The Blood Remembers

Israel forgot who they were. Yahweh didn’t.

They told you you were just a Southerner.

A Scotch-Irish descendant of Appalachian moonshiners.
A farmer’s grandson.
A barefoot kid with a Bible in one hand and dirt under his nails.

They said your roots were European, your faith was "Gentile", and your traditions were just cultural.

They lied.

You weren’t just born in the Bible Belt — The Bible is about YOU.

The men who settled the American South didn’t know they were Israelites — not by name. But they carried the blood. And when their feet touched new soil, so did the covenant.

They fled kings, popes, and priestcraft.
They crossed oceans with Deuteronomy in their bones, even if they couldn’t quote it.
They carved homesteads out of wilderness and built altars before barns.
They didn’t call themselves the “lost tribes.”
But Yahweh called them Mine.

Their ancestors had been exiled from ancient Israel.
Driven across the Caucasus, reformed in the wilds of Europe.
Then carried through centuries of struggle until they landed in Georgia, Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee.

Saxons. Celts. Franks.
They were called by other names — but they were still His.

They were punished, scattered, and preserved.
And like kudzu, they grew where no one wanted them to — stubborn, uninvited, and unstoppable.

We’ve forgotten who we are.
We’ve traded our inheritance for false churches, false shepherds, and false doctrine.
We’ve let Babylon wear our name and sell us back our own book.

But Yahweh hasn’t forgotten.
And His remnant is waking up.

You’re not just part of the South. You’re part of the story.
The blood remembers.