Just like Dr. Frankenstein, President Barack Obama labored behind closed doors, night after long night, experimenting with how he could bring to life the creature that would ensure his legacy.
There were many setbacks along the way, but at long last, by shredding the Constitution and repudiating the will of the American people, Obamacare now lives.
America used to be a representative republic. We would elect a president, senators, and members of Congress, and they would represent us in Washington. By virtue of their desire to be re-elected, they would, for the most part, do at least a passable job of expressing the will of their constituents.
That was back in the old days, when we had government of the people, by the people, and for the people.
Now we are in the Obama era, and Chicago-style thug politics have come to Washington. Now it is government taking from the people and sticking it to the people. Political bribery and strong-arm tactics now decide the course of legislation. One congressman was even accosted in the House gymnasium shower room by a naked White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel. That is the Chicago way.
Could anyone over the age of 40, who has some historical perspective and memory of how our democratic institutions used to function, ever have imagined, before last Sunday, that a piece of legislation that was so loudly and bitterly opposed by two-thirds of the voters could become the law of the land?
The American people have fought against this bill for over a year. Public support for this government health-care takeover has steadily declined, especially in the past six months. We the people have spoken, loudly and clearly.
Even the voters in ultra-liberal Massachusetts elected a Republican, Scott Brown, to the Senate earlier this year because he promised to oppose Obamacare. The members of Congress know full well that we do not want this. So what was the response of our elected representatives to the will of "we the people"?
Basically, the Democrats in Congress have just flipped us the bird.
Call me crazy, but I doubt that this is the kind of democracy that Thomas Jefferson or James Madison had in mind. This is the trashing of the whole concept of majority rule. This is the will of the American people being overthrown by the secretive plotting of a small political elite.
This is a coup.
It is now clear that there is NOTHING that will stop the socialists in our Congress from trampling on our liberties. They do not intend to represent us. They intend to rule us.
We are no longer citizens in a free society. We are now subjects being dictated to by a government that does not care what we think.
So King Obama, despite the desires of his subjects, shoved and cajoled and threatened and wheeled and dealed until at last, in yet another long weekend marathon legislative session, he managed to ram through a government takeover of the American health care system. And just to rub salt in our wounds, he also took over the student loan program at the same time.
It's all in the fine print, you know -- and there is a LOT of fine print in the thousands of pages of this bill that no one has really had time to read. As Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House (and third in line for the Presidency) so eloquently put it recently, "We have to pass the bill so that you can find out what is in it."
Nancy Pelosi is the poster child for what is wrong with America in 2010. When asked a few months ago if the provisions in the health care proposals that required people to purchase insurance were constitutional, Speaker Pelsoi responded incredulously, "You're kidding, right? Let's have a serious question."
When the Speaker of the House does not consider the constitutionality of proposed legislation to be a serious question, the future of our republic is in serious danger. The powers that be no longer even pretend to care about the Constitution.
A lot of Americans got fooled in the last election by a smooth-talking snake-oil salesman who wanted to be president so he could "transform" America. Well, we've been transformed. Do you feel better now?
We need to be angry. We need to stay angry. We need to focus like a laser on taking back control of our country from the charlatans who sweet-talked us into voting for "hope and change" in 2008.
We have one chance to save this country, for ourselves and for our children. There is an election looming this November. (Unless, of course, King Obama can persuade Congress that elections are no longer necessary, since he has the country under such benevolent control.)
Our only hope is to replace the members of Congress who voted for this abomination, and elect conservative representatives who actually respect the rule of law, and believe in the ideals of our Constitution. If we allow this regime to stay in control after the way they have flipped us off, then democracy in America is lost forever.
If we do not stand up, loudly and forcefully, and repudiate this coup at the ballot box this November, I do not believe there will be anything in the future that can stop the socialists who control Washington from doing anything they desire. As long as these people are in power, our liberties are in constant jeopardy.
The fulfillment of the socialist dream for America is at hand. Unless we reverse course, soon we will all be truly equal: equally poor, equally powerless, and equally enslaved by our government.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Pitching For America
Pat Buchanan takes an objective look at the brouhaha that erupted recently when Senator Bunning, Republican from Kentucky, had the integrity to insist that Congress adhere to the newly-passed "Pay-Go" budget rule. He was crucified in the press for his trouble.
"If we cannot pay for a bill that all 100 senators support," Senator Bunning asked, "how can we tell the American people with a straight face that we will ever pay for anything?" READ MORE
"If we cannot pay for a bill that all 100 senators support," Senator Bunning asked, "how can we tell the American people with a straight face that we will ever pay for anything?" READ MORE
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Obama Should Thank George Bush
As a public service to the millions of world wide readers of this blog, I will begin today to post occasional links to news and commentary that I deem worthy of your consideration. Hopefully you will agree. Today's link goes to an excellent editorial from the Washington Times. READ MORE
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Can Common Sense Survive A Lawsuit?
Indiana Democrats are at it again. They are still squawking about Indiana's Voter ID law.
Even after being defeated two years ago in a 6-3 decision from the United States Supreme Court, they just can't stop whining about having to play fair at election time. Now they are taking a different approach, trying to pick apart the law as violating the Indiana Constitution.
The League of Women Voters' latest attack on the law finally made it to the Indiana Supreme Court two weeks ago. It is anyone's guess how long the court will take to decide on the issue. The lawsuit alleges that the two exemptions from the photo ID rule -- for absentee ballots and residents of nursing homes -- violate the Indiana Constitution's "Equal Privileges and Immunities Clause."
In essence, the lawsuit feigns concern that it is unfair to the rest of us if Indiana makes an exception for grandma so she doesn't have to leave the nursing home to obtain a picture ID from the BMV.
Please, give me oxygen.
Let's put on our grown-up pants and consider this situation with a little common sense.
You have to show ID to get your food stamps. You have to show ID to buy cigarettes and alcohol. You have to show ID at the pharmacy, or to cash a check. It is not unreasonable for any government agency or private business to require valid identification in the course of a transaction.
If someone does not have a driver's license, and is not willing to make the nominal effort required to obtain their FREE state government ID, I can't help but conclude that they don't consider voting a high priority. And if they are that apathetic, they shouldn't be in a voting booth anyway.
Voting is the most important transaction any of us will ever make. The integrity of elections is crucial to maintaining our constitutional government. Elections have serious consequences. Just ask the people who voted for Barack Obama on a whim in the last election!
Nobody is denying anybody the right to vote. This is not a matter of discrimination, this is a matter of safeguarding the foundation of our republic -- free and fair elections. I am amazed that a Voter ID law wasn't passed years ago.
The tales of election fraud, especially in Democratic strongholds in northwestern Indiana, are legion. There have been instances of a precinct's total vote count exceeding the total number of voters registered in that precinct -- an especially amazing statistic when you consider that voter turnout normally averages below 50%.
Just as in other states, many of our deceased citizens have been known to cast ballots, so dedicated are they to their civic duties. Other election hi-jinks, such as homeless people being transported from precinct to precinct, their multiple votes having been bought with cigarettes, have been an open secret for years.
Politics can be a dirty business. The allure of power, and the money that comes with it, often bring out the worst in human nature. Voter fraud contaminates our political system, and steals from us the right to choose who will decide our future.
The only way to protect ourselves from election fraud is a strong Voter ID law. Without it, it is too easy for crooks to steal elections. If we want to keep the foxes out of the hen-house, we had better make sure that the foxes only get one vote apiece.
Call me crazy, but the fact that our state Democratic Party refuses to let this issue rest makes me wonder: Are Indiana Democrats just afraid that they can't win in an honest election?
Even after being defeated two years ago in a 6-3 decision from the United States Supreme Court, they just can't stop whining about having to play fair at election time. Now they are taking a different approach, trying to pick apart the law as violating the Indiana Constitution.
The League of Women Voters' latest attack on the law finally made it to the Indiana Supreme Court two weeks ago. It is anyone's guess how long the court will take to decide on the issue. The lawsuit alleges that the two exemptions from the photo ID rule -- for absentee ballots and residents of nursing homes -- violate the Indiana Constitution's "Equal Privileges and Immunities Clause."
In essence, the lawsuit feigns concern that it is unfair to the rest of us if Indiana makes an exception for grandma so she doesn't have to leave the nursing home to obtain a picture ID from the BMV.
Please, give me oxygen.
Let's put on our grown-up pants and consider this situation with a little common sense.
You have to show ID to get your food stamps. You have to show ID to buy cigarettes and alcohol. You have to show ID at the pharmacy, or to cash a check. It is not unreasonable for any government agency or private business to require valid identification in the course of a transaction.
If someone does not have a driver's license, and is not willing to make the nominal effort required to obtain their FREE state government ID, I can't help but conclude that they don't consider voting a high priority. And if they are that apathetic, they shouldn't be in a voting booth anyway.
Voting is the most important transaction any of us will ever make. The integrity of elections is crucial to maintaining our constitutional government. Elections have serious consequences. Just ask the people who voted for Barack Obama on a whim in the last election!
Nobody is denying anybody the right to vote. This is not a matter of discrimination, this is a matter of safeguarding the foundation of our republic -- free and fair elections. I am amazed that a Voter ID law wasn't passed years ago.
The tales of election fraud, especially in Democratic strongholds in northwestern Indiana, are legion. There have been instances of a precinct's total vote count exceeding the total number of voters registered in that precinct -- an especially amazing statistic when you consider that voter turnout normally averages below 50%.
Just as in other states, many of our deceased citizens have been known to cast ballots, so dedicated are they to their civic duties. Other election hi-jinks, such as homeless people being transported from precinct to precinct, their multiple votes having been bought with cigarettes, have been an open secret for years.
Politics can be a dirty business. The allure of power, and the money that comes with it, often bring out the worst in human nature. Voter fraud contaminates our political system, and steals from us the right to choose who will decide our future.
The only way to protect ourselves from election fraud is a strong Voter ID law. Without it, it is too easy for crooks to steal elections. If we want to keep the foxes out of the hen-house, we had better make sure that the foxes only get one vote apiece.
Call me crazy, but the fact that our state Democratic Party refuses to let this issue rest makes me wonder: Are Indiana Democrats just afraid that they can't win in an honest election?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Tales From The High Road
You learn something new every day.
I learned today that I should not drive on the interstate while under the influence of extra strength Vicodin. Like Clint Eastwood used to say, "A man's got to know his limitations."
Yesterday's visit to my friendly neighborhood oral surgeon left me with a painfully swollen jaw, so he provided me with a prescription for antibiotics and Vicodin. The Vicodin bottle instructed me to take one pill every three to four hours "as needed for pain."
Oh yeah, they were definitely needed. I was in a bad way. But thanks to modern chemistry, the throbbing faded away about 30 minutes after the first pill. Sitting around the house last night, I didn't realize just how loopy I really was. I felt confident that I could handle this medication without missing a day of work.
The fact that it took me 25 minutes this morning to make toast and coffee should have been a clue. But by the time I spent 30 minutes getting dressed, I had forgotten how long it took me to make breakfast.
Needless to say, I was late leaving for work. Then I realized I had another problem: It is so hard to drive when the road keeps weaving back and forth in front of you. I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, but I finally realized it was time to turn around and go home. How was I going to explain to my boss that I was just too high to make it into work today?
The final score: Vicodin 1, Dave 0.
When I finally got home, it felt wonderful to crash out on the couch for 3 or 4 hours. When I woke up, my jaw was throbbing again, and it was time for another pill. Now that I was home, I could medicate myself in safety. The worst thing that could happen would be falling off the couch.
All of this drug-induced haziness reminded me of my last stay in the hospital.
It was back in 1994, and I was in Saint Francis for heart surgery. The doctor performed an angioplasty procedure (you know, the "balloon surgery") and afterward, when I came to, I found myself strapped to a wooden board in a cold recovery room.
The nurse told me that I had to continue to lay very still, on my back, for several more hours so that the wound, where the surgeon had entered my Femoral artery with the catheter, would have time to clot and seal up. You might think laying still would be an easy thing, but it drives you crazy when you can't move around or stretch, and after a while your back really begins to ache and stiffen up.
No one is in a good mood after surgery anyway, and with the anesthesia wearing off, the aching back, and the stress and general discomfort of being violated, it can make a person a little cranky. Okay, I was more than a little cranky. I was downright whiny.
The nurse took pity on me after a while and asked if I wanted anything for the pain.
Well, duh!
"I'll take whatever you've got," I groaned.
What she had was morphine. It burned a little when she gave me the shot, but within 60 seconds I was skipping down the Licorice Trail towards the Gumdrop Mountains. My pain vanished, my heart-rate slowed, my stiff muscles relaxed, and my aching back turned into warm jello.
Before I knew it, I was jamming with Jerry Garcia and Jimi Hendrix in an impromptu rendition of Purple Haze. Janis Joplin joined in on vocals. Life was beautiful. I was the happiest camper in the hospital for the rest of the afternoon.
Now I totally understand why morphine is a controlled substance. A person could get hooked on something like that in no time. It would be a great drug to have around if it were not for all those pesky side-effects like brain damage, liver failure, addiction and the inability to function in the real world.
A few months later I was back in the hospital for a second angioplasty procedure. (1994 was not a good year in The Life and Times of Dave.) I'm always looking for a silver lining, so I had consoled myself with the knowledge that, after all the discomfort of heart surgery, I could once again spend the afternoon visiting Candyland.
However, I made a terrible mistake in the recovery room. Again I was laying on that board, in pain and discomfort, and again the attending nurse asked me if I wanted anything for the pain. Instead of just moaning and acting pitiful, I said, "Yeah, I'm ready for my morphine now."
She arched her eyebrow and looked at me suspiciously. "I'll see what I can do," she replied coolly. I have since wondered, did she think that I just faked a heart attack every few months so I could come back to the recovery room after surgery for my fix?
At any rate, a few minutes later she gave me a shot of something, but it sure wasn't morphine. For all I know, she just poked me with a toothpick hoping I would experience the placebo effect. No trip to Candyland for this hop-head today! Jimi and Jerry would have to jam without me.
Whatever she gave me knocked the edge off of my pain, but it certainly was a disappointment compared to the morphine that I could have had if I had just shut up and moaned a little more. Once again my grandpa was proven right: He always told me that I talked too much.
I learned today that I should not drive on the interstate while under the influence of extra strength Vicodin. Like Clint Eastwood used to say, "A man's got to know his limitations."
Yesterday's visit to my friendly neighborhood oral surgeon left me with a painfully swollen jaw, so he provided me with a prescription for antibiotics and Vicodin. The Vicodin bottle instructed me to take one pill every three to four hours "as needed for pain."
Oh yeah, they were definitely needed. I was in a bad way. But thanks to modern chemistry, the throbbing faded away about 30 minutes after the first pill. Sitting around the house last night, I didn't realize just how loopy I really was. I felt confident that I could handle this medication without missing a day of work.
The fact that it took me 25 minutes this morning to make toast and coffee should have been a clue. But by the time I spent 30 minutes getting dressed, I had forgotten how long it took me to make breakfast.
Needless to say, I was late leaving for work. Then I realized I had another problem: It is so hard to drive when the road keeps weaving back and forth in front of you. I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, but I finally realized it was time to turn around and go home. How was I going to explain to my boss that I was just too high to make it into work today?
The final score: Vicodin 1, Dave 0.
When I finally got home, it felt wonderful to crash out on the couch for 3 or 4 hours. When I woke up, my jaw was throbbing again, and it was time for another pill. Now that I was home, I could medicate myself in safety. The worst thing that could happen would be falling off the couch.
All of this drug-induced haziness reminded me of my last stay in the hospital.
It was back in 1994, and I was in Saint Francis for heart surgery. The doctor performed an angioplasty procedure (you know, the "balloon surgery") and afterward, when I came to, I found myself strapped to a wooden board in a cold recovery room.
The nurse told me that I had to continue to lay very still, on my back, for several more hours so that the wound, where the surgeon had entered my Femoral artery with the catheter, would have time to clot and seal up. You might think laying still would be an easy thing, but it drives you crazy when you can't move around or stretch, and after a while your back really begins to ache and stiffen up.
No one is in a good mood after surgery anyway, and with the anesthesia wearing off, the aching back, and the stress and general discomfort of being violated, it can make a person a little cranky. Okay, I was more than a little cranky. I was downright whiny.
The nurse took pity on me after a while and asked if I wanted anything for the pain.
Well, duh!
"I'll take whatever you've got," I groaned.
What she had was morphine. It burned a little when she gave me the shot, but within 60 seconds I was skipping down the Licorice Trail towards the Gumdrop Mountains. My pain vanished, my heart-rate slowed, my stiff muscles relaxed, and my aching back turned into warm jello.
Before I knew it, I was jamming with Jerry Garcia and Jimi Hendrix in an impromptu rendition of Purple Haze. Janis Joplin joined in on vocals. Life was beautiful. I was the happiest camper in the hospital for the rest of the afternoon.
Now I totally understand why morphine is a controlled substance. A person could get hooked on something like that in no time. It would be a great drug to have around if it were not for all those pesky side-effects like brain damage, liver failure, addiction and the inability to function in the real world.
A few months later I was back in the hospital for a second angioplasty procedure. (1994 was not a good year in The Life and Times of Dave.) I'm always looking for a silver lining, so I had consoled myself with the knowledge that, after all the discomfort of heart surgery, I could once again spend the afternoon visiting Candyland.
However, I made a terrible mistake in the recovery room. Again I was laying on that board, in pain and discomfort, and again the attending nurse asked me if I wanted anything for the pain. Instead of just moaning and acting pitiful, I said, "Yeah, I'm ready for my morphine now."
She arched her eyebrow and looked at me suspiciously. "I'll see what I can do," she replied coolly. I have since wondered, did she think that I just faked a heart attack every few months so I could come back to the recovery room after surgery for my fix?
At any rate, a few minutes later she gave me a shot of something, but it sure wasn't morphine. For all I know, she just poked me with a toothpick hoping I would experience the placebo effect. No trip to Candyland for this hop-head today! Jimi and Jerry would have to jam without me.
Whatever she gave me knocked the edge off of my pain, but it certainly was a disappointment compared to the morphine that I could have had if I had just shut up and moaned a little more. Once again my grandpa was proven right: He always told me that I talked too much.
Friday, February 26, 2010
The Day I Became Old
Life changing events have a way of surprising us without warning.
So it was several years ago, when I did some shopping early on a Saturday morning. With Mrs. Smith in tow, I was wandering through K-Mart when my stomach began to growl. It was past breakfast time, and I had not yet eaten.
Just down the aisle I noticed a little cafe tucked into the corner of the store, with a sign advertising a $2.99 breakfast special. Perfect! A quick cheap bite and we'd be on our way. How could I have foreseen the awful epiphany that awaited me there?
An attractive young woman, who couldn't have been a day over 18, smiled sweetly at us from behind the counter as we walked up to order.
"What can I get you two this morning?" she asked cheerfully.
We placed our breakfast orders. Then I remembered my coupon.
"By the way," I said, "I have a coupon here for a free cup of coffee."
Then the sweet young thing, totally oblivious to the havoc she would soon wreak on my self-esteem, flashed a pretty smile and spoke again.
"Oh, you don't need that, sir. With our senior citizen discount you always get a free cup of coffee with any breakfast purchase."
The arrow went straight through my heart and flew out my back, collapsing a lung in the process.
Senior citizen discount? SENIOR CITIZEN DISCOUNT!!!
Who did this young punk think she was talking to?
I was speechless. (Those who know me can testify that this is a rare event.) I accepted my free senior citizen coffee, then hobbled over to the table to sit down with Peggy while we waited for our breakfast to be grilled. When our food finally arrived, it was the most tasteless meal I had ever eaten.
When the freight train of reality runs you down, it can take a while to recover. I suddenly felt very past it. I sat at the table, staring off into space. It is a crushing blow to a man's ego the first time he realizes that young women regard him as a senior citizen.
Bless her heart, Peggy was sensitive to my distress. "Dave, she's just a teenager," she said gently, "She probably thinks anybody over 30 is old."
I appreciated her compassion, but I just needed time to heal.
I went home that day and spent some time in front of the bathroom mirror. Where did all that gray hair come from? When did all of those wrinkles around my eyes appear? How could I have gone to pot like this and never have noticed it before?
As time has passed, I have regained my perspective. As the old saying goes, "Nobody wants to get old until they consider the alternative." God has blessed my life in many ways, and I don't have a right to complain about anything.
I just needed to grow up and face the reality of aging. Getting older is just a fact of life that we all have to accept. It comes with the territory as we wander through this temporary life on earth.
Of course, the presence of grandchildren is a constant reminder that the years are flying by. It's darn near impossible to forget how old you are with two little tykes running around calling you "grampa" all the time.
In fact, I have now come full circle, and I embrace my seniority in life. My new motto is "gray power!"
I happily accept any "senior" discounts that are available wherever I shop. And it is nice when there is some heavy work to be done, and the younger guys jump in and go for it so as to spare the old man (that would be me) from possibly straining himself.
If it's really hot outside, and I start to feel woozy while working, I sit back to rest and nobody hassles me about it. When I was younger I was always hearing things like, "Get off your butt, wienie boy, we've got work to do." Now, in deference to my elderly station in life, people cut me a little more slack.
I am amused every time I stop at Arby's for a cup of coffee. If the cashier behind the counter is under the age of 30, I will almost always automatically get the senior discount on my purchase. If the cashier is closer to my age, I will likely be charged full price. Perception is everything, I suppose.
A friend of mine who is in her 60s has found the perfect way to keep herself feeling young. She works as an activities director at a nursing home, so she is the youngest person in the room all day long. I think she's got the right idea. By contrast, I spend one evening a week playing drums in the youth group band at my church. Believe me, nothing makes you feel more like a geezer than spending an evening in a room full of teenagers.
My advice to you, dear reader, is to try and enjoy each day of life that God gives you. We never know which day may be our last. Our time down here is short, and getting shorter. The upside, if your life belongs to Jesus, is that with each passing day you are one day closer to paradise. It may be a rough trip getting there, but what an amazing destination we have to look forward to!
I plan on enjoying every fleeting moment of life down here to the best of my ability. For instance, I've got an exciting day planned as soon as this blog is finished.
After taking my morning medications, I'll indulge in a leisurely sponge bath. Then it will be time for my morning nap. After I awake, I'll head over to MCL for the senior citizens' lunch special. Next I'll shuffle over to the drugstore to pick up some bunion ointment and get a new rubber tip installed on my cane.
While I'm down at the mall, I might even splurge and go see a moving picture show. I hear they're in color now.
So it was several years ago, when I did some shopping early on a Saturday morning. With Mrs. Smith in tow, I was wandering through K-Mart when my stomach began to growl. It was past breakfast time, and I had not yet eaten.
Just down the aisle I noticed a little cafe tucked into the corner of the store, with a sign advertising a $2.99 breakfast special. Perfect! A quick cheap bite and we'd be on our way. How could I have foreseen the awful epiphany that awaited me there?
An attractive young woman, who couldn't have been a day over 18, smiled sweetly at us from behind the counter as we walked up to order.
"What can I get you two this morning?" she asked cheerfully.
We placed our breakfast orders. Then I remembered my coupon.
"By the way," I said, "I have a coupon here for a free cup of coffee."
Then the sweet young thing, totally oblivious to the havoc she would soon wreak on my self-esteem, flashed a pretty smile and spoke again.
"Oh, you don't need that, sir. With our senior citizen discount you always get a free cup of coffee with any breakfast purchase."
The arrow went straight through my heart and flew out my back, collapsing a lung in the process.
Senior citizen discount? SENIOR CITIZEN DISCOUNT!!!
Who did this young punk think she was talking to?
I was speechless. (Those who know me can testify that this is a rare event.) I accepted my free senior citizen coffee, then hobbled over to the table to sit down with Peggy while we waited for our breakfast to be grilled. When our food finally arrived, it was the most tasteless meal I had ever eaten.
When the freight train of reality runs you down, it can take a while to recover. I suddenly felt very past it. I sat at the table, staring off into space. It is a crushing blow to a man's ego the first time he realizes that young women regard him as a senior citizen.
Bless her heart, Peggy was sensitive to my distress. "Dave, she's just a teenager," she said gently, "She probably thinks anybody over 30 is old."
I appreciated her compassion, but I just needed time to heal.
I went home that day and spent some time in front of the bathroom mirror. Where did all that gray hair come from? When did all of those wrinkles around my eyes appear? How could I have gone to pot like this and never have noticed it before?
As time has passed, I have regained my perspective. As the old saying goes, "Nobody wants to get old until they consider the alternative." God has blessed my life in many ways, and I don't have a right to complain about anything.
I just needed to grow up and face the reality of aging. Getting older is just a fact of life that we all have to accept. It comes with the territory as we wander through this temporary life on earth.
Of course, the presence of grandchildren is a constant reminder that the years are flying by. It's darn near impossible to forget how old you are with two little tykes running around calling you "grampa" all the time.
In fact, I have now come full circle, and I embrace my seniority in life. My new motto is "gray power!"
I happily accept any "senior" discounts that are available wherever I shop. And it is nice when there is some heavy work to be done, and the younger guys jump in and go for it so as to spare the old man (that would be me) from possibly straining himself.
If it's really hot outside, and I start to feel woozy while working, I sit back to rest and nobody hassles me about it. When I was younger I was always hearing things like, "Get off your butt, wienie boy, we've got work to do." Now, in deference to my elderly station in life, people cut me a little more slack.
I am amused every time I stop at Arby's for a cup of coffee. If the cashier behind the counter is under the age of 30, I will almost always automatically get the senior discount on my purchase. If the cashier is closer to my age, I will likely be charged full price. Perception is everything, I suppose.
A friend of mine who is in her 60s has found the perfect way to keep herself feeling young. She works as an activities director at a nursing home, so she is the youngest person in the room all day long. I think she's got the right idea. By contrast, I spend one evening a week playing drums in the youth group band at my church. Believe me, nothing makes you feel more like a geezer than spending an evening in a room full of teenagers.
My advice to you, dear reader, is to try and enjoy each day of life that God gives you. We never know which day may be our last. Our time down here is short, and getting shorter. The upside, if your life belongs to Jesus, is that with each passing day you are one day closer to paradise. It may be a rough trip getting there, but what an amazing destination we have to look forward to!
I plan on enjoying every fleeting moment of life down here to the best of my ability. For instance, I've got an exciting day planned as soon as this blog is finished.
After taking my morning medications, I'll indulge in a leisurely sponge bath. Then it will be time for my morning nap. After I awake, I'll head over to MCL for the senior citizens' lunch special. Next I'll shuffle over to the drugstore to pick up some bunion ointment and get a new rubber tip installed on my cane.
While I'm down at the mall, I might even splurge and go see a moving picture show. I hear they're in color now.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A Toddler Is Beaten Without Mercy
A young Indianapolis man was sentenced to 55 years in prison last week.
According to the report in the Indianapolis Star, Tayuan Chism was sentenced after pleading guilty to the murder of 15-month-old Lilliana Goodmann, the daughter of his girlfriend, Rachel Goodmann. In March of 2009, Tayuan spent over an hour beating the child with a belt because she "disrespected him" by not eating her food.
During the beating of 15-month-old Lilliana, her mother Rachel did nothing to interfere. Rachel has pled guilty to felony neglect, and will be sentenced on Feb. 26.
The newspaper's account of the incident states: "Her mother stood by, but two other people who were in another room eventually grabbed the girl and took her to a hospital. Lilliana, who had internal bleeding and a skull fracture, died two days later."
As incomprehensible as it sounds, the fact is that a little girl -- a toddler in diapers -- was beaten to death by one drug-crazed adult, while her mother, and two other adults, stood by and did nothing.
They were all in the apartment at the time of the murder. For over an hour, they listened to little Lilliana cry and scream as Tayuan raged against her with his belt.
They listened, for over an hour, to the "smack" of the belt as it landed across her back, her legs, her arms, her face.
Did little Lilliana try to run away? Was she knocked to the floor after the first couple of blows, laying there helplessly, crying in pain? Did she scream after every lash of the belt against her tender young skin? Did one of the blows to her skull eventually knock her out, thus sparing the adults in the apartment the unpleasant sound of her weeping?
Were the other adults in the apartment afraid of Tayuan? Were they afraid he might hit them with the belt if they dared to interfere with his beating of 15-month-old Lilliana? Even if they were such craven cowards that they would allow a toddler to be beaten in their presence, couldn't one of them have mustered up enough human decency to sneak off and call 911?
No other mention is made in the article about the other two adult witnesses, who stood by and did nothing, except that they finally took little Lilliana to the hospital after she was already beaten senseless. Was there no crime to charge these people with?
Four adults are responsible for the death of a defenseless toddler. Tayaun has received his sentence of 55 years. Rachel will be sentenced soon, and could receive up to 30 years.
There are two other adults who should be sentenced, for the rest of their lives, to sleepless nights of guilt and shame. They should hear the pitiful screams of little Lilliana in every nightmare they have. How can such heinous actions ever be atoned for? In my mind, allowing the brutal murder of a child is beyond the pale.
These people have only one hope for redemption. There is only one thing that can rescue them from the misery that they deserve. Only Jesus can turn their despicable lives around, and free them from the crushing weight of such unbearable guilt.
It is this same salvation that God offers to each one of us, to cleanse us from the countless sins we have all committed in the course of our lives.
According to the report in the Indianapolis Star, Tayuan Chism was sentenced after pleading guilty to the murder of 15-month-old Lilliana Goodmann, the daughter of his girlfriend, Rachel Goodmann. In March of 2009, Tayuan spent over an hour beating the child with a belt because she "disrespected him" by not eating her food.
During the beating of 15-month-old Lilliana, her mother Rachel did nothing to interfere. Rachel has pled guilty to felony neglect, and will be sentenced on Feb. 26.
The newspaper's account of the incident states: "Her mother stood by, but two other people who were in another room eventually grabbed the girl and took her to a hospital. Lilliana, who had internal bleeding and a skull fracture, died two days later."
As incomprehensible as it sounds, the fact is that a little girl -- a toddler in diapers -- was beaten to death by one drug-crazed adult, while her mother, and two other adults, stood by and did nothing.
They were all in the apartment at the time of the murder. For over an hour, they listened to little Lilliana cry and scream as Tayuan raged against her with his belt.
They listened, for over an hour, to the "smack" of the belt as it landed across her back, her legs, her arms, her face.
Did little Lilliana try to run away? Was she knocked to the floor after the first couple of blows, laying there helplessly, crying in pain? Did she scream after every lash of the belt against her tender young skin? Did one of the blows to her skull eventually knock her out, thus sparing the adults in the apartment the unpleasant sound of her weeping?
Were the other adults in the apartment afraid of Tayuan? Were they afraid he might hit them with the belt if they dared to interfere with his beating of 15-month-old Lilliana? Even if they were such craven cowards that they would allow a toddler to be beaten in their presence, couldn't one of them have mustered up enough human decency to sneak off and call 911?
No other mention is made in the article about the other two adult witnesses, who stood by and did nothing, except that they finally took little Lilliana to the hospital after she was already beaten senseless. Was there no crime to charge these people with?
Four adults are responsible for the death of a defenseless toddler. Tayaun has received his sentence of 55 years. Rachel will be sentenced soon, and could receive up to 30 years.
There are two other adults who should be sentenced, for the rest of their lives, to sleepless nights of guilt and shame. They should hear the pitiful screams of little Lilliana in every nightmare they have. How can such heinous actions ever be atoned for? In my mind, allowing the brutal murder of a child is beyond the pale.
These people have only one hope for redemption. There is only one thing that can rescue them from the misery that they deserve. Only Jesus can turn their despicable lives around, and free them from the crushing weight of such unbearable guilt.
It is this same salvation that God offers to each one of us, to cleanse us from the countless sins we have all committed in the course of our lives.
"This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus." Romans 3:22-24 (NIV)
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Evan Bayh Needs To Come Back Home
Our junior Senator from Indiana, Evan Bayh, suffers from a chronic case of chapped index finger.
This painful condition results from constantly wetting your finger and poking it up into the air to see which way the political winds are blowing.
Senator Bayh, a former Indiana Governor, who grew up here in the heartland of America, was only moderately liberal in his politics while he lived amongst us Hoosiers. He didn't do much as a Governor, which can be a good thing, since so many politicians actively do us great harm.
And since he was the three things that too many Hoosier voters look for in a candidate -- handsome, articulate, and named "Bayh" -- the people of Indiana thought it would be a good idea to send him to the U.S. Senate twelve years ago.
For a while, he behaved not-too-badly, and actually seemed to remember that he worked for the voters of Indiana. But as so often happens to men with weak convictions, the trappings of Washington soon caused Senator Bayh to forget about the Hoosiers he was elected to represent.
In this past year of monumental upheaval in our government, with the arrogant Democratic majority in power determined to shove a socialist future down our throats, we needed level-headed and principled representatives who would stand up and articulate the concerns of Hoosier citizens.
In our hour of greatest need, Senator Evan Bayh betrayed us.
The fact that he was seriously considered as Barack Obama's running mate should have indicated to us just how far to the left Senator Bayh had tipped.
He was happy to be "on board" the Obama Express, and was the 60th vote in a number of crucial Senate actions, including the vote that forestalled a Republican filibuster of the Senate's health care debate, which made it possible for Obamacare to move forward in the Senate, and would have allowed it to eventually pass with a simple majority of 51 votes.
I have no doubt that during the final vote, Senator Bayh would have voted against Obamacare, so that he could claim in his re-election campaign that he "stood up" to his party in the end, and voted as we wished. He is a slick politician, but I believe he has under-estimated the attention span of Hoosier voters one too many times.
We will remember that he was the key vote in getting health care to the floor of the Senate in the first place. He could have taken a principled stand back then, when it could have made a difference. The plain fact is, Evan Bayh sold us out. And this is just one example.
On Cap & Trade, and the pork-laden Stimulus bill, and almost every other left-wing initiative, Evan Bayh was the faithful 60th vote who made sure no Republican objections could slow down Obama's march to socialism.
Suddenly, last week, in the wake of Scott Brown's stunning upset Senate victory in Massachusetts, Senator Bayh was on the news bewailing the fact that the Democratic Party has been taken over by the radical left, and needs to move back to the political center. Gee, Evan, you think? Whatever could have changed your mind? A gale-force wind from the east, perhaps?
Serving in the U.S. Senate for a six-year term gives a man a lot of time to wander astray if he is not firmly grounded in a consistent world-view. We need a Senator whom we can trust to do the right thing regardless of which way the wind blows. We need a Senator who understands that he is serving as our representative, not as a political free-agent.
So the question we have to ask ourselves this November is: Do we want to elect a new Senator who truly reflects our Hoosier values, and will do the right thing because of his deep convictions?
Or do we want to re-elect Evan Bayh, who always has his chapped finger in the air, and only considers us worthy of his attention once every six years when he needs our votes?
This painful condition results from constantly wetting your finger and poking it up into the air to see which way the political winds are blowing.
Senator Bayh, a former Indiana Governor, who grew up here in the heartland of America, was only moderately liberal in his politics while he lived amongst us Hoosiers. He didn't do much as a Governor, which can be a good thing, since so many politicians actively do us great harm.
And since he was the three things that too many Hoosier voters look for in a candidate -- handsome, articulate, and named "Bayh" -- the people of Indiana thought it would be a good idea to send him to the U.S. Senate twelve years ago.
For a while, he behaved not-too-badly, and actually seemed to remember that he worked for the voters of Indiana. But as so often happens to men with weak convictions, the trappings of Washington soon caused Senator Bayh to forget about the Hoosiers he was elected to represent.
In this past year of monumental upheaval in our government, with the arrogant Democratic majority in power determined to shove a socialist future down our throats, we needed level-headed and principled representatives who would stand up and articulate the concerns of Hoosier citizens.
In our hour of greatest need, Senator Evan Bayh betrayed us.
The fact that he was seriously considered as Barack Obama's running mate should have indicated to us just how far to the left Senator Bayh had tipped.
He was happy to be "on board" the Obama Express, and was the 60th vote in a number of crucial Senate actions, including the vote that forestalled a Republican filibuster of the Senate's health care debate, which made it possible for Obamacare to move forward in the Senate, and would have allowed it to eventually pass with a simple majority of 51 votes.
I have no doubt that during the final vote, Senator Bayh would have voted against Obamacare, so that he could claim in his re-election campaign that he "stood up" to his party in the end, and voted as we wished. He is a slick politician, but I believe he has under-estimated the attention span of Hoosier voters one too many times.
We will remember that he was the key vote in getting health care to the floor of the Senate in the first place. He could have taken a principled stand back then, when it could have made a difference. The plain fact is, Evan Bayh sold us out. And this is just one example.
On Cap & Trade, and the pork-laden Stimulus bill, and almost every other left-wing initiative, Evan Bayh was the faithful 60th vote who made sure no Republican objections could slow down Obama's march to socialism.
Suddenly, last week, in the wake of Scott Brown's stunning upset Senate victory in Massachusetts, Senator Bayh was on the news bewailing the fact that the Democratic Party has been taken over by the radical left, and needs to move back to the political center. Gee, Evan, you think? Whatever could have changed your mind? A gale-force wind from the east, perhaps?
Serving in the U.S. Senate for a six-year term gives a man a lot of time to wander astray if he is not firmly grounded in a consistent world-view. We need a Senator whom we can trust to do the right thing regardless of which way the wind blows. We need a Senator who understands that he is serving as our representative, not as a political free-agent.
So the question we have to ask ourselves this November is: Do we want to elect a new Senator who truly reflects our Hoosier values, and will do the right thing because of his deep convictions?
Or do we want to re-elect Evan Bayh, who always has his chapped finger in the air, and only considers us worthy of his attention once every six years when he needs our votes?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
My Big Fat Bummer Weekend -- Part One
Note to self: In the future, refrain from exceeding the posted speed limit while driving past the Beech Grove Police Department headquarters.
That was my first mistake last weekend.
A mile down the road past the BGPD headquarters, I was chatting on the phone with Mrs. Smith, oblivious to my impending sorrows, when the red lights flashing through the rear window caught my eye.
"Peggy, I've gotta go -- I'm getting pulled over," I said. "I'll be home soon, I hope."
I pulled over to stop at what looked like a safe spot, turned off the engine, and waited to see what had happened. At the time, as is so often the case, I was clueless. I consoled myself with the thought that I must have burnt out a tail light.
A young police officer, who I swear could not have finished high school yet, walked up to my door and asked me if I knew why he had pulled me over.
"No officer, I don't," I replied with honest innocence.
"I clocked you doing 41 in a 25 mile per hour zone as you drove past the police station on Churchman Avenue."
Well, duh. What could I say? He was probably right, since I don't pay slavish attention to my speedometer. I am so busy practicing my finely honed defensive driving skills, constantly scanning the road ahead for potential hazards, that I don't have time to waste on constantly checking the speedometer.
My basic philosophy on speed limits has always been -- "If it feels safe to me, I'm not going too fast." I am, after all, a seasoned professional driver.
I intuitively sensed, however, that this policeman would not be interested in my defensive driving philosophy, especially in light of the fact that my finely honed defensive driving skills had not alerted me to the hazard of speeding past his police station.
I decided it was best to just take it like a man, and get it over with.
"Officer, are you telling me that I was stupid enough to speed as I drove past the police station?"
"Yes."
"Well," I sighed as I handed him my license and registration, "I guess I deserve a ticket for doing something that dumb."
He smiled as he took my documents. "I'll be right back," he said and he walked away towards his patrol car.
I sat there thinking what a crummy way this was to end the work week. Probably a fine of $100 or more. Points on my license. Driving is a major part of my job, so points are things to be seriously avoided.
I was pondering all these things when he snuck up behind me and said, "Sir, the BMV report says that your driver's license is suspended."
I did not like the sound of that. He wasn't smiling anymore, either.
My look of obvious surprise and disbelief is probably what kept him from being offended when I exclaimed, "No way!"
"I'll check it again to be sure. Please wait right here, sir."
Have you ever noticed that the more trouble you are in, the more formally a law enforcement officer will address you? It can be quite unnerving.
This time he was gone a long time. I sat there, and it occurred to me that driving with a suspended license is probably kind of serious. Could I go to jail for this? Whatever could have happened? This was the first time I had even been pulled over in almost three years. There had to be a mistake.
Suddenly he was beside me again. Do they teach them to sneak up on people like that at the Police Academy?
"Mr. Smith (now it is MR. SMITH, probably a sign that the Taser is loaded) the BMV report indicates your license is suspended, but it won't tell me why. Usually it gives a cause, but I can't get any more info on you. It could possibly be a mistake -- your record is clean for the past two years."
To make a long story short, he gave me one ticket for speeding, and another for driving with a suspended license. He said that he would not arrest me or tow my vehicle if I promised to go straight home and not drive again until my license was reinstated.
I decided, in approximately a quarter-nano-second, that I should politely accept his gracious offer and drive myself home...very slowly.
I had some business out of town on the following day, a Saturday, and my number one son, Steve, kindly offered to chauffeur me around that afternoon. Halfway to our destination, we hit a big bump on the highway. Instantly my tailpipe came loose and began clanking along on the pavement.
We pulled over. I got out, crawled beneath the van, yanked the tail pipe totally loose, and tossed it into the back.
"Wow, dad, this just isn't your day, is it?" Steve commented.
Two hours later, as we were preparing to return home, the van wouldn't start. Not even a click. Nothing.
Steve started laughing. "Dad, sometimes you just have to laugh."
Call me carnal if you must, but right then I felt no joy in my spirit.
We pulled the battery out. There was an Auto Zone store across the street. The battery tested out fine.
"Probably the starter," the Auto Zone guy said. The new starter cost me $100, but I still needed a way to install it. I didn't have the tools I needed with me.
The Auto Zone guy was helpful. "Here's a number you can call. This guy's a mobile mechanic. He's done work for us before. He'll come right out and fix it while you wait."
Auto-Zone guy handed Steve a business card that read: "8-UP Auto Repair." Well, of course! Why try to tip the scales of destiny in my favor at this point?
So Steve called him. "8-UP" arrived within 10 minutes, and had the new starter installed in less than 30 minutes. He charged me $50, which seemed reasonable enough for a house call. Maybe I can get back home and crawl into bed before anything else goes wrong today.
While "8-UP" was outside working on the van, Steve and I had ducked into a nearby Subway restaurant to grab a bite. Business was slow, since it was mid-afternoon, so we ended up talking with the two teenage girls working the counter.
Steve told them the story about my really bad bummer weekend: the speeding ticket, the suspended license, the broken tail-pipe, the starter going out. It was such a pathetic story, even I was starting to think it was funny.
As the young woman rang up my sandwich purchase, I gave her my trusty VISA card, since I was out of cash after my visit to Auto Zone.
"Oh no!" she exclaimed, and then looked at me with a blank stare. "Your credit card is denied."
I had just about had enough. How many tables will I have to bus at this Subway to pay for a foot-long value meal? Whatever happens, please don't call the cops!
"You have GOT to be kidding me!" I shouted.
She broke out laughing. "Yeah, I am."
My son really thought that was funny, too. Good thing for him he had the keys -- and a valid driver's license.
That was my first mistake last weekend.
A mile down the road past the BGPD headquarters, I was chatting on the phone with Mrs. Smith, oblivious to my impending sorrows, when the red lights flashing through the rear window caught my eye.
"Peggy, I've gotta go -- I'm getting pulled over," I said. "I'll be home soon, I hope."
I pulled over to stop at what looked like a safe spot, turned off the engine, and waited to see what had happened. At the time, as is so often the case, I was clueless. I consoled myself with the thought that I must have burnt out a tail light.
A young police officer, who I swear could not have finished high school yet, walked up to my door and asked me if I knew why he had pulled me over.
"No officer, I don't," I replied with honest innocence.
"I clocked you doing 41 in a 25 mile per hour zone as you drove past the police station on Churchman Avenue."
Well, duh. What could I say? He was probably right, since I don't pay slavish attention to my speedometer. I am so busy practicing my finely honed defensive driving skills, constantly scanning the road ahead for potential hazards, that I don't have time to waste on constantly checking the speedometer.
My basic philosophy on speed limits has always been -- "If it feels safe to me, I'm not going too fast." I am, after all, a seasoned professional driver.
I intuitively sensed, however, that this policeman would not be interested in my defensive driving philosophy, especially in light of the fact that my finely honed defensive driving skills had not alerted me to the hazard of speeding past his police station.
I decided it was best to just take it like a man, and get it over with.
"Officer, are you telling me that I was stupid enough to speed as I drove past the police station?"
"Yes."
"Well," I sighed as I handed him my license and registration, "I guess I deserve a ticket for doing something that dumb."
He smiled as he took my documents. "I'll be right back," he said and he walked away towards his patrol car.
I sat there thinking what a crummy way this was to end the work week. Probably a fine of $100 or more. Points on my license. Driving is a major part of my job, so points are things to be seriously avoided.
I was pondering all these things when he snuck up behind me and said, "Sir, the BMV report says that your driver's license is suspended."
I did not like the sound of that. He wasn't smiling anymore, either.
My look of obvious surprise and disbelief is probably what kept him from being offended when I exclaimed, "No way!"
"I'll check it again to be sure. Please wait right here, sir."
Have you ever noticed that the more trouble you are in, the more formally a law enforcement officer will address you? It can be quite unnerving.
This time he was gone a long time. I sat there, and it occurred to me that driving with a suspended license is probably kind of serious. Could I go to jail for this? Whatever could have happened? This was the first time I had even been pulled over in almost three years. There had to be a mistake.
Suddenly he was beside me again. Do they teach them to sneak up on people like that at the Police Academy?
"Mr. Smith (now it is MR. SMITH, probably a sign that the Taser is loaded) the BMV report indicates your license is suspended, but it won't tell me why. Usually it gives a cause, but I can't get any more info on you. It could possibly be a mistake -- your record is clean for the past two years."
To make a long story short, he gave me one ticket for speeding, and another for driving with a suspended license. He said that he would not arrest me or tow my vehicle if I promised to go straight home and not drive again until my license was reinstated.
I decided, in approximately a quarter-nano-second, that I should politely accept his gracious offer and drive myself home...very slowly.
I had some business out of town on the following day, a Saturday, and my number one son, Steve, kindly offered to chauffeur me around that afternoon. Halfway to our destination, we hit a big bump on the highway. Instantly my tailpipe came loose and began clanking along on the pavement.
We pulled over. I got out, crawled beneath the van, yanked the tail pipe totally loose, and tossed it into the back.
"Wow, dad, this just isn't your day, is it?" Steve commented.
Two hours later, as we were preparing to return home, the van wouldn't start. Not even a click. Nothing.
Steve started laughing. "Dad, sometimes you just have to laugh."
Call me carnal if you must, but right then I felt no joy in my spirit.
We pulled the battery out. There was an Auto Zone store across the street. The battery tested out fine.
"Probably the starter," the Auto Zone guy said. The new starter cost me $100, but I still needed a way to install it. I didn't have the tools I needed with me.
The Auto Zone guy was helpful. "Here's a number you can call. This guy's a mobile mechanic. He's done work for us before. He'll come right out and fix it while you wait."
Auto-Zone guy handed Steve a business card that read: "8-UP Auto Repair." Well, of course! Why try to tip the scales of destiny in my favor at this point?
So Steve called him. "8-UP" arrived within 10 minutes, and had the new starter installed in less than 30 minutes. He charged me $50, which seemed reasonable enough for a house call. Maybe I can get back home and crawl into bed before anything else goes wrong today.
While "8-UP" was outside working on the van, Steve and I had ducked into a nearby Subway restaurant to grab a bite. Business was slow, since it was mid-afternoon, so we ended up talking with the two teenage girls working the counter.
Steve told them the story about my really bad bummer weekend: the speeding ticket, the suspended license, the broken tail-pipe, the starter going out. It was such a pathetic story, even I was starting to think it was funny.
As the young woman rang up my sandwich purchase, I gave her my trusty VISA card, since I was out of cash after my visit to Auto Zone.
"Oh no!" she exclaimed, and then looked at me with a blank stare. "Your credit card is denied."
I had just about had enough. How many tables will I have to bus at this Subway to pay for a foot-long value meal? Whatever happens, please don't call the cops!
"You have GOT to be kidding me!" I shouted.
She broke out laughing. "Yeah, I am."
My son really thought that was funny, too. Good thing for him he had the keys -- and a valid driver's license.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Revolution Comes To Massachusetts
Hell is freezing over, squadrons of pigs are circling the airport, and Hugh Hefner has taken a vow of celibacy.
Oh yes...and Massachusetts has elected a Republican to the United States Senate.
My heart doth leap for joy!
After suffering through a dismal year of unconstitutional Democratic mischief, and witnessing what practically amounted to a socialist overthrow of my country, there is finally a light at the end of this long dark tunnel. His name is Scott Brown (R) -- Massachusetts' new junior Senator.
This astounding electoral upset, the first time in 30 years for a Republican from Massachusetts to sit in the U.S. Senate, just ices the cake that was baked last November when Republican governors were elected in Virginia and (be still my beating heart) New Jersey, that bluest of the blue states.
Maybe now, with this trifecta of defeat in such liberal East Coast strongholds, media pundits and Democrat politicians will be forced to admit that the anger among the American electorate is real, deep and wide. I doubt if Nancy Pelosi will be making any more snide "astroturf" comments about this latest stinging GRASSROOTS rebuke of the leftist agenda that she has been ramming down our throats for the past year.
We had a little hissy-fit on election day in 2008, and decided to roll the dice on an untested candidate. We practically gave Barack Obama and the Democrats in Congress a blank check to fundamentally remake our way of life. But the American people have learned, the hard way, what kind of bad things happen when arrogant socialists are allowed to run the country.
Voters now realize that a one-party government with a promiscuous lust for power is not the kind of change they had hoped for.
It is a beautiful and inspiring thing to watch my countrymen come to their senses. Thank God, it appears that we have snapped back to reality just in the nick of time. There may be a future for my grandchildren yet.
If the Democrats and RINOs in Washington haven't gotten the message this time, I can only gleefully look forward to the memo we will send them this coming November.
My advice to any liberal in Washington facing re-election in 2010 is simple: Polish up your resume, Scooter, 'cause you'll soon be goin' home.
Oh yes...and Massachusetts has elected a Republican to the United States Senate.
My heart doth leap for joy!
After suffering through a dismal year of unconstitutional Democratic mischief, and witnessing what practically amounted to a socialist overthrow of my country, there is finally a light at the end of this long dark tunnel. His name is Scott Brown (R) -- Massachusetts' new junior Senator.
This astounding electoral upset, the first time in 30 years for a Republican from Massachusetts to sit in the U.S. Senate, just ices the cake that was baked last November when Republican governors were elected in Virginia and (be still my beating heart) New Jersey, that bluest of the blue states.
Maybe now, with this trifecta of defeat in such liberal East Coast strongholds, media pundits and Democrat politicians will be forced to admit that the anger among the American electorate is real, deep and wide. I doubt if Nancy Pelosi will be making any more snide "astroturf" comments about this latest stinging GRASSROOTS rebuke of the leftist agenda that she has been ramming down our throats for the past year.
We had a little hissy-fit on election day in 2008, and decided to roll the dice on an untested candidate. We practically gave Barack Obama and the Democrats in Congress a blank check to fundamentally remake our way of life. But the American people have learned, the hard way, what kind of bad things happen when arrogant socialists are allowed to run the country.
Voters now realize that a one-party government with a promiscuous lust for power is not the kind of change they had hoped for.
It is a beautiful and inspiring thing to watch my countrymen come to their senses. Thank God, it appears that we have snapped back to reality just in the nick of time. There may be a future for my grandchildren yet.
If the Democrats and RINOs in Washington haven't gotten the message this time, I can only gleefully look forward to the memo we will send them this coming November.
My advice to any liberal in Washington facing re-election in 2010 is simple: Polish up your resume, Scooter, 'cause you'll soon be goin' home.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
My 24/7 Internet Help Hotline
I was a little irritated at 2:00 a.m. when I answered the phone.
Before I could bark out a grumpy "hello" I heard, "Man, you never told me how totally amazing this was!"
It was the voice of my old buddy Slug, whom I have been helping to connect with the internet. For the past week he has been living on Red Bull and three hours of sleep each night. He's got a bad case of NIFS -- Newbie Internet Fever Syndrome.
"Slug," I said wearily, "You have got to quit calling me in the middle of the night. Some of us have to work for a living, you know."
"Bro, I'm sorry, I keep losing track of time. Is it really night now? No wonder I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since lunch."
"Slug, I warned you that the internet could be addictive. You have to make yourself take a break. Get some sleep! And quit calling me!"
"Dude, I can't help it! You never told me how much I had been missing. To think of the years I've wasted!"
"Slug, get a grip. It's just images on a screen. There is more to life than burning your eyes out staring at a computer monitor."
"You don't understand, man! You know what my life has been like -- just scraping by on dead-end jobs, can't keep a steady relationship, living paycheck to paycheck. But not anymore! I can never thank you enough for hooking me up with this computer."
I was wide awake by then, so I decided to humor him. "Slug, what are you talking about?"
"I have been getting the most amazing emails all night long. There's a beautiful, lonely Russian farm girl who wants to move to America and marry me. I think I have finally found a free cure for my E.D., and now I can earn a college degree without ever leaving home.
"Bill Gates is going to send me a check for $37,000 for forwarding an email to 50 friends, and the Nigerian Interior Minister notified me just an hour ago that I can earn a quick $250,000 by helping him set up a bank account for surplus Nigerian government funds!"
OOPS -- apparently I had forgotten to warn Slug about SPAM while I was coaching him on how to use email.
"Wow," I deadpanned, "I bet you can also find a way to make a 2,000% profit by investing in penny stocks."
"How did you hear about that?" he asked suspiciously. "That is an insider secret, and I had first dibs on that tip."
"Slug, Slug, Slug...do you believe everything you read in the newspaper?"
"The newspaper? Are you kidding? The only thing newspapers are good for these days is wiping..."
"Slug, listen to me -- think of the internet as a huge world-wide digital newspaper. No, think of it as a huge digital National Enquirer, without an editor, and every crack-smoking, rip-off, sleazeball con-artist on planet Earth is a special correspondent. You can't believe everything you read. In fact, you can't believe almost any of it. It's called SPAM."
To my surprise, Slug was speechless. I was worried about him. It can be dangerous when you come crashing down off of Red Bull at 2:00 a.m., especially on an empty stomach. And then I heard him softly mutter one word -- "Bummer."
"Slug, are you okay?"
"No lonely Russian farm girl?"
"Sorry, buddy. No."
"No check from Bill Gates? No 2,000% profit? No $75 an hour working from home?"
"No, no, and...no."
"Bummer."
"Slug, I'm sorry. I should have warned you about SPAM, but we were up until 3:30 that night getting you online, and there was so much to show you -- I just didn't have enough time or energy to explain everything in one night."
"No prob, bro," he sighed, "I think I'll just shut this down for the night and crash."
"I think that's a good idea, Slug."
Suddenly he shouted through the phone, "Dude, you won't believe the message box that just popped up on my screen!"
"Slug, calm down! Calm down! We haven't had time to discuss instant messaging yet!"
"Oh man! There are some college girls who want to party right now! I've gotta go man, I need to pick up another 6-pack of Red Bull at the 7-11."
"Slug, don't hang up! Slug! Slug?"
It was too late. I had lost him.
First thing tomorrow, I'm buying some stock in Red Bull. I got a tip that it might go up as much as 2,000%.
Before I could bark out a grumpy "hello" I heard, "Man, you never told me how totally amazing this was!"
It was the voice of my old buddy Slug, whom I have been helping to connect with the internet. For the past week he has been living on Red Bull and three hours of sleep each night. He's got a bad case of NIFS -- Newbie Internet Fever Syndrome.
"Slug," I said wearily, "You have got to quit calling me in the middle of the night. Some of us have to work for a living, you know."
"Bro, I'm sorry, I keep losing track of time. Is it really night now? No wonder I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since lunch."
"Slug, I warned you that the internet could be addictive. You have to make yourself take a break. Get some sleep! And quit calling me!"
"Dude, I can't help it! You never told me how much I had been missing. To think of the years I've wasted!"
"Slug, get a grip. It's just images on a screen. There is more to life than burning your eyes out staring at a computer monitor."
"You don't understand, man! You know what my life has been like -- just scraping by on dead-end jobs, can't keep a steady relationship, living paycheck to paycheck. But not anymore! I can never thank you enough for hooking me up with this computer."
I was wide awake by then, so I decided to humor him. "Slug, what are you talking about?"
"I have been getting the most amazing emails all night long. There's a beautiful, lonely Russian farm girl who wants to move to America and marry me. I think I have finally found a free cure for my E.D., and now I can earn a college degree without ever leaving home.
"Bill Gates is going to send me a check for $37,000 for forwarding an email to 50 friends, and the Nigerian Interior Minister notified me just an hour ago that I can earn a quick $250,000 by helping him set up a bank account for surplus Nigerian government funds!"
OOPS -- apparently I had forgotten to warn Slug about SPAM while I was coaching him on how to use email.
"Wow," I deadpanned, "I bet you can also find a way to make a 2,000% profit by investing in penny stocks."
"How did you hear about that?" he asked suspiciously. "That is an insider secret, and I had first dibs on that tip."
"Slug, Slug, Slug...do you believe everything you read in the newspaper?"
"The newspaper? Are you kidding? The only thing newspapers are good for these days is wiping..."
"Slug, listen to me -- think of the internet as a huge world-wide digital newspaper. No, think of it as a huge digital National Enquirer, without an editor, and every crack-smoking, rip-off, sleazeball con-artist on planet Earth is a special correspondent. You can't believe everything you read. In fact, you can't believe almost any of it. It's called SPAM."
To my surprise, Slug was speechless. I was worried about him. It can be dangerous when you come crashing down off of Red Bull at 2:00 a.m., especially on an empty stomach. And then I heard him softly mutter one word -- "Bummer."
"Slug, are you okay?"
"No lonely Russian farm girl?"
"Sorry, buddy. No."
"No check from Bill Gates? No 2,000% profit? No $75 an hour working from home?"
"No, no, and...no."
"Bummer."
"Slug, I'm sorry. I should have warned you about SPAM, but we were up until 3:30 that night getting you online, and there was so much to show you -- I just didn't have enough time or energy to explain everything in one night."
"No prob, bro," he sighed, "I think I'll just shut this down for the night and crash."
"I think that's a good idea, Slug."
Suddenly he shouted through the phone, "Dude, you won't believe the message box that just popped up on my screen!"
"Slug, calm down! Calm down! We haven't had time to discuss instant messaging yet!"
"Oh man! There are some college girls who want to party right now! I've gotta go man, I need to pick up another 6-pack of Red Bull at the 7-11."
"Slug, don't hang up! Slug! Slug?"
It was too late. I had lost him.
First thing tomorrow, I'm buying some stock in Red Bull. I got a tip that it might go up as much as 2,000%.
Friday, January 1, 2010
When Israel Draws A Line In The Sand
As 2010 begins, the clock is ticking, but is anyone in Washington paying attention?
Iran, an oil-rich oligarchy ruled by jihadist mullahs with a fanatical desire to destroy western civilization, is about to get THE BOMB.
A nuclear-armed Iran should be the worst nightmare of everyone who loves peace and liberty.
In response to this grave threat, the Obama administration makes occasional noises about stiffer UN sanctions, but the mullahs don't care about that. They are laughing all the way to the centrifuge. There are only two things that can stop the mullahs from obtaining nuclear weapons: military intervention from without, or regime change from within.
Our President has made it clear that he is no supporter of the brave young Iranian protesters who are dying in the streets of Tehran. Above all else, he seeks stability in Iran, even if it means choosing to do business with the tyrants who massacre political opposition. Without support from the west, the chances of regime change in Iran are slim and none.
The only option left is a surgical strike against Iran's nuclear facilities. That will be a difficult and dangerous mission. Tiny Israel will have no choice but to do it. She cannot allow a hostile Iran to possess THE BOMB.
So we will let the Jews take care of this threat, just like we did in 1981, when a surprise Israeli air attack took out the Osiraq Nuclear Reactor in Iraq. We should be eternally grateful to Israel for that mission, since it kept THE BOMB away from Saddam Hussein, who fancied himself the new leader of the Arab world.
Can you imagine the problems we would have had fighting a nuclear-armed Iraq in 1991? I wonder, would we have had the stomach to liberate Kuwait, if we had known that our troops might face a nuclear attack? If not for the 1981 Israeli air strike, Saddam and his murderous gang of thugs might still be strutting unchecked across the Middle East today.
The only reason we have the luxury of ignoring the present threat of a nuclear Iran is because Israel (the Little Satan) is at the top of Iran's hit list, and Israel is a small, nearby target. For the moment, we in the United States (the Great Satan) are outside the range of Iranian missiles.
Some military experts believe that Iran is less than a year away from having THE BOMB. Of course, Iran could well be closer to possessing nuclear capabilities than we realize.
We could wake up one morning in the near future to discover a mushroom cloud sprouting over an American city, courtesy of a suicide bomber with a suitcase nuke donated by the mad mullahs. How difficult would it be to sneak a suitcase through our porous borders?
Someday soon, Israeli intelligence will ascertain that Iran is almost ready to produce THE BOMB. Israel will have to act, no matter the consequences, because inaction would guarantee an Iranian first strike that would kill hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Jews.
When Israel is forced to attack the Iranian nuclear facilities, the Muslim world will wail and weep and cry out against the "Zionist aggression." Huge angry mobs will riot in cities throughout the Muslim world. Demands for censure at the UN will reach a crescendo. The Arab nations may even decide to retaliate by attacking Israel. Again.
We can only hope that the USA will resist the Liberal knee-jerk response of demonizing Israel for a preemptive act of self-defense. For the truth is, western civilization will again be indebted to Israel for destroying a grave threat to the entire world.
Once again, by acting to save herself, Israel will have saved us all.
Iran, an oil-rich oligarchy ruled by jihadist mullahs with a fanatical desire to destroy western civilization, is about to get THE BOMB.
A nuclear-armed Iran should be the worst nightmare of everyone who loves peace and liberty.
In response to this grave threat, the Obama administration makes occasional noises about stiffer UN sanctions, but the mullahs don't care about that. They are laughing all the way to the centrifuge. There are only two things that can stop the mullahs from obtaining nuclear weapons: military intervention from without, or regime change from within.
Our President has made it clear that he is no supporter of the brave young Iranian protesters who are dying in the streets of Tehran. Above all else, he seeks stability in Iran, even if it means choosing to do business with the tyrants who massacre political opposition. Without support from the west, the chances of regime change in Iran are slim and none.
The only option left is a surgical strike against Iran's nuclear facilities. That will be a difficult and dangerous mission. Tiny Israel will have no choice but to do it. She cannot allow a hostile Iran to possess THE BOMB.
So we will let the Jews take care of this threat, just like we did in 1981, when a surprise Israeli air attack took out the Osiraq Nuclear Reactor in Iraq. We should be eternally grateful to Israel for that mission, since it kept THE BOMB away from Saddam Hussein, who fancied himself the new leader of the Arab world.
Can you imagine the problems we would have had fighting a nuclear-armed Iraq in 1991? I wonder, would we have had the stomach to liberate Kuwait, if we had known that our troops might face a nuclear attack? If not for the 1981 Israeli air strike, Saddam and his murderous gang of thugs might still be strutting unchecked across the Middle East today.
The only reason we have the luxury of ignoring the present threat of a nuclear Iran is because Israel (the Little Satan) is at the top of Iran's hit list, and Israel is a small, nearby target. For the moment, we in the United States (the Great Satan) are outside the range of Iranian missiles.
Some military experts believe that Iran is less than a year away from having THE BOMB. Of course, Iran could well be closer to possessing nuclear capabilities than we realize.
We could wake up one morning in the near future to discover a mushroom cloud sprouting over an American city, courtesy of a suicide bomber with a suitcase nuke donated by the mad mullahs. How difficult would it be to sneak a suitcase through our porous borders?
Someday soon, Israeli intelligence will ascertain that Iran is almost ready to produce THE BOMB. Israel will have to act, no matter the consequences, because inaction would guarantee an Iranian first strike that would kill hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Jews.
When Israel is forced to attack the Iranian nuclear facilities, the Muslim world will wail and weep and cry out against the "Zionist aggression." Huge angry mobs will riot in cities throughout the Muslim world. Demands for censure at the UN will reach a crescendo. The Arab nations may even decide to retaliate by attacking Israel. Again.
We can only hope that the USA will resist the Liberal knee-jerk response of demonizing Israel for a preemptive act of self-defense. For the truth is, western civilization will again be indebted to Israel for destroying a grave threat to the entire world.
Once again, by acting to save herself, Israel will have saved us all.
Friday, December 25, 2009
The Santa Hoax
I freely admit that I made a lot of mistakes as a father. There were many times that I was not as patient and loving as I should have been with my children. But there is one thing I absolutely did get right: I vowed that I would never lie to my children, and I have kept that vow.
There were a few occasions when I deferred an answer until they were older, and a couple of times when I invoked my fifth amendment rights to avoid embarrassing revelations about transgressions committed in my wayward youth. But I never lied to them - about anything - even Santa Claus.
The whole Santa thing has always been a pet peeve of mine, and I'll tell you why.
When I was a kid, my parents, like most other parents, thought they were giving me a gift by telling me that Santa Claus would be bringing me presents on Christmas morning. When I was very young, I believed them without question. But as I got older, sometime around 1st or 2nd grade, I began to have my doubts.
You don't have to be a rocket scientist to question just how this obese old guy gets around the entire world in one night. That whole flying reindeer tale should have been my first tip-off. Even to a goofy 2nd grader, this story is a stretch.
When I finally got my parents to confess to the Santa hoax, I felt like I had been bamboozled. How could I have ever been so gullible to believe a story like that in the first place? And what other things were my parents making up stories about? When I got older, I knew I didn't want to make my kids feel that way about me.
As parents, we attempt to teach our children a lot of important things. If we expect them to respect us, and trust us, then we need to establish a track record of credibility.
So I vowed that I would never lie to my children. I did not want to fill their heads with tales about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and all the other assorted childhood fantasies, because I wanted to make sure that they would believe me when I had something really important to tell them.
If I would lie to them about Santa and the Tooth Fairy, wouldn't they have a legitimate reason, as they grew up, to wonder if I was telling them the truth about Jesus? That was a bridge that I never wanted to have to cross. My kids had to know that God was real, and that they could trust me when I told them about him.
Lest you think I was some old Scrooge, I never tried to steal the wonder and joy of Christmastime from my kids. I simply told them that Santa was pretend, but that it was fun to pretend, and it was OK for them to pretend about Santa if they wished. They could pretend about anything they wanted, as long as they KNEW it was pretend, and not reality.
Kids have a natural gift for fantasy and game-playing, so they were totally OK with this concept. They would talk about Santa, and visit Santa at the mall, but deep down inside they knew they were just pretending. And they knew that I respected them enough to be honest with them.
There were some problems over the years when my kids would insist on sharing this knowledge with friends of theirs who actually did believe in Santa. I think there were a few parents unhappy with me. But what can I say? Truth is truth.
So Merry Christmas everybody! If you enjoy the whole Santa thing, I apologize for dissing your holiday tradition. But I can tell you, with 100% accuracy, that there is a much greater joy to be found this Christmas season.
Because the true story is, there really was a baby Jesus, born to be our Savior and Lord. You can read all about him in the Gospels, and I would encourage you to do so this Christmas season.
Emmanuel..."God with us"...the divine eternal creator...humbling himself to be born here and live among men. What an incredible sacrifice for God to make on our behalf! This story is so amazing that it is hard for people to believe it's true.
Until you ask God to open your eyes, you won't believe it either.
Historians are a bit fuzzy on the time line, but I can live with that. The exact date is not crucial, but the reality of the event marks a turning point in human history.
The plain fact is that Jesus was born, in a stable in Bethlehem, to a virgin named Mary and her husband Joseph, one evening about 2000 years ago. As God incarnate, he came here to die for our sins, save us from hell, and offer us the gift of eternal life.
I wouldn't lie to you about a thing like that.
There were a few occasions when I deferred an answer until they were older, and a couple of times when I invoked my fifth amendment rights to avoid embarrassing revelations about transgressions committed in my wayward youth. But I never lied to them - about anything - even Santa Claus.
The whole Santa thing has always been a pet peeve of mine, and I'll tell you why.
When I was a kid, my parents, like most other parents, thought they were giving me a gift by telling me that Santa Claus would be bringing me presents on Christmas morning. When I was very young, I believed them without question. But as I got older, sometime around 1st or 2nd grade, I began to have my doubts.
You don't have to be a rocket scientist to question just how this obese old guy gets around the entire world in one night. That whole flying reindeer tale should have been my first tip-off. Even to a goofy 2nd grader, this story is a stretch.
When I finally got my parents to confess to the Santa hoax, I felt like I had been bamboozled. How could I have ever been so gullible to believe a story like that in the first place? And what other things were my parents making up stories about? When I got older, I knew I didn't want to make my kids feel that way about me.
As parents, we attempt to teach our children a lot of important things. If we expect them to respect us, and trust us, then we need to establish a track record of credibility.
So I vowed that I would never lie to my children. I did not want to fill their heads with tales about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and all the other assorted childhood fantasies, because I wanted to make sure that they would believe me when I had something really important to tell them.
If I would lie to them about Santa and the Tooth Fairy, wouldn't they have a legitimate reason, as they grew up, to wonder if I was telling them the truth about Jesus? That was a bridge that I never wanted to have to cross. My kids had to know that God was real, and that they could trust me when I told them about him.
Lest you think I was some old Scrooge, I never tried to steal the wonder and joy of Christmastime from my kids. I simply told them that Santa was pretend, but that it was fun to pretend, and it was OK for them to pretend about Santa if they wished. They could pretend about anything they wanted, as long as they KNEW it was pretend, and not reality.
Kids have a natural gift for fantasy and game-playing, so they were totally OK with this concept. They would talk about Santa, and visit Santa at the mall, but deep down inside they knew they were just pretending. And they knew that I respected them enough to be honest with them.
There were some problems over the years when my kids would insist on sharing this knowledge with friends of theirs who actually did believe in Santa. I think there were a few parents unhappy with me. But what can I say? Truth is truth.
So Merry Christmas everybody! If you enjoy the whole Santa thing, I apologize for dissing your holiday tradition. But I can tell you, with 100% accuracy, that there is a much greater joy to be found this Christmas season.
Because the true story is, there really was a baby Jesus, born to be our Savior and Lord. You can read all about him in the Gospels, and I would encourage you to do so this Christmas season.
Emmanuel..."God with us"...the divine eternal creator...humbling himself to be born here and live among men. What an incredible sacrifice for God to make on our behalf! This story is so amazing that it is hard for people to believe it's true.
Until you ask God to open your eyes, you won't believe it either.
Historians are a bit fuzzy on the time line, but I can live with that. The exact date is not crucial, but the reality of the event marks a turning point in human history.
The plain fact is that Jesus was born, in a stable in Bethlehem, to a virgin named Mary and her husband Joseph, one evening about 2000 years ago. As God incarnate, he came here to die for our sins, save us from hell, and offer us the gift of eternal life.
I wouldn't lie to you about a thing like that.
Friday, December 11, 2009
What I Do Not Want For Christmas
No doubt you are among the millions of readers of this blog who toss and turn, night after night, wondering what to get me for Christmas.
As a public service, please allow me to put your minds at ease. I am easy to please. Any thoughtful trinket you may wish to present to me will be appreciated, with the exception of the following:
1. Barack Obama Chia Bust -- You might think I'm making this up, but such an atrocity is on the shelves. For reasons too numerous to mention, I do not want one. And no commemorative plates, either.
2. Hair care products -- Sadly, I am fast approaching the point where these are unnecessary. If I do receive any hair care products for Christmas, I will probably just re-gift them to John Kerry or Donald Trump.
3. Lottery Tickets -- Is there any crappier present than a lottery ticket? Scratch it and throw it away...wheeee! I've always considered the lottery a stealth tax on foolish people -- please don't make me a party to that! If I am ever hit by lightning, I will know is it time to buy a lottery ticket, because I will have the same chances of winning the lottery as I did of getting struck by the lightning.
4. Speedo Swim Trunks -- Though I have worked diligently to maintain myself in peak physical condition over the years, it is unbecoming to flaunt it. Modesty dictates that I keep my rock-hard physique appropriately covered lest I cause a riot at the beach.
5. Fruitcake -- The phantom terror of every Christmas season. How can you eat something that never deteriorates? Who knows how old that thing is? I've heard stories that archeologists found pieces of perfectly preserved fruit cake in the stomach of King Tut, and they still tasted just fine. It's the re-gifting item that keeps on giving, year after year after year.
6. Star Certificate -- Every year I hear these commercials. For only $54 you can name a star after anyone you wish. All names will be registered with the International Star Registry. You get a customized certificate! Right. If you're going to present me with such a lame gift, at least upgrade me to planet status. Stars are so last year.
7. European Shoulder Bag -- Let me be clear: although I am totally secure in my male identity, and in touch with my inner woman, I have to draw the line somewhere. You can call it a shoulder bag, but Seinfeld had it right: it's a man-purse. No way, Jose. I can handle the fat wallet. I can even handle a fanny-pack. But no man-purse, please!
Now that you know what to avoid, let the shopping begin. I can't wait for you to surprise me.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
President Lincoln Knew Who To Thank
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 2009.
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
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thinking of Thanking Anyone?
My grandchildren enjoy watching videos of Jay-Jay the Jet Plane. If you don't have small children around the house, you may not be familiar with Jay-Jay, but trust me, he is really big with the pre-school crowd.
Recently, while I was watching a holiday-themed Jay-Jay video with little Miranda, I became troubled.
Jay-Jay and his friends were flying around (as they so often do) while discussing the meaning of Thanksgiving. Jay-Jay didn't understand the concept of being thankful, or even what to be thankful for. His little jet-friend Tracy set him straight, to some degree, by reminding him of the good things in his life and teaching him to appreciate his friends, his job, and the comforts of home at Tarreytown airport.
What bothers me is the fact that my grandhchildren are being taught a lesson that is only two-thirds complete. Watching Jay-Jay, they will learn to count their blessings, and they will learn to be thankful for them -- but aren't these two concepts rather aimless unless they learn WHO to be thankful TO?
That Jay-Jay Thanksgiving video represents what is wrong with us in America today. We have enough sense to realize that we are fortunate to live in such a prosperous, free and open society. We know that we should be thankful, but we have forgotten who to thank.
Sadly, Barack Obama was spot-on when he recently declared that America "is not a Christian nation." We have drifted a long way from our cultural roots. Back when I was young, and dinosaurs roamed the Great Plains, public acknowledgements of God were still common and non-controversial.
It has been a grim experience to witness, in my lifetime, the decline of America into an increasingly humanistic, secular and fractured society. We have allowed God-hating people to run rampant over our culture. We cannot pray in school. Nativity scenes are being banned all across the country. The Ten Commandments have been removed from public display in courthouses. Political correctness dictates that you say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." There is a movement to have the words "under God" stricken from the Pledge of Allegiance.
Anything that hints of God is being eliminated from our public life.
Ironically, we are free today, as Americans, because our forefathers believed in God and acted upon that belief. It was a shared faith in God's authority and power that gave those early Americans the fortitude to persevere against all of the challenges they faced. Without God, this country would never have been born.
The people who founded this country shared a biblical worldview that molded the structure of our government and laws. It was a common acceptance of biblical principles that led them to establish a constitution that upheld the concepts of liberty and individual freedom. An individual had intrinsic worth, because he was created in the image of God.
That alone is reason for overwhelming thanks. But even more, God has blessed this country bountifully since it's founding. We have rejected the sin of slavery, emancipated women, liberated entire continents from tyranny, cured horrific diseases, and elevated the common man's standard of living to heights never dreamed of before in human history. We are blessed to live in a great country. God has been good to America.
Yet, in the face of such divine magnanimity, we have rejected our God.
Listen to the Thanksgiving shows on TV. Watch the parades. Unless you are watching Christian television, you will hear no mention of God. Thanksgiving Day has been reduced to a national pig-out, and the start of the Christmas shopping season.
As we become more secularized, and more forgetful of who has been buttering our bread, we teeter ever closer to that tipping point where God finally withdraws his protection, and allows judgement to proceed. I believe that the decline of America is already underway. We are growing weaker and poorer, both materially and spiritually, with each passing day. I shudder to think of the country that my grandchildren will inherit if we do not reverse our course.
We can learn from the Old Testament how the people of ancient Israel suffered terrible judgements as a result of their continued rejection of God's authority. A great nation was reduced to a wasteland, because the people forgot the God who sustained them.
At the height of Israel's glory, when King Solomon had just finished dedicating the temple in Jerusalem, God appeared to him and made a sobering declaration. It was a promise of blessing for obedience, and a promise of judgement for sin. Americans today would be wise to heed the words that God spoke to Solomon so long ago.
America needs to return to God. We need to discover anew just what Thanksgiving Day is really all about.
Recently, while I was watching a holiday-themed Jay-Jay video with little Miranda, I became troubled.
Jay-Jay and his friends were flying around (as they so often do) while discussing the meaning of Thanksgiving. Jay-Jay didn't understand the concept of being thankful, or even what to be thankful for. His little jet-friend Tracy set him straight, to some degree, by reminding him of the good things in his life and teaching him to appreciate his friends, his job, and the comforts of home at Tarreytown airport.
What bothers me is the fact that my grandhchildren are being taught a lesson that is only two-thirds complete. Watching Jay-Jay, they will learn to count their blessings, and they will learn to be thankful for them -- but aren't these two concepts rather aimless unless they learn WHO to be thankful TO?
That Jay-Jay Thanksgiving video represents what is wrong with us in America today. We have enough sense to realize that we are fortunate to live in such a prosperous, free and open society. We know that we should be thankful, but we have forgotten who to thank.
Sadly, Barack Obama was spot-on when he recently declared that America "is not a Christian nation." We have drifted a long way from our cultural roots. Back when I was young, and dinosaurs roamed the Great Plains, public acknowledgements of God were still common and non-controversial.
It has been a grim experience to witness, in my lifetime, the decline of America into an increasingly humanistic, secular and fractured society. We have allowed God-hating people to run rampant over our culture. We cannot pray in school. Nativity scenes are being banned all across the country. The Ten Commandments have been removed from public display in courthouses. Political correctness dictates that you say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." There is a movement to have the words "under God" stricken from the Pledge of Allegiance.
Anything that hints of God is being eliminated from our public life.
Ironically, we are free today, as Americans, because our forefathers believed in God and acted upon that belief. It was a shared faith in God's authority and power that gave those early Americans the fortitude to persevere against all of the challenges they faced. Without God, this country would never have been born.
The people who founded this country shared a biblical worldview that molded the structure of our government and laws. It was a common acceptance of biblical principles that led them to establish a constitution that upheld the concepts of liberty and individual freedom. An individual had intrinsic worth, because he was created in the image of God.
That alone is reason for overwhelming thanks. But even more, God has blessed this country bountifully since it's founding. We have rejected the sin of slavery, emancipated women, liberated entire continents from tyranny, cured horrific diseases, and elevated the common man's standard of living to heights never dreamed of before in human history. We are blessed to live in a great country. God has been good to America.
Yet, in the face of such divine magnanimity, we have rejected our God.
Listen to the Thanksgiving shows on TV. Watch the parades. Unless you are watching Christian television, you will hear no mention of God. Thanksgiving Day has been reduced to a national pig-out, and the start of the Christmas shopping season.
As we become more secularized, and more forgetful of who has been buttering our bread, we teeter ever closer to that tipping point where God finally withdraws his protection, and allows judgement to proceed. I believe that the decline of America is already underway. We are growing weaker and poorer, both materially and spiritually, with each passing day. I shudder to think of the country that my grandchildren will inherit if we do not reverse our course.
We can learn from the Old Testament how the people of ancient Israel suffered terrible judgements as a result of their continued rejection of God's authority. A great nation was reduced to a wasteland, because the people forgot the God who sustained them.
At the height of Israel's glory, when King Solomon had just finished dedicating the temple in Jerusalem, God appeared to him and made a sobering declaration. It was a promise of blessing for obedience, and a promise of judgement for sin. Americans today would be wise to heed the words that God spoke to Solomon so long ago.
When Solomon had finished the temple of the LORD and the royal palace, and had succeeded in carrying out all he had in mind to do in the temple of the LORD and in his own palace, the LORD appeared to him at night and said: "I have heard your prayer and have chosen this place for myself as a temple for sacrifices.
"When I shut up the heavens so that there is no rain, or command locusts to devour the land or send a plague among my people, if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land. Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to the prayers offered in this place. I have chosen and consecrated this temple so that my Name may be there forever. My eyes and my heart will always be there.
"As for you, if you walk before me as David your father did, and do all I command, and observe my decrees and laws, I will establish your royal throne, as I covenanted with David your father when I said, 'You shall never fail to have a man to rule over Israel.'
"But if you turn away and forsake the decrees and commands I have given you and go off to serve other gods and worship them, then I will uproot Israel from my land, which I have given them, and will reject this temple I have consecrated for my Name. I will make it a byword and an object of ridicule among all peoples. And though this temple is now so imposing, all who pass by will be appalled and say, 'Why has the LORD done such a thing to this land and to this temple?' People will answer, 'Because they have forsaken the LORD, the God of their fathers, who brought them out of Egypt, and have embraced other gods, worshiping and serving them—that is why he brought all this disaster on them.' "
(2 Chronicles 7:11-22, NIV)
America needs to return to God. We need to discover anew just what Thanksgiving Day is really all about.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Hope You Liked That $4 Gas
Okay, boys and girls, settle into your seats for a quick lesson in Remedial Economics from Professor Dave. Be ready to take notes, there may be a pop quiz later.
First, a little background:
You may recall that in the summer of 2008, before the last general election, gas prices passed the $4 per gallon mark. This understandably caused quite a ruckus among consumers, and we beseiged our representatives in government with demands that something be done to correct the situation.
With an election looming on the horizon, liberal Democrats (and their RINO buddies) reverted to their standard election year schtick: making whatever noises they thought the voters wanted to hear, with no intention of ever actually following through.
Suddenly, the very legislators who have continuously blocked opening up federal lands for energy exploration were all on board the "drill here, drill now" express. The voters are upset - gas prices are too high - so let's put on a show!
Everyone from House Speaker Comrade Pelosi to the lowliest junior Rust Belt congressman was suddenly barking about energy independence. Democrats brayed in loud TV sound bites about lifting the congressionally-imposed ban on offshore drilling that has been in effect for decades, and which has hampered our domestic energy production.
And we the people, being the gullible dunces we are, once again bought it. Liberals were swept into power in 2008, and given total control of the government. It reminds me of Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown. For some reason, poor old Charlie Brown always tells himself that THIS TIME Lucy will do the right thing.
Have we heard a peep out of Democrats in Congress about increasing our energy production since they won the election? That answer would be NO! Liberal politicians never intended to follow through on those snake-oil campaign promises. Imagine that.
So, boys and girls, back to our economics lesson. Though some people say that the only sure things in life are death and taxes, I feel confident in adding a third: the law of supply and demand. If supply exceeds demand, prices fall. If demand exceeds supply, prices rise.
(This principle is too simplistic for sophisticated Ivy League Liberals to grasp, but trust Professor Dave on this one, it is a cold hard fact of life.)
Early last year, before our economy took that nose-dive into the Great Recession, we had shared in several years of robust growth in the global economy. Business was booming all over the world, and especially with the Indian and Chinese economies growing by leaps and bounds, demand for oil and refined petroleum products was at an all-time high. Supplies were being squeezed. Prices were rising accordingly.
In the U.S., demand for gasoline had grown to the point that our domestic oil refineries could not keep up, and we were forced to import gasoline from foreign refineries. (We can also thank liberals for the fact that we have been unable to construct a new oil refinery in this country in the past 25 years.) Under those circumstances, why was anyone with an IQ above room temperature surprised that prices would rise?
It's all about supply and demand. Demand was higher than supply, so we paid through the nose for our gasoline.
But as events unfolded, and the Great Recession of 2008-2009 cooled down the global economy, the world's demand for oil plummeted. Oil reserves grew while demand kept falling, and we witnessed the inevitable result: gasoline prices fell 50% in less than a year. Last spring, prices in central Indiana were down to around $2 per gallon.
So we all fell asleep at the switch. Minus the prodding of public pressure for action, liberals in Congress reverted to their default mode of stifling our domestic energy production. All of those campaign promises about energy independence were wiped off the table, and since gasoline was cheap again, most of us didn't pay much attention.
For some reason, it has not dawned on the majority of us that the only reason gasoline prices dropped was because the economy was in the toilet, and that as the economy begins to recover and global demand rises, we will be back to record high oil prices in the very near future.
The global demand for energy will keep growing, and unless the supply grows with it, we will be sending billions more of our dollars (and hundreds of thousands of energy-sector jobs) to our friends overseas like Hugo Chavez and the Mullahs of Iran.
Thanks to the inaction of our government, we are stuck in exactly the same vulnerable position that we occupied two years ago. We are constrained from developing and expanding domestic energy production, and forced to purchase the lifeblood of our economy at premium prices from unstable foreign suppliers, many of whom don't like us very much.
Unless we change direction, we'll soon be filling up with some more of that $4 gas. Shucks, if we throw in a little Obama-stimulus-induced inflation and a hiccup in the Middle East we might even get to see prices of $5 or $6 per gallon.
And since this is just a Remedial Economics lesson, we won't even begin to discuss the obvious national security dangers of depending on hostile nations to supply us with the fuel that we need to survive.
Our only hope is to move aggressively towards energy independence. We need to unleash the brains, brawn and capital of the domestic energy companies that can make that goal a reality. We need to demand that our government get on board the energy express, or at least get out of the way.
Repeat after me: "Supply and demand. Supply and demand."
Class dismissed.
First, a little background:
You may recall that in the summer of 2008, before the last general election, gas prices passed the $4 per gallon mark. This understandably caused quite a ruckus among consumers, and we beseiged our representatives in government with demands that something be done to correct the situation.
With an election looming on the horizon, liberal Democrats (and their RINO buddies) reverted to their standard election year schtick: making whatever noises they thought the voters wanted to hear, with no intention of ever actually following through.
Suddenly, the very legislators who have continuously blocked opening up federal lands for energy exploration were all on board the "drill here, drill now" express. The voters are upset - gas prices are too high - so let's put on a show!
Everyone from House Speaker Comrade Pelosi to the lowliest junior Rust Belt congressman was suddenly barking about energy independence. Democrats brayed in loud TV sound bites about lifting the congressionally-imposed ban on offshore drilling that has been in effect for decades, and which has hampered our domestic energy production.
And we the people, being the gullible dunces we are, once again bought it. Liberals were swept into power in 2008, and given total control of the government. It reminds me of Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown. For some reason, poor old Charlie Brown always tells himself that THIS TIME Lucy will do the right thing.
Have we heard a peep out of Democrats in Congress about increasing our energy production since they won the election? That answer would be NO! Liberal politicians never intended to follow through on those snake-oil campaign promises. Imagine that.
So, boys and girls, back to our economics lesson. Though some people say that the only sure things in life are death and taxes, I feel confident in adding a third: the law of supply and demand. If supply exceeds demand, prices fall. If demand exceeds supply, prices rise.
(This principle is too simplistic for sophisticated Ivy League Liberals to grasp, but trust Professor Dave on this one, it is a cold hard fact of life.)
Early last year, before our economy took that nose-dive into the Great Recession, we had shared in several years of robust growth in the global economy. Business was booming all over the world, and especially with the Indian and Chinese economies growing by leaps and bounds, demand for oil and refined petroleum products was at an all-time high. Supplies were being squeezed. Prices were rising accordingly.
In the U.S., demand for gasoline had grown to the point that our domestic oil refineries could not keep up, and we were forced to import gasoline from foreign refineries. (We can also thank liberals for the fact that we have been unable to construct a new oil refinery in this country in the past 25 years.) Under those circumstances, why was anyone with an IQ above room temperature surprised that prices would rise?
It's all about supply and demand. Demand was higher than supply, so we paid through the nose for our gasoline.
But as events unfolded, and the Great Recession of 2008-2009 cooled down the global economy, the world's demand for oil plummeted. Oil reserves grew while demand kept falling, and we witnessed the inevitable result: gasoline prices fell 50% in less than a year. Last spring, prices in central Indiana were down to around $2 per gallon.
So we all fell asleep at the switch. Minus the prodding of public pressure for action, liberals in Congress reverted to their default mode of stifling our domestic energy production. All of those campaign promises about energy independence were wiped off the table, and since gasoline was cheap again, most of us didn't pay much attention.
For some reason, it has not dawned on the majority of us that the only reason gasoline prices dropped was because the economy was in the toilet, and that as the economy begins to recover and global demand rises, we will be back to record high oil prices in the very near future.
The global demand for energy will keep growing, and unless the supply grows with it, we will be sending billions more of our dollars (and hundreds of thousands of energy-sector jobs) to our friends overseas like Hugo Chavez and the Mullahs of Iran.
Thanks to the inaction of our government, we are stuck in exactly the same vulnerable position that we occupied two years ago. We are constrained from developing and expanding domestic energy production, and forced to purchase the lifeblood of our economy at premium prices from unstable foreign suppliers, many of whom don't like us very much.
Unless we change direction, we'll soon be filling up with some more of that $4 gas. Shucks, if we throw in a little Obama-stimulus-induced inflation and a hiccup in the Middle East we might even get to see prices of $5 or $6 per gallon.
And since this is just a Remedial Economics lesson, we won't even begin to discuss the obvious national security dangers of depending on hostile nations to supply us with the fuel that we need to survive.
Our only hope is to move aggressively towards energy independence. We need to unleash the brains, brawn and capital of the domestic energy companies that can make that goal a reality. We need to demand that our government get on board the energy express, or at least get out of the way.
Repeat after me: "Supply and demand. Supply and demand."
Class dismissed.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Just Another Child Living In The Shadows
I was having lunch at a rib joint in Plainfield when I noticed them come in.
A young man, twenty-something, with a cute little curly-haired brunette who must have been about five years old. They sat down about 20 feet away, at a corner booth close to the exit, near a window that looked out onto the parking lot.
The little girl reached down into the large brown grocery sack she had carried in with her and pulled out a doll and a coloring book. She sat next to dad and showed him some pictures she had been working on.
He had his left arm around her, and she was cuddled up against his chest, talking and pointing out details of special interest in the masterpiece she had been coloring.
Dad looked tired. He nodded and smiled, and while he seemed to be enjoying this father-daughter bonding, there was a strain in his expression that revealed he was not 100% in the moment.
When the waitress came to their table, she fussed over the little girl, who really was just as cute as a 5-year-old girl can be, and also was drawn into the discussion about the coloring book.
I didn't pay much attention to them after that, since I had a serious plate of ribs to devour, but after my meal I noticed that they were both looking out the window. Just then a red Dodge Charger pulled into the parking lot. Dad and daughter hugged, and he sat her down in the booth, and motioned for her to wait.
As he walked outside to the car, the woman driving it rolled down her window. He stopped a few feet away from the car and bent down to speak with her. Her left arm was gesturing impatiently through the open window, and he was holding his hands out, in a pleading gesture, making his case.
The little girl stood motionless in her booth, her back to me, her hands and face pressed against the glass, watching the discussion in the parking lot. The doll and coloring book were forgotten on the table.
What was she thinking as she watched mom and dad arguing outside? How much of her short life had she lived in the shadow of adult conflicts that she could never understand? How much time did she get to spend with her dad, and when would she see him again? What options for her life were being negotiated at that meeting, on that hot asphalt lot, by the two people she needed most in the world?
Finally the discussion was over. Dad walked slowly back into the restaurant. As he approched the booth, he looked sadly at the little girl and shook his head "no." Her shoulders slumped, but he quickly swooped her up and gave her a huge, rocking hug.
He stood there a bit, just hugging her. She was whispering something into his ear. Then he set her down. He bent down and kissed her forehead. She put her doll and coloring book back into the big brown bag.
Dad walked her out to the car, gave her one last hug, and then helped her get buckled into the back seat.
In an instant, the red Charger was gone.
A young man, twenty-something, with a cute little curly-haired brunette who must have been about five years old. They sat down about 20 feet away, at a corner booth close to the exit, near a window that looked out onto the parking lot.
The little girl reached down into the large brown grocery sack she had carried in with her and pulled out a doll and a coloring book. She sat next to dad and showed him some pictures she had been working on.
He had his left arm around her, and she was cuddled up against his chest, talking and pointing out details of special interest in the masterpiece she had been coloring.
Dad looked tired. He nodded and smiled, and while he seemed to be enjoying this father-daughter bonding, there was a strain in his expression that revealed he was not 100% in the moment.
When the waitress came to their table, she fussed over the little girl, who really was just as cute as a 5-year-old girl can be, and also was drawn into the discussion about the coloring book.
I didn't pay much attention to them after that, since I had a serious plate of ribs to devour, but after my meal I noticed that they were both looking out the window. Just then a red Dodge Charger pulled into the parking lot. Dad and daughter hugged, and he sat her down in the booth, and motioned for her to wait.
As he walked outside to the car, the woman driving it rolled down her window. He stopped a few feet away from the car and bent down to speak with her. Her left arm was gesturing impatiently through the open window, and he was holding his hands out, in a pleading gesture, making his case.
The little girl stood motionless in her booth, her back to me, her hands and face pressed against the glass, watching the discussion in the parking lot. The doll and coloring book were forgotten on the table.
What was she thinking as she watched mom and dad arguing outside? How much of her short life had she lived in the shadow of adult conflicts that she could never understand? How much time did she get to spend with her dad, and when would she see him again? What options for her life were being negotiated at that meeting, on that hot asphalt lot, by the two people she needed most in the world?
Finally the discussion was over. Dad walked slowly back into the restaurant. As he approched the booth, he looked sadly at the little girl and shook his head "no." Her shoulders slumped, but he quickly swooped her up and gave her a huge, rocking hug.
He stood there a bit, just hugging her. She was whispering something into his ear. Then he set her down. He bent down and kissed her forehead. She put her doll and coloring book back into the big brown bag.
Dad walked her out to the car, gave her one last hug, and then helped her get buckled into the back seat.
In an instant, the red Charger was gone.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The Nicest God You'll Ever Meet
It happened again not too long ago.
I was talking with my Uncle Ron, a man in poor health, who admits he doesn't have long to live. We had been discussing matters of his estate, and he had explicit requests for how he wanted his affairs to be settled after he died.
Towards the end of this conversation, I said, "You've put a lot of thought into how you want your assets disposed of, but you still haven't taken care of your soul. Aren't you worried that you're not ready to face God?"
In my capacity as family "Jesus-freak" I have had numerous spiritual conversations with my uncle, and many other relatives, and while they politely tolerate me, I never seem to quite get through. I fully realize that the "getting through" part is up to the Holy Spirit, but still it can be discouraging when you keep pitching but no one seems to be catching.
Uncle Ron looked at me and said, "I know what you're saying is true, but I'm just not ready yet."
"Uncle," I said, "You've got one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel! How close do you want to cut this thing?"
"I'm just not ready," he said, "I've still got some things I want to do."
I've heard this line of reasoning before, and it never ceases to amaze me. People will talk about "getting right with God" someday in the distant future, once they have "enjoyed" their life and there is nothing left to live for. Where do people get this idea that becoming a Christian means the fun of living is over? How does becoming a child of the King of the Universe translate into a life of drudgery and boredom?
Part of it, of course, is just the lie that the devil plants into our sinful hearts: the lie that serving God is for chumps; that you have to be "free" to live your life any way you see fit if you want to be happy. We all buy into that philosophy easily enough, since it perfectly suits our selfish inclinations.
Another part of the problem is the way we in the church behave sometimes. I am acquainted with a lot of wonderful Christian brothers and sisters who express the joy of Christ in their day to day lives, and are fun people to hang with, simply because they have the love of God in their hearts and a real zest for living.
But there are far too many judgmental, condescending, uptight, unhappy and boorish Christians who may be impressed with their own piety, but don't do much of a job of advertising the love of Jesus to the people around them.
Speaking for myself, I can only say that my life never really began until the day I surrendered my life to God. I wouldn't trade my worst day as a Christian for my best day as a heathen. Finding the love and mercy of Jesus was the best thing that ever happened to me. You couldn't pay me enough to ever go back to my old life. Until I met God, I never knew what living really was.
Do you want to know real peace? Do you want to lay down at night in contentment, knowing that the maker of the universe is watching over you? Do you want to really enjoy the life you are living? Do you want to discover the meaning of your life, and experience a love that surrounds you and cherishes you? Do you want to truly know, in the depths of your soul, that God has forgiven you and loves you and will NEVER let you go?
The only way to know these things is to surrender your life to Jesus, and make him your Lord and Savior.
If you are putting off an encounter with Jesus because you have "some things you want to do" that you think are more important than meeting God, you have some seriously whacked-out priorities in your life. Get on the clue bus, Bubba!
Life is passing you by, and the devil is laughing behind your back. Every day that he can keep you away from God means you are one day closer to the possibility of spending eternity in hell - all because you think you can do better on your own.
There is nothing better than knowing God. There is no way to fulfill your purpose in life until you have put Jesus in charge of it. Forget every pre-conceived notion you have ever had. Forget your pride. Put aside your irrational fears and just come to Jesus, right now, the way you are, and let Him show you how much He loves you.
He truly is the nicest God you'll ever meet.
I was talking with my Uncle Ron, a man in poor health, who admits he doesn't have long to live. We had been discussing matters of his estate, and he had explicit requests for how he wanted his affairs to be settled after he died.
Towards the end of this conversation, I said, "You've put a lot of thought into how you want your assets disposed of, but you still haven't taken care of your soul. Aren't you worried that you're not ready to face God?"
In my capacity as family "Jesus-freak" I have had numerous spiritual conversations with my uncle, and many other relatives, and while they politely tolerate me, I never seem to quite get through. I fully realize that the "getting through" part is up to the Holy Spirit, but still it can be discouraging when you keep pitching but no one seems to be catching.
Uncle Ron looked at me and said, "I know what you're saying is true, but I'm just not ready yet."
"Uncle," I said, "You've got one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel! How close do you want to cut this thing?"
"I'm just not ready," he said, "I've still got some things I want to do."
I've heard this line of reasoning before, and it never ceases to amaze me. People will talk about "getting right with God" someday in the distant future, once they have "enjoyed" their life and there is nothing left to live for. Where do people get this idea that becoming a Christian means the fun of living is over? How does becoming a child of the King of the Universe translate into a life of drudgery and boredom?
Part of it, of course, is just the lie that the devil plants into our sinful hearts: the lie that serving God is for chumps; that you have to be "free" to live your life any way you see fit if you want to be happy. We all buy into that philosophy easily enough, since it perfectly suits our selfish inclinations.
Another part of the problem is the way we in the church behave sometimes. I am acquainted with a lot of wonderful Christian brothers and sisters who express the joy of Christ in their day to day lives, and are fun people to hang with, simply because they have the love of God in their hearts and a real zest for living.
But there are far too many judgmental, condescending, uptight, unhappy and boorish Christians who may be impressed with their own piety, but don't do much of a job of advertising the love of Jesus to the people around them.
Speaking for myself, I can only say that my life never really began until the day I surrendered my life to God. I wouldn't trade my worst day as a Christian for my best day as a heathen. Finding the love and mercy of Jesus was the best thing that ever happened to me. You couldn't pay me enough to ever go back to my old life. Until I met God, I never knew what living really was.
Do you want to know real peace? Do you want to lay down at night in contentment, knowing that the maker of the universe is watching over you? Do you want to really enjoy the life you are living? Do you want to discover the meaning of your life, and experience a love that surrounds you and cherishes you? Do you want to truly know, in the depths of your soul, that God has forgiven you and loves you and will NEVER let you go?
The only way to know these things is to surrender your life to Jesus, and make him your Lord and Savior.
If you are putting off an encounter with Jesus because you have "some things you want to do" that you think are more important than meeting God, you have some seriously whacked-out priorities in your life. Get on the clue bus, Bubba!
Life is passing you by, and the devil is laughing behind your back. Every day that he can keep you away from God means you are one day closer to the possibility of spending eternity in hell - all because you think you can do better on your own.
There is nothing better than knowing God. There is no way to fulfill your purpose in life until you have put Jesus in charge of it. Forget every pre-conceived notion you have ever had. Forget your pride. Put aside your irrational fears and just come to Jesus, right now, the way you are, and let Him show you how much He loves you.
He truly is the nicest God you'll ever meet.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
A Day At The Beach
On a recent hot summer afternoon I went to the beach and ran into my old high school buddy, Slug. He was sitting in the shade of a scrub pine, slouched in a canvas beach chair, with his feet propped up on a cooler.
"Slug! What's happening, man? I haven't seen you in forever!" I exclaimed.
"Been way too long, dude. Haven't been doin' much, just gettin' by, ya know?"
Slug dipped a tortilla chip into his nacho cheese sauce, and used it to point out across the beach, dripping cheese on his knee in the process.
"Look out there, man. What do you see?"
"Well," I replied, "I see a lot of people who are going to wish they had put on more sunscreen when they go home tonight."
"True, my friend, but look hard, what do you see?"
"Lots of tattoos, for one thing," I noted. "And quite a few chunky girls out there today."
"Bingo!" he exclaimed. "And chunky is an understatement."
So shoot me, I thought, I was trying to be charitable.
Slug got on a roll. "There's not a woman out there who couldn't stand to lose 40 pounds. What is happening to the younger generation?"
Slug finished his last nacho, and reached down into a brown bag under his chair. "Cookie?" he offered, holding out a monster-sized chocolate chip creation.
"No thanks, man, my doctor's all over me about sugar. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Man, remember when we were kids? What was the favorite thing to do on a hot summer day?" Before I could speak he answered himself. "Hang at the beach and check out the women! Look at this, man, this is pitiful!"
I tried hard to remember being young. I could conjure a faint memory of my lean healthy body jumping into the waves on a hot summer's day. And yes, Slug was right, I did seem to recall the pleasures of watching healthy young women stroll across the sand.
Then I looked around. Every single person on that beach was fat. I made myself notice the men, since I had not paid much attention to them at first, and they all had big bellies hanging over the top of their trunks. As I re-focused on the women, my heart began to sink. Even the young girls, sixteen years old, in the physical prime of their lives, had big jiggling thighs and rolls of blubber bulging out in all directions from anywhere their swimsuits would allow it to escape.
"You're right," I nodded, "I can remember young women with slender shapely figures. They were so beautiful back then." I looked around the beach with new eyes, and realized Slug was onto something. "Those really were the good old days."
After not seeing each other for so many years, Slug and I had bonded anew.
"Sit down, dude." Slug insisted. "Here, grab a brewski and check out this cheese ball."
So we sat, and ate, and drank, and talked about what had happened to the world we used to know. The sun beat down, the waves slapped against the shore, and it was a wonderful day to be alive at the beach.
Later in the day, Slug began to wax philosophically. He opened a can of peanuts and said, "You know, think of what could be accomplished if all the money these people spent on tattoos was invested in gym memberships."
I grabbed a fistful of nuts, washed it down with a cold slug of Coors, and tried not to choke on my laughter. It occurred to me that perhaps we were being too harsh, especially in light of our own physical condition.
"You know, Slug, neither of us will ever make a living as swimsuit models, either."
"For sure, dude," he agreed, "But at least we started out looking good. We're old, man, it took us a lot of years to get into this kind of shape. If these kids look this bad now, what are they gonna look like when they're 50?"
"Slug! What's happening, man? I haven't seen you in forever!" I exclaimed.
"Been way too long, dude. Haven't been doin' much, just gettin' by, ya know?"
Slug dipped a tortilla chip into his nacho cheese sauce, and used it to point out across the beach, dripping cheese on his knee in the process.
"Look out there, man. What do you see?"
"Well," I replied, "I see a lot of people who are going to wish they had put on more sunscreen when they go home tonight."
"True, my friend, but look hard, what do you see?"
"Lots of tattoos, for one thing," I noted. "And quite a few chunky girls out there today."
"Bingo!" he exclaimed. "And chunky is an understatement."
So shoot me, I thought, I was trying to be charitable.
Slug got on a roll. "There's not a woman out there who couldn't stand to lose 40 pounds. What is happening to the younger generation?"
Slug finished his last nacho, and reached down into a brown bag under his chair. "Cookie?" he offered, holding out a monster-sized chocolate chip creation.
"No thanks, man, my doctor's all over me about sugar. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"Man, remember when we were kids? What was the favorite thing to do on a hot summer day?" Before I could speak he answered himself. "Hang at the beach and check out the women! Look at this, man, this is pitiful!"
I tried hard to remember being young. I could conjure a faint memory of my lean healthy body jumping into the waves on a hot summer's day. And yes, Slug was right, I did seem to recall the pleasures of watching healthy young women stroll across the sand.
Then I looked around. Every single person on that beach was fat. I made myself notice the men, since I had not paid much attention to them at first, and they all had big bellies hanging over the top of their trunks. As I re-focused on the women, my heart began to sink. Even the young girls, sixteen years old, in the physical prime of their lives, had big jiggling thighs and rolls of blubber bulging out in all directions from anywhere their swimsuits would allow it to escape.
"You're right," I nodded, "I can remember young women with slender shapely figures. They were so beautiful back then." I looked around the beach with new eyes, and realized Slug was onto something. "Those really were the good old days."
After not seeing each other for so many years, Slug and I had bonded anew.
"Sit down, dude." Slug insisted. "Here, grab a brewski and check out this cheese ball."
So we sat, and ate, and drank, and talked about what had happened to the world we used to know. The sun beat down, the waves slapped against the shore, and it was a wonderful day to be alive at the beach.
Later in the day, Slug began to wax philosophically. He opened a can of peanuts and said, "You know, think of what could be accomplished if all the money these people spent on tattoos was invested in gym memberships."
I grabbed a fistful of nuts, washed it down with a cold slug of Coors, and tried not to choke on my laughter. It occurred to me that perhaps we were being too harsh, especially in light of our own physical condition.
"You know, Slug, neither of us will ever make a living as swimsuit models, either."
"For sure, dude," he agreed, "But at least we started out looking good. We're old, man, it took us a lot of years to get into this kind of shape. If these kids look this bad now, what are they gonna look like when they're 50?"
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