Just out of curiosity...

At the risk of creating any additional unpleasantness regarding gun control, I have a serious question maybe someone can answer.  As a result of the gun control debate and its effects on their sales and membership, Mr. LaPierre and his associates with the NRA have become fabulously wealthy. Not surprisingly, they would prefer that the debate and its subsequent spike in their sales and membership continue from here to infinity and beyond.  I suppose that’s entirely possible.  It’s a passionate issue.  Beneath all the passion and hysterics, one assumes there are actual facts. If one examines the statistics, it seems clear, we already have sufficient guns and ammunition is this country to kill every man, woman and child in the world, over and over and over again. So, just out of curiosity, how many weapons would be required to eventually meet our needs?

Teddy Roosevelt said, “Every reform movement has a lunatic fringe.” Sadly, the same is true of every major religion of the world today.  In each and every major religion, now and throughout the ages, is a component of bigoted, intolerant, fundamentalism. Christianity has been a part of this mix for over two thousand years, and is no exception. Anyone who believes otherwise is either remarkably naïve or part of the problem.

Free advice & worth every penny.

Here’s some free advice, and worth every penny.  My folks always counseled me, use your own head and your own heart. Anytime you’re forced to choose between staying true to your own beliefs with a clear conscience or, going along to get along, you’re better served by keeping a clear conscience. Those around you will come and go, and through time may change positions, but you and your conscience are together for the long haul.  SC   

Here's what I think, what I really really think.

A BRIEF HISTORY LESSON, FOR WHICH I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE: Early American pioneers, while crossing the plains, would find fuel for their campfires difficult if not impossible to find.  As a result, they would resort to the use of buffalo dung as fuel. The buffalo dung would provide a brief burst of heat, a disgusting stench and a repulsive smolder, before eventually burning out.  I fully expect a similar result from Mr. Trump’s Presidential aspirations. At least, that’s my fervent hope.  SC

Once again our country is rocked by senseless violence and slaughter.

Once again I feel compelled to run the risk of offending many by publicly posting my prayer. Dear Father in heaven, once again our country is rocked by senseless violence and slaughter. Once again the voices of professed Christians will be lifted in prayer.  Some will pray for comfort for the fallen and their families. Others will pray that this incident will in no way impede their efforts to acquire their precious assault rifles. I pray only that those who profess to be followers of Christ might behave accordingly, that those who would be His feet step out in faith, that those who would be His hands reach out in mercy, and that those who would be good in God’s eyes do as God requires, ministering to a lost world as sheep among wolves, being wise as serpents and harmless as doves, while doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with their God. Amen, SC

Show each other a little compassion and cut each other some slack.

As a little boy, back in the 1950s, I became very ill.  My mom and dad loaded me into the old Chevy and took me to the doctor.  A spinal tap determined that I had Poliomyelitis. Following the diagnosis, I spent several terrifying weeks confined to a hospital ward at Kaiser Hospital in Vallejo, California.  There I saw other children struggling with the crippling disease.  Some were in braces. Some were confined to iron lungs. Some never walked again.  Some never left the facility.  Some died. One night, all alone in my room and scared half to death, I remembered one of my favorite books back home.  The title of the little children’s book was “Jesus, A Boy’s Friend”. I began praying as only a terrified child can pray, and I prayed and cried until I fell asleep.  Several days later the doctor had good news for my family. My symptoms were gone. They were free to take me home. As I left the hospital, hand in hand with Mom and Dad that day, I began a path that has led me to this day. Some days my faith is just as strong as the day I left that hospital. Other days, not so much, but from that day to this I’ve set out each day to walk the path I’m given, in the light I’m given. On my very best days, I share that light with others.  Each of us walks a different path, revealed in a different light. As a result, we each have different perspectives, different convictions, and varying points of view. We need to show each other a little compassion and cut each other some slack.  SC

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD

Dad was born in the Ozark Mountains of south central Missouri in 1924.  Today would have been his birthday.  Like many young men of the period, he left home at an early age and joined the Civilian Conservation Corp. When World War II broke out Dad served on the Battleship New Jersey. Following the war he was employed as a lineman for 32 years.  He and Mom were married for almost 60. His retirement years were spent raising cattle and working the family farm. Dad believed in doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with his God.  He extended that mercy to all God’s creatures great and small and devoted himself to the stewardship of our land. Even at eighty, Dad easily outworked me.  He’d drive a pine post with seemingly effortless strokes, while I swung and swatted and splintered posts to pieces. He often whistled as he worked, and on many occasions, when hearing a favorite tune on the radio, he’d spring into a rousing dance routine I can only describe as a peculiar combination of Irish jig and Ozark snake stomp. Given time I’ll master that move myself.  I’m entirely certain my relationship with Dad was a perfect example of what God intended when He first created fatherhood, and I held his hand as he drew his final breath. We scattered his ashes up on the hill, just as he’d requested, and I never walk the Ozark Hills that I don’t miss my dad.

UP ON THE HILL

Up on the hill where the pines grow dense;

Where the fields are green and the sky immense,

Scatter one day my last remains,

To be drawn in the earth by the gentle rains.

Gladly did I tread this place,

With the gentle breeze upon my face,

A faithful dog for company,

And benevolent sun beaming down on me.

Thank the Lord for the time we had,

When rest was blessed and toil was glad,

When joyous hearts rejoiced in truth,

And we shared our hopes and dreams and youth.

Look to the heavens bright and blessed.

See me satisfied, caressed.

Know at last I’m free from care.

My dust is here, but my spirit there. SC