Category: Politics

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The Call to Homestead

Lisa Burbank

“I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” (Psalm 4:8)

The need to become more self-sufficient has moved from yearning to this almost panic-filled need. We’re running out of time. Both economic depression and the threat of nuclear war loom, and our leaders fly off to Davos to plot how to take everything away from the average working class citizen. There have been countless headlines quoting Mr. Schwab as saying we will own nothing and we will be happy about it. I’m probably paraphrasing a bit but, the overall gist is there. Yes, I can play devil’s advocate here a moment and say, sure, maybe it’s propaganda, a conspiracy theory. But, what if it isn’t? What if the goal really is a 15 minute city where we will own nothing for ourselves?

Would we be happier without ownership?

First of all, as a Christian, anything I own I do so by the grace of God. What I have truly belongs to Him. Would I be happier having those gifts taken away?

Despite the new position at the library, I’m still staring foreclosure in the face. It’s a lengthy and stressful process and there’s no guarantee that I will be successful in my endeavors. One could argue that, if I wasn’t a homeowner, this stress would not exist. I wouldn’t be fretting about losing everything that I have worked for in my life up to this point. And that is true. There’s also the multitude of repairs that fall on my shoulders as homeowner…repairs that have gotten out of hand in recent years. There’s the zoning issue still hovering over me like a black cloud. In short, the more you have, the more you stand to lose.

But, let’s spin this around a bit.

If we don’t own anything, what is the point of working, of setting goals? Whether we own a house, a car, etc. doesn’t change the fact that we still have to have food to eat. That is also true. But isn’t the purchasing of food a form of ownership? If you don’t own the place where you live, it is likely your landlord will not allow you to put in a garden. You won’t be able to raise livestock for eggs, for dairy, for meat…if you eat such things. I was a vegetarian for over 20 years. I know one can survive without consuming animal flesh. However, the loss of certain B vitamins, especially B-12, wreaks havoc with your nervous system. Stress, anxiety, depression often stem from a lack of these vitamins. And supplements are expensive. The purchase of such is also a form of ownership.

Now let’s go back to the garden. You can’t have one. You don’t own the land upon which your leased/rented home sits. What if you truly enjoy gardening? And what if you’re an introvert, like me, and the thought of a community garden makes you feel physically ill at times? If it’s not YOUR garden alone, you may be limited by what you can plant there. If you’re a herbalist like me, growing purely medicinal plants would likely be prohibited. Big Pharma doesn’t like competition, or a loss of control. So you don’t own the land. You can’t garden, which brings you joy. You can’t grow the types of food you enjoy eating. You can’t grow and make your own medicines, or even health and beauty aids. You’ll have to buy from big box stores, or online retailers. What’s in that food? That medicine? That skincare supplement?

Okay. You’re not a gardener. Maybe you like swimming in a pool, hosting backyard barbecues. Guess what? You can’t do that either. It’s not your land. And the people at Davos, who fly around in their private jets, just decreed that barbecues are environmentally unfriendly. The smoke produces too much CO2. As do cows. No steak. No hamburgers. No cheese to melt over that petrie dish substitute.

What if you’re not an outdoors kind of person at all? You don’t own your home. The landlord doesn’t allow pets. He/she doesn’t want you painting the walls. Your place isn’t big enough for a workshop to build things, like furniture. And your kitchen only consists of a microwave and a single induction burner. Baking, canning what you grew at the community garden, or cooking healthy meals is next to impossible (microwaves destroy all of the wholesome goodness in the food cooked in them). You can’t knit. Raising livestock is outlawed (that CO2 thing again) so no wool, angora, or mohair to work with. Acrylics will disappear, too, since we’re no longer drilling for oil.

Maybe you like taking the occasional long drive in the country. Yes, improvements in batteries for electric vehicles (EV) are happening all the time these days. But at what cost to the environment? No, oil and gasoline are not infinite resources. Neither are cadmium or nickel, or any other precious metal. Yes, drilling for oil does tremendous harm to the environment. But so does mining for these metals. Like coal, mountains are dug out, and run-off from the mining pollutes the soil and water. However, to get back on subject, you want to take that drive. But you don’t own a vehicle–EV or otherwise–and the EVs left at the community garage are all in use today. Sorry.

Does this sound like a happy existence?

If we own nothing, we also cease to own our joy. By owning nothing, we give up our right to choose for ourselves. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want some wrinkled up prune in Davos telling me I can’t pick a few dandelion leaves to feed to my rabbits, or even a salad for myself. I don’t want anyone telling me I can’t take a road trip someday to visit my brother in Tennessee because he’s outside of my 15 minute zone. I don’t want to eat synthetic, processed foods, or wear plastic clothing. I want the freedom to make truly healthy choices for me, my family, my pets, and my community.

I also don’t want to be at the mercy of the “system”. What happened in 2020 will last in my memory forever. The walk into the grocery store and seeing aisles of completely empty shelves. Companies, stores, libraries completely shutdown. Places of worship closed until further notice. Loved ones denied the right to say a proper “goodbye” to those they lost. The loss of employment for so many because they refused to become human guinea pigs in their real-world experiments. And now, watching so many young people–healthy, young athletes–dropping after accepting a jab to the arm as part of that experiment.

The less dependent on that “system” we are, the less that fabricated shortages, shutdowns, and experiments will hurt us. Even a window box will produce some food and reduce some of that dependence. It may not be enough to sustain you completely, but start there. Learn how to can food and pick up produce at a farmer’s market. Or even on sale at the grocery store. Learn how to make pet food from scratch. If you can, invest in a chest freezer. Find someone in your community who knows how to find and identify wild edibles. Visit your local library and check out books on the Great Depression. Or comb YouTube for videos on the same. What did our ancestors do to make it through? There is a sense of pride that comes with being able to make your own way in the world, in being able to cook from scratch, grow a few tomatoes and herbs in a pot, split wood for a fire in a stove.

There is a sense of pride in owning a home, too. Yes, you can become a slave to that ownership, especially during hard times. And there’s no denying the cost. Not everyone can afford homeownership and that is the real tragedy in our society today. Houses have gotten progressively bigger and more expensive. At the risk of sounding like one of those conspiracy theorists, perhaps that’s part of the plan from some of our leaders. But the freedom to live as one chooses is worth the fight.

Even Jesus gives us the right to choose.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Addiction, Alcoholism, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Culture, Diversity, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, God/Jesus, Healing, Human rights, Humanity First, Politics, Social Media, Understanding

I’ve Joined the Cult, Part II

Lisa Burbank

“Don’t just pretend that you love others: really love them. Hate what is wrong. Stand on the side of the good. Love each other with brotherly affection and take delight in honoring each other.” (Romans 12:9-10)

After hitting the “Publish” button earlier this morning, I flew out of my home office, behind as always. Roosters were crowing incessantly and felines threatened to trip me up all along my “route” as I filled bowls with food and water. Yet my mind was still racing along with my feet.

Our present social climate deeply concerns me. Not just media, or government, but friends and family, too, strive to silence any opposing opinion these days…encouraged and emboldened by that same media and government. They do so with scorn, with derision, by labeling and belittling. They embrace the constant fight-or-flight dialogue in media, and social media, the insidious fear-mongering that would keep us as sheep, never questioning what we see around us.

This post, and the one before it, may have to be taken down at some point. They will likely get flagged on social media. God forbid someone openly considers an alternative to what has become the norm today.

I’ll risk it.

So much for Freedom of Speech, or Freedom of Press.

It is worrisome. Anyone who questions the efficacy, or the validity, of this *jab* is labeled: cultish; conspiracy theorist; domestic terrorist.

Why?

There has never been, to my knowledge, any drug, or medication, or medical procedure, that has not come with risks. We see the infomercials every day when we turn on the television. We hear them on the radio as we drive down the street. And we shake our heads at the often lengthy list of side effects associated with each one–many of them worse than the malady they’re designed to control (they never really cure you of anything; there’s no money in that). Somebody, somewhere, has questioned the efficacy and the validity of these medications in the infomercials. We don’t suppress those. Instead, we glorify them for the advertisers who hope to get you dependent upon them. Often with good outcomes, such as controlling one’s diabetes, or high blood pressure, etc., but the dependency is still made…if we CHOOSE the treatment encouraged by our medical practitioners. Always before we’ve been allowed to make these choices for ourselves.

But not this time.

This time, we are obviously too stupid to make any choices for ourselves…without having a blue ring stuck in our nose by which to be led around.

Why is it not okay to question this new medicine? Why are we being compelled to accept without question? What makes this *jab* any different from Prozac, or Metoprolol, for example, that it should be exempt from the usual scrutiny or initial distrust? And, more importantly, why does our government, and friends and family, seek to punish us by the loss of our jobs/income, by the loss of our homes and all that we have worked for through the loss of that income, by isolating us from each other for not complying? Why are we being labeled as social pariahs merely for making an informed choice as we have always been allowed to do with any other medicine or medical procedure…rather than nodding incessantly like a stuffed dog in the rearview window?

“It’s a pandemic” is the usual response to such questions; it’s catching.

So is the flu. We’ve never been threatened with job loss, or social isolation, for not getting a flu shot.

Perhaps that’s next on the agenda…

But, more importantly, we must ask ourselves, should we be normalizing the constraints and practices implemented under a special circumstance? For example, should we have grown up with each of us wearing one of those creepy, bird-masks used during the Spanish Flu a century ago…just in case it might still be “catching”? Yes, they were the stuff of nightmares, and it seems ludicrous in this context, but so is seeing the loss of personal autonomy over our own bodies.

I’ve talked a lot in my blog about growing up in an alcoholic home. I’ve talked about the abuse. And the suppression of following one’s natural instincts and inclinations. When my stepfather thought he was losing control of us, when we said something that he didn’t like, or disagreed with him, he got directly in our faces and, with each *point* he made, he slapped the counter beside us, pounded the end table, to punctuate it. Though he never laid a hand on us during his monologues, our bodies jumped with each slap, or pounding of a fist, on that hard surface. It was fear-mongering at its finest. Other times, he pulled the guilt card. How could I have called the cops on him? Look at that record album he bought for me last week…much like we all got $1200 in a stimulus check so we should be grateful and allow our bodies and minds to be controlled by those who gave it to us.

Perhaps we should all adopt a 12-Step program to cure our addictions to both the mainstream and social media’s biases…

Yes, there is a lot of misinformation out there. Sadly, it seems to occur more frequently within the same party that supposedly champions equality for everyone regardless of color, religion, gender/identification, or socioeconomic status.

Apparently, diverse political ideologies don’t deserve the same equal rights…even those of us who usually identify with a more progressive party, but are still questioning what we see in the media, and on the streets, today. How dare we!

This is wrong, and frightening, on so many levels.

Going back to one of my opening paragraphs, yes, family and friends do belittle and label those of us who are questioning and choosing differently than they have but, usually, only on social media. Rarely do I hear labels, or belittling tactics, in person. The armchair social media junkie is bold and brash only when they cannot see the hurt their careless remarks inflict on another human being. Like the alcoholic who hides behind their addiction, and tries to control the world around them because they, themselves, are out of control, these armchair *experts* who espouse their-way-or-the-highway ideologies, forget that there are fellow human beings on the receiving end of their tirades. Perhaps if we all remembered that, and responded accordingly, the strangle-hold of our dopamine addiction would finally heal. Isn’t that what Jesus would do? Instead, there doesn’t appear to be even a feigned attempt to listen to our brothers and sisters, or to try to understand where they’re coming from. Such humanity is discouraged…and labeled a threat.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve hit rock-bottom.

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

Abuse, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Emergency Preparedness, Exhaustion, Faith, Healing, Homesteading, Human rights, Humanity First, Politics, Poverty, Prayer, Prepping, Social Media

I’ve Joined a Cult…or, So They Tell Me

Lisa Burbank

“There is a saying, ‘Love your friends and hate your enemies’. But I say: Love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!” (Matthew 5:43-44)

I have a different opinion than my “leftist” brothers and sisters. It is an opinion based upon news articles, and both independent and foreign news outlets, because I don’t consider our own mainstream media trustworthy. Their advertisers, who support their programming, are all too often big pharma, big tech, big oil, agribusiness, monetized green energies, and/or corporate America. That creates a bias. Who, in their right mind, is going to bite the hand that feeds them? As I re-enter academia to receive my Masters, I am reminded again that biased information is to be avoided…and how to tell if it is biased or not. I look for peer-reviewed information, when I can find it, and really dig down deep for any reason that might create a bias when I can’t find a peer-reviewed article on a subject. I’m not perfect, but I do my best.

Sadly, it’s becoming dangerous to think for yourself. Were the men who orchestrated The Boston Tea Party to rise up against the tyranny of the British monarchy today, like the Canadian truckers, they’d be labeled fascists and white supremacists, even with no evidence to the contrary. How dare you fight for individual freedom? Considering the outcome of The Boston Tea Party, it’s not much of a stretch to think that maybe the Canadian government is afraid of a similar outcome. They’re certainly afraid of a loss of control.

And, by proxy, so are our U.S. leaders.

These are scary times. That almost cliched expression of our Founding Fathers rolling over in their graves is apt; they would be if they could see us today.

I’ve been homesteading and prepping for years, albeit with some major setbacks (shoulder injury with subsequent job loss, pending foreclosure, zoning challenge). I see the hardships coming as big pharma, big tech, big oil, agribusiness, monetized green energies and corporate America continue to crush the working poor, the small business owners and the family farms by ever stricter regulations…with these shutdowns being the final nail in the coffin for far too many. I see the challenges to our individual freedoms, the hypocrisy of “my body, my choice” when it comes to ending the life of an innocent child, but how dare you fight for that same bodily autonomy when it comes to getting jabbed with something whose long-term affects are still unknown and that has neither stopped the spread, nor protected any from contracting, this new *bug*. I see the attempts to keep us divided, distracted, and ignorant.

An acquaintance of mine posted a picture on social media of her well-stocked pantry last October after she’d finished canning everything from her garden. Her post was tagged. She is considered a “radical” and “a person of interest”. For canning her produce instead of wasting it?

Or for independent thought and action?

So, I guess I have joined “the cult”. Like Senator Bernie Sanders, who embraced the “socialist” label, rather than rebel against it, I, too, will accept the label. You may disagree with me. That’s okay. Sadly, though, by labeling each other, we shutdown the time-honored tradition of debate and discourse that has been the cornerstone of any grassroots’ movement, of any significant change or advancement of our society. Closing the door to one’s mind only leads to a dead end.

Open the door. Open your mind. And pray without ceasing.

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

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Happy New Year 2022!

Lisa Burbank

“For you have a new life. It was not passed on to you from your parents, for the life they gave you will fade away. This new one will last forever, for it comes from Christ, God’s ever-living Message to men.” (1 Peter 1:23)

I find myself unable to think of a word, or biblical phrase, to define this year. I’ve thought of “Intention”. “Trust”. “Discipline”. I need to work on all of these…and a phrase/verse from the Bible to help remind me.

Wow.

I guess I really am mired in depression. See? I need to work on that trust issue for sure!

But, as always, on New Years’, I like to take a moment to reflect on the year past and remember those loved ones who will never again grace The Herbal Hare in life.

Praise the Lord, my human family has been hale and hearty this year. =) However, we did lose the boss of the barnyard this past spring. Sgt. Feathers, my Polish crested rooster, is protecting his ladies in heaven these days. And while his sons, Radar and MIG, and grandson, Jeep, are doing their best to carry on with protecting our living flock, it seems strange not to hear his trumpeting anymore…followed closely by a little, squeaky half-pint of a crowing. Tank, the little Silkie, who, having followed so closely at Sgt. Feathers’ heels in life, followed his commander closely in death, too. I lost them within a few days of each other. With Sgt. Feathers, it had been expected; every day was a gift. He was quite old for a roo (10) and had started walking almost hunched over like the old man he was. Tank, however, is a mystery. No sign of illness or injury. But, because they like to peck the ground, parasites are always an issue…no matter how clean and careful you are with their environment.

Sgt. Feathers
Tank

We also lost two beloved felines this year.

Only a few days after I posted last New Year’s memorial, Mom’s cat, Rosco, left us. Rosco had an interesting life. He was found atop a house in Illinois during all the flooding in the Midwest over a decade ago. No clue who his owners were, he was brought to a local shelter. Mom and my stepfather were shopping at PetSmart one weekend. The store was hosting an adoption clinic this day. Mom saw Rosco and fell in love. But my stepfather said, “No, no more cats!”. She worked on him as they wandered the store and, as they reached the checkout, he relented.

But Rosco had already been adopted…

…by their upstairs neighbor in the apartment complex where they lived! Said neighbor did not take good care of him though. Mom watched in horror as this declawed kitty had his front paws intentionally raked over the rough bark of a tree, lost weight due to inadequate feeding, and lastly was kicked by the neighbor’s boyfriend. Mom saw them outside with him on a leash, marched over, picked Rosco up and walked away with him. When the couple protested and threatened to call the police, Mom challenged them to go right ahead so she and the other neighbors could all tell the police how cruel they had been to this little guy. Poor Rosco had to have his jaw wired from the kick. And had to be fed frequent, tiny meals for awhile until his shrunken stomach could handle more substantial amounts of food. He grew to expect the frequent feedings though. He was quite fat by the end of his days…except his tail, which stood up skinny and reminiscent of the wire used to guide the bumper cars at a fair. He rode shotgun on the dashboard of Mom’s minivan when she traveled across country from Missouri to Connecticut to move in with me back in 2014. His “hoot” will be missed (Rosco’s jaw remained misshapen due to the abuse he endured before Mom rescued him and he could not articulate a more traditional “Me-ow!”).

Rosco

Lastly, Kirby. We lost him in May 2021. Kirby came to “visit” for the first time in the spring of 2014. I heard some of the resident felines howling in protest in the kitchen, went to investigate, and saw a bright-eyed little face peeking in over the window ledge. He did this for several nights…all while I protested I did not *need* another cat. He probably belongs to a neighbor, he’s just passing through, etc. But he kept coming back. And, finally, I determined that, yes, God had planted another stray kitty in my path. I started feeding him, gaining his trust. It took a few months (!!??!) before I was able to trap him and get him indoors. And then another couple of weeks of him being isolated in a room by himself until I could get him to a vet.

He howled all the way to the vet office, ripped open his toes trying to claw his way out of the travel cage, and then shot out of the cage and placed bloody runnels down the exam room walls as soon as the doc opened the cage. He had to be sedated so she could examine him, patch up his mangled toes, neuter and give him his shots. I seriously thought this was one baby who was too feral for a forever indoor home.

He proved me wrong.

Mom had just arrived with Rosco and Max, her blue heeler we lost a couple of years’ ago, and Kirby and Rosco became bosom buddies, along with Paz, my geriatric tuxedo. Then, a few months’ later, when a pregnant Priscilla was dumped off on the farm, he minded her babies like the proud surrogate Papa he became to them. He, Ozzy, Emmylou, and Alice Cooper became inseparable, and he was a sort of ambassador to every poor feline this farm has taken in since.

However, I proved him wrong, too. I told him he would love laps someday…and I was right. Once he was reassured that he was loved and there would always be someone to care for him, he was the ultimate cuddle kitty. =)

Kirby with his adopted “sons”, Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne (l to r)

Both Rosco and Kirby, Priscilla late last December, and earlier in 2020, my Pearl, all developed kidney and heart disease rather suddenly after using Seresto collars. I don’t know if there is a correlation, though I did see an article in USA Today in regard, stating that these collars are being linked to possible kidney and heart disease; I have not found the link to that article today but, I did find a more recent news article about how certain lawmakers are asking that these collars be recalled. There have been reported incidents in the thousands as regards these collars so, please, proceed with caution if you are using them for your pets. I have included the link below so you may read it for yourselves. My then-vet suggested the kidney and heart failure was simply due to their age. Granted, Pearl was 16 when she passed; Kirby and Rosco both estimated at 12-13 years’ of age. Priscilla, however, was only 7, a bit too young, in my opinion and experience, to be struck with organ failure. No sign of illness in any of them prior to these sudden downturns…and I do mean sudden. Rosco had been playing with me like a young kitten just 3 days’ earlier when all of a sudden, he just stopped eating and started shutting down. We have since found a new vet as the “old” one refused to take my concerns seriously when I voiced them to him. I may be wrong about the collars but, it seems, I am not alone in my concerns with them.

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/seresto-flea-collar-recall-pet-deaths/

Kirby; the best ones are the ones who choose you (sigh!)

In addition to these memorials, I think it is safe to say that 2021 was even more challenging than 2020. I’ve alienated a lot of friends due to my stance as regards mandating getting jabbed with something that neither protects one from contracting an illness, nor prevents one from spreading it. I’ve been a Democrat all of my life; I am seriously considering at least becoming “unaffiliated” as I cannot abide the hate and vitriol being spewed about by others of the party. The fear-mongering by mainstream media; the attempts to force us into a police, or authoritarian state; the lack of respect for others who do not share the same views have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I actually owe President Trump an apology for being so anti-Trump during his tenure. While he will never be a favorite of mine, yeah, it really was a witch hunt…one, I am ashamed to say, I contributed to widely on social media.

I don’t know what this new year will bring. The media continues to cry for the arrest, ostracism, and abuse of those who either cannot, or will not, take their (in my opinion) poison**. Gasoline is up to $3.60 per gallon here in New England for regular unleaded; I’m sure it will rise even higher as we approach summer. Empty shelves grace the local Walmart and grocery stores, and there’s sticker shock when you do find what you’re looking for. On a more personal note, while foreclosure is still eminent here at The Herbal Hare, I find myself even more committed to homesteading, and now prepping, than ever before. I cannot help but think a collapse of some sort is eminent. I pray I am wrong, but it doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. Perhaps you’re all thinking, there goes another whacked out conspiracy theorist. But, maybe, just maybe, there’s something to those conspiracies. (No, I don’t think little green men are injecting tracking devices under our skin, but I do see changes in government, in our society, that make me think I may have to carry around special papers proclaiming myself “free” (passport anyone?), or don a special band marking me as some sort of enemy (face masks?))

However, I am committed to building a community of like-minded people, too. None of us are islands unto ourselves; we need community. Perhaps the word I’m looking for this year is “tribe”. Regardless of whether or not you agree with me on a social or political level, when all is said and done, this year I feel it is especially important to at least be kind to one another. We are all struggling during this turmoil. And our tribe, or family, is who we choose to care for.

But this is all just what I think. I invite you to share, whether you agree or not, in the comments below. I do ask that you be respectful of others, and of this blog, by refraining from profanity, name-calling, bullying or belittling; again, we are all one family, each a very special part of the body of Christ, none of us whole without the other. That being said, regardless of what you believe (or not!); how you look; who you love; socioeconomic status, or current “jab” status, all are welcome…to this blog, to this community, in my home and in my heart. We got through 2021 together, we can get through 2022 as well…and, hopefully, come out the backside of it in a much better place than we are going in.

Wishing everyone much love, much hope, peace, prosperity and, above all, a deep and abiding faith for the New Year! May God bless you & keep you!

**A note: though my opinion leans towards choice when it comes to matters of health, to everyone who has been *poked*, please know that I respect your choice to do so. It is your body and you have to do what is best for you and yours. I am not “anti” pokes; I am anti mandating personal autonomy. For everyone obsessed with forcing others to do as you do, stop for one moment, please, and think how you would feel if suddenly a mandate was issued that said you were no longer *allowed* to get poked, even though you feel in your heart it is the right thing to do for you and yours.

Again, may God bless you & keep you! Stay safe & stay free!

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Remembering 09/11/2001

Lisa Burbank

“The path of the godly leads away from evil; he who follows that path is safe” (Proverbs 16:17)

I had just come back from the company cafeteria with a cup of tea when a co-worker hollered over the foam-filled cubicle wall, “Oh, my God! Did you see that?” And then a cacophony of voices asking, “What?” “Yes, OMG!” “Holy crap…my sister/mother/brother just texted me; look at this!” “What happened?” and “This can’t be real.”

And, yet, it was.

As the images scrolled across every screen in our corporate facility, I remember glancing at the plate-glass window behind me and trying to imagine what it would be like to see a large commercial airplane heading straight for me. Granted, I was on the ground floor and our facility sprawled rather than rising up to touch the skyline but, at that point, I believed anything could happen. I thought of the family and friends those people would never see again…because, in that instance, you would know there was no escape.

Glancing at the clock on the PC, I picked up my extension (I wouldn’t join the ranks of cellphone users for many years to come), and called my parents’ house in Warwick. I knew they weren’t flying anywhere but, you know, you couldn’t help but check-in with all of your loved ones at a time like this. Every other extension was lit up with the same type of phone calls. Nobody was working on September 11, 2001…outside of first responders and hospital personnel. And, as news footage rolled, janitors, cafeteria workers, assemblers, accountants, executives and technical engineers stood shoulder-to-shoulder to watch in horror.

Mom wasn’t up yet. My stepfather had just awakened, poured a cup of coffee and turned on the TV. His two-plus-packs-a-day-early-morning-gravel declared, “It looks like something out of a Sci-Fi film”. As he could likely quote dialog from Star Trek, I agreed with this assessment. I still had that feeling of otherworldliness myself; it would not wear off for some time. For me, it was more like Freddy Kruger meets Godzilla, or something equally as fantastical and unbelievable.

My stepfather woke my mother up. It felt good just to hear their voices as I watched new footage rolling of people trapped in the upper floors of the Twin Towers jumping to their deaths.

Suddenly, my Mom mentioned a new neighbor of theirs who had sat outside with them a few nights’ earlier, showing off a new tattoo. She remembered it depicted an airplane flying into a pair of towers…

They hung up to call the local police station.

Nobody ever responded, took them seriously…even after they discovered only hours later that the couple had moved out in the middle of the night on September 10th.

Later, as the list of casualties scrolled across every news outlet feed, I learned that Mom had an old high school friend on board one of the planes. Carol was en route to her daughter’s wedding. I can’t imagine her last thoughts…or that of her daughter on what should have been a day filled with joy, not sorrow. And, as my mother’s side of the family is mostly police officers, I couldn’t help but grieve for those who lost their lives trying to save others, while also admiring the bravery that every emergency worker displayed as they rushed in, heedless of their own safety.

Of course, with the renewed sense of patriotism after these attacks, and the pretty much unanimous approval for our commander-in-chief to invade the Middle East, came a great fear in the hearts of many for anyone of Middle Eastern heritage. Or anyone just sporting a head covering of some sort. Memes spread via email hating on anyone Muslim or Middle Eastern…or both. I understood the fear behind it but, when one such meme surfaced quoting passages from the Quran, I decided to risk some censure. The quote and the book didn’t even exist in the Quran (and forgive my faulty memory for not remembering the fake quote from 20 years’ ago). Though I am Christian, I have a copy of the Quran in my home and have read it cover-to-cover. I double checked and then copied down text from the numbered passage the meme claimed as “gospel”.

Yup. I got reamed. Family, friends…was I crazy?

No. Just trying to do what I thought Jesus would do: counter the lie with the truth…and stop the persecution of innocent people. While all members of Al Qaeda and the Taliban identify as Muslim, not every Muslim is a member of Al Qaeda or the Taliban. It’s like members of the Ku Klux Klan claiming to be Christian, but not every Christian is a member of the KKK. Both are fringe extremists of their respective religions and cultures.

I was called un-American for pointing out the error in the aforementioned meme. I had a brother deployed to the Middle East right after 9/11. Of course, I was worried sick over his safety, and that of his brothers- and sisters-in-arms. Of course, I supported (and still support) our troops, our police officers, firefighters, EMT’s and other emergency workers.

And I always will.

As I sit here remembering 09/11/2001, my heart grieves for Every. Single. Life lost in this terrorist attack. I grieve and pray for all of the unsuspecting executives and office workers, maintenance and food preppers, blue color and white color, who went to work that morning never realizing what that day would bring…or the ultimate sacrifice they would have to make. I pray for the passengers and crew aboard each airline. I pray for the emergency workers and first responders who gave so selflessly. I pray for the lives lost over the last 20 years due to the myriad pollutants inhaled during and after the attack. I pray for all of our soldiers, many who also gave the ultimate sacrifice to defend our country, and for those who came back less than whole with limbs missing, sight and/or hearing destroyed, suffering from PTSD and, like so many of our vets from Vietnam, found themselves homeless upon their return to the U.S. (we can do better than this America…). And, yes, I also pray for those caught in a cycle of hate for their heritage and/or beliefs since this attack, whether Muslim or Sikh or any other individual mistaken and mistrusted for something they had no more control over than any other American.

Twenty years…

The children of the soldiers deployed in 2001 are now old enough to be soldiers themselves. 13 of them died as our current administration finally pulled out of Afghanistan. Yes, it was time and past for this war to end.

More criticism: I’ve been told I have no idea how hard it is to pull a whole army out of a country like that and I shouldn’t judge…even though thousands of American citizens and Afghan allies were left behind. I should focus on the, I believe the number is over 120,000, people that were rescued. Focus on the positive; this has never been done before (yeah, there’s an echo chamber here from the previous administration…). Those left behind are essentially hostages now. And, no, I really don’t know how hard it is to pull out of a country like that. But my brother could’ve been one of those 13. And I believe my critics are missing the point completely as we all mourn the loss of who I pray will finally be the last of those lost since 9/11 and the seemingly endless war that has followed in its wake.

May God bless you & keep you!

And may we never forget: 09/11/2001 – 09/11/2021

Animals, Brothers & Sisters, Compassion, Healing, Humanity First, illness, Politics

Vaccine Perils, 2.0

Lisa Burbank

“A merry heart does good like a medicine, but a broken spirit makes one sick.” (Proverbs 17:22)

I don’t remember if I shared this first story here before. For any readers who have been here for a few years, first of all, thank you! And, secondly, my apologies for any redundancy in the retelling. For any new readers, also thank you! The retelling should provide the background without having to search through years of posts.

Anywho…

Back in the summer of 2015 I was sitting in my rabbit room (every respectable rabbit owner should have a special room for their buns, don’t you agree?) when all of a sudden the buns started thumping their back legs. This is their warning system to alert each other that something is amiss in their world. I looked around but couldn’t see anything amiss. Then I heard what sounded like muffled voices outside the open window and then heavy footsteps running away. It was dark outside so I couldn’t see anything but, a moment later, as I stood peering out into the darkness, I heard a caution little “Me-ow!” from below the window.

Another cat dumped off here at The Herbal Hare Homestead.

As it was dark and who knew if the person dropping said kitty off was still about (single female here), I waited until morning to investigate. The beautiful and very pregnant tortoiseshell feline had made her way around to the other side of the house and was waiting on the doorstep. She shied away then rubbed up against me when I opened a can of cat food for her. Later, Mom risked picking her up and putting her into a cage…and got bit!

We went to the ER where she was given both a tetanus and the first in the rabies’ series. Then she left for her sister’s for an overnight stay. I made an appointment with the vet for Priscilla then went into the bathroom where she was being kept separate from the other felines of the household to feed her again.

This time she bit me.

Back to the ER.

Because Priscilla was already quarantined, I didn’t need the rabies’ vaccine but he did give me the tetanus. I’d had a tetanus a few times before so, no big deal. I went home, went to work later that day, and by the time Mom came home that night, I was feeling horrible. I ached everywhere–especially my head–and I felt warm. I grabbed the thermometer and took my temperature. It was 105 degrees.

A third trip to the ER in fewer days.

We were there for hours while they pumped all sorts of electrolytes and pain relievers (mostly Motrin) into me to try and bring my fever down. They’d get it down, take out the IV, and I’d spike again. They were contemplating keeping me overnight but, eventually, I leveled off and they sent me home.

The next morning I was back up to 106 degrees and, in 90+ degree temps outside, burrowing under three of the thickest blankets we own because I was shivering uncontrollably. I couldn’t get warm!??!!

Fast forward to a follow up visit with my doctor and she recommended I get one of those medical bracelets. Most people don’t have an allergy to the tetanus serum. She believed I reacted to one of the preservatives and that, because the preservatives are often present in other vaccines as well, I should avoid things like flu shots and pneumonia shots and shingles shots…you get the picture! I would likely have the same reaction and, next time, she warned, there was a potential it could be worse.

We had another pregnant feline show up on the doorstep towards the end of April this year. This time we weren’t lucky enough to capture her before she birthed. We’ve christened her Zelda and she’s been coming faithfully since April for meals. She’s lovable, friendly, allows us to pet her, but she’s been nursing and we didn’t know where she’d gone to birth them. I even tried following her one time…to no avail. We didn’t want to capture her and have her babies starve to death without her, so we’ve tried to gain her trust with the hopes she would eventually bring them to eat when they got old enough.

Imagine our surprise when we discovered she’d birthed them under our back deck!

Mom spotted them all lounging on the back deck one evening around dusk. I very carefully went out with food in hand, set up a couple of cages, put the food in a bowl and placed it on the ground beside the deck (kittens had all run pell-mell back underneath when they saw me coming towards them). The plan was to wait until they came out for the food and scoop them up. The problem was Mama kitty was standing about 10 feet away, hissing, growling and definitely not being her usual friendly, lovable self. I had visions of her racing to attack if I dared nab any of them.

I wish now that I’d risked it instead of deciding to take it a little slower and gaining their trust better.

About a week later, I found one of the kittens in my barn with a broken leg. No clue how it happened. I took her to the vet. Her chances were good, but the leg was broken in two places, they might have to amputate and it was going to cost thousands of dollars to rehabilitate her…if she made it at all. I had to relinquish her to the local rescue as I simply could not afford the cost of treatment. I’ve been heartsick ever since. I know she would’ve died a horrible death if I hadn’t attempted to help her but I can’t help thinking if I’d grabbed them all that first night and risked Mama’s ire, none of this would have happened.

(I’m super lady, remember? LOL!)

Of course, she also bit me as I was trying to get her into a cage to transport her to the vet.

My tetanus was still good. It’s only been 6 years. But I hemmed and hawed. Should I go to the ER or not? I elected not to initially. The next morning my index finger was three times its normal size and my knuckles were swelling, too. I went to the ER…where the ER doctor promptly scolded me for waiting. He read my records, saw the reaction I had to the tetanus and decided not to give me another. But he kept circling back to this was a stray kitten. Did I know if it was rabid? What about the mother? He was scared to give me the vaccine because of my history but scared not to in case it was rabid. I was scared about the same. Eventually, I gave him the okay to administer the rabies vaccine. The logic was rabies will definitely kill me. The vaccine I have a 50/50 chance and he’s going to be looking for those reactions, prepared to intercede should I react again as I did with the tetanus.

Well, the last three weeks have been horrible! Headaches, body aches, chills, dizziness–this last frightening in that the room has been spinning even while I’m lying down. I’ve missed work that I can ill afford, been nauseous, no appetite. Again, it’s been horrible. Work on my book, my blog, everything has been halted. This weekend has been the first that I’ve felt semi-normal in a very long time.

And what did I hear from a friend yesterday after church?

“Well, if you survived the rabies vaccine, maybe you should think about getting the coronavirus vaccine, too.”

Even though my doctor, and the ER doctor, advised against it given my vaccine history??

I’m shaking my head right now. Everything has come down to political. Nobody cares about each other. They just want you to do what they do. And they will bully and berate you until you do…or call you selfish if you dig your heels in against their reasoning.

Or a sheeple from the other side of the aisle if you do cave.

I had a reaction to a tetanus vaccine, and then a rabies. Both are tried and true. I’d had the tetanus many times before, successfully so. It only takes one bad reaction. And, once it’s in your arm, it’s too late. It simply has to run its course. For some of us, that course might prove deadly.

To be honest, I’m tired of the bullying and berating that I hear on the news, from friends after church, from both sides of the political aisle. I’ve even stopped watching Stephen Colbert because of his promotion ad nauseum of the vaccine. This is a new vaccine that was rushed through the channels, so to speak. Understandably so. We are in the midst of a pandemic. But the FDA has not approved it, there has been no time for long-term testing, and most importantly, 1% of the population that has gotten the vaccine has reacted badly to it. Some have even died. Some had underlying health conditions. Some did not…or at least did not know they had them.

Again, once it’s in your arm, it’s too late.

And I’m not unique in my situation. Since that first episode with the tetanus, I’ve met many people who have shared similar stories. One friend from high school lost both her parents to a bad flu shot within a few days of each other. I cannot imagine the heartache.

And I know many have suffered heartache from this virus. I’m not saying don’t get it if you feel comfortable doing so. I’m saying stop bullying others for their refusal. It may not be selfishness on their part, but an underlying medical condition that makes them afraid. They may be unwilling to share their medical history with you. They may have lost a loved one to a vaccine like my friend from high school and so are afraid. It may be a deep-seated fear of a science that is all but being forced on people, a science that does not prevent you from getting this virus…just from spreading it. An important aspect, but their fear against the vaccine may be just as great as your fear of the virus itself. We can no more know if we will be in the 1% of having a bad reaction to corona than we know if we’ll be in the 1% who will react badly to it’s vaccine. Whatever “side” we stand on, judging others, bullying them, doesn’t help anything. In fact, the more you push for your own views to be followed, the more likely people will dig those heels in. These are our brothers and sisters. It’s time we started treating them as such, looking on with compassion…instead of derision because we haven’t walked that proverbial mile in their shoes and don’t know the reasons behind their choices.

May God bless you & keep you!

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Moving On Up?

Lisa Burbank

“Let not your heart be troubled. You are trusting God, now trust in Me. There are many homes up there where my Father lives, and I am going to prepare them for your coming. When everything is ready, then I will come and get you, so that you can always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3)

The Herbal Hare Homestead may be moving. In fact, I believe it is almost a certainty. I’m not sure where. Or exactly when. I definitely don’t know how but I feel like He has been conking me over the head repeatedly, one hardship after another here, to finally light that fire under my backside so that I start actively looking.

And planning.

And taking one step after the other, trusting Him to see us all through.

A couple of weeks ago I received a letter from the local zoning officer. One of my neighbors complained about my roosters crowing. And they don’t like living next to ducks either.

Now before anyone jumps in with recriminations, before I ever brought chickens, ducks, or goats to this property I contacted the zoning office and then a zoning attorney. Strictly speaking, this is considered part of the commercial district of town, even as the whole town is zoned agricultural. However, after reviewing my deed, the attorney determined I didn’t need to get a variance or anything because the property has grandfathered use. He did warn it could be challenged but, to safeguard that, I wrote a letter detailing my plans here, made copies, and got each and every one of my neighbors’ signatures that they were okay with me raising these animals. I promised not to include a buck as they smell bad. I also have a doctor’s note stating that I’m supposed to be drinking goat’s milk.

Fortunately, I save everything.

Unfortunately, we have new neighbors. They didn’t sign that letter. And I get it…even if we were here first. The country is NOT as quiet as one thinks if one has never lived in the country before. And I will not be the first homesteader to be adversely affected by the city-slicker-turned-country-wannabe.

Ironically, there was no mention about the goats in their complaint. It was the crowing of roosters and, apparently, the occasional honking-quack from some of my female ducks when the males are being overly-amorous that my new neighbors are protesting.

We also have a new zoning officer, who is a delightful woman, and we hit it off immediately. She raised sheep until her husband’s passing last year; it liked to have killed her to give them to another farm but she was unable to care for them by herself, owing to some health issues of her own, so she was sympathetic to my plight. But she also has a job to do. Having worked for a local municipality last fall as a temp, I got to witness first-hand the b.s. stories people fabricate when they knowingly violate a zoning regulation. I think the new zoning officer thought that’s what I was about when I called her in response to her letter and told her I’d had a zoning attorney out here 11 years’ ago. When I was able to show her the doctor’s note and the signed letters from all of my neighbors stating they approved of my raising these animals, I saw her expression change to one of even deeper sympathy…and a sudden willingness to push back against these complaints. This was not the usual b.s. but someone who actually took the steps to do this all legally and ethically…and who willingly allowed her access to inspect the premises without giving her a hard time about it (That’s the key, folks! Work with, not against…even if the outcome isn’t exactly what you’d hoped it would be).

She read the letter, checked each address to ensure that each of the homes directly affected were included, then inspected the barn (I hadn’t built or added another building but re-purposed one that already existed here when I purchased the property in 2001). She inspected the animals, too, and wrote in her report that they were happy and well cared for. As she was a farmer previously, there was a moment’s pride that she found no fault with any of them. Though there is no pond here, there is a large kiddie pool for the ducks with a ramp for easy access in and out of it. There’s a 6-foot chain link fence to keep them all from roaming off-site…and for keeping predators out. That Chester (goat) came over and immediately rubbed his face all up and down her leg for affection said volumes about how well they are cared for.

Will she be able to swing it so my babies can stay?

There’s no way of knowing just yet. And she did say the roosters would have to go but, if I showed a willingness to comply with this one part of it, this new neighbor might relent about the rest. But, there’s a big part of me saying, do I have to go through this every time I get a new neighbor??? Do I have to perpetually fight to keep what matters most to me outside of faith and family? And, to be honest, I regard my animals as part of the family.

So I’m looking further afield, further ahead.

The animals may go to a friend’s farm as boarders until I can scrape together enough for that relocation. I’m thinking Maine, upper-state New York, Vermont…maybe Tennessee (though I would hate the heat!), as my brother and his family live there so we would have family nearby. It would be nice to see them more than every couple of years when we can afford to travel. And I will be looking for farm land…or at least a property that is actually zoned for agricultural use, or maybe an unincorporated town where there aren’t any zoning regulations. They’re few and far between but it’s worth looking into.

Of course, my main concern is how to finance all of this. Before the pandemic, I was staring foreclosure in the face owing to an injury in January 2019, a subsequent job loss, and the inability to find full-time work again to sustain us. My credit sucks…no polite way to say it. But, even if I get to keep the animals here, that issue still exists. Will I be able to save the home? Will He provide that job at the last moment? Or will He slide everything into place once I set my sights in the direction He wants me to go?

Because that’s how He works.

When you obey His commands, when you follow His direction, He moves those mountains completely out of the way. So, now I wait, and I do the work I must do in the interim, and in the meantime, I ask for everyone’s prayers. This ain’t going to be easy…

May God bless you & keep you!

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A Plea for the Anti-Anti-Vaxxers

Lisa Burbank

“The wise are promoted to honor, but fools are promoted to shame!” (Proverbs 3:35)

I’m struggling here. I know the whole vaccine thing is a heated debate. However, I’m a little disturbed by some of the stories I’m hearing about the upcoming Covid-19 vaccine potentially being mandatory. They may just be “stories” but…

Hell, NO!

I am even more concerned about the abuse heaped upon those of us who choose not to get vaccines. We’re labeled selfish, insensitive, arrogant. I’ve even heard of people being physically accosted for their stand.

Yes, I understand the need to protect against another future pandemic. I understand that, in most cases, vaccines save lives. And I’m not necessarily an “anti-vaxxer” in the usual sense. I mean, I was vaccinated as a child against polio and small pox, and a host of other diseases, just like everyone else. If I had children, they would have gotten those vaccines just like every other kid. And, though there’s some controversy about the potential side effects of these childhood vaccinations, none of those side effects is death. These diseases kill…as does Covid-19, in some cases.

However, back in 2015, I had a bad reaction to a tetanus vaccine. I spiked 105 degrees, wound up back in the ER…and spent the next two weeks in a constant state of panic that I was going to die. The headaches that made it so I couldn’t even open my eyes; the serious brain “fog” that has never entirely left me; the constant fever surges, and the uncontrollable shivers that shook me, even as I burrowed under multiple quilts in 90+ degree temperatures, were terrifying. My doc believes that I had a reaction to either a preservative, or a carrier, not the tetanus vaccine itself as this was not my first tetanus.

But how can I be sure?

My doc also said that the next time will potentially be worse…and that those same preservatives/carriers are used for most vaccines, including flu, pneumonia, and shingles. Again, there is no way of knowing for sure. So I now wear one of those medical bracelets. Inside is a little card that says, “No TDP/TDAP, No Vaccines!” because the next time, I may not be merely terrified about dying. I am not a human guinea pig. And nobody else should be either…unless they choose to take the risk that they will be okay with any new vaccine.

You see, it’s all about choice. And that’s what a free society is all about.

No, I do not wish to harm anyone in any intentional way. I do not wish to spread this virus further. I wear a mask and gloves out in public; I wash my hands thoroughly. I clean door knobs and steering wheels, etc. with Clorox wipes. I’m staying home except for necessary trips to the grocery store, the feed store, etc.

But I’m not getting a vaccine. For me, it would be the equivalent of playing Russian roulette. And I’m not much of a gambler.

I recognize the fear; I truly do. We have this invisible enemy that we should all be working to defeat…and yet, we’re attacking each other instead.

Perhaps because our fellow human beings are more tangible than a virus.

Again, I’m not really an anti-vaxxer. I’ve had vaccines and, with the exception of that “bad” tetanus 5 years’ ago, there’s been no harm done…and I’ve avoided deadly diseases. I am certainly not telling anyone not to get the vaccine once it is available.

However, for all of the people who get in someone’s face and start ranting and raving, and even threatening someone, for not getting a vaccine–whatever that vaccine may be, or their reasons for not getting it–please stop and put yourself in their shoes for a moment. If you’re reading this, please consider that maybe this person has had a similar reaction as the one I shared here today and they fear more for their life with the vaccine than without it. Maybe they’re not being selfish at all.

May God bless you & keep you!

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Stay tuned…

Lisa Burbank

…our regularly scheduled program will be back as soon as I’ve finished my final exam this week! =)

Stay safe, stay healthy…May God bless you & keep you!

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Prepping

Lisa Burbank

“Finally the day came when the Lord said to Noah, ‘Go into the boat with all your family, for among all the people of the earth, I consider you alone to be righteous. Bring in the animals, too–a pair of each, except those kinds I have chosen for eating and for sacrifice: take seven pairs of each of them, and seven pairs of every kind of bird. Thus there will be every kind of life reproducing again after the flood has ended. One week from today I will begin forty days and nights of rain; and all the animals and birds and reptiles I have made will die’. So Noah did everything the Lord commanded him.” (Genesis 7:1-5)

The lights keep flickering. The forecast is for heavy rains (check) and high winds (also, check) with potential power outages. This last may be a “check” before the day is out. We’re still in the middle of a pandemic that could take the lives of hundreds of thousands in the U.S. before it is done. Our economy has been nearly frozen. Millions of jobs have been lost; mostly part-time jobs were to be had before the pandemic shutdown. Groceries are flying off the shelves. Ditto for toilet paper and cleaning supplies. Economists are predicting a depression that will rival the 1930’s. On a personal note, foreclosure has been eminent here at The Herbal Hare Homestead since last year’s battle with the icy driveway.

I’ve been “playing” at homesteading over the last 5-6 years. Financial struggles have left me on the fence about truly investing the time and energy into developing this place into the self-sufficient enterprise that I have envisioned. Confidence issues have gotten in the way, too. As has a personal struggle to get Mom on board with some of the more extreme projects.

Thanks to Covid-19, Mom is actually the one suggesting prepping. Working together, I know we can make this work.

As for the back mortgage payments, I’m considering swallowing my pride and filing bankruptcy so I can start clean again. At present, I am still employed. Albeit, it’s part-time employment but, if I do the work while I’m at home with this enforced quarantine, by the time work starts back up again, I may have a few supplemental incomes ready to roll.

My biggest obstacle though is myself. Yes, I procrastinate. But, more, I have a tendency to lose focus. I’ve never been tested, but I would be willing to bet, that I have some form of ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). I do have anxiety issues; that can rob you of focus all by itself…and may be all there is to it. So, for the last week that I’ve been MIA on this blog, I’ve been creating detailed outlines about my homestead and where I want to go; about my writing; even about this blog and the direction I am hoping to take it, the content I am hoping to share as the days, weeks, months go forward. I’m even writing multiple blog posts on the weekend to copy and paste in WordPress each day so that I have time for all of the many endeavors I’ve set for myself. It will give me more time with my book instead of an either/or writing habit. You see, I want this blogging thing to remain sustainable. I also want to finish my book. And, once I’m back to the “day” job, it won’t be sustainable to do both…unless, of course, I write everything on the weekend. So, that’s the start of it.

And what about my faith? You ask.

Somehow, I don’t feel that prepping, as much as one is able, for disaster(s) is a sign that I’m losing faith. Just look at Noah. I feel that this prepping is an outward expression of obeying the warnings He is putting on my heart.

Our healthcare system is broken.

Our economic system is broken.

Our housing system is broken.

Our educational system is broken.

Our election process is broken.

Even, and especially, our government is broken…no matter what side of the political aisle you stand upon.

Almost all of this brokenness stems from a.) A love of money and materialism, and b.) An inability to truly live the teachings of our faith, which is to love our brothers and sisters as ourselves. Perhaps it’s because so many of us don’t have any self-love. I’m not talking about cultivating a selfish heart, nor am I talking about narcissism, but a healing, appreciating kind of love that values “self” as a child of the Creator. Today, any outward expression of belief is frowned upon in our modern society. It might offend some people. So we leave it at the door.

Yet the non-believers can belittle and post their hateful rhetoric on social media…or spout it on the boob-tube on a regular basis.

I’m done with it.

I’m not ashamed of my God.

Nor of a renewed determination to live more intentionally, more sustainably…and, of course, more faithfully.

And, while it may seem crazy to invest myself in an—for all practical purposes—uncertain future here in Connecticut, I’m trusting Him. He has a plan. For my life. For your life. For even a frightening pandemic and its subsequent shutdown of all things “normal” in our society.

May God bless you & keep you!