The Blundering Discoverer

THE MAN AND THE BIRDS

2011-12-24T15:09:00.002-07:00

Asked and delivered, Alison.

Sorry this is not an original, but this is a classic. I dearly miss Paul Harvey, who went home to be with his Lord on February 28, 2009. His Christmas tradition was to recite the following story. I humbly submit his genius.

PAUL HARVEY'S CHRISTMAS STORY; "THE MAN AND THE BIRDS"
By PAUL HARVEY, ABC RADIO
Dec 24, 2004, 01:57

Unable to trace its proper parentage, I have designated this as my Christmas Story of the Man and the Birds. You know, THE Christmas Story, the God born a man in a manger and all that escapes some moderns, mostly, I think, because they seek complex answers to their questions and this one is so utterly simple. So for the cynics and the skeptics and the unconvinced I submit a modern parable.

Now the man to whom I'm going to introduce you was not a scrooge, he was a kind, decent, mostly good man. Generous to his family, upright in his dealings with other men. But he just didn't believe all that incarnation stuff which the churches proclaim at Christmas Time. It just didn't make sense and he was too honest to pretend otherwise. He just couldn't swallow the Jesus Story, about God coming to Earth as a man. "I'm truly sorry to distress you," he told his wife, "but I'm not going with you to church this Christmas Eve." He said he'd feel like a hypocrite. That he'd much rather just stay at home, but that he would wait up for them. And so he stayed and they went to the midnight service.

Shortly after the family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window to watch the flurries getting heavier and heavier and then went back to his fireside chair and began to read his newspaper. Minutes later he was startled by a thudding sound. Then another, and then another. Sort of a thump or a thud. At first he thought someone must be throwing snowballs against his living room window. But when he went to the front door to investigate he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They'd been caught in the storm and, in a desperate search for shelter, had tried to fly through his large landscape window.

Well, he couldn't let the poor creatures lie there and freeze, so he remembered the barn where his children stabled their pony. That would provide a warm shelter, if he could direct the birds to it. Quickly he put on a coat, galoshes, tramped through the deepening snow to the barn. He opened the doors wide and turned on a light, but the birds did not come in. He figured food would entice them in. So he hurried back to the house, fetched bread crumbs, sprinkled them on the snow, making a trail to the yellow-lighted wide open doorway of the stable. But to his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs, and continued to flap around helplessly in the snow. He tried catching them. He tried shooing them into the barn by walking around them waving his arms. Instead, they scattered in every direction, except into the warm, lighted barn.

And then, he realized, that they were afraid of him. To them, he reasoned, I am a strange and terrifying creature. If only I could think of some way to let them know that they can trust me. That I am not trying to hurt them, but to help them. But how? Because any move he made tended to frighten them, confuse them. They just would not follow. They would not be led or shooed because they feared him. "If only I could be a bird," he thought to himself, "and mingle with them and speak their language. Then I could tell them not to be afraid. Then I could show them the way to safe, warm ...to the safe warm barn. But I would have to be one of them so they could see, and hear and understand."

At that moment the church bells began to ring. The sound reached his ears above the sounds of the wind. And he stood there listening to the bells - Adeste Fidelis - listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christmas. And he sank to his knees in the snow.

A Christmas Baby Part II

2010-12-24T18:12:00.001-07:00

Cord Bannister tried to force his eyes to pierce the veil of darkness that surrounded him and spy who, or what, had summoned him. He held himself as still as he possibly could, but his shivering body wouldn’t allow him the luxury of being motionless.

Had he heard a voice calling out to him, or had he imagined it? He had heard of men who wandered in the wilderness and followed mirages; perhaps he was hallucinating from the cold. For a long moment he held his tongue, trying to determine what was true and what was imagined. Finally, he quietly responded, “Whose there?”

After a long moment of silence, he exhaled slowly. There had been no ghost haunting him. It was the wind, or perhaps the cold, but there was no response to his question. Wanting to be satisfied that he was alone, he turned his face from the imagined spook and stepped forward again. His foot slipped on an unseen rock, and he fell forward, landing in a pile of broken branches, causing them to snap and scrape against his coat. At that moment, the voice spoke to him again, frail and desperate, “Come to me!”

Not able to dismiss the voice, he swallowed a gulp of air and said, “Who said that? I’m warning you, I’m armed!” His hand dropped to his gun, but his cold fingers couldn’t grasp the grips on his pistol.

“Please,” the voice responded. “Please come to me. I need help.”

“Who are you,” he demanded, but no response came to him. After a moment, he cautiously made his way around the tangle of brush and saw a white shape against the night sky. The shape was hovering over the ground, just at eye level, and was beckoning for him to come closer.

The fear he experienced seemed to warm him and he was able to get his pistol from its holster. The shape continued to hover above the ground and seemed to expand as he was watching it.

The dreadful moan came to him again, and this time he knew it was coming from the ghostly appearance in front of him. The moan overwhelmed what strength he had left and he dropped the gun into the snow, which he stared at stupidly.

“Come to me,” the ghost beckoned him.

With quivering knees, he slowly obeyed the spirit and pressed into the snow, closer to the floating ghost. When he was within five feet of the ghost, he could see that the shape was not a spirit at all, but the white canvass from a covered wagon. The blowing snow had practically covered the wagon, leaving the canvass flapping in the wind. Relieved beyond expression, he continued to move closer to the wagon and asked, “Who are you?”

A woman’s voice pierced the night with a shrill scream of agony, causing his fears to flood over him again. Holding his nerves as steady as he could make them, he lifted the canvass flaps and tried to look into the dark interior.

He couldn’t make out any shapes, but he could smell blood and sweat, and asked again, “Who are you? What’s wrong?”

He could make out some movement of a head and realized that a woman was lying in the wagon and was covered with blankets. “Come to me,” she repeated with a faltering voice. “I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

Through gasps of pain she replied, “I’m having a baby, and I’m in a bad way.”

“Oh.” He had no other response. In fact, the idea occurred to him to return to the frozen Texas wilderness for some measure of comfort, but the woman’s plea was stirring sympathy in him. “How can I help you?”

“Please, light the lamp so I can see what’s wrong.”

He fumbled in his pocket for a match, but his numb fingers wouldn’t work. Finally, he was able to force them to grasp a match and he struck it against the wooden boards of the wagon.

The flame was so bright that it offended his eyes at first, causing him to blink. And then he saw the pitiful woman and the fear in her eyes. He spotted the lamp and held the match to the wick. Soon, the entire wagon was bathed in light.

The woman held a bloody hand toward him, “Please come in and help me,” she said with a quivering voice. “This ain’t right what’s happening with the baby. It ain’t coming out right.”

“But ma’am,” he objected. “I don’t know anything about women, or babies, or anything of the sort.”

“You are my only hope.”

“Gosh, ma’am, I don’t even have a sister. I wouldn’t know what to do.” He glanced around. “Besides, your husband will be along shortly, I reckon, and I’ll pay hell for being caught with you.”

“Please,” she pleaded. “My baby is dying.”

He frowned and closed his eyes, and then resigned to the situation and climbed into the wagon. She pulled on her blanket and exposed her bare skin, which caused him to revolt.

“Ma’am, please, this ain’t my place, and you ain’t my wife.”

“What is your name,” she asked between gasps.

“Cord. Cord Bannister.”

“Mr. Bannister,” she began. “My name is Eve Barrett.” She closed her eyes in pain.

Not knowing what to do, he replied shyly, “Howdy do, Mrs. Barrett.”

“Three days ago, my husband left to chase after his hosses, which done run away from us. I haven’t seen him since, and I reckon he is lost to the storm, and the good Lord has taken him from me.” She grimaced in pain again. “I’ve been in labor for two days, and I’m about spent. I’m bone weary, and if I die, my baby will die also. Please help me.”

“What can I do?”

“You’ll need to cut the baby out. He’s breech, I tell you. The baby is breech.”

“Cut it out!” he exclaimed in horrer. “Tarnation, woman!”

“You have to do it, Mr. Bannister. We’ll both die if’n as how you don’t do it.”

He protested with his entire being. “There ain’t no way no how. I don’t know the first thing about cutting out a baby. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Her eyes were burning into him. “Just cut me here,” she was pointed to the bottom portion of the bulge on her extended belly. “Just do it quick like. If you’re quick like, we might both live.”

His hands were shaking and his voice was faltering. “I can’t do it. I don’t know how.” But his words were wasted. Her eyes rolled into her head and she either fainted or died.

Cussing like a sailor, he fumbled in the unfamiliar wagon and found a butcher knife in a small wooden box. He then found a crock jug of liquor and promptly uncorked it. Lifting it to his lips, he pulled hard from the jug, and then poured a small amount on Eve’s stomach. He then stretched the blade over her skin and closed his eyes. “Dog gone I wish I’d been shot robbin’ that bank.”

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Mary Ellen stepped from the warmth and comfort of her home and made her way along the path that led from her house to the Salt Fork of the Brazos River. The night was dark, and the snow had stopped falling, but the wind was still howling. She was fully clothed, and was wearing her buffalo skin coat.

Having thought the idea through completely, she decided it would be better for Bart if she didn’t appear to be a suicide. She wanted to make it look as though she simply got lost and then died of exposure, that way Millicent Scott wouldn’t be able to gossip about her death. Remarkably, she was at peace with her decision. It was a very logical conclusion for her that this was the only solution to her problems. Besides, she reasoned, death was not so bad. Bart would be upset for a few days, but he could find another wife pretty quickly.

Of course, a new family had moved into the old Jackson homestead. They had a daughter who was somewhat pretty and very sensible. She had noticed that Bart had smiled at her when she was introduced to him. Lovina Hardy. That was her name.

Mary Ellen thought about that name for a moment, and then said it out loud, “Lovina Barrett.” She frowned and then said, “Mrs. Lovina Barrett.” The words didn’t sound as nice as Mary Ellen Barrett, but that was a small concession for Bart’s happiness. She was younger and fit, and had good child bearing hips. She would do fine.

She pressed the tears out of her eyes. “Remember,” she said. “You’re doing this for Bart, not yourself.”

She paused a moment when she reached the edge of the cotton wood trees and listened for the sound of the posse returning, but she heard nothing. “Well,” she smiled to herself. “This is a good time to die.”

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The night had been a blur. One moment Cord Bannister was simply a fugitive from the law, the next he was a surgeon, trying to find enough thread to sew a woman’s belly back together. The baby had cried furiously at him for rudely interrupting his journey of birth, but had settled down when Cord clumsily wrapped a blanket around the baby, making it look like the burritos Senorita Fuentes made with beans and cheese.

After a few minutes, Eve stirred and opened her eyes. Soon, a smile washed across her face and for a moment her dry, tanned face looked pretty. She held the baby close and allowed it to nurse. Cord immediately tried to leave, but he was so busy sewing the stitches on the incision that he wasn’t allowed the luxury of modesty.

Over the course of the next hour, Eve instructed Cord on how to care for her son, and instructed him that the baby was to be named after his father, Dale, and after his emergency physician, Cord. So, on the evening of December 24, 1873, Dale Cord Conley was born in a covered wagon somewhere near the Salt Fork, and somewhere near Justice, Texas.

Despite his best efforts, Eve succumbed to her wounds early on Christmas morning, but she died holding her newborn son, which gave her peace. Cord buried Eve beside the wagon while the baby slept, and then spent a few minutes digging through the wagon for what few supplies could be had.

He found an old red coat that Dale Conley must have worn during the Civil War that was bright red, indicating that he was an artillery soldier. The coat was a miserable color for hiding in the snowy wilderness of Texas, but Cord decided that he was no longer hiding from the posse, and that he would find them and surrender as soon as possible.

He wrapped his warm buffalo coat around baby Dale and put on the red artillery coat for himself. The sky was clearing when he stepped out on his return trip to Justice, and the sun threatened to shine a modest warmth upon them for their journey.

After several hours of walking, he found an old cabin near the river and stepped inside to warm some milk for the baby. In the daylight, he was appalled at how dirty the baby was, having never been properly cared for in the wagon. He heated some water in an old pot and searched until he found a bucket of lime in the barn. He mixed the lime and water together, hoping it would make a type of soap, but when he placed his hands in the mixture, he felt his skin burning, and saw how the red sleeves of the old coat had bleached white where the lime touched it, so he abandoned the idea of bathing Baby Dale. Instead, he fed him by allowing him to suckle canned milk from an old glove he’d found in the wagon. Once the baby was fed, he wrapped him up like a burrito, and they started out again. If he kept up a good pace, he might make it to Justice by nightfall.

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Mary Ellen was frustrated. First, she was alive. Second, she couldn’t figure out how to properly die. She wanted to freeze to death, but while wearing her coat, she simply didn’t get cold enough. She wanted to discard the coat, but still wanted the death to look natural, so her body must be recovered properly clothed.

As she sat on the river bank and watched the sun climb into the afternoon sky, she thought about how hungry she was, and then she remembered that she hadn’t prepared anything for Bart to eat should he return today from the manhunt. She contemplated returning to the house and putting a stew together for him, but decided that he would be somewhat distraught over the tragic loss of his wife and might not want to eat supper.

What she needed to do was end her life quickly. If she fell into the river, she might be too cold and wet to properly recover. With a nod of her head, she determined that she was going to accidentally fall into the river, and the sooner the better.

She approached the water’s edge and watched for several minutes as the river gently rolled past her. She pursed her lips together in anticipation of the cold shock of the water and then frowned at herself. “Darn!” She said to herself. “I should have left a note at the house that said, ‘Please meet me by the river. I have something important to show you, signed, Millicent Scott.’” She nodded to herself. Yep, that would certainly fix her wagon, to be put in jail for murdering the sheriff’s wife.

But, she would have to return to the house and write the note, and then she would warm up. While she was there, she would go ahead and fix the stew, just in case. But, if she did that, the posse would return and she would lose her opportunity to die as a Christmas present. No, it would have to be now or never.

“I suppose,” she reasoned to herself. “That some fitting words should be spoken for this solemn occasion, seein' as how God ain't seen fit to send me a Santa with a baby.” She closed her eyes and said, “Father God, into your hands I release my spirit. Please accept my soul, even though I ain’t deservin’ of Your kindness. Please help my husband to discover that young girl livin’ at the Jackson homestead. She might not be the pertiest woman, but she does have good hips, and that there is worth a pound of salt.”

A tear formed in her eyes and she brushed it away carelessly. She lifted her foot to step into the river when she heard a man singing, Away in a Manger.

She smiled warmly and said, “Thank you, Father. I can already hear the angels singin’ as they welcome me to eternity.” The song was growing louder and in a desire to actually see the angels singing, she opened her eyes and what she saw caused her to gasp.

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“Oh my,” was all she could say due to the greatest shock she’d ever witnessed. For out of the trees lining the river, Santa Claus emerged and stumbling over a root, plunged head first into the river. For a moment, the world stopped moving, and Mary Ellen stared in complete shock of what she’d witnessed.

Suddenly, Santa’s head emerged from the river and he gasped loudly as he tried to breathe through the shockingly cold water. He found his footing and stood, discovering that the water was only knee deep. He was holding tightly to a small bundle, which immediately began to cry like an infant.

“Tarnation!” he bellowed as he splashed through the river and onto the river bank only a few feet from where Mary Ellen stood. He had not seen her standing there, and when he turned, their eyes met. “I’m mighty beholding to you if you’d spare this child.”

Mary Ellen’s eyes fell to the bundle in his arms and realized that he was holding a very mad baby boy in his arms. The man pressed the baby into her hands and then fell face first into the snowy river bank, his red coat staining the snow around him.

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One week later, the entire town of Justice gathered to pay their respects for Cord Bannister as he was laid to rest. Reverend Whitaker delivered a powerful sermon about the destructive nature of sin, and the great black eternity of facing God without the saving knowledge of Christ. Amidst several amens, he cleared his throat and said, “I know and appreciate that Cord was a sinful man, and that his ways were deep and dark. But in his last moments of life, he reformed his ways and saved a small child who would have died had it not been for Mr. Bannister’s gallant actions. Sadly, Cord Bannister died of pneumonia shortly after his act of heroism, thereby saving the town of Justice a court hearing, something for which we are all grateful. Normally, we would be condemning such a man as Cord Bannister, but today we are honoring him. I’m proud to point out that he selflessly devoted the remainder of his days to protecting an innocent life, a life that is now in the capable hands of Sheriff Barrett’s family. I know that God’s grace will guide them and that there will be long days of prosperity in their generosity of taking in a child and raising him as their own. I suspect that this child will be cared for as if he were born into their loving home.”

“Amen,” the crowd responded, and a procession was formed to escort Cord Bannister to the cemetery at the top of the hill. Mary Ellen walked along behind the pall-bearers, humming gently to her new son, and realized that second chances are the true meaning of Christmas.

A Christmas Baby Part I

2010-12-23T16:37:00.003-07:00

After a rather long siesta, I'm interupting my slumber to offer you a holiday story. This is a story set in the very early days of a pioneer town in the ranch land of West Texas called Justice. Justice never officially existed, but it lives on in my stories and in my mind. Please take a moment to enjoy this Christmas special, and then take time to enjoy your families during this holy season.

I present to you the first part of a two part story, A Christmas Baby.

_______________________

Dale Conley, exhausted and hungry, returned to his wagon an hour after sundown, defeat apparent in his eyes. Victoria, his wife, swollen with child, raised herself to a sitting position and quietly observed his face when he peeked through the curtain separating her from the cold night air. He had bad news.

“I chased them blamed horses fer more than three miles before darkness forced me back.” He removed his sweaty hat and slapped it against his leg, forcing a cloud of dust to erupt around him. “I almost had them onct, when they were down by that sandy bottomed river down yonder, but they pulled away as I reached for the rope. How on Earth does four horses, who are tied together, mind you, run down through that brush without getting’ tangled up in sompthin? I beg you to tell me.”

Victoria sat quietly and listened to her husband as he spilled his frustrating news into the small wagon. She knew better than to interrupt him, and she knew he wasn’t asking questions for her to answer him back.

“Why, I oughta…” He growled. “Why, I oughta return to Justice and wring that drover’s neck what sold me them horses. They was probably trained to run off the first chance they got and return home.” He slapped his leg again, producing a second dust cloud. “I’m a gonna kill him. That’s what I’ll do.” He stood and stared at his wife a moment before bellowing, “Well, what? Don’t you have anything to say?”

Victoria curled her lips into a frown and shook her head slowly. “No, I ain’t got nuthin’ to say. You’re gonna do what you see fit, and that’s all.”

“Durn right.” He looked at the fire, which was now burned to coals. “Dad blamed woman! Git out here and fix mah supper. Cain’t you see that I’m all tuckered out from chasin’ them horses?”

Without a word, Victoria rolled onto her knees and crawled from the wagon onto the dusty prairie. She stood a moment and tried to arch her back, but the baby was too much for her small frame, and she placed a hand on her aching lower back. She sighed inwardly and reached for a black cast iron pot hanging from the sidewall of the wagon. “I got these beans ready; they just need some heatin’. Would you mind addin’ some wood to the fire? It’s hard for me to crawl under the wagon for the wood.”

Dale growled in protest, but reached for the closest limb and began to break it into smaller pieces. Once he had enough limbs broken, he tossed them onto the coals and sat on the ground near the fire. “Mercy, my dogs are barkin’. It’s been a long time since I walked that fer.” He paused in thought as he rubbed his feet through his boots. “In fact, it was the War Betwixt the States that I last walked that fur. And that did us no good. Then blamed Blue Bellies routed us right out of Virginia, but Hood’s Texas Brigade made ‘em earn it. Why, if we hadn’t of been forced into those Carolina hills, why, we’d of give ‘em what fer!” He pulled a pipe from his pocket and held a lit match to the bowl, puffing small mouths of smoke with each drawl. “I walked all o’er Virginia, from Fredericksburg, to Gettysburg, to the Wilderness, and down to Appomattox Court House.” He puffed a moment on his pipe. “O’ course, I had to get back home after the surrender. That’s a powerful long trip back to Texas.”

Before he could finish his well rehearsed speech, Victoria brought a plate of beans and a round, flat, cold biscuit to him. He accepted them and lifted his boot, which she received in the air and tugged on until it slipped from his bare foot. Once his boots were stacked neatly against the wagon wheels, she returned to the fire, poured a cup of scalding black coffee, grounds and all, into a small blue enameled cup and handed it to her husband. He sipped quietly on the coffee and gulped his beans, almost without breath. Once finished with his supper, he said, “Well, sir, I’m gonna hit tha hay. Get me up early, ‘cause I need ta track those blamed horses, even if I have ta walk all the way back to Justice.” He stopped a moment and examined the cloudy night. “It feels like snow ta me. If it snows, we might ne’er get them horses back. Well, sir, I’m off ta bed. Don’t ferget ta wake me early. Specially if’n it starts ta snow, ‘cuase I gotta get them horses back.” With that, he crawled into the wagon and buried beneath the blankets, leaving Victoria to tend the fire and secure the camp for the night.

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Mary Ellen Barrett spooned a dollop of thick corn meal mush into a bowl and set it gently in front of her husband, who eagerly dipped his spoon into the steaming cereal. “Would you care for another cup of coffee, Bart?”

He glanced at her and said, “What I want is for you to sit down with me and enjoy your breakfast.”

She exhaled loudly and sat next to him on the narrow bench. “How’s your breakfast?”

He smiled warmly. “It’s fine, just fine. You can make mush mighty tasty. I can’t hardly wait until that new snow clears enough for that shipment from A.W. Dunn to come in from Colorado.” He grinned as he added, “The Mother City of West Texas.”

“Mother City, indeed!” huffed Mary Ellen. “It’s more like Dodge City than anything else.”

“Just be glad all the rowdy folk spend their time in Colorado, not here in Justice.”

“I intend on Justice being a place to raise a family, if…” Her voice trailed off.

Bart frowned and quietly sipped his coffee. “If, what?” he asked, gently.

“If we could have a family to raise.” She was unhappy.

“We will have a family. It just ain’t happened yet.” He sipped more coffee. “Just give it some time.”

She picked up a cheese cloth and busied herself wiping her hands. “How much time does it require? We’ve been married for almost four years.”

“When God’s ready.”

“Well, when’s He gonna be ready?” Her voice started to crack, but she pressed her face into the towel and steadied her voice. “When’s He gonna be ready?”

Bart shrugged. “Hard to say.”

“Well, I’m ready. He needs to hurry up.”

Bart set his cup down hard. “Careful,” he scolded. “No need to blaspheme.”

“I didn’t blaspheme,” she shot back at him.

“Maybe not, but ever’ where you spit the grass dies.”

She didn’t respond for several minutes. Finally, she broke the silence. “You don’t know what it’s like to be the only woman without a child.”

“You ain’t the only woman without a child.”

“In the town of Justice I am!” she argued. “There are a dozen families here in town proper, and I’m the only one without a child. It just ain’t right.”

“Well, God’ll see to it, sooner or later.”

“I want Him to see to it sooner than later. It’s humiliatin’ to be the only barren woman around.”

“Would it make you happier if there were other barren women around?” Bart knew he shouldn’t have asked, but it was too late, she was already starting to cry.

She buried her face in the cheese cloth again and gathered her strength. “I just don’t know how to face that Millicent Scott. She’s just so uppity about it all.”

“She’s from the East. That’s how folks are from the East.”

“That’s no excuse. She ought not to be so haughty about our troubles. Why, just yesterday, she was gossipin’ with the prayer group about us…” tears welled in her eyes again. She sighed heavily and tried to straighten her dress. “I just want to have a baby. I’m a plain woman, and I’m not real smart, and I want to honor you by giving you a son.”

“I’m not…”

"I know," she cut him off. "If only God or Santa would give us a baby."

"I'm not…" He was interrupted by the sound of gunfire echoing through the air. “What the?” He dashed to the door and shoved it open. A man was running at him from across the snow covered street. “Sheriff! Come quick. They’re hittin’ tha bank!”

“What is it?” Mary Ellen pressed in behind him.

Bart grabbed his pistol and shoved it into his pants while pressing his head into his hat. “Someone is robbin’ the bank.”

“The bank?” she questioned. “We’ve only had it for two weeks, and it’s already being robbed?” As she spoke, more gunfire rang in the still morning air and a galloping of hoofs splattered snow across their front doorstep. Bart sprang from the doorway and fired at the three riders as they rode past. One of them hunched over the saddle horn, but stayed on his mount.

Mary Ellen lurched at the loud bark of the pistol and recoiled into the house. “Bart? What’s happenin’ out there?”

“Stay back, Mary Ellen,” he shouted to her. He took careful aim and fired again. “Blasted! They’re gettin’ away.” He returned through the open door and grabbed his buffalo skin coat and a holster. “I’m goin’ after ‘em. Fix me a poke and I’ll be off. Make it enough for three days.” He disappeared into the street.

An hour later, he had a small posse assembled at the livery stables, waiting for him to lead the charge across the frozen Texas prairie. He grabbed his saddle bags and his bed roll from Mary Ellen, who was waiting for him at the front door. “They already have a head start. I cabled Dick Ware, the Ranger in Colorado to meet us on the River. If we don’t catch them within three days, we will return home to regroup and try again.” With those words, he leapt upon Ribka, his horse, and galloped down the short street and into the mid-morning sun.

“Good luck, my love,” she whispered to him as he rounded the bend and disappeared from her sight. When she finished sweeping the dirt floor for the second time that morning, she gathered two wooden buckets, and made her way to the well near the future site of the town square. While drawing water, she glanced across the snow laden street and saw that Millicent Scott was watching her from her husband’s store front window. She stood below a sign that read, Wilfred Scott, Attorney at Law and Physician, and laughed daintily at Mary Ellen as she lifted the heavy bucket of water from the depths of the well. Not willing to relinquish the opportunity to assert her own social status, Millicent stepped from the wooden boardwalk onto the street and walked to the well lifting her long dress in her hands.

“Why, how do you do, Mrs. Barrett?” she asked pleasantly, her Georgia accent adding an air of dignity to her words.

“Good morning, Mrs. Scott. Are you well?” Mary Ellen replied with practiced discipline.

“I am well, indeed. I was observing that you were struggling with those buckets of water. Would you like for me to dispatch my eldest son to your aid, seeing that you have no one to help you?”

Mary Ellen refused to expose her anger to Millicent, but the attitude of her words nearly betrayed her true thoughts. “Mrs. Scott, that won’t be necessary. I’m capable on my own, thank you.” Her face was scarlet and she refused to make eye contact with her opponent.

“How remarkably independent of you, Mrs. Barrett. Most women in your place wouldn’t have the temerity to stand so proudly, knowing they are incomplete.”

She ignored the callused remarks and continued to lift the bucket of water from the well.

"Perhaps," Millicent persisted. "Santa might bring you a baby, seeing that you can't provide one for your husband, who must be worried that he won't have a son to pass on his name."

Mary Ellen pulled the second bucket of water from the well and it slipped from her hands, splashing Millicent across the front of her dress. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Scott. How clumsy of me. Maybe I could use some help after all.” Millicent turned with a dignified, harrumph, and made her way across the street to the safety of her husband’s office.

Mary Ellen, embarrassed beyond belief, carried the buckets of water to her house and collapsed into her rocking chair where she wept bitterly. Why? She pled her case to God. Why must that horrible woman torment me so? She cried until her sorrow abated enough to brood in her chair. Santa? If only it was possible. She pressed her eyes closed and tried to stop the tears. I simply hate that woman. Why must I suffer so? Why would You give her children when I can’t have any at all? Why would You openly bless that treacherous woman while I serve You in humility? Maybe You are punishing me for some of my past sins? But why does my husband have to suffer from my evil heart? If he hadn’t married me, he would have a family and he wouldn’t be laughed at. If he hadn’t gotten stuck with me, he’d be better off. Maybe I don’t deserve to live.

With those ill thoughts, she began to dwell on reflections she should have dismissed. Somehow, the poison of the words she couldn’t speak aloud began to erode at her wavering self esteem and she evaluated whether or not she had the right to live, if shame were her fortune for and evil heart and the future she must embrace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The three bank robbers barreled across the Texas grass land heading for the broken country that separated the high plains, commonly referred to as the Llano Estacado, and the rolling hills of West Texas. If they could make their way past the Double Mountains, then they could turn and weave their way into Mexico, some 200 miles to the south.

Cord Bannister pulled reign as the three companions crashed through the dense growth of mesquite trees that grew along the edge of the cap rock, mingled with the cedars that dotted the canyon walls which thrust above them. Only when they stopped did he realize his dire mistake—his horse was quivering, and steam poured from his sweat soaked hair. He’d pushed the horses so hard and fast that they would probably die from exposure to the plummeting frigid winter air. “We’d better get off and walk a spell.”

Aubrey, who had been hunched over his saddle horn, slid from his mount and landed with a dull thud in the icy snow. Cord swore at him, but when he didn’t move, kicked him with the toe of his boot. “Get up, you lazy bum.”

Aubrey didn’t respond, so Cord growled under his breath and rolled him over onto his back. He was dead. “Well I’ll be.” He looked up at Pat and grinned. “They got him. I wonder how long he’s been dead?”

Pat, whose face was stark white, replied, “Who knows? He slumped over like that as we rode out of town and I just thought he was hurt.”

“Well, he ain’t hurt no more.” He grabbed Aubrey by the coat collar. “Give me a hand and we’ll drag him underneath that overhang.” He glanced up at Pat, who was staring blankly at him. “Pat? You alright?”

Pat focused his eyes on Cord’s uncaring face and whispered, “No. They got me too.” With the confession he lost his resolve and he, too, collapsed from his steed and landed in a ball near Aubrey’s body.

Cord shook his head. “Well, when it rains it pours.” With no love lost between them, he grabbed Aubrey by the collar and drug him under the lee of a cliff in an unnamed canyon a few miles away from Justice and left him lying face up on the cold ground. Returning to Pat, he examined him for signs of life and found him breathing shallow and quick. He opened his coat and found the bloody wound that creased his abdomen. “Ah, Pat,” he complained. “You’ve been gut shot. That’s too bad, ‘cause you weren’t half bad at safe crackin’.” He grabbed Pat by the collar and began to drag him. “I’ll leave you here with Aubrey. Maybe you two can look out for each other in the life to come.” Depositing him next to the body, he turned to examine his back trail. Night was falling, and the clouds overhead promised more snow. “If I’m lucky, it’ll start snowing again and cover you fellows up, then they will think they are still chasing three men, not just one.” He turned to his horse and had a second thought. “What a minute. I seem to remember that Aubrey had a gold watch.” Returning to the body, he pilfered his pockets and removed a gold watch, a small pouch of tobacco, and eighteen cents. “You blamed fool. Didn’t you carry any matches? How am I supposed to smoke this tobacco without matches?” He leaned over Aubrey and began to pull on Pat’s coat pocket. When he touched Pat, his eyes opened and he examined Cord with confused eyes.

“What’s happening?”

“You’re dying.” Cord replied coldly. “I’m going through your pockets.”

Realization overcame Pat and he barked out, “burn Hell…” before he passed out again. Cord shook his head in disbelief and finished stealing from Pat’s pockets. “Confounded!” he lamented. “Don’t either of you keep matches?”

He returned to his horse and grabbed the reigns. He noticed that ice was forming on the horse’s coat where sweat had collected. “Mercy, the temperature is dropping fast. I’d better find some shelter that ain’t got dead men in it.” Riding his horse, and leading the others behind him, he continued along the cap rock and made his way to an eastern face on the cliff above him where the wind wasn’t molesting him. Knowing he had to build a fire in order to save his horses, he dismounted and began collecting wood. He built the fire in the corner of the overhang where some hackberry trees sheltered the rock face and kept the snow from gathering. Kneeling in the soft leaves, he brushed an area clean from debris and kindled a small flame, which he fed with leaves and twigs until enough of the fire existed to burn on its own. Leaving the fire for a moment, he made his way into the canyon and collected enough firewood for several hours of burning. Before he could return to the fire, a spark popped from the flames and ignited the soft leaves underneath the hackberry tree, causing smoke to billow.

The horses, simply tied to a tree branch, spooked at the sudden burst of smoke, whinnied loudly and bolted from the shelter of the cliff into the snowy Texas landscape. Cord, who was close enough to witness the incident, but too far away to prevent it, yelled in frustration at the galloping horses and then stared in dismay as his best hope of salvation evaporated in front of him. Suddenly, he was alone with the cold as his sole companion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For a long moment he simply stared at the horse tracks across the empty stretch of snow that lay before him. The pain in his half frozen feet finally forced him to accept that he had no hope of retrieving the horses until the storm passed. The nagging cold pressed against him and the frigid air burned his lungs as he breathed frustrated gasps of reality. Returning to his fire, he huddled against the numbing cold, desperately wishing he’d taken time to grab his blankets before gathering firewood. His blankets and the money that was still in his saddlebags; money that was uncounted. He had no idea how much money he no longer possessed.

The next morning found him glaring at an additional three inches of heavy, wet snow, the kind that caused a man to lift his feet completely above the snow before placing them carefully on the frozen ground, making walking an effort. He was no fool. He understood that without the horses he stood little chance of evading escape from the posse that was possibly within striking distance already.

Cursing himself a fool, he stepped into the barrier of snow and began to press into the wilderness that lay beyond him. Before an hour had passed, he knew he made a tragic mistake as he struggled against the deep snow. A layer of sweat had collected under his shirt, a layer that would freeze once he stopped moving. He had to find shelter soon after he stopped moving or he would die of exposure.

To make matters worse, the gentle, peaceful snowfall was growing heavier, erasing the footprints he left in the snow behind him. The posse would likely abandon the search once the snow removed all evidence of his passing, and all hope of rescue would be lost.

Around mid-day, the weather turned against him and a sharp, cold wind began to swirl around him, and the snow changed from fat, heavy flakes to a fine powder that swirled around him, diminishing his ability to see beyond a few yards at a time. By dusk, he lost his bearings and, without having a visual of the landscape around him, he imagined that he was walking in circles. Fear began to claw at him as he embraced that without a miracle he would freeze to death in the night and would remain alone in the prairie until someone stumbled across his dead body in the spring.

As the night grew darker, and the wind increased in strength, he began to hear ghosts calling out to him, whispering his name, beckoning him to join them. Fearing that his death was imminent, he started running across the snowy field in a drunken manner, fleeing his tormentors. His terror carried him along the edge of an abrupt slope and he lost his footing and half slid, half fell, across the crest of the short hill. Landing in a snow drift that was several feet deep, he began to gasp heavily. The wind wasn’t able to torment him while he was buried in the drift, so he stopped struggling and allowed himself to relax for a brief respite.

While he lay on his back in the snow, the ghostly cry began to wash across him again. Only this time the ghosts were closer than he remembered, and their horrible, terrifying screams were more pronounced than they were a moment before.

His mind flashed to his childhood, when his grandmother would read to him from A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickins. Even as a boy he feared that the ghosts who haunted Scrooge would come to him at night and demand that he give an account of his own life. This was a secret fear that plagued him throughout his life—a fear that almost consumed him. And now he lay dying in a snow drift and the reality of the spooks who haunted him was piercing his heart to the point of death. Finding no peace away from the howling wind, he once again pressed against the snow and forced himself to stand. He trudged through the drift and turned in stark terror when a bloody scream tore through the darkness around him.

“Shut up!” he tried to yell, but his lips were too cold to properly form the words. “Leave me be, spirits,” he pleaded. “Let me die in peace,” he whispered into the cold night air.

The ghosts began to call after him, almost sounding like wolves howling to the moon, with long, mournful cries that pealed great layers from his heart. His eyes were darting across the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of his tormentors, but his vision couldn’t press against the black air. “Oh, God!” He cried out. “Spare me this torment and take me quickly!”

Faintly, he heard the voices responding to him, “Harroughoouuuah.” The cry was shrill and terrifying, and closer than it had been a moment before.

“Oh, God!” he cried out again. “Please show me the light, and I will turn from my sinful ways.” He turned in a complete circle, trying to determine where the ghost lay waiting for him. “Please, God,” he pleaded. “Please don’t let me die in the darkness and allow the spirits to take my soul…”

But his plea was interrupted and he turned to face the voice in the darkness. “What do you want with me?”

The hair on his neck prickled when he heard the mournful reply, “Come to me.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mary Ellen spent most of the night sitting by the fire wishing her husband would come home. She never slept well when he was away from home, and his job as sheriff kept him away more than she ever thought possible.

She hated being alone more that she was willing to admit. For when she was alone, her thoughts about being barren gnawed at her, chewing a hole in her heart. For the past two nights she had sat by the fire, occasionally drifting into a frightful sleep. But, no sooner than she would drift off, the fire would die down and she would wake up cold.

“I’ll bet that Millicent Scott is sleeping well,” she said into the coals in her fireplace as she poked the ashes. “She’s content knowing that her family surrounds her.”

Without realizing she was talking to herself, she continued to lament her misery. Whenever she looked in the mirror at the Mercantile, she saw a plain, uninteresting woman staring back at her with accusing eyes. She never considered herself pretty, and she always felt that her husband had settled on her because there were few women folk to choose from in the West Texas ranch lands. Before they married, Bart went on a cattle drive to Kansas and brought home a bolt of calico for her as a gift. She assumed that he wanted her to sew a dress that would make her prettier. Shortly after she made the dress, Bart married her and took her to the future town site of Justice, where he had purchased a lot to build a home. He told her, “As we grow as a family, I will add more rooms to the house.” He bought more lumber, which he stored under an oil clothe in the barn for the day he would build an extra room.

After two years of trying to have a baby, they fell into hard times. Bart’s haberdashery was lost in a fire and they struggled to make ends meet. Finally, Bart sold the extra lumber to pay his bills, and Mary Ellen watched as her extra bed room evaporated in front of her eyes, along with the child she couldn’t give her husband.

She became more desperate to conceive, but every home remedy she knew failed her. She slept with a frog under her pillow, which was suggested to her by Old Lady Turner, who grew up in the Tennessee mountains. She tried waving smoke from a cedar branch over their bed, which was a custom of the local Kiowa tribe. She tried mixing algerita berries with cactus pulp and applying it as a poultice to her belly. She even tried swallowing whole bird eggs, which a carpet bagger from the East said worked for his wife.

She returned to her knitting and gazed wantonly at the enormous blanket that was once intended to be for her baby. She planned on giving the blanket to her precious new born son two Christmases ago, but that was not meant to happen. Now she had an extraordinarily large blanket but no child to wrap. Furthermore, she had no present to give her husband this year. They seldom had much to give each other, but they always managed to find something. This year she had nothing to give and it caused her to be further depressed.

To make matters worse, she received a letter in the post from her sister, who lived near Dallas, telling her that they were expecting their sixth child next spring. Six! Her sister made a point of saying that they had run out of names and were going to let their eldest child name the baby.

She herself had so many beautiful names picked out for their babies. She wanted to name their first son, Bartholomew Mathis, after his father. And then would come Margaret Grace, and then Luther Daniel, and then Polly Frances, and then John Bailey, after her own father. Then Dorcus Susannah , Prudence Elizabeth, and finally, Rufus Gerald. After that, she could claim that she ran out of names, but not until that time came.

But it was not meant to be. Her poor husband had been so excited about starting a family. He talked about having a large family and passing his business down to their sons as an inheritance. But after a few years, he stopped talking about it at all. When his store burnt, he quit trying to develop a future and simply stepped into the roll as a sheriff, a job that held little future for them.

What hurt her most was seeing Bart stop talking about his future sons. She wished so much that she could take back her wedding and allow him to marry a woman who wasn’t barren. She loved her husband dearly, so much so that it seemed logical to her that he would be better off if he could have a better wife. Perhaps her best course of action would be to simply stop living. Perhaps if she were gone, he could move on with his plans. Perhaps she would die of exposure before he returned from his manhunt. Perhaps she should do something while it was still cold enough to freeze to death.

The idea was absurd to her at first, but as the night grew longer, and as her weariness overwhelmed her, she began to see logic in her idea. Soon, she had convinced herself that there was no hope for her, and she really had no choice but to kill herself. It would be her present to her husband.

Omega Point 2012

2010-01-13T08:16:00.002-07:00

After several long months of pounding the letters on my keyboard, I now have a rough draft that is editable and publishable. Here is a sneak peak of the story line:

Omega Point 2012

The ancient Maya have a secret. They have the ability to commune with the gods from a mysterious portal that they have the ability to control. When the story opens, the Maya are struggling internally. Someone is plotting to overthrow their governmental system and it appears that individual has the help of The Dark One, whom all believe to be a god.

...

At the annual Council of Chiefs, the Maya nobility and elders are gathered to open the portal and seek the will of the gods. They also intend on sacrificing a virgin in honor of a slain king. Something goes wrong and the portal malfunctions, trapping the chiefs and elders in a time warp. The portal closes and the Maya lose the ability to control it.

...

Because the portal malfunctions, a series of things occur that change the world: the Maya culture disappears, the subversive one takes control of the kingdoms, and the virgin is trapped between realities for more than a millennia.

...

We will discover the future of the world--it's only a matter of time

A Halloween Story

2009-10-28T14:18:00.002-06:00

Thanks for stopping by. I'm taking a short break from my break to share with you a timely story about Halloween. My family has long held the practice of bringing Christ into Halloween, and the following story is a reflection of how this tradition came to be.

Hopefully, most of you have read When Love Calls, the novel I wrote a few years ago. The story I'm about to share is an excerpt from the sequel, Love's Determined Grace, which is still in production and soon to be on the market, I hope. This excerpt is from Chapter Fourteen, and is a rare glimpse into the lives of the Harvey Family a few years following the conclusion of When Love Calls. I pray that you will enjoy this short intrusion into the Harvey household, and I hope that the story will help focus your walk with Christ.

The Harveys spent several months in the hospital following the tragedy surrounding the birth of their son, Alston. (I don't want to give away any of the story line.) Because of the time they spent in the hospital, they missed Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. And now, I present to you:

Love's Determined Grace
Chapter Fourteen
Lilly deeply regretted the family didn’t get to participate in any of the fall and winter festivities that were common traditions. One snowy afternoon in January, Lilly was trying to locate a skirt that would fit her enlarged waistline, which was a trophy she collected while sitting in a hospital room daily and eating brownies nightly. As she pushed aside a long red cocktail dress, which had no hope of fitting her, she found a Halloween costume, which she’d purchased for Mariah several months before Alston was born. Mariah was continually enamored with Indian maidens, and loved to pretend that she was an Indian princess. When Lilly ran across a maiden playsuit on a closeout rack at the mall, she bought it and tucked it away until Halloween came along.

She held the costume at eye level and examined the genuine imitation leather and beads, determining that Mariah would outgrow the costume before the next Halloween. In a flash of inspiration, she decided that they would celebrate the holidays they’d missed while in Georgia. When she suggested the idea to Caton, he greeted the thought with enthusiasm. A plan was launched that afternoon which would allow the Harveys to celebrate lieu holidays throughout the month of January.

The biggest challenge with re-celebrating Halloween in January was finding a pumpkin that would be suitable to carve. The other was the fact of having no other families in the area that would participate with a trick-or-treat night. However, in reality, having other families participate was irrelevant, as they lived so remotely from other homes that they usually didn’t go door to door trick-or-treating, unless Mariah was at a party in the Village. That’s when Lilly had a second inspiration. She would incorporate the idea of Easter eggs into a trick-or-treat night. She had Jane and Susan secretly hide various chocolate treats throughout the outbuildings surrounding the big house.

The challenge of the pumpkin was left to Caton. Somehow, he managed to deliver a fairly decent pumpkin the night before the planned Halloween party. When Mariah saw her father carrying a pumpkin in his arms, she was ecstatic and hyper beyond control. Lilly was proud she ever had the idea.

The next afternoon, while Mariah was posing in her costume for photos in front of the fireplace, Caton casually asked Lilly, “So, are you going to cry like you did last year?”

She giggled at the memory and pushed him away. “Don’t you rub salt into my wounds, Mister.”

Jane, who was helping Mariah with the feather in her hair, couldn’t resist the urge to meddle into the private dispute. “So, what’s this all about?”

Lilly placed her hands on her hips and boldly declared. “Oh, Mr. Self Righteous had a melt down one Halloween when I wanted to take Mariah to the harvest festival dressed as a witch.” She glanced at Caton. “And it wasn’t last year, it was several years ago.”

Jane was enthusiastic. “There has to be a great story here. Who wants to tell it?”

Caton smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lilly tisked him from afar. “Oh, please!” She looked a Jane. “I’ll tell you. In fact, it was our worst fight ever.”

Jane was all ears. “Great! Do tell!”

“Well, it happened this way. Caton has never been a big Halloween participant—which involves something about his church and his mother.”

Jane squinted as she tried to make sense of that information. “What does that mean?”

She rolled her eyes and flashed a smile at her husband. “I donno. It has something to do with Satan… or worshiping Satan on Halloween.”

“What?” Jane asked in complete surprise.

Caton grunted in disapproval and stood. “I’ll tell the story, if you don’t mind.” Lilly quietly sat back down, satisfied that she’d managed to poke the bear into getting involved. “Jane, I’ve never really celebrated Halloween as a child. I can remember one year where Mom let us dress up and go to the neighbor’s houses for trick-or-treat. Of course, we lived much closer to the Village in those days, so it wasn’t such a big deal. The only thing I remember about that night was making my Mom mad because we ate all our candy and ruined our supper. After that, we stopped participating in Halloween entirely.”

Jane was incredulous. “You’re kidding me! You stopped Halloween because you ate all your candy and got in trouble?”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. Shortly after that, several families in our church decided that Halloween was all about celebrating Satan, so we stopped interacting entirely.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He lifted his shoulders. “No, it’s true.”

“But Halloween isn’t about worshiping Satan.”

“I know that now. But it was a bitter struggle for me to evolve to the point where I could admit that.”

“Why?”

“Because I grew up believing that way, and once you have that notion in your head, it’s hard to change. We always assumed that Halloween was evil because it was so pagan. On the other hand, Lilly grew up participating in every Halloween event that came along, so it was a day filled with fun and games for her. After Lilly and I married, she pressed me for a reason why I was so opposed to celebrating Halloween. All I knew was that I grew up believing Halloween and everything attached to it were evil. I couldn’t articulate why, but I knew I believed it.”

Lilly jumped into the conversation. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I’d never heard of anyone being offended by Halloween, and I had no idea that he would react as he did.”

“Why? What did he do?”

“I brought home a small costume of a witch with a black cat perched on her shoulder. It was the cutest outfit I’d ever seen. There were little brooms printed on the pattern, with a little kitten holding onto the broom as if it would fall off. When I saw it, I simply had to buy it. When I showed it to Caton, he acted as if I’d thrown away all of his baseball cards.”

Caton grunted at her and she whispered in a loud voice, “Which I’ll never do again. But that’s a story for another day.”

“So, go on. How did he react?”

“It was strange. At first he thought I was joking, so he laughed. When I called to Mariah and had her try on the outfit, he became irrational. He was so angry that he didn’t know what to do. Now mind you, I’m not expecting him to be opposed to Halloween. So, when he yelled at me and made Mariah change clothes, I became very upset. He was accusing me of glorifying Satan. It all seemed so unfair.”

“A miscarriage of justice, if you ask me.”

Caton replied, “We’re not asking, Jane. Thank you.”

Lilly patted her husband on the knee. “To his credit, when I challenged him to defend his position, he couldn’t answer me at that moment. But, he did the research. He discovered something that made us all reconsider what we believed.”

“What was that?”

Caton spoke. “When I traced the roots of Halloween, I discovered it originated from an ancient Celtic feast called Samhain. The druids believed that on the eve of Samhain, the veil between the physical and the supernatural was pierced, allowing witches, demons, and hobgoblins to roam the earth and harass the living. In order to protect their lives, the people would disguise themselves as demons and ghouls, and they would carve faces into gourds, lighting candles inside of them to ward off evil spirits. They would also try to appease the spirit world by leaving offerings of food and other treats.

“The Christians of the day attempted to take the pagan elements of Samhain and convert it to a holy day. They proclaimed that God had triumphed over evil, and proclaimed that Jesus had supremacy over all the superstitions. So, all Hallows Eve, which later became Halloween, was an effort by the Church to overtake the beliefs in the ghouls with the power of the Gospel.”

“Yawn. What a boring story. What’s there to get all upset about?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, it was a well intended, but misguided reaction by contemporary Christians. I mean, Halloween is heavily dominated by paganistic elements, and a lot of Christians chose to run and hide from this one night, instead of engaging it and try to bring glory to God.” He scratched his nose. “Actually, I was one of those Christians that were dead set against even acknowledging Halloween in any way whatsoever. When others told me that Halloween was a satanic holy day and that anyone participating in any Halloween related events is inadvertently worshiping Satan. But, when I admitted that I didn’t know why I believed that Halloween was evil, I was able to research the truth. I was a bit surprised at what I’d found.”

“Me too,” Lilly volunteered. “While Caton was preaching against Halloween, I was being awakened to the idea that many of the things Christians do on that day don’t necessarily bring glory to God, either. I don’t believe that it glorifies God in any way to dress as a demon from Hell, or some supernatural enemy of God. But, on the other hand, I don’t see any harm in a child dressing up as something that is innocent and harmless. Last year, Mariah dressed up as a Cabbage Patch Doll. And let me tell you, she was cute!”

“I’ll bet.”

“Wait, let me show you the pictures.” She pulled a photo album from the bookshelf and laid it open in Jane’s hands. “See? There she is.”

“Oh, she was so cute! What is that? She’s wearing glasses!” Jane turned the page. “Well now, what’s this?”

Lilly leaned forward and blushed. “Oh, that? I decided to dress up as a fairy.”

Caton leaned forward. “I remember that outfit. It was my favorite.”

Jane nodded. “I’ll bet. Look at those curves.”

Lilly was flushed red from blushing. “Caton wouldn’t let me wear it out of the house.”

“I don’t blame him. Yikes, I need to try it on and see if I can…”

“I don’t think so,” Lilly interrupted. “You would only get in trouble if you wore that outfit.”

“Jane?” Caton offered. “Lilly can wear that outfit any day she wants extra attention from me. But I refuse to let another man see her dressed as a fairy. That’s reserved only for me. Right, Baby?”

Lilly winked at him. “Darn right!”

“Now, now, you two. Settle down. So, how did Caton dress up?”

Lilly frowned. “He wouldn’t. He said it was pure foolishness to parade around in a costume.”

“What a stick in the mud.”

“Tell me about it.” She smiled and blew a kiss at her husband.

Mariah, who had been patiently waiting for the grown ups to finish their boring conversation tugged at her mother’s blouse. “When can we carve the pumpkin?”

Lilly glanced at Caton. “When do you want to do it?”

He glanced at his watch. “I was thinking of driving to town to check on the crew working at the Apple Tree Hotel, but it’s getting pretty late.” He knelt down and pulled Mariah close to him. “How about we do it now? Would that be alright?”

“Yeah!” Mariah shouted. “I’m ready.”

“How about Miss Jane? Is she ready?”

Mariah excited turned on her heals. “Are you ready, Miss Jane?”

“Why not? What are we going to do?”

Lilly explained their tradition. “We carve out the pumpkin and then Caton reads 1 Corinthians 15. It’s really simple. Sit down and watch.”

Jane sat on the hearth in front of the fireplace and watched as Caton cut a hole into the top of the pumpkin. As soon as she could, Mariah began to pull the seeds and sinew from the pumpkin’s interior. While she worked, Caton asked her, “What does the pumpkin represent?”

“Our heart.”

“What does the gunky stuff on the inside of the pumpkin represent?”

“Sin.” She loved to play this game, and she answered with gusto as she squished orange goo and seeds between her fingers.

“What does Jesus do with our hearts?”

“He takes away the sin.”

“What are we doing with the pumpkin?”

“We’re cleaning out the pumpkin, like Jesus cleans out our hearts.”

When they scraped the final gunk out of the pumpkin, Lilly carved a cross in the pumpkin, where a face would normally go. While Lilly and Mariah busied themselves with the cross, Caton picked up his Bible and read the passage from 1 Corinthians 15, the great chapter on resurrection, and which boldly declared that Jesus had triumphed over death. When he came to verse 55, Mariah joined him in saying, “O Death, where is thy sting? O Hades, where is thy victory?”

Caton concluded his reading with, “The sting of death is sin, and strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved family, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.”

“Amen,” Lilly said.

Caton then asked Mariah, “What is the purpose of the cross on our pumpkin?”

“It’s the cross that Jesus died on when He cleansed our hearts from sin.”

“Why did He die on the cross?”

“So that I wouldn’t have to.”

“To what?”

“Daddy!” she exclaimed. “To die!”

“Oh, that’s right.” Then he watched as Lilly placed a candle inside the pumpkin and touched a match to the wick. “What does the candle represent?”

“The light of the Lord in our hearts.”

“Okay, Mariah, go turn off the lights so we can see the pumpkin.”

“Yeah!” She jumped and ran to the light switch, sending the room into darkness, save the light from the fireplace and the gentle glow emanating from the pumpkin. As Mariah climbed into her mother’s lap, Lilly began to sing, “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine…” Soon, all, including Jane, were singing the age-old children’s hymn.

Prioritizing

2009-09-14T15:23:00.002-06:00

Hello. Thanks for stopping by.

I'm certain you've noticed that I've struggled to get new stories posted for your reading pleasure.

The truth is, I've been working on a very time sensitive writing project that has consumed all of my free time. My new work is titled (working title) Omega Point 2012, and is a fictional Sci-Fi story that revolves around the Maya and their prophecy that the world will end in 2012.

Your patience is appreciated. I'm very close to being finished. As of today, I have 175 typed pages, 90,000 words, 25 chapters, and about 20,000 words to go. I can have it finished by October if I really bear down. In order for me to do that, I've had to cut out all my blogging activities.

Thanks for understanding, and I'll return to action soon--I hope!

Bootless Beretta Haggard, US Army

2009-08-03T06:00:00.000-06:00

As I continue to honor those who have served us, pay special attention to this particular story. It has more twists and turns than a Texas twister!

Bootless Beretta Haggard, US Army

Born on January 24, 1973, in the Smokey Mountains near the border of Georgia, Beretta Haggard grew up in the small village of Ducktown, Tennessee. His parents moved to Ducktown when he was a child where they started working as naturalists with the Cherokee National Forrest.

Beretta was an only child, but was surrounded by animals of every sort. “Have you ever seen the Beverly Hillbillies?” he asked through a heavy Southern accent. “We were just like that! We had farm animals that were bottle fed, and Poppa even adopted a mule deer he found along the highway one day. That deer’s momma had been hit by a car and had to be put down. So, we took it in and it became a family pet.”

It was Beretta’s love for animals that generally shaped the direction his life would take. Graduating as a valedictorian from high school, he had every intention of going straight to The University of Tennessee in order to study animal science and become a veterinarian. However, his plans were interrupted when Gulf War I broke out following Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait. He answered the call to serve his country when President George H. Bush mobilized the 82nd Airborne to remove the Iraqi invaders from Kuwaiti soil. He enlisted in the U.S. Army late in the fall of 1990, and signed up to be an airborne infantryman. Because he was only 17, he had to have his father grant him permission.

His time in the Army was anything but uneventful. He arrived at Fort Benning, Georgia, and became a proud member of the 1st Battalion, 38th infantry, a boot camp training unit, where his drill sergeant advised him how to be the best soldier he could be. Toward the end of his boot camp cycle, Beretta was the Platoon Guide for the First Platoon. Charley Company was engaged in the field training exercises called Escape and Evasion, which is a 36 hour war game designed to prepare infantrymen for combat. During the exercise, the point-man in his platoon tripped and fell into a ravine, badly gashing his leg. “I saw him go down. He landed funny when his pants leg snagged on a tree root, and the laces around his boots got tangled around the root. He was dangling off the creek bank and he hit his head. When I got to him, he was covered in blood. I thought he had a head wound, but he was bleeding from a gash on his leg. I could see that he had a deep puncture wound and that he was losing blood fast. It was an artery, ‘cause I could see the blood squirt out about five feet every time his heart beat.” Beretta gazed distantly out the window as he recalled the story to me. “I was lucky to have been an Eagle Scout. I had taken some basic first aid courses, and I remembered how to apply pressure on wounds.”

What Beretta did was nothing short of heroic. Without wasting time to cut Private Morgan from the tree, he went to work trying to stop the blood. “I had nothing to tie up the bandages, so I took the laces from my combat boots and used them to tie the bandages around his leg.” With his swift action, Beretta saved the life of Private Jimmy Morgan, who would have bled out in only minutes had he not have acted so swiftly. When the medics arrived on scene, they found Beretta wearing only one boot, but applying pressure like a seasoned paramedic. “That’s how I got the nickname, Bootless.” The name stuck with him for life.

After airborne training, Beretta became a proud member of the 82nd Airborne. He arrived at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, just as the 82nd became the vanguard in Operation Desert Shield. Although he missed the first deployment to Operation Desert Shield, he was there for the invasion on January, 16, 1991, one week short of his 18th birthday. In the short 100-hour ground war, the 82nd drove deep into Iraq and captured thousands of Iraqi soldiers and tons of equipment, weapons, and ammunition. During that campaign, as the 82nd bore down on the entrenched Iraqi Republican Guard, Bootless Beretta Haggard received another opportunity to become a hero. His squadron was working a machine gun nest built into the side of a low rise… “We were trying to flank that machine gunner. As we approached from the right, a child, barely ten years old, spooked and ran out of that machine gun nest. We were shocked to see that a kid was hiding in there with those soldiers. But, as we came within 20 yards of that position, an Iraqi soldier threw a grenade at us. I don’t know what was worse,” he tried to explain. “Knowing that a kid came out of that hole, or realizing that he was running right into that live grenade. I didn’t really think about it. I just ran across that gunfire and did a flying tackle on that boy. The grenade exploded just as we landed in the sand.” Beretta was able to save the boy’s life, but he did so at the expense of his right leg. “My foot was still in the air when the grenade exploded. My right foot was completely severed just below the knee. I truly was bootless now!” This particular incident is even further amplified by the fact that his squad was able to seize a large stash of weapons grade plutonium by taking down that machine gun nest. Had that plutonium not been seized, it very well could have been developed into a nuclear weapon.

Thus ended Beretta’s military career. He was shipped stateside and discharged as a fully disabled veteran. But, Beretta refused to stay down. He was eligible for vocational rehabilitation with the Department of Veteran’s Affairs, so he enrolled in the University of Tennessee, only this time on Uncle Sam’s ticket.

Once again graduating with honors, Beretta worked as a veterinarian for a farm and ranch clinic in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Specializing in the care of large animals, he began to work with the local horse breeders. One case of particular interest: he was the primary care veterinarian for Five Alarm Fire, the race horse that won the Triple Crown of Thoroughbred Racing, which includes the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, and the Belmont Stakes. Most avid fans of horse racing will remember that Five Alarm Fire was the thoroughbred that developed eye cancer and had the first successful eye transplant for horses. Not only that, but Beretta was able to use the cancer tissues from that case and eventually developed the cure for equestrian eye cancer, in a joint effort with the University of Kentucky. The treatment focused on creating protein resistant nuclei that target cancer cells and eventually strangle them, eliminating the cancer causing cells in a matter of weeks.

While the treatment is still in the testing phase, the Food and Drug Administration is adapting the treatment for use with humans. In each test case, the cancer cells have been removed, without a trace, from each of the human test subjects. It is entirely probable that cancer will be eradicated by the end of 2010. The creation of the Protein Resistant Nuclei prompted Beretta to become the first veterinarian to win the Nobel Peace Prize.

Why have you not heard about this? The answer is very simple. In 1973, when Beretta’s mother learned that she was pregnant, she decided that having a baby would ruin her career path, so she had an abortion at the age of 19. When she did so, she forever altered the course of human events. Because Beretta was never born, Private Morgan, a father of twins, and a devoted husband, died from exsanguination resulting from a leg wound when he was in boot camp in Georgia. His daughters grew up without a father and became wards of the state when Mrs. Morgan committed suicide following her husband’s death. She couldn’t bear to go on without him.

Because Beretta wasn’t there to save the Iraqi boy from the grenade, Hassani died. Hassani would have been the man who would later work as an intelligence operative with the CIA, and who would locate a hidden lab in Iran where scientists were developing weapons grade smallpox. Because Hassani died as a boy, over 1500 US soldiers were exposed to the smallpox during the second Gulf war and each died from that exposure.

Because Beretta wasn’t born, he was unable to develop the cure for cancer, which was derived from a unique treatment used to cure eye cancer in a race horse.

Why haven’t you heard about Bootless Beretta Haggard? Because abortion was made legal through a monumental court case called Roe v. Wade on January 22, 1973.

The Prayer of Cyrus Brown

2009-07-27T06:00:00.001-06:00

The Prayer of Cyrus Brown

by Sam Walter Foss

“The proper way for a man to pray,”
Said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,
“And the only proper attitude
Is down upon his knees.”

“No, I should say the way to pray,”
Said Reverend Doctor Wise,
“Is standing straight with outstretched arms
And rapt and upturned eyes.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Elder Slow,
“Such posture is too proud.
A man should pray with eyes fast-closed
And head contritely bowed.”

“It seems to me his hand should be
Austerely clasped in front
With both thumbs pointing toward the ground,”
Said Reverend Doctor Blunt.

“Well, I pray while resting every day,”
Said Mr. Henry Pack.
“So I should think you say your prayers
While lying on your back.”

“Last year I fell in Murphy’s well—
Headfirst,” said Cyrus Brown.
“With both my knees a’stickin’ up
And my head a’pointin’ down.”

“And I made a prayer right then and there,
The best prayer I ever said,
The prayingest prayer I ever prayed,
A’standing on my head.”

Breakfast For Two

2009-07-21T06:00:00.000-06:00

This is a repeat for me, but I like it and I wanted to run it again...

Breatfast For Two

The fine China rattled as breakfast was being prepared in the kitchen. Beatrice carried a stack of plates into the dining room, where Joe sat sipping a cup of coffee. As was tradition, he never looked up while the places were set, but sat brooding over his newspaper.

Joe and Beatrice had been married for thirty years and their routine was almost a work of art. Joe was always the first to arise in the morning, as he was the product of too many years of reporting for work by 7:00 AM. While he stood in front of his shaving mirror, his whistling would stir Beatrice, who would make her way into the kitchen and plug in the old coffee pot. She would stir around the house while Joe dressed, then she would crack open eggs for their family meal.

Jackie was the hardest of their four children to wake up, but in recent months, she had ballet practice earlier than normal, which forced her out of bed with minimal fighting. Jimmy, her twin brother, was very much like his father. He would rise before the sun so he could share the paper with Poppa and brush over a chapter in his text book for a morning test. Joe immensely enjoyed sharing his morning paper with Jimmy. Every day, Little Jim would peek around the corner while prying his foot into an already tied shoe and say, “what’s in the Wall Street this morning, Poppa?” He would then sit down in front of the sports, which was neatly folded by his breakfast plate.

Things were quiet this morning—too quiet. Joe sat by himself as he read the best analyst’s predictions of a bull market. He placed his cup on the corner of the table, and in a few minutes, he could hear fresh coffee being poured. “Thanks, my Love.”

“Always a pleasure to serve.” She held the pot in one hand and reached over his shoulder with the other and rubbed his chest vigorously. He grunted at her and then tried to bite her hand, which she withdrew in a shriek and said, “Don’t make me pour this coffee down your neck. So help me, I’ll do it.” She then proudly waggled back into the kitchen while Joe watched and whistled as her shapely figure disappeared around the corner. “Now there goes a fine woman, Jimmy. You’ll do good to find such a woman for yourself.” After an awkward silence, Joe looked over his paper and saw the sports section lying by Jimmy’s plate—untouched.

Joe frowned at himself for his thoughtless routine and stared at the empty plate. Things were not the same around here. Their charming tradition was about to change; in fact, it had already changed. This was their first weekday after the twins had gone to college. Joe had taken last week off work so he and Beatrice could drive to Michigan with the kids and help them settle into the dorms. Hillsdale College was an even stronger family tradition for the Langley family. Each of the men in the family had attended and graduated Hillsdale from the very first year it opened in 1844. None of the women in the family enrolled until Joe’s eldest daughter, Juliet, attended in the 80’s. In fact, Hillsdale was where Joe met Beatrice. They were in the same freshmen class, even though they rarely took the same courses…

Joe’s thoughts were suddenly closed as he realized that Beatrice was crying in the kitchen. The paper hardly hit the floor when he poked his head around the corner and saw her huddled over the stove holding a towel to her eyes.

“Bea?” He asked softly.

“Oh, I’ve ruined everything.” She folded the hand towel twice and pointed at the skillet. A large Spanish omelet sizzled in the pan, complete with sautéed onions, diced tomatoes, and small pieces of corn tortilla strips. There was enough food to feed 4 people.

Joe reached and pulled her to him as she buried her head into his chest and wept. She missed the kids. This was the first time in their marriage, save the first ten months, that they had no children underfoot. Joe felt the same longing in his heart, but it wasn’t his way to cry. He became quiet and still, and reached to turn off the burner on the stovetop. After a long minute, Beatrice sniffled and retreated to her omelet. “Oh, look at that. I’ve ruined breakfast.”

“Nonsense. I like it like that. Now let’s eat before it gets cold.”

She nodded meekly and gently sliced the omelet into 4 parts, dishing 2 pieces into their plates. She placed a bowl of salsa next to Joe’s coffee cup and began to butter her toast.

“Sit down, my Love. Eat breakfast with me.” Joe reached for her hand and she settled into her chair, placing her toast on the edge of her plate.

“You need more coffee,” she blurted out and bolted to her feet.

“No, I’m fine. Sit back down and relax for a moment.”

“I can’t let you eat breakfast without coffee.”

“I’ve endured worse in life. Now sit down.”

“But I need to start the dishes.”

“We haven’t even started to eat yet.”

“I can’t enjoy my meal if there’s a mess in the kitchen.”

“Dear, please sit with me…” His voice failed and he stared at his plate.

“Oh.” She touched her lips as concern flooded over her. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment he was silent and he drew a deep breath. “It’s just that, well…It’s too quiet. Look what a fool I am. I went and folded the sports section and placed it there for Jimmy to read.”

“Yes, right next to the plate I placed there for him.” She slowly settled into her chair. “I just miss the kids, I guess.”

“I never realized I was so comfortable around them until they were gone.” He sipped his cold coffee. “I wasted all those years.”

“Wasted? What are you talking about?”

“All those breakfasts we ate, all those mornings we sat in silence, I could have been telling the kids how much I loved them and how proud I was of them.”

She frowned. “Oh, Poppa, you did tell them those things.”

He stared into the depths of his black coffee. “Not nearly enough.”

“Nonsense. You sat quietly each morning because the kids were comfortable in the fact that you loved them and that you were proud of them. They were content just being with you. You were there for them in every way.” She stood to her feet. “They enjoyed the quiet mornings as much as you did. I think it was like a sanctuary for them, like the calm before the storm.” She walked into the kitchen and emerged with a fresh cup of coffee. “There. Now drink your coffee and be happy.”

“Thank you, my Love.”

She frowned. “At least you still have your work to go to today,” she said shortly.

He looked at her. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on! I’m not going to bear my weakness and let you slide by without a thought.”

She sat on the very corner of her chair. “I’m just glad you have a good job that helps sustain our family.”

Joe sat silently and waited on Beatrice, as he learned to do so many years before. It was her way to prime the well, if you will. She would give part of her thought, which would be complete at first glance, but she really wanted Joe to investigate her, to make an effort to hear what she wanted to say. “I do have a good job,” he finally offered.

“Oh,” she started. “I do know it’s a good job…”

He placed his hand over hers. “But?”

“But what am I supposed to do?”

“What are you supposed to do? What does that mean?” He frowned as he realized his voice had more edge to it than he intended. Her statement was so unexpected that he reacted rather than acted. He was expecting her to be after him to retire, just as they had always talked. After the kids were gone to college, Joe would retire and they would travel the country, becoming camping nomads. Now he could tell by her sunken shoulders that she was starting to close her emotions to him. “I’m sorry. You just surprised me, that’s all. What do you mean?” He picked up the hand he was covering and gently rubbed her knuckles.

“You have a place in life. You’ve had the same job for thirty some odd years. Every morning it’s the same for you. You get up, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, and spend time with the family. That hasn’t changed much. You will still do all of those things that you have done for so long. But…” she sniffled. “What am I supposed to do?”

Joe rose to his feet and walked across the room to a Kleenex box on a corner table. He handed her a tissue and returned to his seat in silence. Beatrice dabbed tears from her eyes and began to twist the tissue into a long, thin snake. “Every day, I got up and fixed breakfast for you and the kids. Then I helped prepare homework, drive someone someplace, repair a torn skirt, fix someone’s hair, bake cupcakes for a fundraiser, go to a ballgame, chase down a prom dress, cry over a lost boyfriend, rehearse play lines…” She shrank into her chair and wept again, frail and vulnerable. “What am I supposed to do now—now that those days are gone?”

Joe sipped his coffee and handed another Kleenex across the table. Several seconds of unawkward silence passed. “Do you remember the summer I had to work in Alaska for 3 months?” He leaned back in his chair.

Her face brightened at the memory. “Oh, do I! That was the best year ever. I hated to leave.” She examined his face. “Do you think we might go back?”

“I imagine we’ll return to Alaska many more times, but do you remember how much the kids hated Alaska when we first arrived?”

She smiled. “They were miserable.”

“They were horribly miserable. They sat around and moped for days. They kept whining about how they missed their friends, and how they wanted to go to the movies or do something that was fun.”

“But we were miles and miles from any theater.”

“Or malls.”

She laughed quietly. “Or malls. They thought they had died and their lives were over.” She sat upright. “They couldn’t just drive back to town, either. We had to fly in and land on a lake. I thought Juliet was going bananas with boredom.”

“Well, that’s exactly what they did. They just sat around and cried because everything was changed. They didn’t know anyone. They didn’t have anywhere to go. They didn’t have any of the things they were used to having. But, what they failed to notice was that they were in Alaska, the most beautiful place on Earth.”

“Oh, it was so pretty. We must return this summer.”

“I’d love to go back.” He sipped his coffee. “Well, if you remember, I sat down with Little Jim and explained how he was doing everything wrong. He was waiting for the world to come to him, rather than going out and finding the world. I told him about gold mines to be discovered and caves to be explored. I gave him a copy of Jack London’s Call of the Wild, which he inhaled, and his whole perspective changed. He went out the next morning and found a beaver dam; he was so excited about finding that silly old dam, but he caught the vision. Suddenly, the great outdoors swung wide open, and he was alive. The next day he was piddling down at the creek and found a little, bitty, flake of gold, which he brought home as if it was the Heisman Trophy. That day, the girls caught the vision and I got them some gold panning equipment and they started an enterprise. They hardly found anything but dust, but they were finally happy. When that played out, Jimmy discovered fly fishing and off they’d go!”

Beatrice laughed. “We actually had to make them stop bringing home all those fish. We had trout for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She stared up at the ceiling. “What I would give to eat some of that trout again.”

“But it all started when they caught the vision of something out there that was bigger than they were. Suddenly, being miles away from home and in completely unfamiliar territory was a challenge instead of a curse. They went out and found the world instead of waiting for something to happen to them.” He folded his newspaper and pushed back his chair. “It’s about time for me to get going.” She leaned forward and kissed him; it was a long kiss. “Woman, you make a man wish he didn’t have to work everyday.”

“But if you don’t, then we will never get back to Alaska, so, get out of my house.”

He grinned at her and walked through the front door. Beatrice sat and stirred her coffee absentmindedly. For thirty minutes, she sat in silence and then stood and walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Blanche? This is Bea. Good morning to you, too. Well, we had a good trip, but it was hard to leave the kids. They didn’t want us to leave, either. Yes, it is quiet here at the house, but I was thinking. Do you remember in the church bulletin about how they were looking for volunteers to help at the Senior Center? Well, I wondered if you and I might…”

Regarding Harry Potter

2009-07-13T12:27:00.003-06:00

This week, the 6th movie in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, will hit theaters nationwide, and it is eagerly anticipated by casual viewers and die hard fans alike. When the Harry Potter phenomenon occurred, like so many of my counterparts, I immediately dismissed the boy wizard and proclaimed his blatant danger to the world. Once, I even supported a Harry Potter book burning party. That was my position for years.

That changed a couple of years ago. A friend of mine heard me lambast the series and challenged me with words along the line of: “Have you actually read the books that you so readily condemn?” Well, I had to answer honestly. No, I had not. So, while we were taking a road trip from New Mexico to San Diego, we bought the first book in the series, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, which my wife read aloud as we drove. For several hundred miles, I braced myself to re-enforce my hatred for all things evil, only I had trouble doing so. Instead of the dark, evil sorcery that I imagined, I discovered a young man who was abused as a child, who had loyal, deserving friends, who willingly stood up for good virtues—even at great personal cost, and who openly defied evil. I found a boy who was a bit awkward and rather ordinary, who was thrust into being a hero simply because someone had to do it.

I was quick to note that the magic that existed in Harry’s world was not a result of summoning evil powers nor was it occultic by nature. Rather, it was the normal way of life for this fictional reality. I had to equate it to reading my kids fairy tales that taught a moral, or to the Chronicles of Narnia. The characters never once sought Satan for power; they simply had an ability to perform acts that ordinary people didn’t. Now, please note that I’m not endorsing the exploration of magic or magical things, but I am allowing for a distinction between Harry Potter’s world and the overt witchcraft of our reality.

What Harry’s creator, J.K. Rowling, has done, is create a world where obvious good and blatant evil exist—and the two are not mutually compatible. Rowling endorses the virtue of love, parenting, friendship, loyalty, doing the right thing, and seeking the best in people. All the while, she condemns evil and the fruits thereof. She even paints a picture that those who practice evil are known as “Death Eaters.”

Rowling does lean toward a humanistic approach when she allows that Harry has the capacity for love from within himself. The Biblical Worldview holds that we have the ability to love because God first loved us. However, Rowling never attempts to undermine traditional Judeo-Christian ethics, nor does she cast a shadow over Christianity. In fact, she politely observes the celebration of Christmas and allows references to sin as a bad element. She does not endorse Christianity, nor does she attack it. It is a neutral topic.

To me, the Harry Potter story is immensely important. It chronicles the suffering and destruction that occurs when one’s heart is evil, and it demonstrates how that evil oppresses the good. It demonstrates how evil triumphs when good men do nothing to stop it, content to ignore it for the moment. It also accounts that good will overcome evil, it only needs an ordinary man to take a stand. While it may be true that the story line grows darker with each installment, it should be recognized that the story becomes more desperate for relief from oppression.

The character of Harry Potter is a flawed boy who struggles with all the things other ordinary boys face. He is frightened by things that any rational person would be frightened by. He has a gracious and forgiving heart, and he struggles with forgiving those who seek to hurt him. Rowling does a remarkable job of making him an ordinary boy.

Now, I’m raising an ordinary boy in my own home. He is bombarded with anti-American influences, anti-Christian influences, and anti-family influences. If he can find inspiration through the courage displayed by Harry Potter, then I think he will be better off for it. In truth, I’d rather my son be influenced by Harry Potter than by Bart Simpson or Dennis Rodman. Except for the lack of Christian references, Harry Potter reflects many of the character values I hold dear. I can work with my son over the harmless spells and magical references in the story line. In fact, I openly welcome those conversations, for it gives me yet another avenue to re-instill my own Biblical Worldview into his life. I’ll readily embrace that, Biblically speaking, to participate in the world of witchcraft brings death rather than a fuller life (1 Sam. 28:6-18, Is. 8:19 and 47:12-14). That's more than enough reason for my family to watch the movies together and use them as a teaching tool, rather than hide from them hoping they go away.

Dreaming

2009-06-29T12:51:00.001-06:00

Dreaming

Walter was driving a car that was out of control. He was on a winding mountain road one minute, and then suddenly his car swerved through a curve. He broke through the guardrail and was plummeting down a mountain slope at a breakneck speed. The aspen trees at the end of a meadow seemed to bend sideways in an effort to avoid a collision when suddenly the car lifted from the ground and soared over the tops of the trees, his wheels slapping the leaves underneath him. His car-turned-airplane was climbing so rapidly that the tall mountains now seemed small to him. He banked to the right and lost control of his car again. This time he was falling. Faster and faster until he was nose diving into the same meadow. Suddenly, a cliff loomed in front of him and his car smashed mercilessly into the cliff and erupted into a ball of flame.

Walter sat up in bed, his hair soaked with sweat. He was trembling from his dream. Every night was the same. The same dream. The same results. The same death. Every night for a week he died in the same miserable accident.

It all started with the evangelist who pointed an accusing finger at him and said, “You never know when God will call your name. You never know when your life will end. You might die in a car accident on your way home tonight. If you have not repented of your sins, you had better do so now. If you wait even a few minutes, you might be waiting too long. To delay only means that you are storing up more of God’s wrath against you on the Day of Judgment. For you see, you will have to give an account of your life when you die….”

The evangelist had scared him. Walter was a sinful man, and he enjoyed his sinful life very much. Not many people had experienced as much in life as he had—and he wanted more. At first he had laughed at the preacher for saying that he, Walter, really didn’t enjoy his sinful life. Ridiculous! He experienced wine, women, and song daily. He was rich and he could afford every vice that could be purchased. He didn’t have to seek out women; they sought him. He was strong and good-looking and he had more sex than most movie stars. As of yet, he had not grown tired of it. He loved his pleasures and he planned on enjoying his life as long as he could continue to roll the dice. He expected to die of AIDS some day, but that was later. Much, much later. Today he was young and wanted to live it up. His father had died of a heart attack at the age of 40. Walter knew that most men in his family died young and wanted to enjoy himself before it was too late.

Sure, he enjoyed his pleasure, but he didn’t want to stand responsible for any of it—especially before God. That part bothered him. That and the part about dying unexpectedly. Was it time for him to settle down? Was it time to quit playing games with God?

He crawled out of his bed and looked at…Veronica? He didn’t remember her name. She was just another delicious dish that threw herself into his bed. She was gorgeous. Sure, he could turn his back on sin, but why? Why give up girls like Veronica? There were so many more out there. Tomorrow it might be Christy, or maybe Linda. He remembered a girl named Linda…and her sister! Wow! The boys at the club slapped him on the back for that. He couldn’t give it up. It was too good to stop. God could jump in the lake as far as he was concerned.

He walked into the kitchen and downed a glass of water. He drank too much last night and his mouth was dry and his eyes blurry. He sat on the couch in the lower den and scowled at the couple who had passed out and sleeping on the floor under his coffee table. He didn’t even know who they were, but it didn’t matter. During the night, one of them had vomited on his carpet and they were sleeping in it. But, they had a good time. And a good time is the only thing that will last—if you have enough money, that is. He stared out of the huge bay window and watched the moon set over the ocean, and then went back to his bedroom. Veronica had turned over and he stared at her naked body. No, he was not ready to give up and turn to God. He just loved his sin too much. He tried to wake her up, but she was too drunk to rouse. How much did she smoke and drink last night? Disappointed, he fell asleep.

Hours later he heard the floorboard creaking in his room and he rolled over. Suddenly, the hair on his neck prickled and he was staring at a dark figure next to his bed. The man wore a mask and was holding a gun, a gun that was pointing at Walter’s head. Walter tried to speak, but his voice was gone. His heart was beating so fast that he was growing dizzy. He tried to kick his feet, but he couldn’t wake up.

The figure continued to move toward him, extending the gun toward his temple. Walter tried again to cry out, but his voice was failing him. Wake up! He kept telling himself, then the gun touched his forehead and he felt the cold steel press into his skin. He wasn’t dreaming!

The voice was gruff and it scared him even more than he already was. “Is your name Walter?” He couldn’t respond. He only nodded his head. “Is that Veronica?” Again, Walter nodded. “Well, guess what, Playboy? I hope you are prepared to meet God, ‘cause you are on your way.” Walter saw his finger tighten on the gun, but never felt the bullet that sent him into eternity.

Check It Out!

2009-06-16T17:13:00.001-06:00

Blundering Discoveries.

Not all are original, but all are worth reading...

SSG Jimmy Doyle

2009-06-10T06:00:00.000-06:00

SSG Jimmy Doyle

Not everyone can be a hero. Some people will never be given the opportunity to make a difference to untold millions. Some people will never have a chance at true greatness.

And then there’s Jimmy Doyle. Jimmy was a Texas boy who hailed from McKinney, Texas. When WWII broke out, Jimmy left his wife, Myrle, and 15 month old son, Tommy, and shipped out overseas. A member of the 307th Bombardment Group, 424th Squadron, U.S. Army Air Corps, Jimmy served in the South Pacific and was a nose gunner on a B-24J Liberator bomber. He, along with thousands of men like him, regularly squeezed inside a bomber in order to fly into the face of the enemy and into a hell-storm of anti-aircraft artillery. Once they dropped their pay load, they would return to base and await their next run.

By August 1944, the Japanese were being forced from tiny islands scattered through the Pacific Ocean and retreating closer to the Japanese mainland. The island of Palau was deep in enemy territory, and was defended by more than 35,000 troops and was the regional headquarters for the Imperial Japanese Navy. Furthermore, it was the focal point for General Douglas Macarthur and Admiral Chester Nimitz in a plan to rid the Japanese threat from the Pacific islands. The U.S. Marines were going to make an amphibious landing and take that island. As a member of the 307th, Jimmy’s flight squadron rallied and set out to soften up the target. Even with air support, Palau is remembered as the third bloodiest battle in the Pacific war and has been called “the forgotten corner of hell.”

On September 1, 1944, the men in Jimmy’s crew flew on a bombing run to the island of Koror. From the nose of the plane, Jimmy manned his .50 caliber machine gun and began battling his way across the ocean. Having reached their target, they dropped their payload. Within seconds, their plane was engulfed in a spray of anti-aircraft artillery. The left wing was severed and the plane began to spiral downward. Three parachutes were sighted by other American bombers as the plane splashed into the shallow waters near Palau. Immediately, a Japanese boat set an intercept course for the survivors.

At this point of the story, I must introduce a group called BentProp Projects. According to their website, http://www.bentprop.org/index.htm, they are a group of friends, both historians and scuba divers, who “have gone looking for (and found) ships sunk throughout Micronesia during World War II. Early on, my story took a turn, when I switched from searching for ships to searching for planes - more specifically, American aircraft shot down by occupying Japanese forces during fierce combat over the Palau Islands between 1944 and 1945. Over the ensuing half century, these planes and their crews - and even the battles they fought in the Palaus - have become all but forgotten, except, perhaps, by family and the living veterans who flew missions with and knew these crews.” Patrick J. Scannon, MD, PhD, founder. These men and women have dedicated their lives to finding the remains of those honored dead and helping those soldiers return home for proper burial.

On Saturday, April 25, 2009, at 13:30 hours (1:30 PM), Staff Sergeant Jimmy Doyle was laid to rest in Lamesa, Texas. Aged 25 at the time of his death, Jimmy and 10 others in his crew were killed in that bombing run. The three men who parachuted to safety were picked up by the Japanese and were never seen again.

Among those who attended the funeral, Pat Mitchell was standing alongside Tommy Doyle, Jimmy’s only son. Pat Mitchell was a corporal in the Marine Corps who served a short distance from Palau in Okinawa during the war. Pat and Jimmy were related by marriage, although neither of them knew the other. Pat, who grew up in Lamesa, married Jimmy’s cousin, Nettie May Taylor in 1947. Pat’s story can be found here.

Since WWI, 88,000 Americans have disappeared at war, never to be seen again. The military services of America refuse to stop looking for them. It is the code of a soldier to “leave no man behind.” For more than 65 years, Jimmy was listed as Missing In Action, MIA, but he has returned home, thanks to the efforts of the BentProp crew. Take a moment on their website and watch the short video clip that honors SSG Doyle. Thanks to these volunteers, Jimmy is able to sleep under the West Texas stars, where he is at home.

Note: I borrowed heavily from an article found at: http://men.style.com/gq/features/full?id=content_6817&pageNum=1
Please visit this site and see the rest of the story.

Pat Mitchell, USMC

2009-06-03T06:50:00.001-06:00

I wasn't able to get this story posted last week, but better late than never, right? This story will continue in a future post...

Pat Mitchell

In 1865, the United States was reeling from the effects of the Civil War. One man in particular, an Irishman, married to a Cherokee bride, and who hailed from Douglasville, Georgia, was returning home having done his part to protect the South from the northern aggressors. By the time he returned home, Mitchell, which is the only name known, discovered that his son, Charlie Marshall Mitchell had flown the coop, in an effort to maintain peace in the house, due to an unknown grudge with his father.

Charlie, who was mixed-blood Cherokee, was caught by the powers that be and placed on a reservation in Oklahoma, where he was told to stay. He escaped the reservation and stayed on the run the rest of his life. In 1944, the U.S. Government contacted him and asked for his identity number. As far as he was concerned, they could go fly a kite. He never bothered to reply to the Government, and remained a fugitive for the remainder of his days.

Charlie met his bride near Aspermont, Texas, and they were married in 1908. A few years later, Elmo P. Mitchell, Pat, was born somewhere between McCaulley, Texas and Sylvester on January 18, 1926.

While Pat can claim to have lived in McCaulley, Texas, he actually grew up in the Lamesa and O’Donnell area. As a side note, Dan Blocker, (better known as Hoss Cartwright of the Ponderosa Ranch), was another native from O’Donnell, Texas.

Pat’s life was anything but ordinary, unless you are from a small farming town in West Texas. Back in the early 1930’s, there was little to do except to play dominoes and make music. Having grown up in a home that loved and lived for music, Pat was exposed to guitars and fiddles long before he was born. The first instrument he started played was the mandolin, but decided that it didn’t suit him. So, when the house was empty, he would take the guitar and climb up on the bed and play it until the folks came home. When he was seven years old, he played a song for his brother, who was so impressed, that within a few days Pat played his first gig at a dance in McCaulley. Thus launched a lifetime of smiles and music.

His fingers were so adept at playing music that he and his buddies formed a group called the Blue Bonnet Cowboys, and they played professionally for a brief year. As one might guess by the band’s name, they played Texas Swing, the kind you might hear coming from Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. In fact, Pat once played with some of the Bob Wills crew, and with Hugh Farr, who was with The Sons of the Pioneers. Despite his becoming a professional musician, he found the lifestyle distasteful, and bowed out of the professional gigs entirely. But he never left music.

Of course, one couldn’t depend entirely on music to make a living in the 1930’s, so he worked various jobs to help make ends meet. He worked for the National Youth Association in Lamesa, Texas, where he tried his hand at furniture making. Then he worked at an egg plant, where they made powdered eggs. Finally, he found a job working at a bakery, and it was a good match for him.

Fast forward to December 7, 1941, the day, according to President Roosevelt, that lived in infamy, when the US was catapulted into World War II via Pearl Harbor. Pat was hanging out with a group of friends in Patricia, Texas listening to the radio when the news of Japan attacking Hawaii was announced. Like most of the young men in America, he determined that he was going to join the war effort. When he turned 17, he went to Lubbock, Texas, where he stood in line for enlistment into the armed services. He happened to be in the right place at the right time to become a Marine. So, on October 13, 1943, Pat found himself in El Paso, Texas at the historic Paso del Norte Hotel for his physical and swearing in ceremony. The Marines assigned him to the South Pacific Theater; therefore he went to San Diego and Twenty-nine Palms, where he was introduced to the delicate task of Marine boot camp. Pat smiled fondly and commented, “That’s where I found out what I was. That corporal who met me as I got off the bus immediately identified me as a &$^%. Up to that point, I was unaware of this!”

Contrary to what one might believe, his time in the various Marine schools was not entirely pleasant. One day, he got cross-wise with a sergeant and got KP duty for 30 days. Once he got off that duty, something else happened and he did an additional 30 days. By this time, he had figured out that KP wasn’t as bad as some made it out to be, and volunteered for 30 more days. Before long, they made him the Scullery Chief!

When the Marines looked at Pat’s background, they saw that he had worked as a furniture builder and concluded that he should be in construction, despite his attempts to become a cook. After his training in Miramar, California, he shipped out for Hawaii, and eventually to the Marshall Islands, where he was a maintenance man, trying to keep the base in good order. That wouldn’t last long, because the push to Okinawa and the Japanese mainland was well underway.

On April 1, 1945, the battle for Okinawa began when the Tenth Army landed on Higashi beach on L-Day. Yomitan Airstrip was secured while Japanese planes were still trying to land. Pat’s combat engineers were the first echelon to set up camp in an attempt to preserve and maintain the airstrip for American use. In the days that followed, some of the most desperate fighting occurred as Japan was frantic to regain its hold on the island. From April the 6th through the 18th, 400 Kamikaze planes made an all-out effort against Okinawa Island, Ryukyu Islands, and the various local shipping and beach heads. In that time, two destroyers, two ammunition ships, a mine sweeper, and an LST are sunk due to Japanese attacks, while other vessels are damaged.

The HQ AAF (Twentieth Air Force) reported that in missions numbered 70 to 75: 118 B-29s bombed airfields at Tachiarai, Kokubu, Izumi, Nittagahara, and 2 at Kanoya, Japan; 5 others attacked targets of opportunity. Up through May 11, XXI Bomber Command devoted 75 per cent of its combat effort to support of the Okinawa campaign. During this period, the American B-29s flew more than 2,100 sorties against 17 airfields on Kyushu and Shikoku Islands which were dispatching air attacks (including Kamikaze raids) against USN and USMC forces. On a short side note, Pulitzer Prize winning newspaper columnist Ernie Pyle was killed on Ie Shima by a sniper during this campaign.

Sugar Loaf Hill

And where was Pat when all of this was happening? He was still on the airfield trying to repair the damage done by Japanese bombers and artillery. One day, three Betty Bomber, a Japanese aircraft, crashed into their airfield in a kamikaze run. They spent several hours trying to round up the crews of the planes, who attempted to carry out more of their sabotage mission. The Japanese also had a series of tunnels they had built into Sugar Loaf Hill, which overlooked the runway, where they could bring artillery on line to bombard the airstrip. (Part of a complex of three hills, Sugar Loaf formed the western anchor of General Mitsuru Ushijima's Shuri Line, which stretched from coast to coast across the island. Sugar Loaf was critical to the defense of that line, preventing U.S. forces from turning the Japanese flank).

Most of the Japanese efforts to bombard the airfield were nothing more than a nuisance, but it was a constant one. Daily, the Japanese attempted to destroy the airfield in an effort to turn the tide of the battle. In May, the Marines and the 10th Army took Sugar Loaf Hill, which guarded the entrance to the Japanese 32nd Army and the road to Naha. However, the Marines paid a dear price for it, losing thousands of men to death, wounds, and combat fatigue. It wasn’t until May 18 that Sugar Loaf was finally seized. Two days later, the Japanese mounted a battalion-sized counterattack in an effort to regain their lost position, but the Marines held the line. All of this activity was occurring in Pat’s immediate area. When the wounded started rolling in from the front, he and his crew spent their free time visiting the various evacuation hospitals in the area and playing music for the wounded. During the day they maintained the airfield. During the night they would play, and then return to the airfield to their quarters. Several times they traded their guitars and fiddles for M-1 riffles and Colt .45s, for the war was still raging.

When I asked Pat what the most memorable moment in Okinawa was, and he smiled wryly and said, “We were in Buckner’s Bay on a Kaiser Coffin (a transport boat built by Kaiser) when we heard that the Japanese had signed an unconditional surrender. Within the hour, they turned around and we started home.” Literally, they returned state-side on the day the armistice was signed. He and several thousand Marines had long since earned enough points to return home, and they had been in a holding pattern waiting for their orders. So, when the Japanese surrendered, they sailed back across the Pacific to California. Before long, Corporal Mitchell found himself as a civilian.

He returned to Lamesa, Texas and went back to work at the bakery for several years. During this time, he became acquainted with a young lady named Nettie Mae Taylor, who worked as a soda jerk at the local drug store. Feeling compelled to buy the occasional soda, they became better friends due to his frequent visits. On January 19th, 1947, he took her as his bride and they began a happy life together. He got a job offer working in the newly developing oil fields, which took him to Carlsbad, New Mexico. While between jobs, he accepted employment in the potash mines in Carlsbad, where he worked until he retired in 1989.

Of course, this is only a snapshot of Pat’s life. There are still a few more important things you need to know about him. Pat grew up attending a Baptist Church, and he came to know the Lord when he was seven years old in the McCaulley First Baptist Church. While he freely admits there were days he didn’t take religion very seriously, he had a life-long commitment to the Lord, and lived his life accordingly. I suspect this was part of the reason he found being a professional musician to be counter-productive. In 1995, he was inducted into the New Mexico Hall of Fame for fiddling. If you visit Pat’s Place, his work shop/music barn behind his house, you will see that his walls are adorned with more than 50 first and second place awards from the various competitions he undertook.

Pat also had a brother, T.C. Mitchell who served in the Army and was an occupation force member in Japan for some of the months immediately following the war.

Recently in 2007, Pat lost the love of his life, the ever smiling Nettie, whom we dearly miss.

If you are in the mood for some really good fiddle music, you can find Pat and his group making music like nobody’s business in his shop, Pat’s Place on Tuesday evenings. And if you happen to see a man whose gentle smile and graceful fingers making musical notes melt like butter, then you know you’ve found a man worth talking about: Corporal Pat Mitchell, USMC.

Happy Memorial Day, Everyone!

2009-05-25T06:43:00.002-06:00

Normally, I would have a vet bio posted for Memorial Day, but I wasn't able to get one edited in time to post it. So, I'll get it up in the next few days. In the meantime, I do want to make some observations.

If you haven't yet watched the film, The Fighting Sullivans, you must do so. It's a true story about the 5 Sullivan brothers who enlist in the Navy following Pearl Harbor. They sought and received permission from the Navy to serve on the same ship, and in doing so, established new protocols for brothers in the armed services. In fact, they had such a profound impact on the Navy that TWO ships have been christened "The Sullivans" in their honor. This is an important film, and it is a must see. Please add it to your netflix list and make it happen!

Now, in my efforts to celebrate and remember those who gave their lives to protect my freedom, I want to offer a special deal to veterans and to those currently serving:
I will give each soldier an autographed copy of my book. They only need to send me an email with shipping directions. traviswinman{at}yahoo.com.

When Love Calls is a Christian based love story, but more men have read it than women, so don't let that be a deterrent. I have included helicopter evacuations, fist fights, emergency ICU surgeries, stellar car crashes, and moments of desperation. I also added varying levels of mushy stuff, so I could keep my target audience happy... But ask anyone who's taken the time to read it, it is an exciting love story!

Whenever I travel, I try to keep some copies on me to give to soldiers. Normally I target the females in uniform, but soldier beware!, if I see you, you will probably get a book! It's the least I can do for those who are standing between me and those who wish me harm. Thanks for all you are doing, for it is much appreciated.

Check it out!

2009-05-24T13:24:00.002-06:00

Blundering Discoveries

The Art of "When Love Calls"

2009-05-18T05:00:00.000-06:00

The Art of When Love Calls

I’ve had many comments from various people indicating they are curious about the works of art I mention in my novel, When Love Calls. Well, the best way for me to satiate your curiosity is to present my pitiful attempt at art appreciation. Art is a fascinating and wonderful expression of our culture. It’s also a gauge of how healthy our culture is. All of us vary on what we consider good art and bad art, so please don’t thrash me for the art I used in my book; it was simply a tool used to “paint a picture” in your mind.

One very important piece in the novel is a giclée on canvass by Tomasz Rut entitled, Campaspe. As you see here, Campaspe is a young lady with soft chestnut hair. She is tastefully arranging her hair, as if she’s preparing to retire for the night. I chose this work because when I see Campaspe, I see Mary, Caton’s first wife. Mary was graceful and elegant, and Caton saw the same qualities in that painting, so he purchased it. The problem was, after Mary died, he wasn’t able to take the painting down. God challenged him as to whether he was in love with the memory of Mary or the painting on the wall.

*Note: In giclée, the ink is sprayed on to your choice of media in millions of colors utilizing continuous tone technology, retaining all the fine detail of the original.

Perhaps the most controversial artwork in When Love Calls is also by Tomasz Rut, Exsomnis. Exsomnis is a very passionate and sensual illustration of the desire shared by two lovers. I hesitated over using this piece for several reasons. First, many conservative, old-fashioned readers might view this work as inappropriate. My readers tend to be very old-fashioned, and that’s a trait I identify with very well. While no nudity is revealed in the work, it leaves little to the imagination. Second, this reveals a private moment and I am cautious about taking a private moment too far.

Please, allow me to explain further. I think Christian stories tend to be so filtered that they become sterile. It is my opinion that Christians should be the most passionate lovers when it comes to romance. Christians operate out of genuine and generally unselfish love, as the model union is a man and his wife, not a man and his mistress—or girlfriend. The passion between a married couple should be that of a lifetime of commitment and desire, not a fleeting moment of selfish indulgence such as is common between “dating couples.” Caton and Lilly share a deep desire for each other, and their desires are blessed by God. I believe the passion represented in Exsomnis is indicative of their love. Therefore, I share it with you not as a lusty love scene, but rather the passion of a man for his wife.

Another artist featured in the book is a man from Ajo, Arizona named Joseph Gulick. Mr. Gulick is a master at desert paintings, but with seascapes, his art leaps beyond the skill of a master, and takes on the qualities of genius. I met the Gulicks several years ago when I was spending the summer in Ajo, and when I saw a series of seascapes, I sacrificed what I had in order to secure those paintings.

The first is an oil on masonite entitled, Pacific Sunset. We had trouble getting the photos of the paintings to come out with the precise coloring intended by the artist, but you'll get the idea.

The second oil on masonite is a light house near San Francisco called, St. George Reef Lighthouse.

The last is an accompanying oil on masonite named, Full Sail.

You can see the depth of the waves, and if you stand in front of the original, you can feel the waves as they crash against the shore. Mr. Gulick has captured the sea, and he makes it look easy. Caton and Mary lived their lives in the beautiful Sacramento Mountains in New Mexico. How ironic that they would live in the crux of beauty and still find seascapes enchanting. One can never be satisfied when trying to embrace the grandeur of God’s creation.

Another painter I mentioned is an artist named Hua Chen, who has a canny ability to seize serenity and beauty. His grasp of heavenly women almost creates a mystical work. His work has been described as sensual but not provocative. I chose his art because of the innocence and wonder alive in the mind of a child. While I never mentioned an exact piece, I will provide you a demo of his work. Actually, I was rather shocked when I went back to my book and saw that I accidentally referenced Alexander Chen rather than Hua Chen. Oops.

Finally, as I take my leave, let me give you one more thought that connects When Love Calls to modern art. Jane is a familiar character, and perhaps the character who draws the most comments. She is dangerous and determined. She is controlling and beautiful. She is a user and a taker. She is selfish and narrow. Yet, she is broken inside and still has the heart of a little girl looking to have a father reach out to hold her. I have made both Lilly and Jane to be musically inclined, and I often thought that the following artwork would depict Jane’s plight, especially as she comes through the tragedy brought on by her lascivious lifestyle. As is common with the trend I established earlier, it too is a work from Tomasz Rut, Communia, which is a depiction of a young woman expressing a deep spiritual moment.

More of Jane’s life will be revealed in the sequel, which is under a working title, Love’s Determined Grace.

Communia

Interested in When Love Calls? Find out more at http://www.traviswinman.com/

Grandma's Eye

2009-05-11T07:02:00.000-06:00

I'm trying to get you in the mood for the upcoming Iron Poet contest, which will soon occur. So, I'm going to open the vault let out another non-sensical poetic masterpiece, dubiously speaking.

Remarkably, this is based on a true story!
_____________________________

Grandma’s Eye

When Grandma sneezed
Her eye popped out
And rolled to the back of church.

When the preacher heard
The sound
It left him in a lurch.

Never before
Had it happened;
Her eye was made of glass

And if you saw her
On the street,
She’d show it if you asked.

When it stopped
They picked it up
And passed it back to her.

She thanked them kindly
Grabbed a rag,
And cleaned it as it were.

Back it went
Into her head
She gave it little thought.

So waste not time
Dwelling there,
It came to all but naught.

The Camping Trip

2009-05-04T14:57:00.002-06:00

I don't publish my poetry very often. There's no good reason why, except I don't really enjoy reading most poetry, and so I assume that most people don't care for it either. I've never been the kind of person who "gets" Shakespeare. I enjoy reading some of the older poets such as Poe and Frost and the like, and I really like Eugene Field. But, for the most part, I won't go out of my way to read a good poem. That being said, I'm going to offer you one of my own. The Camping Trip was never intended to be anything other than a documentary of my son's first camping trip. But, it's a fun poem, so I hope you enjoy it. Please, there are no hidden messages within these words. I know, for me that's an accomplishment, but this is nothing short of mindless amusement.

The Camping Trip

Little Seth was one year old
He knew neither hot nor cold.
He ran around inside the camp
Whether it was dry or damp.
He ran in the grass and through the rocks
Took off his shoes and ran in his socks!

His mama chased him everywhere
Always scared she heard a bear.
But no bears were ever found
And little buddy ran around and ‘round.
He picked up sticks to eat them whole
He even put them in a bowl.

He wouldn’t ever stop to rest
Even when the sun did crest
The mountains on the eastern slope
He faced the darkness with new hope.
He hoped to count the stars above
The sleepiness away he shoved.

The threw his dog into the flame
His franks would never be the same.
His marshmallow glowed in the dark
When it finally caught a spark.
He ate it up very quickly
But his fingers still got sticky.

His mama tried to put him down
So he could sleep safe and sound.
But he had no desire
To leave his place by the fire.
But once she had him in his bed
He became a sleepy head.

Nothing

2009-04-28T07:58:00.003-06:00

I've been out of pocket the last few weeks...okay, the last month and a half. Well, I'm not entirely back into my routine. I have a couple of trips to make yet. By the time June is gone, I will have stood on the Atlantic Ocean twice and the Pacific Ocean twice. Within the last 9 months (this is the fun part of traveling) I will get to take my kids to both Disneyland and Disney World. Considering that I currently reside in New Mexico (I'm still a Texan. I'm just living in one of our western counties for the moment), it's quite an accomplishment to pull off these events. I hope to gain enough time in my week to start visiting all of you again. Well, enough about me.

I saw in the news a few weeks ago that an astronaut was trying to convince the world that aliens exist. That reminded me of a story that I posted back in 2007. I decided to dust this story off and recycle (my only efforts at being green). I think you will appreciate the value of this story.

Nothing

Bret Simmons walked into the room and held the door open for Doctor Hal Reed then gingerly shut it behind them. He stood breathless for a moment, “This is very impressive. I have never seen such an elaborate laboratory.”

Simmons smiled graciously. “Thank you, Dr. Reed, coming from a man of your esteem, your words mean a great deal. We are looking forward to working with you.”

“About that,” began Dr. Reed, “what exactly did you want from me?”

“I wanted to hire you to make something.” He paused for effect, “Something big.” When he said “big” his voice grew in awe.

“You were so secretive; I hardly knew what to think.”

“Yes, that is why I paid you so handsomely.”

“Handsomely? I should think so. With the money you paid me, I will be able to continue my research for years to come. You were most generous.”

Simmons waved him off, “think nothing of it. I have followed your research on the beginning moments of evolution for quite some time.”

“You flatter me, of course.”

“None sense.” Simmons cut to the chase, “ I assume that you are a fellow atheist.”
Dr. Reed looked down at his feet. “Well, let’s say this: I am eagerly seeking to prove there is no God.”

“Very well,” Simmons mused. “You may say it however you please, just so that you succeed.” His voice grew irrational. “These…idiotic…religionists just won’t shut up! That’s why I paid you so dearly, out of my pocket, and paid you in advance.”

“Well then, what is our business here?” Dr. Reed seemed eager.

Simmons motioned to a conference table across the room and they took seats around it. “I want you to make the greatest scientific discovery of all time. Moreover, I want you to get full credit for it. I want you to make something, anything, out of nothing.” He clasped his hands together in delight.

Reed leaned forward, “I beg your pardon?”

“I want you to make something out of nothing.” He was matter of fact.

“But,” Dr. Reed stuttered, “How? With what?”

He shrugged, “I don’t care. Just create something.”

“What do you expect me to use?”

“Nothing. Something from nothing.” He repeated.

“I must have something to start with. All matter must have basic building blocks.”

“Like atoms?” asked Simmons.

“Yes, atoms would do nicely for a start.” Reed wasn’t sure if he should laugh.

“Oh no, that won’t do at all,” dismissed Simmons. “You must do it with nothing.”

“But I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t know how.” He was sincere.

“But you are a scientist.”

“So?”

“You are a Big Bang theorist. Surely you must know something about it.”

Dr. Reed’s pride was injured. “Well, of course I do. I am the leading researcher on evolutionary models.”

“That is why I hired you. You are the best.”

Reed shrugged, “But I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one can do what you are asking. It’s not humanly possible.”

Simmons was cross. “Don’t even start that, Doctor. That’s why we must succeed.”

“Why? I’m not sure I follow you.”

“We must prove the Creationists wrong.”

“Why?”

“If they are right then that means I am wrong. It means that there is a God. Do this and prove them wrong.”

Reed shook his head in disbelief. “But I have nothing to start with.”

“There was nothing before the Big Bang,” bantered Simmons.

Dr. Reed swallowed, “Well, there could have been. I mean, there could have been some swirling gasses.”

Simmons leaned forward, “Okay, where did the gasses come from?”

Reed threw up his hands, “I don’t know! Maybe from a previous Big Bang.”

“How’s that?”

“Well,” Reed’s eyes widened, “I surmise that the entire universe is in a great cycle, a long, continuous cycle of beginning and end.”

“Okay, go on…”

“You see, the universe expands into substance and contracts into nothing, leaving only swirling gasses. Then it starts all over again.”

“Okay. What causes the gasses to swirl? I mean, in the absence of solar winds to stir them, or gravity to pull them, what starts the swirling?”

Reed shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Simmons was incredulous. “You don’t know? How is that possible?”

“Actually,” he looked down at his feet. “I might be leaning toward a creator.”

“What?” Simmons shrieked. “But you said…”

“Well, consider it.” He waved a hand in the air and dismissed Simmons concerns. “What about this building?”

“What about it?”

“Where did it come from?”

“Huh? I had to build it.”

“Exactly!” Simmons blank stare probed him to elaborate. “If there is a creation, there must be a creator.”

“A creator?” Simmons was starting to panic.

“Of course. Think of the Mona Lisa.”

“The Mona Lisa…” Simmons repeated.

“Do you think that paint just fell onto a canvas? No, she has a design. There must be a designer.”

Simmons stood up, and then sat down again. “So what are you saying?”

“Someone, not God, created the universe.”

“Who else has the power to create a universe if not God?” Simmons face turned red. “Not that God has the power, but…oh, you know what I mean.”

“Aliens,” Reed said smugly.

“Oh brother.” Simmons groaned.

“Yes! Can’t you see? Aliens created our universe.”

“With what?”

“Swirling gasses.”

“Back to the gas again.” He placed a hand on his chest and groaned. “Then where did the aliens come from?”

“I haven't gotten that far.”

“But, just a few months ago you were certain that there was no creator.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But that just doesn’t make sense. Logically, I can’t make any sense out of it. To think that all of this evolved out of nothing?” He stood and walked to the window. “Take just the sun alone--why imagine it! One million Earths would fit inside of it. And to think, by chance it was 93,000,000 miles from Earth. Any closer and we would burn up. Any farther and we would freeze. And it’s not even a big star; it’s just a smaller average star.

“The sun evaporates seawater, which causes clouds to form. The clouds are driven by the wind and rise to heights taller than mountains, giving the rain needed to sustain life, and purifying the air at the same time. That couldn’t happen by chance.” He observed Simmons rubbing his chest and moaning. “And to think that chance created the human heart. And chance formed the ribs within a human body in the womb? And the human mind, with its unending complex thoughts and desires? Could chance have made all of this? It makes you think.”

Simmons had enough. “But, I…”

“Yes of course! The eye!” Reed was excited. “It has over 43,000,000 nerve endings in it. We can’t even make one nerve cell, much less a functioning human eye.”

“But we evolved slowly.”

Reed shot back at him, “Did we? At what point did our blind nerve cells work in concert to create sight? At what point did our lungs develop the capacity to process oxygen? Can you imagine how awkward the stage was between breathing atmosphere and breathing with gills? At what point did both a male and a female coexist long enough to copulate? I don’t think so, Mr. Simmons!” Reed was parading around as if on a crusade.

Simmons was absolute. “That’s all fine, but I am not prepared to believe in God.”

“Ah yes, God. Me neither. If there is a God, and He is the Creator, then we would be created also, implying that we might be accountable to Him. I am not ready to believe in Him, either. I like my life just as it is.”

“Fascinating.” Simmons mused. “How, then, did the Earth come to be?”

“Aliens.” Dr. Reed nodded in satisfaction, quite proud of himself.

“Aliens?” Simmons paused. “That seems hard to believe, too. After all, they had to come from somewhere also.”

“Perhaps, but the alternative is rather unpleasant.”

“So, then,” Simmons committed, “Aliens?”

“Aliens.” Dr. Reed nodded in approval.

April 15--A Day That Forever Changed the World

2009-04-15T05:26:00.001-06:00

Grit your teeth, bite your tongue, weep, wail, and get out your checkbook and write one to Uncle Sam, for April 15th is upon us. People all over America will experience tremendous heartburn and anxiety, and all for the cause of money. There are a few grim reasons for dreading the 15th, but few of them concern our cash supply, or lack thereof. Journey with me through one day that has forever changed the course of our history….

April 14th. A cruise ship plows quietly through ghostly still waters on a dimly lit night, unaware that she was about to create an incident that would forever alter nautical laws and traditions. Her captain was sound asleep in his extraordinarily comfortable quarters. Never before had such comfort been built for the purposes of luxury and everyone was taking full advantage of their fortune. Telegrams were constantly being sent over a newly developed telegraph system for ocean voyages; the rich were showing off their prestige. In fact, so many messages were sent that the lineman had to issue a command to all other ships in the area, “shut up and get off the line” due to their transmissions concerning icebergs floating into the northern routes. The accommodations were so posh that even the third class and crew’s quarters were better than the first class on most contemporary ships. Truly, the lap of luxury was at the customer’s beck and call. After all, a ticket on this ship cost several thousand dollars, why shouldn’t the rich boast of their achievements? Then the night watchman, from the crow’s nest, signaled, “ICEBERG AHEAD”, and the world would never be the same.

April 15th. The great ship was mortally wounded, her flood compartments were full, and the metal beast was about the split in half due to the pressure on her hull. Electric lights were flickering off and on as screaming passengers and crews fought to maintain control and panic in their efforts to save lives. Women and children were evacuated as quickly as possible, while the men dressed in their finest attire and went to the lounge for a last brandy and cigar. For there weren’t enough lifeboats for everyone on board, some one had to die, the men immediately recognized their duty and held their heads up as they sacrificed all they ever would be for their families. Of the 2228 people on board, 705 survived to tell the truth about that horrible night. A ship named the Carpathia rescued the survivors and became known as the “ship of widows.”

When the Titanic sank in 1912, the world reeled in shock at the loss. Shortly thereafter, the Commerce Act of 1912 went into effect that forever altered our naval laws. One of the foremost of the laws stated that radio operators could not turn off their radios for the night and go to bed. The Coast Guard was formed to keep a watch out for icebergs. The Titanic also coined the term, posh, which was an acronym for Port-side Over, Starboard Home.

April 14th. A war torn nation was welcoming a permanent declaration of peace, for a full surrender had occurred less than a week before. The war was all but over. At last, American lives would no longer be lost fighting to preserve rights and liberties. The President, in an effort to enjoy a night away from the pressures of politics and the restoration of a needful nation, decided to take a night off for some meaningless entertainment. His plate was full in the terms of establishing new and previously uncharted laws and practices. Never before had so many American soldiers fought and died. Never before had such a sacrifice been demanded in the name of liberty. Never before had the policies of our great democracy been so blatantly and forthrightly challenged. Never before had an attack by a military power occurred after so many years of peace. Never before had a nation needed their President more than they needed him now. A lone assassin lurked in the shadows, waiting for a moment when all attention would be on the stage. At just that moment, he stepped forward, placed a pistol against the President’s head, and fired. He was heard yelling, “Sic semper tyrannis,” which ment, “thus ever to tyrants.”

April 15th. The President was taken to a lodging house across the street where he was placed in bed while doctors worked through the night in a desperate attempt to save his life. At 7:20 A.M., 1865, Abraham Lincoln died. His attending physician pulled a sheet over his head and Secretary Stanton said, “Now he belongs to the ages.”

More? On a related note, on April 15, 1861, Robert E. Lee, son of a Revolutionary War hero, and a 25-year veteran of the United States Army, is offered command of the Union Army—an offer he refused. In 1969, North Korea shot down an American Airplane over the Sea of Japan. In 1986, the United States launched an air raid against Libya in response to a terrorist attack on April 5th. In 2009, Tea Parties were held across the nation, for the first time since the American Revolution, in protest of the trillions of dollars spent by the Obama Administration.

So, when you feel blue over the tax money you have to pay, remember that this day has much more significance than you ever imagined. Some very positive events also occurred on the fifteenth:
1738-The bottle open was invented.
1878- Ivory Soap was developed by Procter of Procter and Gamble.
1923- Insulin was made available for diabetics.
1960- 04 x 15 = 60.

And, most importantly, Ray Kroc opened the first McDonald’s in Des Plains Illinois, selling 15-cent hamburgers and 10-cent fries for a first day’s total of $366.12.

Caitie and the Whale

2009-04-07T05:40:00.003-06:00

Seldom do I post poetry, but it's not unheard of. In truth, I've been traveling and I haven't had time to work on any short stories or vet bios. So, for the sake of getting something out there for you to read, I decided to post a poem that I wrote for my kids several years ago. I have been working on a new short story, and I hope to have it edited by next week. It depends on how much time I have when I finally get back home...

Caitie and the Whale

Little Caitie swam with fish
In order to keep her wish
Of swimming around to find a whale
She wanted to ask about the tale
Of the fish that ate a man.

She found a school of fish at play
All at once they began to say,
“To find the whale, leave the brook
In the ocean you must look
For the fish that ate a man.”

In the ocean she did swim
Where the light began to dim.
She found the whale inside a cave
Because she was unafraid
Of the fish that ate a man.

“Excuse me, sir, but I must ask
Of when God did task
You to go and catch the man
When from God he ran
To the fish that ate a man.”

“Of course I do remember
It was late in September
When a man went floating by
So I ate him like a fly.
I’m the fish that ate a man.

“In my tummy the man did stay
Until the man began to pray
So on the sand I spit him out
It is true, so have no doubt
Of the fish that ate a man.”

Little Caitie returned as planned
Back to the ocean’s sand
Never again would she doubt
When her daddy told her about
The fish that ate a man.

What Texas Has Given Us

2009-03-30T05:18:00.000-06:00

Everyone has heard about Davy Crockett and the Tennessee Volunteers, whose valiant, but fatal stand at the Alamo changed the world. On April 21st, 173 years will have passed since the War for Texas Independence ended with an 18 minute routing of the Mexican army in the San Jacinto Valley in 1836. These are facts that are available in most history texts from high schools and colleges across the nation.

But what, exactly, did the Texans accomplish in their grand opposition to the President of Mexico? The answer might surprise you: it changed the course of your life.

Mexico decided to open its borders to immigration in the 1820’s following a costly war for independence from Spain. Texas was sparsely populated at that time, and Mexico wanted to encourage settlements in the area to help control the hostile Indian population. As a result, they created a very liberal immigration policy that encouraged settlement in the Texas hill country. The first settlers, the “Old Three Hundred”, arrived in 1822 from the United States to colonize the grant which had been given to Stephen F. Austin.

By the 1830’s, an estimated 30,000 Anglo had settled Texas, compared to an estimated 7,500 native Mexicans. The population imbalance concerned Mexican President Bustamante, who implemented measures which prohibited further immigration to Texas and heavily taxed imports from the United States. The Mexican government ordered the settlers to stop producing the highly profitable cotton crops, and begin demanding that the farmers grow corn, grain, and beef.

Things became even more difficult for the new settlers when the Mexican government demanded that the colonists convert to Catholicism, and required a mandatory tithe to the church. But the real indignations began when the Stephen Austin went to meet with the newly elected president, Santa Anna. Austin wanted Texas to become a separate and equal state within the Mexican Republic, in an effort to minimize corruption of local officials. Santa Anna had Austin promptly arrested and then abolished the Mexican Constitution of 1824. Next, he dissolved the current federalist government and suspended the legislative branch. He then imprisoned several cotton plantation owners with the intent of redistributing the cotton within Mexico rather than be exported to other countries. These actions triggered outrage—outrage that eventually led to war.

In 1835, as the new centralist government was taking power, the Texans formed a committee, which staged a minor revolt against the taxes which had been imposed on them in July. The Mexican President responded by sending 200 troops into Texas. Stephen Austin was released, having never been charged. Fearing that stronger measures were needed to quell the growing unrest, Santa Anna ordered his brother-in-law, General Martín Perfecto de Cos to "repress with strong arm all those who, forgetting their duties to the nation which has adopted them as her children, are pushing forward with a desire to live at their own option without subjection to the laws”. Cos landed at Copano Bay on September 20, 1835 with approximately 500 soldiers.

Austin saw little choice but to revolt against Mexico and form an independent nation. A meeting was scheduled for October to discuss formal plans for a revolution.

However, before the meetings occurred, Santa Anna learned of the talks of secession and ordered the state militias disarmed. In the weeks that followed, the colonists banned together and formally opposed Santa Anna and his army in several indecisive skirmishes.

General Santa Anna captured 300 Texas revolutionaries in Goliad when they were caught in the open; they chose to surrender rather than fight the overwhelming Mexican Army. He then ordered the combatants to be executed. Santa Anna began a “slash and burn” campaign across Texas and ordered any revolutionaries to be shot on sight—and take no prisoners. In February, 1836, Santa Anna surrounded a small garrison of 185 Texas soldiers at the Alamo in San Antonio and ordered their surrender. The Texans knew their fate if they surrendered, so they defied the 5,000 troops and fought to the death, taking as many as 600 of the Mexican Army with them into eternity. The Alamo was besieged for almost two weeks, which was the precious time the colonists needed to organize their resistance.

The sacrifice made at the Alamo gave the struggling Texas colonists enough time to form a government and establish an official revolution against the tyranny imposed by Santa Anna. The Texas Republic placed the newly formed Texas Army under the leadership of Sam Houston. General Houston knew his army wasn’t strong enough to take on the Mexican Army in a face to face confrontation, so he successfully retreated to the San Jacinto Valley, where the odds of successfully confronting Santa Anna’s Army were more favorable. On April 21st, 1836, Sam Houston’s 900 man army attacked the Mexican forces, and in 18 minutes they virtually annihilated their enemy. To evade capture, Santa Anna donned the uniform of an ordinary soldier and hid among the troops. Only when his own people began to point and say, “El Presidente” did he finally surrender.

Texas functioned as a Republic for nine years, proving it was a viable country and that it could survive on its own merits. President Sam Houston envisioned Texas joining the United States, a dream that was fulfilled in 1845. However, Texas and Mexico were still in conflict about the boundaries between the two countries. While Mexico was hot and cold about the surrender terms of President Santa Anna, and the boundary proposed between Texas and Mexico, they eventually fully recognized the Rio Grande River as the formal border between the two countries during the Mexican American War of 1846.

So, you might ask, how did these events change the course of my life? When Texas was a republic, it claimed an area that encompassed most of present day New Mexico, and large portions of Colorado, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Wyoming, almost reaching Canada. When Texas joined the Union in 1845, that land mass transferred to the United States. As a result of the Mexican American War (1846-1848), Mexico, via the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ceded California, Nevada, Utah, and Arizona, and the rest of New Mexico, Colorado, and more of Wyoming to the United States.

It is distinctly possible that had Texas never declared independence from Mexico, and never joined the United States, the world as we know it would be far different. Can you envision a world where Mexico owned all the territory from Louisiana to the west? Can you imagine a world where the California Gold Rush would have occurred on Mexican soil? Our lives would be completely different had the colonist of Texas not chosen to fight the oppression that was being pressed upon them by the corrupt Mexican government.

The United States is now standing on the precipice of socialism, and very nearly communism. The pundits and media elites are continually professing the virtues of our rapidly evolving government, praising the increasing power of the federal government. The power grab in Washington, DC is proving to be alarming, and is a distinct threat to the American way of life. We are now facing a government that is radically altering our culture and our laws, many of which are unconstitutional. What we are now facing is not dissimilar to what the Texas colonists faced in the 1800s.

The colonists of 1836 Texas recognized the injustice pressed upon them by Mexico and the instabilities produced by a President who had the temerity to suspend the existing government. Despite the odds against them, the Texans gave us a model to follow of standing up for what’s right, even if the world is standing against us.

Let us long remember the example of those who have gone before us, those who have given us an example of courage and duty.

Let Us Remember

2009-03-23T08:29:00.005-06:00

There are no words that will make this video clip any better. Please watch it and remeber...

Marine

The Dust Bowl

2009-03-11T16:34:00.007-06:00

Pardon the expression, but I had to "dust" this story off and share it with you. It comes from my article writing days, which are long gone. It seems applicable now that we are facing hard times again. Maybe it will help us keep our circumstances in perspective.

The Dust Bowl

The years of the depression could be summed up in one word for so many of its victims: desperation.

You could see it coming as far as the horizon would permit. Soon, everyone’s windows and doors served only to hold back the fierce wind howling outside. Dust as fine as silt drifts in from every crack in the wall, filling the floor and cracks with sand deep enough to plant corn. Nothing could stop it. Children would sit in the floor and play with large piles of sand as the dirt blew in from outside. If bad luck were your fortune, it would rain while the sand was blowing and fall in the form of mud. The locals called them “dusters”, but everyone called them the worst thing to happen in farming history.

For the poor sharecroppers in Oklahoma, the dust storms of the Dust Bowl years were nothing short of a death sentence to their way of life. Most farms were foreclosed as banks began to call in notes; notes the farmers could not support. Slowly, one by one, then by the hundreds, Oklahomans abandoned their homes and went west to California, desperately seeking some way of making a living.

The dust meant much more to others. For them it meant completely changing everything they ever knew about life. They packed up their belongings and started driving west. Many people had to leave behind farms that their families had established some 70 years before. Old men cried as they left the home that had born their fathers, their children, and their grandchildren. For many, the trip was too much to bear and they died from broken hearts before they ever crossed the state line of Oklahoma. At night, they would eat fried dough while dreaming of chicken and dumplings. For many, beans and corn bread was a feast to remember. When they arrived in California to find no work available, they gathered into communes, sharing what they didn’t have to share. Instead of finding work, they found hostilities. For California had been overrun by those looking for a solution to their desperate problems. Local vigilantes, hating the Oklahomans for bringing their hard luck to California, burned out many times their camps. Their words, “brother, can you spare a dime?” became the national anthem as tough times got worse for so many. Honest, hard working people were reduced to beggars in order to survive. However, they did survive. They survived to go on and help build a bigger and better America.

For the strong, the tough times brought on by the dust storms amounted to insurmountable grounds for true bragging rights, lending testimony to the tenacity of the human spirit. “Why, where I come from, the dust was so thick that I had to chop my way to the barn with my ax just so I could tend to the cows.” And, “Shoot that’s nothing, it was so dusty at my house that when we jest got used to drinkin’ dust and bathin’ in durt.” Such folks just found a way to survive, despite the overwhelming odds against them. Their families still farm that same land today, with the same grim determination so appreciated by their fore fathers.

In only a few years, America was in the full throws of World War II, fighting to preserve their way of life; fighting to have the right to try their luck again just as soon as they get the chance. These people couldn’t be stopped by hard times. The hard times only made them more determined to survive.

Pay special attention to the photo of the man and the two boys running for cover as a dust storm started to blow in on an Oklahoma farm. What you will see is a desperate attempt to defy the odds and hold out just one day longer. You will see grim determination in the face of odds greater than any man should face. You will see great sorrow and great longing for better days. You will see the embodiment of everything great that is found in humanity.

The Robinsons

2009-03-10T15:53:00.004-06:00

THE ROBINSONS

Paul and Suzie Robinson had been in their Siberian prison for months. They were arrested for smuggling Bibles through the airport at Moscow in 1982 and had been transported from prison camp to prison camp throughout the Soviet Union for 3 years. The US State Department tried repeatedly to negotiate their safe return, but failed. The Robinsons were destined to spend years suffering for their faith.

Throughout their captivity, they had been separated and had not seen each other once, but had heard each other crying out in pain, as they were tortured and humiliated. After each round of torment, the Communists would tell them that if they would simply deny Christ, then they could go free. The Robinsons were not prepared to do so.

One day, Suzie was surprised to see her cell door open and Paul shoved into the room. The door promptly closed and they were left alone for several hours. They cried together and prayed together, asking God to extend His mercy and grace to sustain them. They never asked why they were made to suffer, for they knew the answer. They were Christians; they were agents of change and were prepared to suffer the consequences for their choices. Throughout their journey, God sustained them and they never lost sight of who Christ was and why they loved Him. Their main concern was that their lives and deaths brought honor to God and helped advance the Kingdom of God. They only wanted to make a difference.

Paul and Suzie found strength in their embrace in that cell and were renewed at the sight of each other. Paul had a beard from three years growth, and Suzie had lost more weight than Paul thought possible, but she was still his beautiful wife. Their hope in this reunion was that God had arranged their release. Yet, their hopes diminished when the Commandant entered their cell to discuss their latest offer of compromise. It was simple, if Suzie would agree to willingly bear the child of one of the guards, they would return their passports and send them home. Paul and Suzie rushed to answer and immediately rejected the offer. The Commandant advised them that they would die if they refused, but they remained adamant to their death. Paul and Suzie were made to dig their own graves and Paul was made to bury Suzie before he was killed. Their names were written in the Book of Martyrs and their deaths brought great honor to the Kingdom.

I realize this post is unpleasant, and I have hesitated to post it many times. However, this "could be true, but isn't" story is nothing short of reality for so many Christians throughout the world. I have hesitated to post it in the past because I was concerned how it would be received. But, after watching how our future is shaping itself, I feel it is important to tell stories such as this, lest we grow complacent. Earlier this week, a pastor was shot from the pulpit. He left his wife and two daughters wondering what happened. We are hovering on the edge of a potential prosecution. If America strays much farther down this road, I fear we won't be able to maintain life as we know it.

Now, I'm not an alarmist. I firmly believe in God's sovereignty, and I fully embrace that He is in control. If this is what God allows, then we will embrace His plan with faith that His will is best. If it comes, then let's pray we be found faithful. If God continues to spare us, let's not forget to pray for those who do face these dangers daily.

Illumination--The Finale

2009-03-02T10:31:00.004-07:00

Adam, having decided to journey on his own, is now about to venture on his own path, based on the advice of Chicane. One might anticipate how well this will turn out...

Illumination, the Finale.

After a while, the forest started to close in on him, but enough light remained to stay on the path. Without realization, he traveled deep into the forest and deeper into the darkness. Adam continued without hesitation, for he was a man, and he could make his own way. The darkness had completely surrounded him, causing him to stumble as he fought to see the light. Before long, he was groping on hands and knees, searching for the way. He could not turn back, for back and front had long ago merged into the same. He was completely lost, without hope of redemption. He leaned against a tree and decided to wait until light came to him before continuing.

Something seemed vaguely familiar about his surroundings. Had he been in this place before? How could he know, for even his hands were unseen by him? If only he had a way to find the path. He leaned back to think. Once, long ago, he had met a man that offered to help him. What was his name? There had been two men. One had helped him and the other… He couldn’t remember. To great a time had passed and his memory seemed askew by the darkness. Adam forced himself to think, to remember the name of his friend. He was growing sleepy; maybe he should rest for a while before continuing. His eyes closed and he began to relax. Sleep seemed to beckon him, seducing him to let go. He began to drift away, to let go of his surroundings…

Caminero! That was the name of his friend. The thought of the name brought him out of his sleep. Had he been asleep, or only near it? He couldn’t be sure. Caminero. Such an odd name, one he had never heard before. It was on his lips and he spoke aloud before realizing that he had spoken. “Caminero.”

The darkness began to squeeze around him, causing him to loose breath, as if a chain was coiling about him, like a serpent. The darkness had fingers, sticky fingers that reached to subdue him. Terror seized his voice; he was unable to think. “Camin…” Words would not form on his lips. “Cam…” If only he could call for help. Perhaps it was too late, just as he was warned. Mustering all his strength, he cried out in a last effort, “Caminero!”

A light pierce through the darkness, causing the ebony around him to flee. A man stood before him with a lamp. It was Caminero! “My friend, you have come to me!”

“Of course. You only had to call out to me.” He held the lamp closer to Adam, “Can you see to walk?”

“Only by your light.”

“That is what light is for. Follow me; we have a long journey ahead.”

“But Sir,” Adam inquired. “What will I owe you for your help?”

“You owe me nothing that you can pay now. Come with me at once, lest you die in the darkness.”

“Sir, there are many dangers in the forest. A serpent almost killed me just now.”
Caminero held the lamp closer to himself and the light reflected off a long sword attached to his cloak. “Fear not, my friend, for I am skilled in the art of war.” He turned and walked into the darkness. “The way is very close.”

Adam did not hesitate to follow as closely as he could. The light was with Caminero, illuminating his every step; for him the path was clear. Adam could only follow with each step immediately following his guide. Suddenly, the woods cleared and they stood in a large meadow. Adam stopped in disbelief. “I have stood here before.”

“When you left me you returned to the dark path, rather than follow me into the light.”

Adam pointed ahead. “But I followed that path in the light. It’s a trick! I followed your direction after you left.”

“But you did not follow me, only where you thought I went.”

Adam surveyed his surroundings. “Are we alone?”

“Whom do you expect?”

“I am not sure, but I seem to remember another person. My memory is so dark, I can’t see clearly into my past. It’s a tangle of broken promises and deceit.”

“Then you are remembering yourself.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your heart is full of deceit, for you are a liar.”

Adam leaned forward, indignant. “My word is my bond, I have never told a lie.”
“Do you remember when I found you in the woods? You said that you would follow me as long as you have the means.”

Adam was silent for a moment. “Well, one lie does not a liar make.”

“Very well, then how many lies does it take in order to make one a liar? Ten? Twenty five? At what point is one no longer truthful? Are you truthful when you tell your first lie?”

“No, but…” Adam hesitated, looking down at his feet. “Sir, I can see that I am wrong. I did lie to you, but not with the intention of deceiving you.”

“No matter.” Caminero waved him off. “The lie was a matter of convenience for you. You might not have deliberately lied, but the truth was violated just the same.”

“I am truly sorry for lying to you. It won’t happen again.” He paused and sat on a large rock nearby. “Fortunately, that is the only time I wronged you, you are a hard one to please.”

“You also adulterated our relationship. You had fully devoted yourself to my service, yet you abandoned me to pursue your own wishes. In doing so, you chose to serve yourself. I see your selfishness as idolizing only yourself.”

Adam lowered his head. “Sir, I see that I am wrong, I am guilty of offending you. My heart is pierced with shame.”

“Then you have a choice to make. You have to make a commitment to me before we can walk in the light together. You must abandon your old path forever, never to return. Forever more, you can only walk where I lead you, and you can only move when I tell you. You are giving me your life. In exchange, I will give you mine. I will give you a pardon for violating my laws.”

“Sir, I have no knowledge of your laws.”

“Before you started your journey, I wrote the laws on your heart. Otherwise, you would not have felt guilt for those you violated.”

“Sir, I would not have violated your laws, except that I was lied to, I was deceived.”

“No matter. Only you have the ability to make the choice. You choose to either believe or reject a lie. You chose poorly last time; you were very selfish. Now you must choose again. Follow me at the cost of your life, or follow your own path at the cost of death.”

Caminero’s intense stare was penetrating Adam’s heart, his very soul. It was true. Adam was going to be required to sell his soul… “How can you expect me to give you my life? How can I continue?”

“You will pay either me or Chicane. If you pay me, then it will cost you your life. If you pay Chicane, then it will cost you death. You will die either way. Either die to yourself, or die to life. The choice is hard, for you have violated the law; a penalty must be paid. I will pay your penalty, but you must give me your life and become my servant.” Caminero looked deep into his eyes, but Adam had to look away. “When you give me your life, I will give it back to you.”

Adam had no argument. How was he to know that he was trespassing against a law he never saw in print? He had heard it said before, “Ignorance of the law is no excuse.” Adam could see no way out, he had to commit his life to Caminero, or he would die in the darkness. “Very well, Sir. I surrender to you. I am unworthy of you paying for my crimes, but I am grateful for your benevolence. Where you lead, I will follow.”

Caminero produced a bag of water, which he handed to Adam. “I am sure that you thirst by now.”

Adam drank from the flask. Cold, clear water poured endlessly from the pouch. Adam drank, but could not be satisfied; yet, he could not be filled, either. He closed his eyes and drank. He had never been so thirsty in his life. When he opened his eyes, he could see the light; it was shining brightly on the path before him. Caminero motioned for him to follow. “Come, my brother, for we have a long journey ahead.” Adam followed his new master, grateful for the light on his path and the water in his hands.

The End

Illumination Part II

2009-03-02T10:28:00.004-07:00

When we last saw Adam, he was emerging from the forrest, being lead into the light by his mysterious friend. Grateful for the the help, Adam pledged his life to his new master...

Illumination

A rustling in the brush caused Adam to hesitate in his journey. Caminero continued without looking back, but Adam was curious. A man emerged from the woods and greeted Adam with a large grin.

“Hello, my name is Chicane, how are you?” He held out an eager hand to Adam, who politely received it. “What is your name?”

“Adam.”

Chicane smiled warmly at him and paused to consider the name. “Adam.” He mused. “That is a fine sounding name if I have ever heard one. What brings you here?”

“I have lost my way while journeying. Caminero has graciously offered to help me find the way.”

Chicane glanced over at Caminero, who had paused a few feet away, and seemed to pay no attention to Chicane. Adam noticed that the two made a deliberate point not to stand too close together. “Caminero is it? I wondered what you were calling yourself these days.”

Caminero offered no response. Adam raised his voice. “You know each other?”

Chicane waved nonchalantly. “Of course. We are the only two that know the paths. No one knows them as we do. In fact, anyone that ventures this way will be guided by one of us. Only luck will determine who will guide the lost souls.”

Adam hesitated. Caminero had been very clear that only he knew the right path to take. Now Chicane was proclaiming the same.

Chicane peered deep into Adam’s eyes. “Ah, I see that you are confused. Caminero often misleads trusting souls. You won’t be the first.”

“The first what?”

He glanced at Caminero. “He has told other people that they can find the right path with his help, but he fails to tell them that they have a choice. That they have other options.”

There was something familiar about Chicane, as if they had met before. Adam stepped closer. “Tell me more. What other options?”

Chicane almost spoke in a whisper causing Adam to lean closer to him. “I imagine he told you that only he knew the right path, and that he established the paths.” Adam nodded in agreement. “Did he tell you that I also know the way?” Adam shook his head. “Did he tell you about the price you will pay to follow him?”

Adam stole a glance at Caminero, who was waiting patiently. “What price? I have nothing of value.” He imagined that he could trust Chicane. After all, he was telling him the truth, or at lest what appeared to be the truth.

“Ah, but you are wrong.” Chicane stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Adam did not flinch. “You have your life, and you will pay with it when you reach the end. In fact, you will pay with your life before you reach the end.”
“But how is that possible?”

Chicane scolded his peer with pursed lips. “How could you lie to him like that? Adam is a trusting soul, and you take advantage of him.” He directed his attention to Adam. “It is similar to selling your soul.” He leaned closer to Adam. “Surely he told you that one path will lead to death?” Adam nodded. “Good, at lest that much he told you. There are two paths, but they are very close together. You have to be extra careful, or someone may trick you into following the wrong path and paying for your mistake with your life.” He stared intently at Caminero, who was ignoring him. “Did he tell you that you can learn to see the path on your own?”

“No, I was not told that I could learn to see for myself. However, after coming out of the forest, I can see the path much clearer now.”

“Good! You are a quick study. I like a man with a sharp, clear mind that can think for himself.” Chicane wrapped an arm around him as if they were friends. “I alone know the absolute truth regarding this path, you must be careful, or you will die. If I were you, I would tell this Caminero to take leave.”

Adam gazed hard at Caminero. Turmoil boiled within him, daring him to dismiss his friend. Caminero patiently waited for Adam to make his choice as if repeating a dance from long times past. Adam struggled to make sense of his new revelation. Had Caminero deliberately deceived him, or was Chicane now attempting to deceive him? After a moment of pause, Caminero spoke. “There is much darkness ahead, Adam. If you are going to make it we must leave now.”

Chicane leaned forward and whispered, “don’t you see what he is doing? You and I can both see the path. It is clearly laid out before us. You no longer need Caminero. Thank him for his services and send him on his way. Save your own soul, you should not have to pay so dearly for his help. A man’s life is too valuable to be wasted on trickery.”

Adam’s mind blurred. He was unable to think rationally. His mind told him that he was able to continue on his way without help. Yet, his senses told him that there was much darkness ahead. Danger, possibly death would become his companion if he continued without guidance. At long last, Adam made a decision. “Caminero, thank you for your help. I will be fine from here.”

Caminero spoke without moving. “The choice is yours, and I will abide by your decision. However, know this. When you are surrounded by darkness, simply call out my name and I will be there. There will be a time on your path when you can no longer call out to me, for I will not be found.”

“When will that moment be?”

“At the end, when it is too late.”

Adam hesitated. Chicane stepped forward and stood between them. “Have you forgotten that his fee for help is very costly? I will offer the same help but will charge much less.”

“Oh? Go on.”

“I will charge you nothing. In fact, I will point you in the right direction and allow you to make your own way, like a man. You won’t need me to hold your hand as you make your own path, for you are not a child, you don’t need help. When you arrive at your destination, you won’t have to pay with your life.”

Adam nodded in approval. “Yes, I like that. I am a man and I can find my own way. Thank you, Caminero. I appreciate your help.” He waved a salutation at him, summarily dismissing his former host. Caminero turned and continued in the direction they had been walking.

“You have made a fine choice, Adam. You don’t need anyone holding your hand; you will make it on your own.” He pointed with a crooked finger at the path. “The way is clear. If it seems right to you, then take it. You can see well enough now, and the light only grows stronger the further you go. I now bid you peace and luck.”

“Before I depart, Caminero offered me some water. I am very thirsty, do you have water?”

“I do in fact.” He handed Adam a skin of water. Adam didn’t see where the skin was hidden within Chicane’s clothing. He almost seemed to produce it from nothing. He greedily drank from the vessel, but stopped after a few gulps. “This water… It doesn’t taste right.”

“I assure you that it is pure.”

“It is the same as the water Caminero offered me?”

“It is reasonably similar.”

Adam drank again. “Funny, it seems to be a little bitter.”

Chicane waved the concern away. “Don’t worry, the more you drink, the better you grow accustomed to it. Drink up! You have a long journey ahead.”

Amazingly, Chicane’s prediction was true. The water almost tasted sweet after a few more sips. Adam shook Chicane’s hand and thanked his new friend, continuing on his way. The path was clear and he had no trouble find his steps. How could he miss the path? Everything was so clear to him. He hummed as he walked. He was at peace with the world.

To Be Continued--one more time!

Illumination Part I

2009-03-02T09:25:00.003-07:00

Illumination is, you will find, as complicated as any story I write. I first envisioned it after reading Young Goodman Brown, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. This will be a three part story, so pace yourself. I won't stretch it out too long, so try to enjoy the story. Trust me, it's worth staying with it to the end.

ILLUMINATION

In the darkness, somewhere around the beginning, two roads diverged in the woods. Originally, the path was made straight, but the darkness caused the way to become obscure. The journeyman stood at the edge of the light, pondering how he had missed the path. He did not know how, but he knew that he had to find his way again, or he would be doomed to wander the darkness, aimlessly searching for the way. He could not find the clues he needed, for the darkness was overwhelming, like a cloak that could not be removed, confining him from the light. He had no staff with which to prod the darkness, so he found himself searching on his knees, his hands stretched out in front of him, groping, searching. Finding nothing recognizable he leaned against a tree, waiting for the light to come to him.

“What’s this, a lost stranger?” A voice jolted him from his sleep. He looked and vaguely saw a man standing before him; this one held a staff.

His reply was humble and polite. “I have lost my way, I cannot continue in my journey until I discover what happened to my path.” He waited while the stranger seemed to accept his plight.

“Come with me, my friend, for I have walked this path many times before. In fact, I have stood in the same place you are now, looking for the way.” He paused and stroked his bearded face, then spoke without seeming to move his mouth. “I have walked this path so many times that I am the path. I am so familiar with every part of the path, down to the very pebbles lining its edge, that I can traverse it blindfolded.”

The journeyman spoke. “I am waiting for light before continuing on my way, for I am lost, and wish not to be lost even more than I am now.”

The stranger nodded with approval. “It is a wise thing you have said, but come with me, for the light is growing stronger even as I have arrived.”

The journeyman surveyed his surroundings; indeed the light was growing brighter. A new day was dawning. He arose from his tree and followed the stranger, who had not waited for him before continuing. After matching his stride he spoke softly, not wanting to violate the quiet still air. “My name is Adam, I believe that I am the first to journey this way.”

“I am called Caminero. I have journeyed this way on many occasions, you are not the first.”

“But I have seen no sign of others, where are they? Those that have gone before, I mean.”

“There are many things you do not know.”

“But where are they?” His question was not impolite, but he regretted the tone it imposed.

Caminero shuffled in his step, but never slowed pace. Adam found it difficult to maintain this speed in the darkness. When Caminero showed no intention to answer the question, Adam repeated himself.

“You ask many questions, Adam.”

“I have many questions in my mind that I wish to be answered. For instance, who are you?”

“I am only here to help you find your way in the dark, it is my job. I establish justice for those that are lost; I guide them to the path.”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“Of those who are lost. Every man’s life will lead him along this path. Only their steps are different, but the end of the path is crucial. Therefore, you must be sure to be on the right path at the end.”

“Who made this path? The one that we are on is now seems well traveled; some one must have gone before us. How do you know this is the right path?”

“When you are in the light, you can plainly see the path that is before you. When you are in the darkness, you can’t see clearly to follow the path.”

“Tell me, Caminero, why do you talk in riddles?”

Caminero laughed with genuine humor. “Do I speak in riddles, or do you hear in them? Perhaps my speech is regular and you hear backwards. On this path there are many things that seem right, but are not.”

“Tell me more about this path.”

“There are two paths, this one and the other. There is a path that seems right to everyone, but the end of that road is...” His voice trailed off.

“The end of the road is what?”

Caminero sighed. “Death.”

Adam considered that. Caminero was genuinely distressed by his own words. “What does that mean?”

“Every person that has gone before you has walked along this very path. There is a time in each life when there is only one path. Shortly after the beginning the paths grow separate, but many people do not realize that there are two paths. Few of those who realize they are one the wrong path will find their way back to the right one.”

“How do they find the right passageway?”

“They must be guided by me. I alone know the path that must be taken, for this road will lead to death.”

“What does that mean, ‘this road will led to death?’”

Caminero continued without appearing to grow weary of the questions. “As I have said before, there is a path that leads to death, for there are many pitfalls on this road. The end of this path is a dead end. However, at the end, there is not time to turn around, for the darkness pays its laborers with death. Many dangers await you ahead, many opportunities to fail.”

“But how can I know that you truly know the way?”

Caminero laughed again. “I have told you that I alone know the way. I established this path, and the other, long before you started walking.”

“Where are we going now?”

“I am leading you into the light, it is not far ahead.”

“What happens when we get to the light?”

“Let us get there, first. Many don’t make it that far.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I will give you water, for surely you will be thirsty by then.”

Adam stopped walking. “Sir, if you have water, I pray that you will give it to me now, for I am about to perish from thirst.”

“You must wait until you are in the light, for you cannot see to drink in the dark.”
Adam walked in silence for a time. He found the road difficult to follow without stumbling. Yet, Caminero walked with ease and never snagged a toe, moving like a lion on the hunt. Adam noticed that Caminero seemed to have more light around him than did he. In fact, the light seemed to follow Caminero, while avoiding Adam.
Suddenly, the woods thinned and they stood in a large meadow. The path they were on was plainly seen and continued over the rise. Adam noticed that the light intensified as they emerged from the forest. He could see much clearer now.

“How far is the right path?”

“Every step takes us closer. Stay close to me and you will see it soon.”

“What happens when we get there? How will I know the way?”

“I will stay with you to the end; I will guide you until you reach your destination. Be patient, the path is just ahead. You must trust me, for I alone know the way. We must not stop, for there are many dangers ahead.”

“Sir, you have proven your worth to me, I will devote my life you as long as I have the means. After all, you brought me from the darkness.”

To Be Continued...

Missing Friend

2009-02-28T15:50:00.002-07:00

Has anyone seen Sarah from Sarachino Bloggiato?

The Decision Maker--The Finale

2009-02-25T10:01:00.003-07:00

And now I bring you the conclusion to this fascinating story. To date, Mr. Isaac Jacobs has taken a group of bankers and patrons hostage in his attempt to capture the men, former Nazis, who were responsible for killing his wife. He retold his story to the mass of humanity tuned in via Fox News, and is now about to execute the men who destroyed his life.
XXXX
“Mr. Jacobs?”

The gun never wavered. “Yes, Mr. Cato, do you have something to say?”

“Well, I reckon that these two fellows are guilty, just like you said. What can I do to save them the death sentence?”

“Why would you want to spare them?”

“Because all of us have sinned. There isn’t any of us that could pick up a stone and cast it at these two. We are all guilty of the same thing.”

“You have murdered, Mr. Cato? I find that highly improbable.”

“Well, the Bible says, ‘Thou shalt not commit murder,’ but Jesus said that if we hate anyone that we have committed murder in our hearts. I’ll bet that every person in this room has hated someone at some point in their lives, right?” He turned to the crowd, who sat dumbfounded. “What about you, Rose? Who have you hated?”

She spoke deliberately. “The father of my baby.”

“What about you, Miss Kincaid?”

“Well, I hate all men.”

“Fair enough.”

“What about you, Mr. Cato?” Rose asked.

“I spent most of my time hating God.”

Isaac turned around, clearly surprised. “God? I thought you said you were at peace with God.”

“I am now. There was a time in my past that I hated God. A few years ago, I was a fifth generation rancher, right here in Texas. My family had owned the Cato Cattle Company, the 3C Ranch, every since Texas has been a state. They fought Indians and Mexicans to maintain it. Then they fought West Texas weather. My family’s blood and sweat bought and maintained that country. But a few years ago, when the droughts started, I lost everything. I lost my children’s inheritance and I lost the family legacy. I prayed everyday that God would intervene, but He didn’t. I believed in Him up to the day they served me with the foreclosure papers. What I didn’t know was that God was allowing a work of redemption to take place in my heart. You see, I just thought I was a Christian because I went to the Baptist church, but that wasn’t enough. Just like sitting in a garage doesn’t make you a car. I had to find myself at the bottom to find redemption. I had nowhere else to go expect to God.”

“I assume that you have a point, Mr. Cato.”

“Well, sir. It seems to me that we have all committed murder in God’s sight. We are all guilty of breaking His law. We all deserve death, including you, Isaac.”

“That may be, Mr. Cato, but I have lived my entire life expecting to kill these two gentlemen, and I fully intend to do so. Someone will die today.”

“Then I will take their place, just like Jesus took my place. Don’t you see? Jesus made it possible for us to be saved, because He paid the ultimate price for our freedom. I don’t know why God allowed the holocaust to happen. I just know that God was there. Sometimes He doesn’t make sense. Our ways aren’t His ways and our thoughts aren’t His thoughts. I can’t explain why bad things like wars and ethnic cleansing take place, except that we are all sinners, but I can tell you that God will forgive us of our sins. Even the Blitz Brothers. You included, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Oh, it’s much too late for me, Mr. Cato.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sir. But it will be too late when you die of cancer. You are no better than those two murderers. You have committed the same crime. The only difference is that their crime hurt more people than yours. You are just as guilty as they are. And all of you need God’s forgiveness, just as I did.”

Isaac considered his words for a moment. Was it possible? He had given up on God so many years before, could it be that God hadn’t given up on him? There was so much hatred spilling its venom deep into his soul. Not only had he hated the Germans, he had also hated God, whom he held responsible for the murder of so many devout Jews. “Mr. Cato, where was God during the holocaust? Why did He abandon us to death and destruction?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a theologian. What I do know is this, God was there. It’s hard to imagine, but it is true. It was bad enough as it was, can you imagine what it would have been like without Him? The holocaust wasn’t the first time that the Jews were persecuted. Remember what happened with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? They also were burned alive, just not by the Nazis, but by a different regime, the Babylonians. Those three might have lived through it, but how many of their brethren were slaughtered by the Babylonians? What about the Egyptians? They also enslaved the Jews for their own selfish purposes. But God was there for them. I don’t have an answer for you, except that God will never leave you nor forsake you.”

“You make a most persuasive argument, Mr. Cato. Yet, I am not willing that these men should go free. What do you propose?”

“If they are guilty, then I don’t want them to go free either. If they are guilty, then they must stand and give an account of their lives. Even when we ask God for forgiveness, there are still consequences for our actions. Allow the law to bring these men to justice. Isaac, one day soon you will die, then you will face the Throne of Judgment. I am more concerned that when you are brought to justice before God, that you are found innocent. The only way to do that is to repent of your sins and trust in the blood of Jesus and allow Him to forgive you.”

Silence encompassed the group, each of whom sat with their heads bowed deep in thought. The camera continued to record, but the reporter could not bring himself to break the silence. Isaac appeared to be struggling within himself, fighting for control. Yet, Cato’s words had burned deep within his heart, ripping the calluses off his seared conscience. For so many years, one desire consumed him – kill. Cato’s words rang true, vibrating through every tissue, into the core of his being.

Adolph Blitz sighed deeply and almost slumped to the floor, then righted himself and spoke softly. “I’m glad its over.”

David spoke harshly in his native tongue, but Adolph ignored his warning. “No, David, its over. I’m very tired of the nightmares. I want them to end. I’m tired of running.” He looked at Isaac, who still lorded over them, pistol drawn. “Mr. Jacobs, my apology is pitiful compared to my sins, but I still offer it. I was the one who held your wife that night. David shot her. Up to that point, I had not killed or seen anyone killed. But I realized that I was now a part of…. Somehow, I thought that I was serving God. But… I was wrong. I allowed anonymity to conceal my desire to be important, but it only created more thirst for power. Everyday, I remember my actions and everyday I wish to be forgiven. If only it was possible. Please kill me; I don’t deserve to live. That is all I have to say.”

Cato stood and walked over to Isaac. “Mr. Jacobs? It’s over. No one is going to die today.” He reached for the gun and carefully removed it from Issac’s non-responsive fingers. “Let the court decide their fate. After all, you still have to stand before God in judgment. I think you have enough to consider with your own guilt without playing Judge also.”

Isaac’s hands trembled as the hatred began to melt within him. He nodded at Cato, then, suddenly old, sat carefully in a chair and waited for the police to end his hostage situation.
The reporter kneeled beside him. “Isaac? I promise that I will tell your story. I will be a voice for you; I will find a way to help you.”

Isaac smiled gratefully. “Thank you, but my life is over soon enough. For the first time, I now have to worry about my future.”

The End

The Decision Maker Part III

2009-02-23T09:29:00.000-07:00

In the previous chapter, Isaac Jacobs was explaining to the world how his life was affected by the Nazis during the years of the communistic ethnic cleansings in Germany. We don’t yet know why Isaac is holding the crowd hostage, but we are about to discover why. Rose has asked for permission to visit the lady’s room, and is there now with Miss Kincaid.

XXX

Rose and Miss Kincaid were washing their hands and preparing to return to the foreboding lobby. As they dried their hands, they both were dreading to leave their sanctuary. “So, how far along are you?”

Rose looked up at the ceiling and tears welled in her eyes. “I am six months along.” Her voice faltered as she spoke.

“Oh dear, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“It’s just that, well… I don’t know what to do.” Rose held tissue to her face. “Miss, Kincaid, I…” she stopped speaking and began crying openly.

“Please, call me Marsha. What is it Rose? Is there something wrong with the baby?”

“No, its just that, well, I was raped six months ago. Every single day I think about the baby. Every day I think about, well, I think about…”

Marsha nodded sincerely. “You think about having an abortion, don’t you?”

Rose nodded and started crying again. “Well, you certainly have the right to do so. It is your body and your choice.”

Rose exhaled slowly. “But is it really? My choice?”

“Oh dear, of course it is. Women have suffered and sacrificed all over the world to ensure that you have the freedom to choose.”

“Have you ever?”

“Ever had an abortion?” Marsha stopped a moment and considered her answer. She paused for several seconds before answering her in a subdued voice. “I was fifteen. I was from a small town and it still wasn’t acceptable for unwed mothers to have babies. I was scared and I made a decision.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

“He never knew. I never told him. In fact, I never told anyone, until now.”

“But what if your boyfriend had wanted to keep the baby?”

“It wasn’t his choice, it was mine.”

“But, it was his baby also.”

Marsha shook her head. “No, that’s not right. He wasn’t the one who had to carry it around with him all day. It was my choice alone.”

“But he was the baby’s father.”

“Look, Rose, its not a baby until its born. Until then its only a…”

“Lump of tissue?”

“Yes!”

“Well, this lump of tissue is moving around and has a heart beat. How do I harden my heart enough to follow through with what I want to do?”

“You just remember the women who suffered and sacrificed to give you the choice.”

“And that was enough for you? You never thought about your baby again?”

Marsha hesitated. “Well, I thought about her. I mean, once in a while. But not much.”
“She was a girl?”

Marsha’s face was stone, and she spoke too quickly. “It was tissue. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have killed…” She fell to the floor and sobbed. “Oh my God! I killed my baby!” Rose gathered around her as she mourned the life that never was. After a few minutes, Marsha sat up and leaned into Rose. “I was always reminding myself that I was a strong woman and that I didn’t need anyone or anything. However, at night, I would hear a baby crying, in my dreams that is. I would see a new mother holding her child, smiling and playing. Now it is too late for me.”
Rose shook her head. “No, Marsha, you are still young enough to try again.”

Marsha bowed her head in shame. “No, I can’t. The abortion left me unable to carry a baby. I can’t ever make up for my mistake.”

“Oh, Marsha, I am so sorry.” Together the women cried for a moment. “It was Isaac. He loved his children so much and he was so sorry that his kids were killed. I had decided to go to the clinic today. That is why I was here. I was making a withdraw to pay for the abortion. But he said that only a monster would kill a baby and never give it a chance to live, only for convenience. How selfish would I be to kill my baby just because I didn’t want it?”

Marsha stood up and stretched out her dress. “Well, Rose. You have a chance to make up for the wrong choice I made.” She helped Rose brush off her sweater. “Isaac made a very strong argument, didn’t he?” They walked back to their seats in the lobby and everyone wondered at their red, swollen eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Isaac paused his presentation while the women were absent. “Are you ready to continue, Rose?” She nodded yes and the reporter stopped filling in for the down time and prepared to listen. “The day my wife and daughter were killed changed my life forever. I swore an oath to my God that I would find their murderers and bring them to justice. I have to admit, I didn’t hold myself to my oath, because I came to realize that my God never existed. What kind of God would allow the holocaust to occur? Nevertheless, I am committed to stay my course. After many decades of searching, I have finally found my wife’s killers.” He pointed over at the Heinz brothers who were still kneeling on the floor.

Chief Gray pulled off his gag and asked. “Is that true? How can you be certain?”

Isaac nodded. “Finally, you say something that matters.” He walked over to the two old men. “The two killers had a special mark on their shoulders, a tattoo. Not just any tattoo, but the tattoo of the Nazi storm troopers, complete with swastika.” He pulled a knife from his boot and held the knife menacingly at them. Rose gasped as he grabbed their shirts and cut them from their bodies, exposing their backs. Each of them bore the tattoo of the Nazi storm troopers. The cameraman leaned forward and zoomed in on them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the two of the three killers of my wife and daughter. One of them held their arms while another shot them. The Blitz Brothers.”

“But they are the Heinz brothers.” Chief Gray interjected.

“When they fled Europe after the Allies destroyed the 3rd Reich, they changed their names and started over. All along, you never knew that there were killers in your midst.”

Cato held up a hand. “You said that there were three. Who is the third?”

Isaac waved a dismissing hand at him. “Don’t concern yourself with that. I found the three of them hiding in Argentina, amongst all the Jewish refugees, trying to blend in with the very people they so hated. When I finally tracked them down, I found Ruben at Pan de Azucar, a small mountain village near Cordoba. After I presented my evidence to the village, they hung him in the tree on the square. That was in ten years ago. David and Adolph fled to the United States and have been in hiding until today.” He turned his attention to the chief. “I understand that you are friends with these killers?” Chief Gray swallowed hard, but couldn’t find an answer. “Don’t worry, Hans Goldbaum, I am not looking for you today.”

“Hans Goldbaum? Who is that?”

Isaac turned to face the question. “Miss Kincaid, that is the real name of Chief Gray. He changed his name when he came to the United States. He was only a boy, but he aided the Germans by trading them information for food and lodging. He was one of the Jews who betrayed my family and our hiding place.”

Chief Gray had nothing to say. His face was ashen and for once, he was unable to speak. He was acutely aware that the TV camera was focused on him.

Cato spoke again, breaking the awkward silence. “So, what do you intend to do?”

“Oh, I intend to bring them to justice. They will meet with the death penalty today.” He walked over to the brothers and held up his pistol. “Do you have any last words?”

The Germans spoke to each other in Spanish and then spoke back to him in German. Issac nodded. “Ah, so you choose to remain the swine you are. Very well, have it your way.” He pointed the gun at David’s head.

To Be Continued...

The Decision Maker Part II

2009-02-20T11:18:00.002-07:00

When last we visited this incident, Isaac Jacobs, an elderly gunman has taken the individuals in a downtown bank hostage. We haven’t discovered what motivates him to carry out such an act, except for one small fact: one hostage will die. Mr. Jacobs had stripped two elderly men down to their “whites” and was inspecting their tattoos while they knelt on the floor. We are now negotiating the terms of the first hostage exchange.
XXXX

He left them kneeling and picked up the phone, dialing Chief Gray. “This is Isaac Jacobs. Here is our situation; I want you to allow one representative of the various media groups to accompany you or your designated officer. If possible, please select a representative from Fox News, as they are the most reputable of those that are available. I might not be a conservative, but I respect integrity in reporting. I want them ready to record our negotiations and document everything that happens. In exchange, I will release half of my hostages. If you or anyone enters this bank with a weapon, I will randomly kill a hostage and the person holding the weapon…. Yes, I will release them as your party approaches the entryway.”

True to his word, Isaac released eleven hostages as the entourage approached the bank. As they exited the building, Chief Gray excitedly motioned for them to run to safety, as if the hostages had no clue what they were supposed to do. The chief stared musingly at the security guard running past him. His pistol had been replaced into his holster. After determining that the former hostages where safe, Chief Gray resumed his march to meet with Isaac Jacobs. When he entered the lobby, he was shocked to see his life long friends, David and Adolph Heinz, nearly naked and kneeling on the floor.

“Please come in, my name is Isaac Jacobs, and these are my hostages. I assume that you are Chief Gray.” He smiled warmly at them and motioned them to stand along the wall with the other hostages. “You gentlemen may set up your equipment over there. Mr. Cato, would you please find some chairs for the rest of our guests?” He watched carefully as Mr. Cato collected chairs from the lobby.

While watching Cato moving the chairs, Chief Gray spoke. “Mr. Jacobs, you have placed us all in a very irregular situation…”

“Chief, please!” Isaac interrupted, exasperation etched on his words. “If you would wait for a moment, I will explain everything once we are all settled.” They waited until everyone was seated, except for Isaac, who paced in front of them as if contemplating his next move. As soon as the news crew was in place, Isaac prepared to continue, but Chief Gray burst out, “Mr. Jacobs, I insist that you surrender immediately. You can’t possibly expect to live through this if you…”

“Chief, please! Are you going to force me to gag you in order for you to maintain your silence?” The hostages glared at the chief in disapproval of his outburst. Isaac had behaved properly and had shown no aggressive tendencies. He had managed to gain their cautious trust for the moment.

He sighed deeply as if troubled to answer the charges put forth by Chief Gray. “For your information, shortly after I committed to my present course of action, I discovered, much to my chagrin, that I have cancer in my lymph nodes. I am afraid that I will die shortly, regardless of our outcome today.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes, at the beginning. What a proper start. I was born in Germany in 1913, shortly before the Great War. My father was killed in action along the Marne River while combating American infantrymen…”

“Surely you can’t hold us personally responsible for actions that took place before the majority of us were born.”

Isaac glanced over at Cato, who nodded and pulled a bandana out of his vest pocket. “Sorry, Chief, but I am afraid that you’re going to get us all killed because you can’t seem to shut up and listen. Now, I don’t intend to tie your hands, but I’m going to gag you. Do us all a favor and listen for a while.” The chief swallowed hard, but submitted to the cowboy. The hostages nodded in approval.

Isaac continued, “No, chief, I do not hold you responsible for my father’s death. My father died protecting his country’s right to be sovereign, however misguided it might have been.” He glanced at the ceiling as he refocused his thoughts. “I married at an early age and had my first child, a girl, in 1930. My wife, Hilda, named her Hydrant. She was the joy of my life and we loved to fly kites together in the park, along with her brothers and sisters. In all, we had five children, Wolfgang, Manfred, William, and Gretchen, in that order. Gretchen was born in 1935, shortly before the 3rd Reich rose to power in Germany.” As he spoke, he glanced over at the Heinz brothers, who were staring at the floor.

“By the time the ethnic cleansings began to take place, it was too late for the Jews to escape to South America, as so many had done in the earlier years. Many of my family members fled Germany just ahead of the Nazis and settled in Argentina, in the mountains near Cordoba. However, I waited, trying to sell my business interests and…” His voice cracked and he wiped a tear from his eyes. “And it cost me everything.”

“Our neighbors, who were Austrians, hid our family for many months, just like the story of Anne Frank. The Nazis conducted a house-to-house search and discovered my family in the basement, hidden among the wines in the cellar. For their efforts at humanity, our neighbors were shot in their own driveway and we were drug away in chains.

“As the storm troopers were dragging my children to a truck waiting nearby, my wife screamed out and grabbed for little Gretchen, who was so…small.” He stopped and blew his nose into a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, some wounds even time can’t heal. Let’s see, where was I? They shot my wife and little Gretchen. My children witnessed their death. Hydrant was so upset that she never spoke again. She would stare into the sky and she refused to eat. Not that they offered to feed her enough to stay alive. She was too small to survive life in the camp; all of them were. After a few months, I…” He stopped and gasped for air, as if he had run a marathon to get here. “I began to pray that God would allow my children to die, so that they might be spared such misery.” He glanced over at the hostages, the women were each clutching tissues. “I was separated from my children, but I could see them across the compound every morning as I reported for work. We could all hear our children as they cried out for us daily. Most of the older girls were to become sex slaves, while the older boys were simply shot or made to work. The younger were used for experiments and as…” his voice drifted and he never finished his thought.

“They made us do meaningless work. We were made to move a mountain of dirt from one side of the compound to the other. The next day, we moved that same pile of dirt to its original site. The next day we repeated the cycle. This went on for months. After a few weeks, Alan Schmidt, an old rabbi, began to cry as he picked up his shovel. He couldn’t stand the de-humanizing task that he was forced to perform daily. He revolted and a guard shot him in the head. A few days latter, several men screamed out and made a mad, hopeless dash for the perimeter fence. They were also gunned down. This went on until the German scientists had observed our reactions enough to try a new experiment.” He stopped talking and looked deep into the camera. “Are you recording?”

The reporter nodded solemnly and replied, “We are live. Every house in America is watching you and listening to your story.”

“Excellent. Allow me to take a moment and reveal that I am working alone; no one is helping me orchestrate this event. Mr. Cato has chosen to help me keep the peace within our prison, but he is acting under my behest. In my custody, along with the chief and our news crew, I have eleven hostages, one of whom is pregnant. She will be released soon enough, along with most of those remaining.” He was silent for a moment as his hopeless eyes revealed that he was reliving a hell from many years past. “I watched my friends die every day. We were shot for eating breakfast. We were shot for not eating breakfast. Nothing could be done to ensure our survival. We were Jews, so they killed us. We were at their mercy.

“Do you remember Schindler’s List? That was a very sad movie for me to watch. I am so glad that those few were spared, but I am sorry that they had to live with the horror that they endured. The movie was accurate, but it was not graphic enough. You couldn’t smell the death that we smelt daily. We had no sanitation. We had no place for garbage. Sometimes, we would watch the scientists performing experiments on the dead before we were allowed to put them in the ovens for burning.

“My children died one by one, slowly starving to death. Those sweet, innocent…” he broke down and wept openly, wailing and mourning with pain unspeakable. “My children never had a chance to live. They were never given a chance to find out who they are. They might have been art lovers, or musicians. They might have been brilliant world leaders. They might have had families all their own and could have held their own children in their arms. Or sing to them as they fell asleep in the evening. Or to make a steaming mug of hot chocolate on a snowy morning…” he stopped to blow his nose. “But they were struck down before they ever had a chance to live. What kind of monster would destroy an innocent life, just for convenience?”
Rose lifted her hand and asked, “Excuse me, Isaac.”

Isaac, who had been speaking as if oblivious to the crowd at hand, seemed to return to the present with her question. “Yes, my dear?”

Rose rubbed her belly apologetically. “I really need to find a bathroom. This little one is keeping me busy.” As she spoke, she rubbed her hand along her belly and seemed to be caressing her baby.

“Of course. Miss Kincaid, could you escort Rose to the lady’s room?”

The Decision Maker Part I

2009-02-18T08:32:00.004-07:00

Let us journey to something more pleasant. I want to share with you a story of mine that has been a favorite for many years. It is a story that is very important, and I have a personal connection with an element of the story line. Those of you who have followed me for a while will recognize this tale, and I ask you to bear with me for a while longer, when I will post an undiscovered short story. For now, this story fits within the theme of human life, and how precious it really is. I am posting Part I of this rendering.

The Decision Maker

In a downtown bank, a gunman steps forward and takes the crowd hostage. The maneuver took a matter of seconds to conclude as he fired a single round into the ceiling, which immediately overwhelmed the stunned and scared security guard lounging by the water cooler in the corner by the vault. An alarm sounded, directly protesting the terrorist act, and the gunman simply pointed to the guard who entered the code necessary to disable the blaring, violent noise.

He demanded that the hysterical crowd remain calm until all of his grievances could be addressed, as if the crowd would immediately return to hysterics once his concerns were settled. After a space of five seconds, the hostages stopped wailing and he had their attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Isaac Jacobs and I am not here to rob you, so please don’t do anything rash that will jeopardize you or your neighbor’s safety. You have become unwilling participants in a social experiment. However, after a few minutes of discomfort, I will gladly release you and you will leave unharmed. In a moment, the police will arrive, along with the media. I will address my concerns only after I have everyone’s full attention, as I don’t like to repeat myself more than necessary.

“As I mentioned before, I am not here to take your money or your valuables. I have a specific grievance which will be addressed shortly. Until then, please remain calm and try to make yourselves comfortable.” He walked along the length of the bank counting his hostages. “There are twenty-two of you present, including employees. I intended to act earlier, as the bank doors opened, to minimize the potential number of casualties, but I was delayed in my arrival. I tell you this so that you will be prepared to answer questions of the authorities after I am removed from power. There are twenty-two of you present. Please remember that number. Only twenty-one of you will be leaving, as one of you will die in this incident.”

The crowd began to shift and mummer among themselves as the information of one casualty sunk in. Each prisoner began to wonder who would be the one unlucky victim until a man stepped forward. He was wearing a cowboy hat and appeared to be in his early fifties. “Sir? If I may?” He held up his hand until Isaac noticed him. “I would like to volunteer to be the one hostage to die.” A gasp echoed through the crowd as this man gallantly surrendered his life to the madman. “I mean, I don’t really know these people, but I have lived a happy life and I am at peace with my God. After all, Jesus died for me, I am willing to die for others.”

Isaac nodded to the man. “I am very pleased to have your generous and unsolicited offer. Your character is to be commended. However, I have already selected my prey.” He redirected his attention to the crowd. “I now want all of you to step forward slowly and form a single file line, please stand about three feet apart.”

The first person to stand was a woman who appeared to be fortyish. “I am the bank president, I am responsible for everything that happens here, and I will be the first.” She glanced over at the cowboy as if to tell him that his gallantry was wasted on a liberated woman. A line formed behind her until all stood in an orderly fashion. He examined the crowd and pointed to two elderly gentlemen in the middle. “I would like for the two of you to go last, if you please. That way I can determine how these events will unfold.” He watched as they complied with his orders and took their position at the back of the line. “Very good. Now, I want you to step forward one at a time, beginning with Mrs…. I am sorry, I don’t know your name.”

The bank president glared at him. “Misses Kincaid,” with special emphasis on misses.

“Yes, of course, Miss Kincaid.” He nodded politely to her and addressed the crowd. “What I want you to do is rather unpleasant, but important if I am able to ensure your safety. Please don’t argue with me or misinterpret my intentions. This is simply a matter of safety. Okay now, beginning with Miss Kincaid, I want each of you to step forward and undress down to your delicates and place your clothes on this table.” He touched the top of the table and rapped on it once for good measure.

The crowd balked at such a ridiculous instruction until Isaac waved his gun in their faces. “I want to remind you that, even though I am a gentleman by nature, I am a now a criminal by definition. I do hold a weapon for a specific purpose.”

The cowboy held up his hand. “Sir?”

Isaac immediately recognized him. “Please, what is it?”

“Well, it seems to me that no gentleman would force these women to take off their clothes in front of this crowd or yourself. Not to mention the fact that a gentleman would not take a crowd hostage at gunpoint.”

“Thank you for your observation, Mr.?”

“Cato.”

“Thank you for your observation, Mr. Cato. However, you are at a distinct disadvantage of not realizing my motivations. With time, I will correct that problem. However, for now, I don’t have the means or resources to allow these women the luxury of modesty. I am afraid that you will all have to look away to ensure what privacy that might afford. Now, Miss Kincaid, I am sure that a liberated woman such as you will be the first to step forward and be processed. Unless you prefer Mr. Cato to be first.”

“I am sure that I will manage.” She sighed and stepped forward. She quickly undressed and placed her clothing on the table in front of Isaac.

“If you would please step back until I can examine your clothing to ensure that you don’t hold a weapon.” He picked through her skirt and blouse. Once satisfied that she was unarmed, he instructed her to turn a full circle with her arms outstretched. Isaac never looked at her vulnerable body in a vulgar or lustful manner, but returned her clothing, designating a place for her to stand against a wall, completely segregated from the unsearched crowd. After she was dressed he asked, “I would think that the police would have responded by now. It has been at least five minutes.” As he spoke, the sirens were heard approaching. “Good! Now hurry up, I will be very busy in a moment.” He pointed at Cato, who pulled off his boots and stopped moving.

“Mr. Cato, are you so modest that you risk your own life, or are you simply proud and stubborn?”

Cato shrugged. “Actually, I am just a cowboy. As any other good cowboy, I have a pistol in my belt. I just didn’t want to surprise you and have someone get hurt.”

“Very good, sir. I applaud your thoughtfulness. Please retrieve your weapon and place it on the table and back away until I have recovered it.” Cato did as he was instructed and continued to undress. The crowd silently grinned at him as he revealed his heart covered boxer shorts. He blushed and hurried to the corner to get dressed.

Isaac processed five people without comment until a young woman stepped forward and began to undress. “Just a moment young lady. The police will be calling any second and I must speak with them post haste.” Almost on cue, the phone in the lobby rang and Isaac instructed Mr. Cato to answer. He spoke long enough to identify himself as a hostage and handed the phone to Isaac.
“This is Isaac Jacobs, and I am responsible for the activities taking place. I assure you that no unnecessary harm will come to these hostages. Once the media has fully responded, please return this call and I will discuss our situation. Until then, please rest assured that everything is under control here.” He hung up the phone and addressed the young woman. “Okay, please continue.”

She hesitated and glanced out the window at the activities on the street. Realization came to Isaac and he nodded. “Yes, of course you are right. Mr. Cato, would you please close the blinds and allow us more privacy? I am sure that we don’t want a sniper to shoot into the windows and accidentally kill a hostage. You can rest assured that the media won’t be filming your undressing.”

He gave full attention to the young woman while she undressed. “You are pregnant? How far along are you?”

“Six months tomorrow.” She looked at the floor.

“I am sure that you must be proud. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t want to know.” She never looked at him while he talked to her.

His eyes acted as if they wanted to dance. “Keeping it a surprise? Well, that was how we did things when my little ones where born. Of course, in the 1930’s we had no choice.” He laughed at his joke and ushered her to the searched wall. He processed ten more hostages until the phone rang again. Mr. Cato walked over and answered after Isaac pointed to him. He politely handed the phone over.

“This is Isaac Jacobs, with whom am I speaking? Okay, Chief Gray, am I right to assume that you have never handled a hostage situation before? Yes, it will be my first time also. However, I have planned this scenario many times and I am fully convinced that no one will be injured unnecessarily, if no one gets careless or anxious…. Yes, I am holding twenty-two hostages…. No one has been injured yet…. I am now conducting a search for weapons. When I am finished, I will call you and we will discuss this situation.” He hung up the phone. “Mr. Cato? Would you please get a chair for this young lady who is pregnant?” He turned to her. “What is your name?”

“Rose.” She spoke softly without looking up.

Cato complied and carried a chair to Rose, and she sat down gratefully. He searched his prisoners until the last two elderly men stood in front of him. When he ordered them to strip down, they balked for a moment, but catching a gleam in his eye, they surrendered to his will. When their task was complete he did not return their clothing. Instead, he made them stand together and ordered them to remove their t-shirts, revealing a tattoo on both of their right shoulders. Isaac instructed them to kneel and approached them from behind. Their tattoos where identical.

To be continued...

WHAT IS TAUGHT IN SEX EDUCATION?

2009-02-13T07:57:00.003-07:00

This will be a most unpleasant experience. First, it's a little long. Second, it's been sanitized to the point it feels disjointed to me. Third, it's a volatile topic. Fourth, I fear your reactions. However, I believe so strongly in the sanctity of human life that I'm willing to alienate all of you in order to bring light to this issue. My material and research is a little dated. This article was written a few years ago, and I don't have the time to provide fresh figures. But at one time, the information I'm presenting was hard fact. I pray that you will each prove me wrong and that I've sounded the alarm for no cause. I'm especially interested in what our professional educators (Gwen, Rosslyn, and so forth) will have to say about my assertions. Sex Ed is different with each locality. Most of my research reflects what was happening in Dallas, Texas in the late 90's and early 2000's. With no further disclaimers, I present:

WHAT IS TAUGHT IN SEX EDUCATION?

“Our presence in schools guaranteed a 50% increase in pregnancy,” said Carol Everett, former sexual education teacher and abortion clinic owner. “We had a strategy that changed with every class; our ultimate goal was to generate a market for abortions”. Many schools in our nation have implemented a sexual education program. What are they teaching? What agenda does a woman like Carol Everett support, and what is she teaching in a sexual education program?

There are two basic thoughts on sex education. The first is an abstinence only program teaching that sexual relationships and activities are solely for after marriage. The second school of thought teaches sexual awareness and safe sex measures, including abortion.

SEX EDUCATION BEGAN AT HOME

Historically, sex education began at home. Children successfully learned about relationships and family life in general by observing their own families. They learned about affections and responsibilities on a personal level by interacting with their parents and siblings.
According to Microsoft Encarta, modern public sexual education essentially began in the post-World War II era and was known as “social hygiene.” At first, the programs only included the physical process, workings of sex organs, venereal diseases, family roles, and the psychological and emotional causes and consequences of sex. As the years passed, the public schools began to adopt a less factual approach and began to teach sex as a philosophy. The modern driving force behind today’s sexual education is a government organization called SIECUS, which stands for, Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States. SIECUS works hand in hand with Planned Parenthood.

According to the SIECUS web site, their primary goal is the promotion of adult sexual health. They “provide accurate information about human sexuality, including growth and development, human reproduction, anatomy, physiology, masturbation, family life, pregnancy, childbirth, parenthood, sexual response, sexual orientation, contraception, abortion, sexual abuse, HIV/AIDS, and other sexually transmitted diseases, … as well as the ability to create satisfying relationships…. This would include helping young people develop the capacity for caring, supportive, non-coercive, and mutually pleasurable intimate and sexual relationships.”

TITLE V

In 1996, President Clinton signed into law the Temporary Assistance to Needy Families Act (P.L. 104-193) that directly conflicts with the philosophy adopted by SIECUS. The law created an abstinence only program in Section 510, Title V of the Social Security Act. Congress allocated matching funds with the states to enable the implementation of abstinence-only-until-marriage education.

Many states were eager to begin teaching the more moderate and conservative method in hopes of lowering their teen pregnancy rates. Abstinence programs began demonstrating satisfying results. The Pro-life community eagerly rejoiced that teen pregnancy was going down and that the spread of sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) was declining. Yet, the liberal factions were furious at the success of the abstinence message.

TITLE V UNDER ATTACK

Citizen Link website remarks that “the safe-sex cartel (Planned Parenthood, SIECUS and their ideological allies in the public health community) have pulled out all stops to sabotage Title V. Initially, SIECUS lobbied for governors not to apply for the block grant funds. After all 50 states applied for the money, SIECUS began promoting ways to spend the money wastefully.

“Unfortunately, many states have adopted the SIECUS template and have created programs that: [1.] Aim the abstinence programs almost exclusively at pre-teens. [2.] Strip the “marriage” aspect from the abstinence message. [3.] Promote oral sex and mutual masturbation as an alternative to sexual intercourse. [4.] Contain unrealistic evaluation requirements to set abstinence up for failure. [5.] Stack review panels with condom advocates. [6.] Concentrate spending in non-targeted and expensive mass media. [7.] Exclude the abstinence message from classrooms. It is likely that the abstinence message will be wasted in many of these states”.

The attempts to undermine Title V became increasingly apparent with each state’s reaction. In Minnesota, the message was focused on children 14 and under, about 2% of the total teen pregnancies. In Montana 42% of the funding was spent on salaries, overhead, and janitorial services. (Federal law restricts spending more than 10% on administrative costs.) In Washington, Christine Charbonneau, a state official on sexuality, taped her presentation of how to sabotage Title V. In Tennessee, the state plan spent Title V money on soccer and basketball leagues. Gov. Angus King of Maine proclaimed his opposition to Title V while he proclaimed his intention to take the money. In Nebraska, a draft identified parental opposition to comprehensive sex education (a non-abstinence program) as a major problem.
The opposition was not limited only to states. The safe-sex cartel resurrected the Douglas Kirby study of abstinence education in California, a condom use study, and presented it as a new study to raise questions about Title V. On a CNN live debate, Debra Hafner said that SIECUS had never received any taxpayer money. SIECUS deleted the listing of the grant they received off of their Web site the next day. The Durex Condom Company conducted a confusing telephone survey and used loaded questions to inflate their position. (The FCC slapped Durex with sanctions after the study revealed its findings.) Jane Fonda made a series of inaccurate statements on an appearance on Good Morning America. Project Director Dave Poehler, of the Centers for Disease Control, used his position to lobby against Title V during business hours. The list of ridiculous attempts to subvert Title V went on and on. If the safe-sex cartel was truly interested in banishing teen pregnancies and stopping STDs, then why do they fight so hard to stop a positive approach? Watch as the conspiracy unfolds:

DEFECTORS REVEAL TRUE STRATEGIES

Carol Everett owned one-third interest in two abortion clinics in Dallas, Texas, and was very closely associated with SIECUS. She stated on Focus on the Family Daily Broadcast, originally aired in 1998, and in a personal interview with this author, that they had two marketing plans for her abortion clinics. The first plan was to use the Yellow Pages. The second marketing plan involved sex education. Her business goal was three to five abortions per girl between the ages of 13 and 18. Their program began with Kindergarten. They place the children in a circle, alternating them boy, girl, and talked to them about their private parts. They would then ask each child what their parents called their private parts. The sex educator (trained by Planned Parenthood) would then laugh at the terms their parents used, in an attempt to make the parents look foolish and discredit them. Everett stated that they were attempting to undermine parental influence and cause the children to trust what they said as ultimate truth. The Planned Parenthood instructor urged the children to share information with each other, taking turns at recess revealing their private parts to each other. This strategy changed with every class. In the first, second, and third grade, the curriculum included using nude models of children in a book titled, It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie H. Harris. This book has demonstrations and diagrams of intercourse, and was available in almost every school library and in most beginning year classes. In addition to sexual intercourse, It’s Perfectly Normal encourages children to explore masturbation, abortion, and homosexual practices.

In the fourth grade, they taught masturbation. The instructor urged the children to experience masturbation by themselves at first. Then as they became more comfortable with it, to share masturbation as a group activity. In doing so, they introduce the homosexual agenda and alternate lifestyles.

Each year the goal was to devalue parents and break down natural modesty. Starting in the fifth grade and continuing through high school, they taught sexual contact and intercourse.
In High School, life sized sex models of the human body are brought to the classroom and used for their demonstrations. The children are so hormonally energized by the classes that they often experience sexual behavior before they get home from school. The school pregnancy rate increased by fifty percent with the presence of Planned Parenthood and SIECUS materials. Carol Everett said that they developed “A skillfully marketed product sold to a frightened young woman.” She was so successful in marketing abortions that she had first hand experience with performing over 35,000 abortions within 6 years. And this was occurring in the heart of the Bible Belt, Dallas, Texas.

Amy Stephens had multiple abortions during her teen years. While attending college in California, she started working with Family Planning and was closely associated with Doctor Allride, a famous abortion doctor in Southern California. “There is a savior mentality in abortions,” she confided, to Dr. James Dobson of Focus on the Family radio broadcast. After a few years, Amy became morally conflicted with the greed driven abortion industry. Before she abandoned her pro-choice platform, she worked closely with SIECUS and the National Education Administration.

In a taped interview with Dr. Dobson, she revealed that SIECUS and the National Education Administration shared common goals. They wanted to produce comprehensive, sexually healthy kids. During a child’s developmental years, they taught that homosexuals could have partners and alternate lifestyles. They asserted that abortion is an option and that masturbation and fantasies are acceptable behavior.

WHY DON’T PARENTS KNOW?

Many parents are concerned throughout the US. If the information provided here is accurate, then why is there so much support for a liberal sex education program? Planned Parenthood teaches their instructors how to avoid concerned parents and divert their attention. We would have no knowledge of the diversion practice if it weren’t for women like Carol Everett and Amy Stephens. In the Focus on the Family broadcast entitled “Sex Education and Our Children,” Carol and Amy reveal many of the strategies used by Planned Parenthood to thwart attempts to evaluate or stop liberal sex education techniques. Many of the concerned parents were either lied to or made to look and feel foolish. The parents were not aware that the instructors had undertaken specific classes on confrontational parents.

A strong misinformation campaign is hard at work to establish the illusion that there is a broad resistance to the abstinence program. The truth is that most parents support and strongly approve of the abstinence message. “A major study of 28,000 adults taken by USA Today in 1997 found that 56 percent thought the best way to reduce pregnancy is to teach abstinence while only 31 percent thought that the best way is to promote safe sex”.

HOW SUCCESSFUL IS THE ABSTINENCE PROGRAM?

“It is entirely possible for adolescents to remain abstinent. In fact, the majority of females ages 12 to 19 have never had sex. Health professionals agree that abstinence is, far and away, the single most healthy choice. But, to remain abstinent, teens need to be encouraged and equipped with medically and socially accurate information on the consequences of sexual promiscuity and with knowledge, character development and skills on how to remain abstinent. And abstinence needs to be presented in a manner which unapologetically states that choosing the best alternative in sexual health is the social norm. The message of comprehensive safe-sex education: We’d prefer that you choose abstinence. But if you decide not to choose abstinence, make sure you use a condom. A parallel message to abstinence-centered education would be this: ‘Don’t smoke; it is not healthy for all the following reasons…and here are a number of skills to help you avoid smoking.’ The parallel message to comprehensive sex education would be: ‘We wish you wouldn’t smoke, but if you do, smoke filtered cigarettes…and we will provide them to you without telling your parents.’ The comprehensive safe-sex message is also known as the ‘duel message.’ It sends adolescents a compromised and confused signal”. “Evaluating Your School District’s Sex Education Program.” 26, Feb. 1998. 20 Oct. 2000. Family.org.

But aren’t the majority of students sexually active? Wrong. Not every student is active. In fact, in 1995 the Federal Centers for Disease Control found that nearly half of high school students, 48% girls, 46% boys, had never had a sexual experience. Not only that, a large percentage of those that had sex wished that they had remained virgins. In addition, they would like to acquire the skills to become abstinent.

EVALUATING YOUR SCHOOL’S SEX EDUCATION PROGRAM

What can parents do to protect their children from SIECUS and other liberal sexual education programs? The Federal Government allows, within the public schools, a program called Release Time, which congress provides and is legal in all states. Release Time allows children to leave schools for an alternative education program, to include Sexual Education. Concerned parents should approach their schools and ask what their sexual education program is teaching for the next ten years. If they are teaching an abstinence-based program, then safe sex topics are not addressed.

Citizen Link Web site gives this advice to concerned parents. “Parents should evaluate a variety of areas when examining their school’s sex education materials. They should gather information about how the material deals with the following areas: Role of Parent in the School Decision Making Process, Portrayal of Parent in the Curriculum, Moral Perspective, Sexual Development, View Toward Abstinence, Consequences of Promiscuity, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Alternative Lifestyles, Contraception, Adoption, Character & Social Development, Marriage, Family, Human Reproduction, [and] Parenting”.

Parents should find out if they can participate in the teacher training classes. One can glean much information from sitting through the course. Parents should serve on a sex education committee and become involved with special interest groups. Attending school board meetings can also prove advantageous. In short, parents should find a way to become involved in their child’s sex education. Assuming that your school is handling the subject appropriately is dangerous. Raising a child is the parent’s responsibility.

I recognize that this material is a little out dated. In fact, I would dance in the streets if you parents could prove me wrong. There is nothing that would make me happier than for you to demonstrate that I'm way off base with this article. Please do so!

2009-02-10T07:37:00.003-07:00

There will be a short pause in the sanctity of human life theme. I'll resume again in a day or two.

I was tagged by soccerma18 to receive:

The Honest Scrap award:

A) First list 10 honest things about yourself - and make it honest (hence, the award 'Honest Scrap'), even if you have to dig deep!

B) Pass the award on to 8 bloggers that you feel embody the role of the Honest Scrap. (This is an award only to display on your blog that everything you write on it is in truth, sincerity, and integrity.)

So I can honestly say that:

1. I hate pecan pie. No matter how it's made, I just don't like it. Actually, I think it's the cooked pecans that I don't care for, 'cause I'll eat raw pecans all day long. My daughter doesn't care for pecan pie either.

2. I hate insincerity. I don’t mind joking around, and that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about people who tell you what you want to hear.

3. I don’t do well with large groups of people. It’s not a fear issue, but I grow incredibly moody if I’m bombarded by too many people for too long.

4. I don’t like going to prayer meetings. *gasp* (I know, I can’t believe I said it, either.) Maybe it’s my ADD kicking in, maybe it’s my insincere attitude, but I get really antsy in prayer meetings and I grow weary of listening to people pray for long periods of time. To me, prayer is a very personal thing that is between me and God. I understand the value and necessity of corporate prayer, and I don’t discount it, but I don’t want to participate. I don’t like praying out loud, but I’m always willing to do it. I guess I’m funny that way. Maybe I’m just selfish…

5. I loathe traffic lights. In a perfect world, everyone would yield to me so I wouldn’t have to stop for those insane lights!

6. I don’t like it when people who LIVE in the United States don’t speak English. I’ll grant some grace for a new immigrant who hasn’t had the opportunity to learn English, but I am intolerant of people who move here but refuse to speak my language. I especially dislike it when I pick up instructions and they are in another language. Or, even more so, when you go to a restaurant where the menu is in another language….WHOPPERS!

Now for some positive things…

7. I always get a lump in my throat when I hear the National Anthem, and I dearly love our soldiers who face danger every day so that my kids can sleep in peace.

8. I think Ronald Reagan was the best thing since sliced bread.

9. I think it’s funny that sliced bread is the standard of comparison for every new thing that comes along, and it has been surpassed by virtually every new thing that comes along. Does that make sense?

10. Although I don’t like Valentine’s Day, I’m a big fan of expressing your love for your one true love. I always participate in Valentine’s Day, but on my own terms. I never celebrate it on the 14th. Sometimes I’ll do it a few days early; sometimes a few days later—but it’s always on my terms, and not the corporate, pressure-driven, … yadda yadda.

11. I have to fight back tears when I watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” every Thanksgiving.

Oops, that’s too many. Maybe I should delete one of these…

Well, I’m supposed to tag others. So, here goes…

Amy. She has a fantastic new book out that everyone needs to buy.
Alison. If I have to do this, so do you!
Rosslyn. This woman never ceases to amaze me.
Gwen. Her tender heart is so eloquently expressed through incredible articles.
Kate. She's the strongest person I know, and there are few I appreciate more.
Tex. She's from Texas! What's not to like?
Gzusfreak. She has the coolest design to a blog, and her site is interesting to boot!

Okay, that's enough joy spreading. If' you've already been tagged, have no fear. I won't hold your feet to the fire.

Heidi's Hero

2009-02-06T16:43:00.002-07:00

The rest of this month is going to be dedicated to the sanctity of human life. I sincerely hope I don't loose too many of my readers, and I doubt I will, but I can't stay silent when I consider those who are defenseless and have no one to protect them.

My first offering in this series is a short story titled, Heidi's Hero. This is a bizarre story, even by my standards, so I anticipate a flurry of comments. They should be fairly interesting, if I know my audience. Oh, and as a special treat, I'm going to post the entire story. I couldn't find a spot to break it up, so I just unloaded the entire thing at once.

Heidi’s Hero

Jack was an ordinary man. He had a family and a regular job. He paid his taxes, he voted at every opportunity, and he watched every Super Bowl. According to society, Jack was the life-blood of mainstream America. However, Jack had a problem.

A peculiar change overcame him when he saved the life of a small child—a seven year old. He was walking his dog on a lazy, Saturday afternoon when he noticed a woman walking sporadically, dragging a little girl by the arms. The girl was whimpering, almost inaudibly, but willingly submitted to her mother’s harsh demands.

Jack grew curious as he watched the woman drag the girl into an alleyway, between two large, forbidding buildings. He followed quietly; his one vice being nosy. His curiosity transformed into horror as the woman produced a pistol from her purse and held it to the girl’s head with shaking hands. The girl’s eyes pleaded for mercy that would not be granted, for her mother cocked the pistol with grim determination.

Springing from the shadows, Jack tackled the woman and started wrestling her for the gun. The woman squealed, out of either fright or defiance, and counter attacked with a martial arts maneuver that sent Jack spiraling face first into the concrete. The woman quickly climbed to her feet and retrieved her pistol, lifting it to the girl’s head. Jack, shaken by the blow, staggered to his feet and charged the would-be killer again. He caught her on the chin with a closed right fist; the woman dropped to the ground, but refused to yield her weapon. He threw himself upon the woman and started to restrain her, but the woman screamed again and managed to position her body where she lay on top of Jack. Ignoring Jack, she lifted the pistol and squeezed off a shot that clipped the little girl’s pigtail.

The girl shrieked in terror, but stood frozen in place. Jack yelled at her to run, but she was a statue, a tribute to terror. The woman recocked the pistol and held it level again. Jack, out of desperation, grabbed the woman by the head and twisted her neck with a furious effort. A grinding, popping, sound, and the woman was dead, her body twitching as if stung by a thousand invisible bees. As her dead fingers yielded to her nerves, the pistol erupted again, and it was flung halfway across the alley. Jack threw her lifeless body aside and ran to attend the little girl. Pedestrians on the street had heard the gunfire and were shouting to dial 911.

Jack became a celebrity. He was the lead story in every legitimate publication through out the world. He was dubbed “Heidi’s Hero,” after the little girl he saved. The change that overcame him was immeasurable, it even him was caught unaware.

Here is what happened: Teresa Carol, the girl’s mother, was a woman heavily taxed with burdens. She grew up under an abusive hand; a series of scars that even time could not heal. Teresa was never married; she bounced from one meaningless relationship to another. The more relationships that exploited her, the worse her behavior became. Then came Heidi, an unwanted child in an unwanted life. Teresa, upon learning that she was pregnant, tried to have an abortion. She went to a clinic and sat down with the counselor, who was concerned about Teresa’s well being. The baby was going to be a terrible burden on a woman that wasn’t even stable herself. The baby would most likely grow up dysfunctional, and therefore, deserved to be spared the anxiety of repeating her mother’s life mistakes. Teresa was in trouble, and only an abortion could save her. Her counselor quickly surmised that Teresa must act now, or it would be too late. She agreed to have the procedure—until she discovered that it cost money. When the procedure cost more than she was able to pay, the counselor promptly dismissed Teresa until she could produce the funds.

Devastated, Teresa returned to her pregnancy and determined to find a buyer for her baby. However, Teresa had not realized the emotional attachment she would have for the child. No one had ever loved Teresa; maybe this child would love her.

After Heidi’s birth, Teresa realized love for the first time. Truly, she could not sell her baby. However, as time passed and Heidi became a burden, Teresa decided that child rearing was too hard for her. Her boyfriends would yell at Heidi and some of them would shake her when she cried. Secretly, she started to hate Heidi for invading her life. The baby was a terrible burden, just as the counselor had predicted. Teresa wasn’t a good mother. She simply wasn’t ready. After all, she wasn’t very old herself. She kept remembering the words of the counselor, “The baby will grow up as dysfunctional as you are. Is that what you want? We must embrace the truth that the procedure is the only option that really works. You are not ready to be a mother. Fortunately, you still have time before you become a mother. Act now, get yourself out of trouble, do the responsible thing.”

For seven years, Teresa heard these words echoing in her sleep until she became obsessed with them. If she simply ended Heidi’s life, then her problems would go away. After all, Heidi was not a woman until she grew older. She served no real part in the community; she was only an added burden. To perform the procedure on her is the only responsible thing to do.

The next morning, Teresa took Heidi to the abortion clinic and asked to have the procedure done for Heidi. The counselor looked at Teresa and then at Heidi for a very long moment. “Are you telling me that Heidi is in trouble? At such a young age?”

“Yes, and I believe that a baby in my life would be too much of a burden. I am not responsible enough to raise a child. I am in trouble and I need you to help me. Will you help me? I have the money.”

The counselor nodded gently. “Oh course dear, of course. We have never done the procedure on a child so young, or small, but it seems to start earlier all the time these days.” She shook her head as if scolding young girls for getting pregnant. “Of course we can help you. How long has, I’m sorry, what is the little girl’s name and age?”

“Heidi, age seven.”

The counselor looked cautiously at Teresa. “And you think that Heidi is pregnant?” She quickly brushed off the question before Teresa could answer her. She could see the potential to make some quick cash on her. “Of course, you realize that this is a special procedure that we have never done before. It will cost much more than normal, after all, the child is so small.”

Theresa nodded. “My boyfriend gave me one thousand dollars to take care of Heidi. I am really not sure, but he could be the one responsible for her.”

The counselor shook her head. To realize that this woman allowed her child to be molested by her boyfriend, why, there should be a crime against that.

“Where should I leave Heidi?”

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

“Where should I leave her so you can do the procedure? I need to meet my boyfriend soon.”

“Well, we can do it now, in just a few minutes.”

Theresa’s eyes watered. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry.” She dried her tears with a tissue. “Heidi, I love you and I will miss you a lot. Bye bye.” She turned to leave.

The counselor jumped up. “Ma’am? You can’t leave such a small child in here by herself. You will have to accompany her for most of the procedure.”

“I don’t want to watch Heidi die. I think it would be too hard.”

In a moment of clear realization, she grasped that she was negotiating euthanasia, not an abortion on a seven-year-old. “I think that you have misunderstood, we can’t help you with your problem. Please leave immediately.”

“But you said that an unwanted pregnancy can be terminated. You said that I was not responsible enough to raise a child.”

“Ma’am, this child is a living person, you can’t just kill her!”

“But you told me that my baby was alive, but not a person, just tissue. Heidi is alive, she is tissue. I don’t want her; she is an unwanted child. What is the difference?”

“Ma’am, please leave my office.”

Theresa, thoroughly confused, approached a drug dealer she knew and offered him a thousand dollars for a gun. He accepted her offer and she started walking down the street with Heidi, looking for a place to kill her daughter, to terminate her existence. That is when Jack got involved in Heidi’s life.

Jack had never done anything in his life that impacted society. He had always lived an average life, under average circumstances. He had always imagined that if he had served in the military during a war, he would have been awarded the Medal of Honor. He was always burdened by a strong sense of civic duty that he owed more to America than America had given him. He could feel tears invade his eyes every time he heard the National Anthem. He was a patriot down to his red, white, and blue ties.

He was intoxicated by the feeling he experienced when he saved Heidi’s life. He wasn’t struggling with pride; rather, it was a sense of accomplishment that ignited in him a desire to be excellent again.

Jack was also a very moral man. He would not steal, not even a pen from his office. He hated thieves, for they took what they wanted with little regard for others. He despised liars. He felt that a man must represent the truth, no matter what it cost him. Truth was a matter of conviction, a brand that was burned on his heart.

He also loved life. He loved children—especially babies. He loved the way new babies were perfumed with life, how it enamored them. Once he watched a news story about a family that burned cigarette holes in their baby’s stomach, and became irate. Even irrational.

It would outrage him to see an abusive hand placed on a child. Jack also hated abortion. He believed in the sanctity of human life. He believed that any abortion was a matter of murder, and any doctor that performed abortion should be treated as a war criminal. Even in the cases of incest and murder, abortions were unjustifiable homicides.

Jack had walked in the light of a hero, and could see only what a hero has eyes to see. He saw an opportunity to be a hero again. He would fight for those that were unable to fight for themselves. He would prevent the silent scream, even if it ment his own life. He started a crusade to end the world of abortions.

__________________________
Jack attempted to reason with the abortion doctors, but they refused him an audience. He pleaded with them to stop murdering unborn babies, but his words fell on deaf ears. He surmised that the doctors were too influenced by the money that was in abortions to be objective. He would have to take another approach. However, the politicians seemed to avoid him. He joined lobby groups, but accomplished nothing. He wrote letters, but received no answers. The Republican platform praised his voice for speaking out, but was powerless to change the laws. The religious community hosted him on their television shows and promised to pray, but did not act with him. He was determined to find a way to stop the madness of abortion. He would find a way…

_________________________

Perched just above an abortion clinic with rifle in hand, he waited for the doctor to step out of his BMW. Jack had a perfect angle for a kill; one shot was all he needed. He allowed for distance, he allowed for wind, and then calculatingly squeezed the trigger. The doctor was standing before his Maker before he knew he was dead. This was a doctor that Jack had plead with to stop the murders. The doctor laughed at him and called him “just another wacko right-wing religious nut.”

Jack was stunned at how easy it was to defend the unborn babies unable to defend themselves. The news swarmed the story like flies searching for a pile of defecation. Jack watched the news. He watched an interview with a prominent pro-life speaker who estimated that the assassin had saved potentially thousands of unborn lives. He disagreed with the action taken, but was thankful for the babies whom that doctor “would no longer rip in half and suction through a tube.” Jack also watched an interview with a doctor that publicly condemned the unknown terrorist. The doctor swore an oath, on public television, that he would stand up for the rights of the woman, and work overtime to make up for this injustice. He called on all abortion clinics to increase their working hours to accommodate the violated women, who must also fight for their rights.

Jack wasted no time in closing the doors of that clinic, at lest for a few weeks. Terror engulfed the world, as doctors were being shot all over the Untied States. Three doctors were shot on the same day by three different men. All of whom were arrested that same day. Conservatives had declared war on abortion.

Women were terrified to attend the clinics, for one woman was shot as she exited a clinic in Alabama. Jack would have never killed the mother, for he felt that she was a victim also. Jack now used his public stance to make a television appearance. He declared that the killing of the women must stop, for they had been lied to by the government and by the press. They were victims of the money hungry abortion industry. He made no mention of the doctors slain. He, too, rejoiced that so many babies had been spared.

The media crucified Jack that night. He was labeled a terrorist. What right did he have to endorse the murder of the doctors, who were only providing a public service? The laws of the Untied States allowed for abortion, therefore it was a just practice. A woman has the right to choose what to do with her body, and no one else could say anything about it.

Jack decided to give a rebuttal. He pointed out that Teresa had the right, under the abortion laws, to choose freely whether or not Heidi would live. What difference did it make if Heidi was breathing the atmosphere? A mother should have the right to choose, regardless of the child’s age. He spat sarcasm at the media and the pro-choice community. They hated him for it. That night, as the war raged across America, Jack was shot, through the head, by a sniper shouting, “Freedom to the people!”

And with that, I close this dark, depressing story. I ask you to stop and leave a comment, even if it's to say you won't be back for another visit. Thanks for stopping by!

The Ghost in the Grass--A True Story

2009-02-02T14:01:00.000-07:00

The other day, I went out for a walk, trying to find time for some peace and quiet. I was in a reflective mood, trying to make sense of life. When I emerged from a heavily wooded area, I waded through some grass that was knee deep and immersed in sunshine.

I couldn’t see all that well, and I tripped over what I thought to be a root. Turning to take a second look at my unseen spoiler, I stopped and stared at a sight too unbelievable to accept. I had tripped over a skeleton!

My years as a police officer kicked into gear and without thought, I reached for my phone to dial 911, so I could report the death to Sheriff Waller. I cordoned off the area immediately surrounding the body and began a cursory search to see if any other bones might be lying around, desperately hoping that there was only one death to report, and not several. Please don’t let this be a mass grave of some serial killer…

It’s a queer feeling when you happen upon death unexpectedly. At first, I thought of foul play, and assumed that the attacker might be surveilling the area for possible signs of detection. Then I rationalized that the body was decayed to the point of skeletal remains, therefore the odds of the killer hanging out where limited. The next thought I had was, “what if this person died of a heart attack?” The idea upset me because this individual died alone, and in some stage of peril. What if he’d been attacked by a bear? But, the skeleton was intact, so there were probably no wild animals attempting to devour the body.

While I waited on the police, and the longer I stared at the body, the more I began to wonder about this person’s identity. Who was this person? What was his or her name? What were their hopes and dreams? And then I wondered—why are there antlers growing out of his head?

Golden Thirst II

2009-01-26T16:47:00.002-07:00

This will be the conclusion of my previous broadcast. In the first part, I set the stage for the probability of an actual treasure in the dry, barren, West Texas landscape. What you may not realize, is the idea is based on an actual legend. There have been numerous stories and legends scattered through the years about Spanish gold in West Texas. You can find stories about a wagon train that was passing through the sand hill near Monahans, Texas. It was buried in a sand storm and remains there to this day. One of my true-life treasure hunting partners, Deacon, reminded me about an actual Spanish helmet that was found near a small hill (just outside of Westbrook, Texas,) called Skull Mountain. Yes, I've actually set out trying to find the gold, but I've come up empty myself. The ornate rifle I mentioned in the previous installment was really discovered by ST Minor in the early 1930's on the Koonsman Ranch, located between Gail and Fluvana, both small towns in the Texas Cap Rock area. Green Springs, which was a very popular camping site from the Indian days to the era of the gold rush in the 1840's through the 50's, holds its share of treasure lore. It was an area frequented by Robert E Lee during the Indian Campaigns prior to the Civil War. The area I'm describing is heavily laden with rumors of hidden gold. Well, enough of this history lesson, let's find out what happens with Tony when he sets out to find gold...

Golden Thirst Part II

The Finale

Tony’s next step was to find someone who knew the area well enough to guide him into the country. In Big Spring, he located a cowboy named Pigeon, who had punched cows all through the area and swore intimate knowledge of the proposed terrain. On a Friday morning, they set out from Indian Signal Mountain and followed Beals Creek east, toward Colorado City, stopping at every little hill and valley to poke around, fishing for luck.

Tony didn’t like Pigeon, who was so named because his feet turned inward when he walked. He had long greasy hair and tear drop tattoos under his eyes, indicating that he had spent several years in prison. He complained continually about the heat, and gripped when they set up camp and didn’t have any whiskey. Tony might not like him, but he needed him.

Pigeon had been working as a cowboy until the recent droughts caused the cattle industry to dry up. He had been without work for two months and was contemplating working as a roughneck in the oilfields to make ends meet. He was more than interested when Tony offered him one hundred dollars for the weekend, plus ten percent of their treasure, if it could be found.

On the evening of the second day, they started following the Wildhorse Creek, which at one time in the past, had flowed near a small outcropping of hills. They climbed the closest of the small rises and stopped to survey their surroundings. A cotton field ran along the northern edge of the hills. Some flat top mesas stretched along the northeastern horizon.

“If you were running from someone, where would you go?”

Pigeon spat in the dust and eyed a buzzard circling overhead. “I reckon that I would make for those hills, the little flat top over there. Beyond them is some broken country and just beyond that, the Colorado River.”

“Let’s go.” They trailed to the flat top and found part of the old trail used for several hundred years before the highways were built. They followed the road, which rounded an outcropping of boulders.

“Now, up on that rock, yonder.” Pigeon was pointing at a large rock that was shaped similar to a skull. “There are some scratchings and dates on that skull lookin’ rock.”

They climbed the boulder and found dates ranging from the late 1800’s to the late 1900’s. Etched into the boulder’s surface, they discovered an arrow pointing north, its point severely decayed by the elements. They followed the arrow and found a small rise a few hundred yards farther along. When they pulled reign at the top, the hair stood on the back of their necks. They were staring at two ancient graves and a spot dug out of the hillside many years before. They gathered their metal detectors and began scanning the area around the dig site. After a few minutes, pigeon uncovered a D-ring, the kind used on packsaddles. It was old and rusted. Excited, they began to shovel dirt from the area and, much to their surprise, uncovered seven bars of gold! They danced around in circles and screamed at the top of their lungs. Pigeon even shot his pistol into the air until it snapped on an empty chamber. They loaded the gold and prepared to return the way they came. Suddenly, Pigeon pulled his gun on Tony and said, “Well, thanks, professor. I appreciate the gold.”

Tony glowered at him. “Pigeon, why are you doing this? We had an agreement.”

He spat. “Shoot, this really ain't your gold, it belongs to no one. So I’ll just take it.”

“Okay, look. There is more here than I imagined. How about we split it fifty-fifty?”

“No, I would rather have it all.”

“Pigeon, there is no way you can get away with all that gold. Don’t do anything foolish. You don’t want to go back to prison, do you?”

He looked at him with wanton eyes for a moment. “No, I reckon not. So, I guess I will just have to shoot you, then nobody will know but me.” He cocked the pistol.

Tony held up his hands. “Okay! Hey, just finding the gold was enough for me, what do you say we make a trade?”

The gold wasn’t enough. Maybe he could get more. “Trade? For what?”

“Well, you take the gold and the horses. I’ll take my saddlebags and we call it even.” While Pigeon rolled the tobacco in his mouth, Tony pressed him. “Think about it. This was the law won’t be looking for you and I won’t have to die. It’s fair for everyone.”

“Hmmm, I get your point there, Professor. Here.” He untied Tony’s saddlebags and threw them at him. “I hope that you’re happy and that you can find your way back in.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine.” Pigeon started to walk away and Tony added, “Hey, how about one more trade before you go?” Tony reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

“Well I’ll be! You was holdin’ out on me!”

“I’ll give this to you if you will guide me out of here. I'm lost and I just want to get home.” He held up the bottle. The seal was still intact. “No hard feelings? You can keep the gold.”

“Well, I’ll be switched.” Pigeon grinned at him. “I knew that I liked you, Professor. Why not? But I keep the gold?”

“It’s all yours. I promise.”

“Say, what else do you have in there?” He pointed at the bags.

“Oh, nothing really. Just my research. I hate to loose it.”

“Suit yourself. Let’s get going, we have a full day tomorrow.”

Tony followed Pigeon on foot until dark. As he rode along, Pigeon would stop and pull from the bottle, and then press on through the heat. That night they made camp while Pigeon finished off his bottle, passing out around midnight mumbling about the things he would buy.

In the morning, Pigeon awoke with his pistol in his hand and a hangover splitting his ears. Tony was munching on an apple and a granola bar. “Sleep well?”

“Shut up.” He buried his head in his hands.

“Too much to drink?”

Tony nodded and reached into his saddlebags. “How about the hair of the dog that bit you?” He pulled out a second bottle and tossed it to Pigeon, who stared dumbly before reaching for it.

“More bourbon?” He said with a thick tongue.

“Nothing but the best.”

“You said that you didn’t drink.”

“I don’t, but you never know when you might need to clean out a wound. You know, like the old cowboys used to.”

“Whatever.” He turned up the bottle and swallowed. “Man, I would kill for some water.”

“I know what you mean. Are you ready?” He climbed to his feet and walked to the picket line for the horses. “Holy… Hey! Where are the horses?”

Pigeon stumbled to his feet. “What? What do you mean?”

“Look for yourself. They’re gone. They took the picket line with them.”

He squinted into the morning sun, trying to think through the hang over. “Something must have spooked them in the night. Didja hear anything?”

“Well, I did hear some coyotes…”

“Well, there you go. Now we lost the horses.” He broke off into a string of swearing. “We have to find the horses or walk.” He studied the ground for a moment. “It appears that they took off in the general direction of home.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An hour later, they were walking west, Pigeon stumbling along half drunk. Around midday, the sun was so hot that they stopped moving for fear of over exposure. Pigeon’s face was red, but he was sweating. “Man,” Tony leaned closer to him. “You look awful.”

“I’m dying.” He choked. “I just know it.” He leaned back and laid his head in the dirt. “I can’t believe these horses ran away. I hate carrying all this gold. It’s heavy.” He looked at the sun. “And, we’re out of water. You can’t imagine how thirst I am.”

“What would you do for water?”

His eyes were desperate. “Anything. If only we had water.” His lips were thick and swollen.

“Would you trade all of your gold for some water?”

“In a heart beat.”

Tony reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a liter of water. “Care to make a trade?”

“Huh?” He sat up, dirt caked into his greasy hair. “You have water?”

“Yes I do, and I will trade it to you for some gold.”

“Anything! You can have it. Just give me that water.”

“So it’s a deal? My water for your gold?”

“Yes, get me the water.”

Tony tossed him the bottle and he drank greedily from it. “Careful. It will make you sick if you don’t go easy on it.” He rose to his feet. “So long, Pigeon, good luck.”

Pigeon pulled his pistol and cocked it. “Not so fast, Professor.” He was hard to understand because his tongue was so thick. “I’ll take the gold and your water, you little snake.” He lifted the pistol at Tony with shaking hands.

“You would shoot me, even after I saved your life?”

“So call me a jerk.”

“I’ll call you greedy. You could have had fifty percent of this if you had played your cards right. Now you get none of it.” He turned and continued walking. He heard the cold snap of steel as the hammer fell on a spent round. He turned and looked at Pigeon, who dry fired three more rounds.

“Why you lousy son of…”

“Hey, Pigeon, you had a chance, now live with the consequences of your actions.”

“You stole my bullets.”

“No I didn’t. You got so excited when we found the gold that you fired all your rounds and didn’t reload. You were empty the whole time.” He turned and started walking. A few hours later, he was on his way to his hotel room, loaded with gold.

Golden Thirst

2009-01-22T05:28:00.006-07:00

Knock, knock? Is anyone there? I've been out of pocket so long, I wonder if anyone still visits my blog? Well, I'm back for a few days and I wanted to sneak in a short story for you. This one isn't considered one of my best by any standard, but it's a fun story. It is inspired by a true legend, but not a true story. I wrote this a few years ago after examining an old map from Col. MacKinzie's Army journals during the 1800's. Someday I'll have enough time to sit and properly edit this story, (its a nightmare grammatically and structurally) but I think it will work to add to your meaningless entertainment in the mean time! This will be a two part story, and I'll try to post the second half on Monday. Please enjoy....

GOLDEN THIRST

Two treasure hunters meandered through the parched West Texas landscape, leaving holes, broken branches, and winding trails as their calling card. For two days, they trekked across cotton fields and pastureland proving beyond shadow of doubt that “X” never marks the spot.

When they first started their journey they were proud of their idea to use horses instead of all terrain vehicles. However, after experiencing the punishing heat of the merciless summer sun and the dry winds, they were less romantic with their quest. Even so, horses were the best choice. There were too many fences to cut and ravines to cross, not to mention the thick tangle of mesquite trees growing unabated in the pastures to make vehicles practical.

Tony Blanchard, an historian from Sul-Ross University in Alpine, Texas, had discovered an old map at an estate sale some ten years before. At the time, it was nothing more than a curiosity and he framed it and hung it on his office wall, as a conversation piece. It worked. Students and staff would file into his office to see the treasure map of the conquistadors; word of mouth was great advertisement. Then one day, while reading the field journal of Captain Randolph Marcy, who had mapped the roads and trails from El Paso to California in the mid 1800’s, he noticed that Marcy’s maps and the treasure map corresponded. Was his map authentic?

He took it to an anthropologist from New Mexico State University, whose hobby was collecting and studying old maps, for his opinion. After a brief inspection, they concluded that the map was an original drawn by a Spanish monk who worked out of a mission in Ysleta, Texas in the late 1700’s. The monk busied himself by copying the maps of travelers stopping at his mission on their way from Mexico City to Santa Fe or California.

The next step was to determine if the map actually revealed a hidden stash of gold in remote West Texas, miles from any significant location. He pinpointed the proposed search area and called a local historian, Jim, and asked if he had ever heard any good stories of lost gold. Remarkably, Jim had heard several versions of the same legend; his story fit into the map.

In the days before white man started frequenting the Indian country of West Texas, a Spanish trader hired a member of the Jumano Indian tribe to guide him to the Llano Estacado, or present day high plains in the Texas panhandle, to meet with a Spanish outpost located around the Palo Duro Canyon, near Amarillo. They climbed onto to cap rock near Post, Texas and encountered a Comanche raiding party leading some pack mules across the plains toward Tahoka Lake. Not wanting to waste an opportunity to trade tobacco for some mules, they spent the afternoon dickering over several small items to trade.

The Comanches, notorious for bragging of their exploits, told how they attacked a Spanish convoy and captured the mules, which they intended to eat. Upon inspection, the trader discovered that the mules were loaded with gold. He traded all his supplies, including wine and muskets, to the Comanches for the gold, plus five of the ten pack mules. The Comanches needed no gold so they eagerly traded. The Spaniard and his guide reversed course and descended back into the broken country below the Cap Rock, with a destination of San Antonio, making camp against the soaring cliffs.

Early the next morning, the two were hit by a small hunting party of Kiowas and the mules scattered. The Jumano, who proudly sported an ornate and decorative musket, fled into the canyons and caves along the Cap Rock and disappeared. The Spaniard, holding onto one of the mules, fled east, and managed to evade detection. He hid in the midst of an enormous herd of buffalo around Green Springs and wandered along with them until he reoriented himself and found the Comanche war trail to Mexico. His route led him along to the Colorado River where he found an area known as Seven Wells. From there, he wound his way west until the Kiowas relocated him. The Spaniard shot several warriors and fled to Beals Creek, eventually backtracking to a hiding place near the Wildhorse Creek in some low lying hills, south of present day Westbrook. He piled rocks over his dying mule and marked the spot by tying his golden ring to a tree with his bandana. Slowly, he retreated across the West Texas desert until he found the mission at Ysleta, where he told his story to the monk. It was recorded it into history.

“There is no way to verify that the story even happened. Moreover, that it happened here,” Tony argued with Jim, the historian, while pressing a finger onto a small mark on the photo copied map.

“Well,” Jim countered, “in the 1930’s, some hunters found an ornate muzzle loader, wrapped in oil cloth, in a cave just north of Gail, Texas, on the Koonesman Ranch.” He looked around his office, moving stacks of papers and folders. “Oh, I remember, I have the newspaper article in this file.” He filtered through his cabinet and pulled out a red folder. “See, these fellows had their picture made with it. It says here that the rifle was from the late 18th century, and of Spanish origin. Not only that, but the trail that the Spaniard took was one of the same used by Colonel Mackenzie during the Indian Wars in the 1850’s. See?” He pulled out a photocopied map. “The trail runs right past Greene Springs, outside of Snyder, and crosses over the Colorado River and continues toward El Paso. From there, he could have followed the River to Seven Wells. Col. Mackenzie’s route crosses right through the area. It is all possible.”

“So, why haven’t you gone to find the gold?”

“Who says I haven't?” Jim’s eyes sparkled. “There was supposed to be a map made of the burial site, somewhere south of Westbrook. If we had the map, we might have better luck. However, the map doesn’t exist. Therefore, neither does the gold.”

Tune in later for the conclusion, when Tony starts digging for lost gold...

A Lever Long Enough

2009-01-14T05:23:00.002-07:00

Have you heard about the new book by Amy Deardon? Well let me tell you, it's incredible.

In the not so distant future, the Israeli military has developed a prototypic time machine. As expected, believers in Yeshua (Jesus) create a politically explosive situation that threatens the balance of peace between Israel and nearby countries. The desperate secular Israeli government decide to send a team of four elite soldiers back to film the theft of Jesus’ body from the tomb and thus disprove Christianity. The team, consisting of a Special Forces soldier, an ex-American astronaut , an archaeologist, and a linguist, has exactly seventy-two hours to collect the video evidence.

Once the team jumps into the first century, they are drawn into a web of deception and death—the only way to escape is for the team to change the past. Meanwhile, back in the present, a traitor attempts to sabotage the mission and seize control of the military complex.

The Special Forces leader operating in the past is the only one who can reveal him, but he is trapped two thousand years away. Even with a time machine, time is running out...

Amy nailed this story. She created a balance between sci-fi and reality in a way you imagine this could actually happen. If you like suspense, this is your story. Furthermore, she also melted romance and action into a fast paced story that continually accelerates as it nears the end.

I couldn't believe how Amy concluded the story. To be honest, I was a little angry about it because she was impossible to out guess. What I expected to happen didn't. What I wanted to happen didn't. But that's a good thing, because she far exceeded my limited imagination. If you like twists, this story is for you.

I'm not a big fan of end-times fiction. It's too predictable and too boring. This story might have some elements of Israel on the brink of war, a threatened peace process, and a snaky politician who has his own agenda, but this is not typical end-times nonsense. The way Amy ends this story will make you stop and retrace the story line to see if you can catch the twist.

I might not be very good at analyzing books, but I can read people very well. I'm proud to call Amy my friend. She is a genuine believer who struggled with the truth until she finally surrendered to Christ based on historical and scientific evidence. Great job, Amy! I hope I'm not out of place to say that Amy is working on another story line with some of the same characters. If that next story is anything like Lever, then count me in.

Tagged Again

2009-01-07T14:06:00.002-07:00

My dear friend Sarah Lopez tagged me, so I'll contribute a few more random facts from my past life. I'm going to make this tag both violent and bizarre, so you won't grow bored with my curious life.

1. I once broke my foot in a fight in prison.
2. I once ran in a relay that was so disjointed that they started to put up the hurdles before my team finished. (I was the last leg, too.)
3. I once broke a finger while fighting some jerk in the Army.
4. I once had an acting bit in a movie with both Bruce Willis (one of my favorite actors) and Julia Roberts.
5. I once broke some ribs while boxing a guy in the ring.
6. I once pushed my brother over a waterfall in a wheel barrow. It's amazing how well wheel barrows float...and how fast they sink when full of water.
7. I once ate piranhas for breakfast.

I'm willing to expand any of these stories that might seem too remarkable to believe.

I know you're supposed to tag others to participate, but I just did that to my friends not too long ago, so I'm going to let this round end with me. Unless one of you volunteers...anyone?

Purgatory Part II

2009-01-01T17:11:00.002-07:00

This will be the final addition of Purgatory. Thank you for your comments all, and please let me know what you think of this.

Purgatory Part II

The cameraman held his fingers at Shara and began a countdown. “We go live in three, two…” his voice faded and he pointed at her with his finger.

“This is newswoman Shara Livingstone, reporting from Purgatory Prison, where Governor Cruz made a startling across the board amnesty declaration for all the prisoners held in Purgatory. In my last broadcast, I began interviewing some of the prisoners who have flatly refused to accept the pardon. I now continue with my interviews. Joining me is Cell Block Lieutenant Imp. Lieutenant, who is the man in the cell next door?”

Imp turned and faced the man cowering behind the bars. “Hey you, get up and come here.” He beat the bars wickedly. “This is one of our best prisoners.” A prisoner stood before them with tear-stained eyes. He refused to look at them and stared down at the floor.

“My name is Shara Livingstone and I want to know why you haven’t accepted the amnesty offered by the Governor.”

“I don’t deserve any amnesty. I am a very bad person. I deserve to be in this cell.”

“It doesn’t really matter how bad you were. The Governor has chosen to forgive you.”

“I know, but I just don’t deserve it. You have no idea how bad I was. The Governor could never forgive my crimes. I want to stay here.”

“But the amnesty is all encompassing. None of you deserve it; it is a gift to you. Why don’t you accept this gift?”

“Well, I know that part of the requirements is that you have to turn away from a life of crime. I can’t do that. I am too bad. I don’t deserve to be set free. I’m just too bad.”

“Thank you for your time.” The prisoner sadly turned from the bars and heaved gasping cries of sorrow from deep within his chest. He crumpled down on the filth and wept bitterly. Shara watched him in amazement. “Lieutenant, who is in the next cell?”

“This joker is a nut case. The psychologist says that he is sane, but the guy just doesn’t make any sense.” A man was standing at the bars when she stopped in front of him. “How do you do?”

She politely nodded to him. “Sir, I have a few questions about your life here in the prison…”

“What prison?”

“This prison. The one we are standing in.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not is a prison.” He looked at over to Imp. “Hey, Lieutenant, where did you scare this woman up?”

“Shut up and answer her questions so I can go back to my work.” The man smiled warmly. “His bark is worse than his bite. So, what did you want to know?”

“The Governor has just announced amnesty to all the prisoners. Why haven’t you accepted his generous offer?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. The Governor I know would never build a prison. He is a good man. He is a very loving Governor and would never impose on any of us.”

“But sir, you are in a prison that was built by the Governor.”

“Nonsense. I voted for the Governor. I chose him to oversee us. The man that I chose would never put anyone in a prison.”

“Oh yeah?” A gruff voice in the next cell yelled out. “I don’t even believe that the Governor is knowable.”

The man Shara was interviewing waved him off. “Don’t pay any attention to him. It is amazing how it’s human nature to assume that because we believe or don’t believe something, then that makes it true. This joker doesn’t believe in gravity either. Even though he can feel the effects of gravity, he refuses to believe in gravity. I keep telling him that gravity exists where he believes it or not. The Governor is knowable. I know him. I voted for him. And the man I voted for would never put any of us in a prison.”

“Oh yeah?” Another man yelled at them several cells down. “I read that amnesty announcement and I didn’t understand it.”

“Well, I read it,” a different man yelled back. “And it had a contradiction in it. Therefore, it can’t be right. Besides, one of the Governor’s aids wrote the document for him, it’s not really from the Governor himself. There, I have proven that amnesty is a fraud!”

Shara Livingstone walked several cells down and saw a man sitting on the floor with his feet crossed. “Sir, may I ask you some questions?”

“I already know that you want to ask about the so called amnesty.”

“Yes that’s right. What do you think of the amnesty?”

“It doesn’t really matter. This prison is nothing more than a metaphor about life. Besides, I believe that when I die, I will be set free from this prison. I have lived a good life and what comes around goes around.”

“But sir, you can get out now without having to die.”

“I used to be a thief, but now I live by the golden rule. If I can continue to live a good enough life, then I will make it out of here when I die.” “

Thank you.” She walked a few doors down. “How about you, sir? Don’t you want to get out of this prison?”

“Sure, some day. When I’m older. I’m not through living here yet. But before I die, I plan to take the amnesty and get out. But for now, I’m just having too much fun. Besides, I don’t want to become a puppet for the Governor.”

“Thank you.” She turned to the Lieutenant. “I have time for one more interview. Let’s go to that man standing over there. Excuse me, I have a few questions about the amnesty announcement made a few days ago.”

“Yeah? What do ya want to know?”

“Why haven’t you accepted the freedom and walked away from your prison cell?”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty by representing the Governor? I don’t appreciate your attack on my personal beliefs. Who are you to judge me?”

“I’m not judging you; I only want to know why you haven’t taken the opportunity to leave your prison.”

“Well, there is a truth that works for you and a truth that works for me. My own personal truth tells me that I can live right here if I want to. You can’t force your truth on me. That violates my personal space and my personal beliefs. Who are you to come and try to condemn me? Now leave me alone.”

Shara turned away from the cell and began to walk with Lieutenant Imp back toward the exit. “I didn’t realize how far we walked into the prison. It is so dark and foul in here.”

“Yep, but that’s how I like it.”

“Isn’t it amazing how bright the light is from the exit door? It’s almost blinding.”

“Yes it is. I like the darkness better. It’s just too bright outside.”

“Hey, who is that walking around here in the cell block? Is it the prisoners?”

“Well, sort of. These people here stepped out of their cells, but refuse to actually walk into the light. They just love the darkness too much to leave it. What’s more remarkable is that they think that they are free. But they still live in all this filth like the men in the cells.”

“I need to talk to one of them.” She stopped a man that was wandering in the darkness. “Excuse me sir, but I have a question for you about the amnesty.”

“Sure, go ahead. That’ my favorite topic. I love to talk about the Governor. After all, he set me free.”

“But have you really been set free? You are still living within the walls of the prison.”

“I have been set free. There is no doubt.”

“Yet you are still here in the cell block. Why don’t you move on into the light and out of this prison?”

“I’m not in the prison. I am free. Sometime I do go near the light and walk around outside. But, this is where my home is and my friends live here also.”

“But I have been outside, and it’s clean and free outside. Why make your home here?”

“Oh, when I went out there, they wanted me to go and tell others about how the Governor set me free. It just seemed like they were expecting too much of me.”

“That is part of the condition for release, to live a life that directly opposes crime.”

“Well, I didn’t want all my friends to make fun of me. It was just too uncomfortable. I tried it out, but it just didn’t work for me. So, I came back in here where all my friends are.”

“Thank you.” She turned to the camera. “I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. These prisoners all have different reasons for choosing to remain here in Purgatory State Prison. Despite the fact that none of their reasons or excuses make sense, they are content to live a life of filth and squalor rather than a life of freedom and responsibility. This has been Shara Livingstone reporting live. Now back to you…”

The End

Purgatory Part I

2008-12-29T11:45:00.006-07:00

I'm ready to try another short story. I think you will enjoy this one, even though it might be a little strange. I'm recycling an older post, as I haven't had time to prepare anything new. Rest assured, I'm working on a new short story that will astound you, leaving your jaw slack and agape. But for now, you will have to be content with Purgatory. This is a two part story, so be sure to tune in one day soon for the continuation.
Purgatory “Okay, we go live in 3… 2….” Then the cameraman’s voice was silent and he pointed at the reporter.
_
“This is newswoman Shara Livingstone broadcasting live from Purgatory State Prison where Governor Cruz announced two days ago a shocking across the board pardon for all the inmates held here at Purgatory. The Governor stated that he loved the people in his state so much that he was compelled to offer blanket amnesty. The only condition to be released was that each prisoner had to ask forgiveness for his crimes, accept the pardon from Governor Cruz, and live a life dedicated to fighting crime. Many prisoners have been set free over the course of the last two days and can be seen walking around the prison. However, we have just learned that many of the prisoners held in Purgatory Prison were refusing to leave their cells. Joining us now is Cell Block Lieutenant Imp, “Lieutenant, can you tell us what happening inside the cell blocks right now?”
_
Imp scowled a moment and then commented, “It seems that most of the prisoners refuse to leave their cells. They just won’t believe that they have been forgiven by the Governor.”
_
“What are they telling you? Have they offered a reason why the prisoners refuse to leave?”
_
“They know in their hearts that they don’t deserve to be forgiven, therefore they will stay in their cells.”
_
“But the Governor has made it easy to be released. Haven't they been told how easy it is to just leave their cells and never return?”
_
Imp scowled again. “Oh they were told. Some of the Governor’s men walked through the whole prison and made the announcement.”
_
“What were the reactions of the prisoners?”
_
“Most of them refused to believe their good luck. But then the first fellow tried his cell door and walked away, well, it was the dogonedest thing. His cell was locked and then he asked forgiveness for his crimes, and then the cell door just popped open. Heck, we didn’t want to let him go. We knew that fellow was a thief. But after he was given amnesty, there wasn’t anything we could do to keep him there. Some of the fellows tried to get him to denounce his amnesty, but that thief wouldn’t have any part of it.”
_
“Why would the guards try to keep him in there if the Governor set him free?”
_
“Well heck, they are guilty and don’t deserve to be set free. Besides, what will we do for jobs if all the prisoners leave the Purgatory Prison?”
_
Shara Livingstone turned and pointed at the large gothic prison to her right. “Lieutenant, you have agreed to escort us through the cell block. Shall we begin our tour?”
_
“Might as well.” He turned and pointed at a large iron door. “Okay, you go through this here door and you will be inside of Cell Block One.”
_
“Shouldn’t the door be secured? It’s wide open.”
_
“The Governor ordered us to open the prison doors. We argued that all the prisoners would leave, but surprisingly, they ain’t left yet. We just keep on doing our jobs. As long as they refuse to leave, then we can keep on getting paid.”
_
“But don’t you care that their debts against society have been forgiven?”
_
“So long as it serves my purpose, I don’t care.”
_
Shara held her microphone to her lips. “Okay, I’m now standing inside Cell Block One. Behind me and to my right are many rows of cells. You can see that bars separate and define one cell from the other. My first reaction to this prison is the smell. Lieutenant, can you tell me what that horrible smell is?”
_
“That is their own filth. All the garbage that they bring with them and all the sewage that they generate here. We don’t offer any toilets or shower facilities.”
_
“Isn’t that inhumane?”
_
Imp spat on the floor. “What do I care? So long as I have a job.”
_
“As I continue walking along, I am stunned by how dark it is here in Purgatory Prison. In fact, the further I go inside these walls, the brighter the light from the doorway that is the only opening to the outside. Lieutenant, why is it so dark in here?”
_
“Oh that serves several purposes.” He held up a finger as if to count. “For one, they can’t see all the filth that they are living in. B, if they are in the dark, they are easier to control. They don’t go getting a lot of ideas on their own. And third, as long as they can see that light, but can’t get to it, they stay miserable.”
_
“You sound like you want them to suffer.”
_
“They are guilty. Ever one of them deserves the death penalty. I hate to see them set free. They don’t deserve it.”
_
“But the Governor chose to forgive them. Shouldn’t you help them find that light?”
_
“Oh, they were told about that light. It’s up to them to choose to walk out of their prison. Some of them shout for joy and run out of here like a bull coming out of the chute havin’ just been branded.”
_
“Is that a prisoner in that cell there?”
_
“Yes ma’am, it is.” He hit the bars with his night stick. The prisoner flinched at the sight of the night stick. “Hey you! Get over here and talk to this reporter.” The prisoner obediently stood to the bars. “Yes sir.”
_
Shara waved the mic in his face. “We have just been told that the Governor has granted you your freedom. All you have to do is accept the amnesty that was offered you. Why haven't you left?”
_
“Well, I don’t believe in the Governor.”
_
“Excuse me?”
_
“I don’t believe that the Governor exists.”
_
“Well that is ridiculous. Look around you. Can’t you see what the Governor has built here? This building was built by the Governor. It was designed to be a prison.”
_
“No. It was here before I was born. I didn’t see anyone build it. As far as I’m concerned, this building has always been here.”
_
“But I hold in my hand the decree stating your freedom.”
_
“Okay, I’ll play your game. If you can make the Governor appear before me, then I will believe that he exists.”
_
“Well, I have no control over the Governor. Who am I to make him come and appear to you?”
He shrugged and smiled smugly at her.
_
“But didn’t you hear about the amnesty? Don’t you want to be set free from your prison?”
_
“No. This is the only life I know. From this comfortable room I have everything I need. Besides, if there is no Governor, then I don’t have to leave my cell.”
_
“So, you are choosing to stay here, even though you have been offered amnesty?”
_
“Isn’t that what I have been saying all along?”
_
“Yes, in fact it is. I just don’t understand it.” She turned to continue on her journey, and the man grabbed a hold of the bars and shouted out at her. “Tell me this, misses Smarty Pants, who made the Governor? Huh? Tell me that?” He laughed at her. The Lieutenant rapped his fingers with his baton and the man shrunk back into the darkness.

_
Shara returned to her microphone and addressed the camera. “This disturbing development will be continued in my next broadcast. I have discovered many things here at Purgatory Prison, and I will continue this story very soon. Please tune in for the continuation shortly.”

Christmas Fun

2008-12-24T08:54:00.002-07:00

I'm not really a fun person, but I saw this on Lynn Rush's site http://lynnrush.wordpress.com/
and thought I'd pass it along. I'll be curious to see your answers to this little interview if you decide to replicate it. Resistance is futile...

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping paper. Unless my wife refuses to wrap, which hasn’t happened yet, thank God!

2. Real tree or Artificial? Fake. I love pre-lit trees. They bring joy to my house.

3. When do you put up the tree? Thanksgiving Day weekend.

4. When do you take the tree down? New Years weekend.

5. Do you like eggnog? Oh yeah! Pumpkin pie is the best, and egg nog is important. It’s not Christmas without eggnog (or pumpkin pie).

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Could be the Big Wheel. No, it was the Inch Worm—No, it was the Atari—No, wait it was…

7. Hardest person to buy for? My wife. We don’t do gifts for the rest of the family. Just the little ones (nephews/nieces)

8. Do you have a nativity scene? Most of the time

9. Mail or email Christmas cards? Uh, nope. Neither. Sorry, I’m just not a card kind of man.

10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? One year I received disposable razors from an unknown family who donated to all the “poor” people staying at the Ronald McDonald House.

11. Favorite Christmas Movie? It’s a Wonderful Life, and the Christmas Carol with Patrick Stewart (Capt. Picard).

12. When do you start shopping for Christmas? My wife is usually done by the second week of December.

13. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Yep. That and ebay…

14. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Pumpkin pie! Why am I having to repeat myself? Hello? Is this thing on?

15. Lights on the tree? I used to like colored lights, but now it’s white.

16. Favorite Christmas song? What Child is This? and Christmas Canon (not the Manheim rock version, which is okay, but the other one with the kids singing)

17. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeers? You know it.

18. Angel on the tree top or a star? Star.

19. Open the presents Christmas eve or Christmas day? Family gifts on Christmas Eve, Santa on Christmas Day.

20. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? Little Drummer Boy. Someone send that kid home. I mean really, beating a drum near a sleeping baby? It’s not the only gift he brings; he could leave the drum and preserve the silence. Okay, call me the Grinch, but that song really bugs me.

21. Favorite ornament theme or color? White lights, Gold Balls. Or maybe gold and silver combo. Or maybe all the colors. Or maybe…

22. Favorite for Christmas dinner? Turkey, mashed potatoes, PUMPKIN PIE! Hello?

23. What do you want for Christmas this year? Smoked Salmon.

The Christmas Poem

2008-12-22T08:49:00.002-07:00

I wrote this poem several years ago, and it has become a tradition to read it as a family. I want to share it with you; most of you have become like family to me. Notice how cleverly I titled it...

The Christmas Poem

The rocking chair squeaks
By the morning fire
The house was tense
With Christmas desire

Mom with her quilting
And I with my pen
Awaited our children
In the warmth of the den

For Christmas has come
In the house we now dwell
The home was alive
With scents and smells

Our Christmas turkey
Is roasting nearby
The counters are lined
With many new pies

Hot coco bubbles
Away on the stove
The pleasure of children
Its purpose alone

Then comes a stirring
From up above
Our children approach
To share in the love

Their eyes are alive
With cherished delight
Their feet how they danced
On the stairs of their flight

Small giggles come forth
As they rush to the den
Our family's complete
Let Christmas begin

My daughter sat near
My son in my lap
I opened my Bible
God's present unwrapped

We read the beginning
Of our Christmas joy
And of our Savior
The King born a boy

We then thank God
For the gift He gave
That forgave us our sins
And our souls did save

With our thanks complete
Having told our tales
We hand out presents
And turn to ourselves

We gave a doll house
To our little girl
And a new baby doll
Whose hair was in curls

Our son's great desire
Is to learn to fish
We gave him a pole
And granted his wish

For this family now
Joy is complete
To share Christmas memories
Is always so sweet

But the shame of a baby
Come to save all men
Gave us a gift
To live free from sin

For giving has nothing
To do with gifts

My Life

2008-12-17T14:55:00.002-07:00

Thanks for stopping by. This week I want to tell a strange story of one person's life. I wrote this many years ago, so you might notice a slight variation in my style. This story has had several different endings, but each time I read it, I would re-write it. I'm kind of sick of it, so I'm going to publish it now so I can move on to something else!

Enjoy...

My Life

What’s happening? What is this? Am I being born? It’s way too early; I’ve only been here for a few months. I feel as though I have just begun. I’ve been warm and cozy as I snuggle deep in my mother’s womb. There is so much to see and hear, but I am too young. If it is all right with everyone, I will stay right here, where it’s safe. After all, I know exactly who my parents are by the sound of their voices and what more could I possibly need to know about them?

Of course there is that yappy thing that makes a lot of noise when we are at home. It runs around yapping, like there is no tomorrow. But I know all there is to know about it, so I am content where I am right now. HEY! Hold on, I am staying here! You can’t make me leave! Oh man… Well, here goes nothing…

That wasn’t so bad, I guess. If you like being ripped from your warm home into a room full of people you’ve never seen. One of them even slapped me on the bottom while hiding behind a mask. That made me mad, and I told him about it too! Then I recognized a voice…my mother! Her arms are warm and safe; it feels good to lay here while she dries me with a towel. And let me tell you something, milk is the greatest thing I have ever come across. Shoot, I didn’t even know that I was hungry. I have my whole life to lay here in my mother’s arms. After all, I am very young…

Now what’s happening? My mother seems to be setting a cake on fire while everyone is singing to me! This is so much fun, but what is happening? I just love ripping those boxes apart. Imagine my surprise when I discovered little cartoon people are stuffed into the boxes. Everyone says that I am growing, but I can’t tell. I seem to be the same as always. Several things have happened since we last talked. First, milk makes something weird happen to you, but my parents take care of that after discussing whose turn it is. I also discovered that my mom and dad are the greatest people around, and that grandparents are a lot of fun. (Even if they don’t keep you for very long.) I also like something called strained peas. It feels good to squish them and they taste good.

About that yappy thing, we call him Dancer, mostly because he never stands still. His feet are always moving. I really like him. He let’s me pull his hair and tail because I don’t have any of my own to pull on. He even helps me get cereal off my hands. I think he is my best friend. I don’t have any more boxes to open, but that was fun. I hope to do it again soon.

It’s getting colder outside. My mommy makes me dress in really heavy clothes, but she sings to me while she does. It makes me happy. Yesterday, my Daddy built me a snowman that we call Frosty. He is so much fun, but he never moves around. These last few weeks have been fun. Just the other day, we sat around singing to a dead tree and ate candy out of our socks. I also get to open more boxes. It was even more fun this time. I hope that we do it again soon…

Well, I am getting around better now, sort of. The other day, I fell and hit my head. Daddy was there to pray for me and I feel better now. Dancer licked my face to whip away the tears. My daddy is big and strong. He always kisses Momma on the cheek when they put me to bed. Then they both kiss me goodnight. I love them a lot. Something funny happened to my mother. One day her stomach started getting bigger, I was told that my sister is in there. I couldn’t see her. I don’t see how that is possible, but I try to believe it. They tell me that in a few weeks I should have someone to play with, but Dancer and I don’t need anyone else. You know what? I really hate it when my mother makes me eat those green peas. They just taste horrible; I don’t see how anyone can stand them…

My sister had her first birthday today. We sang songs and ate some cake, but she never did blow out the candle. She opened her presents, but she never looked to see what was in them. It’s kind of dumb to wrap presents for a baby. My birthday is coming and I should get a fire truck. If not then, maybe Santa will bring one. My sister is not much fun. Everyone tells me that I have a playmate, but she can’t catch a ball, or ride a bike. Dancer can do all those things, well, sort of. Anyway, he is my best friend. Sometimes my dad will play catch with me and my mom will listen to me read stories to her. She cried when I went to school, so did I. I liked being at home. Besides, there isn’t anything I need to know. My teacher makes me stand in the corner during naptime, because I pretend to snore. When I got home, my Daddy spanked me, but then he hugged me. I know now that I can’t disobey teachers, and that I will be okay if Daddy spanks me. I did make some new friends, but I still like Dancer better…

Can you believe it? My sister plays T-ball now. Kids are so dumb. She hits the ball, and then runs the wrong way. I’m glad that I never did that. I won the sportsmanship trophy this year. My coach says I will play really well when I get older. The other day, the ball hit me, but Daddy rubbed some dirt on it and I felt better. Dads always know how to fix things. My mom cries a lot. We aren’t sure why, but daddy yells a lot and it makes my sister cry also. Me and Dancer go outside and play Army.

This year for Christmas, I got a new ball glove and a BB gun. Daddy whipped me when I shot our neighbor’s cat. It didn’t die, but I had to apologize anyway. My sister plays with dolls all the time. She is pouring them tea and teaching them how to add numbers. She plays ball with me some. She can’t throw very hard, but I pretend that she can! And when we race, I let her win sometimes. Dancer is getting older. Dad says that he has authritis, but he still catches the ball. My momma doesn’t enjoy her job very much. She wants to quit, but dad says that we can’t make it if she does. Daddy doesn’t play with us much anymore. He is too busy or too tired. I miss him sometimes when he works late. He says that we will go watch the Dallas Cowboys soon, I hope so…

Dad says that money was tight this year, but I got a new stereo for Christmas. Junior high isn’t much fun. All the guys laugh at me when I strike out in baseball, and the girls call me ugly. I can’t wait until I am in high school; maybe then everyone will like me. We moved to a new house just down the street. Dad says that in seven years we can buy our old house back. I hope so, that is where Dancer is buried. Even though boys aren’t supposed to cry, I cried when he died. So did my sister. She is a brat now, and she still plays with dolls. My mom is glad that she doesn’t have to work anymore. I am glad too, cause now she cooks again. I heard one of her friends make fun of her for not working, but my mom is happy now. Dad took us on a camping trip this year and it was a lot of fun. We finally saw the Cowboys play this Thanksgiving. They lost, but I got an autograph. We have a new dog, but my sister plays with him more than I do. When I throw it a ball, she runs off and I have to chase her to get the ball back. Dumb dog…

My parents hate my music. They say that it’s too loud. They don’t like my friends, either. But they are the only ones I have. My mom is worried that I am doing bad things, but I don’t. My dad always taught me better. I would hate to disappoint him. I don’t think that they trust me much. My sister has a new boyfriend now. He’s a nice guy, but he wears braces. My mom is going to college. She seems to enjoy it, and sometimes we study together. My dad is the Vice President now and he has more time to play golf. They always come to my ball games. This year we are going to the playoffs. My dad thinks I will get a scholarship, I hope he is right. My grandfather helped me buy a new car. I have a pickup and I keep a rope in the back window, although I am not a cowboy. My sister wants a Volkswagen. Last week I got into a fight with a football player when he said something about my sister. I don’t care that I was suspended for a few days. My dad yelled at me, but he said that he understood…

College is a lot of fun, more than high school. At lest the girls are prettier. My girlfriend and I go to the movies every Friday. I am still playing ball, and grandparents came to watch today’s game. My mom is in one of my classes this year, and it was weird. Everyone else liked her, but I didn’t say much to her. My sister is into acting. For some reason, she wants to do dog food commercials. She is also going to marry a famous actor, but I keep telling her that she has to meet him first. My parents finally managed to buy our old house back. I was very happy for them, but my room is stored in the attic. My old room is my dad’s office now. This year my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer; her doctors sound positive. My girlfriend’s parents are getting divorced…

I can’t believe that I am now married. It seems like yesterday that I got my first ball and glove. I guess that I am now a man, but I don’t feel like it. I have graduated from a university, but that doesn’t seem possible, either. My new job is okay, but it isn’t as much fun as college. Everyday I come home and I am glad that I have such a beautiful wife. God has blessed me. Occasionally we still go to church with my parents, but not very often. We still have a lot of time left, I am still young. My dad doesn’t understand why my mom went to college if she isn’t going to work, but she just smiles at him. My wife and I hope to have children some day, but we aren’t in a hurry….

Where has the time gone? This morning I took my son to school, and then to practice. From there, I had to take him to some youth deal at church, and then to a friends house. I don’t remember playing ball that much when I was his age. We still don’t go to church, but I think about it all the time. My folks go now, and we visited their church, but I’m not ready to settle down just yet…

I was laid off from the plant yesterday, and I don’t know how we will pay the bills, but we always find a way. I think I’ll try my hand at my own business. Maybe it’s time for me to take a chance on it. It’s hard to find work at my age. Having just placed my mother in the nursing home doesn’t help any either. Once we lost my father, she just went downhill, physically, that is. She’s still after me to go to church. I do intend to do so some day, but I’m not ready to settle down yet….

My granddaughter’s wedding was yesterday. She married a complete boob. Where did she find that freak, at the Little Shop of Horrors? What’s gotten into kids these days? Well, at my assisted living home, my next door neighbor collapsed on her porch and lay there all night until someone found her. She went to the hospital, but she died anyway. She reminds me of my mom in that she’s always nagging at me about going to church. I really don’t have a problem with God or church or anything, but I just don’t want to settle down yet. I’m not through having fun. I’ve been a widower now for two years, and I can’t even remember what my wife looked like unless I see her picture…

My death was today. I would tell you more about that, but I’m no longer in control of what I do. That horrible despair I feel as I sink lower and lower into the abyss is indescribable, and that inky blackness that has surrounded me makes me cold and alone. I feel as though I’m being pulled to anther place, and I can hear the screams as if thousands of voices were being tortured at the same time. This can’t be happening to me! Something has grabbed me and I’m being…..

The Beginning.

It's A Wonderful Life

2008-12-12T11:00:00.002-07:00

I'm stepping a little out of my safety zone and doing something I rarely do: an article about myself. I am comfortable with fiction and short stories, because I call the shots about what I want reality to be. However, I am going to post about something personal, and I think it will be therapeutic for me. And I promise to post another short story in my next entry.

It’s a Wonderful Life

As is tradition in our home, we watched It’s a Wonderful Life on Thanksgiving. I’d like to share a short segment of that movie.

George Bailey: Just a minute - just a minute. Now, hold on, Mr. Potter. You're right when you say my father was no businessman. I know that. Why he ever started this cheap, penny-ante Building and Loan, I'll never know. But neither you nor anyone else can say anything against his character, because his whole life was - why, in the twenty-five years since he and Uncle Billy started this thing, he never once thought of himself. Isn't that right, Uncle Billy? He didn't save enough money to send Harry to school, let alone me. But he did help a few people get out of your slums, Mr. Potter, and what's wrong with that? Why - here, you're all businessmen here. Doesn't it make them better citizens? Doesn't it make them better customers? You - you said - what'd you say a minute ago? They had to wait and save their money before they even ought to think of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what? Until their children grow up and leave them? Until they're so old and broken down that they... Do you know how long it takes a working man to save five thousand dollars? Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you're talking about... they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? Anyway, my father didn't think so. People were human beings to him. But to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they're cattle. Well, in my book he died a much richer man than you'll ever be.

To be Mr. Potter or George Bailey? These are the struggles that I wrestle in my heart as I lay in bed at night, and as I walk the street during the day. To most, the choice is clear. George Bailey is a noble, selfless man who continually makes the responsible choice to serve his fellow man, while Mr. Potter is a warped, frustrated old man who seeks his own way and his own purposes.

But allow me a moment to reveal my heart and express the struggle I suffer. For a moment I want to remove the immoral, greedy element from Mr. Potter and examine him as a practical business man. He is a business man of profound abilities, and uses his influence to advance his business interests. One might accurately describe him as calculating.

At my work, I am surrounded by Potters—men who are focused, driven, and calculating. They are the men who drive the business machine forward. The men who make decisions that aren’t influenced by compassion, but rather by necessity.

George Bailey, on the other hand, is a man who has embraced the passion of life and empathizes with the common human condition. He is a man who will continually take the high road, even at his own expense.

At my work, I could count on one hand the George Baileys. I should know, for I am one. I am continually criticized for my “weakness”—that is, my compassion. I’m often confronted by my peers for being too easy, too nice. “Don’t get me wrong,” they say. “You’re one heck of a nice guy, and I think a lot of you, but you are way too soft…” and you can probably finish the sentence for me.

Criticism is a unique gift. You can either dismiss it entirely, or you can embrace it and own it. Or, and this is the harder, better choice, you can examine it for truth. Am I too weak, too soft? Perhaps. Christ never called us to be weaklings, but to be men of valor who stand for truth.

Am I, on the other hand, willing to discard my faith or moral fiber in order to be more like the other cogs in the machine—like the ones who actually drive the machine forward? This struggle may not mean anything to you. You might not even understand what I’m expressing, but I examine my criticisms and extrapolate that which is beneficial. Am I too weak? Perhaps. But is that a weakness? Perhaps not. Perhaps the weakness the world sees is nothing more than compassion and lack of selfish ambition.

Well, I will struggle with these ideals for my life. I pray that I will never be the one who tries to buy off George Bailey because I’ve become a Potter. At one point in the movie, Potter realizes that George has beaten him in the game. In order to remove George from the competition, he deceitfully offers him the deal of a lifetime, and basically throws everything at him that he’s ever wanted. In a weak moment, George is tempted to take the offer. However, after a greasy handshake, George comes to his senses and flees temptation.

May God grant me the strength to hold to my principles, even if the world offers me the world in exchange.

Tagged

2008-12-09T21:06:00.003-07:00

Rosslyn Elliot tagged me, so now I have to share 7 things about myself. I'm not certain how this is supposed to work, but I'll be a good sport and play along...

1. I have an titanium heart valve
2. I once sat in a wheel chair for 3 months while doctors tried to figure out if I could walk again.
3. I once was suspended upside down from a goat cave in Haiti while dangling from a cliff.
4. I've been shot at at least 3 times.
5. I used to be incredibly vain and shallow
6. I once guessed how old an ambassador's wife was by looking at her teeth.
7. I spent the night in a slaughter house one night when I was a teenager.

Avily Jerome http://avilyjerome.blogspot.com/
Lynn Rush http://lynnrush.wordpress.com/
Dave Bryant http://davebryant.blogspot.com/
Gzusfreek http://gzusfreek.blogspot.com/
Sarah http://saraccinoblogiato.blogspot.com/

I'm only going to tag five, so if you want to play, link back to me and then tag some more of your own victims.