Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 63

A Strange and Welcomed Dream.

 I love it when I have dreams that not only have full stories, but have drama, sorrow, laughter, intricate detailing, and even costumes! I love it when I can wake up from a dream and wonder if I was actually dreaming, or if what was taking place inside my brain was real and I'm just coming out of some alternative universe. I'm not being really serious at this point. I know I'm here, and I know it's now. I realize a dream is a dream, and fantasy is just that; a fantasy.  Sometimes the fantastic happens when I'm sleeping and boy oh boy, it's beyond imaginable. It's a FANTABULOUSLY real feeling and I can even remember the tiny minute details of the conversations I had with people. Sometimes these conversations are being had by others; so it's not always me doing the talking. I bet you would never have guessed that one!!

    I was in another place. I knew I was, and I knew it was another time. I didn't know where I was, when it was, or how I got there, but I did know somehow, that my being there was for a larger purpose, and I would be safe. I would not be harmed. I would be fine, and everything was going to be OK. At least that's what I thought until I was facing several men on a dirt-type road in the forest and they weren't sure what to do with me. I couldn't understand them, they were speaking a foreign language. I managed to listen and make a gesture with my finger to sort of say "Say that again" and one man repeated what another man had said. When he said it again, I made the same gesture but very slowly. The second man repeated the words very slowly, and I understood two things. First, I realized he was speaking Scots Gaelic. Secondly, the only words I could make out were the words for "you" and "where".  Ah! OK, they wanted to know who I was, and where I came from. Got it!

    I told them my name and said I had no idea which direction I had come from because I was sort of lost, not knowing where I am. I also asked what year it was since their wardrobe seemed a bit outdated.  After a few minutes of them huddling around and talking, it was decided that I would be their captive and I decided to disagree. I began walking off and one of them grabbed me by the arm. Almost instantaneously the man was picked up by an invisible force and flung to the ground. This action, of course, led to them all coming to the same conclusion about me; I had to be a witch! Well, as you can imagine, that wasn't going to work out well either. I said out loud to myself "Oh yea, they actually believe I'm a witch. This means I'm stuck somewhere probably in medieval times and either in northern Scotland or out really far west on some island." I hadn't passed or seen anything with any hope of being a landmark. I had no idea.

    I thought about just walking away, but these men weren't all that keen for me to leave just yet. I was surrounded and they all began asking me questions. I wondered how they had understood me earlier, and then I realized that they had not understood a single word I said, but they had evidently believed me to be of English descent. One of them had spent some time in the southern part of the country and remembered the words "believe" and "witch".  It was decided I was either a witch or I had some sort of connection to the other worlds so I was respected, but I was not to be set free. They walked with me, surrounding me, and from time to time they spoke to me, but again, I had no idea what they were asking or what they were saying. 

    I wanted to communicate so I used what little (tiny) knowledge I have of the Scottish Gaelic language and I made hand gestures as well.  Finally, after a couple of hours or so of walking, I saw what looked to be a castle. It was in fact, a completed castle and I thought about it long and hard before asking if it was the site of Castle Stuart the response I received was a mixed bag of surprise, confusion, anger, and excitement. Pick a man, any man, and he had a different reaction to me knowing that the ruins before me were going to be restored in about 300 years and then be used as a hotel; well, what they would call an inn, but in Scottish Gaelic, the word would be "taigh-osta".  My Gaelic had a lot to be desired. I really sucked at it, placing words in the wrong order and hacking most of the pronunciations. At least the men figured out I was not from that area but knew something about the castle. When I tried to explain in detail I was basically forced to shut up. They wanted to wait until they could find someone who could possibly translate what I was saying, mainly because if I was in fact a witch, they didn't want me casting spells on them without them being aware of exactly how I was cursing them.

    When I made the sign of the cross over my face and heart they immediately stared at me. I quickly realized that they weren't Catholic; I'm not either, but they weren't happy that I might be. So, it was about that time I decided to shut up and just keep walking with them.  I did have to excuse myself to go pee in the woods and I was fairly adamant about not letting any of them follow me.  I made it quite clear that I would not stop talking if they continued to stalk me as I tried to find a few leaves that didn't appear to be poison ivy. I was seriously hoping I was successful with that quest, and I was! Funny how we can't find what we're looking for in a dream. I think I ended up with an actual roll of toilet paper and I remember laughing about that.

    Once back on the road, I noticed my shoes. I didn't know why none of the men had pointed to them and questioned me. I suppose men have really never kept up or been too involved with women's choices of attire. That made me smile. When we reached the edge of town and saw a bit of civility, a woman who was both older and quite English-looking (pointed nose, higher cheekbones, and slightly jacked-up teeth) came out of her house and questioned the men about me. She spoke to them in a broken dialect but they seemed to answer her on their own. She turned to me and apologized for the behavior of the men, and she became speaking to me in what can be described as middle English, but at least I was able to figure out what she was saying! This was good news for me. I told her the situation, not that I expected her to understand or believe me, but she did say that God works in mysterious ways.

    The woman's name was Eula and she led me to a cabin or cottage in the city's center street, today it would be called "High Street" where a man in his late 40s perhaps his early 50s was sitting at a table. He was dusting off his shoes and thinking about getting up to either make his bed or pet the dog when Eula knocked on his door. She rapped four specific times and he said to himself, "It must be Eula. I wonder what she wants."  As it turns out Eula was married to this man's brother, and her husband of many years had passed away.  As the laws and customs were at that time, this man, being a close kinsman who was not married, was expected to marry Eula to keep her protected and to provide for her. The problem is, in reality, neither Eula nor the man really fancied one another. I guess to be blunt, they didn't like each other at all, and they had both sworn off any sort of arrangement between them. Something had to happen, Eula began to pray about it.

    As the man opened his door he looked just beyond Eula to see me.  He had been with Eula and his brother for years, having lived in or near their household. He grew to learn the English language to a large degree, and he was able to carry on open conversations about their agreement not to unite; without the others knowing their plans.  "Woman, you have interrupted me. I was quite busy", he lied and protested. "Liar!" She exclaimed as she led me into the house before closing the door behind her. Eula then surprised both myself and the man by stating,  "This woman, this new woman, was found in the wood about six miles up Tarmal Rood.  She is from the new world and speaks only their English. She's to marry you old fool, and I will be free from the laws that tie our necks." Wait...what? I mean, no. I don't think so. He's...well, wait a minute, he's actually kind of cute in a tall, rugged, burly, bearded, brawny, tattooed sort of Scottish sexy Highlander sort of way. I mean c'mon, it's a dream, right? Go with it.

    What happened next was pretty funny really. I was actually able to stop myself and say, "OK, this is a dream".  Sometimes, if I see myself doing gymnastics in a dream, I know I'm dreaming. I stop myself if I can and I go ahead and do more! I actively and purposely fling myself into back handsprings and hang upside down so I can have fun and create for myself a means of entertainment.  This time, when I saw the man standing before me in his family tartan, leathered footwear, and hand-stitched shirt, I couldn't help myself, I began grinning and actually giggling because so many of us in this century often wonder what a real Scotsman wears under his kilt. Oh my gosh, did I really think that in my dream? What a loser! I was about to slap myself right there in front of God and everyone, but I said to my dream self "Stop being so immature, it's obviously sometime between the 16th and 17th centuries, and yeah, he's not gonna have any briefs on under that magic piece of material you love so much. This could be your chance to snag a Scot who won't fuss and argue with you about wearing his kilt and dirty black boots. OK, the man doesn't actually have to put his shoes back on. I'm good."

    In her best and sweetest hostess sort of way, Eula explained to me that her brother-in-law Craig Mackenzie was about 50 but no one really knew. She was a bit older than he was, and her late husband always claimed Craig was a wee bit younger, but again, no one really kept records. Their family book or their Bible was long missing, and he had decided that on the Spring Solstice he would celebrate his new year. Whether or not he was born at that time is up for grabs.  So, his name is Craig Mackenzie? Ha! I had to laugh at myself again because anyone who follows me knows I have a fictional man, a creation of my own, whom I called Naked Bearded Man for over 30 years. We've been together through thick and thin.  This man was in fact Naked Bearded Man, but I didn't exactly recognize him because he was actually wearing his clothes rather than being seen in my dreams both unclad, in the buff as it were, and oftentimes he's literally folding his kilt! Yes, this was in fact my Naked Bearded Man!  

    About a year ago I suppose, I decided to give Naked Bearded Man a real name. I wanted it to be something sensual, obviously rough and tumble, as he is quite rugged, and it must be (of course, it must be) a Scottish name. He was named Craig Allan Mackenzie, and here Eula was telling me that this man was in fact the same man I had dreamed of for so many years. Well, no wonder I wasn't upset with having been given to him so unceremoniously and without any real explanation. It was at this time that Craig pointed to my shoes and asked what type of footwear is this,  that doesn't lace or buckle.  Oh...yeah...velcro.  Laughing seemed a bit inappropriate, so I just smiled and took his hand. I looked Craig in his big grey eyes and I said, "Well, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."  He smiled. Eula left the house, and well, I don't really know where the dog went, but Craig and I had a really good time of it - - you know, discussing shoes and things.

    I would say that's when I woke up, but it wasn't. I woke up hours later smiling.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

The Cross(es) We Bear.

 You know, I almost wanted to say "The Crosses We Bare" instead of  "Bear" because it just seems that we are open, exposed, and lay ourselves bare naked before the world to see everything. We just seem to show it all; but in reality, we are clearly bearing, taking on, holding up, and being burdened by the "cross(es)" sometimes even the Cross!  Will we be the bearer of it? Will we show that Cross to everyone and anyone who is willing to see it? Will we BEAR it, or will we barely bare it?  Such a good question for a windy Sunday afternoon.

    When we think of the term or phrase "A cross to bear" we are immediately reminded of Christ Jesus as He was burdened with the nearly 300-pound wooden post (or cross) that Christ carried. We don't know if He was better than average in terms of being fit and athletic. He walked wherever He went, and He was said to be over six feet tall. He could have certainly been strong enough to carry a wooden beam with cross ties for a while, but remember, He had just been beaten to a pulp moments before that moment!  He was literally stripped, kicked, pushed, beaten, and whipped. No one should be expected to lift weight and carry it some 200-300 meters uphill after that! I suppose the two thieves who were crucified next to Him had a similar fate, but we're not told whether or not they had to suffer that same humiliation.  If they did, they deserved every second of it; somehow I see myself in that situation. I know what I do is wrong when I do something wrong. Let me tell you, I'm the first to scream that I was right most of the time, but even when you're right you can be absolutely wrong in the way that you let others know how right you were!

    So we hear the term "cross to bear" and we think of burden. We think of something not quite fair, or maybe it's fair, but it's dismissed as being overwhelming, and others don't seem to care to share in the lifting of whatever it is that you (me) are going through.  I see both sides. I've been on both sides. I understand the hesitance to help someone if they feel obligated to go through whatever it is that they are going through. I'll give you a few examples, that may help a bit. Sometimes it is personal. Sometimes it's professional, more open, and more subjective to public ridicule. 

    A friend of mine (John) was born an only child into a household where the two parents, though man and woman, were both gay. I suppose we could say they were bi-sexual, but the fact is, his mother was bi and his father, who wasn't really his father, was simply gay. They married in the early 80s to show the world that they were straight. The mom had a baby on her hip when she married the man, and the boy was never told that the man wasn't his dad. These crosses, these secrets, these family confidences were so much (too much) for the boy, and when he was about 11 he figured it all out for himself. It didn't do him or anyone any good when he asked questions at a family gathering; both upsetting his parents and confusing some of the uncles, aunts, and grandparents, but not confusing some of them who felt they knew these deeply uncovered mysteries all along.  To be blunt, the boy was right to ask, but the way he did may have been questioned.

    After several more years of not going to family gatherings, desperate and angry phone conversations that he overheard, and the arguing that came from his parents' two separate bedrooms, he realized that he was a little different from the boys at school who also had parents who were still married. To be honest, many of the kids at school had been through divorce by his age, and many were spending time going back and forth between their two parents. His parents, John's parents, were not only still married, but they were also pretending both at home and in public to be happy. They slept in different rooms, but that was normal for John to see. It wasn't until he was about 10 that he realized his friends had parents who slept in the same bed at night. Why would they do that?

    The crosses we bear are not always familial.  Family secrets, "don't tell your mother" or "don't tell your father", are not always mind-blowing. It could be that dad takes a nip of alcohol every now and again, and he got caught by a kid. It could be that mom bought another pair of shoes and she hid them in her kid's closet so she could say she's had them "for a while" when her husband asked. Most little white lies we ask our friends and family to keep aren't really all that damning. Some are incredibly damning. Some are more to stomach than one can possibly imagine, and to saddle a kid or family member with that sort of knowledge is not only unforgivable, it's literally unbearable! The secrets are often spewed out at the least opportune time, or they may be taken to the grave, and even be the cause of the grave being necessary!! Who are we to do this to others or even to ourselves?

    In John's case, it was quite sad.  Not only did he know his parents were different, but he couldn't understand why his mom's family was OK with some of the things that they could talk about, but he was forbidden to discuss certain things with his dad's side of the family.  When John was about eight or nine, he can't remember exactly, his favorite uncle came over to watch him if his parents had to go out to dinner or make an appearance at a business night outing. His uncle, a man he loved and cherished wanted to play a few games. You know what I'm saying. I don't want to address it in exact terms.  The uncle was in fact, a pedophile, but because John loved him, because John trusted him because John felt that this was what and how men showed love to him, including his father and his father's friends, he felt that all of these types of games were normal. It wasn't until he was a bit older and not one of his friends was willing to discuss these games, that John became scared thinking maybe he was wrong about so many people and so many things. Maybe he was bad.

    When the cross became too much for Christ, as a human man, He dropped it.  It was seen by everyone. It was known to everyone that He was too weak, not able to bear the burden alone.  A man, a passerby, a good person, stepped up and took the Cross for Christ, bearing the weight, bearing the shame, bearing the facts that he would forever be talked about on both sides of the matter. He came forward to help, but at the same time, he took the punishment away from the offender.  He moved in to be of assistance, but then again, he eliminated the debt of the accused.  Was this man a good man, or was this man a bad example? Simon of Cyrene was NOT a man who stepped up to do the right thing. He was in fact told to do so. We aren't always told that in Sunday School, are we?

    We are the ones who see burdens being carried. We are the ones who know that there is something being hidden or practiced behind closed doors, and we are the ones God will hold accountable if we in fact know things and don't help to eliminate the problem, or at least bring it to the attention of the authorities.  We're conditioned as youths to mind our own business. We don't want others in our business. We have a family to take care of. The family will handle it. Friends will either know and help or they will know and say nothing. Are they truly friends at that point? Are we truly worthy to breathe if we know a child is being molested or tortured or abused mentally in order to keep the family clean from harassment and or the embarrassment they may face for their lifestyle; something they feel is THEIR business?

    It's not enough to say the law is clear. We are to report wrongdoing if a child or vulnerable person is in danger.  It is not enough to say that the law is the law, and we must adhere to it. There is more, so much more, at stake than the breaking of a law! Years of abuse, neglect, and secrets can lead to many more years of repeated behavior. How many times do we hear or read about an offender who had an abusive family, maybe they were beaten, their dad was always drunk, or their mom was a druggie and came home with track marks...don't tell anyone!  The stories we see on the crime shows are wrought with interviews given by the perps who claim to have been subjected to physical and mental abuse as a kid. They acted out because it seemed normal for them to do so. It was what they heard, saw, practiced as a family, or were told to not talk about (at all costs). 

    We sometimes think our crosses, the ones we bear, are professional in nature. Maybe we want to move up that ladder so we don't tell what we know, or maybe we say something we were told to say.  The boss will remember, and he or she will reward us with a promotion when the time comes. Maybe the cross becomes a bit too heavy and we need assistance to carry it. We can't be caught. If we do get caught maybe the load will be distributed. This goes on and on, and there seems to be a time that passes in the night when we think we could have escaped, but not now. We're stuck.  I'm not saying we know where the bodies are buried, but we may actually know where the money was spent. Not saying something means we eventually condone the behavior, and often times we are swept up in the evil itself.

    The term "A Cross to Bear" is in fact a religious term. It has an origin from the day that Jesus walked up the mount to be crucified for our sins. Think about it. He didn't want to, He asked His Father to provide another way, but He knew there was no other way if we were to be saved.  He took the accusations. He stood trial. He was found guilty. He was beaten and forced to be humiliated, literally naked in the streets carrying a 300-pound wooden post that by the way, He created! You heard me. That cross was a lot older than 33 years old. JESUS, before He came to Earth, knew that particular set of trees would be planted and HE provided the rain for them. He provided the Sun for them. He saw to it that they grew tall, straight, and strong! Did you ever think of that? He bore that cross before He bore it. 

    What then do we do? We can't help what families we are born into. We can't help what secrets we're asked to keep. We can't know what the person sitting next to us at school, on the bus, or standing in a queue is going through. We can't understand why they would not say anything until it was too late; all the while, we do the same damn thing.   What we can do is be compassionate. We can be understanding. We can listen. We can talk to them. If we can't help we can suggest someone. We can always provide a way to be courteous. We can always empathize and we can always pray for that person. LOOK for them. Seek them. Try to find people with issues they need to unload. Be prepared to be the servant. Be willing to at least listen. Sometimes that's all it takes.

    If you've ever wondered what it would be like to go to a prison and interview a prisoner you may be surprised at how easy it can be to make that happen. If you live in a community that will allow it, ask if you can meet with a random prisoner and just talk to them (safely) and ask them pointed questions that may lead you to know what secrets they held as a child, a youth, or young adult.  Try and understand if the keeping of these secrets led to their folly.  Listen to them explain what it was that was more powerful than telling the truth. Try and understand or even just comprehend that they fully believed in the person(s) telling them it had to be kept quiet, and NO ONE could know.   This is how it begins. This is the unraveling. This is the start of the new in both their life and possibly yours.

    What secrets do you hold? What stories were not allowed to be discussed? I know in my family there were a few. As the baby of the family, I was sheltered from most of them. I believe my sister knew more about a particular member of the family than I ever did. I can look back and see that we were not that friendly with the man, my uncle after we were old enough to talk about things he told us. Soon we were only seeing Grandma when he was working. We would never invite him to our house, and if my dad went to see him he did so without his wife and children.  The man never married. He was involved in a traffic accident, and my father "took care of it", that's all I know.  I think there was more. I believe there was much much more.  I can 100% honestly and without hesitation say I was never once physically abused by an adult when I was growing up. That's why it's harder for me to understand the pain and the guilt my friend John feels today.

    The crosses don't have to be really big either. I know in my family we had 100 little tiny secrets or things we were told and subsequently believed things that kept us from becoming better, or more in tune with what I know I could have become. I would have and I could have gone to college much sooner than I did. My siblings never went to college. We were literally told as kids and youths that college was for rich families. I was encouraged to get married, raise a family, and just blend in. I wasn't going to be anything or anyone that mattered. Does this sound familiar? How about when your sister, brother, cousin, aunt, whomever, isn't fitting in socially and you're told to not mention disorders or talk about the family in such a way that it may draw attention to these facts?  Ever been to the grocery store and realize that you don't have the extra money to buy something, so you think about taking it since the store won't really miss it?  I had a family member who did that on a weekly (probably more often) basis. I was told we were poor so poor people are allowed to do it from time to time to even the playing field. LIES! (Don't tell Mom!)

    I talk to my friend with purpose.  When John was growing up in the UK in the 80s he was closeted, not gay, but kept quiet, forced to comply, and not allowed to come out and talk to the world at large about his family. John has had a few relationships, and though they have lasted a long period of time, he admits to me now that he married a woman for security purposes so he wouldn't have to really work hard and be the provider.  He told me that his family wanted him to become a lawyer so they wouldn't have to pay for a lawyer. He said he didn't become a lawyer, or go to college so that he wouldn't have been their free servant. Their crosses were too much for John to bear! He couldn't tell anyone about his family dynamics as being homosexual was still really shunned in the UK in the 80s. It may have still been illegal, come to think about it. He was forced to pretend to be happy. He was told he would go to college and defend them. He just left! He checked out mentally, married a woman who was able to care for him, and just didn't try to be more. 

    With the invention of the internet, social media became all too present in our lives. I must have met dozens of folks from around the world, and because I was keener on learning about Scotland, I found more friends in that neck of the woods to find cheap education, research, question-and-answer times, and just fellowship. I was able to ask pointed questions about life without judgment. I was able to give advice freely, again, without judgment. We do so much in our lives to avoid being judged. Why is that? Couldn't we just decide to be better people and accept, listen, learn, assist, and be the solution? It just seems to me that we waste (yes, waste) time, effort, money, and energy trying to force pretenses and fabrications about who others need to see us as we want them to see us, and not show our true selves. Is it really all that bad to admit our ignorance? It is tremendously unacceptable to have a difference in opinion? 

    When I turned 18 I remember Mom taking me to the post office to get a Voter's Registration card application. She started to fill it out for me, but I stopped her. The post office worker also said something to her about not filling it out, but to let me fill it out. My mom, God bless her, told me we were Democrats! She pointed at the application and said it at least twice.  I registered as a Republican not only out of spite but because I was NOT a fan of Jimmy Carter's politics. I did not hand the card application to my mom, I gave it to the post office worker, and she assured me that the card would come to my house in an envelope with my name on it. Since I was no longer in school at that time, having graduated a year early, I was home when the envelope arrived.  My mom tried really hard to get the envelope so she could open it and see if I had registered as she wanted me to, or if I had been obstinate? What? I can't have a difference of political opinion? Apparently, not in their house, and that was that. I left. I never went back.

    Despite our family secrets and our thoughts and hopes for each other growing up, I was raised in a very good, very loving, quite nurturing home. I was born on a Wednesday and in church on Sunday. I am absolutely, and I am completely happy about that fact. I was taught very early to love my God and to follow His ways. I just think that the crosses we force others to carry, think Simon of Cyrene, make us less like Christ and more like Satan.  I'm not saying we can't and shouldn't guide our kids, Heaven knows they need discipline and they need to be told the truth. We do, however, need to think really hard about the stories we tell that could harm others. We need to think really long and decidedly about the things we need to keep to ourselves; asking whether or not the keeping of the truth is more to protect ourselves or others. We need to be open, honest, truthful, caring, sharing, kind, and protective, and we need to work through issues rather than cover them up for the sake of saving face. 

    One more thing, then I'll let you go. While I was writing this blog my brother called me and I asked him about our uncle. I asked him how old he was when he last saw the man (even though we lived 8 miles away). My brother said, "Well, to think of it now, I guess I was about 13 years old. Yeah, I don't remember seeing him after that. I wonder why we didn't."  He asked me how old we were when the man died, and we were clearly in our 40s.  I asked my brother what he thought. I hadn't seen my uncle since I was around 8, but my brother was allowed to go on fishing trips for another 5 or 6 years with my Grandpa and my dad.  There was a secret in there somewhere, and my daddy kept it well.  It's just another thing to think about and another thing to analyze. We won't know, we can't know, but we can probably come pretty close. Will that decision we come to make any difference whatsoever? Probably not, and it's a reminder that my dad decided not to let me bear that particular cross, taking the weight and burden of it on himself while we were left unharmed, unhurt, unknowing, and innocent of any wrongness that possibly existed.  Some crosses are good to leave on the roadside. Some crosses must be lifted and carried either for ourselves or for someone else.

    

     Photo Credit: FineArtAmerica.com

    

Are We Good Enough to Go to Heaven?

 It's not every day, but there are a lot of days in my years past, and in the present, when I have a conversation (a rather controversial one) with people about being good enough to go to Heaven. I realize that the boundary questions that we all ask ourselves from time to time are valid and important, and they are literally the edges of the universe for us, as they are in fact the boundary questions. Some of these questions will be "Who am I?", and "Are we really living in a reality or is this a game or someone's dream?"  We may even ask, "Why am I here? What purpose do I serve?"  But the big one, the one we all ask at least 10000000 times in our lives is "Is God real?"  Some people would say most people only ask that question once maybe, but no, I think we will be destined to ask it over and over again, and until we get the answer we believe is real, we'll go right on asking it. Here are my thoughts. 

    Is God real?  My answer, the short answer, is YES.  Yes, God is real, and not only is He real, but He is a HE, and He is in charge of literally everything there is now, ever was, and ever will be. So, why then, people may ask, if God is real, do people suffer? Why do babies die? Why are people murdered? What would allowing dramatic and deadly storms have to do with a real God? Is He cruel? Does He hate us? What's the point! We'll never be good enough to make this mean and sinister being happy! Oh my, I really hope that's not what you're thinking, but if it is I have some good (albeit difficult to understand at times) news for you. Read on.

    Let's start with the beginning.  I'll first say that you have to have some sort of grounding, foundation, or something to believe in or you won't have a chance in Hell or anywhere else when it comes to making sense of the whole mess.  I will claim, and I will proclaim, that the Bible is a living book that was written by many different authors, and that it spans thousands of years from start to finish, but that every author was divinely inspired by the very God we are talking about. The reason I can make that claim is that I also asked the same questions, and though I may have searched other written works, the ONLY one that comes true and comes to light every single time and for every single question, without fail, is the Bible. It simply cannot be disproved.

    There are those who will say it has mistakes. I understand their reasoning. Most who say these things speak English and are reading an English version of the Bible, which was originally written in the Hebrew language, some Latin, and some Greek. Yeah, we're not going to have the same words when we translate, and yes, there seems to be a mistake, but really it's just that something is lost in the translation. If you do the study, if you take the time, if you do the work, you'll find that the translators made the errors, not the original authors.   You either believe that, or you don't believe that and if you don't believe that, we can't continue. You must come to an understanding that the Word is real, and the Word is infallible.  It's been tested and I do mean TESTED, over and over, and over and over again. It is solid. It is true. It is actually unveiling itself for the End Times right now!!  Look at what Russia, Iran, and Turkey are doing!! Hello, Ezekiel 38 is about to explode in front of our faces. This book talked about this war LONG before Jesus walked the Earth.

    Jesus never, not once, quoted the New Testament. Did you know that? Jesus, if you think about it, was not a Christian! Nope. He was in fact, CHRIST. The One we follow. Being a Christian means we follow Christ. He can't follow Himself. Jesus is (and was) a Jew! He's not a Catholic. He's not a Protestant. He's not anything other than EVERYTHING, and He is in fact, the Son of the living, real God. If you can understand it, Jesus said "If you believe in my Father, also believe in Me, for My Father and I are the same."  Wow. We really can't understand that from a human point of view, but you're not supposed to use your human brain to master that understanding. You're supposed to use your FAITH. (that would be your heart and mind combined to come up with the belief that it is in fact reality.)

    First came the chicken, then the egg.  Don't be stupid and think otherwise. The Earth is not flat, and we don't live in a bubble. We are not someone's imagination. We are real, we feel, we live, we breathe, we mate, we make babies, we repeat this over and over, and we die. During that time we have several forms of education, be it in a proper setting at school, at home, in our communities, in jail, you name it, we are being educated all the time. We learn things. One of the things we question as we are learning is whether or not we are actually able to work our way into the last destination for us; which is what we call or consider paradise. We call it Heaven, but it has many names. The Bible has several names in fact, for the place where God lives. We know it's "up there" but in reality, it's all around, it's under, above, between, in the middle, it's God's place of residence, and He is everywhere!

    From a scientific point of view, planets were made. These planets were somehow, maybe through chance (Laugh) placed in the exact position(s) they would have to be placed in so that there would be in perfect order on Earth and everywhere else. Do we really think that was a mishap? Do we really want to even give the Big Bang theory an inkling of support? Have you ever tried to make a cake? I rest my case. We didn't hang the Moon, and no one asked Jupiter if he/she would rather be on this side of this particular galaxy or not. God did that. God.  Don't pussy-foot around it. Don't try to be all politically correct. Don't try to be popular and make yourself sound intelligent and tolerant. GOD DID THAT.  God is real. God is flat-out in charge. The sooner we know, understand, and accept that, the faster we'll be able to begin our healing process inside our wee little brains; we'll better commune and we'll better accept the Truth. 

    Are we good enough to get to that God? The simple answer is NO. No, we are not. The bar is set far far too high for any of us to achieve that sort of reward. We are dirty, scummy, nasty, filthy, lying sacks of shit, and even though God made us, and maybe we shouldn't be the way we are, we are the way we are. He allowed us to have free will, and look what every last one of us has done with that! We were born into it. We continued it. We are not worthy, and there isn't one among us who is. Jesus was, Jesus is. He left that place we call Heaven, He gave His life and blood for us, as a living real sacrifice to His Father. If our children were to do that, we'd freak out! We'd not allow it, but God did allow it. God allowed His ONLY Son to die for me. Well, He died for you too.  He died for the really crappy assholes who we hate. He died for every last soul on this Earth who has ever breathed a breath.  No, we are not good enough and we will never be good enough to go to God, to be in Heaven.

    We are going to be there though. That's the good news. We are going to be in God's house, in God's presence, and with God Himself. We're going because Jesus made it possible. Can a sinner go? Yes. Can a gay person go? Yes. Can a murderer go to Heaven? Yes.  King David put his to-be lover's husband on the front lines of a battle he knew would end up with Uriah being killed. That's murder! God still called David one of His, and though David was punished, God's grace saved his soul from eternal damnation. Back up, you just asked me why I said gay people can go to Heaven. Not all gay people are saved. Not all gay people will go to Heaven when they die, or when the Rapture happens. Those people, straight, gay, bi, or otherwise, who have accepted Christ as their living and real Savior, will in fact be (and are) covered by the blood of the sacrificial Lamb, Jesus. Now, that being said, homosexuality is a sin! Don't think for a second that it's condoned by God or by Jesus. It is not.

    There are 67 clear verses about homosexuality in the Bible and not one of them is in favor, and not one of them is stating that the act is allowed or good. In fact, all of the verses are quite substantially clear that this particular sin is of both an abomination and a stain that God abhors!  That being said, "For God so loved the world (everyone) that WHOSOEVER (including gay people) believes in Him (Jesus as the Savior) will be saved."  John 3:16 was NOT rewritten to include only those people who King James believed were to be saved. King James, by the way, was NOT a good person. Just so you know that, please do a bit of study. He was NOT the end-all of Christian leaders. NOPE.

    So why would God allow sinners to be saved? All of us are allowed to be saved. All of us are sinners. We may not all be the same type of sinners. We are not all this way, that way, another way, or in between. We are all, however, missing the mark, and we are all guilty of sin. Even if it were only one sin, it would be enough to keep us from going to Heaven, and God allowed Jesus to cover that one sin. I can't however imagine there being anyone with only one, but there you go. One is enough to stop you from going to Heaven. Period.  Personally, I like the verse in the Bible that talks about the greater the sin the more the person who was doing those sins is grateful for the salvation which is offered.  Think about it. 

    You have a housewife with kids who just works, and does her thing, she may have watched a dirty little movie or picked up a nasty little book for grins.  She's not murdering people, and she's not robbing banks, but she is a Christian and she knows what's right and what's wrong. Her forgiveness from God through Christ is complete.  But what about the guy (or gal) who has been in gangs since he/she was a kid, maybe they were initiated by murdering someone. Maybe they dug graves for other murders. Maybe they drove the car, maybe they hid information. Maybe they had sex with anything and everything that walked the planet!  Are you understanding where I'm going with this? That person, once he/she is saved, and has repented of their sin and crimes, will be so much more grateful for not facing damnation than the people who just sort of live life and sin a little.  All sin will and does keep you from Heaven, but all repentance and all trusting in Jesus will allow you entrance. 

    There is/are a new type of preacher and pastor right now. They are calling themselves "apologists".  They defend what we call sin and give reasons for why God will allow these sinners into His Kingdom.  They are scoffers. They are liars. They are false teachers and God will deal with them.  You need to know that your sin is bad and will NOT be allowed. We were NOT BORN this way. We learned it. We became it.  We are it...we sin.  Accept that you have, and either repent or don't repent, but if you aren't willing to obey God and accept HIS terms, you will not be covered by the blood of Christ.  Repenting of sin is the only way we can come to Christ. Does that mean we won't sin afterward? Are you nuts? Of course, we will. We're human, but the fact(s) is that when we accept Christ we are given His Holy Spirit in the form of a seal or restrainer in our hearts/souls, and we are sealed into the eternal peace that will come.  Yes, we continue to sin, and then the Spirit reminds us not to. The Spirit reminds us what is right. The Spirit nudges, He pushes, pulls, and even punishes us for being disobedient. 

    Say you were born into a family of gangsters.  You may end up apologizing to folks you know for the behavior of your family.  Say you were born into a family of law officials, judges, and jailers.  You may end up apologizing to folks for the decisions that were made and the sentences that were imposed. Do you see the difference?  You can apologize for the wrong, but you can't apologize for the right. You may not agree with the right, but it is still right. You may not agree with the wrong, but it is clearly still wrong! You know it. God will not be mocked. These apologists are literally saying that Jesus left Heaven and DIED FOR US for NO REASON!  They are taking away the power of God and the power of Salvation! They are claiming and will claim that you can continue in your lifestyle, continue in your sin as long as you say the words you're supposed to say, and tell people you did. NO. That is tantamount to a doctor giving you saline to cure you of an infection! You need the ONE THING that cures you, not the fake shit that they push so people see you making a profession, or see you living the lie. 

    Are you (am I) good enough to go to Heaven? Absolutely not. Will we be forgiven if we continue to sin after we accept Christ? Absolutely, thank God, yes. So then, why would He allow that?  Simple answer? You had the moment when you wanted to change. You had the moment when you knew right was right, and wrong was wrong, and for however long it was, you wanted to do the right thing, through the help and love of Christ. That moment was long enough for the Spirit to seal you. Once the door is closed by God, there will be no one who can open it. Once the door is opened by God, there will be no one who can close it. God and God alone is the Master of His House.  He gave a promise, and HE will never take that promise back, or lie and not fulfill it. He can't. He literally CAN NOT lie or take back a promise. You are sealed by the Spirit, not by your own doing, not because YOU were anything but because HE is and will always be EVERYTHING!

Thank, God!

Photo Credit: FamilyToday.com

Mini Waffles!! (or homemade Eggos)

 Life is too funny at times, and I try to make the most of it when I can. I went to the store and saw a handful of mini or tiny kitchen appliances for folks who are living alone, or maybe who are at college and aren't allowed a full-fledged kitchen in their dorm! I was amazed at what you can buy really, and therefore, I decided to think about it and see if buying a mini waffler would be an enhancement to my daily life. We'll have to see how this ends up working out for me, as I didn't think it all the way through really.

    So, if you buy Eggo waffles you know they are about four inches round. They are very uniform, and you can pop them into the toaster and they'll be hot and ready for you in a matter of one minute or so. You buy them frozen, put them into the freezer, and I think they come in packages of 10 for about $2.49.  I think that's the cost. I tried to remember.  OK, but a box of pancake/waffle mix (the type you just add water to) is about $1.49 and if you're really into being as cheap as you possibly can be, you can do the whole bulk thing at Winco, and the same amount will cost just about $1.10. The box of waffle mix makes many many more than eight waffles! If I had to guess I'd say the box makes about 40 or more waffles that are four inches round. Such savings!

    OK, but doing it yourself does require that you have a cup to pour the mix in, a spoon to stir it, and of course, you need to have a waffler. I choose the tiny little mini waffler because it's adorable, and takes up so much less space than the bigger appliance. I have a bigger appliance, but you can't make four-inch round waffles with it unless you're really good at trying to do the pouring and no, it's not worth the effort. Get the little one, and be done with it.  When all is said and done, the Eggo costs about .29 cents each (after tax) and these little waffles are less than .04 cents each. You can't beat that, and yeah, it takes a minute, and you have to clean it, but you do save on the waste, and you do save on the space in your freezer, and you do save on the cabinet top too! You can put the waffler thing in a drawer.

    The egg muffin thing is cool and I could end up getting it, but the toaster is working for me on that one and the microwave. I'm not needing to buy another big or tiny appliance. I have a really cool rack in my dining area to keep the kitchen appliances on anyway, so at least I can walk through my kitchen and not feel crowded. It's not a big kitchen. I need a much much bigger kitchen. That's next on the Christmas list I think. Santa may have to start earlier this year. I want a three-bedroom house with two bathrooms, a garage, and a backyard. I think that will fit nicely in my stocking over the fireplace. (I don't have to have a fireplace. I just said that.)

    OMG..I can compare the ingredients and the nutritional value of the Eggos vs. my box waffles. Let me go do that really quickly, and I'll come back and let you know what I found.

Well, that's surprising. There is more sodium in the pancake mix, but there is less sugar (9 vs 10) and less fat (2g v. 4g), and fewer carbs (26 v. 32).  All in all it's a better choice to do the add-water pancake mix for cost and nutrition, but you do need to know the sodium is much higher. I don't know why that is, but it is. Convenience and on-the-go timing would be a plus for the Eggo, but cost and health are two advantages of the pancake mix. You do have to clean the cup and the waffler. There is a bit of maintenance involved. OK, I have to go, I have dishes to do, laundry, and bed sheets to change. I think I'm going to the store again later anyway to get dog food, but I may end up ordering that on Amazon now. 

    PetSmart sells the dog food I buy for $39.00 a bag, and Amazon delivers it to my place and it's $32.00 a bag. I think about these things. It may only save a bit here and a bit there, but it could be the difference between making those ends meet later on, and I need that. I need to know I did everything I could to make it happen...then I go off and buy half a dozen donuts for no good reason! Yeah, I'm human!

    I did try to cook a sausage patty in the waffler today, and I think it will work if I squish it down a bit. I could just fry it up, but that also takes a bit of time. I can't do the egg in the waffler but I can microwave it with cheese.  The mini waffler is really cute and they have really fun colors. It was NOT a necessity, but it's going to make mornings a bit better. I need to start eating breakfast again, even if it's just a little waffle and sausage sandwich, or the egg-muffin cheese and ham sandwich I make too. I can't pretend that fasting is working, as it's not. I have been fasting from 7PM to 10AM for more than two years, and I think really if I change that to 7PM to 8AM I'll be fine.  (I'll let you know  if I balloon or something)

    Viva la comparisons!!  Life is fun!

Photo Credit: Me (That's a nickel on the waffler to show scale)

Espresso Yourself!

 I am not going to lie, I buy things sometimes just because I can. I also buy things because I want to, and there is (often) a difference.  Some things that I buy are for good use; while others are just because I don't want to be inconvenienced or whatever it is that I'm buying will make my life easier and/or better.  Don't (please don't) think I'm being arrogant or rude, I'm not. For a number of years, I was both unable to buy what I needed let alone what I wanted. I went through a good portion of Hell and back again over and over again. I went to "the wire" as I call it, where and when I couldn't possibly make ends meet even if I stood up and screamed to the Heavens. I was just dirt dirt poor and both owed money and couldn't make enough. These are the times I thank God because I grew to believe that there is NOTHING that can't be achieved through faith and through prayer. I was right. God was always there for me. Somehow I made it each and every time.

    So now, having been through more wringers than is legal to have been subjected to, I am possibly one of the strongest women I have ever met in terms of sticking it out and doing so much with so little for so long. I have the ability to stretch a dollar to the point that it resembles a tightwire - and I walk it very very cautiously when I need to. There are other times when I say "Screw that" and I just plop the card down or I order something online (usually through Amazon) and I absolutely never regret my decision if I make it because I don't make the decision without knowing it's going to be OK. I think it out, I work it out, I plan it out, and I say yes to the whatever it is that I'm hoping will make me smile. Today, that was an expresso machine.

    For the past however many months I've been telling myself that it will happen. I look at these machines, research, read, study, and do the due diligence, then I always find some reason to say no. I just make up an excuse that usually involves something like "I could use the money another way" or "I don't have space on my cabinet for it".  Both of these excuses are just that, excuses. I know I can make room, and I also know I don't owe anyone anything really, not anymore. I am on the upswing finally, after years of scraping and pulling myself up through credit building and paying payments on time! It is officially a good time for me, and Jesus is the reason. Without thinking about what needs to be done, and how to make it happen, I would be lost in a whirlpool of repeating poor decisions over and over again. Once I found a Bible-based method of how to set the budget and keep it, it was only a matter of time before it worked out in my favor, again, through practicing good decision-making, and not buying whatever I wanted when I wanted. I had bills to pay. I had food to buy. I have credit to clear. It wasn't easy, and yes, it took YEARS to achieve. Nothing you can achieve quickly feels as rewarding as taking your time to make sure you do it correctly. Credit is no different.

    Today, because I can, and because I found the best deal ever, I decided to make room on my kitchen cabinet for a new espresso machine. When I say it was the best deal ever, I mean it. This particular machine isn't as popular as others, but it does have a solid reputation. It was already on sale, and because I had a credit with Amazon, it was literally one-third the price of a new machine. WOW!  Now, my daughter Laura, who served as a real-life Starbucks barista for years, will train me on how to make every espresso drink I've ever loved and dreamed of making. She used to bring me free bags of coffee, and every night I picked her up or when I dropped her off, she would make me a gorgeous drink. I was too too too spoiled, and I miss that.

    When I was in my youth (before Starbucks) I only drank strong coffee. I had no idea what espresso was, and I didn't know what I was missing.  After the whole Americano rut that I found myself in, I was really excited to find out a person could drink a four-shot cappuccino and still live to talk about it. I think I'll cut that in half and pour a copious amount of wet froth on top now. I'm not really into flying at the break of dawn and landing on my backside after I've been a bit overconfident. I think I'll rein it in, and maybe try to at least act half my age. I have responsibilities still and yeah, getting too high on bean juice could prove unsettling. At least I know that I will be downing something with caramel and/or chocolate on a regular basis before heading off to work. I don't even care if I have to get up and out of bed a full five minutes earlier to compensate for the time it takes to brew. I will make that happen.

    My big beautiful machine arrives tomorrow and you know I'll be standing outside the door waiting on the Amazon man and his beautiful smiling truck! He comes to my place just about every day to drop off something I can't possibly live without; I find it easier to order it than to try to remember what it was that I wanted or needed and then try to fight traffic, store traffic, lines, and supply chains. Nope, if I can save time, money, effort, and energy, and just wait on the Amazon man, I'm doing that. Why not? It's there, it's available, and I'm not putting myself or anyone else in danger. I make planned and calculated purchases. I just need to start making them at the same time instead of on a daily basis. 

    We don't have an Amazon woman on this route. I am positive they are around, but he's been my delivery man for over two years and he even tries to guess what it is that I bought. He's rarely right. I think he does that just to make us all laugh. My neighbors are outside waiting with me. They order stuff too.  I know what you're thinking; "Jude, you're way too spoiled" and you'd be right. I am. When I was a kid and all the way through my early adult life, there was NO WAY I could have dreamed of ordering anything over the phone or through the mail and expecting it to be delivered to my house in one day for no extra cost. I'm absolutely 100% positively over-the-top spoiled, and God bless America!

    Happy coffee people!!

Photo Credit icuire.com 

At What Cost?

 Driving to work every single morning I come to a real crossroads. I am literally at the very point where I could either turn into the parking lot of my building, or I could just veer a bit to the right and head into McDonald's to pick up a beloved favorite, the Egg McMuffin sandwich.  It's a daily, and I do mean daily, decision for me. Do I do it? Do I not do it. There are arguments to be made for both going and not going.  Here are the pros and cons. You tell me what you would do.

    So, McDonald's is so close to my office, I could and do walk from time to time. I can pop in, or go through the drive-through if there are no more than two cars in the drive-through. I am so very spoiled, and I don't wait in line for much of anything or for anyone, so if there are two cars in the drive-through, I simply will not pull into it. Mind you, this McDonald's has two lanes for the drive-through. If I see more than two cars in both combined, I pull into a parking slot and go into the store. I have, on occasion, just said no to the whole matter, and then by the time I drive back to the office I regret my decision and I usually turn around and go back. 

    The Egg McMuffin is $4.12, so if there are 20 days in a month, I'm paying around $82.40 and if there are 21 working days it's $86.52 a month. That's a big chunk of change! Do I really need an Egg McMuffin every single day? Well, I say no, then I get to work and feel like I'm about to die and can't make it all the way to lunch without eating something. Our office has snacks and I love that. I bring granola bars, and I bring chips and things too, but I try not to eat them because they're not good for me, somehow convincing myself that an Egg McMuffin would be, or should be good for me. I mean, it's not really all that carbish, right? It does have an egg, and it does have a slice of Canadian bacon, and there's cheese. Cheese in moderation is good. 

    Well, what I did was think about buying myself one of those handy-dandy egg sandwich makers, and it's only $30.00, so in the long run, I'm going to win. BUT...then I got to thinking, and that's usually when things go south.  I said to myself, OK, I have a toaster. I can split it open and toast the muffin part. I have a microwave, I can break an egg, stir it up with a fork, plop a piece of ham or Canadian bacon on top, plop a piece of cheese on that, microwave it for 1.00 minute, and bam! I have an Egg McMuffin pseudo sandwich! I don't need the machine, and the machine would take time to clean and all that. I don't want to do that every day. I'm not only sp0iled when it comes to waiting in line, I'm also spoiled rotten when it comes to inconveniencing myself and forcing myself to clean things on a daily basis.

    I decided on trying the homemade sandwiches.  This is where it gets good because I don't compromise quality for the price. I went to Target and I bought Thomas brand English muffins, they are great.  I bought a package of white cheddar cheese, with thick slices, I think it's Tillamook brand or something like that. I then picked up a package of great Canadian bacon slices, and they are also a bit thicker in their cut as well.  The materials cost $15.70 and I was ready to dive into the experiment. I made a fairly good egg sandwich the next morning, but I did make a mess that had to be cleaned before I went to work. It wasn't a HUGE mess, but a towel would need to be washed, and I had to at least rinse the egg cooker thing and wipe it well. It took about 3 minutes altogether, and I had to find a ziplock bag to put it into. 

    The sandwich stayed warm all the way to work, and again, it was a bit messy; not as dry as the McDonald's brand sandwich. I didn't have paper to wrap it in, and had to use a paper towel to clean up a bit. So, again, I ask, is it worth it? The thing is, the materials I bought will be about 6 sandwiches before I need more muffins. I can get 10 sandwiches with cheese and bacon, and 12 with eggs, so all in all I can basically say it's $15.70 x 3.6 (as I have to buy more materials in the middle) for a balance of $59.66  that's only a savings of $26.86 and that's about 1.27 a day if I have 21 days in a month. I have to think about this.

    I may or may not pull into the drive-through. I may or may not have to stand in line. I may or may not even go, and then I'm destined to be hungry.  If I do make myself the sandwiches I have to clean up the little mess every day, but the sandwich is slightly better really; it has better cheese and bacon, and I do like the fact that it's wetter, not as dry. I do like the fact that I made it, and I do like the fact that I'm not giving my money away to a giant corporation that I don't really agree with when it comes to their political views; should that matter? I think it should.

    I can basically state that I'm going to continue to do the egg sandwich thing at home until I get really tired of doing it, but I can't tell you when that could be. I may just like it and continue for the rest of my freaking life. You just don't know. I mean, I can get into a rut like anyone else I suppose. I could decide to switch it up and make myself a little waffle sandwich with sausage or Canadian bacon in the middle of it. I could! You just shouldn't put anything past this woman. It could happen. Now, I'm thinking about it happening. I know I can pick up a little tiny mini pancake waffle maker thing for $12.00 and I can heat the sausage in the microwave for 44 seconds. This is going to happen, folks. Thanks so much for your input, I really appreciate it.  Life is good.

Photo Credit: HamiltonBeach.com

81 Days to Live

 According to a man known as "Mike From Around the World", there will be a NASA event on January 5, 2023, and it's something so powerful, and so inclusive, that the people of Earth, no matter how hard they try, can't stop the event from happening. Supposedly, it is a huge thing, a big deal, and even if they (the collective they) could or would warn us, we would not believe them. OK. Let that sink in. They have been so wrong for so long, and they have been lying to us over and over again about so many things, that no matter what they say, be it true or not, we would not believe it.  So then, what makes it more plausible to hear about from a man who no one seems to know who he is, where he's living, what he actually does, etc.? Well, here are my thoughts.

    I think the man's name is actually Mike Birkhead. He is a regular on the Paul Begley YouTube shows on Thursday evenings, where he has been teaching and preaching his "Doom and Gloom" for about 8-10 years.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to Mike. I don't always agree with him, and I don't think it's necessary to throw around end-of-the-world scenarios even if it is true, because there are just too many folks who have mental issues and incapacities; they just can't handle the sharp words of possible reality.  There are things that we can't control, and those things are best left to God. We can't stop a wave of energy from hitting the Earth. We can't stop a solar flare. We can't stop an enormous earthquake. We just need to remember the Bible has it completely lined out as to how the world (and Heaven) will end. There just isn't any reason to get the troops rallied up over something that could possibly happen in the atmosphere, or even if one of those loose planets decides to smash Earth! We just can't control it, so why bring it up in conversation? Ratings? Donations?

    Paul Begley is a good man. He is a Christian man. He is a preacher who has a heart for others, but I really can't tolerate his constant advertising for his books, his videos, and whatever else he's promoting. C'mon, if you have a word from God you give it. You don't sell it.  Jesus will KNOW your heart and you will NOT benefit from it, your blessings will NOT be given to you if you withhold the word and charge for it. Use your brain! If Jesus told you to tell people something, you do it. If He told you to hold your tongue, you do it. You don't have to advertise your books, just post them and if they are to be sold, they will be sold. Holding the word hostage is wrong.

    So, Mike Birkhead came onto the show last Thursday, I'm sure you can find it on YouTube, and he said that something catastrophic was going to happen on January 5, 2023, and believe me when I say he said it without blinking. He was just talking about the end of the world as we know it as if it was matter-of-fact knowledge. I have a real problem with this.  First, the Bible is very clear about how the Earth and Heaven will be destroyed, and if there is going to be something monstrous happening on January 5, 2023, the powers that be will either let us know or they won't. If they do let us know the people will revolt. They will start murdering and committing suicide. They will stop working, they will cause havoc, they will dive into sin like no other, then they'll start repenting around the first of the year to give themselves time to be forgiven! It's not going to happen that way. If it were true they would certainly never let us know -- thankfully!

    I have a job.  If I thought and I really thought that we were going to all die or most of us were going to die in 81 days, I would probably stop working and start ministering to the point that when January 5, 2023, came around and there was nothing to shout about, I would at least have made a stand for Christ, but my boss probably wouldn't take me back to work. I'd be without a job, and without a job, I can't feed my dog. My dog deserves better. I will continue to witness, but yeah, I'm not giving up my day job just yet.  If it were true, and we were all going to die or most of us die on January 5, 2023, we would have one heck of a Christmas and Thanksgiving celebration with family and friends. We would hold each other, hug and love each other, and talk endlessly about how we hope we go in the rapture before the event happens. We would all give up on living and just wait to die! I don't want that.

    Mike Birkhead is one smart cookie. I will never take that away from him. He is right up there with the higher levels of both intelligence and military know-how. He's in the mix, and he's both entertaining and informative. I could never imagine having the knowledge and grasp on world events as men and women like him have. He, like Amir Tsarfati, and others, gives us food for thought and keeps us thinking. Thinking is good, but panic is not good. I think we need to rein in the doom and gloom a bit and help support our brothers and sisters with encouraging words of Christ's return. We are not given to a spirit of fear, but of hope. We are not to create havoc and unrest. We are to uplift, encourage, help, and heal.  We are to be good to one another and not cause chaos.

    In the past, Mike told us that there would be hit by five waves of energy that would hit the Earth, and he was correct.  I think he made it seem as if the Earth would shake, rattle, and roll over, maybe do a pole shift. That didn't happen, but people were all about it, talking, and feeling helpless.  I think more damage is done to the minds of the weak and it is sin. I consider it a sin when we purposely harm someone who was a peace, just for the sake of letting them know what could happen. Being prepared is one thing; you can go to a tornado closet to wait out a storm, but if you can't control an asteroid from slamming into the Earth then just pray about it. Give it to God and let Him control what He has created. 

    Be at peace. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whosoever (who so ever) believes on Him, shall be saved."  John 3:16.  It's still in the Book. It's not going anywhere.  Be still and know that God is God.

Photo Credit: Paul Begley Minisries

No Xaphoon For Me. (Sad Face)

 I don't know if you do it or not, but I get these wild hairs up my butt and I decide to do things that make little to no sense whatsoever. This past week or so I wasn't feeling well, and that may have had something to do with the decision I made to buy myself a cute little reed instrument called a Xaphoon; I have no idea. I really don't know what it was that made me think I needed one. I was thinking about how it was that I was forced as an 11-year-old to play the flute in Band class because my parents didn't or wouldn't consider buying me a saxophone. Then, the next thing I know, I've decided to buy my own reeded instrument and then fake it til I make it, I suppose. Well, that lasted about 2 days. I consider that to be a sad thing really, I would have thought I could have stuck it out for a least a week. Nope.

    Amazon has absolutely spoiled me. I buy the yearly subscription to Prime delivery, so I get anything and everything offered for free delivery, and there I am, literally ordering things to the tune of one or two things a day. I think maybe I should stop the practice, I shouldn't be so spoiled, but then the thought occurs to me that if Amazon didn't want to do this, they wouldn't have offered it. I paid, and they deliver, it's a really cool thing.  The dog lets me know when the Amazon truck is downstairs, and it's not just for me. My neighbors and I both order things at least 3 or 4 times each week, and we often bring each other's packages to their respective door(s). We even try to guess what the other person has purchased. Let me tell you, they had NO clue whatsoever that the Xaphoon was in that box! Who would think that?

    When it arrived I was super happy. I thought this is it, I'm going to open the box, put it together, and start the fun! That is NOT what happened. I did open the box, I did put it together, and nothing, nothing at all happened. I couldn't push air out my mouth in the manner of which was required, and it didn't matter how many YouTube videos I watched, it was NOT going to happen. I was quietly cussing at myself, but all the while I was saying things like "There has to be another way, I'm doing this wrong!"  I was doing it incorrectly, but I couldn't force my mouth to do what is required and I couldn't even make the dang thing honk! NOTHING!  More videos. More practice. More thinking. Less thinking. Nothing.

    Then, out of absolute sheer frustration, I ordered another instrument. This one was a Scottish whistle, which if I had to be honest, I never knew it was called that. We just called them long whistles when I was a kid. There it was, delivered by Amazon the next day, and get this, it was rubbish! It made noise alright, it made a great deal of noise. The tin instrument was cheap, yes, I understand that, but it was so base and so lousy at being a true musical instrument. Even if I had been the best whistler in the world (Not me) I couldn't have made this thing perform the way it should if you want it to sound like anything other than what it was; trash.  They both went back today. They were both unceremoniously returned to Amazon for a full refund! I don't even hate myself like I thought I would. I am not really even disappointed with myself. I play the flute, I can just work on that. 

    I did buy a book to retrain myself on how to read music. I do think I need that. I can't remember a thing from when I was a kid. I just remember faking the entire four years of Band, and pretending to be playing, when I was really just mixing in a note here and there to be able to keep my seat. I only played 6-9 grades; something about having to actually read music and do solos kept me from advancing. When I say I sucked at it, I'm being too kind. I was the worst. I think maybe I let it happen and now I want to rectify that part of my soul. I want to do music and if that means I have to relearn it I will do that. I am more mature now, and it may actually be fun. I just have to do it with the flute, and get over my once obsession with the saxophone. Let it go!! 

    Amazon, Amazon! Such a First-World thing. I think about Prime and ask myself if I could live without it. I'm pretty sure I did for most of my life, so yeah, it would be difficult but I could do it. I literally ordered the shampoo and conditioner I wanted on Amazon because I didn't see it at the store and thought maybe Amazon would have it. They did. They had it, and it was a bit cheaper too! What the heck! I am too spoiled and I ask myself at least three times a week if I need to be so spoiled. Then I order something else and it's delivered the next day and I am smiling again. Wow, I am really quite shallow, or maybe I'm easily entertained. I'm not sure which. Maybe both.

    I just found out that Amazon has their own brand name products as well, which is going to be tested. I don't mind store brands. I won't buy their coffee, not going to happen, but I will try other things that they make or lend their name to. We'll see. If I can think of something I'll let you know, but for now it is good to know that I'm capable of knowing I suck at the Xaphoon and the Scottish whistle apparently, and Amazon has my back on their return policy.  I don't ever actually ask for a refund. I just keep it in the account. I'm going to order again, they know it, I know it. I sometimes have credit. I like that. I feel like it's a bonus or something when really it's just me taking things back. I'm not that person who takes everything back, but if it doesn't meet my expectations, it's going back.  They don't charge me for the return, and that's another reason to love living right here in America. I can jump in my car, and drive the 1/2 mile to the UPS store to drop off the Amazon returns. So easy. So easy. Too easy.  Thank you, Amazon.

Photo Credit: Amazon.com

America Vs. Britain (or Really, Anywhere)

 I watch quite a few vloggers and YouTubers online who are either English or Scottish and they have an entire existence online supported by and created by making comparisons between our countries. It's become a thing really. I'm almost sure, but not quite, that there are Americans who do the same thing, but for some reason, I only find the ones who originate from Britain; with the exception of Laurence Brown, who is yes, a Brit, but now lives in Chicago.  Laurence is hilarious and deserves everyone's attention. He's to be found on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/c/LostinthePond.  I'm not saying he's my favorite, but he is right up there! Two things that set Laurence and Shaun Alexander of Edinburgh, apart and separate from others are that they both compliment and applaud the United States more often than they try to find ways to slam it.  Shaun's YouTube is found at: https://www.youtube.com/c/ShaunVlog (and if you're thinking of coming after Shaun, you need to know, he's been made an honorary Texan, so you may have to back off!) (Smile)

    It's been over a year now since I've been interested in watching vloggers try and compare the two sides of the Atlantic. I find it fascinating, fun, and often interesting to find so many vast and subtle differences between the people, the places, the food, the mannerisms, the behaviors, and of course, the words we each use. Americans can be so direct, and according to every YouTuber who has ever encountered Americans both in their country and ours, we're rather loud, sometimes obnoxious, we take our sports a bit too seriously, and we fly the American flag a bit more often than any of them expected. That's actually a good thing.

    Shaun and Laurence discuss the interesting differences, show their interest or lack of it, and discuss the nuances of these differences. There are YouTubers who I won't mention, who are nothing more than spoiled poshy Gen Xers who feel the need to take donations from their subs, hop flights to the U.S., stay in expensive B&Bs and run about trying to find ways to piss Americans off by trying to compare our culture to their culture in ways that both offend and set keyboards flying. It's all or ratings. These boring brats realize that they don't have what they really want and can't get it in England, so they come here looking for fame. Face it, the audience is so much bigger! Let's see, three hundred and eighty million vs maybe 18 million if you include all of the UK? Yeah, we can fit England plop dropped in the center of Oklahoma and still have room to drive around the state, circling your borders. Oklahoma isn't even one of the larger states. Pretty sure we're a more diverse lot than you like to say we are.

    Making general statements about Americans can't be taken too seriously. There are simply too many of us to do that. Even Americans would have a difficult time saying "All Americans" are this way or that way. We have to say most, or some, or a good portion of...but these two Brits who like to think of themselves as educated puffballs, tend to throw around innuendo as well as banter which they feel is humorous; thinking they'll kiss-kiss to the camera and all will be better. I don't find them cute. I don't find them funny. I don't find them entertaining. I find them corrupted by what they think is fame. One of them, the woman, makes such a big deal out of times when men find her attractive enough to chat her up; she cringes at it if the man isn't a Prince Charming. Shallow much? The man isn't too much better, but at least he understands what fandom is.  It's fake, and it's not as secure as they may believe. Fickle really.

    When I think about it, and I do, I am quite proud of my Scottish ancestry. I am both Scottish and English, with a touch of Italian and Iberian thrown in for good measure. The Scots/English battle for my blood percentage is too close to count, and for that, I'm very sad; being far more culturally connected to the Scots than the English. I tell people that I tend to fight with myself and my Iberian ancestors to have to step in and keep me in check from time to time. I am quite proud of who I am and who I came from, but after years of personal research, travel, experience, and thoughts about actually moving to Scotland; I've decided that visiting may be the end all decision and I'll just forego the Southwestern summers for a bit of reprieve, but America takes the win in my soul.

    There's a reason more than 30,000,000 of us Americans living today have Scottish ancestry, and over 63,000,000 living Americans (some overlap) who have English ancestry.  The reason(s) vary from being asked to leave, to voluntarily leaving, and some were fortunate enough to make the decision without there being a political reason.  My personal story is that my people on my dad's side came over in 1660 from Edinburgh. I'm not really sure about Mom's side, they were the English, and they weren't fighting with themselves. I think her side came across the pond in the mid-1800s.  We've been flying that American flag at our house(s) for literally centuries. We have a lot of family traditions that stem from the Old Country, of course, but we have created our own as well.  I'll keep loving my people and who they are, who they were, what they did for all of us, but I won't change much about anything I do, say, write, act, feel, or believe. I'm just not bothered enough to think it's wrong or that it needs to change.

    I like my creature comforts as an American. I've written about the inconveniences before. I rather enjoy doing laundry and drying my clothes in a hot tumble dryer. I like running tap water from a faucet that has one handle. Love me some air conditioning, and real gas heating, and there's so much to be said for screens on the windows and doors. I like having larger yards, two-car garages, garbage disposals, and being able to drive where I need to drive without gasoline costing me more than my mortgage. I like being able to tell the government to fuck off without it being a national crime, and God knows I'm damn glad we don't bow to some stupid jacked-up concept of a family who thinks they deserve more than a pie to the face! Talk about outdated and obtrusive! Our president, my president, Donald Trump, didn't accept a penny for salary when he was in office. No Brit can say that.

    I do like the concept of having free medical for the people. I will agree that the NHS does a superior job when it comes to taking care of its own. I am not above tipping my hat when it needs to be tipped.  Other than that, I'm thinking America is the one place nearly every Brit wants to visit. I'd say a lot of Americans want to visit Britain, but not all of them.  After the culture shock of being forced to seat themselves at a restaurant, most Americans still end up tipping even though the service is crap since their waitstaff is paid a working salary. There is no incentive to make the customer happy. Americans come back from the UK happy to have been there, but happier to be home where they can relax and take in a college team sport. (OK, they also enjoy legalized cannabis, we have to be honest. I don't, but a lot of Americans do. More and more Brits are moving to America these days for the same)

    With the uncertainty of these times concerning Russia/Ukraine, the Nordstream pipeline, and other events which could leave the UK (islands really) stranded and in need of literally every type of anything from fuel to food, it's no wonder our borders are being flooded with more and more Europeans coming across the ocean to seek a better and more fulfilling life.  Laurence Brown has been here for over 14 years. He loves it. Shaun has visited half a dozen times, and he loves it. I think time will see more and more good solid people who have just had enough; who want more, coming to America.  The melting pot just keeps boiling -- and that old flag, she keeps waving, as she welcomes them all to her shores. 

God Bless the U.S.A.

    

Photo Credit: Ebay

    

Xaphoon? Sure, Why Not.

 You know how you get really old and start to hash up old crap in your mind and in your past that means absolutely nothing, but there you are festering over it? Does that ever happen to you, or is it just me being weird? I think I'm odd, sure, I get that, but I don't think I'm alone in this one. I recently dug up an old (and I do mean old) memory from way way back in the past when I was in the 6th grade, maybe about to go into the 6th grade. I wanted to be in Band class and my parents were OK with it, but instead of allowing me to pick the instrument of my choice, I was forced to use and learn to play the flute because we already owned one. My sister was in Band when she was my age, and she's only 3 years older, so the flute was not being used as my parents had hoped it would be. I got the flute.  I didn't want the flute, but I got it anyway. (the appropriate answer would have been, and should have been, "Thank you", but I assure you, I was not mature enough to do that.)

    I wanted to play the saxophone. I wasn't really into the Alto or the Tenor sax, no, I wanted the Soprano sax or the C-Sax. It was a golden clarinet to be sure, and I thought I just had to have one. I know I begged, but it didn't make that much of a difference. The flute was already in its case in my house and if I wanted to be in Band class, well, the flute it is! OK fine. I put away my dreams of being the next really cool jazz saxophonist and yes, I know that's not a word. I set aside my dreams of dancing to the honking of my precious metallic magic wand, and I dealt the blow I was given. To say I was good at playing the flute would not only be an enormous lie, but it would also be rather humorous as well. I barely scraped by Band class; making C's mostly, and I think there was that time when my director came into the room while I was recording my try-out and he just stopped the recording and told me to go home and practice somewhere that he couldn't hear me.

    To say that I sucked at playing the flute would be closer to accurate, but not entirely true, if the song I was playing made sense to my fingers and my brain at the same time, I could actually pull it off to the point that I didn't blow very hard and make too much noise, I could drown whatever I was doing in with and mix it into whatever all the others were doing. I was less than a number at that point, but still probably dead last in the lineup. I don't think I was challenged because I don't think I was happy, and if someone isn't thrilled about something they tend to be rather blase about it. That's my memory of what I was thinking back in the early part of my teens when way too many other things were at the forefront of my brain. Being in Band was good for two reasons. I was able to stare across the room at David Lombard, and I was able to sit next to Becky Hodges; she was the Oboe player, and the last flute sat next to her. She was shy and I liked her. She made me laugh (David made me smile).

    For no reason whatsoever, and I really do mean that I was looking up cheap C-Saxophones on Amazon thinking I could get a really really cheap one and just sort of practice it, and then maybe if I thought I had earned the right to get a real one, I could do that and....you know the drill.  The older we get the more challenged we are to overcome some of the past walls that we built or allowed to be built in our memories. I just wanted to do what I wanted to do. I wanted to be who I wanted to be. I was really upset that I was forced to be something I didn't want. I didn't hate it, I wasn't against it, I just didn't really want it. I wanted the damn saxophone!  Well, while on Amazon I ran across something called the Xaphoon. What? Crazy, right? Yeah, it is, and it's a real thing, not just a plastic blow torch. It has a reed. It has a real saxophone reed!

    Keep in mind, these cheap little instruments are not made to be professionally used and I do completely understand that the one I bought for myself is nothing more than a plastic blow torch with a reed rather than just a mouthpiece. It may or may not do the trick, but it's a step in the direction of directing my journey from being able to make sounds the way I wanted to make sounds, versus making noise that I don't care to make. I am about to find out. It will be delivered today. I am not expecting Kenny G-style success, but I'll take a proper G now and again, and if I hit the notes I'm supposed to be hitting I'll both feel it and I will say YES to the next level of Xaphoons; maybe even a real golden clarinet. However, now that the people making band instruments are into making them with bright and amazing colors, I don't know that I'll accept a golden rod at this point! I may do pink! I may be persuaded to get a purple C-Sax. I can!! (and it's because I can that I may)

    If you've not heard the tones that the Xaphoon makes (or if you have no idea what one is) you can find it easily at www.xaphoon.com and you can both listen and fall in love at the same time. I was flat surprised at the depth and the mellow sounds being made by the experts. I just hope I don't shame every one of them by honking at it the way I may end up sounding until I relax and get the hang of it. There was a really fun guy online that gave demonstrations. I'll post his video here: 

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFIwl4Gnsmc&t=2s  He's fun. M Benson Music is his channel. I don't know his story, but he absolutely reminds me of my young Band teacher Mr. Joe Ray, a man of great patience and timing. I think I learned more from Mr. Ray about the way you throw your arms when you conduct than I ever did about playing the flute, but that's because he had a mean eyeball-popping stare that he sort of reserved for me. I don't remember him using it with too many others. I was always on the watch for it to see if I was necessarily singled out and I think he probably begged my parents to disenroll me, but they refused, stating it was his job to teach me something. If that's the case, he'll receive an extra crown in Heaven because that man was a saint! I didn't have the knowledge of such things then - - but he was and is a miracle maker!

    So the Xaphoon arrives very soon and I'll keep you posted on the progress. I'll end up making a video this time next year to give the full report, but until then, I encourage and challenge every one of you to get out there and uncover the memories that held you back as a kid so you can forge your own way through the muck and make the music happen!  Literally, in my case.

Photo Credit: www.xaphoon.com