Promised Peace - A Poem.

 Promised Peace 

 

The beauty of his Word 

Truth and simple phrasing 

Elegant, base, easily understood 

 

Abounding grace in sentences 

Promise upon promise 

Embracing my soul, as it should 

 

How can I remain anxious 

Knowing He is there and will be 

How indeed could I ever not trust 

 

Jesus in His excellence 

Holding me close, closer 

Always putting my needs first 

 

Thank you, God for your Word, 

Make me wait with peace 

Show me Your ways to cope 

 

Gone are thoughts of sorrow 

My burdens unlocked, set free 

You God, are my endless hope 

 

Jude Stringfellow – 02/01/2021 

Coincidence? I Don't Believe in Them.

 It was the evening, or rather pretty late into the night on September 22, 1985, when as a young woman I found myself pregnant and unmarried at the same time.  It wasn't supposed to be this way; I was engaged, and if the truth was told, though I rarely told anyone because it was so unbelievable, I only had sex one time with my fiance, and that was on June 22, just a few months back.  Since I was now knowingly pregnant, I also knew exactly how far along I was. I also knew how far I had to go before the baby was born, but I didn't know if I was going to have a boy or a girl.  This was before everyone was able to run down to the corner and have an ultrasound or sonogram performed. Those things cost real money in 1985, and I just wasn't in the financial place I needed to be to even attempt to find out what sex my baby was, or was going to be. I'd have to let God tell me I guess. God...yeah, about that...He forgave me. I'm not sure I forgave myself.

What I remember about the dream of September 22, 1985, was the way it ended - when I woke up I used the ending to restore my memory to recall the beginning, and to try to flesh out every detail I could. Being a person who always dreams in color and in detail, it wasn't too hard to recall it, but I didn't want to miss a single thing so I remember grabbing a ball point pen and writing it down exactly as I remembered. I wrote it in the baby's Baby Book, a Disney themed book -- neutral; not for boys, not for girls. I wrote it all down.

I saw myself walking through the white metal paneled stalls of the Oklahoma State Fairgrounds.  Mid September is usually the time Oklahoma has their state fair, so that in and of itself was not surprising to me. It also wasn't surprising to me that I was in the stall or horse area because I love horses, rode them, and had recently stopped riding due to being pregnant.  I was in the barns (in my dream) and I was just casually walking through them looking for someone.  I found the person I was looking for, he was kneeling inside one of the stalls and on the outside of the gate the word "Cavalry" was painted in green letters. Some would even venture to say olive green - - Army green. 

Now, this is when the dream gets really good. I am outside the stall, looking inside the stall at a large man wearing denim jeans, boots, and a red flannel shirt, he is holding his red baseball cap while he's on his knees praying. I call to him. "Boy, come on, we gotta go" I say to him. He lifts his head a bit and nods at me and calls back, "Mom, I'm praying, I'll be there in a minute."  MOM...did he just call me MOM? Oh my goodness, this must be my son! I'm looking at my son! This was all I could think of and nothing else mattered in the world. I was going to have a boy! I was really really going to have a baby boy and God was letting me know he would be a man of faith. THANK YOU, Jesus! But wait, there's more.

I waited on my son to finish his prayer. He stood up, put his hat on his head and walked out of the stall. Importantly, he opened the gate, would not let me into it, but closed it behind himself, and then put his arm securely around my shoulder. He was standing on my right side.  As we walked through the streets of the State Fair I thought it may be fun to see Bozo the Clown, boys like clowns, right? My son, no name was given at this point, shook his head in silence. There would be no clowns.  As we walked the streets there were others also walking the streets at the same time, and as they turned to see us they were gasping, literally staring and seemingly in awe of what they took into their sights. I couldn't see what they were seeing. When I turned to my side I merely saw my son, however, when anyone (and everyone else) turned to him they saw what can only be described as a steely black giant warrior, a knight with his sword in one hand and a clinched fist in the other. I turned several times but only saw my son; ball cap, flannel plaid shirt, nodding as he passed others, not smiling, but not angry, just walking beside me. Protecting me.

This is where I called his name - - I clearly without any reason for it said, "Reuben, what are they seeing? I don't understand."  He stopped me, turned me to face his face and put his hands on my shoulders. He said "Mom, my name is Lauren Gregory. They see me. That's who they see."  With that I woke up. I woke up feeling ever so confused too; if I had a son I would most definitely name him for my father whose name is Reuben, but I would never in a million years have come up with the names Lauren nor Gregory! I decided to look up both names and see what they meant - - they had to mean something. Again, this was many years before smart phones; it was off to the library for me! I found the books I needed and found to my surprise, but not entirely surprising, that the name Lauren means "Victory" and the name Gregory means "Guardian".  I wrote it down in the book.

Six months to the day came and went. On March 22, 1986, the most beautiful baby boy was born to me, and it was my time to give him a name. I remembered the dream, but I honored my father. I also honored my sister Andralyn by naming my son Reuben Andrew Stringfellow.  He was my tiny angel. As time does, it ran over us, leaving us in its wake - - skipping ahead exactly 21 years to the day from September 22, 1985 to September 22, 2006, I heard the phone ring. It was Baby Boy, a name he doesn't always cotton to hearing when I use it. "Mom, get downtown, come to M.E.P.S. at 6th and Walker. I'm swearing in."  Swearing in.  My son was leaving me to protect me.

Upon arriving at the front door of the M.E.P.S. (Military Entrance Processing Stations) in Oklahoma City, I opened a white door - the word "Cavalry" was painted on the door -- yes, in Army green.  I walked through the door, through the halls, and called out to my son, "Reuben, are you there?"  I found him, he was on the carpet kneeling in prayer - about to stand up with his Commanding Officer. My son was wearing denim jeans, a red flannel plaid shirt, and he handed me his red Oklahoma Sooner baseball cap.  He told me to hang on to it, he'd need it when he came home.  He did it.  He became the Victorious Guardian - - he became Lauren Gregory.  My Reuben, which by way means "Behold my son!" was now no longer mine -- he swore himself away to the United States just a few minutes later; and he hasn't vanquished that promise, not even to this day.  Behold, my son, the Black Knight. The Army's mascot is The Black Knight.

Today my son serves in the very elite Oklahoma National Guard 45th Infantry Division, and he is currently (at the time of this post) a Staff Sgt.  He has deployed several times both through the regular Army, where he served 6 years and with the Guard, having now served 8 years in our state.

God truly is amazing. His grace eternal, and His love unbound.

I'm Not For Everyone!

 You know, it goes without saying...but I'll say it; I'm not for everyone. I get that, in fact, I hear that more often than not.  I've literally had people look me in the eyes and say "Oh my goodness, you're just out there! You're .... not for everyone, are you?"  The simple answer is "No, I am not."  Then again, if you think about it, who would really be for anyone? HOW BORING would the person need to be in order to be suitable for every last one of us? This can't even be a possibility really, because I'm part of that "everyone" and I certainly wouldn't want to end up with a blase beige of an individual who could neither find it in themselves to have an opinion or to challenge mine. Nope, I'm not for everyone, and this is where I say "Thank you, Jesus."

I've written a book that I will publish soon enough titled "I'm the Only Me I Could Ever Be". I think there's a quaint crop of it here in a blog somewhere, in fact, all of my blogs should give you a bit of insight as to exactly what sort of crazy, wonky, nutter, space case I really am - - or am I? The terms could be reversed you know; I could be "clever as a fox" or even "feigning as a possum"; you've seen fainting goats haven't you? Maybe I'm a fainting goat just waiting for you to walk by so I don't have to deal with you - - ever thought of that? The truth is, we are all 100% perfectly made both in the image of God and in His perfect plan. I am me, you are you, we are we, and we are .... well, all together.  

I was not given the gift of music but I do in fact, never go an hour without it. I'll either hum something to myself, play an LP, turn on Pandora, make-believe I'm a rock star, and belt something out, but there will be music -- but I don't have that enormously gracious gift that God has chosen to give to others. I can't tabulate, I don't even know what a tab is, and I certainly can't expect my fingers to cooperate when my brain is wondering where to put them on the neck of a guitar - - but I do own a couple of really cool guitars. Maybe I'm thinking I'll someday learn, maybe I'm thinking I'll just hold them and dream I'm able to play. Maybe I'm just thanking God for those who actually do have this talent. I know I appreciate it.

I, instead of music, have been given the gift of discernment. I've talked about it before, but it has actually been getting in the way lately - - the only way I can compare it to show you what I'm talking about is to use an over exaggerated example of this:  My discernment has been in overdrive lately, and it gets noticed, much like it would be noticed if Eddie Van Halen (rest in peace) were to stand on Aisle 9 at Walmart and start blasting out riffs all too familiar to some, hideous to others, and quite confusing to most! I've been waking up thinking things, going to bed thinking things, minding my own business thinking things, and then when I'm not thinking things I wonder why I'm not thinking those things and how I could be affecting those who I'm constantly thinking of.  If you were Eddie and you were playing your guitar 24/7 at a relatively loud level of volume, you MAY begin to understand how I'm feeling right now; I love the music - - thoughts, but is it really necessary?

To give you another example, I was hosting my friend the other day at home, we were just having coffee and I asked her if she always wore socks with holes in them or if this was a new fashion statement.  Her toes were securely inside her shoes, and she hadn't taken them off, so she stared at me and asked how I knew she had a hole in the big toe of her sock? I don't know the answer to that. I don't know how I know a thing, why I know things, or even if there is a reason for some of the things I am aware of - - it just happens and I can (often do) end up blurting something out of my mouth (or keyboard) without thinking how the other person is going to take it - - it's not easy to take, I'm sure. 

It doesn't stop with socks. I know when people in front of me at the store have just gone through a family trauma; God tells me in ways you can see as well, but I end up paying attention. Body language, eye contact, lack of eye contact, subtle moves, and noises people make. Often times it comes to what they don't say when they typically say things, or what they don't mention on a podcast when they used to mention it, or more blatantly when they are flat out asked and they avoid the question entirely. Yeah, I noticed. 

Having a medical doctor in the family would be a really good thing right? That person could help you diagnose issues of your physical body, maybe make a few suggestions to help you feel better. Maybe having a mechanic in the family would be useful? Can you see where I'm going with this particular analogy? Having someone with the ability to see, hear, feel, smell, even taste your anxiety, your depression, your hurting, your needs would be...I don't know -- GOOD!  But I often overstep myself and ask questions so penetrating from a place others think is being forward or intrusive, but in my heart and in my soul the question is both needed and warranted. I have the answers. I really do. I am so very very grounded in my walk with Christ that I absolutely understand what a person who is suffering needs to do - - unfortunately, most of the time, these people who do suffer from these ailments see me as being blunt, forceful, again I'll say intrusive when my actual intention is love, just simple old-fashioned understanding, and love. For some, even mentioning the "L" word is intrusive. If they only knew how powerful LOVE really is.

Love is all.  I think the Hebrew language has many variations on the word "love", different words for the one word we Americans use and that's a good thing. Instead of simply saying "I love you", we could be using a more accurate and precise word such as "I really want you to understand that the feeling you're having is normal, and we have all had it. If you care to follow a few simple exercises you can get over the anxiety for now, and work on a way to keep it at bay."  That's how precise some of the words for "Love" are in that beautiful language.  We are deprived when it comes to the true essence of the word - - we are misunderstood. Because we are labeled as aggressive, (stalking) or invasive, we are also labeled as an outcast for trying or having the audacity to believe we have the right to CARE! 

Well, I'm not going to lament over this issue. I know the Truth.  God, Jesus Christ is the TRUTH, and He made me who and exactly who I am. He has given me both talent and strengths that I will forever use to honor Him, not to hurt you or anyone else - - my prayer today would not be to belt out a few chords and rock out to "JUMP" in the middle of the candy aisle, but to stand firm knowing I will be here if you need me. I will listen if you speak. I will cherish your thoughts as if God had gifted me with them, and I will pray with and for you - - like music, prayer heals.  Let go, let God. 

If I can help you, (and I mean this) let me. It's tantamount to you singing a song for someone or painting a seascape - - I can't paint either.  Nope. I can't. I suck! LOL.

Pulling My Weight in Weights.

 OK, OK, I'm lying -- I'm pushing my weight in weight, but not pulling it yet. I can pull 70 pounds at the moment and that's about 40% of my weight - - Oh no, did I just tell you how big I am right now? OMG! I'm OK, I'll survive it. I'll be past my goal weight in a few months; right now I'm on the LOSING TEAM for sure.  We have a group of us at the Y calling ourselves the Losers, but with a really good purpose. For every pound each of us loses the others give up a $1.00 to the charity we all decided was a good cause. This charity is a homeless shelter for women and children here in the Oklahoma City area, and believe me, I hope (to God) that we all lose every single pound we ever hoped to lose and maybe a few more. The shelter needs our help - - we need our help -- we all need God. 

As I have mentioned in the past, the YMCA is literally across the street from where I live, so I have no problems going three or four times a week. I decided not to go every day, but to dance on my "off" days and do my stretches and "doga-catoga" every morning when possible.  The dog and cat insist on the workouts, so it's not like I really have a choice. At least 10 minutes will be spent bending, pulling myself, stretching, and reaching for whatever animal is closest and/or furthest away.  It does work toward the ultimate goal(s) of both loving one's creatures and stretching one's tight muscles.  

I go to the Y usually around 12:00 noon and stay only 20 minutes. During that time I'm focused and working my poor bones like a military machine for about 19 of those 20 minutes, only allowing seconds between machines. If one of my favorite machines is taken, no problem, there's another one, there's always a substitute at my Y.  Because it is located across from the hospital I am in no way fearful of dying on the floor - - someone will scoop me up and drive me across the way to the Emergency Room. I can die a proper death at that point rather than being hunched over a leg press with sweat pouring out of my face like a maniac. I would at least pray that the coroner or someone give me a good cleaning before the funeral, that's always my biggest concern in my dreams anyway. 

I start the march with the crunch machine, pushing about 150 pounds (nearly my weight) in a backward motion, hands clasped behind my head. I stay there pushing for about 4-5 minutes or until my belly screams and says I've reached its peak.  Next, the arm pull (doing 70 pounds now!!) and I do about two fast sets of 15 before putting the weight back to 50 and do another couple of sets at a much slower pace. Next is another arm machine, but instead of biceps it works the back of my arms and my entire chest. I can only push 30 pounds on it due to the angle of my arms being slightly behind me when I push downward. I can do two sets of 20 without too much happening but let me try to start the third set and my chest starts reminding me that my heart hasn't been 20 in a few years.

After the chest and arms I do the ever-so-lovely leg presses. There are two at the gym that I use, but there are 6 variations of it. I like the one I call the ankle press. I don't really know its real name. You pump your ankles and push weight (150) and you feel it up the sides and back of your calves. The next is the standard leg press, again at 150 to 170, depending on my heart and what it is recommending. If I'm about to faint at this point I do 150 and do 40 pushes, if I'm doing OK I do the 170 at 30 pushes. It's always a gamble - - such a surprise!  What will it be? Will she fall over or walk out on her own today?

The last machine is the new addition to my routine, the squat machine. I'm doing 140 now, and because I did break down and ask for assistance, I do know how to lower the weights to be effective. I should be doing 120 but it was already set at 140 and I thought why not! I can do this. It was not easy. I was about to simply let it go to the floor and me with it, maybe roll out from under it, maybe not be seen, but you know there are cameras there both for insurance purposes and to have a really cool video for the monthly bloopers that I'm absolutely sure the workers compile for fun - - I would. I would so do that! I would even sign a waiver allowing them to show my oops as well - - I'm hilarious! I don't mind rolling out from under a massive squat machine laughing while six ladies all older than I am come over to assist me! ( Not only is the Y across from the hospital, but they have a following of mainly seniors. I'm literally one of the youngest members.)  We have fun.

After 19-20 minutes of torture, I can barely make it home before the sweat appears and the heart stops pounding out my name in its weird little clickity click click bump rhythm. My heart has an extra "click" to it, no one knows why, it's been there this entire time, probably not going to change, I live with it until I don't.  It has stopped on me a couple of times -- I decided to sign a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order just in case -- NO ONE is going to cheat me out of going to see Jesus if I have a legitimate claim to do so. NO ONE. I don't give a damn if you want another three or four years out of me, NO. If I can go to Heaven and hang with my Papa and my Uncle Marvin, you better get out of my way!

It's been since August I guess since I've been losing the weight on a steady and not-so-steady basis. I have dropped 26 pounds I think, I have another 26-30 to go. I'll do it, I'll make it, it will happen. I'm down three dress sizes and will consider wearing a dress now. I'm riding better, my horse appreciates me, my dogs appreciate the extra time I give them. The cats could really care less, but as long as I'll deign to rub one or the other if it happens to cross my path, it's all good. They pretend they don't care I think. I think they may. I'm not going to lower myself to ask. We nod at each other. We know.

Work it out.  It works. 

Metaphysical Much? (A repost from 2008)

 Because I am a born-again Christian, it has been beaten into me from birth that all things strange, out of the ordinary, that which cannot be explained and/or examined is, therefore, of the Devil. I always tell people that I used to be a Baptist, but now I'm a Christian. I mean that. Nothing against the Baptists...they are awesome, but I don't call myself one. I call myself Christian.

  

Being raised in the Baptist church was fantastic for me. It gave me the sense of spirit and love that I needed from God and the head knowledge to win every trivial game involving the names, dates, events, and locations dealing with the Bible. I can say all 66 books of the Bible are in order, and I can tell you the various differences and similarities between the prophecies of Daniel and the Book of Revelation. I know all about the Rapture, the Second Coming, Armageddon, and eternal peace, which will follow the Millennium of peace on Earth and the destruction of both Earth and Heaven. What I cannot do as a Baptist is to have true FAITH. I got out of the box that is organized religion and have found the true essence of my soul - which is Christ. Being able to walk through walls, to walk across water, turn water into fine wine, and ascend and descend at will seems a bit out of the ordinary and probably couldn't readily be explained. 

  

I decided to leave the box of organized religion when I couldn't get anyone in the box to explain the verses in the Bible dealing with the Angels and the giants and the true whereabouts of Eden. I couldn't find solid answers to some of the things we are expected to simply believe - which means we DO accept the metaphysical, but we don't talk about it. If spirits existed, then they exist today, and I am willing to bet that they will outlive us all - except for the fact that we are actually...go ahead and say it with me - Eternal! I talk to Sam. Sam is always with me; Sam has been with me since before I was born. Sam is my Guardian Angel, and though his actual name is Theonopholus, I still call him by the name I gave him when I became aware of him at 6. That's another unanswered question I had to deal with. I asked my preacher, my teacher, my Sunday School teacher, my mother, or anyone with a background in the church who this guy was that was hanging over my shoulder (left) and why he was so prevalent, even to the point of interrupting me when I was about to cuss someone out...not at 6, but later on. They couldn't answer. I couldn't see him, but he was there. He needed a name, and I gave him one. He seems to like it when I ask his advice. 

  

I am the type that will intentionally shake up the bag to see the contents mix about. It's not beyond me to ask someone a question that will define our boundaries or borders socially. It's not a game but an awareness. Since I'm actually pretty damn aware of the way I live and love, I often wonder if anyone else out there thinks the way I do.  Is it a Celtic gift? Some say my ancestors could tell truths - - I know I think things, and they happen. It's not an everyday event, thank God, or some people's lives would surely be ruined.  I love to dance. It's good that God decided not to give me the gift of ZAP!

  

Knowing this will help you understand who it is you are keeping company with through my words. Knowing who you are and what you are capable of is such a gift. Money isn't important when you have clear goals - money doesn't even play a role. I get it as I need it. I use it as I need to, and I usually see it coming and going without fear. Now, if I could only convince my creditors of this method of believing in one's ability to do what is necessary. That, or perhaps I need to dream larger... Most of the time, my dreams are really too busy to include making money. I'm either making love to a beautiful bearded Scottish man who was at one point wearing a kilt or just enjoying the peace that I dare to expect. Dreams are good, and you can control them if you work at them.  I work at this. 

Something else is strange about me. When I walk through stores, people find me and ask me questions out of the blue about nutrition, and I'm not exactly thin yet. They ask me questions about their lives, what to do about a situation, or where they should be right now in their world of existence. I'm not kidding you. I must have a target on my face that reads in bold letters, "Ask Me Anything I'll Try to Help You," because I'm singled out of crowds in Times Square. I've been picked out by flight attendants at 35,000 feet. I would like to look into the future and come up with 6 lucky numbers on a weekly basis. That would be nice, but the truth is (obviously) that money isn't what I need at the moment. I've been doing well enough without it long enough. Maybe it would just screw things up for me. 

  

The truth is - the truth is there. It sits in front of us, lays around us, floats above us, and all we have to do is look at it squarely and accept that it is. It's not going to change. If people want to ask me for help, I will try to help them. What will be, and what will be is. So, whatever you think you will achieve, you will - good or bad. Whatever you think you will be - you will be, again, favorable or not. It's all being drawn to you by you and through you. I've often been accused of being aloof if someone cuts me down - it's not that I'm aloof, no, that I don't believe them. I have to accept an insult before it becomes one. If I don't accept it to my soul - it merely vaporizes with the words themselves - and is gone. Hence the existence of very strong self-esteem. 

  

What does my future hold? God knows, and I wait.  I've accepted a "Don't Worry, Be Joyful" way of life. It beats worrying all the time, and besides, I don't have time to worry if I'm using that time to dance. Spirit people, it's the SPIRIT. Let HIM LEAD YOU!