Blended And Blessed Quotes

On no subject are our ideas more warped and pitiable than on death. ... Let children walk with nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life, and that the grave has no victory, for it never fights.

Stay away from the normals, the small-minded people who fill their brains with small-minded pursuits, who blend in and keep up with the Joneses. Those people will tear you down and make you boring. Instead, surround yourself with the weirds. With the misfits, oddballs, and outcasts. Because the normals, bless their hearts, have no idea how to have fun.

A man who seeks only the light, while shirking his responsibilities, will never find illumination. And one who keep his eyes fixed upon the sun ends up blind..." "It doesn't matter what others think -because that's what they will think, in any case. So, relax. Let the universe move about. Discover the joy of surprising yourself." "The master says: “Make use of every blessing that God gave you today. A blessing cannot be saved. There is no bank where we can deposit blessings received, to use them when we see fit. If you do not use them, they will be irretrievably lost. God knows that we are creative artists when it comes to our lives. On one day, he gives us clay for sculpting, on another, brushes and canvas, or a pen. But we can never use clay on our canvas, nor pens in sculpture. Each day has its own miracle. Accept the blessings, work, and create your minor works of art today. Tomorrow you will receive others.” “You are together because a forest is always stronger than a solitary tree,” the master answered. "The forest conserves humidity, resists the hurricane and helps the soil to be fertile. But what makes a tree strong is its roots. And the roots of a plant cannot help another plant to grow. To be joined together in the same purpose is to allow each person to grow in his own fashion, and that is the path of those who wish to commune with God.” “If you must cry, cry like a child. You were once a child, and one of the first things you learned in life was to cry, because crying is a part of life. Never forget that you are free, and that to show your emotions is not shameful. Scream, sob loudly, make as much noise as you like. Because that is how children cry, and they know the fastest way to put their hearts at ease. Have you ever noticed how children stop crying? They stop because something distracts them. Something calls them to the next adventure. Children stop crying very quickly. And that's how it will be for you. But only if you can cry as children do.” “If you are traveling the road of your dreams, be committed to it. Do not leave an open door to be used as an excuse such as, 'Well, this isn't exactly what I wanted. ' Therein are contained the seeds of defeat. “Walk your path. Even if your steps have to be uncertain, even if you know that you could be doing it better. If you accept your possibilities in the present, there is no doubt that you will improve in the future. But if you deny that you have limitations, you will never be rid of them. “Confront your path with courage, and don't be afraid of the criticism of others. And, above all, don't allow yourself to become paralyzed by self-criticism. “God will be with you on your sleepless nights, and will dry your tears with His love. God is for the valiant.” "Certain things in life simply have to be experienced -and never explained. Love is such a thing." "There is a moment in every day when it is difficult to see clearly: evening time. Light and darkness blend, and nothing is completely clear nor completely dark." "But it's not important what we think, or what we do or what we believe in: each of us will die one day. Better to do as the old Yaqui Indians did: regard death as an advisor. Always ask: 'Since I'm going to die, what should I be doing now?'” "When we follow our dreams, we may give the impression to others that we are miserable and unhappy. But what others think is not important. What is important is the joy in our heart.” “There is a work of art each of us was destined to create. That is the central point of our life, and -no matter how we try to deceive ourselves -we know how important it is to our happiness. Usually, that work of art is covered by years of fears, guilt and indecision. But, if we decide to remove those things that do not belong, if we have no doubt as to our capability, we are capable of going forward with the mission that is our destiny. That is the only way to live with honor.

Our sadness won’t be of the searing kind but more like a blend of joy and melancholy: joy at the perfection we see before us, melancholy at an awareness of how seldom we are sufficiently blessed to encounter anything of its kind. The flawless object throws into perspective the mediocrity that surrounds it. We are reminded of the way we would wish things always to be and of how incomplete our lives remain.

Seeing myself or my church or my denomination as "the blessing" — like so many mission trips to help "those less fortunate than ourselves" — can easily descend into a blend of  benevolence and paternalism. We can start to see the "poor" as supporting characters in a big story about how noble, selfless, and helpful we are.

The silvered glamour of the Woman of the Winter Moon may be woman in her greatest power, woman in her guise as Elemental, as Force of Nature. This is woman to be revered. She is a concentration of feminine wisdom gathered and concentrated over the years, blended with the astral knowledge of the soul-star, and blessed by the traditions of the Sacred Feminine that she has made herself, or resurrected from Time, and passed living and intact to her daughters.

Big Hearted offers a glimpse into the lives of large families of all sorts: blended, biological, foster, adoptive, and inter-generational. These families may lack designer clothing, but they are blessed with a superabundance of people to love.

I'm so much blessed, fortunate and lucky man as I've born at the age of advanced technology and blended with the brilliant people all over the globe. I'm indebted to technology and people. You've help me for living a fulfilled and purposeful life. Thank you for your profound association for changing my life.

Seeing that our birth involves the blending of these two things—the body, on the one hand, that we share with animals, and, on the other hand, rationality and intelligence, that we share with the gods—most of us incline to this former relationship, wretched and dead though it is, while only a few to the one that is divine and blessed.

the normals, the small-minded people who fill their brains with small-minded pursuits, who blend in and keep up with the Joneses. Those people will tear you down and make you boring. Instead, surround yourself with the weirds. With the misfits, oddballs, and outcasts. Because the normals, bless their hearts, have no idea how to have fun.

But presently, huddled beneath the blankets, the child would be soothed by a warm sense of safety, and her nerves would relax, while her body grew limp with the drowsy softness of bed. Then suddently a big and most comforting yawn, and another, and another, until darkness and Collins and tall clocks that menaced, and Stephen herself, were all blended and merged into something quite friendly, a harmonious whole, neither fearful or doubting-the blessed illusion we call sleep.

Out of all green ends and correlated mystic blend underlying the wholesome beauty only one note could speak and flow when nothing else on the barren wet streets she laughed at my grin speaking of what I missed. How is the realm so lovely when the rain tells me how perfect the self organizing smooth system far less attracted so please the muse to the scene, swirling in utter beauty turn away from conversations of horrific overwhelming tension your sublime nature forces half naked bare legged bathing in geometrical arrangements; a future rebelled, tame and dominate your blessed frightened glass ceiling, breath or goodness spells glitter rains down on your laced chest, taking off your shades and notable note from off your written thoughts on the reality page of mirrored candy smile hair twisting, back alone chasing drinks with cheers toward all we saved in the red ashes; smiling how perfect we feel tonight, I could end any beings or spirit. A sucker for the matter found without presence in unlimited rising smoke you weep and invent forms, or nature reflection internality on how few nerves you leave me squirming producing works of utter biting beauty art works off afternoon body gasping at whatever is near or afar, look how smart you get when you cant always get what you dreamt of, on time naughty morning sun baking eyes in mine.

While we as people of  God are certainly called to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, that whole “we’re blessed to be a blessing” thing can still be kind of dangerous. It can be dangerous when we self-importantly place ourselves above the world, waiting to descend on those below so we can be the “blessing” they’ve been waiting for, like it or not. Plus, seeing myself as the blessing can pretty easily obscure the way in which I am actually part of the problem and can hide the ways in which I, too, am poor and needing care. Seeing myself or my church or my denomination as “the blessing” — like so many mission trips to help “those less fortunate than ourselves” — can easily descend into a blend of  benevolence and paternalism. We can start to see the “poor” as supporting characters in a big story about how noble, selfless, and helpful we are.

Let the children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.” —John Muir   Many

I want to make doubly sure you got the message of this chapter, so I’d like to summarize the critical facts about compost. You need blended compost made from at least five different ingredients. Mix several different types of compost together if you buy your compost. Most commercial composts have only one or two ingredients because they are merely leftover waste materials or byproducts from an industrial or commercial operation. By themselves, they do not make a good ingredient in Mel’s Mix. However, the good news is, if you can find at least five of these individual composted materials you can mix them together to make a well-rounded blended compost ingredient for your Mel’s Mix. And if you did your job and got a blended compost made from at least five major ingredients, you will be blessed with the most wonderful garden you could ever imagine. And no more work ever.

There have been few people on earth so upright and single minded, so faithful in the discharge of their duties towards God and man, so elevated in aim, so dignified in character. The enlightened, independent, firm, God-fearing spirit of the French Protestants has blended its influence with that of the Puritan to form our national character and to establish those civil and religious institutions by which we are distinguished and blessed above all peoples." So skilled were they in the arts, such a spirit of economy and thrift characterized them, such loyalty had they to the principles of our national life, such sane and tolerant views in religious matters, such uprightness and excel lence and nobility of character, such high and command ing genius in statesmanship, that their presence, even though they formed but a small body as to numbers and were so assimilated as to sink their identity in the com mon body, exerted a moulding and ennobling influence upon the entire fabric of our national life. Deserving of high honour are Puritan and Pilgrim. Let orator and historian continue to sound their praises. But side by side with them, sharers in their sufferings, partakers of their perils, distinguished helpers in their great labours, stimulating and inspiring, stood a smaller company whose life and deeds and spirit were also important factors in giving this land those institutions of civil and religious liberty by means of which she is steadily ful filling her high mission and successfully working out her great destiny. BOOK ONE

There have been few people on earth so upright and single minded, so faithful in the discharge of their duties towards God and man, so elevated in aim, so dignified in character. The enlightened, independent, firm, God-fearing spirit of the French Protestants has blended its influence with that of the Puritan to form our national character and to establish those civil and religious institutions by which we are distinguished and blessed above all peoples." So skilled were they in the arts, such a spirit of economy and thrift characterized them, such loyalty had they to the principles of our national life, such sane and tolerant views in religious matters, such uprightness and excel lence and nobility of character, such high and command ing genius in statesmanship, that their presence, even though they formed but a small body as to numbers and were so assimilated as to sink their identity in the com mon body, exerted a moulding and ennobling influence upon the entire fabric of our national life. Deserving of high honour are Puritan and Pilgrim. Let orator and historian continue to sound their praises. But side by side with them, sharers in their sufferings, partakers of their perils, distinguished helpers in their great labours, stimulating and inspiring, stood a smaller company whose life and deeds and spirit were also important factors in giving this land those institutions of civil and religious liberty by means of which she is steadily ful filling her high mission and successfully working out her great destiny.

Distractions In Prayer Ah dearest Lord! I cannot pray, My fancy is not free; Unmannerly distractions come, And force my thoughts from Thee. The world that looks so dull all day Glows bright on me at prayer, And plans that ask no thought but then Wake up and meet me there. All nature one full fountain seems Of dreamy sight and sound, Which, when I kneel, breaks up its deeps, And makes a deluge round. Old voices murmur in my ear, New hopes start to life, And past and future gaily blend In one bewitching strife. My very flesh has restless fits; My changeful limbs conspire With all these phantoms of the mind My inner self to tire. I cannot pray; yet, Lord! Thou knowst The pain it is to me To have my vainly struggling thoughts Thus torn away from Thee. Sweet Jesus! teach me how to prize These tedious hours when I, Foolish and mute before Thy Face, In helpless worship lie. Prayer was not meant for luxury, Or selfish pastime sweet; It is the prostrate creature’s place At his Creator’s Feet. Had I, dear Lord! no pleasure found But in the thought of Thee, Prayer would have come unsought, and been A truer liberty. Yet Thou art oft most present, Lord! In weak distracted prayer: A sinner out of heart with self Most often finds Thee there. For prayer that humbles sets the soul From all illusions free, And teaches it how utterly, Dear Lord! it hangs on Thee. The heart, that on self-sacrifice Is covetously bent, Will bless Thy chastening hand that makes Its prayer its punishment. Holy Saviour! why should I complain And why fear aught but sin? Distractions are but outward things; Thy peace dwells far within. These surface-troubles come and go, Like rufflings of the sea; The deeper depth is out of reach To all, my God, but Thee. FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER, 1814-1863

A northern minister writing in the Methodist magazine Behold concluded after returning from a Sunday with Ed King’s church visitors, “What has happened in Jackson, Mississippi not only dramatizes the segregated nature of the church and its false unity, but also reveals that the church has capitulated to the culture in which it dwells…. The church, like a chameleon, blends in with its background so that it loses its identity.”101 The white church that sanctified and blessed the Southern Way of Life preached a gospel of comfort. A pleasing correlation adhered between proclamation and culture; and in any case, those untamed or sinful elements in culture which threatened piety’s innocence were reproached by a faith almost completely purified of compassion’s harder demands.

The first time I studied my own eyes in the mirror. Seeing their deep brown lifeless color, swallowed by a black ring gave me an overwhelming feeling of shame. Especially when it seems like everyone around me was blessed with colors found in the deepest of forests and blended in paintings. I’ll never forget how much contempt I felt for my own eyes, their deep and despairing sight. And to imagine having to love someone with the same set brought me to tears. When my mother found me and asked me why I had been crying, I demanded that she explain how she could be so beautiful, and I so ugly. I still hold on to the melody of her voice as she told me,

rolled my eyes, shook my head and whispered, “Jesus, be a strait jacket.

Before she could utter another word, Albert’s voice boomed from the hallway. “I will kill him. If he has so much as hurt one hair on her head, I will kill him.”Albert stood with his hands on his hips, in full battle gear. Chain mail, helm, sword and dirks. The half helm did not cover his face entirely. And it could do nothing to mask his fury. Purple with rage, his eyes afire with barely controlled rage, he stood with his shoulders back and a fierce glare that warned he meant every word he spoke. “Albert, I be so sorry,”she told him. “I do no’ken how he came to know about the sword or why he wants it.” “Joie,”Albert said as he took one step forward. “I do no’give one bloody wit about the Gladius. Ye are me sister now and I would never do a thing to bring you any pain. But Laurin? I love her with all me heart.” He needn’t say more. The pain, the anguish, blended with fury, were clearly evident. “I will not ask you to show any of them any mercy,”she told him.“Laurin is the sister of my heart. Please,”she choked on her words. “Bring her home.

Yep.” She nodded once, the side of her mouth hitching in a way that reminded me of Cletus. “Stay away from the normals, the small-minded people who fill their brains with small-minded pursuits, who blend in and keep up with the Joneses. Those people will tear you down and make you boring. Instead, surround yourself with the weirds. With the misfits, oddballs, and outcasts. Because the normals, bless their hearts, have no idea how to have fun.” ***

Love Your Enemies 27[†]“But I say to you who hear,  s Love your enemies,  t do good to those who hate you, 28[†] u bless those who curse you,  s pray for those who abuse you. 29[†] v To one who  w strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic [2] either. 30[†] x Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back. 31[†]And  y as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them. 32[†] z “If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34And  a if you  b lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to get back the same amount. 35[†]But  c love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and  d you will be sons of  e the Most High, for  f he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil. 36 g Be merciful, even as  h your Father is merciful.

Muffled footsteps sounded in the distance. Goldie heard a shout, and the heavy clank of punishment chains. The footsteps came closer. A boy began to sing in a hoarse, adolescent voice. "Awa-a-a-y, across the ocean-a-an, awa-a-a-y, across the sea-a-a-a-." There was a slap, and a yell. The singing stopped, but only for a moment. When it started up again, there were a dozen or more voices, all caterwauling at the top of their lungs. "-I'll go-o-o-o where my heart takes me, where my-y-y-y love waits for me-e-e-e-e." A pause. A furious adult's voice said, "It's not your love that's waiting for you, you little villains, it's the House of Repentance! Deliberate destruction of property, putting the lives of others at risk, oh you're in for it, you are!" Clank clank clank, went the punishment chains. "I’ve be-e-e-e-en away so long, dear, I've tra-a-a-aveled far and wi-i-i-i-i-ide-" sang the voices. Goldie edged along the wall and eased the door open. There was a bustle and a shoving and a clanking, and suddenly the corridor in front of her was full of boys, milling backward and forward, rattling their chains and singing loudly. They were all older than Goldie, but they wore the same gray threadbare smock and leggings. Somewhere in the middle of them were two Blessed Guardians. The smell of burning hung over them all. There was no time to think. Goldie couldn't see Toadspit, but she was sure he must be there somewhere. She whispered a quick "thank you" to Bald Thoke, then she stepped out into the corridor and tucked herself between two of the boys. For a heart-stopping moment the song faltered. The boys on either side of Goldie shot incredulous glances at her- Then they closed smoothly around her and began to sing louder than ever, their voices bouncing off the high ceilings. "Three yea-a-a-a-ars I rowed the galley-y-y-ys, three year-a-a-a-ars I was a sla-a-a-a-ave-." They spilled out into the foyer, a laughing, shouting, singing rabble. The Guardians who led them were shouting too. Only Goldie was silent. She crouched between the tall, raucous boys, her smock blending with theirs, her pulse thundering in her ears. "What's this?" shouted the toad-like Guardian. "Where are you taking them at this time of night?" "Set fire to their beds?" shouted one of the other Guardians. "Don't know what's got into them! Marching them off to Repentance!" "I'll need their names!" "If I-I-I-I-I could turn back time, dea-a-a-a-ar, if I-I-I-I-I-I could start aga-a-a-a-a-in-" "For Great Wooden's sake, we'll give them to you when we come back. I can't bear this appalling racket a moment longer!" And with that, the boys, Goldie and the two Guardians spilled out the front door of Care, across the yard and through the gate.

Aye, I feared as much,” muttered Mora as she sat down across from Bridget and took a hearty drink of cider. “That big fool. He hasnae completed the mating. Tisnae good. Nay, ’tisnae good at all. Especially if that bitch Edmee finds out.” “Mora, what are ye talking about? The marriage has been consummated. Quite thoroughly.” “Ah, lass, the laird obviously waits to be sure ye have fully accepted him, accepted him for what he is, all that he is. He hasnae given ye the bite yet.” Bridget frowned, not certain she liked the implications of that. “He does bite me.” “Love bites, wee nips, but nay the bite. Being that he is a halfling, mayhap he doesnae have to. I hadnae considered that. Halflings are always different in some way from Purebloods.” After taking a long drink of cider to calm her rising temper, Bridget said, “Tell me, Mora, what ye mean by the mating and the bite. Ye keep starting to tell me, then wander off the subject, and, weel, end up talking more to yourself than to me.” “Pardon. Tis nay widely kenned. Tis one of the MacNachtons’ most closely guarded secrets. I learned of it because, weel, a wee bit o’er twenty years ago I was in love with a Pureblood. Ye ken my son David, aye?” “David is the son of a Pureblood? But he has reddish hair. I have seen him about during the day as weel.” “Aye, he is more our kind than theirs, but the MacNachton blood is in him. He is a strong, healthy lad, always was. And, though he can go about in the daylight, he has to be most careful, avoiding the full heat of the day and such as that. Seems way back in his father’s line one of his ancestors mated with a halfling. The wee added bit of our blood is what has made my David so blessed. The laird has seen that my lad is educated and he will be verra important to the clan. Already is in many ways.” “Can ye tell me who his father is, or is that a secret?” “Jankyn.” Mora laughed briefly at Bridget’s obvious shock, then sighed. “Aye, Jankyn doesnae look a day older than our son, aye? But he is my age. And that was some of the problem. Oh, I did love that lad.” “Jankyn is easy to love, e’en when ye wish ye had a thick stick in hand to clout him o’er the head.” Mora grinned and nodded, then grew serious. “It was both wondrous and awful, heaven and hell. Twas a delight when I was with him and a pure torment when I thought on the years ahead. I could see it as it is now all too clearly, with me as I am and him still looking like a bonnie lad of twenty. Ah, but he said he wished to marry me, and I was sorely tempted. Was near to saying aye when he told me the secret about the mating, about the bite.” Mora nodded when Bridget touched her own neck. “Aye, for ones such as us, ’tisnae just a wee thing, is it? We cannae heal as they can. We arenae as strong. Mayhap I just didnae love him enough. I couldnae do it. My heart, my body, aye. My blood? To let him feed on me, e’en just a wee bit? Nay, I couldnae. E’en when I kenned I carried David, I couldnae, and, being a Pureblood, Jankyn couldnae swear that he wouldnae do it. He couldnae be sure he would be able to stop himself from completing the mating.” “It has to be the neck? He couldnae just take a wee sip from somewhere else?” “Nay, I dinnae think so. Tis like this—when ye are together as mon and wife, just as he spills his seed, he bites ye and has a wee taste.” “Every time?” Bridget asked in alarm, thinking of all the times Cathal had nipped at her neck while they made love. “Wheesht, nay. Just the once.” “Oh, thank God. If ’twas every time, I wouldnae last out the week.” She blushed when Mora laughed heartily. “Aye, the laird does have the fever for ye. Nay, lass, ’tis just the once. Tis done on the wedding night. As the mon gives ye his seed, gives ye a part of him as it were, he takes a wee bit from ye. Tis a blending and ’tis what binds him to ye as a mate.” Bridget

WHERE THERE IS LOVE Where there is love the heart is light, Where there is love the day is bright. Where there is love there is a song To help when things are going wrong. Where there is love there is a smile To make all things seem more worthwhile. Where there is love there’s a quiet peace, A tranquil place where turmoil's cease. Love changes darkness into light And makes the heart take wingless flight. Oh, blessed are those who walk in love They also walk with God above…. And love that once seemed yours alone God gently blends into His own.

Marriages, not blessed with the eternal affinity of love properly balanced and proportioned with sex, cannot be happy ones—and seldom endure. Love, alone, will not bring happiness in marriage, nor will sex alone. When these two beautiful emotions are blended, marriage may bring about a state of mind closest to the spiritual that one may ever know on this earthly plane.

It’s time you started building your tribe. But if I can make a suggestion?” I cleared my throat, still clogged with emotion. “Go right ahead, all tips are welcome.” “Stay away from the normals.” “The normals?” “Yep.” She nodded once, the side of her mouth hitching in a way that reminded me of Cletus. “Stay away from the normals, the small-minded people who fill their brains with small-minded pursuits, who blend in and keep up with the Joneses. Those people will tear you down and make you boring. Instead, surround yourself with the weirds. With the misfits, oddballs, and outcasts. Because the normals, bless their hearts, have no idea how to have fun.

He slowed his pace—not for the artwork, which didn’t interest him at all, but to let the distance between them grow and allow him to appreciate her among this world of art, gazing upon the beauty of this Eastern woman along with the full-figured Greek gods, angels, and the Blessed Virgin in the surrounding classical oil paintings. Like the glass pyramid in the courtyard, she soon blended into the environment and became part of the sacred realm of art. Without her, this place would be missing something. In a reverie or a dream or a vision, he let time pass by quietly.

Hoodoo, Hoodoo Doctor, Hoodoo Man, Hoodoo Woman: A melting pot American magic, Hoodoo was born when enslaved African magical practitioners, deprived of their traditional materials, were forced to develop an entirely new botanical repertoire to fuel their emergency magic. These practitioners exemplify the ideal of the questing, curious occultist: they took wisdom from all available sources, applied it to a blended West and Central African framework and created a powerful new system of practical magic. In addition to African traditions, Hoodoo incorporates Native American, European and Romany traditions, Freemasonry, Kabalah, and Pow-Wow. Hoodoo may be used as a noun or verb: • Hoodoo names the magical tradition. • Hoodoo names the action of spell-casting: “I will hoodoo you.” • Hoodoo names a state of bewitchment: “I’ve been hoodooed.” Unlike hex or jinx, Hoodoo is a neutral term: one can be Hoodooed with love and blessings as well as curses. Further Reading: Catherine Yronwode’s Hoodoo Herb and Root Magic (Lucky Mojo, 2002).

Meadows also received a text on December 20, 2020, from Mike Lindell, a mustachioed, self-described former crack addict who’d made a fortune as CEO of the bedding company My Pillow. Lindell, who was an infomercial star, major Trump rally fixture, and financial backer of various protests against the former president’s loss, implored Meadows to have federal agents seize voting machines in key states. He was famous for wearing a large cross necklace and his message was an overheated blend of Christian prayer and internet insanity. “Hey Mark, I felt I was suppose to text you this message … You being a man a faith and on the front line of the decisions that are going to be historical! I would ask that you pray for wisdom and discernment from God! You are one of the people the president trusts the most. That being said I want to add my input.… Everything Sidney has said is true!” Lindell wrote. “We have to get the machines and everything we already have proves the President won by millions of votes! I have read and not validated yet that you and others talked him out of seizing them … If true . I pray it is part of a bigger plan … I am grateful that on the night of the election the algorithms of the corrupt machines broke and they realized our president would win in spite of the historical fraud! I look for deviations every day in my business … when I find one I investigate relentlessly until I know why it happened and how it happened … (this is my gift from God that has made my business so successful) From 11:15 pm on the night of the election I have spent all my time running impossible deviations and numbers from this election … I also was blessed to be able to get info and help Sidney Lin General Flynn and everyone else out there gathering all the massive evidence! I have been sickened by politicians (especially republicans) judges, the media not wanting to see truth (no matter what the truth would be!) This is the biggest cover up of one of the worst crimes in history! I have spent over a million$to help uncover this fraud and used my platform so people can get the word not to give up! The people on both sides have to see the truth and when they do.… There will not be no civil war, people (including politicians!) are fearing! The only thing any of us should fear is fear of the Lord! Every person on this planet needs to know the truth and see the evidence!!! Mark . God has his hand in all of this and has put you on the front line … I will continue praying for you to have great wisdom and discernment! Blessings Mike.” Meadows seemed grateful