In the midst of his lament, the author of Lamentations finds hope. He acknowledges God's righteousness fidelity and commitment to His people. He writes:

"The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness" (Lamentations 3:22-23, NASB).

In other translations, "compassions" is translated "mercies."

Christian, do you see and recognize in your life the new mercies God bestows upon you daily? Are you able, in the midst of your troubles, to look to the Lord and thank Him for His faithfulness? After all, "God is not a man that He should lie, nor a son of man that He should repent; has He said and will He not do it? Or has He spoken and will He not make it good?" (Numbers 23:19)

Believer, in all circumstances, remember the mercies, undeserved, we receive from Him each day and sing with the hymn writer of God's faithfulness!
-------------

Great is Thy Faithfulness

Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!”
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!” Morning by morning new mercies I see; All I have needed Thy hand hath provided— “Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!” Morning by morning new mercies I see; All I have needed Thy hand hath provided— “Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

At one time or another in our lives, most of us have experienced what it is like to be lovesick, to long for the one with whom we wish to draw close. Believer, does your heart long for Jesus in this manner? Do you seek after him? Do you recruit others in your search? Brethren, let us not leave our first love, as did the Church at Ephesus (Rev. 2). Let us seek Him with all our hearts, for then we shall find Him (Deut. 4:29; Jer. 29:13).
-----------

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, August 22

"I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love." Song of Solomon 5:8

Such is the language of the believer panting after present fellowship with Jesus, he is sick for his Lord. Gracious souls are never perfectly at ease except they are in a state of nearness to Christ; for when they are away from Him they lose their peace. The nearer to Him, the nearer to the perfect calm of heaven; the nearer to Him, the fuller the heart is, not only of peace, but of life, and vigour, and joy, for these all depend on constant intercourse with Jesus. What the sun is to the day, what the moon is to the night, what the dew is to the flower, such is Jesus Christ to us. What bread is to the hungry, clothing to the naked, the shadow of a great rock to the traveller in a weary land, such is Jesus Christ to us; and, therefore, if we are not consciously one with Him, little marvel if our spirit cries in the words of the Song, "I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, tell Him that I am sick of love. "This earnest longing after Jesus has a blessing attending it: "Blessed are they that do hunger and thirst after righteousness"; and therefore, supremely blessed are they who thirst after the Righteous One. Blessed is that hunger, since it comes from God: if I may not have the full-blown blessedness of being filled, I would seek the same blessedness in its sweet bud-pining in emptiness and eagerness till I am filled with Christ. If I may not feed on Jesus, it shall be next door to heaven to hunger and thirst after Him. There is a hallowedness about that hunger, since it sparkles among the beatitudes of our Lord. But the blessing involves a promise. Such hungry ones "shall be filled" with what they are desiring. If Christ thus causes us to long after Himself, He will certainly satisfy those longings; and when He does come to us, as come He will, oh, how sweet it will be!

Xinhua - Study finds moon's Apollo Basin formed 4.16 billion years ago:

https://www.chinadaily.com.cn/a/202508/21/WS68a67531a310851ffdb4f3e0.html

#ApolloBasin #Moon #LateHeavyBombardment #LHB #Evolution #ChangE6 #SampleReturn #CAS #SolarSystemScience #Geochemistry #Geology #Astronomy

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, August 9

"The city hath no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it." Revelation 21:23

Yonder in the better world, the inhabitants are independent of all creature comforts. They have no need of raiment; their white robes never wear out, neither shall they ever be defiled. They need no medicine to heal diseases, "for the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick." They need no sleep to recruit their frames- they rest not day nor night, but unweariedly praise Him in His temple. They need no social relationship to minister comfort, and whatever happiness they may derive from association with their fellows is not essential to their bliss, for their Lord's society is enough for their largest desires. They need no teachers there; they doubtless commune with one another concerning the things of God, but they do not require this by way of instruction; they shall all be taught of the Lord. Ours are the alms at the king's gate, but they feast at the table itself. Here we lean upon the friendly arm, but there they lean upon their Beloved and upon Him alone. Here we must have the help of our companions, but there they find all they want in Christ Jesus. Here we look to the meat which perisheth, and to the raiment which decays before the moth, but there they find everything in God. We use the bucket to fetch us water from the well, but there they drink from the fountain head, and put their lips down to the living water. Here the angels bring us blessings, but we shall want no messengers from heaven then. They shall need no Gabriels there to bring their love-notes from God, for there they shall see Him face to face. Oh! what a blessed time shall that be when we shall have mounted above every second cause and shall rest upon the bare arm of God! What a glorious hour when God, and not His creatures; the Lord, and not His works, shall be our daily joy! Our souls shall then have attained the perfection of bliss.

The U.S. Army Blues jazz ensemble performed for the Franconia Nights Summer Concert Series at Lee District Park the songs The Queen Bee, True North, Freedom, Hope and Regret, and featured vocalist SSG Melinda Rodriguez on I'm Hip, I've Got the World on a String, Day Dream, If I Could Fly, the Armed Forces Salute, and What a Little Moonlight Can Do. #ArmyBlues #Army250 #ArmyBand #BigBand #JazzEnsemble #JazzBand #Jazz #ArmyMusic #MilitaryMusic #LeeDistrictPark #Fairfax #Virginia #Music

Whisperwing, the Spirit of Night Blooms

Long ago, when the Earth was young and the stars were still learning to dance, there lived a guardian spirit named Whisperwing, a sacred night butterfly born of moonlight and flower dreams. Her wings shimmered with the glow of dusk, painted in deep blues and violets—colors only seen in the quietest part of night.

Whisperwing was created by Lunoma, the Moon Maiden, to carry messages between the spirit world and the dreams of the living. She fluttered through midnight meadows and across sleeping forests, her wings stirring wind that whispered secrets into flowers, guiding lost souls home.

Every petal she touched would bloom with sacred light, and every shadow she passed through would remember her path. The stars watched her in awe, calling her "The Silent Flame", for she burned with no fire, but illuminated hearts.

It was said that if you saw Whisperwing in your dreams, your soul was being chosen—for healing, for transformation, or for a journey. Elders taught that when the crescent moon rose high and the air smelled of wild lavender, you must leave a bowl of water and flowers by your door. If Whisperwing passed, the petals would float, and a new path would open in your life by morning.

To this day, her legend lives on. Many Native dreamweavers still embroider her wings onto their blankets and sing to her under starlit skies:

"Fly, Whisperwing, through sky and root,
Bearer of truth on violet flute.
Where moonlight dances, there you roam,
Guide our spirit gently home."

And so she flies—forever between the veil of night and bloom, unseen, yet always felt.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Whispers Beneath the Moon

In a meadow where the wildflowers glowed blue beneath the light of the full moon, two sisters stood side by side, their dark hair flowing like rivers of night. They were wrapped in sacred robes woven by their grandmother, stitched with strands of spirit and sky.

Their names were Taya and Suni, daughters of the Moonwatcher Clan, known for their wisdom in reading the stars and listening to the whispers of the land. Tonight was no ordinary night. It was the Night of Remembering, when the veil between the past and present grew thin and the voices of the ancestors could be heard in the rustle of pine and the shimmer of stardust.

As they gazed at the glowing moon, Taya whispered, “Can you hear them, Suni?”

The younger sister nodded slowly. “They are singing.”

The sky above swirled in purples and blues, the stars glittering like ancient eyes watching over them. A faint melody filled the air—not with instruments, but with memory. It was the song their mother used to sing at bedtime, the one passed down for generations. A lullaby of healing, of journeys across forests, of waiting under the moon for signs from the Great Spirit.

Taya closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart. “They are guiding us,” she said softly. “We are not alone.”

Behind them, the forest stood like guardians, tall and silent. The sisters knew that tomorrow would bring challenges. The world outside their homeland was changing, forgetting, moving too fast. But here—beneath the moon—they remembered who they were.

Daughters of the Earth. Carriers of old songs. Watchers of the sky.

And in that sacred moment, the night sky pulsed with color, the stars danced a little brighter, and the spirits smiled—knowing that the story would live on through these two young souls.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Moon Sister, Wolf Brother

She stood in the tall grass as the golden moon rose behind her, not as a stranger to the land — but as part of its song.

Her name was Ahyoka, meaning “she brings happiness.” But tonight, her spirit was solemn. It was the night of the Long Moon, when stories walked on wind and ancestors whispered through fur and feather.

Beside her stood the great wolf, eyes reflecting the same fire that burned in hers. He was not a pet, not a beast, but her brother in soul — the one who taught her to listen with silence and move with knowing.

Together, they watched the horizon. The world did not speak in words, but in breath, in shadow, in pulse. Her braid carried prayers, her skin carried symbols, her heart carried promise.

And the wolf?

He carried the wild. The truth. The bond that could never be broken.

They did not need to speak.
The moon had already told them everything.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Interesting, Tom.

WERE HULK HOGAN AND OZZY OSBORNE SACRIFICIAL OCCULTIC OFFERINGS OF THE BOHEMIAN GROVE OF 2025.....???
https://tommoonclutch.substack.com/p/were-hulk-hogan-and-ozzy-osborne?publication_id=2233690&post_id=169234593&isFreemail=true&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email

The Celestial Stallion

In the ancient lands where the sky meets the earth, there was a legendary horse named Awen. His coat was as dark as the midnight sky, and his body was adorned with glowing symbols, marks of a spiritual connection to the stars above. It was said that Awen was the descendant of the first horses, the ones who were born from the stars to guide the spirits of the earth.

On the night of the Great Alignment, when the stars aligned perfectly with the mountain peaks, Awen would stand alone on the highest cliff, his body glowing with the colors of the cosmos. The glowing symbols on his body were said to be ancient constellations, and each one represented a different element of life — the sun, the moon, the earth, the spirit. It was through these symbols that Awen connected with the universe, acting as a bridge between the celestial and earthly realms.

This night, the air was thick with magic, and the sky shimmered with the light of countless stars. Awen stood proudly, his mane flowing like the river of time, while a stream of glowing energy moved across the land. As the moon rose high above, he let out a soft whinny, and the ground beneath his hooves began to glow in response. It was the sacred path of his ancestors, a path that led toward the unknown, a path of discovery.

As Awen trotted forward, the trail of stardust behind him formed a glowing river, flowing through the valley like a beam of light. The people, the animals, and the spirits watched in awe, for they knew this was a journey that could only be taken by one chosen by the stars.

Awen's journey was not just a physical one, but a spiritual journey. He carried the hopes, dreams, and wisdom of all who had come before him. The night was his canvas, and the stars, his guide. As the glowing symbols danced on his body, they painted a story of life, of connection, of light and shadow — a reminder that we are all part of the same cosmic dance, guided by the spirit of the earth and the stars.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Mother and Child — A River That Never Runs Dry

A mother is the first sun we ever know,
the warm light that pours into our hearts
long before we have words to name it.
On the crimson land where winds whisper old stories through stone,
She walks with her child.
No need for words.
Only stillness,
and the rhythm of hearts beating in harmony.
The blanket she wraps around her daughter
is woven with the voices of ancestors—
a lullaby passed down through hands
that once danced beneath full moons.
The child leans into her—like stream to mountain,
like flame to the hand that guards it.
No explanations.
No conditions.
Only belonging.
She doesn’t teach strength through commands.
She lives it—
showing that strength can hold tears,
and gentleness is a kind of warrior's grace.
And when the child grows,
walking forward on her own path,
the mother stays behind—never holding,
only protecting with prayers whispered into the wind.
A prayer strong enough
to carry her child for a lifetime.

#nativeamericanwisdom

The Sky Remembers Her

Her hair flows like river smoke,
brushed with feathers,
whispering stories
The stars once told the earth.

In her silence,
butterflies gather—
not to land,
but to listen.

She is not wind,
Yet every breath she takes
shifts the sky,
soft as prayer, old as moonlight.

The sky remembers her—
not as a name,
But as a song
carried by wings.

Serin Alar

#nativeamericanwisdom

Moon-Blessed

She was born from the dust of sacred hills,
With the wind in her hair and fire in her will.
Not to be caged, not to be tamed —
She carries the names her grandmothers claimed.

The earth is her heartbeat, the sky is her call,
She walks with the silence, she rises from fall.
They tried to bind her with thread and chain,
But she sang through sorrow, she danced through pain.

They told her to kneel, to hush her flame,
To wear small shoes and forget her name.
But she knew the rivers that run through stone,
And she knew the drumbeat that leads her home.

She dreams not of palaces carved from greed,
But of open plains where her soul can breathe.
She dreams of daughters who will not hide,
Who speak with thunder and stand with pride.

Feathers in hair, and stars in eyes —
She walks the path where the eagle flies.
Free not in body, but free in truth,
A woman of ancestors, of strength, of roots.

Serin Alar

#nativeamericanwisdom

Where the Moon Whispers Peace

I stand beneath the full white moon,
It's light falling like a prayer.
Beside me, the white deer waits—
not as a beast, but as a blessing.

She looks to the sky,
and the stars answer,
leaving paw prints of light
that drift down between us
like snow made of spirit.

I do not speak,
and yet I am heard.
The earth beneath my feet is soft—
it knows my name.
The sky above wraps me
in the voice of my ancestors.

In this dream, there is no fear.
No fire of anger,
no hunger of greed.
Only the hum of life,
and the soft heartbeat of the land.

This is the world I dream of:
where we walk with the deer,
listen to the wind,
and live
in the stillness
of what is sacred.

Serin Alar

#nativeamericanwisdom

Whispers of the Wolf Spirit

As the sun sank into the cradle of the mountains, fire-kissing the lake with its final breath, a woman stood in stillness by the shore. Her name was Nayeli—“I love you” in the old tongue—and she was known as the Keeper of Echoes.

She wore robes etched with birds of the sky and dreams of the forest. Her heartbeat moved in rhythm with the earth, and her breath rose and fell with the wind. At her side stood the wolf—silent, fierce, eternal. His name was Shunkaha, the Spirit Who Walks Between.

Nayeli was born under a moon that wept rain and stars, a sign that she would speak not only with people but with the wild. From a young age, animals came to her like old friends returning home. The hawk circled above her. The deer bowed before her. And the wolf... the wolf never left her side.

It was said her voice could calm storms, and that when she closed her eyes at dusk, she listened to the voices of her ancestors through the howls of the pack. She did not command the wolf. She listened. She did not rule the wild. She walked with it.

One day, a drought came—drying rivers, silencing birdsong, cracking the land’s memory. While many prayed, Nayeli acted. With Shunkaha at her side, she followed the old canoe trails into forgotten forest paths. There, she sang the sacred songs—songs her grandmother once whispered over firelight.

And the land listened.

The rains returned. The lakes filled. The trees bowed low with new leaves. And on nights like this, when the sun melts into water and wolves stand guard at the edge of dreams, the elders smile and say:

“Nayeli walks with the wolf still. And in her silence, the world remembers how to breathe.”

#nativeamericanwisdom

The Three Generations of the Moon

In the heart of the snow-covered lands, where pine trees sing in the wind and the moon glows like a guardian spirit, there lived three women: the Daughter, the Mother, and the Grandmother. They were more than family — they were The Keepers of Memory.

Each of them held the wisdom of their time:

The Daughter carried the voice of the future.

The Mother carried the strength of the present.

The Grandmother carried the stories of the past.

Every winter, when the moon was full and the first snow began to fall, the three would gather at the edge of the forest, facing the sky. They stood side by side — one looking to tomorrow, one grounded in today, and one remembering yesterday.

On one such night, a great silence fell over the land. No birds flew. No wolves howled. Even the wind held its breath. The Grandmother lifted her eyes and said:

“The Spirit Moon calls us. It is time to sing the Song of Continuance.”

So they sang.

Their voices rose together — old and young, soft and strong — weaving a chant so ancient that even the snow paused to listen. As they sang, the forest glowed. The moonlight wrapped around them like a shawl, and from their breath, stars were born.

In that moment, a truth became clear: they were not just three women.

They were one spirit in three forms — the same soul moving through time, bound by love, memory, and the Earth itself.

When the song ended, the snowfall resumed. But something had changed. The forest seemed warmer. The trees stood taller. And far above, the moon shone with a knowing light.

To this day, the people say:

“When you hear snow falling like a whisper, the Three Generations are singing. And through them, we remember who we are.”

#nativeamericanwisdom

Whispers Beneath the Moon

In a meadow where the wildflowers glowed blue beneath the light of the full moon, two sisters stood side by side, their dark hair flowing like rivers of night. They were wrapped in sacred robes woven by their grandmother, stitched with strands of spirit and sky.

Their names were Taya and Suni, daughters of the Moonwatcher Clan, known for their wisdom in reading the stars and listening to the whispers of the land. Tonight was no ordinary night. It was the Night of Remembering, when the veil between the past and present grew thin and the voices of the ancestors could be heard in the rustle of pine and the shimmer of stardust.

As they gazed at the glowing moon, Taya whispered, “Can you hear them, Suni?”

The younger sister nodded slowly. “They are singing.”

The sky above swirled in purples and blues, the stars glittering like ancient eyes watching over them. A faint melody filled the air—not with instruments, but with memory. It was the song their mother used to sing at bedtime, the one passed down for generations. A lullaby of healing, of journeys across forests, of waiting under the moon for signs from the Great Spirit.

Taya closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart. “They are guiding us,” she said softly. “We are not alone.”

Behind them, the forest stood like guardians, tall and silent. The sisters knew that tomorrow would bring challenges. The world outside their homeland was changing, forgetting, moving too fast. But here—beneath the moon—they remembered who they were.

Daughters of the Earth. Carriers of old songs. Watchers of the sky.

And in that sacred moment, the night sky pulsed with color, the stars danced a little brighter, and the spirits smiled—knowing that the story would live on through these two young souls.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Ever wonder why NASA has a HUGE MOVIE STUDIO...... duh, to FILM their so called "landing on the moon bs". I know, I'm going to hear it now! From all of the people that aren't awake. READ your Bible! GOD tells you in His Word. STOP being gullible, STOP listening to your government...YOU act as if they have NEVER LIED to you!

NASA BUDGET TROLLING
https://www.bitchute.com/video/oP9xEHQYwUbY/?list=notifications&randomize=false

Very well detailed video, Moonclutch! In plain site!


VENOMOUS SNAKE INFESTATION AT DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT....!!! BEWARE...!! DON'T GET BIT....!!
https://rumble.com/v6ur7ff-venomous-snake-infestation-at-denver-international-airport....-beware...-do.html

THE DENVER AIRPORT STRIKES AGAIN... A DEN OF VIPERS INFEST THIS PLACE....!!!
https://tommoonclutch.substack.com/p/the-denver-airport-strikes-again?publication_id=2233690&post_id=165916659&isFreemail=true&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email

Because it just, like the "landing on the moon" was all fake. NEVER HAPPENED...Thank you, Rick.

I Find Myself Dumbstruck
Redefining 'Space Cadets'
https://www.rickelkin.com/p/i-find-myself-dumbstruck?publication_id=2827123&post_id=165814120&isFreemail=true&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email

The U.S. Army Blues jazz ensemble performed at the Belmont Bay Marina in Woodbridge, Virginia the songs True North, Snow Angel, Freedom, Level Up, the Thad Jones arrangement All of Me, and featured vocalist SSG Melinda Rodriguez on What a Little Moonlight Can Do, I'm Hip, If I Could Fly, and the Armed Forces Salute. #ArmyBlues #Army250 #ArmyBand #BigBand #JazzEnsemble #JazzBand #Jazz #ArmyMusic #MilitaryMusic #BelmontBay #Woodbridge #Virginia #Music

I like the play on words, thank you, Tom!

NOTHING TO SEE HERE...!!!
https://tommoonclutch.substack.com/p/nothing-to-see-here?publication_id=2233690&post_id=165443450&isFreemail=true&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email

Pedophile, Racketeering, Rape, Child Trafficking, Drug Trafficking, Murder....the list goes on. Thank you, Tom.

BILLY "DEVILISH" CLINTON... NEVER FORGET THIS HISTORIC FILM

https://tommoonclutch.substack.com/p/billy-devilsh-clinton-never-forget?publication_id=2233690&post_id=165424177&isFreemail=true&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email