The Lines Are Drawn—Which Side Are You On?

The dress is done

His glare cuts through you. Into your soul. The images makes you uncomfortable. Deep down, you feel guilty and exposed. Deep dark secrets become known.

One moment, you were content and looking forward to tomorrow. Another day, another dollar. But, today, you know all that changed. Your plans, your dreams, your savings, your comfort slipping through your fingers like sewing machine oil. Dripping on your pants. Embarrassed and afraid.

All because of one photo.

The eyes.

It’s on.

I know some of you thought I was over my skis in 2015 when I renounced the Republican Party. Many of you quit following me in 2018 when I said a civil war was brewing. More of you thought I’d lost my mind when I said The End of America was nigh in 2020.

I get it. I vacillated for hours or days before publishing those posts. It’s scary. But I posted them because, after lying to you about Mitt Romney in 2012, I swore I’d never lie to you again. And that meant never keeping to myself information that I knew (or strongly suspected) to be both true and important.

Tonight, you know. If you do not know, now, what I know, you will never know.

Like the father in the parable of the prodigal son, I hold no resentment that it took you until now. I celebrate that you know now. You are home. That’s all that matters. I do not forgive you, because you did nothing to be forgiven. We don’t all see the same things at the same times. It’s not really about knowing—it’s about recognition. Recognizing patterns. Maybe as a software developer, I’m inclined towards pattern recognition. Or maybe God gifted me with a sense of pattern recognition that led me to software development. Maybe that’s why I saw the pattern early. But definitely not first. Not even close.

That pattern is undeniable now. It’s no longer a pattern; it’s a dress. Like the old Butterfield patterns my mom bought to make dresses for my sisters. They had a watercolor representation of the realized pattern on the package. Inside was a parchment paper pattern of the dress that had to be cut out, pinned to cloth, cut around, and sewn. Until the cloth was sewn together, it remained only a pattern. And scraps of cloth. But, in the end, it became a dress. The pattern produced a dress.

Trump’s arrest and booking tonight turned the strips of cloth into a dress. Until now, you could deny the dress, because the dress didn’t exist. It was only a pattern. A pattern and carefully cut pieces of cloth. But once the Singer sewing machine did its job, the pattern no longer mattered because the dress was realized. The dress existed. Beautiful, ugly, or something in between, the dress was undeniable.

The pattern was 60 years of leftism. The cloth was the Deep State’s war on Trump, beginning the minute he rode down the escalator. The dress was sewn together tonight in Fulton County, Georgia—a state so corrupt that General Sherman chose it as the representative victim of retributive justice to break the back of the slave industry. Once that iconic mugshot of Trump staring into our souls hit the internet, the dress was complete—seams, hems, pleats, and shoulder pads. The dress can now be worn.

I sensed an attitude of celebration tonight, not from from Trump’s haters, but from MAGA. We were celebrating. Why?

We celebrate because of you, brothers and sisters. Because, tonight, the Lord removed the scales from your eyes and showed you the dress in Living Color. You see the dress. You don’t need the pattern. You can wear it. You can critique it. You can touch it.

Now that you see the dress, and Trump’s eyes in that mugshot, you’re either MAGA, or you’re a fraud, and you know it.

That’s why those eyes haunt you. That’s why you can’t look. That’s why you look away. Because you know the dress is real. You know you must decide: I am American or I am a fraud.

Fraud is safe. Fraud is comfortable. Fraud is profitable. Fraud is popular. Joe Biden is a fraud, and he’s a multi-millionaire President of the United States with a 4-hour work week.

Truth is dangerous—like Aslan. Truth is impoverishing. Truth is lonely. Jesus Christ is truth, and they nailed Him to a tree naked in front of his mother.

That’s the choice we now face: die naked and afraid or live as frauds.

That’s the pattern that’s been emerging to me since 2015. Some people recognized the pattern 60 years ago, but I didn’t really start to see it until 2015. Even then, I didn’t recognize what the pattern meant. Like a developing photograph, its pattern emerged slowly for me, but I knew immediately there was something there. It took eight years to see what it was.

It was a dress. A hideous, dangerous, stifling dress, but a dress nonetheless.

Now, you see the dress.

And you can never again deny the dress is real.