I thank my Abba for Rhona & Gordon Reynen (Biological Parents)

My parents are not perfect. They are broken just like I am. But thanks to the various ways I was broken, I was led to Christ Jesus. I will be glorified, and all things work together for those who love God. I am so thankful I was born.

Before I start this entry I want to make it plain, in case my parents read it, that even though I have walked away from my entire extended family and may never see any of them ever again: I love them very much, forgive them for any transgression, want them to accept Christ, and want them to forgive themselves of any wrong doing. Ultimately, I was in a position where I had to choose who I loved more, them or Jesus Christ my lord and saviour:

Luke 18:29-30

²⁹ “Truly I tell you,” Jesus said to them, “no one who has left home or wife or brothers or sisters or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God ³⁰ will fail to receive many times as much in this age, and in the age to come eternal life.”

My dad always took the time to make us home made meals: my brothers and I always looked forward to his breakfasts. He took me to trips around the world, including Australia, New Zealand, and Hawaii. He took me to many soccer practices, basketballs tournaments, and encouraged me in my long-distance running. He taught me how to place chess. He took interest in my hobbies at the time. When I got drunk, or high, or felt suicidal, he would often come and pick me up and drive me home, even in the middle of the night.

My mom taught me how to give great bear hugs, and to speak politely on the phone. She made sure we had a great time on our annual trips to Cape Breton where we spent a lot of time on the beach with her side of the family. Not only that, but I often flew down to New Waterford with her when she went to visit my Nana and Poppy. She took the time to discipline me when I was doing things she did not approve of. She would sit there with me while I cried and struggled with all of my life's challenges. She would make home made meals for me, and I am still particularly fond of her homemade lasagne (I may never get the recipe). She made sure I had all the nice clothes I wanted, and after I was saved, she even supported me in switching to more modest apparel. I will miss all the late night cigarettes when I woke up in the middle of the night and could not regulate my emotions and she would get out of bed (she was on a lot of pharmakeia herself) and she would go out on the porch or in the garage with me.

I was what is called in certain circles an 'incognito' slave: I was not even aware of the fact that I was one. Since thirteen I was on pharmakeia (starting with anti-depressants) and I was a 'militant' atheist too. I would cry all the time and feel profound guilt, and shame, and suicidal ideation, having no idea where it came from, not knowing that it stemmed from what was done to me when I was only three years old. I was also 'chicken soup', I believed the lies about mental health: that I was schizoaffective and that the pharmakeia, even though it was killing me slowly, was somehow helping me. I was even a proponent of pharmakeia for The Royal, and won several awards for my work for them and my studies at Algonquin College while my name was Leonard George Durdle Reynen.

Certain things in hindsight strike me differently. The security cameras in their home for instance, despite not having a subscription to an alarm service. Or, all of my surgeries and doctors appointments, combined with the fact that my mom, who was a burn unit nurse, ended up bandaging me herself rather than taking me into CHEO (The Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) sometimes.

But, at the end of the day, not every MK ULTRA slave gets shown the tremendous amount of love I was shown, in addition to everything else. My parents bought me a lot of 'Wendy's'. Some MK ULTRA slaves do not get shown any love, they only receive abuse.

They betrayed me: they want me on the pharmakeia even though it is painfully obvious I would rather die, and are therefore complicit in walking me to suicide. Not only that, but Gordon maintains the lie that I approached him wielding a knife aimed at him and put it to his throat, which is how I ended up being brought to The Civic by Ottawa Police Services in the first place: he called the police. After I was placed on a form 1, they repeatedly tried to contact me and convince me to resume taking the poison. Not only this, but ever since being saved in 2019, they tried to introduce various doctrinal error, even when I was struggling to get off one of the strongest anti-psychotics (pharmakeia) known to man: Clozapine. They saw that the Clozapine caused me to gain approximately 250 pounds, and was causing me to develop heart problems and type two diabetes, yet continued to try to encourage me to take it. Had I not tried to get off of it, I could have already died, having had a heart attack from the side effects.

But it doesn't change the fact that I love them, and am holding out hope I will see them there when I get my glorified body.

Mark 13:12-13

¹² Now the brother shall betray the brother to death, and the father the son; and children shall rise up against their parents, and shall cause them to be put to death.

¹³ And ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake: but he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.

I praise God Almighty for his unmerited favour to persevere in the face of my persecution for his name's sake.

Christ Jesus is the Lord of Lords and King of Kings and my allegiance is to Christ Jesus. He knows best always. Praise the LORD!