Friday, December 23, 2011

Cartoon of the Week

To Hug or Not to Hug, That is the Question

The Christmas season is fraught with peril.

Will your gift to that special someone be a hit or a flop? Will you over-indulge at the office Christmas party and make a fool of yourself in front of your superiors? Will you be crushed in a human stampede at an early morning Black Friday sale?

But of all the thorny issues this holiday season, there is one that looms over all others, both in its magnitude and potential for disaster: Do you hug? If so, who do you hug? Where do you hug? Do you initiate the hug? Do you hug the opposite gender only, or do your hugs swing both ways?

Some people are huggers by nature, others not so much. Still others will absolutely cringe at an uninvited and unwanted embrace.

Especially for men, these are dangerous times.

For example, if a man is giving Christmas greetings to a female co-worker, and she happens to be a hugger, she will feel slighted if she doesn't get a quick squeeze about the shoulders.

On the other hand, if a man initiates a friendly hug with a female acquaintance who is not a hugger, she will be quickly offended, and he may find himself labeled as a sexual harrasser. There is nothing worse than hugging a woman and feeling her back stiffen and her shoulders tense up in revulsion at your unwanted familiarity.

For the ultimate awkward moment, think of what happens when you are greeted simultaneously by two or more long-time acquaintances, one of whom is a hugger, and the other who is not. This can be quite the sticky wicket.

This happened to me not long ago. Two women I knew quite well walked up towards me at church while they were talking together. Woman A, a notorious hugger, wrapped her arms around me in a big squeeze, and I happily reciprocated. Woman B, a very nice woman whom I had also known for some time, but had never hugged, stood there quietly.

I had no idea what to do. Was she standing there waiting for her hug? Was she standing there hoping I would NOT hug her? Was she thinking that I liked Woman A better and I was slighting her by not initiating a hug? Who knows? All I can tell you is that it was quite uncomfortable. Where is Miss Manners when you need her most?

It gets even more complicated when you consider same-gender hugs. A lot of guys have an issue with this.

Personally, the older I get, the more huggy I become. I think that happens to a lot of us. Hugs are nice. Hugs are comforting. Like the song says, there's just not enough love in the world, and when you have a chance to show some affection to another human being, it should be a good thing.

But a lot of guys don't want a hug from another guy. The unwritten rule seems to be that hugs between men are restricted to long-time close friends and male relatives at family reunions. Casual hugs between men who are casual friends just don't seem to work.

Women, by contrast, have no problem with hugging any other woman on the planet. Women will jump up and down while they hug,
pat each other on the leg (if they're seated), even kiss on the cheek, and no one has a problem with that.

Of course, women live in a whole other world: They even go to the bathroom together and no one bats an eye. Apparently this is a genetic thing.

Men, we need a manual for this. There should be some kind of code signal that women could give to let us know what they really want, hug-wise. But I imagine we'll get that information about the same time we can get a true definition of what a woman means when she says, "Fine."

Since the dawn of time, men have stumbled blindly about, trying to understand what women really want. Who knows?

Merry Christmas, and hug at your own risk.


Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Cartoon of the Week

Adventures in Grand-parenting

It is easy to forget what it was like to have children in the house.

Grand-parenting, for the most part, consists of a few hours here and there, doing short stints of child care or taking a trip to the park. Quick and painless.

It is a beautiful thing. All the gain and none of the pain. Play with kids for a while, and by the time they are getting cranky or whiney, it's time for them to go home and annoy their parents.

But sometimes grand-parenting requires an extended commitment. This can be hazardous.

We recently kept our two grandsons for a three-day stretch while our son and daughter-in-law were on a short trip.

Zeke is four years old, and he is a sweet little boy. He is very observant, very talktative, and most of the time, very loud.

His brother Malachi is 18 months old. He is cute as a button, with a raucous laugh and an endearing smile. But he is stubborn, and quick to throw a fit when he doesn't get his way. I predict he is going to take his parents on a trip through the "terrible two's" that they will never forget.

The first morning they were here, things went pretty smoothly. That is because Grandma Peggy stayed home that day and took care of getting the boys up in the morning. All I had to do was wake up and eat breakfast with them.

I ended up working late that evening, so I only got to see the boys for about an hour before bedtime. So far, so good.

But the following morning, I was in charge. Peggy had to leave at 7:00 for work, and it was my job to get the boys ready to go for the day.

Zeke woke up first. I talked to him for a while and helped him pick out his clothes for the day. Then he started getting dressed. While he dressed, I got his lunch ready for school. Then I gathered up his school items and back-pack and set them by the door. When he finished dressing, I tied his shoes.

Of course, he was hungry. He sat at the table, and I poured some hot water into his bowl of instant oatmeal while he stirred. As I reached across in front of him to grab a napkin, I apparently got too close for his liking.

He jerked his head back and said, "Grandpa, you don't smell very good."

I considered pointing out to the wee lad that if I had not spent every waking moment of the morning serving as his butler, I might have had time to shower before now. But I let it pass.

Then it was time to wake up the Hulk. Malachi was out like a light in his little crib. I don't think he had flinched since we tucked him in the night before.

I sure wish I could sleep like that.

I rubbed his bulging tummy and softly called his name. He yawned. His eyes fluttered. He stretched. He jerked his head up, looked around, rolled over onto all fours and then stood up. It took him all of 30 seconds to go from sound asleep to wide awake. Impressive.

I sure wish I could wake up like that.


He was grunting and making agitated noises as I sat him into his high chair. He kept pointing to the refrigerator and waving his arms around.

Zeke decided I needed a translator. "Grandpa, Malachi is hungry!"

"Is he like this every morning?"

"Yeah."

I stirred up the oatmeal as fast as humanly possible and began to shovel it into little Malachi's gaping mouth. He was still grunting, but the tone had changed a bit. It was something like the sounds you might hear at the zoo at feeding time.

After breakfast, the little Hulk was happy. I changed him, dressed him and started getting ready to go. I grabbed Malachi's diaper bag, and Zeke's backpack for school, and began to load the car.

As I walked from the kitchen to the garage, I told Zeke to bring Malachi with him while I loaded the car. When I walked back to the kitchen, Malachi was lying on his back and laughing as Zeke dragged him along by one arm across the kitchen floor.

"Here he is, Grandpa!"

Soon I had both boys strapped into the car and we were ready to go. Right on time! I was congratulating myself on my organizational skills until Zeke interrupted me.

"Grandpa, I have to pee."

"Didn't you go before?"

"I forgot!"

"Can't you wait until we get to school?"

The look on his face told me no.

I sat in the car with Malachi while Zeke went to pee. Malachi began to thrash around in the car seat, chafing at his restraints. He began grunting again. I was afraid he might chew through the seat belt and run off into the woods.

I went inside to find out what was taking Zeke so long. He was standing at the sink, the faucet blasting like a fire hose, watching water drip from his fingertips as he held them out at eye level.

"Zeke, we're going to be late for school!"

"I'm washing my hands, grandpa."

"Did you use soap?"

"Not yet."

I turned down the faucet and lathered Zeke's hands with soap. He had to endure my body odor again as I hovered over him to make sure he finished washing up and dried his hands.

By the time we returned to the garage, Malachi was grunting and rocking violently in the car seat in a desperate attempt to escape his confinement. He finally quieted down once I began to back out of the garage.

We arrived at school almost on time, and I dropped Zeke off. Then I made the short drive over to Mrs. Sherry's house to drop Malachi off for the day. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I drove away, alone, in peaceful solitude.

I still needed a shower. I'm sure my blood pressure was higher than my cardiologist would have liked, and I was going to be late for work. And I had to do this all over again the next morning.

I don't know how mothers do all this on a daily basis. And I don't really want to know. I'm just part-time, and I like it that way.


Sunday, November 27, 2011

15 Trillion and Counting!
























Remember this past August when members of Congress wailed and gnashed their teeth as they wrangled over lifting the Federal Debt Ceiling to 15 TRILLION dollars?

Well, it has taken the Obama administration all of 100 days to blow through that credit limit, and the spending spree continues. At this rate of deficit spending, we will have amassed a National Debt somewhere in the neighborhood of 19.5 TRILLION dollars by the time of our next Presidential Inauguration in January of 2013.

With the U.S. Senate still controlled by vote-buying political hacks like Democratic Majority Leader Harry Reid (who can't even bring himself to cut federal funding for the Cowboy Poetry Festival) you know we're in deep doo-doo.

I love cowboy poetry as much as the next hombre, but not when we have to borrow 40% of the funding for it from China and then stick our grandchildren with the bill.

The 2012 election cannot come a day too soon.

Check out the National Debt Clock to keep up with the latest accounting of our government's irresponsibility.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation

It's time again to recall these wise words from our greatest President

These days, in post-Christian America, we suffer a chronic (and perhaps terminal) case of historical ignorance.

For example, many are unaware that our tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving on the last Thursday in November was established by
Abraham Lincoln at the height of the civil war.

Lincoln's proclamation holds valuable lessons for us today. To gain some perspective on how far we have drifted from our foundations, try to imagine President Barack Obama speaking the following words in a televised presidential address in 2011.

Here is Lincoln's 1863 Thanksgiving Proclamation:

It is the duty of nations, as well as of men, to owe their dependence upon the overruling power of God, to confess their sins and transgressions in humble sorrow, yet with assured hope that genuine repentance will lead to mercy and pardon. And to recognize the sublime truth announced in the Holy Scriptures--and proven by all history--that those nations are blessed whose God is the Lord.

We know that by His divine law, nations like individuals are subject to punishments and chastisements in this world. May we not justify fear that the awful calamity of Civil War, which now desolates the land, may be a punishment inflicted upon us for our presumptuous sins--to the needful end of our national reformation as a whole people?

We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of heaven. We have been preserved these many years in peace and prosperity. We have grown in numbers, wealth and power as no other nation has ever grown.

But we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace, and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us. And we have vainly imagined in the deceitfulness of our hearts that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace--too proud to pray to the God that made us.

It has seemed to me fit and proper that God should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people.

I do, therefore, invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea, and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our benevolent Father who dwelleth in the heavens.

A. Lincoln

Remembering Grandma

You should read this great story about a life well lived, from an acquaintance of mine named Lizzie Talcott who works as an English teacher in China. She writes a blog called Dear Life. Read Lizzie's tribute to her grandmother HERE.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Cartoon of the Week

Occupy This

"Life is tough...even tougher when you're stupid." - John Wayne

During a recent visit to Wall Street to discuss the status of my vast investment portfolio with E.F. Hutton, I heard a commotion going on some short distance away.


I followed the scent of urine that seemed to float on the breeze, and before I knew it, there I was in Zuccotti Park.

I was surprised to see a familiar face grinning at me from beneath a hoodie. It was my old high school buddy Slug. I hadn’t seen him since I helped him to get on-line a couple of years ago.

“Dude, have you come to join us?” he asked.

I was distracted for a moment by a pirate on a unicycle, and when I turned back around, Slug was standing beside me, holding a crystal pyramid in the palm of his out-stretched hand, waving it in circles over my head.

With his arm raised so close to me, I couldn’t help but notice that Slug had been neglecting his personal hygiene.

“Slug, what are you doing?” I asked as I tried to hold my breath and back away.

“Can’t you feel the aura? I just want you to become part of the vibe we have going here,” he replied earnestly.

Suddenly, Slug grabbed me by the collar and yanked me off the sidewalk just in time to save me from being knocked down by a tattooed kid on a skateboard wearing a Spiderman mask.

“Dude,’ he said, “You gotta watch yourself around here. The 99% are restless and on the move.”

“I see that,” I commented as I looked around at the milling crowd.

“So how long have you been here, Slug?”

“I was here the first week, man! I got to see Roseanne Barr give her speech.”

“That had to be a Kodak moment,” I interjected.

Slug ignored me and continued. “When I saw that first night of protest on TV, I knew I had to come down and join my brothers and sisters. The spirit of the 60’s is back, man! Look around, dude, it’s almost like being back at Woodstock.”

A young woman, with more hair than clothing, walked past us while beating a drum and chanting, “Shame on you! Shame on you!”

“Slug, you weren’t at Woodstock! Your mom wouldn’t let you go, remember?”

“Yeah, dude, but I was there in spirit! I saw the movie AND bought the album.”

I jumped back to avoid being hit be a stray Frisbee and stepped right into a pile of poop.

“Slug, this is disgusting! How can you hang out with these slobs? Can’t you people poop in a bag or something?”

I was starting to get a headache. Between the smell and the noise, I was just not feeling the aura. I said, “Slug, aren’t you getting tired of living out here in this noisy park?”

“It’s not so bad, man. We have people cooking for us, and there are rallies every afternoon when the TV crews arrive. At night we have campfires and some pretty good jam sessions. It sure beats sitting around the house.”

“Speaking of home, how is your mom doing?”

“Mom’s fine, dude. I’m sure she misses me, but she told me to stay here as long as I want. I’ll tell her you asked about her whenever I go back.”

My head was still throbbing. “Okay, Slug, so just what exactly are you protesting?”

“I’m here because of the injustice of the capitalist system. The 99% of us struggle for survival while the elite 1% gets rich off of our labor. I want my share of the wealth. I want to have decent housing, free health care and a guaranteed pension when I retire. The corporate power structure owes us for what it has stolen from us!”

I was reaching the limits of my patience.

“Slug, what are you going to retire from? You’ve been mostly unemployed and living at home with your mom for the last 12 years.”

“Hey dude, the system is rigged so that a guy like me can’t find a decent job. I’m not going to just do manual labor…I’ve got my pride, you know.”

“So you’re too proud to take a job loading trucks, but you’re not too proud to collect food stamps, unemployment and a free unfunded pension?’

“Dude, you just don’t get it. You’ve sold out to the man. You’ll never understand how we’ve been oppressed by the system!”

“Slug, I have to go. Take care of yourself, and try to keep in touch.”

“Dude, just give me your email. As soon as my IPad recharges, I’ll make sure you’re in my address book.”

I watched Slug wander off into the crowd: A crowd of Gen-Xers eating free food, camping illegally in a public park, texting and video-recording and organizing themselves with all the technological wonders produced by the capitalist system that they claim to despise -- the same capitalist system that created the national wealth that makes possible a society rich enough, and free enough, to tolerate the immature and ungrateful behavior of a group of left-wing wackos like Occupy Wall Street.

Slug was right. I don’t get it.



Thursday, November 17, 2011

Herman Cain Did It!

This just in!

New allegations have surfaced in the Herman Cain sexual harassment debacle. An unidentified accuser from Alexandria Virginia now reveals that Herman Cain made her feel uneasy at a dinner party in 1998 when he appeared to be winking at her while he was scratching his eyes. More on this story at 10 o'clock!

An alleged victim has contacted the Off The Top of My Head news service to report that Herman Cain might have brushed against her thigh while standing in line at a Taco Bell in Cleveland sometime in 1993. Stay tuned for more as new reports come in.

Also, an anonymous man reports that he might have felt uncomfortable while shoe-shopping at a mall in Boston in 2001 when he thinks he saw Herman Cain looking in his direction while he took off his shoes to try on a new pair of wing-tips. The alleged victim did not report the incident at the time, but now that Herman Cain is a potential nominee, feels compelled to come forward.

Just off the wire!

A waitress at an Olive Garden Restaurant in Sheboygan believes that she was stiffed for a tip by a man who might have been Herman Cain during a busy Friday night in 1977. More details to follow.

On a more personal note, a man who looked suspiciously like Herman Cain cut me off on I-465 last Tuesday as I was trying to exit at Emerson Avenue. I have reported the license plate number to authorities.


Saturday, October 29, 2011

Cartoon of the Week



Another Historical First on the Way

I had originally written a blog here singing the praises of Herman Cain. The day after I posted it, the first stories about his problems with the ladies began to surface.

For several weeks I gave Herman the benefit of the doubt, assuming that this was all a political smear campaign. Sadly, I was mistaken.

Herman, you sure dropped the ball. I had hoped you were the real deal: A strong conservative without any ties to the political establishment, someone who could bring some common-sense thinking to Washington.

It's a shame you couldn't behave yourself.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Consensus? What Consensus?


More climate researchers are now coming forward to debunk the political hoax known as man-made climate change. READ MORE

S.O.B.s Have Feelings Too!

I may have to cry myself to sleep tonight.

It's hard not to take it personally when so many angry Democrats start saying such hateful things about us folks in the Tea Party.

In the past few weeks, I've been called an S.O.B. by Teamsters' President James Hoffa, and a terrorist and barbarian by Vice-President Joe Biden.

Democrat Congresswoman Maxine Waters wants me to go to hell, and my own Congressman, the Honorable Andre Carson (grandson and political heir of Julia) called me a racist and accused me of wanting to lynch a few black folks for entertainment.

Is this the new tone of civility that the Democrats keep talking about? Where is the love?

All of this vitriol because we dare to oppose the Obama regime? Apparently the impudence of disagreeing with liberal policies makes all of us conservatives a target for hatred and retribution.

We are accused of being hateful and bitter, but I've never said anything as mean about President Obama as what his cronies have said about me.

I've called him a Socialist. I've complained about and criticized his disastrous left-wing agenda. But I've never called him an S.O.B. or a terrorist or wished that he would go to hell.

I just want him to go home. And get a different job.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Cartoon of the Week

A Tale of Two Cultures

"It's amazing how much you can learn when you shut your mouth and open your eyes." - Wilburt Langhorst
Many Americans are coming to realize that we are in the midst of a culture war. There is Liberal, and there is Conservative, and there doesn't seem to be much middle ground. We are locked in a struggle for the heart and soul of America.

One side thinks more government is the answer. The other side thinks too much government is the problem.

In 2008, America elected Barack Obama as President. He is
arguably the most left-wing politician ever to reside in the White House. And since Democrats were also solidly in control of the House and Senate from 2008 to 2010, we finally have witnessed what happens when unrestrained Liberalism rules the country.

Not wanting to "waste a crisis," Mr. Obama quickly set about implementing his liberal agenda by pushing massive government spending bills, taking over huge chunks of the private sector (i.e. GM and Chrysler), creating new entitlements, and ramming nationalized health care through Congress.

This unprecedented national spending spree has inflated our annual budget deficits and our total national debt to catastrophic heights.

In 2009, a grassroots movement of concerned Americans rose up in response to this situation. Almost overnight, "Tea Party" rallies sprang up. Working class Americans, many of whom had never before been politically active, thronged to the hastily-organized protest rallies all across America.

Tea Party activists have been slandered by Democrats and the liberal media since day one. They've been derided and stereotyped as right-wing extremists, racists, and bigoted back-woods fanatics desperately clinging to their guns and Bibles.

But what have the Tea Party folks really done? They have peacefully protested the bankrupting of their country. They took to the streets, lawfully, out of concern for the impact of reckless government debt on the next generation. They exercised their First Amendment rights.

If you go to a Tea Party rally, you will observe young couples with their children. You'll see elderly grandmothers attending the first political rally of their lives. You'll meet college students who understand that their future liberty is threatened by the ever-encroaching power of government.

I met a young Chinese woman at a Tea Party rally who held up a sign that read: "I left Communist China for this?"

At a Tea Party rally, you find peaceful protesters listening to speakers who discuss conservative political ideas. There is no vandalism. There is no trash strewn across the rally site. No one is injured, no one is threatened, no property is damaged.
Talk to a cop who has worked security at a Tea Party rally, and he'll tell you it was the easiest money he's ever made.

You will also notice that Tea Party rallies are scheduled for early evenings and weekends. That is because most Tea Party people have jobs. They are too busy working to protest during a weekday.

In the 2010 elections, there was a conservative push-back to the policies of Barack Obama. Democrats lost their majority in the House of Representatives, and also lost their filibuster-proof majority in the Senate.

At the state level, the Democrats' losses were even more pronounced. The most notable example of this was in Wisconsin, a bastion of liberalism for decades. Wisconsin voters were finally so fed up with the fiscal shenanigans of the ruling Democratic elites that they elected a conservative Republican named Scott Walker as their new governor. They also put Republicans in control of both houses of the Wisconsin legislature.

Governor Walker quickly moved to fulfill his campaign promises. He pushed through cost-cutting measures that trimmed back state spending. One of his most controversial measures involved forcing the state's teachers to forgo pay raises and to contribute a percentage of their compensation to their health insurance and pension plans.

For years, Wisconsin's teachers enjoyed some of the most generous insurance and pension benefits in the country, and those benefits were part of what was bankrupting the state. With the election of Scott Walker, Wisconsin voters had sent a clear message that they wanted that to change.

So how did the unionized teachers of Wisconsin decide to express their opposition to the new status quo?

Teachers
unlawfully shut down the schools in protest. Massive rallies were staged at the Wisconsin Capital Building. Thousands of "rent-a-mob" union protesters were bussed in from out of state. Angry mobs illegally occupied the state Capital Building for several weeks.

Death threats were made against Governor Walker and some of the Republican legislators who supported him. The state Capital Building was vandalized. (Damage estimates afterwards ran into the millions of dollars.) The scene in downtown Madison after the protests ended resembled a war zone. The city was trashed by the unruly mob.

With this image of liberal mayhem and anarchy fresh in our minds, let's reflect again on the behavior of the Tea Party folks when they were upset and protesting.

On the right hand, you have a group of people who peacefully exercised their rights to protest government policies for the purpose of getting the government to leave them alone and desist from bankrupting their children's futures. No vandalism. No violence. No rent-a-mobs.

On the left hand, you have a group of people who destroyed public property,
issued death threats, and bussed in thugs from out of state to help them intimidate elected officials. Their goal was to coerce the taxpayers into maintaining the "Cadillac benefits" package they had become accustomed to, regardless of what it did to the state's budget.

So the question begs to be asked: Which group, and which philosophy, will you support in America's culture war?

Friday, August 19, 2011

Cartoon of the Week

If the Government Ran Auto Insurance

As much as it irritates me the way that insurance companies seem to rule the world, I will grudgingly give them credit -- they operate in the realm of reality, and they respond to real-world market forces.

For example, if you are a careful driver with a long
accident-free record, you get discounts and pay some of the lowest insurance rates.

If you are a mad-dog lead-foot with 8 points against your license and a couple of accidents on your record, you are in the high-risk category, and you are going to pay much higher insurance premiums that reflect the consequences of your behavior.

This is as it should be. Good behavior is rewarded. Bad behavior is penalized.

Because each driver pays a rate that reflects an accurate cost of their insurance risk, the auto insurance industry exemplifies a sustainable business model that serves the customers' needs and returns a profit to its shareholders.

This is a perfect example of free-market capitalism. It is a win-win situation that is based upon personal accountability and common sense.

If the government ever got involved in this, it would be a whole different story.

Liberal politicians would cry that it is unfair for the poor driver with the bad record to have to pay such high rates while others, who were fortunate enough to have good driving records, refused to pay their "fair share" so that everyone could have insurance at an equal cost.

So the liberals would implement a program to make all auto insurance premiums the same, regardless of the driving records of anyone in the program. This would make auto insurance "fair." Then everyone would be treated "equally." And once again, our government would have removed personal responsibility from the equation.

The results would be predictable: Insurance rates would rise for all the good drivers, while rates for bad drivers would decline to whatever
mandated "average" rate the government established.

Minus the punitive disincentive of higher rates, bad drivers would become worse drivers. Good drivers would worry less about their driving records, since there was no longer any penalty for bad behavior.

Accident rates would increase. More drivers would speed. Insurance rates would have to rise to reflect the growing risk exposure of the insurance companies. Before long, EVERYONE would be paying a rate that was as high as the highest punitive rates that bad drivers used to pay under the original insurance system.

And if the government refused to let insurance companies raise their rates? Companies would begin to go out of business. Auto insurance would become more difficult to obtain.

If the government continued to smother the ability of insurance companies to make a profit, they would cease to operate, and the government would step in and become the auto-insurer for the nation.

Since a government program is NEVER as efficient as a private business, insurance costs would continue to rise. If you thought the private insurance companies (that had to compete with each other) were gouging you, wait until you have to do business with the monopoly of a government bureaucracy.

This is the problem with socialism. It sounds good. It sounds compassionate. But the results are always the same: Socialism eventually ensures that everyone is equally miserable, equally poor, and equally powerless.

Socialism turns responsible free citizens into dependent wards of the state.

That is not the kind of world I want to live in.


Friday, August 5, 2011

Absolutely Not Getting Any Younger

I received a birthday card some years ago with a cartoon of a marching band on the front that said "TIME MARCHES ON..." and then when I opened it the inside page continued "...YOUR FACE."

Tender sentiments like that always choke me up.

You may recall a blog I did some time ago titled The Day I Became Old in which I bemoaned the inevitable toll that the passing years take. Trust me, things aren't getting any better.

I was pointedly reminded of this recently while shopping at the drugstore. Walgreens had a sale on bottled water, so I loaded my cart with seven cases and pushed it into the parking lot. As I started loading the cases into the side door of my van, a thirty-something woman who was walking by stopped and sincerely asked, "Can I help you with that, sir?"

She was so earnest and polite, I didn't hold against her the fact that she had just made me feel about 100 years old. Plus, I reasoned, I might really live long enough that I will appreciate offers like that sometime in the future, so I had better learn to be more gracious.

"Thanks for asking," I said cheerfully, "but I'm fine."

It's just a matter of time before Girl Scouts start helping me across the street.

I've lost count of how many people have asked me if I am retired. In my dreams! Unfortunately, I have worked in the real world, where the majority of Americans work, and we don't have a union pension or the option of retiring after 25 or 30 years. We work, and live economically, and save, and hope we can accumulate enough to "retire" to part-time employment once we are old enough to draw whatever is left of our Social Security.

A while back I was at the grocery store. The cashier couldn't find the code for my Romaine lettuce, and since I buy it all the time, I remembered it and told her what it was. My knowledge of produce impressed the sack-boy, who had to be all of 16 years old.

"Dude," he said, "you should get a job here part-time."

I just laughed. "Man, my life is so busy, the last thing I need is another job!"

The kid looked at me incredulously, and in all innocence said, "You mean you still work?"

Ouch!

Dear Lord, I sincerely hope I wasn't that annoying when I was sixteen...but I probably was.

What if You Lived Like the Government?

Tom McClintock, a Republican Congressman from California, does a great job of boiling the budget debate down to the basic issue - we have to take responsibility for our spending. READ MORE

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Cartoon of the Week

Saturday, July 2, 2011

The Great Roots of a Great Nation

"If you wuz born in America, you got a 90-yard head start in a 100-yard race." - Earl Pitts (alter-ego of radio-host Gary Burbank)

As we prepare to celebrate another Independence Day, it is fitting that we consider the blessings of living in America.

We live in an exceptional country, though we are not exceptional people. There is nothing extraordinary in our DNA. We are no smarter or nobler than anyone else on the planet.

But we have the good fortune to live within the most dynamic political system ever devised by man. We owe a huge debt of gratitude to that group of statesmen who declared American independence back in 1776, and who stood firm throughout the military and political clashes that followed to successfully establish the world's greatest democratic republic.

Has there ever in history been such a gathering of political, philosophical and spiritual leaders? Could America have been birthed without the contributions of men like Patrick Henry,
John Witherspoon, George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, John Jay, James Madison, John Hancock?

We are free today because we stand on the shoulders of these giants.

Admittedly, in practice, America has not always lived up to the ideals of her founding. The national sin of slavery took generations to resolve, and even today we still deal with some of the consequences of that shame. Our treatment of the native Indian populations was unconscionable. We have had our share of crooked politicians who abused government power. At times greedy industrialists have exploited the working class.

This is not a perfect country. But as Winston Churchill so famously observed, "Democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried."

No other nation on earth offers the opportunities for common people to improve their lot in life like America. Nowhere else are people so free to pursue their dreams and ambitions. No country on earth is more diligent about protecting individual liberty than the United States.

America is a great nation because we are united by great ideas, which are proclaimed in our Declaration of Independence: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."

These are revolutionary notions. They turned the world upside down in 1776.

Take special note of that phrase "endowed by their Creator" because it is fundamental to understanding America.

The men who founded this country shared a faith in God. In their declaration to the world of our independence, they boldly asserted their belief in a Creator who endows us with individual worth, because we are each made in his image.

They shared a biblical worldview, and an understanding of our fallen human nature. That is how they were able to craft a system of government founded on noble and lofty ideals, yet still designed to work practically in the day-to-day tumult of the sinful human condition.

Sadly, America has been drifting away from God for several generations now. We are turning away from our spiritual heritage. If our nation, founded on faith in God, chooses to deny His providence, what hope is there for us?

As John Adams wrote, "We have no government armed with power capable of contending with human passions unbridled by morality and religion. Avarice, ambition, revenge or gallantry would break the strongest cords of our Constitution as a whale goes through a net. Our Constitution is designed only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate for any other."

After studying American society for several years, the French historian Alexis de Tocqueville concluded in his classic 1835 book Democracy in America that “America is great because she is good. If America ever ceases to be good, America will cease to be great.”

If we hope to pass on the blessings of liberty to our children, we need to turn our hearts back to the Creator who made all of these things possible. Can any reasonable person study the history of America's founding and not perceive the hand of God orchestrating the creation of this great experiment in self-government?

We ignore the Creator who established this country at our own peril.

We are not great people, but we do live in a great nation, bequeathed to us by great statesmen, who understood the power and authority of our great God.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

High Tax Rates = Low Tax Revenue

My favorite economist, Thomas Sowell, once again distills a complex controversy down to it's simple essence. This short column is a must-read if you want to understand the economic pitfalls of "soaking the rich." READ MORE

Monday, June 20, 2011

Somebody Stop Me Before I Hoard Again

I knew we were in trouble when I found my deceased father-in-law's leg under the bed in the guest room.

They say that you can't begin to rehabilitate yourself until you admit that you have a problem, so I'll bare my soul to the world and admit it publicly: I am a hoarder. Even worse, I am married to another hoarder. Someday you will see a report about us on the 6 o'clock news after the police find our decayed remains buried beneath a fallen stack of old magazines.

But we're trying to mend our ways. Which brings us to how I found the leg.

This past January, I spent one whole Saturday morning cleaning out the guest room. There were a lot of valuable items that I just had to force myself to pitch because we needed the space. I had a fine set of encyclopedias from 1956 that a neighbor had given me in 1985, but they seemed a bit "past it" in 2011, so they had to go. I also had a complete collection of National Lampoons from 1974 & 1975.

Obviously, I have had this hoarding problem for a long time.

But when I found my father-in-law's leg, I knew we needed serious therapy.

My father-in-law died in 2006. My wife was the executrix of his estate. For a while we had numerous boxes of his personal belongings stored in our guest room while the estate was being settled. That is how we ended up with the prosthetic leg that he wore for the last few years of his life.

I had forgotten all about the thing, until I found it while I was cleaning.

ME: Peggy, I just found your dad's leg under the bed!

HER:
I wondered where that had gotten off to.

ME: Why in the world are we saving this?

HER: Somebody else might be able to use it.

ME: If I ever need a prosthetic leg, I prefer to have mine custom made.

HER: Oh, quit whining. I think there's some organization that takes them and re-fits them for people.

ME: This leg has been here for five years! Some poor guy is hobbling around downtown right now on a crutch, waiting for someone to donate a leg for him.

HER: Okay, okay, I'll find the place and get rid of it.

ME: Fine! But let's get it out of the house. I'm putting it in the trunk of the car so you will have it with you whenever you decide to drop it off.

HER: Whatever.

When two hoarders live under the same roof, things can get pretty testy anytime one hoarder wants to get rid of something that the other hoarder is hoarding. I could easily throw away a bunch of her stuff. She could easily throw away a bunch of my stuff. But that could quickly escalate into something unpleasant, so it is easier (and safer) to just let things pile up.

After my most recent heart attack (see Another Routine Day in the ER) I decided I needed to clean out the garage and tool shed so that, in the event of my untimely demise, my children wouldn't have to spend several weekends cursing my memory as they cleaned up my life-long accumulation of junk.

So last month I stifled my inner-hoarder and made myself throw away a dumpster-load of odds and ends that I had saved for years on the off chance that someday one of them might be useful.

It was quite liberating! I felt like I was freeing myself from the shackles of my past. Perhaps there was hope for us. Perhaps Peggy and I could begin a new life; a life free from the compulsion to save so much stuff "just in case" we might need it someday.

I was feeling pretty special as I packed up several paper sacks with old newspapers to take to the recycling bin. That is, until I popped open the trunk and saw my father-in-law's leg, laying right where I had left it 5 months before.

Whatever.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

A Love Letter to Toyota

If you have never checked out Stanley Bing's column in Fortune magazine, you have missed a lot of funny reading. READ MORE

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Why Can't I Get Anything Done?

After weeks of monsoon rains, there was a sunny day last week that presented me with a golden opportunity to complete some outdoor chores.

I was burning up with spring fever, and decided to finish replacing the exterior siding on my tool shed.

It took me about ten minutes to find my extension cord, circular saw and drill. I started spreading my lumber out onto the grass when I realized I didn't have my tape measure.

Hmmm...tape measure, tape measure...what did I do with that tape measure?

As I pondered this, my neighbor strolled over to the fence and began talking to me. Since I have a one-track mind (which is easily de-railed) I really wasn't in the mood for chit-chat at that moment, but I didn't want to be rude, since my neighbors are nice, and I stopped working so we could yak for a while.

After the gab session, I returned my focus to the task at hand. I decided to start by trimming out the plywood siding on the shed with some 1x4 pine boards. Then I remembered: I still needed to find that tape measure!

I walked back into the house to look for it, and heard the phone ringing. When I answered it I was thrilled to hear a digital voice giving me the exciting news that I had won an all-expenses paid Caribbean cruise, and that if I pressed "1" for more information I could book my reservation today!

How lucky can a guy get?

After hanging up the phone, my bladder reminded me that I had business to take care of inside. While visiting the throne room, I discovered an interesting article in Fortune magazine that detailed some exciting new investment opportunities for my vast retirement portfolio. (I will be able to retire by 2052 if I can figure out how to live on 500 calories a day and also talk one of my kids into letting me live in a back bedroom rent-free.)

After washing up, I stopped in the kitchen to get a glass of ice water. Noticing the ice cube supply was low, I took a minute to fill the tray and put it into the freezer. That's when I saw the fudgecicle, so I grabbed it and sat out on the porch for a few minutes to slurp it down.

It occurred to me that I still needed that tape measure. I thought I had seen it in the garage, so I spent about 10 minutes out there searching the shelves, but never did find it. Hmmm...maybe I had left it out in the shed.

As I walked out the back door, the neighbor kids on the other side of my yard called me over. I stopped to talk to them, and they asked me if I had any extra wood that they could use to build a lemonade stand. I told them I'd be happy to let them have whatever was left over after I finished working on my shed. (I didn't have the heart to tell them that at the rate I was going, they'd be able to sell lemonade to their grandchildren.)

I walked back over to the shed, and started looking around for the tape measure. I was really starting to get irritated. So far it had taken me 90 minutes to go to the bathroom, fill up the ice cube tray, and eat a fudgecicle.

Where was that freakin' tape measure?

I finally decided to forget about any carpentry work, and just finish staining the wood trim that I had laying in the grass so that it would be ready to put up whenever I finally found my tape measure.

As I started stirring the wood stain I felt the first drops of rain on my neck. I looked up to see a line of menacing dark clouds moving in from the west. Apparently I was not destined to accomplish anything that day. I frantically started gathering up my power tools and putting them into the shed. Then I picked up the lumber and stacked it inside the shed against the north wall, right next to a shelf.

I looked down on that shelf, and there, right where I had put it, was the tape measure. I swear I heard it laughing at me.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

I Still Want My Summers Back

This blog was originally posted in August of 2010. You may have missed it. Now that summer is fast approaching, I want to bring the issue up again. I want my summers back! Come this August, when we are baking in the sun, school will start again and cut short the best part of the year. This is just wrong!

Ah, the dog days of summer. The sun is high in the sky
, baking the parched grass. The beach is warm and inviting as the waves lap against the shore. The aroma of coconut oil wafts across the pool at Garfield Park, and for some reason I cannot fathom: KIDS ARE STANDING AT THE CURB WAITING FOR THE SCHOOL BUS!

Whatever happened to summer?

This ever-earlier encroachment of the start of school on summer vacation has irked me for years, and the situation is only getting worse. There are elementary schools around here that started on August 2nd. My neighbor began his "fall" semester at Southport High School on August 10th.

Again I ask: whatever happened to summer?

Educators tell us that we need a longer school year to pump our students' heads up with more knowledge so they can compete in an increasingly high-tech world. Okay, I get that. But if you are going to add days to the school year, why not add them in June, when it is cooler and less humid. Why screw up the month of August, the best part of summer?

I have heard educators say that adding days in June is not productive, since kids are looking forward to the end of the school year, and they begin to lose focus on their studies.

Well, duh! The reason kids begin to lose their focus in April is because they know they are getting out of school in May. If we move the school calendar back, then students can begin to lose their focus in May because they know that school will end in June. I see no real problem here.

When you live in a place like Indiana (as I have for my entire life) summertime is a precious and fleeting season. If you enjoy outdoor activities like swimming, boating and camping, there is a narrow window of opportunity to indulge in these pleasures.

May is totally unpredictable, and the water in our lakes is too cold to allow most us to swim. June is almost as bad, with lots of rainy days and cool nights. In addition, in June many of the state park reservoirs are flooded from the spring rains, which closes the beaches, and sometimes the marinas.

For summer junkies like me, that leaves July, August and maybe the first half of September. A mere two and half months to enjoy our summertime, and then we face another long dreary wait through fall, another brutal midwestern winter, and a soggy cold spring before we can play out in the water again.

Life is short. In my opinion, we all work too much and play too little. There are too few pleasures as it is, and for our schools to steal away the best part of summer just doesn't make sense to me. Summertime activities are wonderful ways for families to spend time together and make memories.

As I write this, on Wednesday August 11, it is 88 degrees at 9:00 in the morning. The high today is forecast at 96 degrees. Days like this are created for people to relax, work on a tan, and play in the water.

But today, the beach at Eagle Creek Park is closed. The pools in the Indianapolis city parks are closed. It's hitting 96 degrees in the middle of August, and there is nowhere nearby to go swimming BECAUSE THE LIFE GUARDS HAD TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL!

Conversely, you could go to a city pool in early June and shoot off a cannon without hitting anything but a pigeon, since no one in their right mind wants to go swimming when it is 75 degrees and raining. But that's when our pools are open, because we don't have enough sense to schedule summer vacations during the time that it is actually summer!

It is ridiculous to lose our summers like this. We are all cheated out of one of the best parts of the year because we can't get the schools to schedule summer vacations during the summertime. If you want to help change this situation, join the Save Indiana Summers campaign.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Your Life is a Journey

I once met a woman who had spent nearly 35 years of her life trying to please no one but herself. I first met her in 1994, when she was panhandling in University Park in downtown Indianapolis. She was dirty, rough and obviously hungover. She was sitting on a bench, with her walker next to her. Our acquaintance began when I gave her a few dollars for a meal. To protect her privacy, let's call her Margaret.

We talked briefly, and I as I walked away, thinking how sad it was that a lonely old woman should be panhandling for food, God spoke unmistakably to me. He said, "Keep an eye on her." I was startled (I don't hear God speak to me like that very often -- probably because I don't listen as well as I should) but I told him that I would do what I could.

To make a long story short, God eventually convinced me to bring Margaret home temporarily to live with my family. It took us six weeks to help her find an apartment she could afford on her monthly check from Social Security Disability. I hate to say this, but it was the longest six weeks of my life.

She was mean. She was unappreciative. When she didn't get her way, she would become hateful and verbally abusive. If she had been strong and healthy instead of sickly and frail, I'm sure she would have hurt us. It was obvious that she had mental problems. But her biggest problem was the booze.

She would sneak out for a cheap bottle of rot-gut vodka, and by the time I would get home in the evening she would be blitzed. I began to understand how her family could have deserted her. If I hadn't been under direct orders from the Lord, I would have trucked her hateful old bones back downtown to the park myself!


Eventually we did find Margaret an apartment nearby. She would get drunk and call the leasing office several times a week to complain about anything she could think of. When her lease was up, she was evicted. We found her another apartment, and moved her again. She managed to stay two years there, but was finally evicted for a variety of reasons including loud, late-night drinking parties; vulgar behavior around children in nearby apartment units; and sanitary concerns. (Good housekeeping was not her top priority.)

My point is this: This woman's life was a total wreck; she was lonely, pathetic and miserable; and it was her own fault. She didn't care about anyone or anything besides herself. And what she wanted more than anything was another drink. That was all that mattered to her. She had sacrificed her life to the god of alcohol.

She ruined herself by not caring about anything besides herself.

God has a plan for Margaret. He has had one all along. Like all of us, however, she is free to disregard God's will and follow her own selfish desires. Few of us have fallen as far from grace as Margaret, but we are only talking about a difference of degree.

Every single one of us falls short of God's best.

Every day we make choices that affect our direction in life. Every day we grow a little closer to God, or we drift a little further away.

It may be that you have strayed far from the path of your destiny. If so, I have great news for you.


Today you can turn around. Today you can choose to listen to God. Today you can begin the journey he has planned for you.

God specializes in second chances. He always allows U-turns. He is rich in mercy, and waits patiently to welcome his prodigal children back home.


It has truly been said: "Your life is God's gift to you; what good you do with it is your gift to him."

Friday, May 6, 2011

What Socialism Did for the Indians

John Stossel makes some excellent observations about how much the government hurts us when it tries to "help" us. READ MORE

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Photo of the Week

I am always amused when I visit the men's room at the American Legion Post on South Meridian Street to see that the veterans still remember Jane Fonda for her activities during the Vietnam War. I wonder how many thousands of these stickers are in use around the country?

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Fleecing the Next Generation

My conscience bothered me a little bit at first, but as time went on it became easier and easier, and before long, I didn't even give it a second thought.

Some time ago, I was short on cash the day before payday. All I needed was enough gas in the tank to get to work. I didn't have time to stop at the bank. Then I remembered my little grand-daughter Miranda's piggy bank.

We keep a bank at our house for her so she can save the money she earns when she helps us with chores. After she has saved for a while we take her to Dollar General and she buys a few toys.

So I helped myself to ten bucks from her bank, and left an IOU to help me remember to pay her back.

Since she's only seven, Miranda is not too good at tracking her money, so she never noticed that I had taken another five bucks from her bank the following week, and left her another IOU.

It occurred to me after a while that I had been working hard for all these years, and I deserved to enjoy a little more out of life. I began to feel like this kid owed me something. After all, if I hadn't fathered her mother, Miranda wouldn't even exist. I started to feel entitled to some of her assets.

It didn't take me long to clean out the piggy bank -- her piddly savings barely bought me the house steak dinner at Applebee's -- but I faithfully filled the little pig up with IOUs so that Miranda would know she still had assets on hand.

After I opened the first credit card account in her name, I finally felt that I could start living in the manner to which I hoped to become accustomed.

Since Miranda was still in elementary school, and didn't have much of a credit history, I could only get a $500 limit on that first card, but I knew I was on to something.
It was easy to apply and receive new credit cards, and as Miranda's credit history became established, all of her existing cards began to qualify for larger limits.

My first major purchase was a 14 mega-pixel SLR digital camera with 10x zoom. Best camera I have ever owned! It was worth every cent Miranda paid for it.

Later on I bought an awesome 4-wheel-drive ATV for off-road excursions. And I really looked good tooling down the highway in my new Harley. Eventually I acquired my ultimate dream-come-true: a 40-foot yacht fully rigged for blue-water sailing. I was all set to travel around the world, courtesy of my grand-daughter.


Thanks to this child, I never had to worry about budgeting again. Anything I wanted, I just charged to her. As the bills from the older cards came due, I would simply apply for a new card, and then use a small portion of the new card's balance to make a minimum payment on an older card.

After all, don't we have the right to enrich ourselves at the expense of our grandchildren? Don't they owe us a comfortable lifestyle?

After a while, Miranda started catching on to what I had done to her credit rating. She started getting kind of disrespectful with her grandpa, and accused me of taking advantage of her. The nerve of that ungrateful child! I handed her a shoebox full of my personal IOUs, and assured her that everything was accounted for.

But she wanted some cash. She had tried to buy a new doll at the Dollar General, and they wouldn't take any of my IOUs as payment. So she gets all whiny and in my face about it. What are they teaching these kids in second grade nowadays? How about some respect for your elders?

So then she starts crying and screaming at me. "You are ruining my life!
You have piled debts on me that I can never repay! How can I ever go to college? How will I ever afford to buy my own house? How could you do this to me? How could you be so selfish? I hate you!"

On and on she kept fussing, until finally she spit in my face and kicked me in the groin...

I was writhing on the floor, crying and coughing, when my wife slapped me across the face to snap me out of it.

"Dave, wake up! You're having a bad dream!" she shouted.

I sat up in terror and was barely able to breathe. I was covered in sweat, and my heart was pounding. I held my head in my hands and could feel my temples throbbing.

"Oh Peggy, it was awful," I sobbed between gasps for air. "It was the worst nightmare I've ever had! I dreamed I became a United States Congressman!"

Friday, March 25, 2011

Another Routine Day in the ER

Fortunately for me, I was wearing clean, new briefs. Turns out mom was right: You never know when you might end up in the emergency room and all those people are going to see your underwear.

I knew I was having a bad day when I kept getting short of breath while working on a plumbing project in South Bend. I had some tightness in my chest, but I was not overly concerned. Mild angina attacks are not uncommon for me, and I always carry a bottle of sub-lingual nitro tablets.

I decided I would call it a day and head home, just in case I started feeling worse. At first the nitro was helping to relieve my symptoms, and I began driving back to Indianapolis, telling myself I would be okay.

Somewhere between South Bend and Peru, heading south on US 31, my chest pains become stronger. The nitro tablets weren't helping much anymore. That is when the serious praying began.

"God, please, just let me get home in one piece. I promise I will head straight for the hospital!"

The further south I drove, the worse I felt. There was a strong steady ache in my chest and left shoulder, and I felt a little woozy. I considered my options. Pulling over to take a nap sounded tempting, but I wasn't sure I would ever wake up.

Finally I passed a sign that said Kokomo was 20 miles away, and that sounded like the place for me. I have driven through Kokomo hundreds of times, and had often noticed the large billboard for Howard Regional Health System that pictured a lifeline helicopter streaking through the sky with the caption, "Tell them to take me to Howard!" Howard Regional was my new destination.

I kept driving and praying. The ache in my shoulder grew stronger. The tightness in my chest was increasing, and it seemed to be harder to breathe. I was struggling to keep my anxiety under control so I didn't make things any worse.

When I ran out of nitro tablets, I still had about 10 miles to go. I swallowed another aspirin, and then let a second aspirin dissolve under my tongue. That was not a pleasant taste sensation, but I was getting desperate.


I began to think that maybe this was it. Is this is how I would die, having a heart attack while trying to get to a hospital? I thought maybe I should just pull over and let it happen, but I just kept praying and kept driving.

I got really serious with Jesus at this point. I apologized to him for not having done anything more constructive with the life he had given me. I thanked him for having saved me so many years ago, and thanked him for the peace I now had, knowing that I would be with him in heaven the moment I left this earth.

I asked him to show me if there was something I had missed that I should have accomplished for him, in case I did actually survive this thing. Maybe, I thought, he had orchestrated all of this as a teachable moment. Maybe I was about to experience some glorious revelation or a life-changing vision of heaven.

Well, this illustrates what a pathetically mundane life I live: After all that praying, the only thought that came to my mind was the fact that my garage and tool shed are filled with 35 years worth of junk, and I felt ashamed that my kids were going to have to clean up all my trash after I was gone.

After this moving spiritual experience, I realized that I was getting close to the hospital. Maybe I was going to live! The sweetest sight I have seen in a long time was that sign that read: Emergency Room Entrance.

The staff at Howard Regional was fantastic. Within 30 seconds of walking into emergency, I was being wheeled into an exam room. The emergency room doctor, William Driehorst, and a team of nurses were on me like white on rice. They were all moving at double-time, hooking me up to things and poking and prodding me. As they peeled my clothing off, I was glad, as I mentioned earlier, to have those nice new briefs on.

You have never experienced total customer service until you walk into an emergency room with a heart attack. I've never had so many people working so hard on my behalf.

Within 30 minutes of my arrival, I was in surgery. It turns out that Howard Regional has an outstanding cardiac care unit, and one of their top physicians, Dr. Michael Ritchie, was my surgeon. Was Jesus looking out for me, or what?

The next day Jan, one of my nurses in the ER, visited me in my room and told me that she was glad I stopped when I did. "Your EKG was awful. You would not have made it to Indianapolis," she said.

While in the ER, I had been teasing the staff that I drove all the way to Kokomo because of their billboard, and they thought that was so funny that the hospital's PR person arranged for a reporter from a Kokomo newspaper to visit me so he could do a short feature about my experience. I will be happy to autograph souvenir copies of next week's edition of the Kokomo Perspective for the nominal fee of $10 each. (I've got medical bills to pay, you know.)

Life really is like a box of chocolates sometimes.

So now I'm back home, resting and praising God for once again delivering me. Life goes on, and I hope to have a long time yet to watch my grand-kids grow up. I look forward to many more trips through Kokomo, and I'll always give a salute as I drive by Howard Regional Health System.

My number one spring project this year will be cleaning out the garage and shed. Then I will be ready to die in peace should I happen to run out of nitro tablets on a deserted stretch of highway sometime in the future.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

It's Never Too Late

Lately I've thought a lot about the thief on the cross.

He was a condemned criminal, being executed right next to the sinless savior of the world.

According to Mark 15:25, Jesus was crucified at the 3rd hour (9 a.m. Jerusalem time). The chief priests and scribes were mocking him while he hung on the cross, and Mark 15:32b tells us that "Those who were crucified with him also reviled him."

But somewhere along the way, one of the thieves had a change of heart. Perhaps he saw something in the demeanor of Jesus that impressed him. No doubt he was moved when he heard Jesus say, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34)

Maybe the Holy Spirit simply touched his heart and opened his eyes to what was really happening around him.

At any rate, he stopped harassing Jesus, and came to his defense.

Luke 23:39-43 reads, "One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him saying, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!" But the other rebuked him saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong." And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And he (Jesus) said to him, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

By a simple act of faith and submission, a man who had squandered his life in crime, resulting in his execution, was ushered into eternal life by the King of kings.

The thief had never been to church, never read a Bible, never tithed, never went on a missions trip. He didn't know any doctrine, didn't make any pledges, didn't try to justify or excuse his behavior.

But he did the one thing he really needed to do. He came to Jesus in humble faith, and Jesus washed away his sins. That day he did join Jesus in paradise.

His eternal destiny did not depend on what he knew, it depended on who he knew.

I recently visited an elderly relative, who is on the brink of death. We've talked a lot over the years about God and life. He has spent his whole life, like so many other people, pushing God away and living for himself.

Now he fears it may be too late for him. He has a hard time imagining that God could forgive him. He is trying hard to understand how this could be.

I left him with these final words. "Uncle, it all boils down to this. All God really wants to hear from you is three things: I'm sorry...you're the boss...I give up."

Just ask the thief on the cross.