The Little Boy and the Rainbow

 I've kept this particular story a bit private only because it is so very close and personal to my soul. It is one of those stories you tell at a party maybe, no one really believes you, so you have the freedom to tell the full truth, or at least what you perceive as being the truth. You can tell every detail and get the thing off of your mind and chest so that it's no longer haunting you, but you don't have to worry about it being taken as non-fiction.  You have the laughter, your friends saying "That's a good one", and you (I) have the peace of knowing that what really happened -- really happened. 

    I sense that the truth lies somewhere beyond that which I can express.  I feel that the truth is there but I can't actually reach it, I can't grasp it fully.  I know the sensation of the core of the story feels real. I know the perception of it in my mind feels genuine; I just can't find a date or time that it could have been taking place because it took place just before time, space, and accountability began for me. It took place before I was born; somewhere in Heaven. If I could pinpoint the time I could pinpoint the jubilation in my spirit when I think about it (and I do think about it). I could finally nail down once and for all, the event(s) that keep my heart pumping and skipping when I think I've seen the boy again - - he's no longer a boy.

    We were ageless but by Earthly standards, I suppose someone would say I was around 6 and he was around 4. I know I was slightly bigger than he was, but we didn't know a thing about birthdays, age, or anything like that. We did know that we had the sunshine to keep us company, and we played literally all day as there was no night. Sometimes the Sun or the light, it wasn't a Sun, would dim and we could have a bit of evening to walk the paths that weren't quite cut into the ground, but more or less a guideline of trees and flowers; flowers that would grow over our heads as we passed them, and they would blow us kisses too.  We held hands, we ran, we jumped, we climbed rocks, and swam in crystal pools of water that never got us wet.  The fish played a form of "patty-cake" with us, and there were animals I haven't seen here on Earth; just watching us. Just watching the boy and me.

    He was blond, maybe dirty blond. He was rounder than I was, as I was basically a stick with flailing arms and legs that seemed to move in all four directions at once.  He was stubbier and more balanced but I was the one that liked to dance. He was serious-minded, more likely to question something while I was the "let's go over there and see what happens" type.  He would always go with me, never fighting me, but he would question everything that could possibly happen before we got there, nothing was ever harmful and we didn't think about that, just questions about it. The answers only came when we arrived, but by the time we did he wasn't asking, he was playing and he was too happy to wonder (never really worried, just wondered).

    As it does, things ended for us, there was a "time" limit about to take place, but neither of us knew it was going to happen.  We found a new path a new journey and we took it. I didn't ask what could happen I don't remember if he did, but I do remember the colors. There were so many colors. It was the rainbow; the real rainbow. The one God puts out and when someone on Earth sees it they stop for a minute to look at it, just to look. We stopped too.  We decided to play inside of it, what could happen? We didn't know. The boy, who I don't remember calling by name, called me "Pia".  I don't know why I remember that. My name isn't Pia, but he called me that.  We played for a very long time together in the rainbow and the two things I remember most are that he really enjoyed the broad colors of blue and I really enjoyed the broad spectrum of yellows to gold. He had to be blue! He rode the colors, twisted them in his arms, jumped through them, and more or less swam in them, but mainly the blue.  I would pop up into different shades too, but always seem to return to the golden shades. I had to be gold.

    That's the last I saw my friend - - I just remember his eyes watching me and his smile so sweet as I announced that my hair was gold like his now; I was pretty.  He agreed with me, and then he was gone, or maybe I was gone. I'm not sure. That's the last I saw him in Heaven - - my mind has conjured his would-be adult image so many times. I think I pretend to keep him with me now in the form of who I call "Naked Bearded Man", my pretend "husband" who I resort to claiming when someone I don't want to associate with asks me on a date or if I would like to "get to know each other".  To be honest with you, I really don't want to get to know anyone at this point. I'm done with Earth. Give me Heaven! Give me the peace, give me the paths, give me the kissing flowers and the Rainbow. 

    I may never find the boy again here, but I know I'll find him soon.  We may be older, I don't know how that will work, but he will be my blue again, and I will be his gold. Some things just can't ever truly end.  I have to be honest and say one of the reasons I'm going to move to Scotland is to be closer to this memory. I think Heaven must look a great deal like Scotland, or to be equitable, Scotland may look a lot like the part of Heaven we played in the most. At least that's what I remember. 

Photo credit: Kathy Weaver "End of the Rainbow, Isle of Skye"

I May Actually be a bit Odd, Come to Think of it.

 I bought the t-shirt that reads "I too am strange and unusual", which was a line out of Beetlejuice. Winona Ryder's character Lydia Deetz proclaims this to be true about herself.  I guess in some ways, I just have to relate. I don't have much of an option. I do things from time to time that certainly set me apart from the rest of the crowd.  I'm not embarrassed by the fact that I don't match my socks. That's one way I suppose my friends can describe me to their other friends. I began not matching my socks in the 3rd grade, which was the same year I decided my name was Jude rather than Judy, and I changed it myself on every paper I turned in at school. I actually refused to respond to the name Judy for many years - - It is what it is. Possibly strange, possibly unusual. 

    Today I was sitting in my big chair with my dog as I do in the mornings, and I began wondering what it was that makes me do things that may seem odd or out of whack to others. It's not as if I wake up and decide intentionally to be odd - - I was born dead; maybe that has something to do with it. Maybe I'm really supposed to be from another era, another time, another place, another world - - or it could just be that I get bored more quickly and don't really care if something is out of place. I don't have a single OCD bone in my body; a fact that actually upsets most of my friends. I have things misaligned, laying about out of place, and from time to time, just to really piss my good friends off, I'll move the corner of a framed painting on the wall, set a book really close to the edge of a shelf, or leave the vacuum cleaner plugged in and standing in the middle of the living room to see if anyone will fix it.  I know, I'm really mean, huh?

    Today I realized that I was cooking with a spoon I happened to have dropped on the floor at least twice when I tried to throw it up and spin it around to see if I could catch it. I did catch it a few times, but not every time, and there I was still using it to cook with - - OOPS.  I didn't wash my strawberries before I ate them, and I used a dirty spoon from last night to stir my coffee this morning. I guess all those years of eating mud pies has actually paid off for me. My immune system must be working. I did, oh yeah, I did catch the spoon once with my knees! That was unintentional, but it was impressive and I did laugh right out loud - - good on me! What talent.

    I turn books upside down to read them if I think they may be boring because I don't want to not read it just because it may be boring. If I turn it upside down I have to make my mind works a little harder and therefore I tend to remember what it is that I am reading. I do this with study guides mostly, and since I'm learning to speak (actually first to read) Scottish Gaelic, it had to be done. I can now complete my online lessons without too many mistakes, but I can't say the words the way a real live Scottish man or woman would say them. I can't roll my R's and I can't make the cough-hacking sound that I hear so often in both Scottish and also Hebrew.  Sorry folks, this girl is Southern born and Southern bred. I suppose when I do attempt to actually speak Gaelic someday the locals will either get a real kick of it or they'll shake their heads and say something under their breath that I may or may not comprehend.

    My dog thinks I'm weird when I pray because first I go into the closet with my rock in my hand, there's that, but I also make really strange guttural noises to exhale and express any breaths that may not be willing to speak with God. It's a way of cleaning out my spirit and getting myself ready to speak to God; I don't do it all the time, but when I really have something I need to get off my chest and into His heart I make sure there is nothing between us. I seek my soul for every last sin I may have known about and those I don't know about. My dog stares at me, but that's her fault for crawling into the closet with me. She can't stand being outside of it when I'm in it, and it's good for me to have another soul in the closet with me who I know would and will agree with my prayers; God is there when there are two! He never said it had to be another human. My dog is absolutely a follower of Jesus Christ. 

    Being odd has never been an issue for me. I think I thought it was normal that I was the way I am, and if anyone thought otherwise it was them who thought I was odd, not me. If I wasn't accepted by them or by the world at large I never really had a problem with it. That may have been an issue in middle school while growing up because I didn't have to wear the right things, say the right things, be seen with the right people, or do the things others did in order to fit in with the cool kids. I was the one doing gymnastics in the halls and trying to balance on the gutter system without falling off of it. I was the one watching the boys play football in the heat, in the rain, in the snow, in the sleet, in the anything because I liked to watch the boys play football. It didn't matter that no one else was in the stands at practice. I was in the stands and I was watching.  I ate licorice for lunch sometimes. I still do. I make avocado smoothies and mix spinach with pineapple for a great powerful drink. Yeah, I'm not ordinary, I get it, but I'm smiling.

    Being odd today is about the same. I don't do what the world says is the A-list thing to do. When Oprah said she wasn't going to promote my book after her production team had promised me that she would be doing so, I told her I wouldn't be on her show if she couldn't keep her promise. I let my daughters fly to Chicago instead; I keep my word and she should have kept hers. Why should I bend at the knee only to be slapped in the face? Not this girl - - my oddness is my oddness I suppose. I embrace it, and I accept who I am. I know this; I am not afraid to be alone. I like my own company, and if I were a guy I'd marry me. I really would - - I'd find me to be both a perfect friend and partner. I could trust myself. I could have fun with me. I could raise babies and work side by side with me. Come to think of it, I basically did do all those things after I divorced.  I've been pretty loyal to me I suppose.

    I don't really follow protocol either - come to think about it. I go straight to the source, and I ask too many questions. I find that this upsets some, makes some uncomfortable, and yes, it has even alienated a few, but for the most part I found out that the reason others get upset about me doing this is they don't have the kahunas to do it, or they never thought they could. I never thought I couldn't. Therein lies the difference(s) between me and most people. I don't have the fear factor I guess. I ask a question and I expect an answer. If I don't get one, I seek it. I will find my answer. Dogmatic? Pushy? Maybe, or maybe I'm really thorough and want the truth rather than settling for a sugar-coated explanation. I want a resolution not a statement. I want something to be corrected, not covered up or hidden. I won't go along with the agenda - - I prefer ethics. That's it...that's the nut, right there. I prefer the truth. This probably makes me a bit odd because I won't accept a lie.

    Well, whatever it is about me, I am the only me I could ever be. I am the only one made that is me. I am the only one I know who would put up with me, and it's OK, I like me enough to do just that. I am going to be just fine -- and when Jesus comes back and I fly up to Heaven to greet Him I really hope somehow He will bring my rock with me; and my dog. Gotta have my dog. When I get to Heaven, I pray that I have every last dog I ever knew and every last dog I ever saw and wanted to get to know. That would be Heaven for me. 

Kilty Pleasures.

 NOPE!  NO! NO! NO!  I don't want to see another chisel-faced man without hair on his chest or face, standing in a studio wearing a kilt that you just KNOW he was supplied rather than owning it. He's standing in a pose with a sword, with his bi-ceps all sprayed down with oily water to make him appear as if he's just come from battle and he's all sweaty - - yeah, OK, but if that's the case why are his boots so clean?  Year after year, because I've never made a secret of drooling over men wearing kilts, my friends send me calendars with the obligatory men in kilts; sans the men. I mean, they are male, but they just don't do it for me. I look, sure, I look, I'm not blind, and I'm no prude - - I look, but to be honest if even one of these types walked past me wearing their production wardrobe and carrying one of their steely props, I would bet you $1000 I'd catch a whisp of semi-masculine cologne (semi) rather than the sweet manly musk d'odor that radiates from a real man -- give me the real man every time. 

    I think when I go to Scotland I will take my handy-dandy camera with me and not just my iPhone 12. I'll try to locate a man or two...or twenty, who doesn't mind me taking his picture and using it to make a personalized yearly calendar that I can use over and over again. Who really cares what day it is when you're staring at 12, 15, 48 gorgeously bearded, round, tattooed men with legs the size of tree stumps? Who really asks what month it is when you can tell by the thickness of the sweater the man is wearing or if he's wearing one at all? If he's not wearing a sweater it must be August (tank top in July, maybe a t-shirt in June).  It really wouldn't be too hard to figure out, and if these men were, I don't know, bending over to tie their dirty dusty black boot -- maybe one leg hiked a bit on top of a rock, no one should be interested in the time of day let alone the month or day of the year. Just stare! It's OK...stare. (that's why I said I wanted to find the ones that wouldn't mind me staring and gawking because I have EVERY intention of continuing that behavior once I develop the photos. Photos can last a really really long time you know.

    Because this is the year 2021 and not the year 1221, I shouldn't really expect too many men that I find in Scotland (on any given day) to be walking around the moors in their kilts, but maybe if I'm lucky I can find one or two, and maybe even a few who are yes, walking around, but maybe out of their kilts, too. I mean I can look - I may not touch, but I can giggle and thank God for giving me that particular gene that really likes hairy, sweaty, round, stout, strong men in their family tartan and you know, I've said it a million times, if that man happens to have a guitar strapped to his back while he's climbing over rocks and tree limbs to make it to the top of the hill so he can sing to the wild animals - - he's going to have more than the sheep for company; to be sure. (be still my heart, pace yourself)

    There will be a few. I will find a few. I don't need many of them really, just enough to fill up a good calendar - 12 months is fine, but yeah, I mean, a 365 daily calendar would be even better - - except I am really rather selfish and would like to look at one or two of them a bit more than just once a year - - who am I kidding - - give me ONE really good one and I could stare for the rest of my life!  I've put in my request and God is at this very moment looking for one that fits more than just a kilt.  

    I have a few more preferences and standards he'll need to meet - - I'll leave that to God, He knows more about what I need, but there is that WANT factor - - I want to be smiling and giggling at the end of the day when I pull out that calendar and say my nightly prayers. (Actually, again, Jesus and I talk all the time, I don't even have to close my eyes) Just know that when I get the 2022 calendars this year from my good friends who think they know me - - I will smile and probably donate them to someone who really isn't into manly men, and to those who just want to look at pretty boys - - Nah, not for me. Give me the one with a thicker belly, fuzzy face, missing molars, a mischievous smile, a twinkle in his eye, and maybe an itchy butt from not wearing his knickers under his wool gear - - that's the one I smile for. 

Kilty pleasures indeed - - don't forget the black boots, gotta have the black boots (sporran is optional).

Photo credit: Kilted Coaches 

    

The Well.

 This is me about to get all churchy again, and you know, I really can't help it when I get this way. It's not that I am doing it to upset anyone or make any one person feel as if I'm targeting them, singling them out, in order to make a point. No, I don't do that. I listen with both of my ears and my heart and if God lays a message on me to tell the world then I do it. If He lays a message on my soul to speak directly to an individual about something I will never use a forum such as this platform to do something so personal. If you're reading this message here, in this blog, then you know that it is a message God gave to me to speak and it is not necessarily for you alone, even if it is striking the right chords.  I hope you understand that. I'm not here to pick on you, or make you feel bad about the way things are going - - far far from it. I'm the one who is waiting over here just willing and wanting to pray with you (collective you) and hope that God brings you the peace He has brought me from having learned the lesson of The Well years ago, and I finally (finally) obeyed Him enough to understand what it meant in my life.

    God put the dinosaurs on the Earth years ago, there was an event, they died, and they left deposits of oil for us. We know this.  God made the waters both above and below, and we drill for wells, and we drink. We know this.  God is the one, the only one, who is absolutely in charge of every last well we could ever drill, be it for oil, water, saltwater, whatever it is we're drilling for, if He did NOT put the substance there before we began drilling for it, it will not be produced. I hope we can both agree on that fact. We can punch holes in the ground day in and day out, but unless there is something there to be found it will not create itself. Nothing is made that isn't made by God. That's the first lesson. Know it.

    If we are thirty, and remember, this was how it was done before we had running water, if we are thirsty we go to the well.  The well is and was first supplied and then discovered, and as we use it, pump and prime it, and take from it, we know that the well will give us exactly what is in the well unless someone put something else into it that wasn't naturally created in and for that well. That's the second lesson. Grasp it.

     We knew we needed the water, (we'll use water for the lesson) and we went to the source. We went to the well.  But it's not like we just went to the well, we also went to the Absolute Source, as we know and knew that the well was first created or supplied by the Father, and by going to that hole that was punched in the ground perhaps by someone else for our benefit, we go to the well to receive the bounty. We go to the well, to the source to get the supply. That's the third lesson. Do it.

    God is so forgiving and so merciful that if we choose to ignore Him, He will still be faithful and wonderful and supply our needs.  He even promised us in Proverbs 37:4 that if we delight ourselves in Him He will give us the desires of our heart. Desires are far and above the needs aren't they? If He's willing and able to give us our desires, He is so much more capable of giving us our needs. He will never poison the well. He may allow it to dry up if we aren't willing to do His will and work that well. He may decide to end the blessings if we just completely take advantage of His grace and ignore His word. He may choose to have us (you) dig another well and seek HIM so that HE is given the glory and the praise for having supplied yet another well. This is the fourth and harder lesson. Please keep it in mind.

    Our well, our Source is true. He is the one Creator and the one Father who loves us enough to give to us, and He loves us enough to take from us as well so that we will return to Him when we really do need something. Remember, if you delight in Him you are obeying Him, and if you are obeying Him He keeps that well open and overflowing for you. It's when you fail to do His bidding, His calling, or what He wants you to do - - that's when you (YOU) stop delighting and the desires may still be there, but He is not obligated to supply those if you are not delighting in Him. He will supply your need, that's another given and solid promise, but YOU may have to do a lot of the work to make it happen and He will be there the entire time just waiting for you to ask for help.  Like a great Father, He will let you make mistakes so you can learn from them. He won't stop loving you, but it may feel like He's not listening or that He's so far from you -- no, He didn't move. You did. Go back.  

    The well is waiting.  Are you thirsty?  You have not because you ask not. If you ask you will receive and if you seek you will find, and if you delight you will be blessed. Why are you refusing to do what He asked you to do?  Did He ask you to do something you couldn't do because you may not have the money to do it? Didn't He make the money? Are you refusing to do what He asked you to do because your spouse or loved one thinks it isn't what you should be doing? Didn't God ask? If He's asked of you then you KNOW He thinks it's what you should be doing, why would you even THINK to ask your spouse or loved one what God has chosen YOU to do? You can discuss it, but there would be no questioning of it. God told you to do it - - do it.

    The supply is heavy, you are not going at it alone. You are absolutely supported by the One who asked you to do it - - and when you do it, the well will be yours to drink from, and to share. You can't say no and keep your blessing. It doesn't work that way.  "Trust and obey, for there's no other way to be happy in Jesus, than to trust and obey." 

Photo Credit: ETR Laboratories  

Rooftop Condos for Sale.

 Men, are you listening? Do you have "ears to hear", as the Bible says.  I am again, as I am often, reminded that men these days just simply don't have what it takes to be the stand-up sort of husband that my dad's generation was, or even better, one or two generations before my dad's time of being a husband. Any more I see men in stores who are either "whipped" as my daughters say, or they've just got that look on their faces that says there's nothing they can do to change their situation, so they may as well just surrender and give up; throw up their hands in defeat! Well, here's a thought - - BE A HUSBAND!  (you probably figured it out by now that I'm not married, and the #1 reason I'm not married has so much less to do with me being a bitch and so much more to do with there not being a man (yet) worthy of me submitting to the way the Bible says a woman will or should submit.  You (I) don't submit to a pansy or someone who doesn't follow the Word of God to the point of being an actual husband. Sorry, it had to be said.

    Women are strong, yeah, I get it, we are. We can come across as being overbearing, rude, crude, contentious, controlling, and manipulative.  We can be upfront, blunt, forward, aggressive, blatant, persistent, and demanding.  We can also be passive, passive-aggressive, nasty, cutting, deceptive, and conceited. There are so many things a woman can be, but if a man wants to be a husband to a woman he must first (not only my opinion but the Word states) decide that he will follow God and do as God directs him to do in the household; which by the way, doesn't mean he is necessarily the breadwinner. He is in control of the funds, he is the decision-maker - - and OH WAIT, I just lost half of my audience right there. Women who think they should be in control of the money, women who think they should be making the decisions ESPECIALLY if they are the breadwinners -- they just dropped off like flies. OK, that's a good thing actually, because now I can talk directly to the men who are still brave enough or curious enough to see what it is that I'm going to say next. Good on you!

    God commanded, not demanded, commanded, that a man be the husband and a woman be his wife. He did not make Adam for Eve, he made Eve for Adam. Think about that, we women really could be on our own and not even really need (or want) a man, but a man was not supposed to be alone. Most of them really don't do all that well without one of us to help; it just is what it is. So that being said, why on Earth would the seemingly more needed creature not be in charge? Simple answer: God said so. Since God said so, I'm just faithful (and in the world's eyes, crazy) enough to do what God says. I do believe that the reason I am not married is that there isn't (yet) a man who thinks he can actually be my husband. He would have to be pretty brave to even have such a thought, then to entertain it for any length of time would be a feat.  I would pay attention of course if God led me to do so. I will laugh and walk away if God has not directed me to pay attention - - it is 100% up to God, not me, I make far too many mistakes to pick my next (last) husband.

    The Bible is clear. The Bible is perfectly clear on the matters of who should be the leader in the house, but that doesn't stop her, the wife, from becoming upset or angry. In fact, the Bible says that her nagging or her contention is like a constant dripping. They didn't have faucets in those days, but you get the idea - - over and over and over she nags; when once or twice would have sufficed if she felt that he was listening to the point of responding.  The problem is that his timeframe may not be her timeframe, and if he's following God the way he's supposed to be following God there will be so much less nagging going on in the first place; it's a vicious cycle, but it's true.

    The book of Proverbs is said to have been written mostly by King Solomon, the man we believe was the wisest man in the world - - that being said, he wrote in at least 4 verses in that book that living with a contentious or cantankerous woman is not relished.  He said, in fact, it was better to dwell or live on top of the roof of one's house than to live under the same roof with an upset woman; and he was so very spot on with that one. She will not relent, she will not let up, and that again is the man's problem. WHAT? Did I just say that? Yes, I did. If she's upset he is at fault. WHAT? How is that possible? It is possible because the man is to do everything possible to keep his woman unblemished, unrattled, under his control, and in good condition. He is to bear all the burden of the hardship; he is to turn it over to God and do what God says to do, and if he does - - IF HE DOES, the woman will fall into her place in that relationship. Don't believe me? Read your Bible. 

    It may very well be that you didn't (in the first place) seek or ask God for the one true partner that you were meant to have. I don't know your situation. I know mine. DAMN, I screwed up big time. I got out of it, but man oh man did it ever cost both of us! It cost everything, and it still, after more than 23 years, has been painful and hurtful to so many. I really mean it when I say I will never make that mistake again.  LET GOD HAVE IT. If you let God have it, you may end up divorcing and starting your life and new life with a new wife over again. The one you have now may not be the one you're really supposed to be with. Sorry to bear the truth, but just because you have 10, 15, 20 years into it doesn't make it right - - it means you've wasted 10, 15, 20 years of God's time, and you could have been blessed a long time ago - - if you're living in a house with a cantankerous woman, and there is NOTHING you can do to bring her out of that funk, you need to cut bait. 

    If she won't listen to you, if she won't follow you, if she thinks you're an idiot, and she could never allow you to hold the reins to the finances, the decisions, or the family matters, then you friend, are not in a marriage, you are in a disaster. (PLEASE don't fall back on "I'm in it for the kids" they really would be better off without the two of you fighting constantly, or being crude and uncaring toward each other.) When I think about it, and I do, I think I have never met an adult who as a kid had parents who stayed together for the sake of the kids, tell me that they are better off because their parents stayed together for their sake. Without exception, every last one of them says the stress inside the house was just too much, and it would have been better to have them divorce for no other reason but to get out from under the pressure of their parents backstabbing, bad-mouthing, plotting, and literally hoping the other was injured or worse. It makes NO sense to stay in the same household if she is not following the man, and if the man is not following God.  NO sense.

    Can I really be advocating divorce right now as a Christian? Well, the Bible doesn't say if you're a Christian you can't divorce. It doesn't say you have to stay in a relationship where God isn't the center and one or the other is unwilling to do God's will. You can't be unequally yoked like an ox with a donkey. You just can't do it. Take the common plow with two horses of equal strength, if one horse is trained and the other isn't trained, there is a chance that the trained horse will train the untrained, but there is a chance also, that the untrained horse will lead the trained animal astray and the plow will be broken. If the man is not following God fully the woman can't follow the man and expect to be treated well. If the woman is following the man, but the man isn't following God, then there is no union, and she will soon find out that he is more selfish and she is not on his mind and heart as she should be. She's just spinning her wheels and yes, wasting her time.  If the man is following God and the woman won't follow him, he can pray for a while, and he can try, but if she refuses, it is time to let it go. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.  After a while, it can drive you insane.

    Bottomline it.  Young people or people who have been in relationships and want to get into another one; listen to God. Follow the will of God and do all that He asks of you EVEN if that asking seems crazy or out of whack with what you and your new partner had in mind. God is, God is, God is. If you get that through your thick skull the first time and leave it there, you'll be so much better off. If she doesn't follow you, you'll be so much better off than trying to force it. Let go, let God. If you really want to do it right, let HIM pick your partner - - let HIM make that decision.  Anything less is just an investment in your remodeling the rooftop, maybe the attic if she'll be kind enough to let you live up there without nagging you to the point of sending you back outside.

Photo credit: Dr. David Edgington

No Grits for the Brits. (Or for the Scots, Apparently)

 As I do, and as I like to do, I went online and pretended to buy a month's worth of groceries at www.tesco.co.uk.  Tesco can be compared to Costco in some ways, they have clothes, lawn and garden things, food, and of course, they have grits. No, no, they don't have grits. not real ones anyway. They have instant. No, thank you. This was something I found out today, and let me tell you, it's just a really good thing I found out now instead of when I moved to Scotland, because if I had stepped on that plane and landed in the land of Heather only to find out after I'd arrived that they don't sell actual grits in Scotland (or the UK in general) I may have had a heart attack! I mean, I don't eat grits all that often, less than once a week really, but to NOT be able to buy them was just sort of odd to me - - no, let's be honest, it smacked me upside the head with utter confusion. 

    No grits for the Brits it seems, and no grits for the Scots. I wonder if the Irish have any better luck finding grits on sale in their bonny stores? I will just have to keep right on wondering I suppose, I have no plans to visit the Emerald Island for a bit; possibly upwards of an entire year after I land in Scotland. I'll be a wee bit busy traveling and touring the Lowlands and the Highlands.  I think the first few days will be spent on the Isle of Lewis and I'll stay there until I'm kicked off the island for asking too many questions. I'm looking forward to listening to everyone speaking Gaelic. I'm absolutely sure that because I've been studying it for the past year, I'll be able to pick out one out of every 50 words - - that's my goal anyway. One word I'm darn sure I won't hear is the word "grits" and I'm just dumbfounded, absolutely gobsmacked over that one.

    My daughter assured me this afternoon that I could carry a small 20 oz canister of grits with me onto the plane as long as it's not open. I can do that. I will do that. Oh, and then here's the other thing that just floored me about shopping online and pretending to buy food in Scotland. I had to set my coffee down before I spilled it all over my keyboard when I tried to find ground coffee for drip coffee makers that would be compared to Caribou Coffee, Kicking Horse Coffee, or Black Rifle Coffee.  No, I know, I should stop trying to compare anything to Black Rifle, it can't be done, but Caribou comes really really close. I did find to my shock and horror that the Scots drink a great deal of instant ... wait, let me breathe in clean air really deeply before I say that; they drink instant....coff....instant coff...OMG, say it!  They drink a lot of instant coffee. Damn, got it out, there!

    I really hope my new friends don't expect me to have that in my house. It's a lot like asking me to fly the Texas flag or to agree that the Marines are the same thing as the Army. No....no, it really is not the same, and there will be no Texas flags flying anywhere near my house at any time, and that goes for my good friend who I affectionately call "Tex" too; if he comes over, as I suspect he will, he'll have to leave his little orange cup at home; I'll go all Boomer Sooner on him in nothing flat -- he'll understand I'm sure. He may even try it once just for fun; just to see how crazy my eyes can get.  I hate to say it like this, but I'd drink instant coffee before I flew the Texas flag. 

    That's about it. I spent about 240 GBP on my pretend food pantry to get my pretend life started in Scotland.  If you do the math at 240 x 1.37 (exchange) you'll see I spent about $328.00 of pretend (air) money for the whole shebang - - but I spent about $70 on spices and I won't buy them every month. I spent about what I expected, and keeping up with the pantry will be about $220 a month or so, not including the dining out - - which will be limited since I can't actually drive myself to Chick-Fil-A or Bruam's Ice Cream & Dairy Store.  There is a Kentucky Fried Chicken near where I think I'm going to live, but I don't eat at KFC here, why would I do it there? I mainly eat at actual restaurants if I go out to dinner, but I will stop at Braum's once a week for salad and ice cream. (OK, shut it, I do buy the chicken sandwich once a month) 

     I may end up opening up a Sonic Drive-In somewhere near the Edinburgh Airport just to bring some Oklahoma blood to the area  -- and because I think the good folks in Scotland could use a cheap corn dog, no, they don't sell corn dogs in Scotland either - - I looked.  (I don't eat them, but I would sell them)  I'm going to be OK, I really am. The bacon is soooooo much bigger, better, and meatier in Scotland than it is here, and they have Double Cream, which is sort of like whipping cream, but yes, better. I'm also a big fan of digestive biscuits. The rest of us call them flat little sweet cookies, but I am a fan. Yes, I am a fan; oh, and I found that the tea I drink is actually cheaper there too, which makes all kinds of sense. 

    So, between taking the bus, riding the rail, walking my legs off, and calling a taxi to take me home from the store (I can walk there) I will have a good full pantry - whether I bring food home or order it and have it delivered. I didn't buy any paper products in my pretending, but I did shop it, and it's about the same there as it is here. Now, if I had said you can't buy toilet paper in Scotland, you would not have seen me moving to Scotland. I don't care how many roundabouts they have, if there wasn't any toilet paper there would be no Jude  --- First World issues, I know.

    No grits? No problem. I have to go back to the U.S. now and again, I'll just make it a habit to bring it back with me on the plane.  It will happen. 

Photo credit: Palmetto Farms. 

Work it Baby, Work It!

 The YMCA is literally across the street from where I live, so having the excuse that I just couldn't make it over to the gym is really no excuse at all unless I've got a broken leg or something. Last month I think I didn't go all that often because I did have an issue with a tendon in the ball of my right foot - - weird.  So, yeah, I go, and when I go I work out for about 20 minutes.  Twenty minutes may not seem like much to you and it may not be, but for me, it's the most intense 20 of the day - - unless I'm boxing; then yeah, working out takes second place. 

    Today was more or less a triple header. I woke up thinking I needed to walk so I walked about 5000 steps. I usually reserve that sort of thing for the evening hours, but not today. Then around 1 p.m. I began punching the bag and really got into it. I cranked up .38 Special and hit the bag about a million times. When I do that I really should let the landlord (or at least the downstairs neighbor) know whats up. The bag's base needs another round of sand I think. I hit it, it rocks, and this continues for the duration. I'm not one to let up that often, even if I do have a tendon throbbing in my foot - - not today, but just sayin'.  When I'm hitting the bag I'm punching and punching means I don't give a damn if I'm in feeling pain, I'm punching. (Know anyone like that? I'm one. You know me, so you can now answer that question in the affirmative.)

    So punching happened, and when I punch I dance. When I dance and punch I grind so that I can get the lower end even lower so I can punch and drive my fists into the lower part of the bag as if I'm punching someone in the groin. It could be useful if it becomes useful. My good friend (today) asked me to video my punching sessions -- can I monetize? I might be interested if I could get about 50,000 subscribers willing to pay me .99 a month to watch me punch the daylights (and other parts) off of the red bag. I may have to (at that point) get a "Bob" to punch so it would at least feel more realistic. Bob's face HURTS when you hit it. Just so you know, you hit Bob you feel it.  Those Everlast Evergel hand wraps are NEEDED if you're going to punch Bob.

    After the punching after the grinding, after the walking, after the decision to eat something, which ended up being a pea protein shake with blueberries; I decided to work out at the Y. OK...I must be in beast-mode today, I don't know. I'm about to hit the shower after working out for my give-it-more-than-you-thought-you-could-give 20 minutes at the gym.  I typically do a belly machine, two arm machines, two leg press types, and then the ever-standing rings. I don't do what Lara Trump does mind you, that woman is my personal hero! If you have not seen her, go watch! Go...go watch her! DANG!!!  I do squats on the rings. I hold them, move out to the point that I'm putting all my weight on the rings and I squat. I do that 100 times and call it done. 

    I don't think I'm done for the day, it's only 4:00 p.m. and I'm thinking another round of 5000 steps would be about right for the evening - - after dinner. Put fuel in, get moving. I can do this. I'm not like this every day, and that's probably a good thing, but today is a rip day - - borrowed that one from my son. (He will be proud of me when I give him my report, I'm sure.) So that's about it, just reporting in and letting you know that there are days that I really like hitting things and moving things, and there are days I like feeling like I'm 18 and indestructible. Today is another one of those days. Wanna dance? I'm game.  Crank it. Let's go.

Photo credit: www.shein.com 

Tea Time!

 I had this argument with my good friend who, like me, is from America, and we really have virtually no say in the matter, we have no experience, and we really should just shut up and mind our own business when it comes to tea.  (That was one heck of a long sentence.) So there we are, both of us, neither of us with any real knowledge, but we're trying to one-up each other when it comes to having tea. We (Americans) do that; we're perhaps the most annoyingly arrogant beings on the planet, and where there are times our British friends would love to slap us right across the face (in private of course, so no one would see them do it) we still hold the upper hand in so many other matters, that to actually lay a hand on us would certainly bring about a very public, and openly live-streamed slapping battle royale, that no one would want to admit took place. 

    Americans should simply shut up and listen to their British friends when it comes to tea. That is my statement and I stand by it, but it didn't and won't stop me from arguing with my American friends about what is proper, what is correct, what is acceptable, what is -- well, British. Let's be honest; there probably is a proper way, and you KNOW we are not carrying it out correctly.  Let me take a moment now and make a few of my English pals cringe.  I'll start by saying I drink hot tea from about 11 a.m. to about 7:00 p.m. and I tend to use the same tea bag for at least two cups and sometimes three.  I never (sorry) ever use a pretty or dainty teacup, as my fingers don't really wrap around the delicate handle very well without dipping the edge and spilling my tea. I don't use a saucer (plate) because I rarely spill my tea. I use a coffee mug - - there, I said it, let the slapping commence, I'll shut the door and pull down the blinds.

    There are people in this world, and I am one of them, who have more than 30 different types of tea to choose from so that I am never bored. I have loose tea, tea in tea bags, tea in sachets, which as you know, are sweet little mesh bags, but they aren't bags, they are sachets, so I say I have tea in sachets. I have tea that I created from loose bulk, I have tea that comes in tins that are replenished on a monthly basis, and teas in tins that I will have for the next 14 years without finishing; vanilla licorice comes to mind. Do you see where I am going with this? I have tea. When you come to my house in the morning you are offered coffee or tea.  If you choose tea you must then choose if you want black or green tea. I have both.  You must then go to the tea cabinet, as I have an entire cabinet devoted to my tea collection, and you must decide for yourself which tea it is that you want to drink. I will assist you if you need help. I am really cool like that.

    My tea drinking, and yes, my pretend tea-drinking, started when I was but a wee child, maybe around the age of three, and I would watch my Auntie Eileen Choules, a real live English Ex-Pat who lived in our neighborhood.  She offered tea to all of the ladies in the neighborhood, those with and without children, but she liked it when we came over as she herself had three kids, and we were roughly the same ages as her kids.  She and Mom (Mum) would sit at her dainty table and drink their dainty teas in their dainty cups, and I loved the pomp and circumstance; I remember thinking I would be invited to drink tea someday, and I needed to pay close attention to see just exactly how it was done. I was in fact, invited for tea, the day after my formal graduation from high school.  I was 17 years old, and let me tell you, I relished every single moment of that afternoon delight.  We even had scones!! SCONES!!

    Auntie Eileen was my mother's age of course, and she was straight out of London. I know nothing, and I do mean nothing about her other than she was from London, had three kids, came to America for her husband's employment, she moved to our neighborhood, and that she loved tea. Other than that, she was my mother's friend, and when I was growing up kids were not seen they were not heard, they were expected to be absent when the ladies talked, and even though some of us (me) hid and watched the goings-on during those afternoon teas, we were not permitted (as children) to participate or even have a say at the table; not once. My, how times have changed.

    Today, I am absolutely certain that my friend (we'll call her Jeannie) doesn't know as much as I know about high tea when you should have it, what goes with it, how it should be done, and even if it should be done by crude and unworthy sorts like us.  I do know, however, that I was "taught" by experience, by watching it actually happen both at Auntie's house and my own. I know that it took place right after school let out, and I know that the butter melted just so over the tops of those scones - - unless it was held at my house, and in that case, the butter melted just so over the hot canned biscuits that Mom popped into the oven.  I can't believe Eileen would consider speaking to Mom after being subjected to that sort of treatment! (Ha!)

    My favorite teas are Lady Grey (Twinings makes a great one), Constant Comment, Tazo's Green Zen, and H&T Black Current.  I'm open to just about anything really, heck, I tried vanilla licorice, but I do prefer the staples.  So, there you have it, me and my tea drinking habit.  I hope you have a similar story to share with your friends regarding your childhood upbringings and how they may differ from today's kids' experiences. I can tell you that when my own kids were growing up and Jeannie and I were having tea that Jeannie routinely went for a Dr. Pepper instead and she would leave me hanging time after time again with my tea; even when I did pull out the tiny delicate china teacups with matching saucers Jeannie was not much for sipping and talking - - she only humored me on my birthday. I force her to humor me on my birthday, it will happen! We will have high tea on that one day!

    Enjoy your tea, and please, please, don't forget the scones. Oh, the scones (with lemon curd) stop me. I'm about to drool. 

Photo Credit: www.iherb.com 

Just Another Reason I Am Not Married

 Oh let me count the ways -- when I go to the store I often like to sit back (if I have time) and just people watch. It's one of the more interesting and absolutely the most entertaining part of my trip. I tell Laura I'm going to Home Depot to "pretend" I own a house and I look at literally everything in the store to see if I could use it in my pretend house, but while I'm there I tend to let my eyes wander off to the various couples I see shopping together; or not together. It depends on what they are at the store for I suppose, but there are times when couples are together, pushing the basket side by side, and other times they are aisles apart in their own little world(s) seemingly coming together either at the cashier's station, outside by Lawn & Garden, because everyone ends up there eventually, or you see them slowing making their individual way back to the car at their own leisurely pace. Every couple has a story or two to tell even if they aren't broadcasting it. Sometimes they broadcast it and every other issue they have in their marriage. 

    Today's events were both unpleasant and horrifying to watch, but watch I did, I was indeed watching. I was listening to, and the thought even occurred to me that for her safety I may even want to start videoing their overtly loud conversation. It amazes me how people often (literally) forget that there are others in the same community, right there in the same store, in the same aisle, standing less than five feet from them, but they just keep right on fighting. Verbal abuse is nothing short of abuse-abuse, it's real, it's ugly, it's mean, it's nasty, it's uncalled for, and in public, it should be considered illegal if it reaches a point of making complete strangers uncomfortable. 

    If I have to worry whether or not my gun is accessible, I should just simply walk away from whatever it is that the people near me are "discussing" but then again, if I walk away she may be vulnerable. I could be the only thing keeping her safe from his hands; but it sure didn't help matters that she wouldn't shut up and stop nagging him about whatever it was that broke at home that caused them to come into the Home Depot to get a replacement part. If I know exactly what happened, I'm pretty sure she's reminded him a dozen times. I decided walking away was best, and as soon as it was safe to pass them I did exactly that. I couldn't exit the other end of the aisle, as they had blocked it off with one of their big orange machines and fencing. I was sort of trapped with Mr. and Mrs. Loud-and-Unruly. 

    Whatever happened to the vows these people took? Whatever happened to their endless love? Whatever happened to cherish, love, respect, honor, and for all things holy, whatever happened to just being calm about the situation and coming together to fix it? Even if it is his fault, work with him. If it's her fault, work with her. Both of you, work it out, talk it out, you don't need to blame, point fingers, get all in each other's faces about it. It happened, move forward, and stop bringing it to light in public where everyone can and will know that neither one of you knows how to keep a promise made to each other regarding how you will forever be each other's stronghold. Marriage should not be about scores and points, and your fault, my fault, their fault, or your family, my family.  Marriage is between two not 15. Marriage is a union of two not everyone. I know they say when you marry someone you marry their family, but no  you don't. I won't. I would absolutely NEVER marry someone's messed up, baggage toting, breaking-every-type-of-social-norm family; nope. 

    Maybe it's because I'm older than the ancient Roman ruins, and I can remember when people treated each other better, but if I ever married again I would make it perfectly clear that I don't bring my family to the table and he doesn't bring his either. We are not seeking their approval, we are not seeking their assistance, we are not seeking their opinion, and we are not seeking their involvement.  Sure, we can visit his family (I won't be bringing him home to meet my family other than my kids) and that's my choice. It will be something discussed and understood before I agree to marry; and believe me, I won't change my mind. I don't even know if that's possible for me to do such a thing. (Not really remembering the last time I changed my mind after making a decision). 

    It may be because I've just seen so much, heard so much, witnessed it, and refuse to accept it for myself. It may be because I think marriage is precious, something you work for, but you shouldn't have to fight for it, because there shouldn't be fighting in the first place if you do what you're supposed to do in that first place. (OK, this is where I get all churchy and say if the husband does as God directs he won't have an issue with his wife....EVER.)

    I drove home and thought about Mr. and Mrs. and how they couldn't even breathe without spitting at each other. I talked to God on the way home. I told Him what He already knew; that I will forever stay perfectly single before allowing my heart to bleed the impurity of what I saw in that store. Before I could subject my soul, time, effort, love, feeling, (did I say time) or OK, I'll say it, before I give my money to what could possibly end up looking like what I saw, I would and want to remain absolutely alone. I don't mind being alone. I would NEVER treat myself that way. I would never berate myself. I would never hate and disrespect myself; and I can sure as hell make it on my own without putting myself into a situation where I would be made publicly embarrassed to be seen with the man who swore before God and witnesses that he would cherish me. I would forever remain with me and me alone! (well, except God is there, and of course Sam, my Guardian Angel). 

    "To have and to hold; to honor and cherish"; those words actually mean something to me.  "From this day forward" has NO END.  It doesn't matter if it is 364 days later, or 18,448 days later, if the man I married on Day 1 decides to disrespect me he's no longer worthy of my promise. He has to answer to God. He has presented me to be blemished, he has caused me to be less than presentable, and he is not in God's will at that point.  How many marriages do you think you could count today with that high of a bar being set? You're like me, I don't know many either. I do know one, maybe even two right off the top of my head -- but the vast majority of marriages today fall so completely short of what marriage is supposed to be that there's no way to even call what they have a union. They were "in love" so they said "I do" but after the money got tight, and the kids got mouthy, their "I do" turned into "I won't" and "you can't make me" and that's the problem - - they thought they knew what love was. 

    If you don't put Jesus in the center of the union it will not be a union. If you don't put Jesus in the center of the marriage, it will not be a marriage. If you don't put Jesus in the center of the rest of your life you can all but bet you won't have much of a life to talk about. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you want to point your finger back at me and say I didn't do it right when I was married -- but I got ahead of you on that one didn't I? I already admitted it. I was wrong, wrong, wrong, and then more wrong, so yeah, I left. There won't be another time for me if God doesn't do the picking. 

    There will never be another time that I will call myself a wife unless God decides to bring that union together (possibly with me kicking and screaming there must be another way); His will. I will do His will if that's what He asks of me. I'm not holding my breath.  I'll keep my ears and eyes open for the poor soul, sure, but don't you already feel sort of sorry for the man? He's got a pretty big burden to meet if he thinks he's going to be my husband. He'll have all of the responsibility of keeping me in line; while I just have to follow him. Pretty one-sided if you ask me, but oh well, I didn't write Ephesians now, did I? Nope, but I sure know it's the guideline I'll be choosing to go by - - if there is a next time. 

Photo credit: Heaven to Betsy

Word credit: Apostle Paul 

Leaning on the Everlasting Arms - of God

 The lyrics go like this:

"What a fellowship, what a joy divine

Leaning on the everlasting arms
What a blessedness, what a peace is mine
Leaning on the everlasting arms

Leaning, leaning
Safe and secure from all alarms
Leaning, leaning
Leaning on the everlasting arms

What have I to dread, what have I to fear
Leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near
Leaning on the everlasting arms"

(songwriters: Elisha Hoffman and Anthony J. Showalter)

For many years I stood in church and dutifully opened my Hymnal to sing this particular song at one of the various Baptist churches I attended throughout my lifetime. I always say everyone should start out a Baptist, and remain one for at least 12 years and then maybe as a teenager, when they begin to rebel, they can make a choice to attend another church or no church at all, however, the 12 solid years of being a Baptist will at least instill in their lives, hearts, minds, souls, and every breath, that Jesus Christ is Lord, and here are the details to every last story in the entire Bible -- there will be a test in the form of Bible Drills! It will happen.

    "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" - - yes, please.  There was a time, so many times, when I was flopped into the arms of the Lord, drug up from the depths of my own self pity by His gracious hand, and those arms of His reached around me and held me close so I knew I was safe; nothing could harm me.  There were times I ran from those long arms of His, and hoped I could out run Him, but we all know how that ends, right? C'mon, we don't all have to hold degrees in Rocket Science to know that no one can really hide from God; not me, not you, not anyone - - we will get to our own personal Nineveh if we are to go, and we should seriously just own it.

    "What have I to dread, what have I to fear" is the one line I sang lifelessly as a kid as a teen, even as a young adult, but the second the doctor looked me in the eyes and said "You're pregnant" I knew exactly what it was that I was going to be fearing...my dad. I knew I disrespected him, I knew I would have dishonored him, and I knew that he was going to be so very disappointed in my choices. I was 23 years old, old enough to be on my own, and I was living on my own, but that didn't mean I wasn't still Daddy's little girl! I was. I remembered within my Baptist bible teaching that what I did, even if I was engaged, was just not really what a daddy wanted to hear - - and then the rest of this song flooded my heart. The part that says "I have blessed peace with my Lord so near",  I knew God would make it all better if I just returned to Him and asked for His  help. Wow, He helped big time!

    Now, I don't know if God was just being sweet to me, or if He had something more tangible in mind, but when my sister Linda gave birth to her two beautiful children, they were both girls. Reuben, my son, the one I (yes I did) named after my father, was and is the only boy in our family. He is my dad's grandson, the only one.  I gave my parents two more grands, but they were both girls too.  Reuben is the boy. Talk about brownie points; and no, you're not supposed to do that, and no, it's not right, it's not fair, it's really sexist, and yeah, we get that, but still, it is what it is, and Reuben, my son, saved my hide with my dad. For 53 years my dad went by his middle name Wayne until he found out I was going to name my son after his first name and suddenly that ancient old Bible name didn't sound so odd or off the wall to him.  Reuben.  It literally means "Behold, my son" or in simple terms "It's a boy".  Boy, oh boy, Reuben, my son, is one heck of a boy!  I was going to need those everlasting arms of Jesus for the rest of my life! (Thank God)

    Another artist, Steph Macleod of Scotland, wrote a song titled "One Day at a Time" and in that song he repeats a phrase that really hits hard too; it is, "Surrender, is the answer, I believe in a higher power".  Wow, wow, and again wow. Yes, yes, I do. I thoroughly and whole-heartedly believe in a higher power, there just isn't another reason or answer as to how things work out good when after I screw them up so badly. God and God alone is the reason I am still standing, still breathing, still working, still holding up, still loving, still writing, still thanking Him. I believe in a higher power, but not just any higher power, but the ONLY higher power there is, and that is our God, our King, Jesus, the true living Son of Almighty God. 

    "Safe and secure from all alarms".  I am safe. I am secure. I couldn't think of any other way to live other than to just let go of any and all things that cause suffering, pain, stress, anxiety, fear - - what is fear? I don't know it now. I am not always the stoic and strong minded, but I am always the strong willed and I will always return to the closet to pray (while clutching my rock) and I'll always and only pray to my God through His Son, there just isn't another way - - anything else would be to give up those everlasting arms, and no thank you, that will not do.  Another song, another hymn just wrapped itself around my brain just now, the start of it goes like this:

"I stand amazed in the presence
Of Jesus the Nazarene,
And wonder how He could love me,
A sinner, condemned, unclean."   by Charles Gabriel. 

I do. I stand amazed.  I have no idea why or how He could love me, but He did, and He does, and that alone is reason to just....breathe and thank Him.

My daddy Reuben Wayne Stringfellow, son of Reuben Jefferson Stringfellow, and my son Reuben Andrew Stringfellow. 

The Roman Road to Salvation

 Being a Baptist has its perks.  I was born on a Wednesday, and I'm not kidding you, I was in the church nursery that Sunday morning. It is what it is, and I have been grateful to Jesus since the day I was born for the good teaching and training I received from my Baptist parents who were raised by good Christian Baptists, who were raised by good Christian Baptists, who...you get the point. For any and all, this message is for those who have not accepted Christ as their Savior, and for those who are hoping to help others find their way to Christ.  

    I know that not everyone was born into a loving and caring family, and I know that some loving and caring families are not believers in Jesus, like mine was/is.  For that reason, I want to share with you the means and way to find Jesus as your Lord today. It's too important to just ignore, and as a follower I know the benefits and security of knowing I am not only forgiven for all the things I've done, but I have an eternal promise that I'll be spared an eternity in Hell. It's a hard thing to discuss with anyone who doesn't want to understand God's love. You can't lead unreasonable people to Christ, only those who are looking to find the truth. I'm sharing with you, that truth today!

    I did NOT create the Roman Road to Salvation, but will cheerfully pass it on to you, and hope that you will pass it on to more.  God bless you, and may He keep you in His heart and show His face to you, every day of your life here on Earth, and every eternal moment hereafter.

The Roman Road to Salvation is a quick and easy reference guide that gives you 5 steps, easy peasy steps, to becoming born again.  It starts with why you are on the Road to begin with. Are you seeking Jesus? If you are, read the following verses, think about them, take them as being authentic, and find your way. Blessings.

THE ROMAN ROAD TO SALVATION - - Follow it. 

Romans 3:23 "For all have sinned and come short of the Glory of God."  That word ALL includes me, and it includes you. No one is exempt. We have all sinned. Because we are sinners, we fall short of what is perfect, and only that which is perfect can be with Almighty God. That presents a problem for all of us.

Romans 5:8  "But God demonstrates His own love for us in this while we were still sinners Christ died for us"   OK, problem solved.  Jesus came from Heaven to Earth to show us the way - He is in fact the only reason we can be saved. He died, but more importantly, He arose from the grave and is our salvation. 

Romans 6:23 "For the wages of sin is death, but the (free) gift of God is eternal life through Jesus".  THERE, do you see it? God wanted to be with us, Jesus came to Earth as a sacrifice for us, and through HIS blood, we are saved - - but how? What do we have to do in order for that to actually happen?

Romans 10:9-10  (9) "If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (10). For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved."

There you go - you must believe.  It's not hard to do when you realize that the very air you've been breathing all this time didn't come from you, from a scientist, or any man, but from a loving and giving Creator who wants to be with you eternally. 

... and finally,

Romans 10:13 "Everyone who calls upon the Lord will be saved."  That everyone again, includes me, and it includes you. God cannot lie. It is impossible for God to lie. So if He says you'll be saved, you'll be saved.  

It seems so simple because it is simple:

1. Are you a sinner?  Yes

2. Do you need to be saved? Yes

3. Did God provide you a way?  Yes

4.  Do you believe Jesus is the way? That He is in fact, the Son of the Almighty God? 

5. If you believe He is, and He is, will you accept Him as your personal Savior? Someone to lead, guide, and instruct you? That's your choice, and I pray you will. There is a simple prayer you can pray if you aren't familiar with prayer. If you are familiar with prayer, just talk to Jesus and ask Him to come into your life, and to forgive you of your sins.  The simple "Sinner's Prayer" is this:

"Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead. I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life. I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Savior." 

Photo credit: Etsy

Sometimes the English Comes Out in Me

 Yes, (Oh my gosh, I can't believe I'm admitting this online and in real life) I am part English as well as Scottish. There, I said it, it is what it is, I didn't get a vote in the matter, and I can't change it no matter how hard I try to fake my accent. I am a Stringfellow, and we are from the Border area(s) that divide the two countries of Scotland and England.  From the history books to the unsung traditions and/or stories, I gleaned and studied as much about my family history as I could on my father's side; I let my sister do most of the work if I had to be honest about it.  

    My sister went through books, references, letters, archives, websites, and anything else she could find and use to make sense of where it was that we Stringfellows came from exactly.  As far back as she could reach with legal and/or records inside of family Bibles, the Stringfellows were in England in the 12th century, migrated partially (at least our side) to Scotland in the mid 14th century, set up camp in the bordering areas, but there were a few who fought with William Wallace and/or their names have been laced with that lure for years.  Whether or not any of it is true is anyone's guess. We truly only have the word of those who chose to record whatever they chose to record.

    To date, we have found that most of the Stringfellows that are in direct line with my dad were from the Edinburgh area and just south and west of the main city, most of the brood decided not to live in or near the city itself, but clung to the rivers and creeks (burns) that lace the outskirts on both the east and west side of the city, but on the south of it, not north past the Firth of Forth. Sadly, it is true, the Stringfellows are not from the Kingdom of Fife; I have to live with that fact. I would love to say I am Jude Stringfellow, Queen of the Fife, but it's not going to happen. I can dream. It's much closer to truth to say I am Jude Stringfellow, daughter of a man who is son of a man who is son of a man who is son of a man, etc, who came from the bordering townships of lower and central Scotland back in the day. The most prominent of the Stringfellows that we could find was William Stringfellow, grandfather of James Stringfellow, again, English/Scottish bred, but at least we know James married Mary Campbell in and/or near 1660 she was definitely Scottish. I'll cling to that. James and his lot moved to America in the later part of the 1660s.

    Today however, I suppose my English ancestors were up in Heaven tickling my ears, because I became interested in making both homemade lemon curd and raisin scones so that I could put it all together and have high tea at 4:00 p.m. for no reason whatsoever, other than to say that I did it. I do actually have the wherewithal inside my skull to make both recipes without looking at them on paper or from Google recipes. I've made both for years; it was fun to make them together and pour myself a hot cup of Earl Grey loose tea for the occasion.  I often roll loose Earl Grey and smoke it for the hell of it, but today it was steeped and served hot with my British ancestors at hand just over my right shoulder as I practiced trying to drink from my tea cup with the tiny tiny thin handles. I don't know who thought that was a good idea - - it's not.

    Scones are amazingly fun to make, and they're so easy too. I think the prep time is about 3 minutes and the cooking time about 12 on heat, then I turn off the oven and let them get all golden brown before whisking them hot out of the oven and slathering them with fresh lemon curd. I'm not gonna lie, the lemon curd was to die for too, and it wasn't even fully cooled from being made an hour earlier. It was still a bit runny - - OH MY GOSH too good for words, and I had to drown myself in Earl Grey before I had a food moment that could possibly disturb the neighbors.  I only made 9 scones so it wasn't as if I could actually invite them over; I am saving the others for Laura and I so we can have them for breakfast tomorrow. Self preservation.

    If you take the time to Google the two words "Stringfellow" and "England" you're going to find a very cheeky fellow, possibly a pedophile, by the name of Peter Stringfellow. Peter is a very very distant relative, we both have Reuben, Robert, Richard, and William Stringfellows in our background.  Peter was the well known playboy owning several night clubs called Stringfellows - I think they had a butterfly as part of their logo. I had forgotten that fact when I added it to my own book cover - - my good friend pointed it out, and yes, I had to giggle just a little bit. Naughty, I know, but it was a bit humourous as well...damn, I used the extra "u" just then, didn't I? Wow. 

    So yeah, scones and curd, High Tea with Earl Grey, and may many many more days of this sort of foolery be seen and had by myself and all of the other Stringfellows near and around the borders. We deserve to be a bit ritz at times; we deserve to show a bit of class, a touch of the culinary, and to practice our good manners when possible. Just don't take us too seriously, and by all means, never ever assume we are always British - - no, no, that would not be a good thing. From time to time maybe, but the blood in my veins runs closer to the blue field, white cross, than it does the Union Jack. If I had to be completely honest about it, I'd probably have asked God if I could go back in time a wee bit earlier than I came upon the Earth so that I could have been born in the land of Heather myself, but I do enjoy the modern conveniences of toilet paper, air conditioning, and indoor plumbing. I wasn't cut out for roughing it - - I prefer High Tea to that. 

    

Horseless - For Now

 The day has arrived when I am no longer a horse owner. It's been about a minute now, but I have decided to give up owning horses since I will move to Scotland on a more permanent basis. I can't really see myself paying board for an animal I don't ride, and I don't (at this time) own my own property to keep a horse on, so the prudent, mature, responsible, and overtly logical thing to do was to in fact sell the horse. My last horse was a Missouri Fox Trotter mare named Ava. She was, as many of my animals have been, a rescue from a kill pen here in the state of Oklahoma.  

    My daughter and I have rescued horses (and dogs, cats, pigs, goats, guineas and more) for all of her life, and that timeline bleeds into my own mother's life as well, we are and have always been rescuers.  It makes sense, and it helps the world at large even if it's just a small act of love. Ava was sold to an amazing little girl who at the age of 11, had saved up enough money to not only buy a horse, but to pay for transport, which is an enormous feat for a youngster! I was so very proud to say my last horse (for now) was going to the best home. It's always good when that happens.  Ava was too thin when I rescued her, and she came to me with a baby mule Jenny on her side - - the mule was healthy enough, but it was obvious that the mare had given her all to keep the baby going. 

    Believe me when I say that owning horses is nothing like owning other animals. With dogs and cats you may be able to get away without feeding them on a regular basis, you can literally leave town and expect a friend or family member to drop by and take care of them, but things don't usually work out that way when you own a horse. For starters, horses really don't care if you're sick, have to work later than usual, or if you have no way to come out to feed them - - they want to be fed. Those idiots who allow their animals to graze all day on grass and think that's good enough are in my opinion, not good horse people. In fact, there are so many not-good horse people in the world that I typically say the best thing about horse people is their dogs, and I mean that.  Horse people are the biggest losers on the planet in some cases, and I'm not afraid to say it - - why am I not afraid to say it? I've lived with them, fought with them, observed them, argued with them, called the sheriff on them, and yeah, they don't scare me, I rode a mare. If you're not a horse person you may not understand that last one, but it's true.

    Horses are rather blunt creatures. When they are introduced to each other there is a short time period when they start and go through their natural pecking order immediately. The boss mare steps up, all other horses step to the side to allow her leeway, and the new horse(s) is either accepted or chased off. The new horse, and it doesn't matter what his or her status was before stepping into this pasture, will by nature either accept their new submissive position or face a brutal battle trying to one-up the established Boss Mare. It is what it is, and that's the #1 reason I usually chose to ride a gelding. Geldings cuddle, they want your attention, they seek your affection, and they want to please you. A mare, boss or not, usually has her agenda, and if you don't fit into her schedule that day you may not be riding. It is what it is, which is again, the reason I usually chose to ride a gelding. 

    Stallions are another story altogether, and don't even get me started, you can either establish your dominance in the beginning with the animal, or be controlled by him.  If you know me, you know I carry a crop whip for a reason.  If I am in the pasture with a stallion I carry a crop - - most stallions lack a few brain cells and need to be reminded to stand down. Again, another reason I usually chose to ride a gelding - - no crop needed. I can use that hand to hold my coffee. 

    Selling Ava made sense too; it was the one thing I needed to do before making the final decision to make the move to Scotland.  Placing her in a good home was paramount, and deciding only to help rescue but not take another animal home with me is and was harder than I thought it would be. I rode almost every single day; even when I was heavier. I think I thought riding would help me to lose weight, but it didn't. I was just a casual rider, and I realized last summer that I was still riding as if I was thinner and at some point reality as well as physics set in and I was finding myself thudding the ground a few more times that I really wanted to.  

    I began losing weight, and didn't ride nearly as much as  I had before due to the fact that my body was lying to my brain and I couldn't (or wouldn't) chance being injured to the point that I couldn't sit up and write the book I had to get written, published, promoted, and distributed. This self-publishing gig is tough - - but it doesn't scare me, you guessed it, I rode a mare. If you can say that, you can do just about anything - - she's a chestnut mare too, and again, if you're not a horse person that may not make a lick of sense.

    Going horseless is not an easy thing to do for someone who is as horsey as I am. I think about them, work with them, pay out money for them, drag myself and my daughter all over the state to pick one up before it's shipped to slaughter, and if we're not doing that we're at the barn feeding, watering, bathing, training, working, and otherwise just being with other people's horses.  I could say I understand how an addict feels when they're pulled off the stuff to dry out except I've not really pulled myself out of the barn completely - - I go now just to smell the place; if you aren't a horse person the smell of horse sweat and wet manure may not be the scent you'd prefer in a Yankee candle; but it for me. I would by a dozen of their largest sized candles and keep them burning year round if they made them -- so instead, since I don't have the option of the candle, I have my saddle in my living room sitting on a dirty saddle pad or two; and it seems to help - - some.  That, and I have the crop whip to remind me that there may be some day it could come in handy - - I'll take it with me to Scotland. We'll see who or what I find to use it on there. (They have horses there too, right?)