My incredible life ...

has taught me that GOD , The LORD Jesus Christ, is in my heart, not in a building.  I do have ample evidence that (HE) is no where near the hordes pretending to worship (HIM) today.  (HE) was certainly never in that "church" my mother preached in for over thirty years.

I marvel.  I do not know how she did it, but she did it.  Listening to my mother pray memorized prayers that she stole from the cassette tapes I sent her would convince the most hardened doubter  that she was a saint.  No one could ever be further from the truth.

To this day I thank GOD for my excellent memory.  I was two, perhaps three.  I was a toddler but even as a child something told me something was very wrong with what Mathy Jane was doing.

We were deep in the woods, in a graveyard, The "Cowfield", Martha was collecting her "dust" and giving us an impromptu lesson in WITCHCRAFT at the same time.  Martha was on her knees, the kerosine lamp sat on the ground.  she was scooping up dirt in her right hand, throwing it over her left shoulder: "Ni, you grab up the dirt in one hand, you scoop it up  in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost!  Ni, put it in a brown paper bag, throw the rest over your left shoulder.  Ni, take that dust and sew it up in red flannel, wrap it up in a twenty dollar bill, soak it in some Hoyt's Cologne.  You'll nevah be broke a day in yo'life."

"If you want to hurt somebody, git your dirt off a murdered man's grave.  If you trying to do good, git your dirt off an innocent baby's grave."

Martha could lie and deny all she pleased.   That memory was seared into my brain.  No greater liar has ever lived.  No so called preacher has ever hated GOD more.

Dear LORD thank you for delivering me!

PTL!