Salt and Pepper

Sister is in town for the weekend, so we decided to go on a picnic Friday evening.

When I opened the front door upon hearing her knock, I laughed to see that she was the pepper to my salt:

We're even wearing the same shirt!

Life is always more flavorful when she's around.

We set up camp next to a pond at a park down the street, and we spent the evening talking and resting.

And then, just before the sunset, we got up to toss the frisbee around.

You guys, my body let me toss the frisbee around!! Unfortunately, that little bit of exertion did worsen my neurological symptoms, and the last couple of days my body has been pretty unhappy, so I am clinging to the memory of being up moving around under a summer sky. Steps backward can be more bearable if they're the result of a good time.

Also, all this time in bed has made it easy to gobble up a few seasons of The Great British Bake Off, and I feel like I am really beginning to master the British vernacular. For example, I'm chuffed to have my sis in town; I'm gutted to be feeling so lousy this weekend; I'm cross with myself for . . . well, I'm not cross with myself about anything today; and after I sliced open a cantaloupe this morning, I binned the seeds.

Speaking British makes me feel so 'fisticated.

Cheers, my friends!

Happy Saturday,


© by scj


I have a pile of grading the height of a chubby, bearded yard gnome; and I really should be making my way through at least a few inches of it today. Naturally, I've spent the morning watching Youtube videos and taking frequent trips to the kitchen, and I have now turned to blogging.

My grading started okay. The key to convincing yourself to grade in May is to make yourself comfortable, so I did. I nestled in my anti-gravity chair in the sunshine, a cup of lemon water in my handy-dandy cup holder, and a bowl of raspberries within arm's reach. But as soon as I sat down, I realized there were so.many.other important things to do, starting with snapping photos of everything on the patio. It all went downhill from there.

Grading Photography, Exhibit A:

This is a candid grading selfie, if ever there were such a thing. English teachers, please, please, please snap a selfie while you're grading and send it to me. It will give me so much joy.

Grading photography, Exhibit B:

A student gave me this plant last fall, and when I potted it, the little beauty was traumatized. Within weeks, the trauma had turned her luscious, budded stems into a few black, spindly arms. The poor thing belonged in The Lion King's "Elephant Graveyard."

Normally, I love gardening, but I was far too preoccupied with my health to try to resuscitate her. But lo and behold: several months later, those black, spindly arms sprouted waxy leaves; and a month after that, flowers burst forth.

I've taken comfort in my hydrangeas this spring as I struggle to climb out of the nightmarish pit of sickness. I often feel like the only way I will get healthy is if I work my tail off. And it is so much work to get healthy. Some weeks I'll put in a full 25 hours of work researching, strategizing, talking to insurance agents, going to the doctor, and completing daily medical regimes; and in the midst of all that work, it's easy to forget that God could heal me without my help. My hydrangea is a daily reminder that dying things can sprout life without my assistance.

Many of you have sent me notes of encouragement over the last couple of weeks as I wrap up the semester. Thank you. I'm really delighted to tell you that I have made some hopeful improvements lately.

The herbs in April helped, of course, but a few weeks ago, my body rejected them, and I spiraled back into the pit the week before my nerve-wracking test. I imagine the fear of what the test might reveal suppressed my immune system even more than usual, and the viruses took advantage of the weakness. When the test results were favorable, the burden on my immune system lifted, and I began to feel a bit better.

The herbs I took last month seem to have quieted my GI tract infection enough that my body can once again tolerate some of the tinctures that helped me heal some in the summer and fall, so I've resumed taking them. Little by little, I inch forward (then backward, then forward, then backward — the cha-cha continues, but I am SO grateful for those steps forward!), and every now and then, I'm able to participate in life in more normal ways.

I recently enjoyed an afternoon at the beach after one of my doctor's appointments with Sean, my friend and doctor's appointment chauffeur, and since it was a blustery day, we flew kites.

Everyone, meet Skippy, the happiest little tail-wagging kite in all the land.

Also, I imagine Sean will be happy if he never hears Mary Poppin's "Let's Go Fly a Kite" ever again...

Mr. Sun finally made an appearance!

Last weekend a friend and colleague, whose name means Queen of the Fairies, hosted a garden dinner party for a handful of faculty.

After dinner we sat around a campfire for hours, talking and drinking hot rose water tea (isn't that just what you would expect from the Queen of Fairies?!), and though it was a full moon,  my body held up remarkably well. The outing gave me such hope, and hope is such a powerful healer.

This week is finals week, so many of us — faculty and students alike — are blitzed with work, and we are exhausted. We are drooping, dragging, crawling across the finish line, but WE ARE STILL MOVING.

My (girl)friends, there is a trick to making it out the door at 7 A.M. on a Monday in May with optimism about the long day ahead: a fancy hair-do.

A fancy hairdo can make a girl stand a little straighter; and good, open posture tells your brain you are strong, which makes it increase your testosterone levels and lower your cortisol levels, which tells you that YOU ARE WOMAN AND YOU WILL OVERCOME.

Never underestimate the power of a good hairdo.

Also, a big breakfast will do wonders for the spirit (and the waistline):

Girls, the above hairdo is so easy (maybe I'll do a tutorial), and one of its many benefits is if you nap in it, you will wake up with Queen Elsa hair, which may well inspire you to, whatever it is:

(Please forgive the inordinate number of selfies in this post).

Anyway, good things are happening over here, and for the first time in many months, I feel hopeful that one day I will return to decent health. I've even dared to hope that I might heal enough this summer to go on occasional outings. I'm trying to manage my hope because I'm still so weak and symptomatic (I'm guessing I'm functioning at about 5% of normal), but you guys: I would love to go dancing, and hiking, and walking through the countryside this summer.

Would you pray that my body continues on a healing trajectory? And would you continue to pray for wisdom for me as I try to figure out which treatments to try this summer? And finally, on Friday I see another specialist about a follow-up test to the one I got earlier this month. Would you pray for insight for the specialist and me as we discuss my case?

Thank you for your faithful prayers and wonderful encouragement this semester, my friends!

Cheering for you,


P.S. I turned in the final paper for my PhD class last week:

This paper, as with all of the work for this class, was a collective effort, because I surely would not have made it through this class without all of your fervent, faithful prayers for my health. Thank you, dear ones!

© by scj


My friends,

Thank you for your prayers these last couple of days. As this test drew nearer, my anxiety grew heavier and more pervasive, affecting both my waking hours and sleep. But when I climbed in bed Monday night, after many of you had started praying for me, I slept peacefully, without bad dreams, for the first time in awhile.

I am happy to report that the test I underwent yesterday revealed nothing life-altering. The test is not conclusive, however, so I will meet with another specialist later this month to discuss having a second test done which will give us definitive results. As far as I understand, the odds of this second test being negative are much higher because the first test was negative, so I'm expericing a measure of relief. I appreciate your continued prayers as I look toward meeting with this specialist in late May.

In the meantime, my chronic symptoms have been particularly unrelenting, and I suspect the herbs that have given me pockets of relief the last few weeks have stopped working. This is not uncommon with illnesses like mine. Often, something will work for a few weeks or months before my body grows accustomed to it and I have to find some other form of treatment.

Right now, my plan is to begin a new form of treatment on May 25th. I'm nervous, as I always am, because I'm not sure how my body will respond; but I'm hopeful, too. These treatments will take awhile to work — I imagine I'll need 60-100 treatments in all before I see real improvement — but I'm hoping I'll see incremental improvement along the way. I have read that patients like me find the first 15 treatments (and the days following them) particularly hard, so I appreciate your prayers for special grace as I will likely experience what we sickies call "a healing crisis."

I'm still not positive this form of treatment is the right next step, but it seems like it. Would you pray that the Lord would make it clear if this isn't the best next step for me?

Thank you, my friends.

And to all my teacher people: we are in the home stretch. We can do this. Soon we will be sipping iced tea on the back patio with months of glorious rest stretching ahead of us. Lord, help us get there.


P.S. There was a giant photo — of blossom-bedecked trees stretching toward a spring sky — embedded in the ceiling of the doctor's office yesterday, so when I laid on the table, I felt like I was at the park watching the sunlight dance through the trees. It was glorious.

P.P.S. My dear friend took me to the doctor yesterday, and before we went inside, she grabbed my hand and prayed for me. And you guys, this sickness and all its complications are a nightmare, but yesterday, as my friend and I sat there holding hands and praying, I felt like I was especially blessed. Like, more blessed than all my healthy friends, because I was there, in the car, listening to my loving friend pray fervently for me.

God is always turning the nightmare into a gift, isn't he?

P.P.P.S. Raspberries in the sunshine with Harry Potter: there is no better way to end a hard day, my friends.

© by scj


All my Pray-ers,

I'm wearing my favorite night shirt as I prepare to climb in bed. It's the hole-iest pajama top I own — white, oversized cotton with long, holey sleeves, a bright red Adidas logo across the chest, and a holey hood I wear when the weather dips below 65-degrees — but it's my favorite because it used to be my dad's. 

My dad is broad and muscular, with big biceps I liked to wrap my hands around when I was a little girl. "Flex, Daddy, flex!" I'd exclaim as I gripped his arm. I always giggled with delight when I felt his rubbery muscles turn to steel.

I feel small tonight in his big, cotton shirt.

And actually, I feel small in lots of ways tonight. Tomorrow I'll undergo a significant and unexpected medical test to explore potential causes for new symptoms, and I feel overwhelmed by the enormity of my disease. It towers menacingly and threatens to devour, and on the days it's especially hard for me to be a warrior, I feel like a tender little morsel.

And last week I discovered one of my dearest friends will be moving 5,000 miles across the ocean, and though I got three messages last month from girlfriends I met when I traveled to Spain, the world doesn't feel small today. It feels enormous. And I feel tiny and frail, and I wonder if I'll ever have the health to fly 5,000 miles across the globe to visit my dear friend.

And the papers to grade are piled high, and the PhD assignments feel far too long, and my body has been especially unhappy the last few days, and life's injustices and inconveniences are so invasive, and there is not enough of me to carry all this . . . and I do not like feeling so small.

But the smallness I feel in my dad's shirt? It is good. It is good because it reminds me I have a big, strong dad who loves me.

Yesterday I went on an easy walk down the street. I drank in the jasmine and stopped to take a photo of my neighbor's plumeria bush, its white petaled stars forming perfumed constellations in the fading light. But most of the time I looked up at the sky. Its cathedral dome glowed with layers of dusky rose, lavender, and indigo. And I'm wondering, as my eyelids grow heavy with sleep, if inhabiting this great big cathedral-planet is a taste of what it might be like to wear God's shirt, its vastness reminding us of how small we are, yet teaching us that we have a big, strong Father.

I'm imagining God the Father sitting with me tonight as I look toward tomorrow's test. The Son and Spirit are here too, praying, advocating on my behalf. And I'm wondering if you would join us in prayer about my test tomorrow. Would you pray for peace for me, wise doctors, and good test results? I don't think I've ever felt so anxious about test results before, and I covet your prayer support.

Thank you, my friends.

I'm praying for those of you who also feel small tonight. I'm praying, especially, that the bigness of life would remind you that God is biggest of all.

Cheering for you,


P.S. This came in the mail this evening:

A dear, wonderful friend who has faithfully prayed for me made this for me. I have it displayed on my piano, across from my princess crown:

There's a mirror right above this, and sometimes I put the crown on, look in the mirror, and quote Psalm 103: "Praise the Lord...who redeems your life from the pit, crowns you with love and compassion, and satisfies your years with good things."

Isn't the prayer on this canvas beautiful?

I've been praying it throughout the evening. And look at the reminder at the bottom. Some days I really do need reminding. 

Thank you, sweet Ann; this is such a treasure.

© by scj

Happy Mother's Day, Mom

Dear Mom,

Remember those cat eye sunglasses with the *very* colorful rims? I was in fifth grade when you wore them. In public. And you didn't care what other people thought. You didn't listen to my stammering protests or pay attention to the most recent fashion magazines. You just donned them with confidence and style. I think you may have even danced your way into the mall with those things on your head, just in case people hadn't already noticed them.

I love you for that.

I love that you've always marched — or danced — to the rhythm of your own drummer. You haven't tried to cram your soul into the stifling corsets of silly expectations, reductionistic roles, or cultural “coolness.”

Your tenacious commitment to be who God calls you to be is evident beyond your daring sunglass choices.

It was evident when you stood alone before the city council to challenge an unethical education mandate.

It was evident when you stood up for the woman in your musical theater group whose male director felt her gender and youth made it okay for him to invade her privacy and publicly degrade her.

It was evident when you brought the four of us kids to the courthouse to participate in silent protests on the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade. You wanted to show us that there are some things in the world worth fighting for, and that it is possible fight in a quiet and respectful way.

When people drove by honking and yelling profanities at us, we watched you smile graciously, with dignity. When a man walked past and accused you of brainwashing us, you engaged him respectfully but didn't back down. Because you know it isn't brainwashing to instill in your kids a value for our most fundamental right—the right to live—and it isn't brainwashing to raise your kids with a sense of justice and a commitment to action when the world goes topsy turvy.

You taught us how to do the right thing, but you also taught us that life is for having fun.

When we studied world religions you thought it would be fun to celebrate the Jewish Festival of Booths, and so we made a booth—or sukkah—in our backyard and ate our meals in it that week.
When we grew older and were stressed from school, or irritated with each other, you'd show us how to throw back our heads and laugh and let the stress and irritation drain from our spirits, like air from a balloon.

And when you met people who had come from other countries to create a better life in America, you'd invite them to our house for holidays. They'd bring authentic cuisine from their country, and they'd teach us new words; and we learned that the world is big and grand and full of new friends.
I could go on and on, Mom; you taught us so many things.

You taught us that empty amphitheaters in foreign countries are for dancing,

that empty dishwashers are for loading,

and that empty plots of land are for gardening.

You taught us that we were more important than your sleep when we'd wake up sick in the middle of the night; and you taught us that paint, foam, and cardboard are for creating Halloween costumes, doll houses, and Christmas presents.

A few years ago, little brother Marc was driving onto his college campus with his buddy. As they crawled across speed bumps Marc noticed a male student about his age standing alone and looking despondent.

Go talk to him. The Holy Spirit prompted Marc to do something unusual and even embarrassing.

He turned to his friend and asked him to stop the car, and then he walked over to the student and introduced himself. After talking awhile, the student told Marc he was fighting despair and wondering if life was worth living. Marc got his phone number so they could hang out, and he walked back to the car one friend richer.

Marc reminded me of you that day, Mom.

Like you, he has become a man who heeds the voice of the Spirit, even when it's uncomfortable. Like you, he knows that we all — the immigrant, the grocery clerk, the marginalized student, the librarian, the homeless, the next-door neighbor — belong to each other.

This is because we learn more from watching lives lived than we learn from powerful rhetoric and substantive textbooks.

We grew up imitating you, Mom, and you have always marched to the beat of the Maker of music —the One wired you to dance, stand up for the oppressed, initiate new friendships, and wear zany sunglasses.

And so today, on Mother's Day, telling you I'm thankful for you just doesn't cut it.

But I am.

I'm thankful for you,

I love you,

and I hope I'm like you when I grow up.

Thank you for being such a marvelous mother.

Happy Mother's Day,

Your Sarah Christine

© by scj


Last night I had another pocket of relief(ish) from my neurological symptoms, and I felt well enough for a girlfriend, Elizabeth, to come over for a girls night. Elizabeth is one of a kind. I met her a year and half ago at my church's women's Bible study, and two months after meeting, I fell desperately, scarily sick. From that point on, I've probably seen her an average of once every four months due to the limitations of my illness. Even so, she has remained a faithful, supportive friend in my life, despite only two months of friendship foundation.

Last night she brought the movie Brooklyn, along with berries and apricots for dessert. We talked for hours before starting the movie, and when the movie's credits rolled, we could've talked for hours longer. My vertigo started getting bossy, though, so we called it a night. But what a gift those hours together were.


I got a package last week (another answer to my mail prayer!) from one of my dearest childhood girlfriends, another Elizabeth, and its contents had me gasping aloud with delight.

Content 1: Silly Putty — for playing.

One of the many griefs of perpetual bed rest is the inability to play. Play is such an important part of emotional and mental health, and without it, life loses lots of its sparkle. But I'll tell what's perfect for bed rest play: silly putty for making sculptures, and bubbles, and loud snapping noises. Oh my sweet heavens, I love feeling like a kid again.

Content 2: A Puppy — because I want one. Thankfully, this puppy is the hypo-est of hypoallergenic puppies.

I've put him on my nightstand to keep me company throughout the day. I still haven't named him, because I need to find the perfect name. Any suggestions? I should tell you that this puppy is playful, affectionate, and smart, and I'm thinking his name should reflect these qualities.

Content 3: Chapstick — this is an essential.

Content 4: A card filled with kind, encouraging words.

I have this card displayed next to the last card Elizabeth gave me, because she is one of the best card choosers, fillers, and senders of life.

Golly, I'm thankful for my ELIZABETHS!

Happy weekend, folks.

I'm cheering for ya, Home Skillets.


P.S. The pockets of relief continue. They have become the rest between "sets" of loud symptoms, and I'm so thankful for them. I'm hoping they'll carry me through the end of the semester before I turn my attention back to the treatments I've been investigating. I'm hoping to move forward with the first of these treatments the last week of May or first week of June.

Thank you for continuing to pray for me, my friends.

© by scj


Publishing my editor's note and the o.g. text right here:

*Editor’s note:
This is the only Aramaic translation of the remaining chapter from THE BOOK OF KING OG the Giant.  This text (which was lost/hidden because of a historic, calculated move by Pope Pius XII to separate it from the Manichean Book of the Giants) has been the source of great speculation within the research halls of the Vatican for centuries. Originally, both Latin and Aramaic versions existed. 

The Latin version was censored and destroyed by the Catholic Church in the 5th century CE. 
In fact, the Catholic Church originally posted the following words of anathema in regards to THE BOOK OF KING OG and other forbidden texts:

… and whatever disciples of heresy and of the heretics or schismatics, whose names we have scarcely preserved, have taught or compiled, we declare to be not merely rejected but excluded from the whole Roman catholic and apostolic church, and its authors and their adherents to be damned in the inextricable shackles of anathema for ever.

Chapter 7 from the Aramaic has been recently authorized as “publishable” and is mostly complete. There are light fragments of the first 6 chapters that I will post as they get cleared by the Vatican.

THE LOST BOOK OF KING OG is referenced by association throughout (relatively) recent history, perhaps most notably in the NEW HISTORY OF ECCLESIASTICAL WRITERS published in 1693. In this reference book, the BOOK OF KING OG is described as, “Forged by Jews and Hereticks both Fabulous and Erroneous.” What I have come to conclude is that this has been an elaborate Catholic-ordained suppression of key Biblical knowledge.

Furthermore,  there is an element of disregard for the text in the court documents of the Blasphemy Trial of C. Southwell in 1841 (which was ground zero for the modern atheist movement).  In those trial documents, there is a reference to THE BOOK OF KING OG that has been “lost” and is full of “fables and errors.” However, what I have been learning is that this is a forbidden text that questions the very roots of modern Christianity. Chapters 1-6 tell the story of an antidiluvian and postdiluvian (prior to and post flood) world  that has never been told before.

With Constantine’s systematic destruction of non-Christian texts in and around 326 CE, and the following Gelasian Decree of the 5th century CE, knowledge and/or reproduction of Og’s verses were rendered impossible. The remaining damaged tablets of THE BOOK OF KING OG are currently under lock and key deep in the Vatican. What is transcribed below has been culled from the last remaining tablet/chapter housed in the Secret Vatican Library at the Department of Ancient Documents and Surviving Occult Findings. This department is curated under the Vatican’s residing American Bishop and translator, Father Martin (currently traveling abroad).

In short, Father Martin has access to sections of the Manichean text that has been unknown and unavailable to any other scholar in this field until now.

An interesting aspect of chapter 7 is the speculation that King Og himself dictated the words in preparation for the incoming attack from Moses that is cited in the Bible in Numbers 21.  As far as Father Martin has informed me, these are the only known writings of any of the Rephaim.

I apologize for breaks in text. I will cite them in brackets. I will also transcribe that which Father Martin was unable to translate as follows: [. . .]. Speculative text will have no ellipses, for example: The[quick brown fox] jumps [over] the[lazy] dog.

Regarding speculative text: Most of the words that Father Martin used in his translation of the original Aramaic have been the source of many, many discussions. I argued for “broader strokes” for brevity’s sake. It was painstakingly agreed between Father Martin and myself that italicized words now signify “broader translations.”

All translation liberties taken have been cleared by Father Martin and a panel of his direct Catholic superiors. What you see below is the most efficient reading of Chapter 7 of the Lost Book of King Og.

This website is the result of months of late night discussions and study stateside with Father Martin, a close personal friend of mine. – DEMMON

Numbers 21.
“Do not be afraid of him, for I have delivered him into your hands, along with his whole army and his land, Do to him what you did to Sihon King of the Amorites.”

#Og #KingOg #Nephilim #Rephraim #OldTestament #Catholic #Canaan #Giants #PreAdamicCreation #HundredThousandGiantWar

Dated in or around 1400 BCE.

CHAPTER 7 – The Final Words of King Og
¹Did you think, O [corrupt worm] of [Israel], that I did not stand above [. . . the great wa[ter..] in the [mountains]? ²You who have never touched the sky or stood two cubits over another man. My meditation [my dreams] are your [. . .][death]. Baal will see to it, worm. Behold, I am Og, the largest man in the land. What can you possibly do to me? Are you [prepared to die]?
³I have watched you[. . .] crawl into the [light] as a corrupt [fecal worm]. I have watched your mother Egypt [. . .] eat your young. ⁴I watch now and  I [ponder] is this why you now war with me, O [worm] of Israel? [You have sl]ain my neighbor in Sihon. Baal will avenge [. . .]. Both Baal and Baalat will [. . .empower me. . .] to sever the corrupt [worm] with force. ⁵[ . . .your false god. . .your weak [little] men. . .] I Og spit upon your warriors who trail like ants [. . .beneath. . .][feces]. I [wipe] the spittle from my beard. I will arise when ready. […] [the strength in] but one arm will [break] the [horn] of [Israel].
⁶Are the tales of my [exploits] not [traveling] to your itching ears O corrupt [fecal worm] of [Israel]? Of my power [. . .how I did battle. . .] against the [unspeakable] [monsters] in the renowned fields alongside my [Watcher] and [Nephilim] parentage? [. . .how we moulded to murder. . .] How we turned our wrath [. . .mercy. . .a foreigner. . .] where the old world [monsters] stood. Stupid, [fecal worm]. Stupid corrupt [fecal worm]. Your ox-like stupidity tires me to [sleep].
⁷O bitter, [blackened] corrupt [fecal worm]. Did not my [royal] [sorceresses] of Baal dance and prophesy of your arrival? Have we in Bashan not dreamed of your [murder]? My soothsayers tell of our [. . .victory. . .worship. . .sacrifices. . .]. My priests speak of [sorcery.and perversion] Baal has spoken [. . .] of when I will [tear] the [child skull] of the corrupt [fecal worm] Moses from his soft body and [. . .] hold it over Bashan as [. . .blood sign to Baal]. Your barren women will sing my praises. My dream needs no interpretation.
⁸How will I [murder] [. . .] corrupt one? [. . .] [as [a] dog. . .torn by a bull at the slaughter]. Should I lift [an entire  [. . . ] mountain [of earth] over my head [. . . ]?  Is not [Baal the god] of this [earth] I live in? The kingdom [. . .] supreme Baal has thousands of [. . .] answers to [. . .the pathetic] [fecal] [insect sized] god [. . .] [Israel]. Come here, that I might b[ind you with] cords [empowered by] Baal.
⁹[. . .How many . .] castaways have you killed, since your [insect sized] god told you not to kill? Hypocrite. [. . .the spirits of the sl[ain] complain about you and cry out. [. . .] Moses, you [blood drunk feaster] upon feces.  Like a cowardly [child] with gift toys [you run] from the [skirts] of your mother Egypt to me, that we may do [battle]? I will grind your [bones]. I will [eat] all of your [fingers] to the stump. [. . .great fear] shall seize you and you shall fall upon your face.
¹⁰My [wives] concubines and [sorceresses] shall witness [. . .the. . ] slaughter of the corrupt [fecal worm] of  [Israel]. [And they will] disrobe and paint their [flesh] with [Moses’ blood] and [. . entrails. . .] before Baal.  When we celebrate on high [my] sons will carry his severed stupid [child skull] on high [over the roads. . .]. There will be screams of praise to Og. To Baal. There will be roast [flesh served. . .] To Baal. To Og. [. . .]Moses head [held high] through the [. . .] roads of Bashan. Because you want it so, I will anoint my head and beard with oil before I go to make war, with you, [insect] worshiping fecal [child skull] [defeated].
¹¹Corrupt [little worm] Moses. My spies have told me [. . .your. . .] army, and their [. . .worship. . .] for any god but yours [. . .your murder(ous). . .] Of your time in Egypt. Of your [. . .commandments. . . of laws] your barbarism and insanity all in the name of your [fecal][insect-sized] god.
¹²Corrupt [fecal worm] Moses My spies [. . .] you [made] a bronze snake [. . .] to look upon when poisoned. [. . .] you would kill your own, for not worshiping your senseless corrupt god who kills yet [. . .].
¹³Murderous little [Israel] now at the foot of my kingdom. I will gird my loins to squash [. . .]. As the last of my [. . .Rephaim. . .] The Hundred Thousand Giant War and the survivor of the great wa[ters I now. . . ].
¹⁴[. . .] after killing the [. . .King Arid. . .] then the King of Shihon and [drenched in] their wives and children’s blood? [. . .] You would gird your loins against the last of the [Rephraim]? Gird them well. It is time to stand. My hands are ready for warfare.
¹⁵In my 900th year, the stray dogs of Bashan will feast on the flesh of Israel and the [fecal worm] Moses on the roads and in the paths.
¹⁶My spies [. . .say. . .] King of  Shihon. Killing the women and children, keeping the spoils¹⁷Your corrupt [fecal] god has driven you mad. [. . .murder. . .slaughter. . .destruction] at the [. . .] hands of [Israel]. Of war madness [. . .drunk with. . .] the blood and spoils [. . .] enemies learned. ¹⁸Life is still lost even when the battle is won, [worm].
¹⁹I will release the wild beast [gonteekwa] to you O corrupt [fecal worm Israel. . .] learn its ways of connection [from] before [your time].²⁰Before your [flood] before [your Adam] we were there. From the time of monsters.²¹ My brethren [. . .in the fields] their livestock and the greater [beasts] of old.²²Creeping, cloven hoofed [monsters] that ruled [in the] [. . .] the giants those men of reknown.²³Connected in heart and mind, and unstoppable before the [gods][. . .] one mind and of one heart they ruled. These men of old and their beasts [driven] [before] [them]²⁴Beasts that controlled the men as the men controlled the beasts. O stupid corrupt [fecal worm] Moses, the heart of an animal and the mind of a giant.²⁵ It [is time] for you to share your [soul] with [other] greater.
²⁶[I want no] victory [spoils] [just your. . .] stupid head.
²⁷[. . .] train for [. . .] [strange] weapons.
²⁸Make war [. . .] little man. Make war [. . . ] corrupt little worm. For Baal I’ll spread [. . .]blood [. . .]
²⁹ I have been training as one trains their oxen. My back and arms are ready. My life [. . .] is to [. . .] [fecal worm]. I will tear your backbone [. . .]  [your backside. . .]
³⁰ For Baal I will pull the [. . .] bearded [fecal] [child skull] of Moses from that [stupid] body. I  Og the last of the [Rephaim] [. . .]how long Moses has to live [. . .] since the Hundred Thousand Giant War.
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