A couple days ago, while sitting down for lunch procrastinating my next work call, I turned on Fox News like always, only to be treated with live footage of a 19-year-old girl begging a Congressional subcommittee to halt gender-reassignment therapies and surgeries for minors.  I tried to keep nibbling on my low carb wrap as this “de-transitioning” teenager broke down in tears, describing how getting gender change surgery at the age of fifteen not only ruined her childhood, and but her life. I actually couldn’t eat.

I admit. I can be a hot head at times, suffering from quarterly bouts of road rage and random outbursts when being exposed to Housewives or Kardashian commercials (can someone vote these people off the island?!) but I hadn’t been that upset by the news since hearing about that female high school volleyball player’s face getting concussed by an opposing trans player pretending to be a girl.  What. Is. Happening.

This nightmarish spiral of current events happens to be occurring at the exact moment in history when we’re all becoming acutely aware of the rampant outbreak of child sex slavery thanks to the amazing new film, The Sound of Freedom.  An estimated 1.2 million children are trafficked each year.  Even one child is gut-wrenching. 1.2 million has to be the sign of the end.

So. I’ve come to terms with it. I think I’m ready for Jesus to return. Which sounds like a typical Christian placard, but for me, not so much. I’ve always been part the fringy camp who’s looking forward to meeting our Lord…but just not quite ready for the world’s end, ya know?. I mean…I love Jesus. He saved me from roaring hellfire, and myself, and I think the latter was probably worse. And the thought of not aging past my mid-forties gives me goosebumps.

However, I really do want to see Hawaii before passing to eternity. And maybe buy a beach house on the Carolina coast when I’m old, and finally attempt a marathon (not happening but it felt good to type). And of course it’d be nice to see my kids marry and have children of their own so I can enjoy the fruit of all this non-stop labor. Haven’t been pairing clean socks and rotting on soccer field sidelines for two decades for zero ROI.

But alas, after seeing this world’s moral fiber seemingly bust at the seams over the last few years of political crimes, weaponizing science, blatant censorship, celebrating murder of the unborn and now, mutilating children’s private parts… I believe I am indeed ready for the promised land.  Haven’t seen the coast of Greece or written that great American novel quite yet, but I’ve at least lived long enough to see Snoop Dog headline the Superbowl and I finally figured out how to cook salmon.  Where. Are. You Jesus.

Sounds a little bleak, but for those new to this blog, I assure… these sentiments come from a serial optimist who typically laughs in the face of stress and insanity. I’m the girl who flew to Cozumel in the middle of a pandemic (thanks for the affordable fights, Covid!) and yanked my kid out of an agenda-driven public school of wokeness with a smile on my face (one less brain to wash- peace out!). Takes a lot to un-do me, thanks to a hearty Gen x upbringing and quasi-supernatural powers of denial. I cannot possibly fathom living with anxiety or depression in this depraved, Orwellian culture without losing my mind, or at least micro-dosing on the regular.

What on Earth keeps these people going? The hope Biden’ll get caught sucking his thumb in public and finally forced to retire? Or that the Bud Light ban will evolve to the eventual boycott of evil hood? Or perhaps the ghost of Jeffrey Epstein will slowly haunt every lying, sellout member of the leftist media until they break like the rest of us and repent? I gotta know.

Because this joy-driven, sprit-filled mother of five is gettin’ tired. Tired of worrying what sort of depraved filth will infiltrate my children’s ears in the name of “tolerance” when turning on Kids Netflix. Or sending my kids to our YMCA day camp that (surprise!!)  hosts an unadvertised Drag Queen Story Hour every Tuesday. Tired of taking recommendations from supposed Christian influencers who include list movies showing digitized porn in their “best movies to watch with your teen” listicles. Tired of fearing some trolling fascist will find this blog and attempt canceling me someday (they can try, right Musk?!)

So Lord, we know you kindly promised not to come back until every tribe and tongue has heard the name of Jesus. (Matt 24:14) And we know you’re a patient shepherd, so that not one of your sheep will perish before the end (Peter 3:9) . However, if you do decide to part the clouds just one moment sooner, please know there is one perimenopausal sheep down here packed and eager to go. Plus I’m sure there’ll be luaus in heaven. Aloha, friends. Remember there’s always hope, because He’s already won. Keep fighting the good fight. And cheers to those trumpets sounding early. xo.