Cindy Ouellette

Cindy Charles Ouellette SFYB Staff Editor & Author

Lizard Tale Reveals War Room Strategies for Drug Attack

Do you remember the saying: ‘He saw the writing on the wall?”  

Last week I was listening to a pastor on TV, while doing some house cleaning. The pastor explained that the saying comes from the incident of King Belshazzar’s banquet, when he was serving drink to his guests in Holy goblets.  Those goblets were not to be used.  He disrespected the Godly laws and a human hand wrote on a wall during the dinner event.  The King was not terrified by what the words were that were written.  He was terrified that a hand had been assigned by unknown powers to write on the wall!  

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The true story you are about to read has never been told to anyone except my husband.  I once told a pastor, but he could not hear me.   Perhaps as you read, you will have the eyes to see the war strategies that I witnessed drawn upon the wall!

I was dating a businessman from a 3rd world country.  I worked reservations for the airlines as I had been grounded due to ear problems.  Well, this passenger romanced me and I thought he had a charming debonair about him.  Since, he wanted to be sure I could adjust to the Mexican style of living, I would fly to the little airport next to his city on my days off.  It was so quaint, that the baggage claim area was 2 wooden saw horses with some planks laid across them! This was all intriguing to me.  I was attracted by the nuance of it all.  I remember one time we got to his hometown when a Regatta Festival was on as it was a coastal port.  So there weren’t any hotel rooms available; but he did find us a ‘bedroom’.  

To me it was so strange!  The ‘motel’ rooms were attached to each other in rows.  Each room had a covered garage in front of the bedroom door.  And as a car would park inside a garage, someone quickly closed a big curtain from behind.  The giant curtain was like a veil between good and evil.  I know that now. Well those businesses were called motels.  But they were no motel 6 or motel 8. They were places that were rented by the hour. And the curtains were to cover one’s car from detectives or jealous wives to see.  Room service would be delivered on a rotating dummy.  The attendant would just rotate the food and drink to the client, so no one ever saw who was in the room. There were no top sheets or bedspreads. I was freezing all night because the bedding wasn’t meant to spend the night on! The beds were meant to do your business and get out.

But you see, all that didn’t faze me, because I was on a mission.  My target was to make this man fall in love with me.  I was willing to go to any length.   I was, I was.  This was an adventure.  I had already had two husbands that I had been married to; and I had had many more spouses that weren’t mine.   I would go from man to man on the quest to make them love me; because somebody, somewhere, someday was going to love me unconditionally; or so I dreamed.   So I regularly lived through these types of adventures and there were many.

It never dawned on me to ask my latest romance; “If this is your hometown, why I can’t we stay at your house?  Why can’t I meet your family?’   Well obviously, due to my denial, I refused to see that he was already married.  I did become his wife and he did have several other wives at the same time.

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After we were married and our son was about 2 years old, we had gone to Marti Gras in Veracruz, Veracruz.  On the way back we stopped for the night at a neat hotel in my favorite fishing village!   I loved eating the river snails there.  The fishermen sold them by the dozen from their little boats.  Each snail was extracted from its shell, but still attached to the shell door.  They had been ‘cooked’ in natural lemon juice.  One needed to place the snail in one’s mouth and bite down tearing away the tortoise colored shell door.  This was how to detach the meat from the door.   

Oh how I always loved that sleepy village! It is a Boca del Rio, which means mouth of the river that goes into the ocean.  And there’s a little island that tourist take a gondola to; just like being in Venice, Italy!  The gondola tours go to Monkey Island.  And it is named that for a reason. Thousands of monkeys are swinging from the trees.

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 Actually one of the famous entrees, at the big terrace restaurant next to the Riverwalk, is Monkey steak!  Cheap for the cook to buy, novelty for tourist, umm-umm good!  The boats stop maybe two yards from the island and the monkeys run and jump on the hull.  They wait there with their hands out to be fed. And, of course, we offered peanuts and popcorn and all that healthy American food.

Along the river bank, there is a boardwalk.  Halfway down the river walk it is made of sun-bleached wooden planks and the rest of the pathway is a cement paved road.  It runs along the wide gray river beach.  The River bank had many lined up vertical posts with poles laid across the top of them.  They looked like where people did pull ups. This is where the fisherman placed their empty fishing nets to dry after the day’s catch.  The fishermen come in laughing and reminded me of the 12 disciples. They were in such good spirits, folding their nets properly and storing boats upside down.

Looking down the river you couldn’t see the mouth of the ocean.  It was like looking down the Amazon because of the jungle affect.  Little did I know what I would witness on walls only 2 kilometers down that jungle covered riverbank!  And to this day I ask myself: Why me?  

Two kilometers down the state highway was a waterfall.  There were about 126 steps to climb down to the landing sight.  As tourists reach halfway down the stairs, the sound of the roaring waterfalls can be heard. And then there begins to be a heavy mist from the forceful water.  At the bottom there is a large cement slab with cola and local beer brand cart tables. Tourists can order fresh caught fish and native vendors smoke it on site in dug out pits covered with layers of palm and avocado leafs. This is food for kings and queens.  The fish meal is eaten with one’s fingers off of a banana leaf.  It’s exquisite! Supposedly they did a movie called ‘The Jewel’ around that water fall and jungle.

So back to my favorite fishing town; in the middle of the town is the plaza. All Mexican towns have to have a plaza. That’s where the cathedral is. That’s where market vendors would be set up for special festival shopping days.  That’s where locals go on the weekend nights when it’s hot, just to sit on the benches and hope for a cool breeze. At one time the town plaza was where the chaperon would walk the plaza, arm in arm with a beautiful maiden. And the men who wanted to court a young girl to find a wife would sit on a bench. The stowing maiden would throw a rose to the one she passed who was of interest to her. That was at the plaza. (Something like non virtual mate matching.)

This particular plaza is very famous to this day for gambling lottery tickets.   That is why there are lots of stands that don’t sell ice cream and hotdogs, because they sell lottery tickets.  At night, rows and rows of lottery ticket sheets are hung in little vendor stands on wheels. And a little hanging light bulb, generated by a car battery permits the gambler to read and pick out the lucky number they have faith in. After people purchase their favorite lottery number, they hurry into the cathedral at that plaza to pay for it to get blessed. So that town’s cathedral is famous for getting lottery tickets blessed. Now let me tell you something, my ex-husband, who was hubby #3, won the national lottery three times in the eight years we were married. He knew the winning formula!

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Hubby #3 had his personal lottery ticket vendor in our city, who saved his favorite numbers for him.  So, he did not come to purchase the tickets.  He only drove there to have the tickets touched and blessed by two higher powers in whom he had faith. One of these powers, in whom he believed in was the local Father of the church.  

And then he would also go see someone known to make magical things occur. We would go on a sandy road, to the outskirts of the village, where there was an announcement painted on a brick mural wall.

                Lion with paw on Bible

‘El Leon, offering his powers’.  But little did I know the highly organized War Staff Division that El Leon headed and the war plans that were hanging in his house on his walls.  1 Peter 5:8 (ESV): “Be sober-minded; be watchful.  Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.”

Let me tell you a little about that sandy road.  My husband’s inheritance of a coffee plantation was on the top of one of two mountains that protected the region from natural disasters like hurricanes, title waves, tornados, and even flooding due to the rain forest in certain parts. These two mountains were gorgeous and pacifying to look at on the coastline from afar, as there were always cloud rings around their tips. Each time I drove on the seawall, of our city (over 2 hours away) my heart would sing songs from Roger and Hammerstein’s South Pacific.   These two mountains from resembled Shangri-La in that movie. At the foot of the mountains there were natural mineral springs from which sparkling water like French Perrier birthed. This water was transported from there to bottling companies.


Half way between those water springs and the town plaza was the El Leon hut with two types of fences in front of it.  One fence was tightly lined up stalks of tall dry sugar cane and the other half of the fence was a brick wall that had been covered with plaster.  The wall had been built to serve as advertisement.  Those walls are used as billboards throughout the country of Mexico.

This wall had a lion painted on it and an announcement offering special powers for romance, luck and revenge.

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Usually when my husband came to this town to have his lottery tickets receive the rituals of luck waved across them, he would stop at this hut and I would wait in the car.  But this time was different for some reason.  I now realize why he changed his norm and we went directly to the Lion’s private home instead of his witch doctor waiting lobby.

I believe what happened there that afternoon was intended for me to see.  I believe all of this is part of my destiny and missions.  I was to become an alcoholic and receive my miraculous sobriety.  It was intended for me to become a seasoned addiction recovery coach. And I am to write this very Lizard tale of truth for the believers of America to read and ask God what to do about it.

As we climbed the outside stairs up to a very large house on stilts, my husband explained that the man we were about to visit, was the number one leader of the witches in North America.  (Remember that North America includes Canada, The United States and Mexico).  I knew there were annual witch conventions in that town.  We, as Mexican locals, knew better than to try to visit the village as tourist on those days.  All hotels were full and the festivals were not for outsiders. During that week each year my husband’s lottery tickets did not get blessed.  His tickets were his Higher Power depended on for provision and protection.

Once, I was backed up to a cement wall in the bedroom.  Hubby #3 was in rage because he thought I had touched his lottery tickets.  I had been warned never to even touch his pant pocket.  He believed if I ever touched the tickets he would lose winning power.  He must have lost the lottery that day and had been promised he would win.  He had fiery red eyes of rage.  As he was pulling back his arm with tight fist, I silently prayed to God that I had a child to raise and to please protect me.

angry lizard

I watched his forceful slug not only miss my face, but his arm was twisted and his knuckles banged into the wall!   Reader, I saw that happen and was not even amazed.  I had been living in the ‘what next mode’ a long time.  The miracles had become natural to me.  He ran out screaming “Witch! Witch!” (Bruja, Bruja).  I saw him 3 days later when he came home from another wife’s house with arm in sling.

As we climbed up the stairs to the front door of El Leon, my spouse looked me in the eyes and ordered: “Do not Talk.” I had already been a product of his ‘spells of madness’.  I knew I must not talk. He knew that I was filled with the Holy Spirit and that I had no fear.  He knew I had authority over the powers of the enemy.  Maybe it was just a game to him.  I have no idea why he placed me in this situation. “Just be courteous.” He said.


They were very happy to meet me. I say they because there was a lady with the witch doctor.   She could have been a house keeper or his wife. He wanted to show off his house to me. So we went from living room to meeting room to regular dining room to giant dining room to an L-shaped terrace. Every space had ample places for people to sit at tables and eat. And the large meeting room and the formal dining room were conference room size. His walls were like parquet floor and they were handmade.  They were cedar and they were local wood, hand cut and pieced together.  He was extremely proud of it.

He never even mentioned what immediately caught my eye in every room!  In every room there was the same piece of art.  It was 3’ x 4’ in size and was drawn on black felt. I don’t know if any of you are old enough to remember or have seen in someone’s house a painting from Mexico that’s black felt drawn on with bright colored pastel chalks? It was like that. The first time I saw it, he and my husband were talking to each other in Spanish.  I just stood there aghast. I was totally stunned. I have never forgotten those paintings. Now that I have been through what I needed to go through in order to comprehend the full force behind them, I cry at times when I recall them. Even though each was identical, each was an original piece of art.  They had been carefully duplicated and I so wonder just how many of them there are in our country, too.

Plus, I believe the way our country is now, if non-believers and many believers saw them, they would not have eyes to see or to hear the message.  Our American malls, on line shopping, head shops and beach tourists’ shops have made our senses numb to the evil messages and dark powers being flaunted around us.  Wait!  We can add TV to that list and tie a knot to attach the video games and dressed up dolls given to our baby girls for Christmas.  (so many evil messages and powers being over looked)

Let me describe that same exact cursing image on each wall.   In the middle of each painting was the picture of the Lord Jesus Christ.  His face was so sad with alligator tears flowing from His eyes. He had the throne crown on His head.   He was looking up to our Father God in remorse.  All around His face there were these floating images. They were around His face, so that’s why it was 3’ x 4’.  It took a lot of canvas to put those images floating around His face.

And as I write to you, I realized why I designed the book cover of Crying Hearts of the Loved Ones the way I did. Those floating images around Jesus’ face are exactly as I subconsciously designed around a drowning girl’s face on my book cover.  I never realized that until now.  

Front Cover Proof

Around Our Lord there were syringes.  There were capsules of medicine.  There were medicine bottles.  There were thin razor blades. Those items were floating around the remorseful face of our Lord. There were liquor bottles, too.   And every room I went to I would stand and look at it. And it was identical to the other ones, but they were all handmade. They were all originally made, they weren’t stamped out. I kept my mouth shut.  

All the top leaders in witchcraft from Canada, The United States and Mexico annually united at that house.  We are referring to a syndicate.  Understand they are a very well organized body of evil. That’s why he needed many meeting rooms, many meeting chairs, and many dining tables.   They had great feast there once a year on that Witch Day. And they had many festivals in that town on that day, too. And in every room where there would be gatherings and dining that mural is what they would look at. It was like organized crime. But they were looking at their goal of what they were praying toward, what they were working toward, the destruction with those weapons.

The target is to make our Lord cry because of all the losses caused by the floating weapons around His face. They held organized rituals throughout the entire continent with common goal.  It did not matter that they did not all speak the same language.  They were and are united to attack and destroy the people of all ages that belong to God. Babies are born addicted, children get lost and are missing. Millennium is out there making the rehab industry extremely busy doing the best they can to save our nation; because the millennium is our future. And now the elderly are being fed addictive medication. Is it possible to become an addict or an alcoholic when you’re an elderly person ( and not only an elderly person, but an elderly believer)? You bet it is. You bet it is. I am your living example!


That’s the crisis on the wall.  That’s the handwriting on the wall.  That’s the mural I wanted to tell you about

I am putting this true story in your hands.  I am very relieved to have passed this on.  I can now know I no longer conceal this secret from the Body of Christ

The ones who are appointed to hear this message, will.  The ones who are appointed to act on this message, will.  Halt.  Be silent. Listen for the Still Small Voice, to know if you are one of the appointed and what your part is in this war.

This is not about a witch hunt.  This is not about burning down a witch’s hut.  King Belshazzar was not terrified by what the words were that were written.  It is not the mural image that we are to be concerned about.  King Belshazzar was terrified that a hand had been assigned by unknown powers to write on the wall!


Evil pen


 Ephesians 6:12 “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” KJV

attack on the the church

I was appointed.  I have seen.  I have heard.  I have grown in order to comprehend.  I have acted and continue to do so.  Thank you, Stop Frying Your!  Thank you, for not being timid to let me share.

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