Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Film Critic, me

Critic me
(by R.P.Edwards)

I could be the critic
For which the “stinkers” vie
A “watcher” of distinction
Known…to never lie
For when they learn when purchased
My words are free to twist
They’d publish with abandon
Though context…often…missed

“Mystery Men,” or “The Runaway Bride?” Hmmm.  This was the evening dilemma for our eighteenth wedding anniversary outing, celebrated in 1999.  Funds were an issue (thus no trip, or golden bobbles)  but we could at least go to a movie before or after (I don’t remember which) the chow.  Well, knowing that Runaway Bride was a chick flick, I, naturally, leaned towards the weird, and not very well received “comedy” featuring, among notable others, Ben Stiller, and Paul Reubens (Pee Wee! It’s got to be good!) Anyway, it was a stinker and, although some say this bomb has developed a “cult following” (never a good sign), I regret the shillings shucked.  And, in the end, the box office receipts tell the story.  Mystery Men lost quite a bit, while the Julia Roberts and Richard Gere romp…gave a four fold return.

An observation: no matter how terrible a film is, the promoters can, invariably, find a critic, somewhere, who will give a glowing review.  Sure, the headline is usually huge and its author’s name, microscopic, but it is, nevertheless, a positive plug. And I wonder to myself, “Where do these guys come from?  Have they actually seen this movie?”  And then a career move hits me; “I” could do that review thing!  Yeah, I could be the sought after nobody who writes the baiting bologna.  “But how,” I muse, “do I get around the whole ‘honesty thing?’  How do I satisfy my self-righteous sensitivities?”   Answer: By giving a frank appraisal, yet, letting it be known that the words, once written, are then left undefended.  Thus, a review saying, “This movie made me stand to my feet and run for the exit!” becomes, “This movie made me stand to my feet!”  And, “A colossal waste of time!” becomes, “A colossal time!”  Yes, a little cut and paste, and even the most scathing critique becomes an endorsement.  However, for those who actually pay attention to the small print, eventually “my” name--like all those who consistently back bombs-- would be the headline; and the headline would be… “bogus.” 

Of late some “critics” (aka journalists) have been bashing Sarah Palin and other conservatives for some tiny missteps; often seasoning their elitist bilge with judgments on competency and intelligence.  And, as they continue to vent, I step back a moment and ponder, “Hmmm. If they don’t like her; then who do they endorse?  What is “their” track record? What other “movies” --if you will-- have these wise ones showered with praise?”  And then it comes to me; these malcontents are the very same ones who gave glowing endorsements to the fantasy titled, “Hope and Change.”  And, even though that film hasn’t fully played out, this over budget, bloated, bomb…is a stinker.  And if that’s the kind of production these “experts” endorse, well then, like the reviewers who consistently add their “amen” to box office bummers…who cares what they think?

Comments welcome

Thursday, June 24, 2010

More than just a number

Just another number
(by R.P.Edwards)

Just another number
Another slot to fill
A body for the business
A little time…to kill
But now with widow’s weeping
  And crying of the kin
We’ll find another number
To fill the slot…again

It was a business decision.  A money decision.  A squeeze the penny, and squeeze the neck decision.  It was Father’s Day and, I suppose like all fathers, number 4204 wanted to be off work for perhaps a “come here” or “go to” gathering.  There was a problem, however, for, being a steelworker--where the sacrifice of schedule is a given--well, he and his crew were working the dayshift, but, because of a “no new hires yet” attitude, the "number" was forced to work another eight.  Yes, his Father’s Day, from dawn to midnight’s call, was married to the boiling hot steel.  And, since the dayshift on the following day was also mandatory, it was a hurry up and sleep kind of thing.  Later on Monday, after the twenty-four hour bake, he decided to cut the lawn.  And there, as the merciless blade sheered the tender shoots, his life, too, was cut off.  He, number 4204, crumpled to earth…and died of a massive heart attack.

Now, I’m not suggesting that the “forced” overtime contributed to his death.  That’s for doctors and lawyers to decide.  But I do know this; because of the love of money…his family will evermore remember that his last Father’s Day was spent not by their side and in their arms; but in the firm grasp…of greed.  Yes, forevermore they’ll associate the Day…with the dead.  And, dear reader, in the distilled and unfiltered essence of what is right…and what is wrong; this deliberate act, without quibbling or question; this deliberate, thoughtless, heartless act, finds its place firmly…in the house of the latter.

By-the-way, number 4204 had a name.  His name was...Oland. 

Comments welcome

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

General Remarks

General Remarks
(by R.P.Edwards)

“Take this Job, and shove it!”
That’s what he’s gonna hear
Oh sure, I’ll clean it up a bit
But the meaning, will be clear
I’ve had enough of bureaucrats
These pencil necks, and geeks
These virgin eared aristocrats
Offended, when I speak
Yeah, take this job and stick it!
Go find another toy
Someone who will play your game
A windup soldier boy
But me?
I am so outta here!
I got no time to lose
I got this gig in cable land
I’m a ‘talker’ …on Fox news

And so General McChrystal, the head guy over operations in Afghanistan is being called on the carpet; that is, the carpet in the oval office.  Apparently he and his aides said a few not so nice things about current political folk in a Rolling Stone interview.  “Words” that are going to do more damage to the General than any military hardware he has faced.

You know, I’ve got mixed feelings about Afghanistan.  Of course, nothing but praise for our defenders, and a ready acknowledgment that “this” rugged real estate was the place where the bad guys were, and might reform if we’re not diligent, but I’m just not sure the “win the people over” strategy is going to work here. 

Anyway, apparently General McChrystal is a warrior of worth.  A no-nonsense commander who is determined…to win.  However, his tongue muscle, so it seems, isn’t quite as conditioned as the rest of his hardened physique.

And so, he’s called to stand before the Prez for some not-so-flattering remarks made in a Rolling Stone piece.  And, because of these, he may very well lose his job.  And, although I think it’s absurd to cast excellent officers aside because they unwisely speak their mind from time to time; I do have a tiny bit of solace in the knowledge that in our Republic the military answers to the elected government.  Might I suggest, however, that next time… make sure the “Generals” have better handlers. 

Comments welcome.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Pesky Facts

Pesky facts
(by R.P.Edwards)

Don’t trouble me with pesky facts
I’m happy in my lie
I think it’s “so”
And “so,” I say
A happy fool, am I
But facts?
They’re so derisive
So damning to my cause
A blanket on my fiery rant
A robber of applause
And so I add another lie
To keep the first in view
I lie about the pesky facts
And call the liar…

 Not very long ago there was a “Susan G. Komen race for the cure” in St Louis, Missouri.  Accentuating the deadly disease of Breast Cancer, and the need for a solution, this race attracted over seventy thousand  sympathetic souls.  Among the many were quite a few survivors and, as the finish line was approached, some were met by a simple banner held by a couple of fearless women  from a local pro-life ministry that goes by the name of “Small Victories.”  The banner read; “Abortion is a cause of breast cancer.  Why aren’t women being told?” A website was included and, as you might expect, these “intruders” were not well received.

Now, I followed some of the internet bread crumbs (the free ones) and it appears, indeed, that the increase in breast cancer cases in recent years may very well be due, at least in part, to abortion.  But, instead of an open, comprehensive review and debate; there is silence.  Why?  Well, the answer, it seems to me, is as simple as…ideology.  Yes, because there is a rigid “belief” that abortion--that wonderful right of a woman to become ‘unpregnant’--  couldn’t possibly have dangerous side effects; well, all studies to the contrary are vigorously opposed.  And, not only opposed, but the authors or initiators of such studies are often impugned, or, at very least, marginalized.  Apparently, whatever the cost, the accepted “truth” must stand; even if the well known “fact“ is not a fact…at all.  And so, more and more women are sacrificed.  Yes, being denied important information about what their ’choice’ may lead to…some have died, with more, surely, to follow.

Of course, this “rallying around the wrong” is not limited to abortion.  We, time and time again, have seen it on many fronts.  Those who dare question evolution are ignorant rubes.  Those who fail to proclaim the wholesomeness of Homosexuality…are homophobes.  Those who choose to home-school their children border on “child abuse.”  Those who question the leadings of Islam are bigots. And, even in the work place the “lie” must be maintained.  Indeed, the perception of safety and compliance must be bulwarked…even when the “facts” say otherwise.  And so, the Gulf fills with oil and coal mines blow up and, to maintain the “lie”…people have, and will, die.

So, I guess the conclusion is…courage.  We need--like those two brave souls at the Susan G. Komen Race (‘three’ including a cameraman)--people of backbone and conviction.  People willing to buck the blather and bologna.  Patriots willing to stand up to the bullies and bomb-throwers.  And, if these arise; if these count the cost and come, well, maybe, just maybe; maybe then “truth” and “facts” will truly become…truth…and facts.

Here’s some interesting links: 

And how about one more poem:

To Keep a Lie
(by R.P.Edwards)

To keep the lie
To keep it strong
Proclaim the “truth”
That right, is wrong
And not just once
A single say
But on and on
And day by day
For lies, though tall
Have feet of clay
And need support
Along the way
Lest truth expose
And show to all
And thus revealed…
The lies would fall

 comments welcome

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Beautiful Dreamer: the President's speech

The Dream
(by R.P.Edwards)

Here is my dream
Look through my eyes
Sunshine and flowers
With none to despise
Clean air and kittens
Windmills wave “Hi!”
As solar collectors
Catch rays from the sky
Yes, this is my dream
The diggers are gone
  There's no place for drillers
It's a fresh, cloudless dawn
And combustion?
 So little
So few
Just green flowing meadows
For me, and for you
Yes, this is my dream 
The world is our friend
Eternal fraternal
All joy, without end
So here, take my hand
And look through my eyes
See sunshine and flowers
With none…to despise

(Here's "my" dream)
In an unprecedented move the President, having begun his “comfort the nation” speech concerning the ongoing oil disaster in the Gulf, he, halfway through, pauses; and then says, “Turn off the teleprompters” and, having held up his hand for silence (his staff, at the unscripted action, had been wildly whispering admonitions) he then clasps hands and leans forward.  “My fellow Americans,” his expression, serious, and obviously…sincere. “My fellow Americans, let me lay aside, for the moment, my “mastery of the message” (as he speaks the phrase he brackets it with finger quotes) and simply tell you like it is.  Do you understand that the Deepwater Horizon oil platform was forty miles from shore; let me say that again; it was FORTY MILES from shore.  Let me put that in perspective.  Forty miles is roughly four times the distance to the horizon and, since it was so far out, BP had to go a mile down just to get to the bottom.  And, since the conditions down there are so hard to deal with; well…you can see the result.  So (he positions his still clasped hands just below his chin, his elbows on the table) what’s the real problem here? Big Oil mismanagement? Perhaps.  Safety short cuts? Probably.  But the real culprit here…is our environmental policy.  You see (the president leans back and places his arms on the waiting rests) my dream of ending our dependency on fossil fuels, is just that, a dream.  Even if we throw ourselves into the effort, it might take decades to even come close to meeting our energy needs.  So, since we must have energy to survive and, since so much of our supply comes from overseas; here’s the direction I’ve decided to take. Starting immediately I’ll be coordinating with Congress to loosen the crippling environmental regulations that prevent shallow water exploration and, naturally, the reserves at Anwar will be tapped along with the enormous oil-shale potential found in our Western states.  Also, I’ll be pushing for the building of one thousand nuclear power plants along with the encouragement for coal production to be increased.  And, as far as the crippling legislation known as “Cap n Trade;” well, that’s history.  My fellow Americans,” the president leans forward, bows his head for a few seconds (as if weighing his next sentence carefully) then, looking directly into the camera, “we are in the fight for our lives.  Frankly, we’re drowning.  And, as everyone knows, the deeper you are, the harder it is to reach the surface.  And, my fellow citizens, if we don’t reach the surface…we die.”

You know; I wasn’t even going to watch it.  Not that I have anything personal against the President; I don’t. And oh, he is a great orator. But, he and I--on so many issues-- don’t see eye to eye.  And frankly, I think “his” direction, is the wrong one.  So, I wasn’t going to listen.  But (sigh) since I have committed myself to be at least “somewhat” informed; I did. 

Ok, here’s the gist:  It was approximately eighteen minutes long.  He gave us a three point outline (must be the professor in him). 1. The Clean up.  2. Recovery and restoration.  And 3. Steps to be taken to make sure this doesn’t ever happen again.  It was the third part I found most interesting.  Here’s some snippets: “The time to embrace a clean energy future is now.  Now is the moment for this generation to embark on a national mission…Each of us has a part to play in a new future that will benefit all of us…but only if we accelerate that transition; only if we seize the moment.”

It was, again, the “dream,” but--and it’s so obvious--the way to the dream may very well kill us.  Sure, we all want to have clean energy.  But it’s a fantasy to think that we can maintain our industry (whatever’s left), our strength, our position of dominance, without fully exploiting the God-given resources we have under our feet and at our fingertips.  Understand, we’re already stretched to the limit; we’re already terribly dependent on the whim and ways of others; and if we try to drastically retool and redirect by using legislation like Cap-n-Trade, well, it’s nuts.

Here’s how the speech ended: The president said, with feeling, “Tonight, we pray for the courage; we pray for the people of the Gulf; and we pray that a hand may guide us through the storm towards a brighter Day.  Thank you.  God bless you.  And may God bless the United States of America.”  And I say, “Amen, Mr. President.”  I agree.  And, I believe God will indeed “guide us through the storm.” However, the Almighty’s definition of what the storm actually is…well, that might be quite different than the one in the Chief Executive‘s mind.

(with thanks to legendary songwriter, Stephen Collins Foster)

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away!

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Wrong place at the wrong time

Turtles and tots
(by R.P.Edwards)
Turtles languish in the sand
Dying by the human hand
Small, endangered, a fragile few
But this means nothing
To oily goo
And so we cry
As they demise
Our reptile friends
Before our eyes
But for the children
Killed by “choice”
We have no tears, no thoughts…no voice

The young brown pelican extended his strong feathered wings as far as they would go as he used the early morning thermal to spiral higher, higher, ever higher until, leveling off, he looked down into the crystal gulf waters to see a flash of silver that meant…breakfast.  Without thought, with eyes fixed, the wings folded and, like a lightening strike from above, the expert fisher plunged quickly through the quarter mile of air and, slicing like a knife, effortlessly parted the waters and, a few seconds later,  bobbed up with a tasty, and bewildered, herring in his expansive pouch.  Now, usually pelicans such as he would swallow the treat whole, but, over the last few weeks this particular waterfowl had become fast friends with a tiny Hawksbill sea turtle that frequented a favorite stretch of Louisiana beach and , when either had a morsel to share, their first thought was to share it with their buddy.  “Glip Glip,” said the pelican as he swooped down to the strangely dark sand at “their” spot.  “Glip Glip” he said again, walking and waddling just inches from the strangely shimmering water.  Then he heard it; “Click Click” came the whisper from the waves.  “Click Click.”  Frantically the pelican scanned the near depths and there, struggling in a large pool of floating mud, was his friend.  “Glip Glip!” screeched the bird (dropping the happy herring into the tiny surf).  “Glip Glip,” he repeated, swimming close to his friend and trying to keep the turtles little snout above the gooey mud.  “What happened, Glip Glip?” said the pelican as a tiny tear welled in his left eye.  “I…I don’t know,” whispered the slipping away reptile.  “This mud is making me sick.  Get away, my friend.  Get away.”  But, as Glip Glip slid beneath the water; it was too late.  By now the brown pelican was covered with oil and, unable to fly, soon he, and his dead friend, were found by two beach combers who paused to bend and lament.  “What a shame,” said one to the other.  “Yes, it’s a crime,” agreed the friend as she cradled the dead pelicans oily brow.  “Poor innocent dears.  They never hurt anyone.  It‘s just not right.”  “I hope they pay for this,” added the first with mounting rage.  Then, as both stood and wiped their hands on their red-streaked scrubs, the second concluded.  “Alright, honey, let’s get back to the abortion clinic.  We’ve got a very full schedule today.”

Yes, I know.  What a downer.  But, watching all the heartfelt sympathy poured out for the “in the wrong place” wildlife, I couldn’t help but think of the abortion clinic down the street.  Thousands horribly disposed of without the benefit of a sympathetic environmentalist or media mouth.  Yes, thousands upon thousands; millions upon millions; dying…because they were in the wrong place…at the wrong time.

Lighter fare to come.  Hopefully.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

The Forgotten Flag

Forgotten Flag
(by R.P.Edwards)

Wafting wordless warnings
Treated, as a rag
And I wonder as I watch
This dying from neglect
If “it” reflects our nation
Our dying…from…forget

It’s an indicator.  A sign of direction, and strength.  One way means headwind…and struggle.  The other way means tailwind…and ease.  And, I suppose, I really don’t need the flag to tell me what’s coming, for I must go, regardless.  But there’s a steeling with the knowledge; a tightening of the innards and the will when you know of coming opposition.  And, for this, I am grateful for the heads up.  Grateful to the old, tattered banner; the graying stars and stripes; dying…from neglect.

You know, I suppose it’s been there for years.  Unassuming, unpretentious, simple of display, silent in testimony; and I, literally thousands of times over these past fifteen years, have gone by without recognition.  That is, until recently.  You see, this flag used to be a footnote to a larger establishment; an eatery; a diner that serviced the downtown area and, in particular, the largest employer in the region; a steel mill whose parent resides in Pittsburgh.  Yes, this “almost landmark” fed generations but, for whatever reason, the property changed hands. And, in a day, it was gone.  And, it was the absence that caught my attention.  For, as I scanned the empty--as if nothing had ever been there--space, I eventually saw the rusty pole, and the tattered flag, wafting unattended…and alone.

As is always the case, this time of year--the transition from spring to summer--is the time for flags.  Memorial Day on one end, and the glorious Fourth on the other and, in the middle…Flag Day.  It’s a time for parades, and solemn assemblies, and jubilant celebrations and, as is always the case, some, many, will view the flag with indifference bordering on disdain, and others will view it through tears born of great loss, and great gain.  Yes, it’s a time for flags. 

Now, I suppose, years ago when the burden of liberty was borne by most--for most had lost someone to it’s cause--I suppose back then there was a kind of reverence attached to the symbol.  Some, associating the red with patriots blood, would swell with emotion at it’s waving, and others, with eyes aloft and lungs full of freedom’s breath; would see the stars of liberty on a field of blue, and these, too, could not restrain their sentiment.  But now, with so few knowing of the owing, the flags are often neglected, ignored.  And, this lone, dying memorial; well, it has become a testament of what we have become.  And, please understand, I don’t begrudge the steel giant, the owner of the land, for the fabrics neglect.  For, it goes without saying that patriotism and love of country have little or no place at corporate tables.  And certainly, in these lean years, it would be almost too much to expect that executive eyes pause, for just a moment, from their constant pursuit of advantage.  But, it would be nice if an exception, just this once, was made.

So, as Flag Day quickly approaches, perhaps a Gold Star Mother; one who has lost a son or daughter in the service of their country; perhaps they’ll see…and whisper a word.  Or, perhaps a wounded vet, imprisoned in a body sacrificed on the alter of vigilance; perhaps he or she…will utter a plea.  Or, perhaps, and heaven forbid, perhaps the Plant Manager will pass by…and remember a flag draped coffin of a loved one.  Then, with a simple call to the American Legion, or a Boy Scout troop; then perhaps this old, tired soldier can finally be laid to rest.  But, in the meantime, this frayed, forgotten flag, shows me direction; the direction of the wind…and the direction of …the country.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

The SS St Louis; anniversary...of shame

The SS St Louis…and our shame
(by R.P.Edwards)

In our faded memory
The thousand
On the rail
In the sight of freedom
Forced to onward sail
Seeking safe asylum
Fleeing Satan’s breath
Asking for a future
But given, fear…and death
So, waken sons of freedom!
Repent of fathers deed
Embrace the Jewish nation
Align with arm and creed
And stand against the tyrants
Their raging, “Zion die!”
And fight to guard the promise
The apple…of His eye

“It was a dirty bomb, or, rather, several.” The expert (a mid-twenties male sporting a NY Yankee ball cap to go along with his jeans, sandals, and tie-dye T); a nuclear physicist from the Weizmann Institute of Science, stood, turned off his heretofore chirping Geiger Counter and, looking into the face of the detective in charge, repeated and amplified.  “This homicide bomber, and the three others, no doubt, were each carrying a small, yet significant amount of fissile material.  Thus, when they blew themselves up…a dirty bomb.”  As the realization took hold the lieutenant began to anxiously look about as if trying to find a newspaper in an unexpected deluge.  The young professor, seeing this, smirked as he placed the instrument in its carrying bag and then, patting the officer on the side of the shoulder before gently lifting an opened pack of Camels from the policeman’s shirt pocket, he held it up to gain focus and said, “These will kill you long before the radioactivity from this incident.”  Putting them back, he continued, “It’s more psychological than anything.  Just the thought of the defilement and the tedious methods needed to clean it up.  It’s terrorism in its vilest form.” “But…but,” the detective stammered, “where did they get the material?”  The PHD slung the bag over his shoulder, grabbed a Butterfinger from a side pouch and, after an audible crunch, he chewed, turned, and said while walking away, “No doubt the ending of the blockade brought in the stuff.”  Then, looking back for the final thought, and using the half eaten bar as a pointer he said, “Remember, in their religion it’s acceptable to lie to your enemy.  And brother, lie…they did.” Then, turning to go he added, “We were stupid enough to bow to international pressure and this is what it gets us.  But, believe me, general, next time…you won‘t need a Geiger Counter.  Next time…there won‘t be anything, or anyone left…to care.”

I was musing over the whole ‘flotilla’ thing and the world’s outcry against Israel protecting their space.  And, in my internet wandering I came across the incident in 1939 when a ship named, St. Louis, was carrying nearly a thousand Nazi-escaping Jews to Cuba.  They were turned away and, sadly, shamefully, they were also repulsed from the “give me your huddled masses” United States.  Yes, these desperate refugees were forced back to Europe. And, although many survived the war; quite a number were murdered by Hiltler. Their deaths; their blood, is on “our” hands.

Here’s my thoughts: Without embarrassment or apology our support of Israel must be more than just placating words and half-hearted gestures (Oh, how we‘ve had enough of those!)  Indeed, our understanding of the common “tie” between us must be more than just “Democracies stick together.” You see, there’s a reason why the children of Zion have been ever under attack, persecuted, and murdered over the years.  And the reason…is spiritual.  And, although we’ve temporarily chosen leaders whose “Christian-speak” is merely a means to an end; we must--those who understand the battle--we must! garner aid for Abraham‘s children.  For, if we neglect them, again; if we deny them, again; if we abandon them, again; their fate…will be our own.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Tired of Kings

Tired of tyrants
(by R.P.Edwards)

Tired of Kings
Gavels in hand
Tired of rulings
Shifting as sand
Tired of babies
Having their way
Propped up by bullies
With money to pay
Tired of truth
Bowing to lies
Tired revisions
Exalted on high
But till we’re “all” tired
The errors will stay
Till “all” find their voices
The tyrants…will play

“To conclude, your honor, we find the venue…offensive.  Though subtle, it is unquestionably an endorsement of religion.  And, your honor, as has been established, it is unconstitutional for the state to hold one belief higher than another.” His dissertation done, the plaintiff’s hired legal-eagle turned, slowly walked to his seat and sat down even as the middle-aged jurist leaned back and, with eyes closing till closed, rocked ever so slightly as he weighed the value and merit…of each argument.  Without recess (this judge was known for speed) after a two minute pause, he spoke:  “Having weighed the arguments of both sides and viewing them through the lens of legal precedent, I find the plaintiffs complaint that using the local VFW hall for a high school graduation is indeed a violation of ’Church and State.’”  [at the words, murmurs of surprise and protest waft in from the gallery until gaveled away by the now standing jurist]  “As I was saying,” he continued, “since the hall in question is, by its very nature, a gathering place for those who have a common belief in justifiable homicide; this ‘faith’ falls under the broad umbrella of religion.  Therefore…no graduation!”

My absurd example (above) is only slightly more ludicrous than the reasoning of a Connecticut judge who has forbidden two local high schools from “renting” a large church auditorium for their common graduation ceremony.  Why did they want to rent it?  Because it was big enough, and the price was right.  Why was there a complaint?  Because it was a church and a few sensitive souls couldn‘t stand the thought that this venue, even if an effort was made to cover religious symbolism, might be perceived as favoring one religion over another, thereby violating the “not in the document” separation of Church and State.

I ask you; aren’t we sick of this kind of thing? Aren’t we tired of the endless twisting of our sacred foundational scroll to satisfy the whims of the godless elite?  It continues to amaze me how words that were meant to restrict the Federal Government; the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT!, have been worried, and worn, and weaseled to find their slithering way down to little Joan and Johnnies ear, lest they somehow be taught that there is meaning behind the phrase found in the Declaration of Independence… “the Supreme Judge of the World.”

So, the solution.  Again, vouchers.  Give parents a choice which belief or non-belief they want their child exposed to.  And, maybe, when it comes to practical things like “renting a hall,” maybe we shouldn’t be so thin-skinned. 

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Lincoln's answer

Too Smart to Know
(by R.P.Edwards)

We’re too smart to know
We’re too smart to pray
Too smart to ask
Too smart to say
“Lord, I need help!
It’s bigger than we.
But “you” have a way.
We know “you” can see.
And if you will share,
We promise…to give.”
But we’re too smart for that.
Yes, we’re too smart…to live.

We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of Heaven. We have been preserved, these many years, in peace and prosperity. We have grown in numbers, wealth, and power as no other nation has ever grown. But we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace, and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us; and we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray to the God that made us! It behooves us, then to humble ourselves before the offended Power, to confess our national sins, and to pray for clemency and forgiveness.

A portion of a proclamation issued by Abraham Lincoln in the midst of the Civil War. Apparently the conflict wasn’t going too well (1863)  and, like many of us, when our own “means” falter…we eventually turn to others, and finally, hopefully, to the ultimate “other”…God.

A few days back I was talking to a friend about this and that, and then, in the course of things, he offered his take on the Gulf Oil debacle, that is, he had the solution.  Well, I was ready for a plan, or a product; but instead he simply said, “They should pray.”  Pray?  “Yes, all of them should pray.  God has the solution to this problem.” 

Now, for any who follow this blog at all, you’ll notice, from time to time, that God has a place.  But, frankly, I was caught off guard.  “They should pray.” Well…of course!  It’s so simple.  The president should call the nation to pray.  To ask for His help, guidance, care.

Of course, on the face of it, it’s absurd.  At this point our national leaders are so secular, so anti-deity, that to admit inadequacy; to actually “humble” themselves--and ask the nation to do the same--well, as I said, it’s absurd. But, dear reader, I think my friend is right.  And, when conditions become desperate enough; the “absurd” may be our only alternative.  It’s a pity it has to wait for that.

Here’s a link to Lincoln’s complete proclamation:  Lincoln's call to prayer

That's what I think.  How about you? Click comments below...and say.