Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 107

Con Amore - a poem

 Con Amore 

 

“Con Amore”, she called to him 

Allowing her intent 

Though her heart beat brio, brio 

He seemed quiet, seemed content 

 

His glance toward her showed interest 

Adagio, at first 

Perhaps a furia waits beneath  

The grey steel stare for her 

 

Unique the subtle movements 

Drone, a bass beat lingered 

Lifting slow, falling fast 

Acceso - burning 

 

Bend to love, sweet melody 

Pick up your voice in chord 

Harmonious beating, their two hearts 

Dolce sweet and strong 

 

En retenant, holding back 

These notes so fast so splendid 

Hammer on, slowing now 

Decrescendo – waning 

 

Thunderous chords strike again 

Breathless tempo rising 

Plucking every imagined chord 

Music for the writing 

 

Silence now, as music lives 

Flowing soft Calore 

Muted intonation as, 

She whispers “Con Amore” 

 

 

Jude Stringfellow 

February 14, 2021 

 

Say Goodnight - a poem

 Say Goodnight 

 

There’s something about this feeling 

Something untrusting, raw 

Thought it would be easy to resist 

Again, I failed myself – that's all 

 

Not easy to fall this hard and survive 

Suppose I’ve had practice before 

What I wish I could do is scream 

Not letting anything show 

 

What I wouldn’t give to smile 

Simply walk away  - waving 

Nothing lasts forever, but this  

This pain, this hurt, this craving 

 

You’ve taken my heart 

You don’t even realize my ruin 

Just a fool; standing silent - alone 

Knowing you’ll never return 

 

Could I tear loose – break away 

Hitch a ride with my own future 

A place you won’t find me 

A place you’d never venture 

 

Too broken to ask for help 

My noumenon exposed 

Too worn from years of injury 

Self-inflicted; perhaps cursed 

 

What could I do with me anyway 

Keep sentiment wrapped up tight 

Never sharing love again 

Smile, wave, say “good night” 

 

Jude Stringfellow 

February 13, 2021 

 

Sagacious Submission - a poem

 Sagacious Submission 

 

I will never bend  

I shall never move 

Strength will leave me first 

This stand I make will prove 

 

All sagacity held firm 

I sense what you are doing 

My soul rejects all lures 

My veins pulse with fury 

 

Brave my heart holds guard 

Not moving, no allotment 

Stay from me – be gone 

The tearing is but torment 

 

Wisdom, insight, vision 

What good are these tonight 

Love has tricked my very core 

So lost in you, my plight 

 

Given to the fear of loss 

Abduction from within 

Loosen these, damned lover’s chains 

Forced to yield again 

 

Jude Stringfellow 

February 12, 2021 

 

 

Whisper In My Ear - a poem

 Whisper in My Ear 

 

Whisper in my ear, love 

Penetrating sounds coo with each breath 

I relax in your arms, held bound without ties 

Captive for you without snare 

 

Your words hushed with anticipation 

Half air, half promise 

No one near but you love, no one closer 

Swear these words you use 

 

Twirling pastels in my mind 

Your lavenders within my lilac 

My imagination no longer alone to dream 

You are my spirit, you are my breath 

 

Burning without flame, consumed without fire 

Leaning in, I want to know you 

Panting skin against your hardened form 

Racing heart stop - I can’t hear him 

 

Whisper in my ear, love 

Say all you dare to say now 

I hold pledged your promise 

I await your silenced mouth  

 

Jude Stringfellow  

February 6, 2021 

Ah...Intentional Torture! (Bikes!)

 It's been a couple of years, but Laura and I bought our first set of bikes and began our journey into the abyss of bike riding. We must have had our heads completely screwed on backward; we had no idea that before we attempted to ride we had to prepare our minds and bodies for the adventure.  I mean, it makes sense when you think about it. You don't just wake up and go run a marathon, what would make either of us think we could simply go to the local bike shop, pick out a suitable mount, and pedal away like experts? Believe me when I say we were lost. 

As you can expect, the first few days were full of fun and laughter as we tried to keep up with ourselves, watching videos along the way, and just basically pedaling around our neighborhood. At least we knew enough about our lack of experience to take the bikes out to the lake or someplace where we'd end up getting stuck and having to walk ourselves back to the car.  We even bought bike racks, horns, bells, little lights for the tires, and a foot air pump - - we thought we were something! 

Keep in mind, we bought our bikes to exercise and to lose weight, tone up, and to get into shape for either the summer or just because. I think it was the early spring when we bought them; pretty sure I remember having to wait a week to make sure the snow and ice was off the parking lots.  We live in a good sized complex but it's next to a hospital, medical buildings, and office buildings so there's no shortage of parking lots to ride on; we also have a residential neighborhood close by, but the parking lots are empty at 5:30 p.m. and we have free range to pedal our lives away - - and hopefully extra pounds along with it.

Because of our lack of being prepared, we didn't really anticipate the burn out to happen as quickly as it did. First, it was the initial shock that we (I say we, I mean me) weren't strong enough to ride more than say 10 minutes without huffing and puffing. We were unable to pace ourselves because we were just worn out before we were getting to the pacing stage. I must have been about 40 pounds heavier then than I am now, and it's no easy feat today - - imagine the stress and the poor feelings I was having about my new adventure. I thought I had wasted money, I thought I had put myself through needless agony. I was upset that I had to carry the bike up and down the stairs because our particular complex doesn't have a bike room, and we aren't allowed to store our bikes downstairs in the main hall.  We have to literally carry them or walk them up and down the stairs, EVERY SINGLE time, and bikes aren't exactly lightweight.  I won't say we now, I'll say I, or me. I didn't have the upper body strength then to pull and push the bike up and down the stairs for a 10-minute ride.  Over the next few weeks, the rides became fewer and fewer - - and I ended up selling my bike at a great loss when the store we purchased them from refused to allow us to return them. 

About a year went by and I decided to try the whole bike thing again - - this time without Laura. She was into rollerblades.  I remembered the store return policy all too well, and I bought the bike from Target - - not the best decision, but it was what it was, and again, I ended up returning the bike after only a couple of weeks because again, I was finding that the hauling the 24-pound bike up and down the stairs was both annoying and more than twice I hit my leg or knee on the pedal causing pain on top of my already stressed condition.  My stressed condition was that I was FAT and I wasn't having much luck getting myself over the fact that it was both my fault and my responsibility to change myself. No one else was going to do it for me. (A hard lesson)

Today is a new day. Today is February 6, 2021, and I literally did wake up and decide that today was the day I buy a new bike -- but not before doing my research, watching a few more videos, working out over the past few months to get both my breathing techniques strengthened and my leg muscles prepared to pump the pedals a bit longer than just a 10-minute session. I want my shorter sessions to be in the mid-30-minute ranges and I want to be able to take a few miles on a daily or near-daily basis without dying halfway up the stairs as I return for a much deserved hot shower. Today is a good day.  

I once again returned to Target to purchase my bike because the two professional bike stores had bikes of course, but no one to properly calibrate them, balance the wheels, adjust the brakes, or put more air into them - - Target won't do that either, but the cost of the actual bike is so much better there, and it warrants that I am a better DIY rider; having educated myself with YouTube, reading the manual, and putting myself into the mix instead of expecting someone else to do my dirty work - - I can do this. I may not be the best at it, and I may fail, but I will fail or achieve with an Allen wrench in my hand and a printed manual clinched in my teeth while I do my best to at least give it a go.

I named my new Huffy bike "Stirling" after the pretty city (Hamlet) in the Kingdom of Fife, the area of Scotland that rests above the city of Edinburgh.  I like saying the Kingdom of Fife, so I use that phrase as often as I can these days. Stirling will be my new buddy for the time being. Hopefully, she will teach me the skills of balance and breathing. Hopefully, she'll prepare me to be a rider when I get to the Kingdom of Fife, where I hope to live soon. Hopefully, she will not let me down - - and I will not let myself down. I want this to work - - I paid for this to work! LOL

I'll try to keep people posted on Facebook and Instagram as far as my progress goes - - the struggle is real for those of us who are still young enough to ride, but old enough to moan about it. This time around I didn't buy a bell, little spoke lights, or anything cool - - maybe I'm realizing that what I'm doing is the bare essentials to gain access to a better me. I think that's a healthy way to look at it. 

I Got a Rock!

 How many of you remember Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang going out trick-or-treating and when they came back home to show off their loot Charlie reached into his sack and proclaimed, "I got a rock."  He wasn't really very happy about it either - - just saying.  I'm am SO not Charlie Brown. I used to say boys are easier to raise than girls because you can give a boy a bag of rocks and he'll be happy - - well, I guess for the most part I'm the same way. I love me some rocks. I don't mean diamonds, rubies, sapphires and topaz, I am talking about the average left-on-the-side-of-the-creek-bed stone! Give me a rock and I'm likely to talk to it and ask it questions about who it has seen, what it has heard, where it has been, and how it ended up where I found it. Keep in mind -- all rocks are the same age.  They don't make new rocks you know.

I pray with rocks.  I say rocks. I pray with a rock. I have prayed with the same rock for over 23 years now. I don't remember EXACTLY when I got the rock, but I know that 23 years ago I had it because I lost it and cried like a baby until I found it. I've moved a few times in the past couple of decades, and misplacing the rock is tantamount to losing a tire on the highway! You just really don't want to see me without the rock being safe and secure on it's little resting spot at the edge of my monitor. I wonder how many other places this particular rock has been sitting at; quietly contemplating life, praising God, moving only through his or her own rocky mind. I won't know until I get to Heaven and ask it - - I don't think he/she/it will be telling me anything of any real substance here on Earth where he/she/it is limited. It is what it is (a rock).

I went to church one day (over 23 years ago in this case) and the sermon was on Luke 19:39-40 where the Pharisees had come up to Jesus and said His disciples needed to be quieted as they were speaking against Caesar and about our Holy Father as well as Jesus' plan of salvation. Jesus spoke back to them in Luke 19:40 saying "I tell you, if they were made silent, even the stones would cry out."  I have always taken that to mean I am to worship out loud. I am to praise God with my voice. I am sing. I am to lift His name and His message to every ear willing to hear - - if not, if I don't do that, a rock may do it for me, and you know, that would really really make me feel so very lowly. I would be horrified if I heard a rock praise God when I should have been doing it myself.  There was a basket of rocks at the church and the pastor suggested we take one home with us to remember Jesus.

I want to make it perfectly clear to you that the rock is a rock. It is not precious, it is not special, it is not more than or less than what it is, and it is a rock. God uses simple things to bring about greatness.  Many rocks together can build a wall.  A tiny rock can be the symbol of love when placed in precious metals and exchanged with vows. Rocks are what rocks are, but the one thing I remember from Sunday School as a bitty kid was that all rocks (not concrete) are the same age. Diamonds (they say) are so old and they are under pressure and that's why they are formed the way they are formed.  I say hooey! God made all of the rocks at the same time when He created the Earth. My rock, the rock I hold, may have come off of a mountain years ago, but my rock is no older or less older than the rock I just picked up to give to my friend Niki, who wants to try praying with a rock as well.

The rock I picked up for Niki is round, smooth, spotted, gray in color with specks of black and other colors. I think if I got out my geology books I could tell you that her rock is made of Granite and my rock is most probably made of Hematite.  According to Wikipedia it has "healing" powers. I'll leave that one up to God.  My rock has stripes and is red; it's pretty and I like it. I never named my rock, which is really weird because I named the tree in my front yard, my cars, every animal of course, and even my Guardian Angel, but I've never named my prayer rock -- and now, after holding it for more than 23 years I think it deserves a name. I'll call it Seamus. I love that name. I can remember that. Just like that my rock because masculine -- go figure. 

I can be honest and say I've never been a big fan of "precious" stones. I have a great deal of inexpensive rings that may range from $5.00 to $160 in cost, but not one of them is worth dying for, or breaking down in tears if I lost it -- well, OK, not true, there is one ring I would cry over.  That being said, if Seamus were to be stolen, lost again, heaved away, or otherwise taken from me I think I would be a basket case for a minute. I don't say that because I worship the rock, no, quite the opposite. I use Seamus to worship - - he knows things. He has heard my prayers. He has kept me focused while I cried for my children to be found when they were kidnapped and missing for 19 days. He was there in my hand when I struggled financially, when I worked, when I traveled the world with my dog, when I wrote my books. He knew about my bankruptcy, my fears, and my grave loses - - friends.  He may just be a piece of red Hematite to someone else but he's a good and true friend to me. I wanted Niki to start her new found prayer life with an equally good friend. I'll let her name her own rock -- that will be her honor!  

Can you imagine? You're part of a grand mountain one day, some time later there's an explosion, men working, trucks moving, things get shifted around and you find yourself in pieces and now instead of being about 10 feet wide you're broken up into hundreds of pieces, nothing more than say 3 inches wide? One piece of you is later, many many years later, picked up and carried to a kitchen, washed off, bathed in olive oil, scrubbed off, and placed into a box to be presented as a glorious new gift to a beautiful woman who will then for the rest of her life anyway, hold you, and call upon Jesus with you in her hands. Wow.  

Our God is an awesome God, He rules from Heaven above, He gives, He takes, He is all. Never ever be quiet about that. 

A Got a Rock!

 How many of you remember Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang going out trick-or-treating and when they came back home to show off their loot Charlie reached into his sack and proclaimed, "I got a rock."  He wasn't really very happy about it either - - just saying.  I'm am SO not Charlie Brown. I used to say boys are easier to raise than girls because you can give a boy a bag of rocks and he'll be happy - - well, I guess for the most part I'm the same way. I love me some rocks. I don't mean diamonds, rubies, sapphires and topaz, I am talking about the average left-on-the-side-of-the-creek-bed stone! Give me a rock and I'm likely to talk to it and ask it questions about who it has seen, what it has heard, where it has been, and how it ended up where I found it. Keep in mind -- all rocks are the same age.  They don't make new rocks you know.

I pray with rocks.  I say rocks. I pray with a rock. I have prayed with the same rock for over 23 years now. I don't remember EXACTLY when I got the rock, but I know that 23 years ago I had it because I lost it and cried like a baby until I found it. I've moved a few times in the past couple of decades, and misplacing the rock is tantamount to losing a tire on the highway! You just really don't want to see me without the rock being safe and secure on it's little resting spot at the edge of my monitor. I wonder how many other places this particular rock has been sitting at; quietly contemplating life, praising God, moving only through his or her own rocky mind. I won't know until I get to Heaven and ask it - - I don't think he/she/it will be telling me anything of any real substance here on Earth where he/she/it is limited. It is what it is (a rock).

I went to church one day (over 23 years ago in this case) and the sermon was on Luke 19:39-40 where the Pharisees had come up to Jesus and said His disciples needed to be quieted as they were speaking against Caesar and about our Holy Father as well as Jesus' plan of salvation. Jesus spoke back to them in Luke 19:40 saying "I tell you, if they were made silent, even the stones would cry out."  I have always taken that to mean I am to worship out loud. I am to praise God with my voice. I am sing. I am to lift His name and His message to every ear willing to hear - - if not, if I don't do that, a rock may do it for me, and you know, that would really really make me feel so very lowly. I would be horrified if I heard a rock praise God when I should have been doing it myself.  There was a basket of rocks at the church and the pastor suggested we take one home with us to remember Jesus.

I want to make it perfectly clear to you that the rock is a rock. It is not precious, it is not special, it is not more than or less than what it is, and it is a rock. God uses simple things to bring about greatness.  Many rocks together can build a wall.  A tiny rock can be the symbol of love when placed in precious metals and exchanged with vows. Rocks are what rocks are, but the one thing I remember from Sunday School as a bitty kid was that all rocks (not concrete) are the same age. Diamonds (they say) are so old and they are under pressure and that's why they are formed the way they are formed.  I say hooey! God made all of the rocks at the same time when He created the Earth. My rock, the rock I hold, may have come off of a mountain years ago, but my rock is no older or less older than the rock I just picked up to give to my friend Niki, who wants to try praying with a rock as well.

The rock I picked up for Niki is round, smooth, spotted, gray in color with specks of black and other colors. I think if I got out my geology books I could tell you that her rock is made of Granite and my rock is most probably made of Hematite.  According to Wikipedia it has "healing" powers. I'll leave that one up to God.  My rock has stripes and is red; it's pretty and I like it. I never named my rock, which is really weird because I named the tree in my front yard, my cars, every animal of course, and even my Guardian Angel, but I've never named my prayer rock -- and now, after holding it for more than 23 years I think it deserves a name. I'll call it Seamus. I love that name. I can remember that. Just like that my rock because masculine -- go figure. 

I can be honest and say I've never been a big fan of "precious" stones. I have a great deal of inexpensive rings that may range from $5.00 to $160 in cost, but not one of them is worth dying for, or breaking down in tears if I lost it -- well, OK, not true, there is one ring I would cry over.  That being said, if Seamus were to be stolen, lost again, heaved away, or otherwise taken from me I think I would be a basket case for a minute. I don't say that because I worship the rock, no, quite the opposite. I use Seamus to worship - - he knows things. He has heard my prayers. He has kept me focused while I cried for my children to be found when they were kidnapped and missing for 19 days. He was there in my hand when I struggled financially, when I worked, when I traveled the world with my dog, when I wrote my books. He knew about my bankruptcy, my fears, and my grave loses - - friends.  He may just be a piece of red Hematite to someone else but he's a good and true friend to me. I wanted Niki to start her new found prayer life with an equally good friend. I'll let her name her own rock -- that will be her honor!  

Can you imagine? You're part of a grand mountain one day, some time later there's an explosion, men working, trucks moving, things get shifted around and you find yourself in pieces and now instead of being about 10 feet wide you're broken up into hundreds of pieces, nothing more than say 3 inches wide? One piece of you is later, many many years later, picked up and carried to a kitchen, washed off, bathed in olive oil, scrubbed off, and placed into a box to be presented as a glorious new gift to a beautiful woman who will then for the rest of her life anyway, hold you, and call upon Jesus with you in her hands. Wow.  

Our God is an awesome God, He rules from Heaven above, He gives, He takes, He is all. Never ever be quiet about that. 

A Few of My Favorite Things.

 When I think about it, I do actually have a favorite child. I know, parents aren't supposed to admit that and they certainly should never say it out loud or post it in a blog, but the truth is, I have a favorite child that I actually gave birth to.  Reuben is my favorite son, Laura is my favorite middle child, and Caity is my favorite baby.  Whenever one or the other of them tries to get me to say he or she is my favorite I always disagree and say either of their two siblings is my actual favorite, and I give a reason why. I may say to Reuben, "Oh no, no, Caity is my favorite, she made me breakfast today", or I may say to Caity when she asks, "Nope, that's not you, Laura is my favorite. She thinks I'm pretty." Truth be told I can't pick just one of them because they are all so darn adorable. Perfection times 3, what can I say?

Other favorites of mine would include animals, and yes, I do have my preferences when it comes to fur babies. If I could live with only one animal and one animal alone it would be a dog. I could not live without one. This one fact is what has kept me from going to prison for murder, I'm overtly sure of it. If I can't have a dog to sleep with, hang out with, go places with, and just be next to, I am not showing up in the first place. This is another reason I know all dogs go to Heaven, and Heaven is chock-full of mutts. Just millions and millions of dogs roaming the streets, hills, valleys, and creeks of Heaven. Can't wait. I do love horses, don't get me wrong, but I will never be without a dog.

Food? Yes, please. I do love food. I think bread tops the list, but since it is so full of carbs I have to literally watch it from the bleachers and remember the days and nights we had together. I am no longer able to have or be in a relationship with bread. It does make me tear up a bit when I go into a restaurant and smell it, and to be honest, I do avoid that particular aisle at the stores too; it's just too hard on me. I can't take it. I break down inside and I can't lose it in public like that, it would be too embarrassing for both of us. I had to let bread go. (and get this, I'm not kidding, the bread didn't even lose sleep over me.)

Drink? Oh, that's easy; coffee. I like my coffee like I like my men. You've heard people say that, right? It's so true. I will say I like my coffee very very strong. I like it hot, robust, full-bodied, and ready to stand up and fight. You put a beard and kilt on a dark roast and I will thank you to close the door behind you while you leave the two of us completely alone to my imagination. Coffee and I have been very close for my entire life -- even as a toddler I was captive. Though I am one of great discipline these days and only visit my good friend in the morning, Coffee and I will never be separated. We know where the other lives and breathes, and what it takes to bring us both to life. These days I'm drinking Black Rifle Coffee's Murder Out or Just Black blends. (I like the commercials with the big, bearded, brawny, beautiful brutes - - ah, alliteration!)

Color? We've gone over this, but perhaps it's not a bad idea to touch on it just a wee bit today. My absolute favorite base color in the world is brown.  If I am (and I am) to be specific, I would say that Hershey's Milk Chocolate brown is my favorite favorite color -- not the color of the wrapper, but the actual candy. There is something to be said about a person who is so earthy that her preferences for root colors are so close to the surface.  Could it be that I am honest, trustworthy, blunt, forward, in control of myself, and mysteriously silent in my pursuit of life? Could be. 

Position?  Did you really think I would write about that in my blog? Well, friend, you don't know me that well do you? No, but catch me on Pyrate Nite and you'll read about it in some of the sexually driven erotic poetry that the ladies and myself write to make each other laugh! Whether or not either of us tells the truth about our adventures or experiences is not what Pyrate Nite is all about -- it's the writing. My friends and I will gather for girls' night, a time we can dance, swing on the pole, write endless trashy love stories with impossible endings, and we can drink ourselves crazy with as much green tea or straight pineapple juice! We're so bad!  It's all about what we can birth from our imaginations; it is the challenge to one-up the other and be crowned Pyrate of the Nite! You must know that no men are allowed into our snare on these nights, no, it would be far too dangerous for them to trespass - - my favorite position, by this description, would have to be "smiling and with a pen in my hand."

Place?  Without a doubt, inside my mind is the best place in the world to be! I would rather close myself up and be alone for a great while than work and earn money. I would rather dream than to breathe at times. I would rather make-believe, create, conjure, allure, discover, and invent than do just about anything else -- unfortunately for me, I have to pay my bills like the rest of the world.  When there is a bit of time,  when there is but a vapor of a moment, I will capture visions in my brain to be reiterated on paper at another time -- a writer must write. A singer must sing. A teacher must teach.  We are who and what we are. 

When I'm lonely, out of sorts, or just plain bored - - I grab a pen, a keyboard, a dog, and I write. I surround myself with conscious mindful thoughts that will be travailed soon enough. My favorite things are specific and I am not -- I love much. I appreciate most things. I am grateful for all.

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.