to focus. the triggers found no place to land. 

as she drove, her witness friend slipped into the passenger seat next to her. his mood was somber, like hers. she thanked him for showing up, grateful for his presence as they drove the highways and interstates together. the miles were filled with prayer, worship, strategy and tears, a different order every day. 

she spent the first night in peoria, nearly choking on her dinner as she watched, ‘the property brothers,’ on hgtv. the enemy held nothing back as unsuspecting viewers were encouraged to furnish their homes with freemasonry symbology designed on furniture and flooring. symbolism will be their downfall.

then came columbus. plenty to pray through as she saw the lexner name on several buildings. these bloodline families are arrogant, believing their good works will cover their evil deeds. this is not how it works. 

on the third day, she crossed over the beltway. authority was granted and she kicked into gear. time to work. she quickly put the witch covens on lockdown, severely limiting any plans they had to disrupt the worship event scheduled for sunday night. 

praying in tongues, she navigated the george washington parkway, laughing out loud as father said, “welcome home, honey.” she gave him an affectionate eyeroll and shook her head. that would be another conversation at a different time. 

the hotel was dark (of course it was.) she put angels to work cleaning her room, settled in, ate dinner and crashed. exhaustion was right there, waiting for her agreement to disable her body and take over the agenda. she pushed it back and focused on the work. 

seventeen is a lovely number, a favorite number used by the elites. seventeen intelligence agencies are strategically placed in the freemasonry architecture of the district of Columbia, which has also served as the military arm of the elite until president trump. symbolism will be their downfall. nothing could stop what was coming. every patriot had a part to play; she was playing hers. 

she slept fitfully, thoughts racing through her mind as she worked to land the plan for sunday. when she woke, she prayed through the normal morning prayer, customizing it for the day. tongues were forceful. no time for play. 

Washington Dc, C, City, Urban, Washington Monument
photo credit: pixabay

when early afternoon arrived, she got a lyft ride with a paranoid covid driver who didn’t want to take her without a mask. she quickly won him over and they settled into conversation. she read him to see what truth she could give him during their short time together. listening to his story, she built him up and gave him a generous tip. 

most people didn’t understand what they were giving place to; that’s the insidious nature of witchcraft.  the mask silences your voice, takes away your breath. this is an occult ritual along with the farcical social distancing edict. what you do not know will hurt you eight ways from sunday.

it was cold and rainy, damp as she exited the lyft near the washington monument. she soon discovered she was underdressed. ugh. nothing to do about it now. she had to suck it up for a few hours. at least she had an umbrella. 

she spent the first hour and a half in strategic work, waiting for holy spirit to give her instructions, executing them and sending them across every age, realm, timeline, and dimension, past present and future, into infinity and beyond. this is not a game. she, like many, knew there was one shot at this thing. military precision and timely execution were key. 

the worship event was starting soon. she crossed the street to the national mall assessing the food trucks on hand to feed the hungry worshippers and tourists. the chosen vendor cooked her food and placed it in her hands with a smile. she walked toward the stage quickly eating the hot chicken, joining thousands of people for this epic event. 

she was to blend in the crowd, staying hidden from the witches, warlocks and satanists who were also present. her tongues would weaken any remaining evil juice they had left after the covens were put on lockdown. 

settled on the right edge of the mall, she finished her food and prepared her heart and mind for the worship. this was no time to leave anything on the table. too much was at stake. tears came quickly and easily as sean feucht welcomed the masses.

*for such a time as this* was the understatement of the century. as the music began, she leaned into holy spirit to see what to release and when. timing is everything. 

arms raised, tears streaming down her cheeks, she purposed to give jesus everything she had, even with her heart in pieces. father honored her in that place with comfort and a promise, saying, “soon, child, soon.” she pressed into him more deeply. he was faithful. 

as the worship continued, people poured onto the mall, bringing passion, devotion and prayers before the throne. in this mass appeal to heaven, lives were redeemed while demonic structures and institutions were torn down. heaven was being pulled on hard by the saints. 

a family of five moved into the open area in front of her, the husband and father, the wife and mother, two daughters and a son. there was a peace and beauty on them, a tangible unity you could touch and feel. the wife and mother was radiant. she was well loved and honored. the children were secure and confident even in their youth. 

she watched them together as they began to worship, all five of them. this was church. this was true family. and there was more. 

the rain began to fall on the crowd. already in love with the family in front of her, she did what a mother does and walked forward toward them. in a few steps she was behind them all holding her umbrella high over the little group. the beauty of the moment, the love of her gesture caught the family off guard as they realized she had moved in behind them to keep them dry. 

after a few moments, the wife and mother, andrea, turned to thank her and make introductions. suddenly, she was family. andrew, the husband and father, stood at her right, towering over all of them at six feet and six inches tall. 

he held their young son in his right arm as he leaned down to her and gently took the umbrella from her right hand with his left hand. “let me hold this for us.” she looked back at him, grateful for her inclusion into their clan. “i wasn’t supposed to be here alone.” his eyes expressed compassion and understanding without the need for spoken words. 

tears pricked at her eyes as she felt his immense love for his family. he was their protector and they knew it. in her heart, she spoke to abba, “i want that..” 

after a time, everyone prayed for the state they were from. her newly adopted family moved often so they named the states they had lived. to her surprise, andrew was from her own home state. they visited, held hands and prayed together as a family, all six of them. 

she took time to draw the little girls close to her and hug them. they hugged her back. family. worship continued, then more prayer, assignments were given to people. lou engle called upon the daughters of eve to rise up and defeat jezebel, asking everyone to lay hands on the women around them. 

she watched as andrew reached forward with his right hand and placed it on andrea’s shoulder. what he did next wrecked her. he placed his left hand on her shoulder to pray for her, too. now the floodgates were open, and tears streamed down her cheeks again. “father, i want this..” the silent prayer.

this man was unlike most she had ever met. he sang over his young son as he held him. the love and devotion he showed toward his family was unhindered and limitless. he knew who he was and he willingly took his position. 

this family were her gift that cold, rainy, once in lifetime evening, worshipping on the national mall in washington dc. they were her great reward for obedience in the face of circumstances beyond her control. 

she was cold, tired, spent. abba spoke up, told her to go home, her assignment was done. she heard the pleasure in his voice and her step was lighter for it as she walked back across the national mall to get a lyft. 

after returning to her room, she organized her things for departure the next morning.

the journey home was largely uneventful, save for road construction delays and some fog. 

her friend from the cloud of witnesses made part of the trip with her again. the assignment behind her, she could focus on matters of the heart. there were many, along with songs, prayers and tears to accompany them. 

obedience forces his hand. 

the reward is great on the road less traveled.

copyright © 2020 jane doe productions llc