The Democrat’s 2020 Stealth Candidate Comes Out of the Closet…(you gota be kidding?!)

……..and into the hotel room in a bathrobe! First Transgender President?

Say it ain’t so!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Pray!!!!!!!!!!

Here’s the story:

“………..But why, pray tell, would Michelle Obama come out of early retirement to run for POTUS.

Because there’s nobody else in sight.  And the DEMs are truly desperate!

The Democrat Party does not have a single candidate for POTUS so damaged are all the top so-called leaders. In fact, the most popular Democrat politicians have so destroyed their reputations individually that none of them have any hope whatsoever of a viable candidacy……..More significantly, Michelle came from the same C.I.A. test tube as her husband and is therefore trained in all the ways necessary to galvanize all the mind-control programmed Obamabots.  She also knows how to trigger the Clintonistas and Berniacs who will be needed to secure anything close to a 2020 Democrat victory……….”

KEEP READING THIS TERRIBLE NEWS!!! > http://themillenniumreport.com/2018/09/the-democrats-2020-stealth-candidate-comes-out-of-the-closet/#more-68867

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IRREFUTABLE PROOF that Michelle Obama IS A MAN 24/7

 The moment on Inauguration day everyone realized Michelle is a man

I don’t know about the Dems being desperate but well, yeah they’d have to be pretty desperate,…but is there a plan to put Mr. michelle obama into the White House??? They’ve worked and spent a lot of money to get this man to look, walk, act and sound like a woman; much in the same way the two famous Williams’ brothers as children, were raised as women by their father to compete in tennis championships, beating the weaker sex of women for boat loads of money. It worked! Hey! It’s not morally right, but it’s legal and the big guys know it. No one dare speak about or against serena and venus williams competition!

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Man prevents heart disease with superfoods; defies family history of death with perfect health score

Man prevents heart disease with superfoods; defies family history of death with perfect health score

https://www.naturalnews.com/2018-06-04-man-prevents-heart-disease-with-superfoods.html

Mr. Belzer

*Shared story

A young man learns what’s most important in life from the guy next door.

Over the phone, his mother told him, ‘Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday.’

Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

‘Jack, did you hear me?’

‘Oh, sorry, Mum. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,’ Jack replied.

‘Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,’ Mum told him.

‘I loved that old house he lived in,’ Jack said.

‘You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life,’ she said.

‘He’s the one who taught me carpentry,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important. Mum, I’ll be there for the funeral.’ Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away. The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mum stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture. Jack stopped suddenly . . .

‘What’s wrong, Jack?’ his Mum asked.

‘The box is gone,’ he said.

‘What box?’ Mum asked.

‘There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he’d ever tell me was the thing I value most.’ Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

‘Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,’ Jack said.

‘I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mum.’

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. ‘Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days,’ the note read. Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention, it read from ‘Mr. Harold Belser’. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack’s hands shook as he read the note inside.

‘Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It’s the thing I valued most in my life.’

A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved:

‘Jack, Thanks for your time! – Harold Belser.’

‘The thing he valued most was . . . my time’.

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. ‘Why?’ Janet, his assistant asked.

‘I need some time to spend with my son,’ he said.

‘Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!’

What’s better than money? Time. It cost you nothing to give time to others. Make time today for someone else; you never know, later on down the road when you need time it will come.

Rev 3:2 “Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die: for I have not found thy works perfect before God.”

The Secret

The old man shuffled slowly into the restaurant. With head tilted and shoulders bent forward, he leaned on his trusty cane with each unhurried step.

His tattered cloth jacket, patched trousers, worn out shoes, and warm personality made him stand out from the usual Saturday morning breakfast crowd. Unforgettable were his pale blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds, large rosy cheeks, and thin lips held in a tight, steady smile.

He stopped, turned with his whole body, and winked at a little girl seated by the door. She flashed a big grin right back at him. A young waitress named Mary watched him shuffle toward a table by the window.
Mary ran over to him, and said, ‘Here, Sir . . . let me give you a hand with that chair.’

Without saying a word, he smiled and nodded a thank you. She pulled the chair away from the table. Steadying him with one arm, she helped him move in front of the chair, and get comfortably seated. Then she scooted the table up close to him, and leaned his cane against the table where he could reach it.

In a soft, clear voice he said, ‘Thank you, Miss . . . and bless you for your kind gestures.’

‘You’re welcome, Sir.’ She replied.

‘And my name is Mary. I’ll be back in a moment and if you need anything at all in the mean time, just wave at me!’

After he had finished a hearty meal of pancakes, bacon and hot lemon tea, Mary brought him the change from his bill. He left it lay on the table. She helped him up from his chair and out from behind the table. She handed him his cane and walked with him to the front door.

Holding the door open for him, she said, ‘Come back and see us, Sir!’

He turned with his whole body, winked and smiled, then nodded a thank you. ‘You are very kind.’ he said softly.

When Mary went to clean his table, she almost fainted. Under his plate she found a business card and a note scribbled on a napkin. Under the napkin was a one hundred dollar bill.

The note on the napkin read . . . ‘Dear Mary, I respect you very much and I can see you respect yourself too. It shows by the way you treat others. You have found the secret of happiness. Your kind gestures will shine through to all those who meet you.’

The man she had waited on was the owner of the restaurant where she worked. This was the first time that she or any of his employees had ever seen him in person.

Red Marbles

Barbara Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily looking at a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

‘Hello Barry, how are you today?’

‘H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas, they sure look good.’

‘They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?’

‘Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.’

‘Good, anything I can help you with?’

‘No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.’

‘Would you like to take some home?’

‘No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ’em with.’

‘Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?’

‘All I got’s my prize marble here.’

‘Is that right? Let me see it.’

‘Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.’

‘I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?’

‘Not zackley, but almost.’

‘Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble.’

‘Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.’

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile she said, ‘There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps.’

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous one and I had occasion to visit some old friends and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts … all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

‘Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size, they came to pay their debt.’

‘We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth,’ she confided, ‘but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.’

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

Mt 5:42 “Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.”

Gal 6:10 “As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.”

1 Tim 6:18 “That they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate; …

Heb 13:16 “But to do good and to communicate forget not: for with such sacrifices God is well pleased. “

The Richest Man

A rich landowner named Carl often rode around his vast estate so he could congratulate himself on his great wealth. One day while riding around his estate on his favorite horse, he saw Hans, an old tenant farmer. Hans was sitting under a tree when Carl rode by.

Hans said, ‘I was just thanking God for my food.’

Carl protested, ‘If that is all I had to eat, I wouldn’t feel like giving thanks.’

Hans replied, ‘God has given me everything I need, and I am thankful for it.’

The old farmer added, ‘It is strange you should come by today because I had a dream last night. In my dream a voice told me, ‘The richest man in the valley will die tonight.’ I don’t know what it means, but I thought I ought to tell you.’

Carl snorted, ‘Dreams are nonsense,’ and galloped away, but he could not forget Hans’ words: ‘The richest man in the valley will die tonight.’ He was obviously the richest man in the valley, so he invited his doctor to his house that evening. Carl told the doctor what Hans had said. After a thorough examination, the doctor told the wealthy landowner, ‘Carl, you are as strong and healthy as a horse. There is no way you are going to die tonight.’

Nevertheless, for assurance, the doctor stayed with Carl, and they played cards through the night. The doctor left the next morning and Carl apologized for becoming so upset over the old man’s dream. At about nine o’clock, a messenger arrived at Carl’s door.

‘What is it?’ Carl demanded.

The messenger explained, ‘It’s about old Hans. He died last night in his sleep.’

1 Tim 6:8 “And having food And raiment let us be therewith content.

 

1 Cor 5:7 “Purge out therefore the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, as ye are unleavened. For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us: …

A Great Street Sweeper

garbageman

A True Story…..

I had been working much too long on this job. I guess things could have been worse. I certainly wasn’t doing hard labor. But going door to door asking questions as a representative of the federal government wasn’t the most satisfying position either. It was August. It was hot. I had to wear a tie.

‘Hello. My name is Bob Perks and we are doing a survey in this neighborhood.’

‘I’m not interested! Good bye!’

You can’t imagine how many times I heard that. I finally caught on and began with

‘Before you slam the door, I am not selling anything and I just need to ask a few questions about yourself and the community.’ The young woman inside the doorway, paused for a moment, raised her eyebrows as she shrugged her shoulders confused by my rude introduction.

‘Sure. Come on in. Don’t mind the mess. It’s tough keeping up with my kids.’

It was an older home in a section of the valley where people with meager income found affordable shelter. With the little they had, the home looked comfortable and welcoming.

‘I just need to ask a few questions about yourself and family. Although this may sound personal I won’t need to use your names. This information will be used’

She interrupted me. ‘Would you like a glass of cold water? You look like you’ve had a rough day.’

‘Why yes!’ I said eagerly. Just as she returned with the water, a man came walking in the front door. It was her husband.

‘Joe, this man is here to do a survey.’ I stood and politely introduced myself.

Joe was tall and lean. His face was rough and aged looking although I figured he was in his early twenties. His hands were like leather. The kind of hands you get from working hard, not pushing pencils. She leaned toward him and kissed him gently on the cheek. As they looked at each other you could see the love that held them together. She smiled and titled her head, laying it on his shoulder. He touched her face with his hands and softly said ‘I love you!’

They may not have had material wealth, but these two were richer than most people I know. They had a powerful love. The kind of love that keeps your head up when things are looking down.

‘Joe works for the borough.’ she said.

‘What do you do?’ I asked. She jumped right in not letting him answer.

‘Joe collects garbage. You know I’m so proud of him.’

‘Honey, I’m sure the man doesn’t want to hear this.’ said Joe.

‘No, really I do.’ I said.

‘You see Bob, Joe is the best garbage man in the borough. He can stack more garbage on the truck than anyone else. He gets so much in one truck that they don’t have to make as many runs’, she said with such passion.

‘In the long run,’ Joe continues, ‘I save the borough money. Man hours are down and the cost per truck is less.’

There was silence. I didn’t know what to say. I shook my head searching for the right words. ‘That’s incredible! Most people would gripe about a job like that. It certainly is a difficult one. But your attitude about it is amazing.’ I said. She walked over to the shelf next to the couch. As she turned she held in her hand a small-framed paper.

‘When we had our third child Joe lost his job. We were on unemployment for a time and then eventually welfare. He couldn’t find work anywhere. Then one day he was sent on an interview here in this community. They offered him the job he now holds. He came home depressed and ashamed. Telling me this was the best he could do. It actually paid less than we got on welfare.’

She paused for a moment and walked toward Joe. ‘I have always been proud of him and always will be. You see I don’t think the job makes the man. I believe the man makes the job!’

‘We needed to live in the borough in order to work here. So we rented this home.’ Joe said.

‘When we moved in, this quote was hanging on the wall just inside the front door. It has made all the difference to us, Bob. I knew that Joe was doing the right thing.’ she said as she handed me the frame.

It said: “If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep the streets even as Michelangelo painted or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.” -Martin Luther King