There’s Always Tomorrow

“There’s always tomorrow,
For dreams to come true,
Tomorrow is not far away.”
(1964) From the TV production, “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer”. Composer: Johnny Marks

Our 2021 looks just like what we see in my cover photo above the title. A blank sheet, a clean slate, a fresh page. Notice the pen still has its cap over the business end.

I, for one, will be happy to kiss 2020 goodbye. What a nasty year. I mean that, too. Hard, harsh, disgusting, rude, violent, diseased, and dark. And yet, we were responsible for it all. Sure, we could blame others, and we do. But when in retrospect, the wise ones will say, “We made a terrible mess.” And we did.

My middle daughter, Megan sent me a couple of photos from her house in Buffalo, NY over the Christmas week. Here’s one for you.

My daughter, Megan’s street in Buffalo, NY.

I love a fresh snow. It’s the darkened, oily, old snow I look away from. Lots like 2020.

More than the blank sheet of paper, 2021 may resemble more like this…

My daughter, Megan’s backyard in Buffalo, NY.

Isn’t it true? Do you see it? If you don’t see it, you would be right. There’s 2021 right there in that shot. A fresh mound of virgin snow…lacking footprints.

With all of our flaws, our faults, our flubs, God has seen fit to graciously hand us a frsh new year for us to walk carefully onward. In a way, the Creator is saying, “Here you go. I’m allowing you another year, fresh and clean. Now walk in my ways and just see where your footprints lead.”

Our footprints will tell us not only where we go, where we’ve been, and just how heavy our stomping has been, but we will discover more about our ways.

God knows the beginning and the ending. He knows our A through Z. He knows our pre-historic days, and our eternal lives. Isn’t it fair to say, The Ancient Of Days is also, The Maker Of Our Days? With Him, the crooked is made straight. The gift of free-will demands that we choose how to walk in 2021.

It is up to us.

Tomorrow’s trek requires fuel for the race.

“You shall walk in all the way which the LORD your God has commanded you, that you may live and that it may be well with you, and that you may prolong your days…” – Deuteronomy 5:33a (NAS)

Need Some Light?

“I believe in you
You know the door to my very soul
You’re the light in my deepest, darkest hour
You’re my savior when I fall…”
(1977) “How Deep Is Your Love?” Recorded By: Bee Gees Composers: Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb, and Blue Weaver

“Dad, I paid $90.00 for that thing!”

That’s what my eldest daughter said to me on the phone last week, in her very frantic delivery. Ever since she and her husband were able to get into a house, she has gone a bit over the top on holiday decor. (My opinion.) It doesn’t matter if it’s Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter, she decorates loudly and early.

My eldest daughter’s house, Thanksgiving night 2020.

When my phone alerted me to her call, I had a gut feeling there was trouble, even before I answered. Sure ’nuff, there was a major issue going on in her world. It seems the lights on her new front lawn snowman went out. As she investigated the holiday tragedy, she found all the bulbs working when tested separately. She then followed the electrical lines from the plug and socket until she found the electrical cord cut in half. Actually, it wasn’t cut, but rather chewed in half. Some neighborhood gnawing critter decided to taste the plastic sheathing of the cords. I’m surprised she didn’t find a lifeless furry little body stretched out at the crime scene. As it turns out, this is the second year in a row a critter of the great outdoors, obviously full of humbug, chewed through electrical cords which powered the true meaning of Christmas…a reindeer, elf, or Santa. (That would be her outlook.) In her distress, she used a few choice words of holiday stress, as she told me she had to get off the phone, run to the big box home store to buy another to replace it before the sun goes down. ($$$-ching-ching) As I got off the phone, I found myself saddened by the sounds of her sheer anger, distress, and frantic obsession. I didn’t raise her to hang the importance of Christmas on trinkets, elves, and power cords.

Yet, who doesn’t love Christmas lights? I know I do.

Back in Greenville, Texas, where my mom lives, Park Street is a major attraction in December each year. It’s well known for its old homes and large trees, and one of the oldest neighborhoods established in the town. The residents of that half mile street always do it up well. It’s a Christmas village for about a month, complete with visiting carolers, local choirs, tables with spiced ciders, popcorn, and sweet Christmas goodies. On particular weekends in December, you can stroll along the old street, laced in lit lanterns made with waxed white paper bags lighting up the sidewalks. After some hot chocolate, and homemade peppermint brittle, you can hop on the various Christmas wagons up and down the street for an eye-full of the decorated Victorian homes drenched in holiday lights. It’s very festive.

Park Street, Greenville, Tx

Around my neighborhood, in the north Dallas area, we have some decor lighting up the streets as well, although a bit more subdued.

My neighbors showing some Christmas spirit.

Some don’t mind spending major funds to hire professional decorators to wrap their property in holiday cheer. My preference are the solid colors.

Illuminations from a nearby neighborhood.

This month, God did His part. He aligned for us, Saturn and Jupiter, creating a bright star-like display outshining the other heavenly bodies.

Photo: Mike Procell/KRRC – Saturn and Jupiter getting to say Merry Christmas

There is something to be said concerning illuminations at Christmas time. Beyond the beauty of the shimmers and glimmers, light goes well with the advent of the birth of Jesus. Hundreds of years before His arrival, one of the prophetical writings of His birth was penned by one of the Old Testament prophets, with light in mind.

“O people walking in darkness, behold a great light: ye that dwell in the region and shadow of death, a light shall shine upon you.” – Isaiah 9:2 – (Brenton Septuagint Translation)

Long before that was written, the words of Balaam, the only gentile Old Testament prophet, lit up the page with this oracle:

“I see him, but not now; I behold him, but not near; A star shall come forth from Jacob, A scepter shall rise from Israel,..” – Number 24:17a – (NAS)

Fast forward to the wise men from the east, who had studied the old scrolls, asking Harod:

“Where is the One having been born King of the Jews? For we saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him.” – Matthew 2:2 – (Berean Study Bible)

Park Street’s white paper bag lanterns, lining the sidewalks, comes to mind when reading the words of King David:

“I gain understanding from your precepts; therefore I hate every wrong path. Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” – Psalm 119:104-105 – (NIV)

Have you ever been inside Carlsbad Caverns when they turn off the lights? It’s a dark display of what true darkness is. You can’t see the nose just below your eyes in the velvet blackness never experienced above ground. When the lights come back on, you are so grateful to see the lamps planted on the edges for the pathway.

We are in a world growing darker by the day. You can pay for all the stringed lights at Home Depot, and compete with the Griswold family down the street, and still walk in darkness at Christmas. There’s truth to a line in an old song from the Eagles that reads something like; “You can gaze at the stars in the sky and still miss the light.” (My paraphrase.)

So, if 2020 chewed through your electrical cords, shutting down the man-made colored light on your every day walk, it could be you might have missed The Light. After all, a light show is just that, a light show.

There are lots of uneven sections of concrete on the sidewalks of Park Street. As it turns out, those paper bag lanterns spotlight the cracks and bumps which will disrupt the next step taken.

Photo by Alex Azabache on Pexels.com

It’s always good to go Christmas light watching wherever you can find them. Afterwards, it’s even better to look for the True Light of Christmas to make the pathway glow.

Plastic cords can be a delight for a squirrel, yet the Forever Light can never be diminished. This Christmas, find the original illumination in fuel for the race.

“And Yeshua (Jesus) spoke again with them and he said: “I AM THE LIVING GOD, The Light of the world. Whoever follows me shall not walk in darkness but shall find the light of life.” – John 8:12 – (Aramaic Bible In Plain English)

Christmas Among The Ruins

“If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
Or the mountain should crumble to the sea
I won’t cry, I won’t cry
No, I won’t shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me”
(1961) “Stand By Me” Recorded By: Ben E. King Composes: Ben E. King, Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller

Did I catch you singing? Yeah, me too. WARNING: You’ll be singing it all day now.

The song, “Stand By Me” was inspired by, and derived from, a Christian song from the great, Sam Cooke & J.W. Alexander. The original was entitled, “Stand By Me Father”, and was written based upon Psalm 46:2-3. Sometimes a music hit is more than meets the ear.

Imagine for a moment that your world, and everything you built your life upon, crashes down all around your head and shoulders, where all things, seemingly solid, tumble and fall. Deep depression settles in like a thick black velvet blanket, with the exception of the fact it’s cold, not warm. Have you ever been there? I have, a few times.

During 2020’s COVID-19 crisis, many across the world have lost everything. Many are now without health, family, loved ones, houses, property, businesses, churches, neighbors, and so much more. It could be one of your trusted neighbors called 911 on you due to how many cars showed up at your house on Thanksgiving. (Truly joyful, grateful people, aren’t they?) If you are one of these smitten by the virus, you know the dull ache of loss due to something you could not control, nor could you escape.

An old friend of mine was bamboozled, broadsided, and bombarded by a tsunami of forces he didn’t see coming, nor could he escape the swinging demolition balls, nor could he control their power and pain. Steamrollers have a way of flattening you…not the curve.

I call this old friend, “old” because his story comes from the oldest biblical manuscript known. The poetic Book of Job is lengthy, and full of sorrow until the end of his ordeal. In a nutshell, Job was a wealthy, honorable man, full of righteous ways, and a full house of children, 10 in all. His marriage was solid, and had a list of many friends. Everyone looked up to Job. God was very pleased with Job and his life.

It’s important to understand, Lucifer, the adversary, was restricted from wrecking Job’s world. I love that! Obviously, the man was guarded from satanic schemes of destruction. It’s an odd scene for us, on this side of the stained glass, but this fallen angel challenged God, using Job as the subject. He wanted the Creator to allow him to tinker with Job’s life. God’s enemy swore that when he was finished with Job, he would no longer worship Him because of bitterness, rage, and a broken faith. I’ve always found it a mystery why God agreed to the experiment concerning Job. He did lay down a line that was not to be crossed. Job’s divine Shepherd gave a stipulation that Satan could not take Job’s physical life. The agreement was inked and off went the unshackled fallen one to do what he wished. Did he send his minions of shadow people to haunt and scare Job and family? If only. Nope. No Halloween tricks for Job, but rather authentic exploits of fright and terror.

If you know the record of Job’s onslaught of destruction, then you know well the hell-on-earth the poor man took on the chin. I won’t list all of the arrows which pierced Job’s existence, but I would say most of humanity never saw what Job experienced.

Photo by Matthias Groeneveld on Pexels.com

His vast property was shredded and burned. All of his offspring met a violent tornado, perishing under a collapsed house. Job was robbed of his numerous and varied livestock, way up in the thousands of all kinds, was gone by fire or sword, leaving him in poverty. His hired hands were slaughtered by thieves and marauders. He became very ill, close to death himself. Racked in pain from huge boils which covered his body, his friends urged him to confess his hidden sins for relief from the devilish curses, even though Job was not guilty of gross sins. Their narrative went so far as to accuse him of being godless. (With friends like that…) His wife’s eroding spirit broke, causing her to demand that he curse God and die. He refused her shameful advice. Although Job questioned God in his torment and grief, the poor man held to his love for his Creator.

“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him…” Job 13:15a (KJV)

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

If Job’s story ended there, I would hang up my shield of faith forever, but there’s more.

God’s amazing personal encouragement to the battered Job reads like nothing else penned by mankind. Although God’s response covers many chapters, it is so worth the gleaning. It serves a 2020 generation well. Truly, there is nothing else like it.

Eventually, the demonic realm could not prove their projected case. God put a stop to the waves of anguish. He rewarded the faithful Job with all he had lost, and then some, by multiplying over and above what he once held dear to an abundance none had ever witnessed. He was the wealthiest man alive in his times. For Job’s day and culture, he was a billionaire…without all the corruption.

Being the earliest manuscript in the Bible, Job gave us the first human view of Christmas while sitting among the ruins. It came in Job 19, after a couple of so-called friends berated him in chapter 18. As Job responded to their emotional word-salad, Job spoke the following words which are now rich in the writings of scholars and composers across time and space to this very day…

“For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God…” Job 19:25-26 (KJV)

Did you catch it?

This man of antiquity speaks of a faith in the hereafter through a resurrection which includes his own physical body. Most astonishingly, he mentions something his friends must have been floored by. “…and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth…” WOW, says anyone who once read where God walked in the Garden of Eden in Genesis. Job knew of the event of Adam and Eve, and God physically walking in the garden at will, but THIS was an advent to come. Job had the audacity to speak of God’s feet standing, once again, on the planet in Job’s “someday”. Job, in his day, was envisioning the future, but for us, it’s already occurred.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Thousands of years later, about 3 BC, Job’s prophecy came true. Most date the birth of Jesus around 4 BC. Certainly, by 3 BC, a baby Jesus was learning to use his feet and legs to stand and walk. We know this because after the account of His birth, the scripture states…

 And as Jesus grew older He gained in both wisdom and
stature, and in favour with God and man. ” Luke 2:52 (Weymouth New Testament)
(Biblically, outside of His infancy, we only have one scene of His childhood written down for us.)
Photo by Bess Hamiti on Pexels.com

I wonder if Jesus ever visited Job’s graveside. If so, I can imagine Jesus “standing” at the tombstone and saying something like, “Job, blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

Because Job’s twofold prophecy was unveiled at the first Christmas, we also wait for the promised second unveiling as His feet will stand on the Mount of Olives, just across the valley opposite the Jerusalem gates. In fact, circumstances will be different. When Jesus’ little feet toddled about the house, in His meekness, it was more of a silent event. Zechariah’s prophecy details how His feet will touch the Mount of Olives in the future before walking into Jerusalem. The very act will create an earthquake, splitting the ground beneath His step. Incredible to picture it without a good dose of CGI. (In biblical times they had no way of knowing about the fault line running straight through the Mount of Olives, just east of Jerusalem.) It’s then, the ruins of life will be made new. My ruins, your ruins.

Christmas was wrapped first by fuel for the race.

“As it has been written: ‘How beautiful are the feet of those proclaiming good news of good things!'” Romans 10:15b (Berean Literal Bible)

Thanks, TR 7…Wherever You Are

“I told a girl I can start right away
And she said, “listen, babe, I got something to say
I got no car and it’s breaking my heart
But I’ve found a driver and that’s a start…”
(1965) “Drive My Car” Recorded By: the Beatles Composers: Lennon-McCartney (Primarily Paul McCartney was the composer with lyrical contributions by John Lennon.)

“Remember, when the back wheels hit the street, the car is yours without a warranty.” Right then and there, I knew I should back out of the deal, but my eyes and fantasies guided my wallet.

When I was just a wee lad, my mom’s two brothers had hot rods. One had a little French sports car by Renault. The other brother had a nice Chevy Super Sport convertible sports car, which would be called a “muscle car” in today’s terms. I loved sitting in the back seat with my head resting against the radio speaker installed in the middle of the backrest. He is 79 now, and it remains in his garage to this very day. Before I could count, I fell in love with both of these roadsters.

Miss Cain was my first grade teacher in 1966. She was right out of college, and beautiful. But what caught my little eyes was her brand new Chevy Corvair. I lived across the street from the school, and walked and gawked right by her parked road-eater. Like the Volkswagen of that day, the engine was in the back. I fell in love with that set of wheels.

My best friend in high school had a super 1968 royal blue Chevy Camaro. When he slammed the accelerator to the floor, the G-force almost kept me from touching the dashboard. I fell in love with that one, too. (Okay, I’ll admit it. I was jealous.)

A high school girlfriend owned a hot 1976 Ford Mustang Mach 1. When she floored it, your hairstyle changed in under two seconds. A couple of times, when picking her up for a date in my mom’s car, I asked if we could take her car. I fell in love with that babe…not her. (Okay, I’ll admit it. I was jealous.)

In 1983, a co-worker of mine bought an old Triumph TR 6 convertible. It was a forest green color, walnut dashboard, 2-seat little jobber. We took the curves as if we were stunt drivers in a 007 movie. It was tiny, much like the old MG, but an eye-catcher. I was nuts over that foreign road monster. (Okay, I’ll admit it. I was jealous.) It looked something like this…

Photo: TR 6 from Classic Auto Trader

My beloved car, my first car, from 1978-1983ish, was a mint condition, 2-door, tan 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. My grandparents surprised me with it for high school graduation. My granddad was against sports cars simply because of the safety issue. The bigger the body, the better, in case of a crash. Ironically, my first wife totaled it on a busy Dallas freeway a few years later. It was a sad time, but a time of occasion.

With insurance cash in hand, I searched for a sports car to replace my Cutlass. This was MY time, I wasn’t going to miss it. There was a used car dealer advertising a mint condition, 1977 Triumph TR 7. Like the TR 6, it was manufactured by the well-known British Leyland Corp!!! The TR 7 had a nickname, “The Wedge” (See cover photo above title for a better profile view.) All the TR 7 car ads had a slogan, “The shape of things to come.” My TR 6 buddy and I went to check it out for a good solid look and test drive. Below is a picture of her.

When we arrived, there it sat, sticking out like a neon sign that read, “BUY ME NOW!” It was a sharp race-car mustard yellow with black pinstripe trim. Oh, my. I think my mouth was hanging open when we spotted it from the street. It was absolutely beautiful. The interior was perfect and the body didn’t have a scratch on it. The flip-up headlights dazzled me. It took all I had, but I smiled while signing the papers. The only thing that bothered me was when I heard the salesman ask one of the mechanics if it had started that morning. Then he brushed it off by saying a recent water puddle caused the ignition to fail the day before. My eyes were dreamy, interfering with my ears. The test drive went smoothly. It felt like a super-go-kart from one of those public racetracks. During the signing, he repeated the fact that the car came without a warranty. He went on to let me know, once I drove off the lot, I would be the proud owner, with no returns possible. It was cash on the barrel head. The two of us wanted to celebrate somewhere before we drove it to my house.

Did alarm bells go off in my young, 24 year old noggin? Yes, but I quickly dimmed the bells with self-made imaginary cotton balls.

If I were behind you at a signal light, this is what you would see in your rear-view mirror…

My friend followed me in his nice little TR 6 for the joy ride home. About 20 minutes into the drive, at a rainy busy intersection, it died on me without warning. The two of us couldn’t get it started. In fact, I had to have it towed to a local auto repair shop. There, I was told the staff didn’t work on European vehicles. After getting a tip from the garage owner, I had it pulled to a foreign auto repair shop. There, I was told they didn’t have a mechanic who was familiar with British Leyland engines. Once again, I had it towed to a specialty European auto garage who had “a guy” who could look into it. His pant cuffs were too high up and he scratched his belly a lot.

Keep in mind, I worked an inside sales marketing job at the time for an electronic manufacturer. I didn’t have lots to spend on Euro specialty mechanics. After about a week, “the guy” got it running and handed me a huge bill. My gut began to rumble and tumble at the prospect of what I might have gotten into.

Over the following weeks, I paid for a few towings, two or three Euro-garages, and lots of rapid loud words coming from my wife at the time. By then, I knew I had made an enormous mistake.

Yet, it drove like a dream. It hugged the corners like a motorcycle. The gas millage was wonderful, too. That four-banger could get to 60mph in about 9 seconds. It drove beautifully…for very short periods of time. Holding your breath at an intersection, while praying the engine would stay in idle, is never a peaceful ride. I held on to that TR 7 for about a year.

When I was conceived, God left out mechanics in my cellular makeup. I couldn’t work on my TR 7, nor could a majority of professional mechanics in my area. When I found one who could, some 70 minutes away from my house, he explained the issue with my TR 7. It had two carburetors, not just one. (I’ll pretend you know nothing.) A carburetor is in charge of meshing air flow and fuel together before sending the fuel/air to the pistons. Apparently, the two carburetors had to be in perfect sync with each other to perform their duty. In the case of my TR 7, the two carburetors squabbled like a set of twins on a bad double date. My TR 7 carburetors were way too sensitive during their duet of air/fuel volumes. It was a never-ending battle. My mechanic offered to put a new engine in it. (Ching-Ching) As it turns out, my TR 7 wasn’t racing mustard yellow, it had shades of lemon.

Thanks, TR 7, for teaching me a life-long lesson. Never get caught up in the beauty of something which is sour on the inside. Solomon could’ve taught me that, but I wasn’t reading the Bible deeply enough in those times.

2020 has been an awful year for most of us. I won’t spell out a list, I’m sure you have your own. But, yes, it’s been a lemon of a year in about a dozen ways. One has to wonder how to approach the American Thanksgiving on a good, grateful foot. In fact, because of COVID-19, many of us won’t have the traditional Thanksgiving plans with family and friends. If you do, you feel like you should go wrapped in cellophane with a little tube for eating.

It’s funny how the mind and heart work off each other. Scripture indicates they should sync well together. The spirit and the soul shape and move one another. Like my TR 7, if we jam too much of the world into our eyes and ears, without balancing, even filtering it all out with what the Author Of Peace plans for us, we will slow to a shutdown. How about too much news intake? How about sheltering with holy scriptures while living in a cave like a monk, unaware of how our world is doing down in the valley? I had a well intentioned, good hearted pastor once, who did just that. He shut himself off, cocooned himself in his office so much, surrounding himself with biblical commentaries, that he didn’t notice the hurting people in need who rang the church office doorbell. In fact, come Sunday, this man was almost oblivious to the outside world his parishioners contended with on a day-to-day basis. It didn’t take too many years until his personal ministry dwindled at the intersection of life. Soon after, the church closed its doors. The mix of “teach and reach” was out of sync.

Only you know the mix you inject into your system. Would our outlook be better if we evaluated our blend of “grace and truth”? What about the mixing balance of “strength and wisdom”, “awareness and contentment”, “courage and compassion”? Might our corner of the world light up if a synced mix of “prayer and action” were pumped into our cylinders? I can see where our traction on slippery curves might have a more reliable grip.

For Thanksgiving 2020, I will do my part in taking in a better balance of the stuff of life. We all need the richness of the mix which feeds our spirits, as well as, our souls. If not, we can grind to a lifelessness. Simple things like, a healthy intake of bad news and good news will keep those pistons pumping. In the end, we can find gratitude during tough, hard, and harsh times when our back tires hit the streets.

Come to think of it, maybe my twin carburetors were not the most important accessory. Maybe, just maybe, it was that little mirror on the backside of my sun visor.

As for my beautiful TR 7, another co-worker bought it from me. She had a brother who wanted to put a Volkswagen engine under the hood. From what I can recall, it worked out well.

Today, the auto experts say the old TR 7 is considered one of the worst sports cars ever made. It had problems.

When driving toward eternity, it’s always best to inject the carburetors with fuel for the race.

“And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.” – Deuteronomy 6:5 (KJV)

Why? Here’s Why…

Upon exiting the Constitutional Convention, Benjamin Franklin was approached by a group of citizens asking what sort of government the delegates had created. His answer was: “A republic, if you can keep it.”

My precious niece, Rachael.

Rachael is a 7 year old doll of a little girl, who also happens to be my niece. We are the best of pals. She is always so kind, along with an all-round simple precious disposition. Her eyes have window dressing laced in wonderment. A few days ago, her parents came home from early voting in the small town in which they live in east Texas. When she asked where they had been, they briefly explained the voting process. Looking puzzled she told her parents she thought voting was where Mr. Trump and Mr. Biden stood at the front of a room while everybody got a good look at them. Then at some point the voter walks up to their chosen candidate, takes their hand and promptly takes him home with them. Oh, sweet Rachael, if it were just that easy.

For my friends outside the U.S.A., this is election week. The word “week” isn’t a mistake. Because millions have cast their votes via mail-in ballots, many votes will be counted as they arrive in the mail after Election day, November 3rd. The splashdown of the results will be drawn-out, and earth-shattering in many ways.

If you know me well, you must know I do not get into politics on this platform, and I won’t start now. However, many do ask why a person votes for he, or she. In this nation, many do not vote at all because they have the freedom to make that choice. It is sad, but true. This year, I find it serves to say just why I vote.

Let me first spew this out. Many false things, hateful things, have been flung on various candidates and the supporters of candidates. Many truths have come out about various candidates which have come into the light. An election year in the modern world obviously is not for the faint of heart. One such splatter comes in the title of “voter suppression” here and there. Does it exist? Sure, in rare cases, suppressing a voter’s right to vote happens, and has happened. Thank God it’s rare, and not widespread. There are terrific checks and balances by election officials to keep this fraud from American citizens. Yet, some make excuses to cause fear and panic. Recently I heard it said, of selective communities, where voter suppression was evident because of lengthy lines at the voting booths. That’s horse slobber! Most voting lines in hotly contested elections are lengthy. When you stand in line at the post office with a package to be mailed two weeks before Christmas, do you call that, “Christmas Suppression”? When you stand in line at Six Flags, or Disneyland for two hours to ride a two minute roller coaster, do you call it, “Rider Suppression”? When you stand in a lengthy line at the DMV or DPS, do you call it, “Driver’s Licences Suppression”? Better yet, While spending the night in a long line to purchase tickets to the next Rolling Stones concert, do you call that, “Stones Suppression”? Sometimes in a heated election year, the whiners squeal like toddlers after a pacifier. It appears there is a suppression of peace and emotional stability.

The fact remains, mail-in ballots, whether we prefer them or not, have forged a noticeable impact this year. Why? They say it’s the fear of COVID-19. Then, there were many days available for early voting at the physical polls. Most of us found an off-hour and day to stand in a shorter line, or sometimes, walk in and out over a 10-15 minute stay. In this country, voting has been made easier than ever before.

So why do I vote?

When I think back to the days, after the Desert Storm War, of the videos of Iraqis standing in huge lines at voting locations, after years of oppression in that country, over threat of suicide bombs, drive-by shooters, and mob violence, I find voting a privilege and sacred honor.

When I think of my granddad standing in a long line to enlist during WWII, leaving his three babies and wife to help to crush the threat against liberty, I find voting lines a welcome sight.

When I think of the oppressed pilgrims who risked their lives fleeing monarchs who made themselves the heads of the church, forcing worshipers to worship as dictated by a king or queen, I find the voting booth a blessed place.

When I think of our forefathers who toiled and fought, were severely injured and died in a war so that slavery might be banished from this nation, I want to run to get in a voting line.

When I think of the father of a friend of mine who fled the poverty and tyrannical oppression in Venezuela, I gladly put on my standing-in-line shoes.

When I think of some of the families of some of my closest friends who crossed the Atlantic due to ethnic cleansing of the Jewish community, I see the voting booth as a horn of an ancient alter, giving legal sanctuary.

When looking at the lootings, the rioters, the mob violence in our streets, where cops stand to shield innocent citizens, the voting booth looks like a place of peace and protection.

When I hear the shallowness of not voting for someone because they don’t like his walk, her make-up, his accent, her hair, without mentioning policies or service records which may, or may not change, or damage our lives, I see the voting lines worthwhile.

When I see flag-draped caskets of the long-forgotten remains of our MIA’s and POW’s from the 1950’s Korean War being unloaded on a tarmac, I know I can, and always will stand in any lengthy line to exercise my God-given right to vote. Those men, and other heroes like them, counted on it.

Photo by Sharefaith on Pexels.com

Yes, our sweet Rachael, you are pretty close to what voting is all about. We DO own our vote. We, in essence, take our candidate home with us in our hearts and prayers. And when events occur where good, or bad decisions are made in Washington, we can say, “I own that decision”.

But most of all, dear Rachael, I vote for your future. I vote for your blessing from God to have the liberty handed down to you, so that long after I am gone, you can vote freely for the next leader of your choice. Mr. Franklin was right. It takes effort, strain, and even pain to keep it.

Whether or not your candidate holds office in this election cycle, knowing how God Himself made a way for this unique gift to be placed in your lap, it is worth it all.

The question remains…”If you can keep it”. The answer is written well in fuel for the race.

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” – 2 Corinthians 3:17

 

Winds Of Change

Cover Photo:  Pexels

“Don’t you understand what I’m sayin’,
We need a god down there.
A man to lead us children,
Take us from the valley of fear….Get on up, look around;
Can’t you feel the wind of change?
Get on up, taste the air;
Can’t you see the wind of change…”  (1975)  “Wind Of Change”  Recorded By:  Bee Gees  Composers:  Robin Gibb & Barry Gibb

She was on the phone with a friend at the time, looking out her open kitchen window over the sink.  She had heard some windy commotions outside and wondered what was coming as the sky quickly turned the afternoon into a darkened dome.  Before you could shout, “Run, Toto.  Run.”,  all the trees from her kitchen window view suddenly swayed and bent as if they were made of rubber.  Just at that moment, her phone conversation was cut-off as a very loud “BOOM” caused her to jump right out of her apron.  The clashing sound of calamity shook the entire house.  It sounded as if a car slammed into the living room at the front of the house.  She raced toward the sound of the crash.  As she opened the front door, she was met by a wall of leaves, branches, and limbs on her front porch.  The thicket was so massive, she couldn’t see through it all.  Frankly, it left her stunned.  At first she just froze trying to make sense of what she was looking at.  After she was able to get a hold of herself, she heard voices coming from the street on the other side of the wall of vegetation.

“Is anyone injured?  Are you okay in the there?”

At first she thought it humorous that someone would be yelling from the street asking if she was okay.  Still not seeing the larger picture of her circumstances, the wonderment turned into a chuckle.  She giggled and yelled back in response;

“Yes, I’m fine.  Thank you.”

They told her she needed to find a fast way out of the residence.  Thinking the comment was somewhat bizarre, she ultimately decided not to ignore the suggestion.  She walked to a bedroom toward a side door of the house, which opened to the driveway, only to feel a wave of shock as she made her way outside to the front lawn.  Again, a sense of frozen ice poured over her as she gazed at the green monstrosity.  The last of four giant sycamore trees was uprooted and laying partially on the roof, as well as an old telephone line strung across the width of the property, keeping the full weight of the tree from damaging the house any further.  (That was a God-thing.)

Moms Treed House June 2019

Photo:  My mom with a cousin and a kind neighbor.

That is what happened to my mom on June 19, 2019, a little over a year ago, when a tornado made its way over her house in Greenville, Texas.  She was well protected that day as the tornado touched-down in several areas leaving a wide path of destruction in its wake.

In 1955, when she was 11 years old, the family of five moved in.  There, between the sidewalk and the front curb by the street, were four strategically spaced large sycamore trees which went from the east side of the front curb area, to the edge of the property on the west side.  These four trees, with their over-sized leaves, ascended over the top of the telephone poles.  Here in Texas, they can climb to 100 feet in height.

Sycamore Texas A&M Forest Service

Photo:  Sycamore – Texas A&M Forest Service

Of course, that was 1955.  You can imagine how much growth there’s been throughout the following decades.  However, one by one, each met the ground.  Two had to be cut down many years ago, for one reason or another.  Just two weeks before the tornado last year, the third gigantic sycamore was partially uprooted by powerful straight-line Texas spring winds.  As it leaned on power lines, hanging over the street, the city rushed over to cut it down for safety sake.  I remember my mom being somber after another old friend of lumber was hacked-up and hauled away, saying;

“Well, at least we still have one left.”

I remember not feeling optimistic at all.  My mind kept going back to the uprooted tree which left its turf so easily in the wind storm.  One couldn’t help but wonder if the last sycamore would show stronger roots in that small patch of ground by the curb.  Alas, the tornado took advantage of the last top-heavy friendly giant.

All of my life I watched that quartet of timber grow.  In the spring and summer, the shade was tremendous as it branched out much like a colossal umbrella over the lawns to the left, right, and across the street.  During the fall, the 10″ golden leaves would float down like feathers, carpeting the entire property, the sidewalk, the street, and the driveway.  My cousins and I would run and jump in the crunchy foliage just to listen to the loud crackling beneath us.

As I received the pictures of the downed tree, I couldn’t help but think of the loving grandparents who lived there, the countless holidays celebrated, and the sight of seeing the four sycamores greeting us as we turned the corner toward my grandparent’s house over my six decades.  As a kid, I was known to jump out of the car, run up to one of the trees and shout;

“Zacchaeus, you come down!”

But, straight-line winds of hurricane force are not too unusual in Texas, and the occasional tornado will never have mercy in its path if close to the ground.  They were old trees with hindered root systems, considering the narrow piece of ground they rested in between the sidewalk and the street.

Moms Uprooted Tree June 2019

Photo:  The tornado pulled the old roots right out of the east Texas black clay.

You may be asking why I am writing about this event now, some 13 months after the fact.  Okay, I’ll tell you.

In recent weeks America has been brutalized by COVID-19, accompanied by unnecessary brutality and murder by police officers in Minneapolis, a culture war, violence in the streets, anarchy, widespread arson, public prideful lawlessness, statues of founding fathers, and historical figures, destroyed by mobs, sacred monuments defaced, over-the-top cancel culture targeting places, people, emblems, labels, businesses (big and small), police defunded, assaulted and murdered, (even efforts to remove the police as public servants, even as violence grows).  Once accomplished, who will we call when the next school mass shooting event occurs? Once accomplished, will a social worker arrive to calm the next mass church shooter as he reloads his AK-47?

!!! WHAT ARE WE DOING TO OURSELVES?

Then there are Marxists pushing their far-leftist ideology into the mainstream, tyrannical thought-judges are now in vogue, even Jesus is being attacked.  Anarchists, and those who have had closet hostility toward America, seem to be free to do what they please.  By the way, it’s worth noting, if you’re a small business owner, look out!  Extinction is possible if they get their way.  Some politicians are making excuses for it all, or looking the other way without denouncing the violence.  Such politicians are not worthy to hold an office.  Socialist radicals are ready to disassemble the Constitution, as well as, the Bill Of Rights this country was built on.  All of this, and more, within just a few weeks.

If you are an American citizen ignoring what this nation has been going through, keep in mind, you just might be “wished away” by a mob of puppets who want to uproot and remove you, your property, your livelihood, your beliefs, and your government of liberty quicker than a Texas tornado.  Once accomplished, your life, and the lives of your descendants, will never be the same.  The wind of change is something the Jews in Nazi Germany can tell you about, if they were here to testify.  Ancient kingdoms were written about in the Bible, along with historical records in museums, only because you no longer can visit their cultures due to the winds of change.  They have been uprooted and removed.  Sure, we can leave fairly impressive architecture behind us, just like the Mayans who vanished.  Is that what we want?  Are we inviting these mobs of unrest to crush the roof over our heads?  Really?

How strong ARE our roots?  Do I sound like an alarmist?  Maybe I am.

Moms Uprooted Sidewalk June 2019

Photo:  A hoisting crane holding up the tree as the arborist slices from the top downward.  The roots pulled up part of the sidewalk, no longer pedestrian friendly.

When I was maybe 12 years old, my grandparents gave me a patriotic album.  I still have it in a box in my garage.  It was highly unique in that John Wayne recorded these stirring poems about America and her citizens. (By the way, John Wayne is now under attack by the cancel culture.)  It was called, “America, Why I Love Her” (1972).  By today’s standards the project might sound a bit corny.  It is very much red, white, and blue.  Nevertheless, it is very well done, shellacked with stirring poetry, delivered perfectly by the rustic actor.  One of the cuts on the album is called, “Mis Raices Estan Aqui (My Root Are Buried Here)”  You can type it into Google for a quick listen.  I don’t want to give it all away, but I will say something about it here.  It speaks of the roots of a citizen, firmly planted in the soil of America, the America with all her bumps, bruises, and smudges.  It speaks well of the love for country, property, her enduring make-up, and her documents which publishes our liberties.  I would like to believe the roots are not shallow.

With all that is currently blowing upon this nation and her branches, one might ask about the depth of the roots.  Could it be too many complacent ones are not seeing the forest for the trees?  One might wonder if the root system has been hindered on all sides.  One might even go so far as to inquire; have the recent vortex down-bursts leveled irreversible damage?  When the face masks come off, will there be a sinister grin, or a look of fortitude in righteousness?  Ask yourself this question….Will we fall for anything?

The value of liberty, which shades all Americans, is well spoken of in fuel for the race.

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD
And whose trust is the LORD.                                                                                                            For he will be like a tree planted by the water,
That extends its roots by a stream
And will not fear when the heat comes;
But its leaves will be green,
And it will not be anxious in a year of drought
Nor cease to yield fruit.”  Jeremiah 17: 7-8 (NAS)

 

Lessons From The Backyard

“…Climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down.”  (1975)   “Landslide”  Recorded by:  Fleetwood Mac  Composer:  Stevie Nicks

The cover picture above tells the tale fairly well, before I get to the tail of this post.

Bonnie Piano

Photo:  Bonnie taking her naps on my printer.

I’ve never been a cat person.  I was born and raised with a dog which started a long life of canine palship ever since.  For a short stint, when I was five years old, we had a couple of cats named, “Pete & Repeat”.  They didn’t have much to do with me, with the exception of giving me cat scratch fever.  So, my heart has been wrapped around, what one of my daughters once called, “Dogness”. 

Then in 2017 I remarried.  Inheriting a step-cat was part of the wedding vows.

Bonnie-Bon, as we call her, stole my heart right away.  This little brindle feline loves to cuddle with me when she comes inside for some family time.  She curls up in my lap next to the arm of the recliner, along with a light blanket under her.  She enjoys cocking her head in focus as she paws at my goatee.  If I’m writing at my desk she will often make her place on my printer, only after she walks across my keyboard, jotting down statements only she can decipher.  She will scare the stuffings out of me as I sit in the living room when I suddenly hearing someone playing the piano in the study/studio two rooms over.  Frankly, it sounds like a kid banging away on the keys in efforts to mimic a maestro once seen on Great Performances on PBS.  I’ll jerk my head over to see the doorway of the study/studio just in time to see little Bonnie prancing out of the room as if she had accomplished something of high esteem.  The shocking part is, she is not sporting tux & tails.  (Well, maybe the tail part.)  The best part of Bonnie’s personality, she enjoys our two dogs, even to the point of running about with them as if she’s part of a pack.  Believe it or not, she has learned to mimic a dog’s bark.  She needs to be a guest on a late night talk show.  Yes, I’ve grown very fond of our Bonnie.

Bonnie & Me

Bonnie enjoys selfies.

If you’re a pet-person than you know how it is.  There’s a tendency to be massaged into thinking of your pal-of-another-kind as almost human.  Thus, we begin to speak to them as if they have human minds, wants, and needs.  So true, until they bring in a dead rodent to present as a trophy right in the middle of the kitchen floor.  Not long ago, not once, but twice, Bonnie brought in a live lizard, about 4″-5″ in length.  Not realizing she had it jailed inside her mouth, there was no urge to run her outside.  Instead, she plopped herself down, looked up at us and dropped her prize on the floor, accompanied by a gigantic meow.  Of course, once free from its cell, it ran across the room making a mad dash under the range oven for shelter.  Arg!  Suddenly, I came to the realization that Bonnie was not a human little girl after all.  In both events we caught the reptilians in another room of the house the following day.

Backyard MirrorBonnie spends most of her time in the small sun-room adjacent to the back-steps leading to the backyard.  You might say, the backyard is her jungle, her domain, her personal wildlife preserve, where I’ve witnessed her sitting like a statue in the bushes, as if to say, “Nothing to see here.  Move on.”

Backyard BenchA few days ago, my wife, Michelle, was in the backyard watering the plants.  Our two dogs and Bonnie were out with her enjoying a warm morning in Texas.  Michelle heard a loud, frantic call from a nearby bird.  She spotted an agitated mockingbird yelling her obvious profanities from a lower limb from one of our trees.  She quickly flew from that perch to the top rail of the fence, to another tree, and so on.  Michelle tried to calm the feathered frantic female as she walked around with the garden hose.

The following morning, Michelle walked out into the sun-room and spied the body of a juvenile mockingbird laying at the back door threshold.  The body wasn’t mangled, half-eaten, or torn.  Of course, immediately she put the backyard events from the day before together with the current crime scene.  With a huge sigh, she shouted, “Bonnie-Bon!  You baby bird murderer!”  As expected, Bonnie just sat there on her fanny looking very proud.

Then, morning #2 came.  Michelle walked out into the sun-room to put cat food in Bonnie’s bowl when she saw it.  Another crime scene, in the very same location.  This time, two baby mockingbirds side-by-side, lined up ready for the crime scene photo for the crime lab.  She heard a bird chirp a few feet away.  There, on the back-step handrail, the mama mockingbird.  She was just looking at her deceased babies and Michelle.  She chirped again as if to utter, “Can you fix them?”  Michelle told me later she almost cried at the sight of the saddened mama.  She spoke to her in shared grief, “I’m so sorry, little mama.  I’m so sorry.”

(Excuse me while I grab a tissue.  Wait right here.  I’ll be back.)

A couple of days later, I was watering the plants in the backyard.  I heard several sirens going by in the distance.  The city had warned the residents of a local protest event just a few blocks from our street.  With the riotous mayhem of late, leaving cars and businesses burned or looted, all I could think of was protecting my home.  Then the mockingbird and Bonnie came to mind.

America, and the entire world, have suffered great loss at the jaws and claws of COVID-19.  Then, just as America began to show signs of improvements in the struggle to defeat the virus, the tragic murder of a black man at the hands of a white police officer took place in Minneapolis, launching a barrage of protests across the nation.  Inside the various groups of protesters were anarchists stalking, waiting and ready to use the peaceful protesters as a front to scorch us…we, the people.

It has been said many times in the media that many will not come out the other side of the pandemic intact, some, not at all.  Suicides jumped to record highs.  Drug use has skyrocketed.  Domestic violence has forged its way into the record books.  Vast unemployment landed on most of the population.  Many small and medium sized businesses went belly-up, unable to glide through the torrent of the shutdown’s gravitational pull.  Untold amounts of students have fallen behind due to the closure.  A multitude of deaths have been recorded due to the pandemic.  The punch has been painful.  No one, being honest, would say we are not in a weakened condition.

The leadership of anarchist groups sat still in the shrubbery of the COVID calamity, injecting a dose of national turmoil, just planning a time when a tripwire would be sprung for the pouncing of evil deeds to be lashed upon a battered society.  Yes, that’s right.  I called it “evil”.  If you’re offended, just know I was offended first.  Since the planning and stalking of these murderous groups, countless people have been displaced, injured, and murdered.  The enforcement of public safety for our neighborhoods has been violently assaulted, abused, and dishonored.  In the wake of this pouncing on our nation’s remains are ruined lives, torched dreams, hell-lit hopes.  In the clearing fog of the crippling pandemic, were those perched to destroy America from the inside out, having attempted to breakdown whatever else remains intact.  Meanwhile, those left alive who helped to build this commonwealth of people at liberty, sit helplessly on the handrails to weep at the carnage and wreckage the emptied-souls have waged.

Solomon wrote that there is a time for mourning.  It indicates the mourning is momentary.  When mourning is over, there is the courageous fight, the strength, the victorious raising of the torch for those who come after us.

On a hopeful note, THIS is AMERICA!  Our liberty was fought for several times over.  Our roots are buried here in blood-soaked soil.  The majority of citizenry, the loving, hard-working public of all shades of skin in this nation will stand for justice, law and order, as well as flushing out injustice.  Beyond this truth, there is a God of Righteousness Who birthed this country.  He gave us the right to vote in free elections to remove and place our local and federal representatives, along with various public servants at will.  He still sits on His throne.  Nothing, has not been filtered through His Almighty hand.

As for Bonnie…I’m so grateful she is not 500 pounds.

Bonnie Face 1

Gravity is a harsh reality when out of the nest.  Nestle safely in fuel for the race.

“Be alert, be reflective, because your enemy Satan roars like a lion and is walking and seeking whom he may devour.”  1 Peter 5:8   (Aramaic Bible In Plain English)

The Poundage Of It All

“…If you leave me now you’ll take away the biggest part of me…” (1976)  If You Leave Me Now,  Recorded by:  Chicago.  Composer:  Peter Cetera

The barrage has hit us.  The onslaught continues to encroach upon us all.  The public is being laminated day and night.  You know what I’m talking about.  Weight loss commercials!

Every year it happens.  With new resolutions to drop some weight and inches off the frame, the weight loss corporations pull all the stops, slamming us with opportunities to order special meals, special powders, and special pills for the cause.  “Hi, I’m Buffy.  And I lost 150 pounds on _________.”  If I see the beautiful Marie Osmond just one more time I’m going to lose weight by throwing-up my last meal.

In my younger, sporting days, I was no stranger to weight loss.  In my teens and early 20’s I was a competitive kickboxer, managing a certain weight for weight class divisions.

Me at Greek's 1977ish

During my freshman year in high school I was on the wrestling team where you were expected to meet a weigh requirement deadline for tournaments.  Early on I learned how to manipulate my body to gain, or lose weight, even to the point of dehydration.  Unfortunate for me, I got into dangerous weight loss pills, most of which are now outlawed.  Me, and my body, were at war with each other in efforts to meet the competitive expectations.

Later in life, in my late 30’s and early 40’s, I started doing the same thing to get back into top shape.  I was downing diet pills, “speed” actually, as a regular supplement.  In fact, I got up to swallowing up to 12 pills a day!  I was working out twice a day as if I were trying out for the Olympics.  The vinyl plastic sweatsuit was my semi-normal attire for a couple of years, not just while working out, jogging, or mowing the lawn, but trips to the store, too.  Yes, it stunk something awful.  Ahhhh, the price one pays.

Everlast 70 pounder

Don’t get me wrong.  Dietary issues are important, and life-saving.  We all need to work toward a healthy lifestyle, and its habits.  For some of us, even now for me, losing the poundage is bettering self, bettering life lived.  Trust me, I’m all for it, if it’s safe and smart.  Case in point, when I dropped 80+ pounds, at 41 years old by punishing my organs, a doctor reviewing my routine, and various pills, when he informed me I was lucky I hadn’t already had a stroke.  The key is to be wise with dietary choices for authentic lasting results.

Vision is the issue in western culture.  We have this vision problem which feeds the chubby weight loss executives sitting around their conference tables.  We “see” the thin models in ads and are told we MUST look like these dashing, hungry people.  After all, look how happy they are running along Malibu Beach, or grinning from ear to ear while peddling on the latest exercise bike.  (How often do you grin while killing yourself on a treadmill?)  Sorry, that’s my old beaten-up body talking.  Of course, there are exceptions.  But it seems to me, there is a weight loss we often ignore when the new year urges resolutions.

Sure, I can move heaven and earth to look like Tom Brady, Brad Pitt, or David Beckham, but if my heart is packed with arrogance, selfishness, or even a bit of lewdness, it has the tendency to weigh me down.  If I enter the new year with a fatty dose of concealed hatred, it will slow me down.  The obesity of pride, the fatness of dishonesty, or the bloating of uncivil discourse can add inches in my mind’s filter.  If I belly-up to a vast trough judging the neighbor I may not like, or slurping down an unhealthy daily big-gulp-sized helping of impure thoughts, I could gain what I really don’t want.

ANTIFA

I guess the question might be…What is the biggest part of me?  Once found, is it something that needs to leave now?

Enough said. I have a bag of chips to get to.

Noticing one’s intake, with a clear keen eye, certainly carries a lot of weight when measured with fuel for the race.

“Therefore, my brethren, those things that are true, those that are honorable, those that are righteous, those things that are pure, those things that are precious, those things that are praiseworthy, deeds of glory and of praise, meditate on these things.”  -Apostle Paul   Philippians 4:8  (Aramaic Bible)

What Is To Become Of Us?

Photo:  target.com

“What is to become of us,” said Jehanne, “if that is the way children are made now?” – (1831)  Hunchback Of Notre Dame  Author:  Victor Hugo

Depending on your age, you may not recognize the subject in the cover photo above.  I loved mine from the 60’s.  It probably was a Christmas gift from my grandparents.  I guess you could call it the first modern-day tablet.  Etch A Sketch, still available, was wildly popular in the pre-tech world.  You, the would-be artist, would turn the knobs to etch horizontal and vertical lines, but never true diagonals with any integrity.  My preference was creating cool looking mazes.  When you messed up, or drew as much as you could, you simply turned it face-down, as it made a sand-spilling noise, then back to face-up, for magically erasing all you had worked on.  It was a brilliant invention at the time.  In those days it bordered close to science fiction.  What a prize it was, and still is.  One thing it can’t do is take pictures.

Brooks-Brown Homewstead Sky

Many years ago, I took this shot at my ancestral homestead along the Brazos River in Graham, Texas.  If I were to ask you if it was a shutter moment of dawn or dusk, what would your answer be?  My guess is you’re thinking because you are unfamiliar with the area, the angle, and the direction, you would shrug it off.  It could be dusk, or dawn.

Our view of the new 2020 is very much like this shot.  Many look at our world and see failure, fear, and folly for the near future.  Some think we will all be under icecap water by the end of the new roaring 20’s.  Many see this sphere we call earth is in need of medical care.  Some believe a nuclear disaster is near.  Some feel we are due for a devastating asteroid impact, equally destructive.  Others feel overall internal violence and rage will overwhelm societies.  The geopolitical scene looks as if it needs emergency surgery.  As I write this, Russia, China, and Iran are playing navel wars games for the first time.  For biblical scholars, this is alarming indeed as the three nations are mentioned as allies in world-ending wars foretold in Ezekiel and Revelation.  Morality has hit the skids.  What was once forbidden, or unexceptionable in the last generation are now commonplace with an urgency to be accepted where you live, work, and play.  Frankly, all as a convergence can happen during the roaring 20’s to come, and all will add to the fear in every culture.  Yeah, 2020 can be a pretty dark view through the lens.

So, how do you see 2020?  Will it be a sunrise, or sunset?

Maybe Hugo’s Jehanne, in Hunchback Of Notre Dame, has a valid question that rings true for us and our kids today,  “What is to become of us…?”

Don’t look at me, I’m no Ezekiel.  I’m just a watcher on the wall.

Individually, I do believe much of what occurs in 2020 relies on you and me.  Could it be that each of us are given an Etch A Sketch by the Prince Of Peace, Who filters all things through His hands?  The One Who marks out the days, seasons, and times, the One Who it is said “…the government shall be upon His shoulder…” (Isaiah 9:6)  has His calendar.  Still, He places in our hands the ability of free-will to plan-out our lives, as allowed, but with stipulations and warnings, like a parent cautioning a child about unlit matches, busy streets, and stranger-danger.  As we plan, we should keep in mind and heart, the horizontal and the vertical, and the differences between the two.

2019 may not have been out best year, but we can turn it face-down, then face-up for a new clean screen.  After all, starting anew is required when living off fuel for the race.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus.  Look full in His wonderful face.  And the things of this world will grow strangely dim by the light of His glory and grace.”  (1922)  Hymn writer, Helen Lemmel