Kit Sober

Dear Watered Garden, In my opinion they are no more the most wicked than they were "the best." Just minor hurtful wicked dogs. At least they are in the "pen" of twi and not roaming loose. I think Osama Bin Laden and others show vp for the craven simpering small-time-wicked thing he was. And I am sure the judgment of the Lord will be just for the wicked deeds committed. For me, that's a major part of the Hope :)

From the Catholic Digest: just a letter or two... Carpe diet: Seize the non-fat. Begats can't be choosers: You're stuck with your parents. (Don't) Show Me the Money A journalist watching Mother Teresa care for a dying charge once remarked, "I wouldn't do that for a million dollars." Mother Teresa replied, "Neither would I."

Thanks. So lovely! (being Landlocked in Reno, and pretty much never travel any more, I may never see such a sight, so the pictures are memorable.

"Critical Mass" bicycle riding is new to me. What is it?

Thanks, Kristen. And thanks, again, Pawtucket, for keeping this site open and making stuff like this known to us. "Losing the Way" is a kind kind of touch from the Lord showing His righteous judgment because it removes the veneer of "hearsay" that so many deceptions hide behind, at whatever depth of the soul they reside. "Losing the Way" helps peel away the onion layers of deception that cloud the kindness of the soul. I think it will take for me many readings to "finish" it (if I ever will). I heard someone once say how the Lord wanted him to help ex-twi people, but he didn't really want to do that. He wanted his "new" ministry. (ex-twi people are so messy because of the depth of hurt and dirt that needs to be cleaned out.) And so many people were harmed by twi -- our families too were harmed by twi -- For my family my twi involvement made Jesus Christ look like a dangerous bad bet given my example of wagering my life and losing so dearly. This book for me is a resource to get back to the life of my soul pre-twi - pre-destruction. Back to when smiles weren't only for "face value" but sprang from happiness of the soul, where delight with God is possible. Thanks, again, Kris.

background -- just like my name is a joke, my heavy revy is often ridiculous (last week, miraculously, I got the outside window of my office cleaned, after the risk manager told me I could not go out on the roof and clean it myself). So ... back circa 199? post-twi and pre-trashnet-WayDale-Greasespot Cafe, after losing church-in-the-home, that I really loved ... I am early-morning running around (literally, morning routine, shorts and gym shoes running around), and there is this pew (church pew) on the sidewalk -- in this area, people would put on the sidewalk big items, old furniture, huge piles of garden waste, etc. -- on the sidewalk for the garbage man to pick up. And here in this residential area. Not a church around anywhere, there is this pew, up for grabs. I go home and get my little car (a Yugo -- you go. I'll stay here) -- and drive to where the pew was -- I couldn't have church-in-the-home I was used to, but I could have a pew-in-the-home. Any way. This pew is really heavy -- old style heavy wood -- It's about 6:30 am, before the garbage trucks came around, I got no extra time because I got to get going to work, etc. I run back home. Get the car, and these two guys, really nice, do the sudden appearance thing, speak kindly to me, put the pew in the car like it's a piece of cake, and do the sudden disappearance thing. Just so nice. My girlfriend had recently told me the story of her life-saving-policeman-angel-who-came-along-when-her-husband-was-dying-gave-her-confidence-to-raise-him-from-the-dead, and I certainly wanted to have an angel experience. So this is my angel encounter. Barely believable. Certainly not apparently life-saving, but at time time of pre-Greasespot Cafe, pre Trashnet, and the thread of my life was unraveling. My angel encounter refreshed my heart that the Lord had not turned Himself away from me.

Linda, I was just thinking how what a person does -- his/her job, his good works in the world -- do not show why (the heart of) the works done. For cops and ministers both. Some cops go into it to control and manipulate and use their gun permit, and some are truly the protect and serve type, of which I have had the privilege of knowing a few. We had a neighbor in Citrus Heights CA who was a jerk, and he was trying to become a policeman but kept getting turned down. I spoke to one policeman about the testing to get into the police force there and he assured me there were rigorous personality stability tests in addition to the knowledge and physical endurance tests that needed to be passed. (Too bad there aren't more tests to become a minister, but that's another discussion :) )

Sounds like you might live in Reno NV :) Reno police had a tv show named after them and their stupidity (Reno911). Rumor has it (no definite proof or verification) that some LA big wig was treated especially terribly and he vowed he would get back at the Reno police. Voila Reno 911. I have been treated bad by police -- pulled over for speeding on Virginia Ave near the university and there is a 25 mph limit (which I didn't see) and I was going 40 (5 mph above the usual city limit of 35) and the policeman treated me like a criminal. No respect at all. It was terrible. I complained to the police dept (I wrote out a formal complaint) and the police superivisor said he listened to the tape and it was acceptable. I might have asked him if he would talk to his mother like that (I am old enough to be his mother) and he said yes. I thought he should have his mouth washed out with soap. :) The members of the police force who treat people like tax paying citizens they are working to protect and serve -- with respect and dignity, innocent until proven guilty etc. -- are vanishing. Holy Spirit just said, "no more tickets" for me.

This should have put a silence to the court-of-law defense. bfh's succinct statements explain why so many people can write all kinds of trash about deceased people with impunity. And that is not happening here. People are only telling their side of the story. I fail to see what leg WD is standing upon to keep bringing up court-of-law.

At one leadership class offered at my work, they referred to "emotional intelligence," and an accompanying emotional intelligence quotient. My current position as internal audit manager is the first ever management position. It's took 12 years out of twi to even consider that I might be able to truly lead people in a meaningful way in the real world. My twi years encompassed housecleaning and windowwashing, typing and filing :) So thankful to be out. Thanks for all the nice links and good information. It's sincerely appreciated. Agreed that emotional intelligence must be utilized and strengthened like a physical muscle.

More on Andersonville: A visitor to Andersonville today can tour the 515-acre expanse by foot or by car. Beyond the modernity, once close to the impressive site of the actual stockade, one rather surprisingly becomes aware of a pervasive sense of rare quietude, as a curious sort of peacefulness seems to emanate from the place. It is as if the fiery heat of a great mythological furnace had somehow burned away all of the worldly dross from this one sacred point on earth, leaving an area of serene tranquility. When asked about this impression, a receptive Park Ranger acknowledged that even in summer there comes an unexpected, cooling breeze from the west; and during the coldest of Georgia winters, the area within the lines of the stockade always seems to be a bit warmer than anywhere else. Walking the now cleared, rolling land where so many men had been left to their fates and struggled to survive in such deadly misery, one can still see traces of half-dug wells and hovels scratched nearly by hand in the hard red Georgia clay, and the remnants of hopeless efforts at escape tunnels. There are also the more recent covered trenches of the archeologists who have discovered large pieces of the stockade’s original wooden palisades beneath the earth; and since 1987 the National Park Service has reconstructed portions of the stockade to “enhance visitor understanding of the prison and prison conditions.” And along the lower portion of the boundary of the west wall, just below the North Gate, there is an impressive shrine made of rough-hewn granite stones surrounding a fountain. With an appearance like a small chapel, it was built and dedicated in 1907 by Union veterans and survivors of Andersonville. The memorial rests at the mouth of Providence Spring, and the clear water still flows at the rate of about 10 gallons per minute. The water there is always cool, and is said to be especially invigorating. The symbols of the history of our relatively young nation are continually challenged by unconscionable development and ignorance, but meaningful places possessed of great spiritual resonance still exist throughout the land. Of such sites, Andersonville is easily among the most prominent. For those who are aware of it, there is a responsibility to learn from the entire experience, to share the saga with others, and to urge a visit. To know the story of the Miracle of Providence Spring is to understand that there remain accessible, powerful mysteries and rarified spaces where rare things have occurred, and where they continue to resonate on what can only be described as hallowed ground – at least at a place called Andersonville. Source: The Bivouac Banner Volume V, Issue 2 2006

Jeast, especially, I was sent this in email, and I thought you would like this one because it has a cloud in it: Story of Andersonville Prison: The grievous time of the Civil War remains the most convulsive, destructive, and still compelling chapter in United States History. By 1864 the conflict was in its third year, and the North’s strategies, in combination with its resources and resolve, had begun to finally subdue the South. Union victories on the battlefield had grown more numerous, and the war of attrition as envisioned by Lincoln, along with the Anaconda Plan as originally conceived by Winfield Scott, were proving brutally successful. An extension of the attritional war included the decision by Lincoln and General Grant to put an end to what had been large general exchanges of prisoners-of-war between the two sides. This action succeeded in further eroding the manpower which had become the Confederacy’s last natural resource, while it also resulted in tens of thousands of soldiers from both armies languishing hopelessly in what became little more than death camps in both North and South. Despite the unconscionable conditions which existed in the prison camps of both sides, the Confederate prison at Andersonville, Georgia has come to symbolize the worst of all of the camps; and, by extension, it serves to represent the very worst aspects of America’s vicious war between countrymen and brothers. Andersonville is about 110 miles south of Atlanta. From its inception as a prison camp in February of 1864 until the war’s end in April of 1865, a total of 45,000 Union prisoners-of-war passed through its gates. As many as 32,000 men were interned there at one time. In a vast outdoor pen of about 26 acres, surrounded by a 15 foot-high stockade made of upright rough-hewn pine logs driven straight into the ground, those poor souls within its confines were provided with little food, and no shelter whatsoever. The winter months were cold and relentless, and in summer the scorching sun and heat were deadly for the already weakened captives. Men who arrived without tents or blankets, or any crude utensil needed for the digging of hovels into the hard red Georgia clay died unattended on the open ground; and from the very first, prisoners died by the hundreds. Untreated wounds and disease, the incessant hunger and thirst, as well as a mortal despair, all combined to leave the tragic legacy of a death toll of more than 13,000 men. What had been the sleepy railroad town of Andersonville became a name synonymous with a veritable hell on earth, a nightmare of unimaginable dimension, unreal and impossible to ever fully describe even by those who were there. By 1864 food was scarce throughout the South, and scarcer still for the ill-fated Union prisoners. But, as is ever the case in the history of such human misery, it was the lack of water and the torture of continuous thirst which became most destructive to body and mind. At Andersonville there simply was not enough water for so many men. In fact, because of poor planning and design, and the influx of such unexpected numbers, there was no clean water at all. Stockade Creek was the name for the pitiful stream which ran through the lower third of the prison ground. With the exception of several small wells dug by prisoners, it was Andersonville’s only source of water; but before it ever entered the prison it was befouled by the cooking and contamination from the adjacent Confederate guards’ camp outside the stockade. The low banks and areas all around Stockade Creek became a vast and fetid morass in a very short time, for it was also used as the prison’s open latrine. With no officers among the unfortunates at Andersonville, there was no formal leadership or organization. The basics of survival became the responsibility of the individual prisoner, and the sole occupation of each man. Beyond the deathly sick and the wounded, those without any sort of personal purpose or direction were inevitably the first to die. Within such an incubator for the worst sort of human suffering and misery, the actions of the individuals at Andersonville ranged from the extraordinary to the unforgivable. While some prisoners became part of the feared gangs which organized to exploit and brutally prey upon their comrades, such as the notorious “Andersonville Raiders,” other men dedicated themselves to providing as much assistance and comfort as possible to the infirm and dying. Also, as the long months passed within the camp, religious activities became an important part of many of the prisoners’ lives. Interest in prayer meetings and growing attendance enabled them to be held each night in different parts of the camp, and preachers of all sorts emerged from the desperate ranks to hold services and to minister to the wavering hopes and spiritual needs of the forlorn men. An Andersonville Sunday School was even established; and even as the camp’s horrid conditions became worse, the numbers of the faithful grew. June and July of 1864 brought weeks of searing heat, and the number of dead steadily grew. Loaded in crude carts and carried outside the stockade to what was known as the Dead House, they awaited a primitive mass burial in the long, shallow trenches dug by their comrades. Such was the particular hell of Andersonville that, although surrounded by tall Georgia pines, the prisoners had no wood to boil the filthy water; and in the midst of what had once been rich farmland, they had no food. And men within the stockade were dying from thirst only yards from the clear, free-flowing waters of Sweetwater Creek which ran just outside of the south wall of the prison. But in early August the rains came. The blessed relief began as light showers which came down and rinsed the mass of 30,000 prisoners as they lie about the seared open acreage. Then, as the rain grew stronger, the men looked skyward and opened their parched mouths. Soon, all those who could began to hold up battered canteens and tin cups, and any other vessels they could find to hold the clean, precious rainwater. The downpour soon became a torrent which soon turned the prison’s 26 acres into a vast quagmire. As the heavy rains continued, Stockade Creek rose higher, overflowing its banks and carrying away large quantities of the camp’s accumulated filth and mire with its strong new current. Survivors testified after the war that the stream rose five feet in one hour. Eventually the surging water carried away portions of the east and west stockade walls. Although the Confederates hurried to arms in anticipation of the threat of a mass escape, the prisoners were simply too weak to much more than avoid the rushing water, and to revel in the relief from the torments of thirst and the burning sun. After five days of intermittent rain, on August 13, the great cloud appeared. Distinctive for its tremendous size and sharply defined shape, it was said to be like a giant mountain in the sky, its color like that of blued gun metal. Approaching from the east, the cloud moved slowly westward until it was directly over the camp. As thousands of men watched with a growing sense of awe, it seemed to stop and hover directly above the bough-covered Dead House, before moving slowly towards the North Gate. Even the nervous guards were compelled to stare in wonder as the cloud loomed, over the prison, still and powerful. By this time most of the camp’s crude shelters had been washed away by the rains, and the prisoners had been soaked to skin for days. Now, as the emaciated men stood staring heavenward, for the first time at Andersonville Prison there was complete silence. Even the endless drone of misery from the sick and dying became muted, and then seemed to disappear. As the cries of suffering quieted, a soft rain could be heard falling gently upon earth and man. Psalm 135:7 “He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses” NIV Suddenly, there came a thunderous, deafening roar. From men who knew the sound all too well, it was said to be like the explosion of a thousand cannon. It was so powerful that the weaker men standing near the west wall were thrown to the ground. Then, from the heart of the deep blue cloud, came a great, blinding flash – followed nearly immediately by searing bolt of blinding white lightening. It too exploded from the sky, violently striking the earth just within the stockade at a notorious point known as the Dead Line, beyond which no prisoner could pass without being shot. At the place where the fiery lightening struck there was another tremendous explosion and a stunning eruption of earth and steam filled the air. Instantly, torrents of fresh water gushed from the blasted, broken ground, pouring forth and coursing into the prison. This awesome water was cool and clean, and its flow was to become a permanent thing. The thunderous lightening had found the highest point of an underground stream, and the name of Providence Spring emerged nearly as quickly as the waters came forth to the relief of the thousands. On that same day the rains stopped, and the stockade walls were soon repaired. No attempts at mass escape were ever made, nor any effort made for the prisoners’ liberation by Union forces, even when Sherman’s army was within 20 miles of Andersonville on their “March to the Sea.” The imprisonment and harsh conditions for thousands of Federals continued through another long winter and until the war’s end in April of 1865; but throughout that entire time the miracle waters of Providence Spring continued to flow at the rate of about 10 gallons per minute. All who were there knew how rare a thing it was, but among the religious and newly religious in the camp, there was the special knowledge that the prayers of men in the most desperate sort of need had been answered. The awareness and belief that plaintive supplication could be heeded from even such a forsaken and miserable place as Andersonville was infinitely gratifying. Shortly after war’s end, Clara Barton and a former prisoner by the name of Dorence Atwater went to Andersonville as leaders of a dedicated group whose mission was to exhume, identify, and then properly rebury the scores of Union dead from the mass graves. Atwater, known as “the Clerk of the Dead,” had worked in the Dead House and somehow managed to record and secrete thousands of names. Incredibly, all but 400 of the 13,000 men who died there were successfully identified by this inspired effort. In the midst of such gruesome work in the sweltering heat of a burning July, those courageous and inspired humanitarians joined the prisoners who had gone before them whose bitter thirst had been quenched by the cooling, mysterious waters of Providence Spring. Today, Andersonville is a very quiet place. Still a part of the rural Georgia countryside, it is a National Historic Site administered by the Park Service. There is a modern Visitors Center with affecting displays that communicate the tragic history of the place effectively. There is also the Andersonville National Cemetery. Originally dedicated by Clara Barton’s group in 1865, the cemetery continues to provide a final resting place for American veterans today.

Nkorho Pan, Africam This is one of my favorites. Nkorho Pan game preserve. Live web cam. 9 hours ahead of us, so 11:00 am PST is 8:00 pm their time, and mostly you see bats flying at nite. I just watched some animals settling in for the nite, but now it's quiet, except for the bats streaking across periodically. Africam has also added an elephant plains webcam. Elephant Plains, Africam If you double-click on the webcam view it will enlarge to fill up the screen. (They also added a commercial you need to watch before the webcam comes up. :( ) Greasy Tech told us about this one a while ago, and it's given me some really nice times. It's peaceful and restful watching the animals just do what they do.

OJ Simpson's mom is another mom who thinks her son is innocent.

At the Greasespot Cafe there is plenty of room for mis-steaks, and they are [mostly] tender.

Just listened to it. (Because of my bad ears I can't really "listen" to much without closed captions, but I got a pair of really good earpieces and tried them out on this interview and I could hear.) I felt similar. I think because all the exposure I have had to the vileness of vpw had been internet, it seemed somewhat surreal to me. I mean I prayed for vp every day. I grieved when he died. (Remember that poem, "If no one is left to love you, you will know that I have died"? Well. I believed it. Horrible now to look at it. But hearing Kristen speak from her own mouth was pretty undeniably personal. Thanks so much for the kind and sensitive interview. Took my healing from the cult mentality to a deeper level. Sincerely appreciate it.

praying for the winds to change.

from a friend: This is only one of many of this kind. Watching these things is a reminder that the fabric of this country was created by men and women who have struggled, fought, suffered, and died who dedicated and consecrated this ground in the hope that they were contributing to the new birth of freedom for others and for our country that Abraham Lincoln spoke of on the fields of Gettysburg following a Civil War battle. I also think of the men and women who have struggled to serve the Lord and to give a new birth of life to Christianity in the world some of the most noble warriors as well. Many thanks to the noble warriors who have fought and continue to fight for freedom!

Jacquie Lawson Happy Fourth of July card (All the State flowers and an American Eagle) I think that Jacquie Lawson (England) and so many fine people internationally as well are praying for the egacy and heritage of American integrity, kindness, and defense of the truth, protection of the less fortunate -- all the things of One Nation under God -- to regain a new birth of freedom.

There is a movie of the Chartruese monestary, "Into great silence." that was movie was amazing grace to me, and then I found this liquor that is made from 130+ herbs and each of three monks have part of the formula, and they are under the vow of silence. So I got a bottle of this stuff, and it smells nicer than it tastes to me. (Fred put a little lime juice and tonic water in his and it tasted better.) I read that Charles De Gaulle and Prime Ministers and Bon Jovi drink it, and I was wondering if any of you have tried it. I know we had a wine salesman here at one time. I just would like to learn more about it.

Saw the movie, and was so impressed. Seeing the background of the times. Then someone sent me this youtube of Amazing Grace, and it has even more depth and dimension to me of what is in the Lord's heart for this song.

Received a nice note on forgiving from Watchman Nee, "The Lord my Portion." Two things I pray for pretty regularly, that the Lord keeps the root of bitterness out of my heart and never shuts up my bowels of compassion.

I have worked in the Casino industry for 7 years. never would have thought the Lord would have brought me here, but i was out of work, and a person who became a dear friend hired me because she liked my name. it's been a learning adventure. Constantly. The basic thing i got from twi was that gambling is wrong because there is no increase. in order to 'win' at gambling, the other must lose. i have found that this increases selfishness. i believe our Godly nature is to care about others, seek to help and increase others, but gambling exercises selfishness, where a person practices not caring about others, caring only for their own 'win' (which i believe is a true loss). So what do I do in the Casino? i pray a lot and try to be the presence of kindness for others. the usual.

i have found the Catholic church to be very satisfying because i love the emphasis on doing good, helping people in need, building schools, hospitals, performing missionary work of the type of disaster relief, orphanages, hospitals, schools. Things that relieve suffering, improve quality of life, and generally make the world a nicer place. Social compassion is usual and normal, and the money put here -- i still believe in the tithe -- helps do these things. Church budget is printed on every weekly church bulletin. Because church times are so many -- 2or 3 times a day and 7 times on Sunday -- it's not part of the church culture to wonder where you were instead of coming to church. Generally Catholics are too busy trying to take care of their own business -- their own walk with the lord -- that they don't keep their nose in others'. Some of the nicest true Christians i have met in the Catholic church. Especially so nice to learn that Pope Paul II, Mother Theresa and so many others ridiculed by twi really were wonderful people. So many wonderful people i met in twi came out of the Catholic church, and it is true that you can tell a tree by its fruit, and the Catholic church produces many wonderful people. The culture of the church strengthens people individually and families and work environment. The presence of the Cross, the sacrifice of Jesus Christ always before your face in that place keeps you humble, thankful, merciful because of the mercy received. Being part of Catholic church has really helped the Lord help me overcome the curses of rejection and other cult mentality distortions and become a functioning member of society in general. i am very thankful for Catholic church, Billy Graham and his people -- so many wonderful Christians out and about in the world to associate with!

Sandra Ann Sullivan -- vpw induced suicide In Reno NV 5 year old commits suicide. Suicide - Sadness that keeps on giving sadness 10/06 End of the Road 10/2006 Suicide in the Way 2002 Here are some of the threads that come up under a "suicide" search. This subject is especially painful for me -- my friend in high school called me up -- and I didn't have anything noteworthy to say, and then he committed suicide. And about the same time (circa 1968) an adult who trusted me called me and after we spoke, didso as well. I am so thankful the Lord has given me more and more compassion so that I now more have words to answer a loss of desire to live, and in the process He has been able to show me how people who are severely tortured and persecuted still live and praise the Lord for His goodness. (It does not look logical that someone who is being mercilessly tortured in a concentration camp can praise the Lord for His goodness, but they do.) In hope,