Jude Stringfellow's Blog, page 93

Makes Me Wonder

 Sometimes I just sit in my little chair at my little desk with my internet all fired up while I think about things that have nothing (or very little) to do with reality whatsoever. I mean, there's no place I would rather be than inside my own head. I could spend days on end there if I could just find a way to earn money while I hang out and swim in the glorious pools of my imagination. I could visit the land of Heather, my beloved Scotland.  I could and would be an ambassador of sorts for those who couldn't dig deeply into the folds of their own brains. Through me, they could travel, instantly, spontaneously, excitedly, oh so very sensually vividly.  The crimson laced clouds floating aimlessly as they melt into deeper azure skies; glancing back to see if someone is following me, I hope he is there. I hope he remembered to bring his kilt. (He doesn't actually have to wear it really, not if he's willing to give a grin or two while he removes it.) I won't tell anyone.

    My mind allows me to escape at a moment's notice. Faster really. I can release reality like it's nothing more than smoke on the tip of a fat brown cigar, burning ash and forever gone. Even the lingering vapors of validity would convey the impression that I was someplace where fairies danced and fiesty weasels whispered in dreamlike woodlands. Who wouldn't want to be with me there? I want to be with me there right now; the only thing holding me back is the fact that I'm about to fall asleep and bid my mind hello for a few restful hours; hours I cherish on a daily basis. I only wish I could be more catlike and sleep more often. Dreams become my playground, my body wrapped in veiled thin ribbons, colors, textures, laces, light. I don't remember being here before, but if this is where I'm going to be I'll remember it so I can in fact return again; another night.

    There are times when I wonder who that man may be, if there will be one, who can release his own mind long enough from fear and fret to wiggle and twist a dance with me through airy breezes cascading from sapphire lifts just before dusk calls the two of us to her breast. Makes me wonder what this poor man ever did to God to serve such penance as to remain with me, and what wonderful peace I may have been mercifully shown for the same gift from Almighty God...my pleasure to be his woman if he will be my man. There is but one. There can not be more. The poor soul must truly be repentant for something in his past to be charged with trying to wrangle my spirit while we tickle each other through the mossy clover on the moors of my mind. Whatever it is that he has committed against our Holy Father, I am grateful. But a dream - - is a dream. 

    Tonight is another night, the end of a summer month, the beginning of another time. Tonight is a genesis of sorts for mind's ardor, for my excitement of what is to be, what is to come, what is to be revealed. Tonight I rest and rest well, I live to draw breath enough to sustain another fantasy full and ripe with the fruit from the valley. I am again able to stare into the darkest of skies to see the tiny pinpricks of light declaring that there is a Heaven I will be a resident there one day; just not today. Tonight I rest and I know that the very stars I gaze upon are being seen far far away by perhaps the man who is wondering if he would ever be given another chance to love. 

    When I am awake I know that there is no one strong enough to be my captain; not at this time. I am a force to be reckoned with; myself refusing to be tamed. When I am ready, when God is willing, there will be a partner to my spinning, there will be one to remove my ribbons and hold me against his form. There will be a man dear enough, strong enough, faithful enough to God to be my everything but not tonight; tonight I dream. Tonight I wonder. I imagine. I smile. 

Photo Credit: Ean Grimm

My Prayers WILL be Answered. It's a Promise!

 God made me several promises in the Bible. He made the very same promises to you too, but I'm not here to talk about you, nope, today is ME day. It's all about ME today. My prayers will be answered and in God's time, not mine because if it were up to me I would have stopped praying a long time ago. My ego gets the best of me from time to time, and when I'm pissed off about someone or something I tend to throw up my hands and make about 10 or 11 excuses, telling God why it is that I'm going to stop praying for so-and-so, and I don't give a damn if he rots in his own stew, he made it, he put the water on to boil, he jumped into the kettle, and he can burn! That's usually how the conversation goes on my end. I'm in the closet sitting in my little chair, dog on her pillow because if I open the closet door she knows where she's supposed to be.  God told us if two hearts are gathered He'll be there too - - Ginger's heart counts.

    I'm in the closet today following a brief little pissy fit that I had after going online to check something I had posted, only to find out that someone had blocked me from their social media site (mind you, I don't know when they did it, but the timing was suspicious as I had just posted that the person was having a birthday the next day, and BAM, I'm blocked.) Really? They're going to come unglued because the world at large may find out that they're having a birthday?  OK, let's go over the logic on that one.  He fills out papers for employment, he lists his birthday. He fills out applications for loans, bank accounts, store accounts, credit accounts, school records, emergency records, insurance records, rental leases, medical help, and oh, I don't know a 100 other things, but go ahead and ban Jude when she mentions it on a site that may get 200 views over the next 3000 days. Yes, that makes complete sense.

    What doesn't make sense is why anyone in 2021 could think that they could ever actually ban anyone on social media! I'm the least (very least) techy person I know, and yeah, I know I can just make another account under the same platform and go look at his site again -- this is where Bart Simpson would say "Duh!"  I won't be that rude. I'll just giggle and make another account -- IF I GIVE A DAMN that is. I may not. I may give God a few more excuses today so I don't actually have to pray for the guy until maybe tomorrow; you know, on HIS BIRTHDAY! 

    So, what I've decided to do is double down. That's right, I can get back 10 fold by just grabbing my rock and holding it ever so tightly while I sit up and pray to Jesus not only for the strength to put up with such rudeness, but to try and understand the emotions that he may be creating in his own soul. I am damn damn damn lucky in that I've never allowed fear or anxiety to have a foothold in my life. I have struggled with being empathetic and I've worked hard at creating compassion for those who do go through such struggles because I was that jerk who dusted my hands of people like this, saying "stop bellyaching and grow some".  It wasn't until maybe just two years ago after following this particular man's journey and listening to his podcasts, reading what I can, and hearing what I can through his life's challenges that I have had an INKLING of compassion -- I was just not there. I counted it weakness on their part for being unable to control their emotions and I bomblasted people who used their emotions as an excuse -- that's who I was.  Was.

    Prayer is a two-edged sword.  God saw to it that when I was praying for my new "friend" to find his strength, to have his peace, that I was actually praying the same thing for myself. I didn't realize it, but I was.  I was saying "God, I'm not able to find love for these people" and God has been passing it out to me in bits and pieces, small chunks that I can chew and swallow. I am learning. It's difficult at best, but I am absolutely learning.  When I worked for the State of Oklahoma in an agency that literally dealt with people with emotional and physical disabilities,  I was the least empathetic person on the planet. Not one of them was remotely able to convince me that they weren't where they were by their own mistakes of either using drugs, misusing drugs, being an alcoholic, or whatever  -- I just didn't care. I gave them the polite nod, I did my best to get them out of my office, and if that meant helping them in some way or another I forced myself to do it. For me, for selfish selfish egotistical reasons.

    But just a few weeks after discovering this guy online and listening to his music, reading his words, listening to his testimony, and doing a bit of recognizance on his past -- I was gifted, yes, gifted, BY GOD, and told (not asked) to pray for the man. I began doing it without even knowing his name. I thought it was something else for about 2 months until I took the time to look on the LP I had purchased to see what his actual name was.  Prayers and more prayers and with these prayers came to an overwhelming sense of discernment from God where this man was concerned. I began KNOWING things, finding them, being told things, paying attention, and realizing things about him - - and this led me to feel as if I had the right to care. I may be wrong, but it is what it is. I can't help it, I care.

    So, to be blocked from his site was just that. I was blocked. OK. Back to the closet, it is, and let me tell you, the rock is hot, it's on fire, and the dog has begun woofing it up a bit too. Prayers ascend and they will not stop ascending until God gives me the queue to stop - - wanna bet that doesn't happen? I've been praying now for so long that God and I have no need to start and finish. I don't have to say Amen, and He knows I know who He is. He is the promise keeper. He is the One. He is the Master, and He is the one who I KNOW will answer every prayer I ask for - - every single one of them because He said so, and then get this, HE PUT IT IN WRITING.  Mark 11:24, Matthew 7:7, Psalms 37:4, and on and on and on the list goes. YOU SIR, friend, will NOT block me - - because you don't have that power now, do you? NOPE, you are just a man. That is it, you are no more than what you are - - a beautiful, wonderful, inspirational, dynamic, creative, complex soul - - who needs prayer. You need a warrior and not a warrior who's going to give up on you -- you have one of those already. Oh, she went there. Sorry, I do get pissy and rude too, at times. God's still working on me.

    Until the day we meet in Glory I will lift you to His throne, and I might just pray that God puts you on your damn ear and set you straight so that you realize that you really are worth something to someone!  GET OVER IT. You are welcome!

Homelessness for Children

 I could bore you with all the gory details, the stats on how many kids today are either homeless or without a bed to sleep in at night. I could tell you the numbers, draw your attention to the data, and cause your brain to dull out from overload; but I would rather just get your attention another way. I've been teaching in one capacity or the other since the beginning of the 21st Century. Though it doesn't seem like it. Sometimes it seems like it's been 100 years while other times I barely know I've learned anything at all about the profession. If I'm not learning on a daily basis I feel that I'm falling far behind my peers. One thing for certain that I do know without having to look it up in a book, online, or use a lifeline, is that children who are homeless do not thrive in educational environments due to the very base facts that they are displaced physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. These kids have a greater chance of self-harm than any other demographic.  Look it up. It's real.

    By nature (and perfect design) a child is brought into the world through the same old-fashioned way that every last one of us arrived here. We were either conceived in love or happenstance, but we were conceived and if we're living and breathing we were born. We weren't hatched and we weren't made in a baby factory, found under a cabbage, or brought to the doorstep by a big gangly stork. We were born. We may have been born to good parents; as being homeless does not mean that the people who find themselves in this situation are innately bad, but many are born into homelessness, abandonment, and in a general state of playing catch up from the day they arrived. It's not uncommon in my particular school district to run across kids who have lived on the streets for more than two years running. Some of the more grounded homeless kids are those who in fact have adapted to their living arrangements, be that as they may be. Some of the more challenging homeless students are the ones whose parents have only recently found themselves under more exigency times, and now they must face unbearable decision making regarding whether or not they can even find a way to get their child to school, to the place where he or she will at least be warm for eight hours, be fed breakfast and lunch, and at least have a roof over their heads for now.  No wonder these kids show up early and leave later in the day.

    A kid without a bed is a drastic thing. Sure, there are families living with other families too, and crowding too many faces into a house, I get that. We see that as often as we see kids living in cars, under bridges, and literally inside the bus stops. Driving to work each morning I pass the same woman and her two young daughters who have made rest at the back of a church; the church can't allow her to come into the building when it's closed, but at least I feel that when it is open they may allow her to wash up, use the restroom and maybe do something for her. I have stopped to talk with her, but she doesn't speak English and she's not willing to get too close to someone she fears could turn her over to authorities. It must be gut-wrenching for some of these immigrants who expose their souls to give their families a new way of life only to find themselves begging for bread and a place to wash their hands each day.  Dealing with issues I've never had to deal with, have really only read about and watched on television; these parents and children walk it, talk it, breathe it, move it, manage it, and when they can't manage it they lose it. I feel so helpless when I realize I can't do much more than pray.

    One of the statistics that just goes right through me is the fact that a homeless child is nine times more likely to fail a grade than any housed child.  A homeless child is displaced usually more than three times during a school year, and each time he or she is displaced, moved around, they lose nearly all of the educational study they may have begun to retain. The new school may not be teaching the same things, or it could be teaching exactly what the child has already gone over, so yeah, they may get that lesson down, but not the one before it which wasn't taught at the older school, but now maybe forever lost and you know there isn't time to go back over the who, what, when, where, why, and how of the "Tell-Tale Heart" or "The Giver" when the real questions sound more like "Where am I going to sleep, what am I going to eat, who is going to try to hurt me, when will this be over, and how do I even cope with all of this?"  

    Interestingly, one of my homeless students told me she was homeless. I think she did this because she understands that under Oklahoma law I must report it to the Department of Human Services, and maybe they can find her a shelter or a better way to cope.  She wanted me to know that even though she wasn't living in a home, more like a tent in the woods (her words) she would read every word of every story because it gave her an escape from her reality.  I couldn't hold back my emotions. I couldn't restrain my tears. We're not supposed to hug the kids really, those days have passed, but I couldn't stop myself from reaching for her and just squeezing her.  I let her know that if she ever needed more books she could take them. If she ever wanted more paper, pens, just anything I could provide, to let me know. You know I'm that teacher that finds a way to sneak an extra bit of string cheese, apple, Pop-Tarts, or something to the ones I know are struggling.

    When you think about the school year starting, and all you can think about is COVID-19 or if the school's teachers or students are wearing masks on their faces, change your thoughts every now and again to the harder colder reality that there are students who slept outside last night without blankets. There are students who eat once a day if they are lucky, and can only really get food at the schools.  Think of the kids who fight for everything they have, which may include the one pair of jeans they wear every day because they just don't have anything else. It is never, and I mean NEVER the kid's fault that they are homeless -- as a society, we need to do so much more, and I'm not talking about just building shelters. We need to build relationships. We need to understand that one terminated father or mother could lead to four starving children who lose it all -- over what? The father or mother may have used their cell phone during work hours to call home?  We have too many issues in this country to deal with to have to be so petty as to release parents from their jobs for lesser reasons.  The consequences are dramatic in most cases.  

    The Bethany Christ Trust, a homeless shelter and social refuge for people in crisis is a great place (in Scotland) helping more than 7,000 homeless people, many of them students, on a daily, weekly, monthly, annual basis.  We need more places like BCT here so kids can go into a safe place to talk to adults, get to know people who care, understand that there are ways to survive drastic circumstances. Through God, through Jesus, through the Spirit, there are ways to share our love and our resources. Until we come to these conclusions we are destined to repeat the strangely routine methods we've used for too long and that have caused so much damage.  A homeless child is five times more likely to succeed with a suicide attempt because they truly want out of their current pressures.  We need to stop that before it becomes six times, seven times, and more. We need to know the signs and be willing to reach out when our hearts are pricked - - will you help?

    Some of the signs that a child is homeless are: 

    They pull away from crowds, lay their heads down to rest more, hoard food, steal money and food, show up to school really early and stay really late. They often wear the same things, but they aren't clean most of the time. They talk about the days they had a house, if you listen to the way they say things you'll understand they are speaking in the past tense. When they had a house. When they were OK.  We should all be a part, or willing to be a part, to end this horrific reality for others. We are blessed.  We are given the responsibility to do more with that blessing. There, but by the grace of God, go each and every last one of us. Literally. 

    

Photo Credit: UNICEF

Let's Have a Real Conversation About Self Worth

 I won't apologize for the content of this blog. This is going to be one of those times when the truth needs to be not only told but heard.  This is one of those times when I speak my mind because it may assist or help others to understand that it really is OK not to be OK all the time. You're allowed to feel down, you're allowed to be upset, you're allowed to be angry about a situation as long as you also take a moment to fully understand and appreciate that even if something is your fault, you are not defined by your mistakes. You are defined by how you respond and what you do after you realize you've made the mistake. You simply cannot beat yourself up over and over again about something you may have been a party to that got out of hand. Own your mistake, yes, but move forward from it, and learn from it. No one has the right to strong-arm you (bully) into believing you are worthless or worth less. There is a difference.

    YOU are a magnificent being in and of yourself. Our God, Himself, made you in such a way as to be uniquely crafted. Not only are you made in His image, but He literally only made one of you. You are therefore the best you out there, and not one of us, no matter who we are, can say you are less valued than ourselves or anyone else. YES...yes, there are those people who live and breathe by trying to one-up someone else and when that person, or a person like that, is married to a person who has a history of PTSD, lower self-worth, or anxiety, it can really be a volatile and vulnerable thing indeed. I am talking very specifically here, and where I know that my friend will read this blog and understand I am speaking about him, this blog is also about others who are too hurt to step forward; thank God my friend is strong enough to allow me to share a bit of his story to help those who live (and have lived) through similar circumstances. Where this story may or may not fit your story to a T, it may strike a chord, or it may ring a bell, and if it does, I want you to KNOW, not think, but to KNOW that there are people out there who will never condone such behavior - - it's not that hard to find us. Look for us! We want to help.

    My very close friend is a man. He is currently going through a divorce that he realizes now is long long overdue. Not one of us, his friends or family, would have wanted or hoped that his 17-year marriage would end in such a manner. He and his wife have two daughters, they raised and fostered another child who is grown now and living on his own. They have started a very successful business together, and when the divorce is settled, he will likely buy her portion of the business out so that he can work on rebuilding all that he has lost over the past few years to her constant abusive behavior and attitude which manifested itself both emotionally and finally (after many years of verbal abuse) into physical abuse. I say finally because once the physical abuse began and (we'll call him John) John could determine that what she was actually doing was wrong, he finally found help through speaking to male friends who he believed would understand.  He was absolutely too embarrassed to tell any of his close friends who were female because what he was going through was quite difficult to express in words that we would comprehend. When He did tell me what was happening, I just stood in my tracks and wanted to cry for him. I wasn't sure if I could even reach out and hug him, or if even that sort of touch would bring back painful flashbacks of what he has been enduring over the past few years as the abuse escalated.

    John is in his late 30's and his wife is just a few years older. She had been married before and claimed to have been abused. John felt that she would be a perfect partner because of her history with being abused, perhaps she would be able to understand his emotional stress (baggage) from being left to fend for himself as well as to try and defend himself against an accusation that labeled him undesirable as far as society was concerned.  He wasn't actually guilty of the crime he was accused of, but through low self-worth, he confessed to something he didn't do in order to protect who he thought loved him. Not only did it leave him with a permanent criminal record, but his character was also scarred as well, making it very difficult for him to be employed if he was to be around money, children, or older people who needed specialized care.  Because his degree was in Music, John wanted to teach and become a music minister for a church. Those dreams were flushed when he admitted to a crime his partner had committed.

    When he met his wife she seemed ideal.  She was pretty, young enough to still want to start a family with him, and she even suggested that he stay home and raise the kids. She had a son she was raising, a foster child who was 7 or 8 by this time. They began a modest life in a modest house, in a modest part of England where he was rarely questioned about his past.  Things were rocking along rather well until he wanted to bring more of his own personality to the forefront, which of course meant she would need to take over some of the house duties. Her argument was that she already "brought home the bacon" and she felt that she was cutting him a deal by "allowing" him to be unseen and under wraps. Isn't that what he wanted? Why was he trying to be more now? After ten years she had grown to understand that his role was at home while hers was in public where she would be honored and praised for all of the hard work she was willing to do, all of the sacrifices she had to make because he was apparently not capable of bringing in a decent income with his past haunting him, literally dogging him, and biting at his heels constantly.  It's just that John had found a way to put his past behind him, over time, and now he wanted to let the world see his talents as a writer and singer; couldn't he have the best of both worlds? Wouldn't she as his partner and wife want him to achieve more? He thought so, but he was mistaken.

    There were highs and lows, ebbs and flows, ups and downs, and when I tell you that I heard about every one of these events I am being 100% honest with you. I listened to John, I talked with his wife. I watched them, I asked questions. I prayed for their marriage. I prayed for their singular hope of becoming one again, being strong enough to work through it. Both of them were Christians, I wanted the best for the girls mostly. Having to hear mom and dad fuss and fight constantly is just no way to live, they say the children are always the victims, and where that's true, John was certainly hurt pretty hard.  

    I would say it started with lies about him at the office. She told family members he would say or do things he never said or did. These were things he would not likely ever be told about, but the looks were unmistakable and the comments at times, were just a bit too telling too.  She had obviously begun expanding on those stories, maybe exaggerating just enough to garner a bit of pity for herself. Isn't that the standard game plan?  Eventually, it came down to John realizing that he was being lied about and he stood up for himself a couple of times, only to be slammed back into his hole of depression and anxiety when the two were alone at home and she was literally blaming him for why they couldn't have nice things, go on fun vacations, or keep a bit of money in savings. He was always to blame, it was his fault for not working, not bringing in enough money, but if he worked they would have to find daycare for the girls, and it would all wash out in the end. These were the years that he was needed at home, and with COVID and lockdown, there was absolutely no way he could go out and get a job making enough to cover daycare when the girls were home from school!  Lockdowns caused a few couples to focus in on what those vows actually meant. No one expected for better or worse to be worse. Not really.

    Those vows we take are real.  For better or worse is not optional. It is what it is. For richer or poorer is gut-wrenching when poorer shows up, and then couples are expected through Christ to cherish too! What? I mean yeah, cherish is sort of thing.  How many actually fulfill that one on a daily (hourly) basis after years of marriage? Most couples struggle to meet eye to eye on finance, sex, raising children, discipline, school work, housekeeping, jobs, religion, and politics.  I know my own parents were rather unique in this manner, I can honestly say that my daddy worshipped the ground my momma walked on, and she, to the day he died, breathed his air as if it were her own. They were in love; but they were not without issues, arguments, troubles.  I will tell you this openly, my daddy never laid a hand on my mother, and she would have never dreamed of hurting him either.  John's wife never met my parents, and apparently, for her, it was acceptable to slap his face from time to time when she was upset. After the face came the punch to the stomach, and after she got away with that enough times, she punched him in the groin so hard that he was sent to the E.R. TWICE.  

    My eyes well up when I think about it.  My throat begins to close when I imagine the pain that both of them went through to get to the point that they could harm the one they promised to stand beside come what will, come what may.  It took eleven hard, long, agonizing months of abuse before John began sleeping separately, and another year before he finally broke down and began making plans to leave his wife.  Not being the breadwinner, he had to plan a way to escape without losing his children. He had to find employment, be able to obtain, maintain, and manage his own apartment, but having never had a place in his own name before, that was not an easy task. He didn't have any family to help. One of our friends co-signed. I couldn't as I wasn't in England. I wanted to. I sent money because money is all I could send.  (and love of course)

    John's history of self-hate kicked in, but he was such a pro at wearing the mask of civility that we were fooled for such a long time. He would say he was fine. He and his wife appeared at parties, online, in photos, memes, comments, you name it, they looked perfect -- that was the goal. They pulled it off, and no one was the wiser, but everyone was the loser in this scenario.  No one comes out smiling or smelling like a rose when abuse is the flavor of the day over and over again. My God, and I mean it, MY GOD, I am thankful that John stopped his madness and was strong enough to put an end to his anguish.  His suffering was longstanding, it was overt, it was covert, it was detailed in his prayers but not to anyone who would have beaten back the jungle to find a way to help him. I can't imagine the sorrow his heart created for itself having to suffer for so long alone. Literally alone because he didn't want anyone to know of his defeat.  He placed the blame of it all on himself. This is so typical of those who have been through such terror; it's a vicious incredible cycle that can't stop if someone doesn't seek help. We didn't know his wife was secretly drinking, staying out late with "friends" and gambling online.  He hid those facts to protect her, trying to get her the help he felt she needed. All the while, every time she screwed up, somehow it was his fault. 

    Oh, I beg you. I plead with you, and I implore you to please ask for help if someone is hurting you or making you feel as if you are to blame for something they are doing but they are too much of a coward to let you stand on your own.  I pray you will seek God's help, man's help, friend's help, church help, some sort of real help to get out from the quagmire that can cause you to conjure imagines of yourself being less than what you are - - YOU ARE AWESOME!  If you haven't done so yet today, please thank God for your existence. I don't know you, but you being here is glorious, and we are all connected somehow. If you weren't here we would all be less -- you make us more. You fulfill us. We are all subject to being hurt. Let's all be willing to stand up and help when we can. 

    That really is all I have to say about it - - except that I am so proud of John for realizing that even though he has put 17 years into this relationship, he doesn't have to continue it if it means he is forced to be held back and put down for having his own opinion and desires. He is truly a hero to me today. God made a really good one when He made John and when the rapture comes, and you're up there - - you'll find him someday, he'll be the one smiling, knowing that God never makes mistakes, and John (and you) are proof of that fact. 

Photo Credit: Psycho2Go

    

Southern is as Southern Does

 So, yeah, it may just be a Southern thang, but I do put melted cheddar cheese on top of my hot homemade apple pie. Don't get me wrong, if I have to buy the pie from the store, I'm still slicing off a chunk of good old sharp cheddar and sticking that puppy in the microwave.  (Please don't write to me asking me if I stick puppies in microwaves.)  I love my apple pie, and yes ma'am, yes sir, I do love my cheddar cheese on top of it. I know, you can do ice cream alongside it too if you want to, but it needs to be vanilla. Some days call for chocolate, I understand that fact, but not apple pie with cheddar days. You need to get your Southern book out for that one and maybe highlight the paragraph that talks about it, maybe dogear the corner of the page so you can find your place when you need to show your friends.

    Now that I think about it, maybe I should just go off and write an actual book about Southern thangs we do, and why is it that we do them. We're not uncommon, not rare, just Southern, and we do things. We don't always ask why we do things, but we know why we do them - - we do them because our mommas did them, and we do them because their mommas did them, and you never argue with your granny, not if you know what's good for you. So, if you're Southern, and you mind your granny, you do what she and your momma do and did and you just shrug your shoulders a bit to explain it. You can even roll your eyes as long as neither one of them is looking at you when you do it. Make sure you turn your back when you roll those eyes, and check to be sure your little cousins aren't watching too closely. 

    Southern ladies are apt to just say some of the craziest things you've ever heard come out of a woman's mouth. One minute she's sweet as strawberry cream fillin' and the next she's sharper than a brass tack glued to a chair seat. You're gonna feel it when she snaps at you. God save your ass if she ever shakes her head and calmly tells you everything's fine - - it ain't fine. Walk away, don't turn your back, just walk away.  My Southern roots feel a bit deeper now and then, especially when I reach for a garden hose to get a drink and cool myself off from working the horses. I may just jump in their water trough with my boots on; it's easier to do that than to walk back to the barn with socked feet and picking up stickers along the way. Leather dries. 

    I've even been known (from time to time) to cuss a man up one side and another for not fixing whatever it was that I paid him to fix, but then turned around and talked to him at church that next Sunday as if nothing ever happened. He knows what he didn't do. I know what he didn't do, then when it comes time for me to talk to Jesus and say I'm sorry for cussing at the man, I tell him I have to talk to Jesus but when I do I'm going to tell Jesus the truth about what happened and why it was that I had to lose my mind for a second. I usually get an apology out of the man and a promise to come back and do the job right because he knows I'm likely to ask Jesus to put him on his ear for stealing my money! If I had to be honest about it, I'd tell you that Jesus already knows both sides to the story, and He's used to me explaining things before I get around to asking for forgiveness; He made me. He knows me.

    I wasn't born in a posh upper-middle-class family where I was sent off to boarding school to learn how to be proper and to say things in such a way that my point is made with gentility and quaint precision. No, this woman is a Southern woman, and not just a Southern woman, but I'm from the Great State of Oklahoma, where it can confidently be said that I am a football fanatic, love my Sooners, swear and cuss by them, and if I don't like what's coming out of your mouth I may open up my mouth to not only add a couple of cents worth of my opinion, but I'm likely to adjust your skull and bend your ear backward until you see things my way -- again, being a woman it's probably going to end up being my way anyway - - and then I'll probably ask you if you've eaten yet, and tell you that dinner is at six. I'll even let you know what I'm cooking! Yes, I will expect you to be there if I let you know I'm cooking, and yes, I do expect you to eat whatever it is that I make. That's another Southern thang; but yeah, it's a good thang.

    Most Southern women are good-hearted women, long-suffering, quick to get a little pissy (not drunk, but upset) and we're likely to call you a fool, thump you on the head, or simply shake our heads and say "Bless your heart"   It's all the same thing -- you're an idiot, we know it, you know it, now the world knows it, so either straighten up or get the boot. We're into boots here too, they may not be pretty and all dainty like, maybe some of them even have a little stink still left on them from cleaning a stall or two, but it's better to be kicked by a boot anyway than one of those stiletto heels, right? I would think so. That all being said, you should know that being a Southern woman in these days just is not (ain't) the same as it was back in the day -- we're sort of losing our touch if you ask me.  Used to be a Southern woman could stare you down and give you the stink eye and you didn't have to ask what was going on in her pretty little head - - today I've seen idiots ask her to let them know what she's thinking - - mind you, it takes a fairly good-sized fool to do that. 

    If you're only been around women from up north of the Mason-Dixon line, and you're not understanding what I'm saying, do yourself a favor and come sit a spell down South. Grab a chair on the porch, sit back, and enjoy momma's sweet tea with maybe a buttered biscuit if she's got any left from breakfast. Pour a little honey on it, and just listen to the ladies talk. You don't have to chime in if you don't want to, just listen to them jabber on about what it is that caught their attention, what they did during the day, what Sunday's sermon had to add to the way she decided to handle herself, and let her sweet drawl just lure you into knowing you're going to be OK soon enough. We get over whatever it is that got over on us pretty quickly - - that's another really really good thang about Southern women, we know how to hold a helluva grudge if we need to, but most of the time we let it go - - if you stay out of our kitchens. (Stay out of our kitchens)

    

I Had to Laugh

 Laughter, they say, is the medicine of the soul. It can literally bring a person out of his or her depressed mental state and into a world full of warm fuzzy love within seconds of its first gutsy blast! Try it. Just bust out laughing and try not to spew snot out of your nose when you do it. That could be embarrassing! I came across a post today of a friend who said he wasn't in the best of places but he decided to watch a few funny videos to help his heart out, and it worked. It made me think of what I do when I'm feeling down, and what I do when I know I need to get rid of the misery goats that seem to stick around now and then for no cause.  What do I do? I try to remember the most embarrassing moments in my life where I made either the biggest mistakes that led to the world having a good laugh or when the world made a mistake or two that worked in my favor.  Today was one of those days!

    You may or may not know that I'm a teacher, but I am. I am active, as of this date anyway, working at a middle school in the Oklahoma City area. I teach 8th grade English at the very school where I went to school in fact. I am standing in the same spot where my teachers stood as they tried their best to wrangle a lanky knobby-kneed teenage spirit clown whose only goal in life was to get out of as much work as possible. Yep, that was me. Here I am, (karma much) wrangling and wrestling with kids trying to do the same thing to me! Oh, but no friend, I have the upper hand. I know exactly what I did and know how to counter their (likely) every move.  Somehow or another I began making a list this morning of all the things I did back in the day, and when I pried open my mind's treasure baskets, dusted off the year, and looked for the little nuggets I knew must be hidden deep inside, I found a few.  

    As a kid, somewhere between ages 13-14, I was the one doing gymnastics up and down the hallways. It didn't matter if all the other kids were walking down or up those halls, you'd hear me screaming at the top of my lungs "gangway" just before catching a wee glimpse of flailing arms and legs, pounding thump, thump, thump, as I pushed my body into no less than 10-12 back handsprings before finishing with a full Sumi, quite often kicking into a Russian split at the end before landing. Please, no, don't expect that to happen now, that's why God made arthritis. To remind me I'm not 14 at the moment. Nope, not even close. The good news is, I remember running into people, knocking into people, smashing into people, rolling over on top of people, and thankfully, no one was seriously injured. At least the teachers knew to step aside. Age has its experienced advantages.

    Did I get in trouble for this behavior? What kind of question is that? Of course, I got in trouble. I stayed in trouble. If at all possible, I may have invented trouble. I'm not really sure, but yeah, it was my closest ally and friend. We hung out all the time, and when I wasn't with "Trouble", I was with "Annoying" and "Obnoxious" because that is who I was. I would say that's who I am, but again, age has it's advantages - - sometimes.  I was given detention. I cleaned the bottoms of thousands of desks. I dusted the gym floors with floppy mops, I watered the plants outside the science rooms. I helped the janitor empty trash -- it was almost as if I thought or believed it was my assignment, but in reality, it was supposed to detour me from flipping up and down the hallways -- it wasn't the best solution to their problem. Even calling my mom to address the issue was fruitless. She tried, don't get me wrong. I agreed to stop -- but yeah, no. I didn't stop.  Once a spirit clown, I suppose always a spirit clown.

    Today, I looked up a few things online that teachers have to deal with on a daily basis at the junior high or middle school level.  I'm surprised really that any of us teachers are still employed. We choose to stay, for the most part, you know that.  If you're a parent of a middle-school-aged kid, do yourself and the community a favor, and either be a parent or at least thank the teachers for attempting to guide your kid in the right directions.  Today a teacher puts up with cussing, spitting, fighting, throwing furniture, not turning in work, cheating, refusing to work, gross disrespect, name-calling, bullying, sexual harassment, scantly dressed kids, kids with drug issues, kids bringing weapons to school, kids not showing up and no one really cares to check out their whereabouts. We deal with so much these days that a girl flipping down the hallways just may be a reprieve of some sort. Maybe not.

    When someone asks me what I do, and the answer I can give is that I am a teacher, you know they never want to change jobs with me. They typically shake their heads and say "Well, I'll pray for you" or they say, "I don't know how you do it."  Their suspicions of what is actually happening are not wrong. They are not far off if they imagine the worst. It's just a mad situation at best, and only goes uphill from there.  There is, however, a light at the end of the tunnel for me. I remember every day that I'm the one who is the pole. I don't move, I don't budge, I don't alter, and the students are expected to come to me. They are expected to learn from me, they are expected to hear me and to follow my direction. If they don't I am not responsible, but I am ultimately the one who has the power to attempt a change in their lives for the better.  Just think, for this position I've chosen to do for this particular time, I'm paid just about as much as I would be paid if I were a clerk at a convenience store or the lead cashier at the grocery store.  Doesn't that fact make you want to drop what you're doing and put on that lanyard with your pretty picture on it? (Did I make you laugh with that one?) That's the goal.

    Laughing at myself for my decision to become a teacher again is the best and only way to survive the decision itself. I know that I'm really really good at this job, but no matter how great I may be, it has never and will never be enough.  Teaching takes far more than intelligence, patience, repetitive gestures, motions, and visual aids, it requires a sense of humor, you have to be able to laugh off the names you'll be called. You have to be able to laugh at the fact that you've just been called to the office again for something you know never happened, but you have to prove a negative to someone. You must be able to let it go when someone schedules a fire drill in the middle of a reading test - - let it go. It's only education. There will be another day to get back on track -- I think I am still trying to get back on track from 2014, but if I stop now to look I may miss the next train. Best to move forward.

    When the kids come into my room they may hear the Bee Gees blasting. They may see the lights off and realize I've turned on the rotating Christmas tree light thing that illuminates in blue, yellow, red, and green.  They may figure out that there are no desks or chairs because I felt that it may be more fun to sit on the floor or have a paper ball fight - - we may meet outside on the running track and go over Grammar rules, and anyone who screws up has to run a half lap.  You just can't get a grip on Dr. Stringfellow, and that's the way it should be. We need to have a bit of levity in our lives. I'm happy to be the one to bring it. Just don't turn your back too quickly. I may have whipped cream up my sleeve - - it could happen. Well, it has happened. It does actually happen. I'm THAT teacher. Is that a surprise to anyone? 

Photo credit: Waggoner Studios

Rapture Ready?

 With the new developments in the geopolitical world today, and by today I literally mean TODAY, there are some real reasons to look up; our redemption is drawing very very nigh.  The Rapture of the Church is a yet-future event, one of those things that the Bible is adamant about, but not really all that clear.  There are passages leading us to it, describing something but not fully stating with great detail exactly what it will seem or look like. You hear people say (in a form of argument) that the Rapture of the Church is not Biblical, or that it is modern preaching. This isn't true, and where I can prove that, I'll not waste my blog doing so. I'll just state that I know of at least 5 (five) stories in the Bible that show evidence of followers of Christ being separated from those who are not followers, and those beings being saved or protected while the others suffer.  One such story is the story of Daniel. It's no wonder we look to the Book of Daniel to couple it with the Book of Revelation when we discuss End Time(s) events.

    Daniel was spared while he was in the lion's den, but that's not the same "saving" as when he was taken from the "boys" and separated from them when they were charged with worshiping King Nebuchahnezer. The fact that Daniel was taken away prior to the boys being thrown into the furnace (a furnace that the Bible mentioned was 7 times hotter than usual; seven.) Shows a TYPE of Rapture of the Church, meaning that Daniel was spared the event of the furnace; the boys were saved in the middle of it, but did have to go through it. Jesus Himself stood with them, and they are a symbol of Israel going through the Tribulation. There are many other events showing a prior-to-punishment separation which is a TYPE of Rapture event. Let's not get bogged down in that right now, let's talk about how the fall of Kabul and future events will lead to the actual Rapture of the Church.

    Kabul, Afghanistan has fallen. It's not a secret that the United States has pulled out of the region. We can blame the Trump administration, we can blame the Biden administration, and we can blame the world at large. Let's stop for a minute to reflect on what the Bible has to say about these political events that take place at the END OF TIME so we can better understand the next steps that lead us to the taking away of the RESTRAINER (those of us who have the Holy Spirit in our souls) and what will occur at the time of the departure, and immediately following; both in Heaven for us, and on Earth for those who did not accept Jesus as their personal Savior. Yes, this is real, yes, this is happening, and no, I'm not crazy. Remember, I was called a conspiracy theorist a long time ago too; and now I'm a consultant for so many of my friends and family who can finally (FINALLY) see the dots being connected.

    Kabul is just step one.  Taliban (bad guys) take over, and we (not necessarily the good guys) aren't really stopping it. In fact, to the chagrin of many millions of people, the U.S.A. is simply washing our hands of a two-decade debacle, and moving forward (or backward as in retreat) but we are getting out and staying out of world police work. It's cheaper they say, and the liberals in charge of it all seem to think that is what will help our country focus on more domestic situations. What will happen now is that Taiwan will fall to China.  Syria will fall to Iran.  Russia will align with Iran and embrace Turkey, and together they will move to attack Israel to gain the "spoils" or goods that Israel, that tiny tiny little nothing country seems to have in droves. Why is that? Why does Israel always seem to have more than everyone else? Oh, simple answer; God put HIS name on Jerusalem many many years ago, and there's a matter of an eternal covenant that God made with Abraham and his descendants. ETERNAL doesn't mean it will end, it means it will not end.  Russia (though Orthodox) doesn't really agree with the way Revelation is written - - or how it ends. Watch.

    Taiwan will fall.  Israel will be threatened by Russia, Iran, Turkey. There will be a coalition of 10 major countries that come against Israel demanding spoils; gold, oil, strategic land, etc, and of course Israel will say no.  Saudi Arabia will verbally defend Israel without any weapons or force. Nations will rise against Israel, and there will be an incident in Damascus wherein the city is literally struck down annihilated overnight, one night, gone, poof! Sounds like nukes to me.  Whether this event is before or after the Rapture is not clear, but the war that takes place after that event must be after the Rapture according to the Word, so we know we are very very close to the departure of the Church simply because we have the following events taking place NOW, all at the same time the Bible said it would happen.

    COVID-19 and the disaster it has bestowed on the world. The Bible tells us in many verses, but one being Revelation 18:23 that the bride and bridegroom will no longer hear the world, but that the world will be deceived by the "sorcery".  The word "sorcery" is literally the Greek word "pharmakia" which is a word for poison and/or medicine. Think about it, the ENTIRE world was deceived recently by one thing; poison, a medicine, a lie.  The Bible says that at the time of the Rapture there will be earthquakes in many places, volcanoes erupting, rumors of war, specific nations named that will come against Israel, nations that were not in existence when they were written about. People like to say the word "Rapture" isn't in the Bible. Neither is the word "Trinity", or the word "Palestinian".  The Rapture is a concept; the Greek word "harpazo" is the word associated with the Rapture, it literally means to SNATCH UP in a very violent way, in the nick of time, as we like to quip. 

    So many more things are happening and taking place right now as they were spoken of in the Bible regarding the last days, the End Times, the days before the Judgement. As the Bridegroom loves His Bride, He takes her, snatches her way, just in the nick of time, and He marries her, protecting her forever in His Father's house. This is what will happen very soon, and when it does there will be another worldwide lie spread about how this could have happened to so many of us, and people will believe it. They have to believe it, if they don't they are faced with realizing that we nutters were right and they were freaking left behind to suffer the wrath of Almighty God -- which by the way, is exactly what will happen.  

    I can't say "Sorry" because I'm not. I'm absolutely stoked about going. I have been ready for years. I'm one of those Christians who thinks God has waited far too long, but that's my own problem, I am just a bit impatient. I know His time is better and that He will return when He's ready to do so. (Actually, Jesus doesn't even know when the Rapture is, He's waiting on His Father to give the word to grab the Bride!) You can bet He won't waste a full second after the go-ahead has been approved. Bam! We are so out of here.

    What now? Is it real? Sure it is.  Look around. America has to be gutted militarily before the things mentioned in the Bible could take place, and get this, America wasn't here when it was written, was it? Nope! Scotland, England, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, and Australia, nothing was formed at that time that would eventually become America; maybe Italy, but it wasn't called Italy, was it? Rome was there, and boy oh boy, does Rome ever play a big part in all of the End Time chaos with their Pope and the false prophet. Yes, it will be exciting and terrible times indeed - - for those who are left here to deal with it. Get the vax or be killed, get the mark or be killed, worship the leader or be killed, follow the laws and rules, or - - you get the picture. The Sun will become hotter, the wind faster, the days shorter, and it will be increasingly difficult to buy or sell without bowing to the all-seeing-eye-network that knows your every move - - thanks to Big Tech, most of our moves are known now. Spoiler: It gets so much worse.

    So yeah, the next event to take place on God's prophetic calendar isn't the Tribulation. It's the Rapture. It isn't another war. It isn't Damascus falling, it isn't anything. There is NOTHING that has to happen before the Rapture of the Church -- what will they say took place? What will they blame it on? Aliens? An EMP strike? A meteor hitting the grid? Who knows! God knows. POOF...gone. When that happens not only are the Christians leaving, those who are restraining the evil at this time; but also every single child, baby, simple-minded, and those unable to make decisions regarding their own salvation will be taken. GONE.  Just....gone. In less time than it takes to blink your eyes, literally NOT HERE anymore. EVERYTHING changes. Everything on this Earth will change and folks, it won't be for your betterment. It will be their agenda - - or death.

    There is hope.  Jesus has not come yet. You can go to this link, and you can read the simple plan of salvation. You can accept Christ now. The Roman Road is a very simplified manner to explain what you need to do in order to become a Christian. After you are saved, (become a Christian) you'll want to create for yourself a relationship with Jesus and with God, but the first step is to start the journey of asking for forgiveness and if for NO OTHER REASON, to avoid the Tribulation and eternal damnation in Hell. God, nor Jesus, will really care if you're only doing this to not go to Hell. The relationship with Him/Trinity will come afterward - - it's a given. You can't stop the Spirit from drawing you into their Love.

    Thank you for listening -- Go to Twitter and other sources to watch the events unfold. Find www.jdfarag.org online and watch a few videos of the prophecy updates.  Go to www.superiorword.org and listen to a few sermons by Charlie Garrett. All very good sources of learning and living and loving the Lord. This is real folks, and it's happening in our time right now. 

Photo Credit: Christianity.com 

Maca! Maca! Maca!

 If you could turn back time and not affect the way things turn out for you and your former lovers, would you do it? If you could replace time with health? If you could make choices in your daily living now that could and would produce great results both inside your body and on the outside as well? Would you be one of the likely people who would jump at the chance to be a better person with better blood flow, better vitality both in bed and on the gym floor? Would you opt-in to enhance your overall increased energy levels at the same time be able to boost your immune system and lessen (or reduce significantly) the effects of depression and anxiety? I know I would. I would be asking myself where in the world is this magical carpet that promises to take me places I've never been but should have gone to years ago! If only, right?  If only? Well, it's been here the entire time.

    We (you, me the other people) get so wrapped up in our daily routines that we don't seem to have time to listen to the advice of holistic healers and people who literally went to school to learn how to be better at nutrition than the average bear. We don't take the time to pay attention to what the good scientists are telling us about our current diets because we frankly don't want to know that what we're eating, what we're putting into our bodies, is trash. We want the ice cream. We want the sugar. We want the marshmallows dammit.  We don't want to be told that we need to be healthy all the time; we need less stress not more!! We don't want to have to figure out what is and what isn't good for us, just pass that chocolate bar over here and shut up, already! I know my body. I know what I need. (Wow, can we really be this ignorant? I guess we know the answer to that one.)

    I found another superfood today that I'm being told is well, super.  It's one of those roots that you have never heard of, and it's out there with all the other really cool super things that help us get to the state of better health, but we just can't seem to pick up the pace when it comes to the body race, can we? Nope, and because we can't seem to figure out what is and what isn't good for us, we end up taking the path of least resistance, which doesn't include doing a bit of study on something that sounds like it belongs in a Brazilian rainforest.  I need to look up where the thing came from before I throw out geographical locations, shouldn't I? I'll be right back.  OK, hey, I'm back.  Maca root comes from Peru, up in the Andes mountains, and in surrounding areas.  Good stuff.

    Maca is being touted as one of those quiet roots that packs a really super punch that is bursting with vitamins B1, B2, B6, Vitamin C, and so much more. Some of the benefits being discussed in major medical journals and online include the effects that Maca root powder (ground) has on people regarding depression, stress, and anxiety. The common consensus is that this root can and does help with a person's mental acuity and will come pert-near close to stopping an anxiety attack before it has had time to form in one's mind. It literally alters the hormones that send stress signals to the brain. It helps with blood flow, and increases semen count as well as assisting in the prevention of prostate cancer. If it did nothing else, a man would probably want to take the root on a daily basis for the added benefit(s) of being happy and feeling less pressured throughout the day - - and into the night, gentlemen.

    Ladies, it also reduces stress and pressure on the lady parts during the menstrual period and during menopause, causing a woman to feel both relaxed and without pressure mentally and emotionally, as again, it alters the balance of the hormones which are being sent out during the day that tell us we need to go faster, do more, be top dog, etc. We don't have to compete with ourselves as much as some of us think is necessary, and Maca root powder is there to help you remember that life is really more about balance and enjoying the little things in life; you know, like rest and being content rather than being all revved up!  Take a moment to remember the last time you just sat back and listened to the birds singing or watched the sunset without feeling that you had to get something done before dark; let it go.

    Maca root powder is cheap too, one of those things you don't have to go far to find, and it's useful and accessible at more health food stores and online. I literally went to Amazon and found 10-15 choices of sellers all within a few dollars of one another. The carb count is really low, and it won't stretch your budget whatsoever. You'll be happy you helped yourself be happy. You'll enjoy the benefits of healthier bone mass, good or better complexion, elevated happy hormones, and yes, there's the whole better sex thing -- it's a claim I'm not going to test right away, but it's good to have an ace in the hole when I need one. (Ace in the hole? That didn't come out the way I thought it would. Wait... never mind, I need to stop before I completely embarrass myself.)

    Maca root powder.  Super root powder.  You'll be happier than you thought root powder. Do it. 

My Pen and I

 "To be honest" is the absolute mantra that I use when recording my thoughts in my journal. I have rarely been shy about allowing others to read what I write, and very rarely have I chosen to disguise what I write for the sake of hiding truths. I would rather someone I love to read exactly what I'm thinking and feeling so that they are not left in the dark. I would rather someone that I love to have access to my soul than wonder about what it is that I'm harboring in my thoughts. Writing the words isn't the hard part, words come out of me l like water from a spout, but there does seem to be a problem at times when people (those few brave enough) read what I wrote minutes, hours, days ago, and they have or take issue with what it is that I happen to be feeling - - should I have lied? Should I have been deceptive? Should I have hidden the journal away? It's not easy to hide over 130 books.  Even if I wanted to hide the latest journal from any and all eyes to read there would be no reason to do it. I am nothing if not transparent. Sometimes brutally. 

    My brilliant, wonderfully intuitive son-in-law Brandon ("Brandola") once quipped to me that if he were to ever come into the room where I am writing, and he sees me with my head down, eyes fixed and pen flying at 100 miles an hour, he knows I'm really upset about something and won't bother me. He does however admit to having gone back to the table where I laid the journal down so he could read whatever it was that I was writing because he wanted to be sure to be aware of whatever it was that was coming down the pike. He said that way he would have been prepared for it had I been angry at him; he could better fix a problem before it grew out of control.  What insight! He's still with us after more than 11 years, so yeah, he's a keeper. He gets me.

    My former husband, a man I have very few amicable words for, was not so marvelous as my Brandola. There was a day, a dreadful and incredibly hurtful day in 1997 when my ex decided to rape my soul before pouring gasoline over it and setting it on fire before the world.  Not only did this man read my journal, and find out exactly what it was that I was thinking of him and what I believed he was capable of doing, he (while I was working) collected over 12 years of my life's writings in over 160 notebooks, and he burned them in the hearth of our home just before my birthday - on my birthday he presented me with a box of ashes and with an incredibly evil smile stated that my writings weren't strong enough to keep the flames at bay. Twelve years. We had only been married a little over 9. He had no right to take from me, from my children, from my legacy, the recorded writings of my heart. Words such as "wicked" and "evil" are deceptively mild for the type of person who would cause such agony to another person simply because of pride and ego. Many insults I have consumed, but I have never recovered from that scarring. 

    Today, my journals are no longer written in composition notebooks. I have taken to going to the local Mardel store to pick up a fine soft-covered book with enough pages to last me about 3 to 3-1/2 months of writing on a daily basis. I wake up, I walk the dog, I make coffee, I write in my journal. Nothing and no one will disrupt my morning schedule - - it is what it is, there will be dog walking, there will be coffee, and my pen will be my weapon, my friend, my recorder, my judge, and often my jury.  There is a disorder called hypergraphia in which a person feels the innate need to write; they have no control over it really, they must write. I am not quite that bad off, in other words, there is no physiological reason behind my urge to pen my thoughts, but there is of course a mental order (not disorder) to the cause and there is an emotional order as well. I want to restore the many years I lost to hatred; I want my children and my grandchildren to know exactly who I am, who I was, and who I loved. 

    I'm not going to lie, I may write something really nasty about someone and I may call them names, berate them, let the world know I want to string them up by their ballsack, douse them in honey, and allow the wildness to take them. I am fully capable of extreme descriptive antidotes that I would want to see (only in my mind at that time) happen to said individual, but nothing I write would be something I would carry out in the real world. I am by nature capable of anger, but not unjustified harm. Jesus is my Lord, He keeps me sane, my pen keeps me balanced, allowing the poison to drain from me in buckets at times; creating a peaceful teeming of restoration of my soul when needed. God did a great thing when He made journals. He knew there would be people like me who just couldn't live without them.

    If and when I die I have decided to allow Laura access to my journals but with the strictest of guidelines and promises not to destroy them. Should she ever feel the need to publish them for prosperity or profit, I would hope that she would be kind enough to share her proceeds with her two siblings; I think she would be amicable to that.  Reuben would probably put them in boxes and store them in the attic never to be seen again.  Caity's kids may be interested in them later when they lose electricity and have no internet to use; they can get a good laugh at how crazy Gramma was; did she really mean to say that about so-and-so? Yeah, she did. That's what she thought on that day at that time. The good news is, and I tell my best friend Jeannie this all the time, if I write something bad about you one day, you should go back the next day and see where I took it back. If I haven't taken it back in a day or so then you know it really is your fault, and you need to apologize. 

    Words have consequences, don't they? The old nursery rhyme "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me"  is such a farce. Words do hurt. Words do mend. Words do separate, and words do bring together. Words can be the only thing that a man or woman have to share between them. Words may be the last thing someone has of another person. Words may be the first thing that a person shares with another person. Words are eternal even when they are forgotten. Even when they are burned. Words are too precious to destroy; but worthy to be revered. 

    When my Grandpa Edwards was passing away he took a minute to tell me that I didn't need to bother looking for the perfect man to marry because the last one was going to see Jesus that day.  He may have been right. Words are given and taken back. Words are etched in our hearts and on our tombstones.  The only regrettable words are the ones never recorded or spoken. 

    

Photo credit: Jude Stringfellow

Rupert, Roger, Murtagh, Oh My!

 Yeah, so yeah, that's me, sitting at my computer watching Outlander and drooling over the men in their kilts, when I glanced over at the other monitor on my desk to see that someone had mentioned me in one of their comments on a Facebook group that I'm a member of. The group is called "Scottish Kilts and Clan History".  Don't laugh at the title of the group, I didn't name it, but to be sure, the comments rarely have anything to do with either men in kilts (which I would be able to discuss all day and at a whim) and there isn't much discussion over clans or history of clans, but there sure is a lot of hot air being blown from both sides of the pond over who has the "right" to say whatever it is that they say in the posts. Damn.

    Those of us who are American, (or we'll say "other than Scots", because the Scottish born don't seem to have a problem putting us into our box when they think we deserve to be placed into it) may venture off on the discussion board with both ignorance and pride waving as boldly as ever.  We are if nothing else, true to our reputation of being know-it-alls because we have watched a few mini-dramas such as Outlander, or maybe we've seen Braveheart a few times; experts all in fact! (giggles)  What I find to be the most amusing is that most of the Scots who are commenting online about our American obsession with DNA tests "proving" we are Scottish, is that most if not EVERY DAMN one of the Scots who call us names for being so obsessed has (often) the same amount of Scottish blood or at times even less, than those of us whose ancestors crossed the seas to make a new life from scratch.  EVERY last Scot, and probably most Irish and English born will in fact be part (upwards of 30% oftentimes) Scandanavian because there was no Scotland at the time the Vikings decided to invade and leave babies with the women they found.  True fact. I'm not really being a completely ignorant know-it-all American at that point. 

    What do we do? What do we do when we see our names being mentioned in the posts on the sites and we feel as if we either need to defend our point of view or make some sarcastic remark in an attempt to bring levity and humor (humour) to the online club?  We do what I usually do, and that's to make a remark about something I know will both spark up another conversation and perhaps drive the negative nellies back to their holes where they belong.  Any self-respecting Scot should realize that nearly every American is an idiot when it comes to all things Scottish, and just leave us to fester in our own stupidity. Maybe they should laugh a bit, drink another Irn Bru, and watch a game of...wait, we call it soccer; they can call it whatever they want as long as they do so while wearing their kilts, stroking their beards, strumming their guitars, and speaking in their angelic brogues. Please, don't wake me up to force me to realize I'm not in my little dream world. I just got here, and I think I like it. 

    The comment that mentioned me was from Kathy B. (a Canadian with over 30% Scottish DNA) she wanted to talk about my preferences in men. What? Finally, finally, someone who wants to devote a sensible minute of time to a subject online that may actually be worth paying attention to. I won't waste my time if someone asks me my opinion about a Free Scotland because (A) I'm not Scottish (B) I can't vote either way (C) My opinion is just that, my ignorant uneducated opinion, and (D) I hate the English government with a passion, so yeah, if I can say stick it to them I will - - no, Kathy B. was asking me if I would rather go to bed with Jamie Fraser or Frank Randall.  WHAT kind of question is that?  Granted Kathy B. probably doesn't read my blogs so she would have NO IDEA that neither the red-headed hero nor the hapless be cockled husband of the Outlander would be of interest to me. Sorry, Sam. You're adorable and all, but no.

    Kathy B. was amused and entertained when I told her that I would rather be caught in the woods alone with Roger Mackenzie than with any of the others; but that I couldn't be with Roger as he was married. I have my standards. If I had made it to Oxford in 1967 I would have snagged Rogers before Brianna could have met him, sure, but not in North Carolina in 1770? Nope. OK, so that being said I have a choice to make. Do I find and dazzle Murtagh Fraser (remember Fitzgibbons was his middle name) and put up with his crusty, sour, hardened but loyal manly man self or do I go around the gentle campfire to lure Rupert away from Angus long enough to toss a few twigs and leaves out of their place? Oh...simple answer.  Give me the rounded bearded man every damn time. Sorry, Murtagh, you're so cute, you're so mysterious and sexy, yes, oh, yes you are, but you are no match for the gentle-hearted, good-natured, God-fearing round-bellied man with the beard (and just think if he had been with me maybe he wouldn't have lost an eye, I don't know).  Yep, it's Rupert.  

    After being berated any number of times for my open and honest opinion on that particular site it was great to see that even some of the high-and-mighty born and bred Scots ladies agreed with me on the whole "I-don't-need-Jamie-Fraser" to be happy in my fantasy world. I was surprised that many a lass said they were drawn to the likes of Angus though -- I mean, no.  Sorry. Just no.  So there you have it. One satisfied, fantasizing, happy to be an American with Scottish blood woman just placating the many rude and nasty commentators on both sides of the world - - trying to make heads and/or tails out of what we really mean when we say we appreciate this or that.  Suffice it to say we can all agree that Outlander is fictional but wonderful and even if Lord John, Young Ian, or one of the Beardsley twins suits your fancy - - it's all good.  There are enough Jamie Fraser fans out there to keep Sam Heughan smiling for years to come I'm sure.  Grant O'Rourke deserves a little lovin' too.

Photo Credit:  Outlander (STARZ)Rupert is on the left.