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Lj Priest (Trader Jill)

@RealTraderJill • 160,802 subscribers

Imperfect Christian/Former Platform Teacher, Analyst, Columnist for WrongSpeak, Voice Actor. Documentary Researcher. No DM's. Engaged . GOD FIRST.

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I've been in Florida for 10 years now. We all learn what the pineapple means at a certain point.... The swingers in this state are creepy and aggressive. They are also legion. They signal to each other using pineapples. You've been warned!!

Sensitive content

I've been in Florida for 10 years now. We all learn what the pineapple means at a certain point.... The swingers in this state are creepy and aggressive. They are also legion. They signal to each other using pineapples. You've been warned!!

8,716,937 views

OMG!! This took a turn I did not expect! 🫣😂🤣

OMG!! This took a turn I did not expect! 🫣😂🤣

2,016,329 views

Dear men, You're never going to be able to take our vote away from us, but you could lose them in further elections, so let's knock off the moronic "repeal the 19th amendment" crap because you sound stupid and you're pushing good girls away from you. See graphic for what you do going forward. Stop taking the insane, hot girl to bed and having babies with her. Get a good, Christian girl who believes in God and her family. Your future is literally in your own hands!

Dear men, You're never going to be able to take our vote away from us, but you could lose them in further elections, so let's knock off the moronic "repeal the 19th amendment" crap because you sound stupid and you're pushing good girls away from you. See graphic for what you do going forward. Stop taking the insane, hot girl to bed and having babies with her. Get a good, Christian girl who believes in God and her family. Your future is literally in your own hands!

100,189 views

I talk with LHGrey™️ almost every hour of every day. Today I have good news, and I have news that is very tragic. The good: her heart is getting stronger. In her voice notes she no longer sounds as if she is fighting for every breath. She feels every prayer and every kindness you have sent her way. I promise you, she has all of you to thank for that. The tragic: she received terrible news today and is carrying a deep personal loss. You will not see her here for a long while, if at all. When she has the energy, she still writes on Substack now and then. Follow her there so you don’t miss her when she can speak. I made this silly little Halloween video to try to lift her spirits. I love Halloween, and let’s be honest, she has always been our own personal Queen of the Night. She is asking that no one reach out right now. What she is walking through is very heavy. Please give her the quiet she needs. 🙏♥️

I talk with LHGrey™️ almost every hour of every day. Today I have good news, and I have news that is very tragic. The good: her heart is getting stronger. In her voice notes she no longer sounds as if she is fighting for every breath. She feels every prayer and every kindness you have sent her way. I promise you, she has all of you to thank for that. The tragic: she received terrible news today and is carrying a deep personal loss. You will not see her here for a long while, if at all. When she has the energy, she still writes on Substack now and then. Follow her there so you don’t miss her when she can speak. I made this silly little Halloween video to try to lift her spirits. I love Halloween, and let’s be honest, she has always been our own personal Queen of the Night. She is asking that no one reach out right now. What she is walking through is very heavy. Please give her the quiet she needs. 🙏♥️

76,788 views

Here is a truth most women never learn about men: Violence is always on the table between them. They are built for it in bone, blood, and instinct: to fight, to guard, to stand between the world and what they love. A man who offers his throat to everyone will not last long in it. Vulnerability is not a virtue he can scatter. It is a weapon he can only lay down in one place. To me, love has always been chess. The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board. She moves farthest, strikes hardest, decides the shape of the game. But if the King falls, the game is over. Power without him is nothing. The board is empty. The Kingdom is lost. I believe it is my duty to guard my King. When the world has beaten him, he does not have to keep wearing the armor. Behind our door he can set the crown down, rest the sword, and let the blood dry. I tend what the day has torn. I restore what the night has taken. Then he rises again, spirit mended and wounds bound, and goes back out to slay dragons and raise civilizations from the dust. I keep his heart and his mind safe. He keeps my heart and my body safe. That is the covenant. That is how the kingdom stands.

Here is a truth most women never learn about men: Violence is always on the table between them. They are built for it in bone, blood, and instinct: to fight, to guard, to stand between the world and what they love. A man who offers his throat to everyone will not last long in it. Vulnerability is not a virtue he can scatter. It is a weapon he can only lay down in one place. To me, love has always been chess. The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board. She moves farthest, strikes hardest, decides the shape of the game. But if the King falls, the game is over. Power without him is nothing. The board is empty. The Kingdom is lost. I believe it is my duty to guard my King. When the world has beaten him, he does not have to keep wearing the armor. Behind our door he can set the crown down, rest the sword, and let the blood dry. I tend what the day has torn. I restore what the night has taken. Then he rises again, spirit mended and wounds bound, and goes back out to slay dragons and raise civilizations from the dust. I keep his heart and his mind safe. He keeps my heart and my body safe. That is the covenant. That is how the kingdom stands.

73,764 views

Reports coming in Iranians in Abdanan, Iran have liberated their city from the IRGC. The first to fall, reports say. 🇮🇷🇺🇸🇮🇱 Javid Shah H/T Robbie Dawkins It looks like the people in Iran are rising up against their oppressors with the full backing and support of the United States and Israel!

Reports coming in Iranians in Abdanan, Iran have liberated their city from the IRGC. The first to fall, reports say. 🇮🇷🇺🇸🇮🇱 Javid Shah H/T Robbie Dawkins It looks like the people in Iran are rising up against their oppressors with the full backing and support of the United States and Israel!

382,554 views

Prayer warriors, please stop and stand with us. L.H. Grey was taken back to the hospital last night. The large tear opened wide again, and around 2 am the pain woke her so fiercely that Julie had to rush her to the ER. She is in very bad shape. What weighs even heavier is the place her heart has reached. She has fought this for so long that the fight itself feels unbearable. Today she said her spirit is dead. She said she cannot keep living like this for much longer. Those words land like a stone. This is not exaggeration. She is exhausted, hurting, and close to giving up. Please pray that God’s angels would surround her, that hope would find her in the dark, and that healing, body and spirit, would come. If Tom MacDonald reach her with a word of strength, now is the time. Father, We come to You for her. You see the tear in her body and the deeper tear in her spirit. You heard her say she cannot go on like this. Meet her there. Do not let the night have the last word. Send Your angels to stand at her bedside. Quiet the pain that steals her sleep. Knit what has torn. Breathe life back into a spirit that feels dead. Give her a reason to fight one more hour, then one more day. Let her know she is not abandoned, not forgotten, not alone in this room. Hold Julie as she watches and waits. Give the doctors wisdom. And if it is Your will, restore her, fully, gently, soon. We ask this in the name of Jesus, who bore suffering and rose. Amen.

Prayer warriors, please stop and stand with us. L.H. Grey was taken back to the hospital last night. The large tear opened wide again, and around 2 am the pain woke her so fiercely that Julie had to rush her to the ER. She is in very bad shape. What weighs even heavier is the place her heart has reached. She has fought this for so long that the fight itself feels unbearable. Today she said her spirit is dead. She said she cannot keep living like this for much longer. Those words land like a stone. This is not exaggeration. She is exhausted, hurting, and close to giving up. Please pray that God’s angels would surround her, that hope would find her in the dark, and that healing, body and spirit, would come. If Tom MacDonald reach her with a word of strength, now is the time. Father, We come to You for her. You see the tear in her body and the deeper tear in her spirit. You heard her say she cannot go on like this. Meet her there. Do not let the night have the last word. Send Your angels to stand at her bedside. Quiet the pain that steals her sleep. Knit what has torn. Breathe life back into a spirit that feels dead. Give her a reason to fight one more hour, then one more day. Let her know she is not abandoned, not forgotten, not alone in this room. Hold Julie as she watches and waits. Give the doctors wisdom. And if it is Your will, restore her, fully, gently, soon. We ask this in the name of Jesus, who bore suffering and rose. Amen.

27,423 views

My far-left mother once told me that she and my father made a point of getting repeated COVID vaccines specifically so Trump couldn’t keep them from the public. The result? She developed severe COVID that landed her in the ER. I recently realized I’ve spent more of my life without my mother in it, because she’s a far-left lunatic who can’t accept that I’m not, than I have with her in it. Every decade or so she tries to make amends. It always ends the same way: she eventually realizes I haven’t changed, it eats away at her, and within a few months she unravels and lashes out. I end up blocking her on everything again because the toxicity becomes unbearable. This latest round, she claims I only hold my views for money and attention. I’m sure I’m rolling in that $200 a month from X. 🙄 Liberalism truly functions like a mental disorder. It corrodes people’s hearts and minds and tears families apart. I don’t really care anymore, but every so often I feel a quiet sadness at the thought of what it might have been like to have a mother. For those of you who do, I hope you never take her for granted. My daughter is a little left-leaning, which is typical as a teenager. I just talk to her and plant seeds knowing that she's smart enough to find the truth herself. I would never do to her what my mother has done to me for a lifetime, and I can say that if I've accomplished nothing else in my life, I've at least broken that family curse.

My far-left mother once told me that she and my father made a point of getting repeated COVID vaccines specifically so Trump couldn’t keep them from the public. The result? She developed severe COVID that landed her in the ER. I recently realized I’ve spent more of my life without my mother in it, because she’s a far-left lunatic who can’t accept that I’m not, than I have with her in it. Every decade or so she tries to make amends. It always ends the same way: she eventually realizes I haven’t changed, it eats away at her, and within a few months she unravels and lashes out. I end up blocking her on everything again because the toxicity becomes unbearable. This latest round, she claims I only hold my views for money and attention. I’m sure I’m rolling in that $200 a month from X. 🙄 Liberalism truly functions like a mental disorder. It corrodes people’s hearts and minds and tears families apart. I don’t really care anymore, but every so often I feel a quiet sadness at the thought of what it might have been like to have a mother. For those of you who do, I hope you never take her for granted. My daughter is a little left-leaning, which is typical as a teenager. I just talk to her and plant seeds knowing that she's smart enough to find the truth herself. I would never do to her what my mother has done to me for a lifetime, and I can say that if I've accomplished nothing else in my life, I've at least broken that family curse.

127,212 views

OMG, why would you EVER admit this???

OMG, why would you EVER admit this???

481,200 views

I woke at 5:30 a.m. and reached for my phone before my eyes had even fully opened. I have learned that these sudden middle-of-the-night stirrings are rarely random. They mean my soul-sister is drowning. And tonight, she was. Every voice message sounds like she's struggling for air and I can feel her pain through the wires. I wonder if you have any idea what you did to her. I wonder if you will ever understand that an ultimatum is not a request. It is an execution. It is the moment a relationship stops breathing. Toxicity, unexamined insecurity, and jealousy of the people who love her are not small flaws. They are poison. They seep into every room, every conversation, every quiet hour until the whole thing is contaminated. Grey and I share the same rare wiring: Enneagram 5. It is uncommon in women because it carries so many of the traits the world still codes as masculine. We are brutally logical. We are intellectuals with a burning need to take the universe apart molecule by molecule just to understand how magnificently it works. We are incredibly insular. If we were castles, the gates would be iron, the walls would reach heaven, and the moat would be filled with leviathan. Our circles stay small because we do not do surface-level thinking or surface-level feeling. As she told me in a message today, “We’re not just deep. We’re Mariana Trench deep.” That is what confuses people. We are deeply affectionate, yet there is no romance here. We are simply sisters of the soul. Grey is now heavily considering going fully under the knife, cracking her chest open like a walnut to repair the heart you helped break. I told her it would be an epic scar. The kind the hot girls would swoon over. I want this woman to heal. I want her to soar. I know, deep in the marrow of my bones, that we were brought together for a reason and that she still has work to do. There are not fifty shades of Grey. There are infinite ones that will weave themselves through every molecule of her body. And she will rise from this like the dark phoenix I have always known she is. I love you, my sister. ~Leigh LHGrey™️

I woke at 5:30 a.m. and reached for my phone before my eyes had even fully opened. I have learned that these sudden middle-of-the-night stirrings are rarely random. They mean my soul-sister is drowning. And tonight, she was. Every voice message sounds like she's struggling for air and I can feel her pain through the wires. I wonder if you have any idea what you did to her. I wonder if you will ever understand that an ultimatum is not a request. It is an execution. It is the moment a relationship stops breathing. Toxicity, unexamined insecurity, and jealousy of the people who love her are not small flaws. They are poison. They seep into every room, every conversation, every quiet hour until the whole thing is contaminated. Grey and I share the same rare wiring: Enneagram 5. It is uncommon in women because it carries so many of the traits the world still codes as masculine. We are brutally logical. We are intellectuals with a burning need to take the universe apart molecule by molecule just to understand how magnificently it works. We are incredibly insular. If we were castles, the gates would be iron, the walls would reach heaven, and the moat would be filled with leviathan. Our circles stay small because we do not do surface-level thinking or surface-level feeling. As she told me in a message today, “We’re not just deep. We’re Mariana Trench deep.” That is what confuses people. We are deeply affectionate, yet there is no romance here. We are simply sisters of the soul. Grey is now heavily considering going fully under the knife, cracking her chest open like a walnut to repair the heart you helped break. I told her it would be an epic scar. The kind the hot girls would swoon over. I want this woman to heal. I want her to soar. I know, deep in the marrow of my bones, that we were brought together for a reason and that she still has work to do. There are not fifty shades of Grey. There are infinite ones that will weave themselves through every molecule of her body. And she will rise from this like the dark phoenix I have always known she is. I love you, my sister. ~Leigh LHGrey™️

54,624 views

This is why the drones go to NJ and not Florida.

This is why the drones go to NJ and not Florida.

450,890 views

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐲, 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 (This is a thread comprised of 13 parts, so enjoy!) “𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.” ~𝘈𝘭-𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪 Picture the dusty streets of Jerusalem in the middle of the 11th century. Pilgrims collapse from heat, disease, and the long road. A handful of Amalfi merchants open a hospital near the Holy Sepulchre and start dragging the broken back from the edge. They call themselves the brothers of St. John. No one knows yet that these quiet men in black will become one of the hardest fighting forces the Mediterranean has ever seen. 1/13 🧵

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐲, 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 (This is a thread comprised of 13 parts, so enjoy!) “𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.” ~𝘈𝘭-𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪 Picture the dusty streets of Jerusalem in the middle of the 11th century. Pilgrims collapse from heat, disease, and the long road. A handful of Amalfi merchants open a hospital near the Holy Sepulchre and start dragging the broken back from the edge. They call themselves the brothers of St. John. No one knows yet that these quiet men in black will become one of the hardest fighting forces the Mediterranean has ever seen. 1/13 🧵

59,823 views

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘 𝖂𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕹𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝕿𝖔 𝕰𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖊 The light over the sink was the color of a held breath. She stood there long enough for the tap to stop dripping and the house to go quiet around her, as if even the walls had decided to watch. Steam ghosted the glass, then thinned, and two angels looked at each other through what was left. One of them was wounded. Her wings, if they had ever been wings, hung wrong. Not broken in the pretty way stories like to paint. Broken in the living way. A shoulder drawn in. A mouth that remembered how to smile and no longer trusted the reflex. There was a mark violence leaves that no one else can point to and still she felt it, a wound under the skin. She had survived the night and then survived every morning after it, which is a second violence nobody counts. Across the glass the other angel was whole. Same face. Same bones. A version of her that still believed a room was only a room. Her hair fell the way it used to, easy, unguarded. Her eyes had not yet learned to measure a doorway or a tone of voice that changes too fast. She looked back with a brightness so intact it felt like a door slammed on a hymn. The wounded one wanted to hate her for it. She wanted to fall into her. She wanted to warn her. She could do none of those things. The glass would not allow passage. Time would not either. They stared until the air between them felt heavy. This was not one woman and her reflection. This was a threshold. Before and after occupying the same small bathroom, breathing the same cheap soap, refusing to blink first. She lifted her hand. The whole one lifted the same hand, a heartbeat late, as if memory had to catch up with the echo. Fingertips found the cold. Two lives met and failed to touch. The glass held them apart with a cruelty so ordinary it almost passed for furniture. Speak, the wounded one thought, though she did not know which of them she meant. The whole angel had no language for what was coming. That was her holiness and her helplessness. She could only remain as proof. Proof that there had been a self before the theft. Proof that the woman on this side of the glass was not a different creature, only a life interrupted and forced to continue. Something in the wounded angel’s chest tore and then... impossibly... kept beating. She didn't smash the mirror. People who have already been shattered learn the cost of breaking more glass. She looked until the two faces burned into one another: the girl who walked into the world unarmored, and the woman who walked out of the dark carrying her name like a lit match in a wind. When she finally turned from the sink, the whole angel did not vanish. She came too, folded into the wounded one the way a former country lives inside an exile. Not as a ghost. As a claim. Nearly 1 in 3 women on earth will stand at some version of this glass. The World Health Organization names it without poetry: physical violence, sexual violence, or both, at least once in a lifetime. Hundreds of millions. In the United States the numbers do not grow kinder. About 1 in 4 women report completed or attempted rape. Older national counts still used by survivor networks say 1 in 6. Most never see a courtroom. Most already know the face. The world prefers the whole angel in the glass. The world is less eager to look at the one who had to keep living in silence. I am one of these angels and so are many others. 💫This post is dedicated to all the other angels who remember like it was yesterday.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘 𝖂𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝕹𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝕿𝖔 𝕰𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖊 The light over the sink was the color of a held breath. She stood there long enough for the tap to stop dripping and the house to go quiet around her, as if even the walls had decided to watch. Steam ghosted the glass, then thinned, and two angels looked at each other through what was left. One of them was wounded. Her wings, if they had ever been wings, hung wrong. Not broken in the pretty way stories like to paint. Broken in the living way. A shoulder drawn in. A mouth that remembered how to smile and no longer trusted the reflex. There was a mark violence leaves that no one else can point to and still she felt it, a wound under the skin. She had survived the night and then survived every morning after it, which is a second violence nobody counts. Across the glass the other angel was whole. Same face. Same bones. A version of her that still believed a room was only a room. Her hair fell the way it used to, easy, unguarded. Her eyes had not yet learned to measure a doorway or a tone of voice that changes too fast. She looked back with a brightness so intact it felt like a door slammed on a hymn. The wounded one wanted to hate her for it. She wanted to fall into her. She wanted to warn her. She could do none of those things. The glass would not allow passage. Time would not either. They stared until the air between them felt heavy. This was not one woman and her reflection. This was a threshold. Before and after occupying the same small bathroom, breathing the same cheap soap, refusing to blink first. She lifted her hand. The whole one lifted the same hand, a heartbeat late, as if memory had to catch up with the echo. Fingertips found the cold. Two lives met and failed to touch. The glass held them apart with a cruelty so ordinary it almost passed for furniture. Speak, the wounded one thought, though she did not know which of them she meant. The whole angel had no language for what was coming. That was her holiness and her helplessness. She could only remain as proof. Proof that there had been a self before the theft. Proof that the woman on this side of the glass was not a different creature, only a life interrupted and forced to continue. Something in the wounded angel’s chest tore and then... impossibly... kept beating. She didn't smash the mirror. People who have already been shattered learn the cost of breaking more glass. She looked until the two faces burned into one another: the girl who walked into the world unarmored, and the woman who walked out of the dark carrying her name like a lit match in a wind. When she finally turned from the sink, the whole angel did not vanish. She came too, folded into the wounded one the way a former country lives inside an exile. Not as a ghost. As a claim. Nearly 1 in 3 women on earth will stand at some version of this glass. The World Health Organization names it without poetry: physical violence, sexual violence, or both, at least once in a lifetime. Hundreds of millions. In the United States the numbers do not grow kinder. About 1 in 4 women report completed or attempted rape. Older national counts still used by survivor networks say 1 in 6. Most never see a courtroom. Most already know the face. The world prefers the whole angel in the glass. The world is less eager to look at the one who had to keep living in silence. I am one of these angels and so are many others. 💫This post is dedicated to all the other angels who remember like it was yesterday.

18,361 views

If It’s Too Much, It Was Never Yours to Finish Alone “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Literally nowhere in the Bible! I used to hear that and think, well then I must be defective, because life is consuming me and I cannot handle any of this! That line is not Scripture. It is church-lady morphine. It sounds holy, it photographs well, and it has quietly crushed a lot of people who were already on the floor. Paul never promised you a manageable life. In 1 Corinthians 10 he is talking about temptation. God will not let you be cornered by sin with no way out. Temptation... not life. Then you get to 2 Corinthians 1 and Paul admits the opposite. Asia nearly buried them. They were pressed past their strength. Past it. Not “stretched in a growth-mindset kind of way.” Past the point where a capable person can still look competent. And the lesson was not, “Look how much we can carry if we just believe harder.” It was, “Stop trusting yourselves. Trust the God who raises the dead.” Which is darkly funny, if you think about it. The man writing half the New Testament is basically saying: yeah, this one took us out. We had nothing left. That’s when God got interesting. I have lived that. There were years I was not “overcoming.” I was surviving on spite, makeup, terrible decisions and a talent for looking fine while rotting on the inside. God did not hand me a cute little trial sized to my convenience. He let the whole house burn down. Then He met me in the ash, which is much less flattering than a testimony about how strong I am. Jesus did not say, “Come to Me after you’ve organized the chaos into something inspirational.” He said come if you are broken and weary. That is not the language of a light tote bag. That is the language of someone who should not still be standing. So, if some well-meaning soul hits you with that fortune cookie, pop bible verse while your life is actively eating you alive, you are allowed to ignore it. You are not failing because you cannot carry it. You were never meant to carry it alone. If it is too much, it is too much. Put it down where He can reach it. God will absolutely let you get hit with more than you can handle because more often than not, we find him in the ash and the broken places.

If It’s Too Much, It Was Never Yours to Finish Alone “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Literally nowhere in the Bible! I used to hear that and think, well then I must be defective, because life is consuming me and I cannot handle any of this! That line is not Scripture. It is church-lady morphine. It sounds holy, it photographs well, and it has quietly crushed a lot of people who were already on the floor. Paul never promised you a manageable life. In 1 Corinthians 10 he is talking about temptation. God will not let you be cornered by sin with no way out. Temptation... not life. Then you get to 2 Corinthians 1 and Paul admits the opposite. Asia nearly buried them. They were pressed past their strength. Past it. Not “stretched in a growth-mindset kind of way.” Past the point where a capable person can still look competent. And the lesson was not, “Look how much we can carry if we just believe harder.” It was, “Stop trusting yourselves. Trust the God who raises the dead.” Which is darkly funny, if you think about it. The man writing half the New Testament is basically saying: yeah, this one took us out. We had nothing left. That’s when God got interesting. I have lived that. There were years I was not “overcoming.” I was surviving on spite, makeup, terrible decisions and a talent for looking fine while rotting on the inside. God did not hand me a cute little trial sized to my convenience. He let the whole house burn down. Then He met me in the ash, which is much less flattering than a testimony about how strong I am. Jesus did not say, “Come to Me after you’ve organized the chaos into something inspirational.” He said come if you are broken and weary. That is not the language of a light tote bag. That is the language of someone who should not still be standing. So, if some well-meaning soul hits you with that fortune cookie, pop bible verse while your life is actively eating you alive, you are allowed to ignore it. You are not failing because you cannot carry it. You were never meant to carry it alone. If it is too much, it is too much. Put it down where He can reach it. God will absolutely let you get hit with more than you can handle because more often than not, we find him in the ash and the broken places.

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My beautiful twin bear, Watching you stand in that new light, unbowed, unapologetic, still building the house even while it bleeds, fills me with a pride that sits heavy and quiet in the chest. You are an extraordinary woman: the kind who takes the worst the world can throw, names it, and then uses the wreckage as lumber. I know your daddy is proud of you too. The fighter he raised didn’t just survive the storm that tried to take the foundation; she looked it in the eye and kept pouring the next wall. He sees it. We all do. Keep going, my darling. The house is still yours. 🖤🖤🖤🦇🦇🦇

My beautiful twin bear, Watching you stand in that new light, unbowed, unapologetic, still building the house even while it bleeds, fills me with a pride that sits heavy and quiet in the chest. You are an extraordinary woman: the kind who takes the worst the world can throw, names it, and then uses the wreckage as lumber. I know your daddy is proud of you too. The fighter he raised didn’t just survive the storm that tried to take the foundation; she looked it in the eye and kept pouring the next wall. He sees it. We all do. Keep going, my darling. The house is still yours. 🖤🖤🖤🦇🦇🦇

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Oh my gosh… I clicked on Perez Hilton thinking I’d just catch up on some light Hollywood gossip before bed, and instead I was confronted with a deeply tragic video of a man in severe distress, visibly hurting himself and covered in blood. What is wrong with this world that something so painful and heartbreaking gets treated as entertainment?! I only lasted about 10 seconds before I had to shut it off. Please keep that man (and anyone else who’s suffering in silence) in your prayers. We could all use a little more compassion right now.v😢🙏 "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." ~Ephesians 6:12

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Oh my gosh… I clicked on Perez Hilton thinking I’d just catch up on some light Hollywood gossip before bed, and instead I was confronted with a deeply tragic video of a man in severe distress, visibly hurting himself and covered in blood. What is wrong with this world that something so painful and heartbreaking gets treated as entertainment?! I only lasted about 10 seconds before I had to shut it off. Please keep that man (and anyone else who’s suffering in silence) in your prayers. We could all use a little more compassion right now.v😢🙏 "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." ~Ephesians 6:12

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Here it is in all its grotesque glory: a child (a literal child) being forced into marriage with an old man while her family and community look on as the groom claims his "prize". This isn’t some quaint cultural ritual. This is child trafficking wrapped in the language of tradition. An innocent girl’s life stolen so an aging predator can have a wife he can control and a family can offload a "burden." Laws exist. They are ignored. Communities enable it. Old men participate without shame. And the rest of the country pretends this is someone else’s problem until another viral clip like this forces the horror back into view. If your first instinct is to defend this as "culture," you are part of why it continues. A child is not a bride. Period.

Here it is in all its grotesque glory: a child (a literal child) being forced into marriage with an old man while her family and community look on as the groom claims his "prize". This isn’t some quaint cultural ritual. This is child trafficking wrapped in the language of tradition. An innocent girl’s life stolen so an aging predator can have a wife he can control and a family can offload a "burden." Laws exist. They are ignored. Communities enable it. Old men participate without shame. And the rest of the country pretends this is someone else’s problem until another viral clip like this forces the horror back into view. If your first instinct is to defend this as "culture," you are part of why it continues. A child is not a bride. Period.

66,916 views

You can see more of this little man's journey on IG, TikTok or FB @ourhuddybuddy He is not a burden. He is God's miracle.

You can see more of this little man's journey on IG, TikTok or FB @ourhuddybuddy He is not a burden. He is God's miracle.

58,841 views

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐬: 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 By: Lj Priest 1/8🧵 The sky tears open. Not with gentle light, but with a crack of pure authority that shakes the unseen realm. Revelation 19:11 says it plainly: “I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war.” Out of that opening rides a white horse, and the One seated on it is no ordinary figure. He is called Faithful and True. With perfect justice He judges and makes war. His robe is already dripping with blood. This is the moment heaven has been waiting for.

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐬: 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 By: Lj Priest 1/8🧵 The sky tears open. Not with gentle light, but with a crack of pure authority that shakes the unseen realm. Revelation 19:11 says it plainly: “I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war.” Out of that opening rides a white horse, and the One seated on it is no ordinary figure. He is called Faithful and True. With perfect justice He judges and makes war. His robe is already dripping with blood. This is the moment heaven has been waiting for.

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America can burn. Just don’t touch our gas prices, right? You already lived through: $5 gas, vanished baby formula, a border with a welcome mat, tent cities, and a press that ran cover for IT ALL! You watched a president lose the plot on live TV, drooling on himself and running into walls. A vice president cackle at the wreckage. Inflation ate the grocery run. Fentanyl ate the kids. Crime ate downtown. Stores put toothpaste behind glass and called it progress. You also watched them sell “gender-affirming care” as kindness while they sterilized and carved up confused teenagers, and abortion on demand as healthcare while they treated a heartbeat like an inconvenience. Now one ugly war and eighty more cents and you’ve found your line. You didn’t grow a spine. You just ran out of excuses that still sounded noble. If we lose this country, it was all of you petulant children who caused it.

America can burn. Just don’t touch our gas prices, right? You already lived through: $5 gas, vanished baby formula, a border with a welcome mat, tent cities, and a press that ran cover for IT ALL! You watched a president lose the plot on live TV, drooling on himself and running into walls. A vice president cackle at the wreckage. Inflation ate the grocery run. Fentanyl ate the kids. Crime ate downtown. Stores put toothpaste behind glass and called it progress. You also watched them sell “gender-affirming care” as kindness while they sterilized and carved up confused teenagers, and abortion on demand as healthcare while they treated a heartbeat like an inconvenience. Now one ugly war and eighty more cents and you’ve found your line. You didn’t grow a spine. You just ran out of excuses that still sounded noble. If we lose this country, it was all of you petulant children who caused it.

11,394 views

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Though I am not a man, I do have 5 brothers and I firmly believe this is accurate! lol
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