The King’s Highway — El Camino Real — The Royal Road, passes 300 or so miles as U.S. Route 101 as it connects degenerate Hollywood to even more degenerate Silicon Valley. It connects Los Angeles to San Francisco — one city named to commemorate a Christian exemplar, the other city named for the angels.
Along that road can be found the spirit of the American heartland. This is not the Pacific Coast Highway; this is an inland route most of the way.
Over that road connecting Sodom to Gomorrah — as some would call those two places — stand a group of patriots who wave their American flags, their Trump 2024 flags, their Kekistan flags, their Gadsden flags, their Pepe flags, their George Washington “Appeal to Heaven” flags, even their “Trump won” flags.
Those men and women smile and wave atop that bridge and they represent something to the motorists passing under.
This is the land of decades of stolen elections. This is also a land where a dedicated minority of churches never closed down. This is a land where parents stand up to school boards and school boards run quivering.
This is the land where the future of America is being plotted out. I mean to say plotted out and not blotted out, because in a place like that it is clear that victory is everywhere you turn. One brutal battle at a time, in this land of the spear tip, tyrants and demons alike are being driven from this land in revival.
It does not matter what the news says. It does not matter what social media says.
These patriots stand upon that bridge and offer hope and prayer to those that pass below. Thousands an hour pass under that bridge and are prayed for and waved to and bucked up with hope for the change that is coming.
Everyone who passes under that bridge is prayed for by those who stand over Highway 101, which again, some would say, is the road that links Sodom to Gomorrah.
That is how these men and women spend their Sunday afternoons after they get out of church. They pray over those passing by. They wave. They give thumbs up. They smile. They wave their flags. They shout praise. They cheer for the future of America.
A newcomer to that spot atop that bridge — a man who always drives by — said to everyone there “I can’t believe how much fun this is. All these people honking. This is better than a roller coaster.”
Who would have thought that waving a “Trump Won” flag in one arm and an American flag in the other arm could be so much fun in California of all places, where, if you turn on the news, you are told how filled with hate for such ideas the place is.
It is pretty much the opposite of what is reported in the news.
The energy. The excitement. The support for the mere waving of a flag is a contagious and addictive thing. Sometimes in life, you stick your neck out and you soon thereafter find yourself asking “What was I so afraid of? What did I wait so long for? This isn’t scary. This is amazing.”
Sure, some motorists quiver in hate as they pass under the overpass. Some flip the middle finger. Some even tell their seven-year-old child to flip the middle finger. How sad it can be to see a mother point to the flag waver, give instruction to her child, and to then see her seven-year-old child with a devious grin flip the middle finger. If such uncontrolled degeneracy takes place at such a moment with a child, what else is that poor child being exposed to?
Some, while driving at eighty miles an hour, take their hands off the steering wheel, lean their entire torso out of the car window and wave both of their middle fingers antagonistically while screaming. I do not know what could possibly have gotten into them that they behave so. Actually, I probably know exactly what has gotten into them, but if you would be so kind, please allow me to leave my experiences with the demonically possessed for another time. Fascinatingly, no one can remember hearing statements of hate yelled back at them from the people on the bridge. Quite the opposite — they are prayed for all the more earnestly.
There is a calm to the men and women on the bridge. A confident calm.
There is a terrorized frenzy to those who behave erratically below.
Smiles, waves, and prayers are all the more enthusiastically offered to the angry minority passing below.
To stand atop that bridge on a Sunday afternoon waving a flag is a thing of wonder.
To those who have no love for God, I offer your a warning: Do not travel that road, do not travel the King’s Highway between Sodom and Gomorrah on a Sunday afternoon unless you want blessing prayed over you and your home, unless you want the love of God prayed over your home, unless you want men and women to pray that the blinders be removed from your eyes and that you come to know and serve God.
Some of the men and women on that overpass pray unceasingly for those who pass under. If you pass that way on that day, it will be you who is prayed for.
But those who react so do not seem to be the people who so dominate that road. A very different group seems to dominate that road, a group that you would not even imagine living in California — unless you actually lived in California and really engaged people. Waving a “Trump Won” flag in January 2021 and October 2022 alike is one way to engage people, and how powerfully that silent majority comes out. They honk with a passion that you would hardly expect from watching the news.
They have air horns. They rev their engines. They wave — man and wife, passenger and driver both — not just waves to a stranger, but excited waves as if to a long-lost brother. These are waves that can only be given by a person whose heart leaps up.
California is where the cultural and spiritual revival of America has taken root, and it will spread across the rest of this land.
One woman on the bridge comments about the silent majority. She feels a rumbling around her. She feels something big ready to happen. She feels a power in the spiritual world. “When the quiet people get loud, something’s happening,” she says to me.
Another reflects on San Francisco, a few hundred miles up that road. “That’s the city of my childhood” she said to me. “That’s where my father would take us. God says ‘I can make all things clean. I can make things new.’ He can empty those streets and he can make all things new.” She says that even though she knows what the Tenderloin of San Francisco looks like, a corner of town where no lives seem to matter, a corner of town right next to the business corridor on Market Street. She says that even though she knows the site of the boarded up businesses, even though she knows what a town looks like when 30, maybe 40% of the inhabitants have fled.
After stepping down from that bridge and continuing on my way, her words of: “I can make all things clean; I can make all things new,” rings in my ears, circle through my head.
A man and woman pull over in a pickup truck. Today, Sunday, is his birthday. When he saw the men and women gathered on the bridge, he got off at the next exit and said to himself and to his wife that he needs to be up on that bridge thanking those people and standing alongside them.
Yet another says to me “Don’t you hear the heartbeat of America going by?” John is his name.
I do, John. I do hear the heartbeat of America going by.
And I don’t know, John, if a single person who reads me recounting this will believe how loudly, how unmistakably that heart beats atop that California bridge.
He was the one who commented how much better this is than any roller coaster ride, how exhilarating. Cars doing 80 pass below. Cars doing 40 pass to your right and your left. Horn honks, cheers, thumbs up, fist of defiance to the broken system, peace signs, blaring air horns of cars, the even louder air horns of semis — Oh do the semi drivers like the flags.
Everywhere you turn, every way you look, the people passing by are saying “Thank you!”
They are mouthing it. They are screaming it. They are speaking it through tears as they roll down a window while stopped at the overpass stoplight. Atop that bridge they see truth. And an instant of looking truth in the face so powerfully shatters even a lifetime of lies.
I don’t know how it will work.
I don’t know what adversity stands in the way.
I don’t know the mechanisms that will be involved that will get us out of the pit of despair we have dug for ourselves in this promised land of America.
But I know this much, one day looking back on it, some men will say it was all the hand of God, other men will say it was all too perfectly orchestrated to be God, and a third will say the story is too perfect, it must have been made up.
Even he who lived through it, even he will say so. That is the way of man.
In all times.
In all eras.
There is nothing new under the sun.
Cultural and spiritual revival is moving ahead at full steam. That revival will take place whether you recognize it or not. But if you are willing to have eyes for it, you grow in ways you never imagined.
I suspect the fallout will leave the tyrants of 2020 long regretting what they tried to pull.
Welcome to the Great American Revival. You are living through some of the darkest days America has known and at the very same time, you are living through some of the most golden days. Victory is ahead. From the vantage point of Sodom, of Gomorrah, and of the place halfway between, victory is ahead.
And watch this.
What you have come to call Sodom will no longer be called that.
What you have come to call common will no longer be called that.
Everything touched will be revived, perhaps unrecognizably so.
Perhaps even you.
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