Honest

The man looked intently into my eyes as he spoke. “My children are honest. They wouldn’t cheat anybody, and they tell the truth.”

“That’s a great attribute,” I responded. “A great attribute.”

Incident happened yesterday, and this morning  I’ve thought long on that short conversation. Want to remind you.

Honesty is a great attribute.

“Mr. Gorbachev, Tear Down This Wall!”

I cannot let this day pass without noting the significant event that shook the world 20 years ago today. Nor can I mute my mouth and fail to give credit to President Ronald Reagan whose bold words and courageous demeanor contributed to the destruction of the wall; an ugly wall that divided the city of Berlin–East from West, Freedom from Subjugation. Standing before the Brandenberg Gate, often noted as a symbol of communism, the President of the United States spoke directly to the communist leader:

“Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.”

The press paid little attention to the speech, except that the Soviet Tass spoke of Reagan as giving an “openly provocative, war-mongering speech.”

But within months, the wall had fallen–chiseled, hammered, clawed at, and axed. Deliverance had come to Berlin.

I’ve brought over a couple of videos. One is of President Reagan speaking the historic words; the other is a moving account of the destruction of the Berlin Wall by photographer Anthony Suau.

…I long for President Reagan, the liberator…I long for his courage, conservatism, honor, and love for our country, these United States of America.

Stunning Response from President Obama

As a drugged, slow-moving giant rouses from his bed, so America appears to be awaking from its political slumber.

Now from Chicago, no less, comes this riveting analysis of President Obama’s response to the horrific shootings on Thursday. A report yesterday of the results of a large poll show 85 % of those interviewed judged Obama to have responded to the tragedy in a less than desirable manner.

President Obama didn’t wait long after Tuesday’s devastating elections to give critics another reason to question his leadership, but this time the subject matter was more grim than a pair of governorships.After news broke out of the shooting at the Fort Hood Army post in Texas, the nation watched in horror as the toll of dead and injured climbed. The White House was notified immediately and by late afternoon, word went out that the president would speak about the incident prior to a previously scheduled appearance. At about 5 p.m., cable stations went to the president. The situation called for not only his trademark eloquence, but also grace and perspective.

But instead of a somber chief executive offering reassuring words and expressions of sympathy and compassion, viewers saw a wildly disconnected and inappropriately light president making introductory remarks. At the event, a Tribal Nations Conference hosted by the Department of Interior’s Bureau of Indian affairs, the president thanked various staffers and offered a “shout-out” to “Dr. Joe Medicine Crow — that Congressional Medal of Honor winner.”  Three minutes in, the president spoke about the shooting, in measured and appropriate terms. Who is advising him?

Anyone at home aware of the major news story of the previous hours had to have been stunned. An incident like this requires a scrapping of the early light banter. The president should apologize for the tone of his remarks, explain what has happened, express sympathy for those slain and appeal for calm and patience until all the facts are in. That’s the least that should occur.

Source: Robert George NBC Chicago

Take a look here if you want to see this for yourself.

Go, Baby, Go!

After reading of Cha Sa-soon, a 68 year old woman, I feel energized and full of determination to do what needs to be done today Amazing grit and resolve. She just passed the written exam for a driver’s license….watch this…on her 950th try!

SEOUL, South Korea —  A woman in South Korea who tried to pass the written exam for a driver’s license with near-daily attempts since April 2005 has finally succeeded on her 950th time. The aspiring driver spent more than $4,200 in application fees, but until now had failed to score the minimum 60 out of a possible 100 points needed to get behind the wheel for a driving test.

Source: AP

Cha Sa-soon, 68, finally passed the written exam with a score of 60 on Wednesday, said Choi Young-chul, a police official at the drivers’ license agency in Jeonju, 130 miles south of Seoul.

You go, Baby!

Now, though, she must pass the behind-the-wheel part of the driving test. Take heed down there in Jeonju!

Kimberly Munley, a Heroine

Some days are so dark, some activities so despicable it seems hard to find anything of which to be positive. Yesterday was such a day, what with the Fort Hood shooting rampage that left 13 persons dead and 30 injured; the worst tragedy ever seen on any of our military bases. But there was at least one glittering light of hope and honor when:

Fort Hood police Sgt. Kimberly Munley, a 34-year-old wife and mother, and her partner responded within three minutes of the reported gunfire and shot the alleged gunman, Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan, four times despite being shot herself, Lt. Gen. Bob Cone said.

Source: AP

This civilian police officer is being widely hailed as a hero, for she doubtless prevented a wider loss of life. It is a mercy that she is expected to make a full recovery herself. I salute her bravery and her courage. It is reported that after she began firing, Hasan whirled around and physically charged her. Holding a gun in each hand, he fired, the bullets hitting her in the thighs and wrist. She was the one, though, who four times shot the alleged gunman, Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan.

I pray for her complete recovery, for all the others who were injured, for the morale of our military personnel, and for the families of those whose loved ones are among the fallen.

The Ugly of Sin

“Mom, you need to call Marcine. She’s in some kind of trouble.” I recognized it to be Michael who had left the message on my phone. I promptly called the woman. (Marcine is a pseudonym.)

She was crying so that I could hardly understand her. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Marcine?”

I could not understand her words, and pressed her to speak more plainly. “Tell me. Tell me what is wrong.”

At last I could understand her and knew what needed to be done. We worked through the necessary details so that finally we were all at the church–Jerry, Marcine and I. She sobbed and trembled as she told us the story, a story whose details I cannot divulge, but whose details really do not matter, and whose knowing or not knowing changes not at all the impact of the tale. For the story is identical. The story is unchanged. The story is of sin and fallen man and wretched ugliness; the ugliness of sin; the hopelessness of life without Jesus Christ.

We sat in the lobby of the church as she sobbed and eked out the words–words which later we found to be lacking in veracity and completeness. “I need a cigarette,” at one point she said.

“Well you know we can’t help you with that, Marcine,” I said.

“I know. I know…I have one cigarette; the rest are at the house. I”ll smoke half of it.” We watched as from her purse she drew a leather holder, clicked it open and removed the single cigarette.  Through the glass that stretches across the front of the church we saw her walk across the blacktop area, and respecting our plea with our CIP students not to smoke on our property, she trudged into the rocky lot next to ours. She slumped, then sat flat among the scattered stone and sand. She lighted half a cigarette. My aching heart bled.

We took her into the sanctuary after she had smoked, seating her on the edge of the platform; she wept and sobbed. Gently we talked with her; inquired and soothed, then I knelt beside her and grasped her hand as she bent forward into a position of black despair.

“Do you know how to pray, Marcine?” Jerry asked.

“Yes.” And so…we prayed and wept and mourned.

Later she called her probation officer, who advised her to call the police and surrender herself. Marcine wanted to do it at home, but just as she positioned herself in her friend’s car for the ride home, two police cars pulled onto our parking lot…and then after more weeping and hugging and whispering words of courage into her ears, the officers handcuffed her and led her away.

I’ve written before, and no doubt will do so again, concerning the ghastly and mistaken thought that serving God and abiding by His law is a form of bondage. Bondage, you say? Bondage it is to live in a holy and godly way? Bondage to refrain from stealing and promiscuity and drunken brawls and hideous addiction? Bondage, you claim? Bondage to dress in a modest way, to erect a family altar, to read often the Word of God? Bondage to attend church, to give generously, to minister to the less fortunate, to be kind and caring? This is bondage? No friend, let me tell you of bondage.

“I wonder if they might have a cigarette,” Marcine said at one point yesterday, as she stood looking across the street where two men stood on a parking lot.

“They tried to force me to join a gang,” Eric told my husband a few minutes ago. Eric received the Holy Ghost four weeks ago, and the next day had to go to jail. He was released only yesterday.

“There was every kind of drug you can imagine in the jail,” Eric continued.

“How do they get it in there?” Jerry asked.

“Pastor…by hiding it in body orifices.”

“The gang leaders tried to force me to shave my head,” Eric said.

“We were introduced to hard drugs by our parents,” the trio told Michael. One at 12, one at 13, one at 14.

“My mother left us when I was a child to go live with a lesbian,” said one of our CIP students who looks about 13, but who is actually 19. “I’ve been to about 30 psychologists and psychiatrists,” he added. He pled with me as I enrolled him some months ago. “I have to smoke marijuana. It’s the only thing that calms me down.”

“Have you been drinking?” Michael asked the student as he attempted to enter the class. “No, but she has,” he said, pointing to his female companion.

“I’m sorry, but she can’t be here,” Michael explained.

“Okay, I understand,” said the student, and he led his staggering friend away and seated her in his truck on the parking lot.

Relapse, jail time again. Prison. Visiting hours, books, magazines.

I sat in a court room and watched one of our students–shackled hand and foot–as she shuffled to her spot.

Excuses, embarrassment, cries, troubled children, community service. High on drugs, dropped from class, re-enrolled. Teeth rotted from methamphetamine. Emergency dental calls. Pain. Disappearance. Broken promises. Fines. Failure to pay. Failure to appear. License revoked. Eight siblings–all different fathers. Violations. Probation officer. Judges. Chains. Bars. Cigarettes, beer, cheap wine, hard liquor. Stagger. Divorce, mistrust, broken windows, unmarried mother unmarried daughter–both pregnant–due two months apart. Emergency room visits, stomach pumps, prescription pills. Little boy killed by drunk driver, his father and friend nearly killed, still having surgeries, not able to work. Sleep into the afternoon. Violated. Nightmares. Sleeping pills.

Speak not to me of bondage associated with serving Jesus Christ my Lord. Say no such thing to me. For it is only through Jesus that Freedom and Peace can envelop the human soul, can straighten the twisted life, can right dreadful wrongs, and can apply the sweet balm of Gilead.

I’ve told of yesterday’s grisly afternoon at Christ Alive. Compare it please with yesterday’s evening Bible study where we worshipped, prayed for friends and relatives, rejoiced that in the past few hours Eric had been released from jail and that he was eager to be in church Sunday, studied God’s word, sang a great hymn of the Church and laughed; where new converts testified, finally having to declare they just couldn’t explain how wonderful they felt, and where after church we just hung out for awhile, admiring the moon and the beautiful sky…and loving each other.

No. Do not speak of bondage in the same breath with which you speak of God’s church. You have come too late, you have come to the wrong person. Positively I affirm that it is the grip of satan that chains the human soul and that  drags him into everlasting, hideous bondage and torment. But in Jesus, my Saviour, my Lord,  is absolute and glorious Freedom, whose glittering highway leads into Life everlasting, where we will forever to be in the presence of God.

Happy Birthday, Michael

This is a good time to again thank God for this fine man, a man of talent, of a wonderful disposition, and of a heart after God. For more than 25 years, though, he wandered about, untrue to his calling, his training, and paying less than respectful heed to God. Then he “woke up,” and for several years now, he has been a dynamic servant of God.

Fifty years ago today, Heaven sent Jerry and me our second child. We named him Michael. He was nearly bald at birth, but soon golden curly locks covered his sweet head. I’m wishing him a happy day.

Well worth repeating, so again I say this is a good time to again thank God for this fine man, a man of talent, of a wonderful disposition, and of a heart after God. For more than 25 years, though, he wandered about, untrue to his calling, his training, and paying less than respectful heed to God. Then he “woke up,” and for several years now, he has been a dynamic servant of God.

He is a witness for God, the likes of which Jerry and I have never seen during all our years of pastoring. To the wealthy and well-placed of Lake Havasu, to the homeless and penniless alike, Michael shares the story of Jesus, and of the remarkable change that has come to his life. He teaches upward of 70 persons weekly in our Christian intervention program, he leads the worship in our services, and has recently assumed the position of counseling in our church.

Happy birthday, Michael. You are a dear and precious son.

An Appeal for Health Care Logic

Perhaps for many years, it has been established and acceptable protocol for either house of Congress to pass a bill which virtually no one had read in its entirety.

I don’t know.

Perhaps whether Republican led or Democrat led, our representatives have routinely voted up or down on important legislature they have not read.

I don’t know.

Today, the health bill before the House of Representatives is of staggering size; 1990 pages. Am I missing something? But doesn’t this seem ridiculous, confusing, incomprehensible, unreasonable, too much bureaucracy, too many words, too much mumbo jumbo?

I think so.

We are told the cost for these measures will exceed $1.055 trillion. More than a trillion! I said, although I hardly can push the words from my mouth, and my ordinary brain can in no way compute such a figure.

And yes, the “death panel” section did survive.

And no, I don’t like it.

Has common sense completely fled? Are we totally unable to be “down-to-earth sensible?” How can our representatives wisely vote on a package of such ponderous weight and girth? Is there not a better solution for our health care issues?

I don’t know for sure, but logic whispers in my ear: There must be a better way.

AP Photo

Health-Care Insight by Maxine

Let me get this straight.

-

…we’re going to pass a health care plan written by a committee whose chairman says he doesn’t understand it,
passed by a Congress that hasn’t read it but exempts themselves from it, to be signed by a president that also hasn’t read it, and who smokes,
with funding administered by a treasury chief who didn’t pay his taxes, all to be overseen by a surgeon general who is obese, and financed by a country that’s nearly broke.

What could possibly go wrong?

Source: Frankly stolen from Terry Wilbanks

Humor for the Day

Upon learning that the Constitution requires a president to be a natural born citizen, a college student said: “What makes a natural born citizen any more qualified than one born by C-section?”

Thomas Sowell