Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Since Christmas--ALL HELL HAS BROKEN LOOSE!!!

This has been a horrible week for my daughter!

We were there for Christmas to insure safety and protection--he was there to haunt and threaten.

Monday afternoon he came stomping in and commanded we leave for a while so he could be with his sons. It was about 2:00 when we left with commands from him that we not return until 5:00. My wife called our daughter and she planned to be home about 5:00 as well.

We came home and started fixing supper. He showed up in a rage. My daughter called the Nash County Sheriff's Department dispatcher while standing outside. He raged at my wife inside the house so loud you could hear him outside. She was not moving an inch!

Shortly 3 Deputies raced up without lights or sirens and they yelled at him not to go inside the house. He went on in and "hit the ceiling" with raging inside. The officers stood close by. They were a calming effect for us--a source of rage for him. Shortly he was 2" from my face raging at me to the point the officers stepped forward with one snapping the Taser in addition to the others telling him to control it or he would be arrested. Everyone but him kept their cool.

He went back around into the den telling them to just shoot him and get it over! Then he hit the floor so hard it shook the house and began to beat his head, fists, and feet on the floor like a 5 year old. Finally they escorted him outside while we threw a few things together, turned off the stove on supper, and gave the boys a little to eat.

Within 30 minutes his car returned and raced across the yard leaving deep tracks. There he was raging from outside the car with its headlights shining on the front door. My daughter was calling her lawyer for advice. I was calling the Deputies back. They were there in about 5 minutes.

My daughter's lawyer was advising her to stay in the house lest she be accused of abandoning it and he could say he owned it. She was to the point I have never seen a woman--dazed and confused, trying to think, screaming at anyone trying to comfort or give advice. Finally she collapsed into my wife's arms and sobbed on her shoulders.

We left the house after the Deputy looked my daughter in the eye and said, "For your own safety, just leave and go somewhere safe. We will vouch that you left this house for your safety and did not abandon it."

My daughter heard that kind officer clearly. When none of us could convince her she should leave along with the boys and us, his words penetrated the confusion.

We exited with him sitting in his car as the (5 now) Deputies stood around his car. As the boys left he was saying, "Bye, boys, I love you." They did not know what to make of it all. They were all in tears and so were we. After going to the hospital parking lot where my wife works, we met again and decided the Bayview Cottage 1.5 hours away was a better place--and the dog could be there too. My daughter was driving so fast down the 4-lane with her children that I got in front and slowed down so we would not get a ticket. We were safer, but we were not yet to safety of the cottage. There, if he followed us, he would be trespassing if he set his foot on my property. We have an equally efficient Sheriff's Department where we live.

The next day our daughter had to go back to her work as Manager of a big store. It was "exchange and return items" time at the store.

Within a few hours our daughter was calling: he had baracaided himself in the house and his parents had had him taken by the Deputies to our local Emergency Room where they quickly transferred him to one of our State Mental Hospitals. The parents wanted our daughter to meet with them and decide what to do. According to them, he had "destroyed" the inside of the house, broken several bones in his hands, and was found sitting on the couch with a knife by his side and a 5 gallon gas can by his side.

My daughter decided, wisely, not to meet with them. She had been unable to do anything with him for 15 years. They had had him for 20+ years and created this monster who does not know how to love--starting with himself. It was their turn to deal with it alone and not blame her for what happened.

Again, my daughter was in emotional turmoil. She had a court time for a Judge to decide on a protective order and possible immediate divorce with no right for her husband except to pay in a timely fashion what was decided for alimony, child support, and what to do with a "destroyed" house.

At 3:00 my daughter, accompanied by 4 friends and Deputy, went to the house. Fortunately they did not find much more damage than had already been done to slammed, broken, and fist beaten doors. So, if he had broken fingers and was bleeding, as described by the parents, why was there no blood everywhere? There was no gas can or knife left behind. Was it another momma-made-up story or what? A later phone call from parents to my daughter got the confession from them that they had moved evidence and put the knife and gas can back where they belonged. Were they lying about him being committed?

A phone call to the hospital and Sheriff's Office gave her assurance he was behind locked doors at the mental facility and hour's drive away. Would he con doctors and nurses to get out again? He had committed himself a few weeks ago and was out in 3 days with supposed medication and an appointment to come in for further discussions with a Doctor.

My daughter is taking no more chances. The Judge has signed the protective order which will be served to him at the hospital with plenty of Staff around should he choose to go crazy again. No parents will be there to tell it otherwise. It will be in the hands of each teacher for each boy at school. It will be in the hands of after school providers. Already the Deputies have proven they can be to the place of trouble, and none is more than 5 minutes from a Sheriff's car and several very dedicated and trained officers.

They begged her to get everything leagal, because in Nash County we take protection and peacemaking of citizens very seriously! Thanks to all who have helped my daughter in recent days: good Lawyer / Deputies / Judge / and, I hope, good parents.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Christmas Day at Daughter's house

I am back home enjoying a lovely, sunny, warmer day at Bayview Cottage. I got home in time to feed the dogs and see what new bills I can't pay had arrived. At least there were no hidden surprises!

As I rode home last night by myself I reflected on what had taken place from Christmas Eve to the time I left about 5:00.

Christmas Eve:

Daddy arrived to bring all kinds of toys and try to, once again, bribe his boys and wife. The boys were thrilled. My daughter was further turned off. He had thought he would lure her to the marital bed once more. Lonya and I had already blown up the air mattress beside our daughter's bed. That should have been a first sign that the room was off limits. Shortly after we retired early our daughter came in. Fully clothed she hit the sack with a huff and sigh of relief--she had made it through Christmas Eve and left him putting out Santa and deciding where he would sleep.

The Separation Papers were in Wednesday and he had insisted in coming over to review them with her. He left in a huff saying he would sign nothing. Sara told us he had done just what she expected, but she figured he would come around. All things not initiated by him get a huffy retort first. After blowing off, he usually did what she wanted him to do. We will see.

Next, before daybreak, was the running and squealing excitement of the 5 year old twins. We went to the den to find more things than any 5 children might get if only there were one. In this case about $2,000 worth of "stuff" was all over the den and quickly opened. He had left to get batteries--you would think after all these years, this man would learn how important batteries are, but he learns nothing!

Soon most of the presents were opened. After a struggle with all those things Oriental, we were, once again, reminded of how the Oriental toy makers are getting even with American parents these days--the Atom bomb with all its "fail safes" has no more steps to launch than any parent does to unwrap, un-twisted tie, remove holding screws to packages, put in batteries so that an excited child can finally use that 1 toy brought by Santa. Oh My God, there were only 10 more for each grandson to agitate over.

As the boys were playing, one of the twins ran over and grabbed the middle child's toy. Old Jack launched his attack and put the little guy to the floor sliding about 5' while Daddy did nothing. I hollered, "Woah!" and Daddy launched his anger at me: "Don't you EVER YELL AT ONE OF MY BOYS!!!!!!" All suddenly fell silent as he glared at me.

I simply walked to the edge of the kitchen and said, "Sorry about that, bud."

At the same time Lonya gave him her "laser cutting steel with flaming green eyes" look. God help the soul of anyone getting "THAT LOOK!" She didn't let it drop for one second as he made his way to the door to leave in a huff. On the way out he told my daughter he was angry and was sorry he said what he did. The gutless wonder should have said it to me, but does not have enough manhood to look the one he wronged in the eye--ever.

"That's OK," I assured my wife. "I would rather he took it out on me than any of the children, their mother, or you. I could tell by his look and sauntering ways that someone was going to get it sooner of later. Heck, a tree could really kill me and words are nothing--especially out of him." The agonies of Christmas day were over and he would have the privilege of taking 4 sugar candy / cookie (yeah, we let them eat all they wanted) boys to his mother's house. He didn't even have the guts to come back and pick them up--momma came instead--claiming his medicine had kicked in and he wasn't feeling so well.

My God, his momma is ugly these days! I watched her from the carport as I smoked my pipe. I had cracked a blind so I could take a good look at the pickup. Actually, she has cut her gray hair short for the last year. She always has a mean expression on her face and her nose is sharp and pointy to a fault. If they ever remake the "Wizard of Oz" they can hire her as the Wicked Witch of the West. All they have to do is give her a pointy hat, broom, and coat of green spray dye to make the character come to life. Unfortunately, my son-in-law has lived with her all his life--hence his lack of love for himself. It was hard for my daughter not to yell out the door: "Good luck with his boys carrying out his attitude with sugar hyped energy!"

He has an official diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. This is our latest PC way of describing people who are mean and explosive after appearing to be somewhat nice: if you were a SOB 20 years ago, you are now Bipolar!!! Doesn't that sound nice.

Over all, our few days together were more nice than naughty. The boys are noticeably more well-behaved. Now we only hear about 2 obscene words a day rather than 2 per hour! Also a brother fight breaks out about once a day instead of every hour. We are making progress!

Only thing needed now is a signature on that Separation Document, properly notarized, and--as her lawyer says--she will be in charge (wicked grin on lawyer's face)!!!

Saturday, December 26, 2009

What IS Christmas all about???

It is hard to find anything new to say about Christmas---BUT, this old time story tells it all--especially in hard economic times:

This is what Christmas is all about...


Better bundle up - the goose bumps will freeze you!! I think I need to read this every year at Christmas.

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what..

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what?

Yeah," I said, "Why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his r ight shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. Shoes, they're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before, filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will." Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that,but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Christmas--a tough time to be a closet gay

Probably Christmas is one of the most difficult times of the year when most seek family times, if that family member happens to be Gay. It is made even more difficult in the sunny South where we still pretend such does not exist. Churches and preachers rage, but one of the requirements of being a good Southern town is to have a few gays around!! Just read William Faulkner, if you doubt me. Quentin Compson, III, is the classic hidden gay (The Sound and the Fury).

They are publicly derided. Movies like "Midnight in The Garden of Good and Evil," a reality based Savannah story, tell it like it is. The prominent wealthy businessman who mixes with the high and mighty has a secret! My own Senior Minister ended up at Charleston in similar circumstances. Rocky Mount, NC, where I work is the same story. We even had a former Director of Mission picked up at the riverside park--cops say he was a part / he claims it was a mistake. Who really knows anything other than we have Preachers and churches yelling---while some are raging to cover up their inner demons!

Can you imagine a greater Hell on earth than to have to pretend something you are not because family is so arrogant and judgmental you dare not be honest with them? As more and more children are raised by mother because daddy refused to do his part of parenting, we will have more and more. Every boy needs a role model. It is best if it is dad. However, good relatives can help, and should, if daddy is not doing the job.

Those who have read about my daughter and boys know I will have to now be a "father figure." It is no problem for me because I had a father who was the best. I knew from day 1 he loved me. My earliest childhood memories are of him coming in, smelling of hospital, to kiss me and make sure I was ready for sleep. He was tired. He could have gone to his home office, but, instead, he came to my little bed to kiss me on the cheek. My saddest day so far in this life was when he went to "higher ground."

He had liver cancer which had come from a missed colon cancer. Despite him complaining for months of mid-section pain, it was attributed to gall stones. By the time they did exploratory surgery, it was too late and there is nothing yet to stop liver cancer. Instead of taking treatments that would make life hell, daddy wisely decided to love his family, enjoy what he had left, and "go gently into the night." He did!! He had only about 2 weeks of serious discomfort, which is a miracle in itself. He had been faithful to his family and God in his ministry and God took royal care of him in a, sometimes, awful and painful kind of cancer. Amazingly, it was at Easter!

I am who I am as a man partly because I knew a man's man in my father. I was born with normal brain and glands which developed to maturity in a normal fashion. I went from the "girl-haters" club to the stupid adolescent club drooling over what miracle happened to the girls between grade 6 and grade 7. I was fortunate. Many young males are not, especially in the last 30 years .

Please read below an article I was given permission to print from one of the finest sex educators in Canada, Sue Johanson (2005) these days:

Homosexuality: Did you know that most people, male and female, have some homosexual (same sex) fantasies?


This is common and does not indicate you are homosexual. It is a fantasy, safe and harmless. Most females simply accept their fantasies, but males, who may be homophobic, react with fear or get into "gay bashing" to prove they are "hetero". Females are generally more comfortable with homosexuality.

Homosexuality just "is".

Being homosexual is NOT a choice. Guys, think back - at what stage of your life did you consciously decide, "Well I think I will like girls?" You didn't. You just knew, you got horny just thinking about the opposite sex - it was not a choice, you just knew. There is NO cure for homosexuality because it is not a disease and most homosexuals do not want to be "cured". They simply want what everybody else wants, the THREE BIG "A's" - Acceptance, Approval and Appreciation.

Current research indicates that people are born homosexual. Parents may deny it, try to control kids behavior, their choice of toys or friends. Kids at about age 7 know they are different; by age 10, they are aware that they fantasize about people of the same sex; by age 14, although most are not ready to "come out of the closet", they are aware that they are homosexual. Gay males like females as "best friends" and straight females really enjoy socializing with gay males. This does not go over well with straight Macho males.


Lesbians may identify as homosexual at a young age, but many, many more get into heterosexual relationships, maybe have kids, and then accept that they are lesbian at a later age.

Here's some typical MYTHS ABOUT HOMOSEXUALITY:
Gay males are promiscuous.

Gay males have a higher than normal sex drive. HIV/AIDS is a Gay disease.
Gay males assault little boys.
If a male has a same sex experience, he must be Gay.

Lesbians just have not found the right man.
Lesbians are "butch".
No, some are very feminine and call themselves "lipstick dykes".
Females who socialize with Gay males are "Fag Hags".

Most religions regard homosexuality as a sin. Here's a great book I recommend for anyone having trouble dealing with homosexuality - "IS IT A CHOICE?" by Eric Marcus. You can check our book list on this site for many other books dealing with the topic.

Randy, who granted permission for my use of this article further says this, " Frankly, it's a pretty scant article and you could find far better if you
looked around. Try the PFLAG site."

Should anyone have a child come home this year and say, "I need to talk about something serious with you." I encourage you as a parent to listen and love as you never have before. It is the most important gift, the gift of acceptance, that you can give this year!

God bless you all as I go to be with my wife, daughter, and grandsons this afternoon for a Christmas without abuse lurking in the corner of the room!


Monday, December 21, 2009

Oral Roberts being buried Today

Oral Roberts / Jerry Falwell / Joe McCarthey / William Jennings Bryan / Jim Bakker / Elmer Gantry --All described better than I in the book / movie "Elmer Gantry."

Or Carl Sandburg's Poem, "To a Contemporary Bunkshooter:"

You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling aboutJesus.Where do you get that stuff?
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem
everybody liked to have this Jesus around because
he never made any fake passes and everything
he said went and he helped the sick and gave the
people hope.

You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist
and calling us all damn fools so fierce the froth slobbers
over your lips. . . always blabbing we're all
going to hell straight off and you know all about it.

I've read Jesus' words. I know what he said. You don't
throw any scare into me. I've got your number. I
know how much you know about Jesus.
He never came near clean people or dirty people but
they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your
crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers
hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out
of the running.

I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into
the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined
up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men
now lined up with you paying your way.

This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened
good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful
from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands
wherever he passed along.

You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human
blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching
about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who
lived a clean life in Galilee.When are you going to quit making the carpenters build
emergency hospitals for women and girls driven
crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about
Jesus--I put it to you again: Where do you get that
stuff; what do you know about Jesus?

Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash
a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.
Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your
nutty head. If it wasn't for the way you scare the
women and kids I'd feel sorry for you and pass the hat.

I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when
he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that's got nerve and can pull off a great
original performance, but you--you're only a bug-house peddler of second-hand gospel--you're only shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this
Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.

You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it
up all right with them by giving them mansions in
the skies after they're dead and the worms have
eaten 'em.

You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need
is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without
having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of
age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross
and he'll be all right.

You tell poor people they don't need any more money
on pay day and even if it's fierce to be out of a job,
Jesus'll fix that up all right, all right--all they gotta
do is take Jesus the way you say.

I'm telling you Jesus wouldn't stand for the stuff you're handing out.
Jesus played it different. The bankers
and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and
murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus
wouldn't play their game. He didn't sit in with
the big thieves.

I don't want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won't take my religion from any man who never works
except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory
except the face of the woman on the American
silver dollar.

I ask you to come through and show me where you're
pouring out the blood of your life.

I've been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,
where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is
straight it was real blood ran from His hands and
the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red
drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed
in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.

Brother Carl, you sat on a mountainside near Hendersonville, NC. You looked out over God's creation. You knew your Bible. You listened to the radio preachers and those on the 3 TV stations you could just receive in those hills. My Grandaddy had the same problem reception just below you near Greenville!

I was a little boy. You were an aged man, but you said it so well, I could never say it better!

THANKS, Carl, I love you and can't wait to meet you on "higher ground."

Sunday, December 20, 2009

My VERY STRANGE early Santa Beliefs!

By now, some or you have realized I take a "road not taken," as Frost put it, to some important issues of life. Actually, despite most people obsessing to be part of the gang, my daddy always made the mistake of reminding me to "Think for Yourself!"

This could not be more true of my views of Christmas Eve and Santa Clause!

I grew up in Atlanta--more specifically, Clarkston, about 20 minutes (before urban sprawl) east of Five Points--which happens to have the Southeast regional Sears & Roebuck store. It was big and it was THE most important place once December came for my brother and me. The first big event was the arrival of the Sears Christmas Catalogue! We had to control our tempers as to who would get to look at it first. Christmas is no time for a brother fight.

We knew that the budget was tight and we could only get so much. Momma and Daddy would tell us the amount as soon as we rushed to them with all kinds of things we wanted because we had turned down the page.

That was an early lesson in money management: pick out what you wanted (always at lest 10 items lusted over) / begin to narrow it down to what counts most / say your prayers it was inside the money limit / if it was a little over try to put on a good "beg face" so you stood a chance / you would never know for sure if you would get it. Therefore, prepare to be disappointed which sometimes happened.

I got to thinking about that "Santa Clause and Raindeer pulling sleigh stuff" and figured it had to be a good story, but there was no way a fat little man in one sleigh could do the job required all over the world. The more I thought about it, the more the real story started coming to me.

It was true that Christmas morning would have toys under the tree. It was true that someone had to get them there. It was not true that parents would mess with something as important as this. There just had to be an explaination better than that stupid story all the other children were telling. It made no sense to me----so quietly I discovered the truth.

The Truth: The Sears Man brings my toys from the downtown store with a big tractor trailer truck!!!!!

Yep, the other children and even my stupid little brother could believe that stuff about raindeer and sleighs, but I went to bed on Christmas Eve watching the walls for bigger lights than a car turning the corners and--if it had a diesel engine sound--the Sears Men had taken care of me!!!

There was only one problem: We were in eyesight of Stone Mountain and, at the time, it had a bright white/red beacon turning on top to direct airplanes to the Atlanta Airport--hub of the Southeast. That "set of headlights" came around about every 30 seconds so don't be fooled. The real deal would have the deep sound of a diesel engine accompanying it! Don't be fooled.

I never made it long enough into the evening, despite all the excitement, to see and hear that combo of diesel and lights, but I knew it happened before I got up the next day because the stuff under the tree and in the room was just like we saw for real on that special night daddy and momma took us downtown to muse through the whole floor of toys--only seen before in the catalogue.

Believe in Santa if you want. I stick by my modern day theory---It's really the Sears Man!

PLEASE don't ever go out of business! Betcha won't now that you've combined with K-Mart! Still the K-Mart Man doesn't have the ring of the Sears Man, my hero!

The Separation wait continues--the S-I-L still chucks & jives

Yesterday was interesting in daughter land. They had planned for the boys to spend the day with Dad, but a call came in at 9:00. He had just wrecked his car pulling out in front of a lady--it was her fault for being on the cell phone and not swerving! (another projection)



According to him, it totaled his fancy late model Mustang he had just equipped with new glass pack mufflers, leaving the almost new originals sitting under the carport with the rest of his disorganized clutter. At least $5,000 worth of tools, weight bench, riding lawn mower--all of which don't work for small reasons. You would think a guy who repairs nuclear scanners might just figure repairs out, if he cared to.



So now, the boys are disappointed they won't have a day with Dad. 2-3 regrettable spankings later in the afternoon my wife calls with mis-behaviour raging in the background. On that rainy cold day, even a step-to-the-side discussion did not bring results.



The 12-year-old is muttering under his breath and driving his younger brother to tantrum screams. He is a master at twisting the emotional knife just like his dad. Hopefully, it is not too far gone to correct. I have promised him that my son's last spanking took place at 12-13 and it was one he never forgot! If necessary, Pa Pa will be the tyrant that young man needs before a police officer, judge, or drill sergeant takes on the responsibility.



The 9 year old screamer is being attacked on all sides (according to him). His twin brothers are split--1 is the "young attacker" the other could care less. In Jackson's eyes everyone is out to get him (good learning of projection from dad). A comfort and assurance talk does some good, but by afternoon he got the tail-burning he deserved.



The twin 5-year-olds are just being 5--translated that means, fight for a while, throw toys for a while, look at TV quietly long enough to get the energy back. My daughter's house has a 2-story cathedral ceiling which echos better than Bat Cave or the Mormon Tabernacle. It is loud and would serve as the perfect echo chamber should my daughter get a starter pistol to get their attention----humm, now I know what to get my daughter for Christmas!!!!



All this action is the result of expected activities being totally changed. Meanwhile, my daughter is wondering, "What if he had pulled out in front of an 18-wheeler? Would I have to deal with this trauma anymore? Would I be able to shed any tears at the funeral--or have to fake it?"

His story was that he had to go to the Emergency Room, the car is likely totaled, he is lucky to be alive! Interestingly, it is told as he came over later in the afternoon to pick up the 12-year-old to go to the gym without going through their mother. Now, ask a question here: If "he was almost killed and went to the Emergency Room," how is it possible to go lift weights later in that afternoon with your son?????

H-m-m-m-m!! We wouldn't dramatize and con our way back into the irate wife's world, would we????

My daughter and wife aren't stupid! Their projection for making a bet is a car hardly dented. Did he even go to the ER and how did he get out quickly enough to continue his day by noon? At the least there was not enough damage to keep him long--or it might be a total lie to get sympathy.

It's not possible to restore the marriage now, but I thought you might like another story of "chuck-and-jive" during Separation Paper waiting time!

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Some Thoughts on Biblical Inspiration

I participate in a blog by Wade Burleson which has come to be known for trying to tell the truth about Southern Baptist behind-the-scenes shenanigans. It has drawn some highly intelligent and articulate participants. Of course I would be called one of the rebellious and questioning ones. Here is my response over the nature of an "Inspired" Bible vs. an "Inerrant" one:


Frank--I am honored that you would take your time and energy to share your views in such a clear fashion. If only our SBC leadership would be so forthright and kind to those of us who share most of your views, we would still be together!!!Remember the Conference on Inerrancy bravely called together in the 80's by the Seminary Presidents: Lolley / Dilday / McCall /etc. Each one of these men had a pastoral heart. Duke McCall was furthest away from Pastor toward Administrator. None of them was stupid. McCall probably enjoyed exercise of executive power the most, but it was not the excess of a Mohler or Patterson.

From that Conference should have come a mutual understanding that we were more alike than alien in our views of Scripture. I have yet to meet a "Liberal" professor who was past a middle-of-the-theological-road sharer of truth and research at the time he taught. Few of those exist anymore thanks to CR under the pretense of Inerrancy.

I think I know whereof I speak because I was President of the Emory University BSU the year Altizer did his "God Is Dead" stuff. I saw, first hand, what "Liberal" is all about. In that case it involved thoughts which were not really that radical couched in words undefined ("dead" the main one) which got the front cover of Time Magazine. 1967 was the year and I entered SEBTS that Fall after Altizer in the Spring.I perceive in your position a desire to make the Scriptures, themselves an object of worship for their validity. Without that object being perfect, you would probably say all your religious belief falls apart. I prefer to worship the Living God using the Scriptures as my "measuring rod (CANON)." At the same time recognizing them as a witness to their experience with God in their day and time.

The transference of the experience of the Bible writers was by word of mouth first. It was subjected to some verbal alteration as no story is ever told exactly in the same way twice. This does not invalidate it. It simply adds a human touch and explains, for example, why the Gospels are not 1:1 replications of each other. There is "truth" in that transmission, but it is not "absolute perfect truth" because man is involved along with his imperfect mind and voice.The verse you quoted from Paul stating "all scripture is inspired . . ." is the basis of my preference of "inspired" over "inerrant." Further, the "writings (graphe)" to which he refers are the non-canonical writings, many of them termed "Gnostic Gospels."

Yesterday, on National Geographic TV there was an excellent presentation of the Gospel of Mary purported to be written by Mary Magdelene. I doubt it would be shown at one of our seminaries today because it hardly follows BF&M 2000. To our loss, it contains valuable information which broadens our understanding of who Mary was and what relationship she had to Jesus---yet we don't want it recognized as a new discovery shedding new light on Jesus!Our orthodoxy makes us afraid of anything new which shakes its perfection. In my position of scripture reverence, I welcome the new stuff, measure it in terms of the old stuff serving as my measuring rod, and consider it also in light of how the Holy Spirit guides me in having a balanced and real faith today and into tomorrow.

Carl C.F. Henry is quoted by you at the end of treatise 1. He has long been recognized as an outstanding Conservative Biblical Scholar. I agree that I would not say what he says because I do not see it as totally accurate.

It does not take into account all the variances I cited before and you covered in your exposition. For me, it does not require a perfect dictated text to a perfect scribe from a perfect God and written in a perfect form transmitted down through the years so I can worship and use that perfect "received text" to have a perfect orthodox statement of faith with a Bible-----so perfectly big------it can be used to bash out the brains of anyone not believing in the perfection!Frankly, I know of no one the Bible claims to be perfect outside of Jesus--who, through faith, we believe to be the Messiah. Although the Bible gives reliable witness to this, the facts of scripture pale in comparison to the joy of salvation when one is willing to turn those facts into a living faith.If, today, an original manuscript were found, for example, which clearly stated: "Jesus and Mary Magdelene were lovers and married," it would not destroy my faith. It would simply enlarge my understanding of who Jesus really was and how our orthodoxy covered it over because Paul, for one, had serious sexual hang-ups and fully expected the End of the Age to come in his lifetime.

Then the Catholic Church turned his words into creed, said Peter was the first Pope (irregardless of how Peter and Paul had to part ways rather than fight all the time), made local priests lord and master of superstitious illiterate masses, raked in millions from each church, and still could not get along with the Greek segment of the Catholic Church.

When my professors pointed out how Paul's position softened in his older letters, it did not destroy my "perfect orthodox complete" faith--rather it gave me the knowledge that any real faith changes over time. Sometimes our perfect and arrogant theology of youth needs to grow an become more open to that which God is showing us every day.

I rejoice in getting a "C" on my Bible course at Emory, although I was "preacher's kid mad" at the time. It was on 2nd Isaiah's Suffering Servant--Was He The Christ?" I had used dad's concordances and Pulpit Commentaries--including C.F. Henry's books you quoted--in diligent research. I had "Jesus is the Suffering Servant" nailed down, annotated, all cross-referenced. I could win any debate on that issue with my paper.

I found my reason for an "average" grade when I read the note from the professor, son of the head of the University's Department of Religion, Dean Reese, which said: "You did an excellent presentation on the first half of the issue. You did NOTHING on the other side of the issue that Jesus might not be the Suffering Servant, therefore you got this grade. Just do better on your next paper! You have great potential."

That got my attention after the shock of a "C" when I knew I had given the best "A" paper ever--after all I was a life-long Baptist with perfect SS attendance and my daddy had every reference book a great preacher should have! Daddy was no dummy and could debate with the best of them. His belief was that heart and brain both needed to be baptized and dedicated to letting people know--in plain language--who God and Jesus really are.

To back this truth-telling up you need to know I was fired from 2 large churches of FBC caliber because I kept preaching the Bible, telling the truth in simple terms, convicting church leadership of their own state of sin and social exclusion, and I was not so fearful as to simply tell them what THEY WANTED TO HEAR! My dad had the same experience.

It proves to me we are often too busy kissing the feet of orthodoxy instead of seeking a living and breathing relationship to God and Christ with the Holy Spirit guiding our daily quest for truth, love, and peace.

I have found that peace despite severe disappointment with the Southern Baptist "demonimation" and its ignorant, egotistical, judgmental approach to religion. Too often we are attending a "Glorified Country Club" instead of a fellowship of believers who worship and work together in a "FELLOWSHIP OF FAITH AND LOVE."

Our growth is in decline. Our giving is to the point 600 IMB missionaries/staff will have to go because we can no longer support them.

Meanwhile, the heads of agencies are earning 3-figure incomes with perks and benefits doubling what actually shows. Our reasonable HMB headquarters on Spring Street (downtown Atlanta) has been transferred to a mega-million dollar campus in affluent Alpharetta---far removed from the street people of Atlanta / the airport / or anything resembling the poor and outcast Jesus associated with.

I fail to see how God could be happy with our arrogance and judging and doing what our Baptist founders despised most----having a Creed instead of an Autonomous general agreement on Theology while we sacrificially give to Missions as our prime goal.

We have drastically changed using Inerrancy as the rally cry. Our humble and dedicated leaders of the past--with a servant attitude--have been replaced with "little kings" at every corner. They would rather fly First Class everywhere and stay in 4-star Hotels than walk with dusty feet among the poor who need the Gospel.

If you and I truly believe in Autonomy, we will simply be friends with a slightly different view of Scripture. Otherwise, we will be bitter enemies so stuck in our different positions that we cannot appreciate how your view appeals to certain people while mine appeals to others.

Together we could reach 10,000 when our 2 churches are cooperating. Otherwise we are leading 5,000 away from the other 5,000 who could and should be helping one another fund missionaries. Our prime purpose, missions, used to win the lost we cannot win from our large church facility!

I think we will be friends!!! I pray we both have a special Christmas filled with love, joy, and peace!

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Will Terrorism be conquered???

Geert Wilders, chairman Party for Freedom, the Netherlands
Speech at the Four Seasons, New York September 25, 2008

Dear friends,

Thank you very much for inviting me. Great to be at the Four Seasons. I come from a country that has one season only: a rainy season that starts January 1st and ends December 31st. When we have three sunny days in a row, the government declares a national emergency. So Four Seasons, that’s new to me.

It’s great to be in New York. When I see the skyscrapers and office buildings, I think of what Ayn Rand said: “The sky over New York and the will of man made visible.” Of course. Without the Dutch you would have been nowhere, still figuring out how to buy this island from the Indians. But we are glad we did it for you. And, frankly, you did a far better job than we possibly could have done.

I come to America with a mission. All is not well in the old world. There is a tremendous danger looming, and it is very difficult to be optimistic. We might be in the final stages of the Islamization of Europe. This not only is a clear and present danger to the future of Europe itself, it is a threat to America and the sheer survival of the West. The danger I see looming is the scenario of America as the last man standing. The United States as the last bastion of Western civilization, facing an Islamic Europe. In a generation or two, the US will ask itself: who lost Europe? Patriots from around Europe risk their lives every day to prevent precisely this scenario form becoming a reality.

My short lecture consists of 4 parts.
First I will describe the situation on the ground in Europe. Then, I will say a few things about Islam. Thirdly, if you are still here, I will talk a little bit about the movie you just saw. To close I will tell you about a meeting in Jerusalem.

The Europe you know is changing. You have probably seen the landmarks. The Eiffel Tower and Trafalgar Square and Rome’s ancient buildings and maybe the canals of Amsterdam. They are still there. And they still look very much the same as they did a hundred years ago.
But in all of these cities, sometimes a few blocks away from your tourist destination, there is another world, a world very few visitors see – and one that does not appear in your tourist guidebook. It is the world of the parallel society created by Muslim mass-migration. All throughout Europe a new reality is rising: entire Muslim neighbourhoods where very few indigenous people reside or are even seen. And if they are, they might regret it. This goes for the police as well. It’s the world of head scarves, where women walk around in figureless tents, with baby strollers and a group of children. Their husbands, or slaveholders if you prefer, walk three steps ahead. With mosques on many street corner. The shops have signs you and I cannot read. You will be hard-pressed to find any economic activity. These are Muslim ghettos controlled by religious fanatics. These are Muslim neighbourhoods, and they are mushrooming in every city across Europe. These are the building-blocks for territorial control of increasingly larger portions of Europe, street by street, neighbourhood by neighbourhood, city by city.
There are now thousands of mosques throughout Europe. With larger congregations than there are in churches. And in every European city there are plans to build super-mosques that will dwarf every church in the region. Clearly, the signal is: we rule.

Many European cities are already one-quarter Muslim: just take Amsterdam, Marseille and Malmo in Sweden. In many cities the majority of the under-18 population is Muslim. Paris is now surrounded by a ring of Muslim neighbourhoods. Mohammed is the most popular name among boys in many cities. In some elementary schools in Amsterdam the farm can no longer be mentioned, because that would also mean mentioning the pig, and that would be an insult to Muslims. Many state schools in Belgium and Denmark only serve halal food to all pupils. In once-tolerant Amsterdam gays are beaten up almost exclusively by Muslims. Non-Muslim women routinely hear “whore, whore”. Satellite dishes are not pointed to local TV stations, but to stations in the country of origin. In France school teachers are advised to avoid authors deemed offensive to Muslims, including Voltaire and Diderot; the same is increasingly true of Darwin. The history of the Holocaust can in many cases no longer be taught because of Muslim sensitivity. In England sharia courts are now officially part of the British legal system. Many neighbourhoods in France are no-go areas for women without head scarves. Last week a man almost died after being beaten up by Muslims in Brussels, because he was drinking during the Ramadan. Jews are fleeing France in record numbers, on the run for the worst wave of anti-Semitism since World War II. French is now commonly spoken on the streets of Tel Aviv and Netanya, Israel. I could go on forever with stories like this. Stories about Islamization.
A total of fifty-four million Muslims now live in Europe. San Diego University recently calculated that a staggering 25 percent of the population in Europe will be Muslim just 12 years from now. Bernhard Lewis has predicted a Muslim majority by the end of this century.
Now these are just numbers. And the numbers would not be threatening if the Muslim-immigrants had a strong desire to assimilate. But there are few signs of that. The Pew Research Center reported that half of French Muslims see their loyalty to Islam as greater than their loyalty to France. One-third of French Muslims do not object to suicide attacks. The British Centre for Social Cohesion reported that one-third of British Muslim students are in favour of a worldwide caliphate. A Dutch study reported that half of Dutch Muslims admit they “understand” the 9/11 attacks.

Muslims demand what they call ‘respect’. And this is how we give them respect. Our elites are willing to give in. To give up. In my own country we have gone from calls by one cabinet member to turn Muslim holidays into official state holidays, to statements by another cabinet member, that Islam is part of Dutch culture, to an affirmation by the Christian-Democratic attorney general that he is willing to accept sharia in the Netherlands if there is a Muslim majority. We have cabinet members with passports from Morocco and Turkey.

Muslim demands are supported by unlawful behaviour, ranging from petty crimes and random violence, for example against ambulance workers and bus drivers, to small-scale riots. Paris has seen its uprising in the low-income suburbs, the banlieus. Some prefer to see these as isolated incidents, but I call it a Muslim intifada. I call the perpetrators “settlers”. Because that is what they are. They do not come to integrate into our societies, they come to integrate our society into their Dar-al-Islam. Therefore, they are settlers.

Much of this street violence I mentioned is directed exclusively against non-Muslims, forcing many native people to leave their neighbourhoods, their cities, their countries.
Politicians shy away from taking a stand against this creeping sharia. They believe in the equality of all cultures. Moreover, on a mundane level, Muslims are now a swing vote not to be ignored.

Our many problems with Islam cannot be explained by poverty, repression or the European colonial past, as the Left claims. Nor does it have anything to do with Palestinians or American troops in Iraq. The problem is Islam itself.

Allow me to give you a brief Islam 101. The first thing you need to know about Islam is the importance of the book of the Quran. The Quran is Allah’s personal word, revealed by an angel to Mohammed, the prophet. This is where the trouble starts. Every word in the Quran is Allah’s word and therefore not open to discussion or interpretation. It is valid for every Muslim and for all times. Therefore, there is no such a thing as moderate Islam. Sure, there are a lot of moderate Muslims. But a moderate Islam is non-existent.

The Quran calls for hatred, violence, submission, murder, and terrorism. The Quran calls for Muslims to kill non-Muslims, to terrorize non-Muslims and to fulfil their duty to wage war: violent jihad. Jihad is a duty for every Muslim, Islam is to rule the world – by the sword. The Quran is clearly anti-Semitic, describing Jews as monkeys and pigs.

The second thing you need to know is the importance of Mohammed the prophet. His behaviour is an example to all Muslims and cannot be criticized. Now, if Mohammed had been a man of peace, let us say like Ghandi and Mother Theresa wrapped in one, there would be no problem. But Mohammed was a warlord, a mass murderer, a pedophile, and had several marriages – at the same time. Islamic tradition tells us how he fought in battles, how he had his enemies murdered and even had prisoners of war executed. Mohammed himself slaughtered the Jewish tribe of Banu Qurayza. He advised on matters of slavery, but never advised to liberate slaves. Islam has no other morality than the advancement of Islam. If it is good for Islam, it is good. If it is bad for Islam, it is bad. There is no gray area or other side.
Quran as Allah’s own word and Mohammed as the perfect man are the two most important facets of Islam. Let no one fool you about Islam being a religion. Sure, it has a god, and a here-after, and 72 virgins. But in its essence Islam is a political ideology. It is a system that lays down detailed rules for society and the life of every person. Islam wants to dictate every aspect of life. Islam means ‘submission’. Islam is not compatible with freedom and democracy, because what it strives for is sharia. If you want to compare Islam to anything, compare it to communism or national-socialism, these are all totalitarian ideologies.

This is what you need to know about Islam, in order to understand what is going on in Europe. For millions of Muslims the Quran and the live of Mohammed are not 14 centuries old, but are an everyday reality, an ideal, that guide every aspect of their lives. Now you know why Winston Churchill called Islam “the most retrograde force in the world”, and why he compared Mein Kampf to the Quran.

Which brings me to my movie, Fitna.

I am a lawmaker, and not a movie maker. But I felt I had the moral duty to educate about Islam. The duty to make clear that the Quran stands at the heart of what some people call terrorism but is in reality jihad. I wanted to show that the problems of Islam are at the core of Islam, and do not belong to its fringes.

Now, from the day the plan for my movie was made public, it caused quite a stir, in the Netherlands and throughout Europe. First, there was a political storm, with government leaders, across the continent in sheer panic. The Netherlands was put under a heightened terror alert, because of possible attacks or a revolt by our Muslim population. The Dutch branch of the Islamic organisation Hizb ut-Tahrir declared that the Netherlands was due for an attack. Internationally, there was a series of incidents. The Taliban threatened to organize additional attacks against Dutch troops in Afghanistan, and a website linked to Al Qaeda published the message that I ought to be killed, while various muftis in the Middle East stated that I would be responsible for all the bloodshed after the screening of the movie. In Afghanistan and Pakistan the Dutch flag was burned on several occasions. Dolls representing me were also burned. The Indonesian President announced that I will never be admitted into Indonesia again, while the UN Secretary General and the European Union issued cowardly statements in the same vein as those made by the Dutch Government. I could go on and on. It was an absolute disgrace, a sell-out.

A plethora of legal troubles also followed, and have not ended yet. Currently the state of Jordan is litigating against me. Only last week there were renewed security agency reports about a heightened terror alert for the Netherlands because of Fitna.

Now, I would like to say a few things about Israel. Because, very soon, we will get together in its capitol. The best way for a politician in Europe to loose votes is to say something positive about Israel. The public has wholeheartedly accepted the Palestinian narrative, and sees Israel as the aggressor. I, however, will continue to speak up for Israel. I see defending Israel as a matter of principle. I have lived in this country and visited it dozens of times. I support Israel. First, because it is the Jewish homeland after two thousand years of exile up to and including Auschwitz, second because it is a democracy, and third because Israel is our first line of defense.

Samuel Huntington writes it so aptly: “Islam has bloody borders”. Israel is located precisely on that border. This tiny country is situated on the fault line of jihad, frustrating Islam’s territorial advance. Israel is facing the front lines of jihad, like Kashmir, Kosovo, the Philippines, Southern Thailand, Darfur in Sudan, Lebanon, and Aceh in Indonesia. Israel is simply in the way. The same way West-Berlin was during the Cold War.

The war against Israel is not a war against Israel. It is a war against the West. It is jihad. Israel is simply receiving the blows that are meant for all of us. If there would have been no Israel, Islamic imperialism would have found other venues to release its energy and its desire for conquest. Thanks to Israeli parents who send their children to the army and lay awake at night, parents in Europe and America can sleep well and dream, unaware of the dangers looming.
Many in Europe argue in favor of abandoning Israel in order to address the grievances of our Muslim minorities. But if Israel were, God forbid, to go down, it would not bring any solace to the West. It would not mean our Muslim minorities would all of a sudden change their behavior, and accept our values. On the contrary, the end of Israel would give enormous encouragement to the forces of Islam. They would, and rightly so, see the demise of Israel as proof that the West is weak, and doomed. The end of Israel would not mean the end of our problems with Islam, but only the beginning. It would mean the start of the final battle for world domination. If they can get Israel, they can get everything. Therefore, it is not that the West has a stake in Israel. It is Israel.

It is very difficult to be an optimist in the face of the growing Islamization of Europe. All the tides are against us. On all fronts we are losing. Demographically the momentum is with Islam. Muslim immigration is even a source of pride within ruling liberal parties. Academia, the arts, the media, trade unions, the churches, the business world, the entire political establishment have all converted to the suicidal theory of multiculturalism. So-called journalists volunteer to label any and all critics of Islamization as a ‘right-wing extremists’ or ‘racists’. The entire establishment has sided with our enemy. Leftists, liberals and Christian-Democrats are now all in bed with Islam.

This is the most painful thing to see: the betrayal by our elites. At this moment in Europe’s history, our elites are supposed to lead us. To stand up for centuries of civilization. To defend our heritage. To honour our eternal Judeo-Christian values that made Europe what it is today. But there are very few signs of hope to be seen at the governmental level. Sarkozy, Merkel, Brown, Berlusconi; in private, they probably know how grave the situation is. But when the little red light goes on, they stare into the camera and tell us that Islam is a religion of peace, and we should all try to get along nicely and sing Kumbaya. They willingly participate in, what President Reagan so aptly called: “the betrayal of our past, the squandering of our freedom.”
If there is hope in Europe, it comes from the people, not from the elites. Change can only come from a grass-roots level. It has to come from the citizens themselves. Yet these patriots will have to take on the entire political, legal and media establishment.

Over the past years there have been some small, but encouraging, signs of a rebirth of the original European spirit. Maybe the elites turn their backs on freedom, the public does not. In my country, the Netherlands, 60 percent of the population now sees the mass immigration of Muslims as the number one policy mistake since World War II. And another 60 percent sees Islam as the biggest threat to our national identity. I don’t think the public opinion in Holland is very different from other European countries.

Patriotic parties that oppose jihad are growing, against all odds. My own party debuted two years ago, with five percent of the vote. Now it stands at ten percent in the polls. The same is true of all smililary-minded parties in Europe. They are fighting the liberal establishment, and are gaining footholds on the political arena, one voter at the time.

Now, for the first time, these patriotic parties will come together and exchange experiences. It may be the start of something big. Something that might change the map of Europe for decades to come. It might also be Europe’s last chance.

This December a conference will take place in Jerusalem. Thanks to Professor Aryeh Eldad, a member of Knesset, we will be able to watch Fitna in the Knesset building and discuss the jihad. We are organizing this event in Israel to emphasize the fact that we are all in the same boat together, and that Israel is part of our common heritage. Those attending will be a select audience. No racist organizations will be allowed. And we will only admit parties that are solidly democratic.

This conference will be the start of an Alliance of European patriots. This Alliance will serve as the backbone for all organizations and political parties that oppose jihad and Islamization. For this Alliance I seek your support.

This endeavor may be crucial to America and to the West. America may hold fast to the dream that, thanks tot its location, it is safe from jihad and shaira. But seven years ago to the day, there was still smoke rising from ground zero, following the attacks that forever shattered that dream. Yet there is a danger even greater danger than terrorist attacks, the scenario of America as the last man standing. The lights may go out in Europe faster than you can imagine. An Islamic Europe means a Europe without freedom and democracy, an economic wasteland, an intellectual nightmare, and a loss of military might for America - as its allies will turn into enemies, enemies with atomic bombs. With an Islamic Europe, it would be up to America alone to preserve the heritage of Rome, Athens and Jerusalem.

Dear friends, liberty is the most precious of gifts. My generation never had to fight for this freedom, it was offered to us on a silver platter, by people who fought for it with their lives. All throughout Europe American cemeteries remind us of the young boys who never made it home, and whose memory we cherish. My generation does not own this freedom; we are merely its custodians. We can only hand over this hard won liberty to Europe’s children in the same state in which it was offered to us. We cannot strike a deal with mullahs and imams. Future generations would never forgive us. We cannot squander our liberties. We simply do not have the right to do so.

This is not the first time our civilization is under threat. We have seen dangers before. We have been betrayed by our elites before. They have sided with our enemies before. And yet, then, freedom prevailed.

These are not times in which to take lessons from appeasement, capitulation, giving away, giving up or giving in. These are not times in which to draw lessons from Mr. Chamberlain. These are times calling us to draw lessons from Mr. Churchill and the words he spoke in 1942:
“Never give in, never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy”.

My comment:

Reverse discrimination seems to be the core of much social manipulation these days. It is just as bad, if not worse, than simple discrimination. It, somehow, gives the former discriminee the idea they have a right to make up for lost time--sometimes brought on by minority hiring and promotion policies. People who do not have the skills or ability are promoted over those who do simply because of race or sex.

Not good!!!

I watched a section of Atlanta before the era of great anti-discrimination actions. My Aunt and Uncle lived in "Kirkwood" which was one of the "pretty little villages" within easy commute or walk of downtown Atlanta of the 50's.

The practice was called "block busting." A (usually black) realtor managed to get a white family to sell out. Often it took 2-3 families in the same house to afford it, but that didn't matter. Pretty soon white homeowners were being spooked that the community was going black because every home sold got bought by non-white folks.

Realtors then pounced on everyone not wanting to sell and offering low prices with the observation, "Look what's happening and you better sell before prices go to nothing!" By the time about 30% of homes got sold, the prices did go to nothing. People who had paid for a home and looked, with contentment, toward a comfortable retirement had to almost start over building equity. All the value of their house was used in a down payment and moving expenses. This is why residents of Cobb County are fighting to keep MARTA rail lines and buses our of there! They have lost enough of hard earned money to block busting.

What happened next is horrible: unbridaled threat and intimidation from new black families and their children. My elderly Aunt and Uncle had peeping toms all the time. Rocks were thrown at the house. There was no off street parking so they looked out to see their old car being used as a bouncing game with children all over it. Police could not respond in time and soon grew weary of the complaints. These older white people were told they were "on their own."

This is real. It has been going on in America since the 50's. Now it is simply extended around Atlanta where many communities have nothing but foreign language signs. The Realtors get rich by buying low and selling high to their own kind.

Prejudice and racism in the reverse is far more evil than what preceeded it and the motivation is Money-Money-Money!

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

A night spent at my daughter's house

Sunday was interesting. I needed to get the Bobcat to Rocky Mount and pick up wood for another man who had cut some trees. My situation is so desperate, I am willing to just pick up wood for it's value. A full trailer load of good logs which are turned into plywood could bring me $200. That is the maximum any load will bring, but something is better than nothing.

I had planned to do this Monday, but bad weather was coming so I upped it a day---to find the rascal had let someone else have the wood without telling me he had changed his mind. What a pile of--I'll just say sorry pulp wood which brings about as much as cow manure!

So I went on to my daughter's house to find only my wife there. It was so nice to have a few hours alone with the woman I love and respect who is protecting our daughter and grandsons.

Daddy had the 4 boys for the day and brought them back about 5:00. The second he saw me a scowl went across his face. I decided to be nice and asked, "How's it going today?" With that he slammed the McDonald's bag full of air and scared the mess out of the boys. He walked off and within a few minutes was leaving muttering. He then, with the most hateful voice said, "I hope you enjoy MY house / MY TV," and slammed the door on his way out. Had he not had his mommas car instead of his hot dog Mustang, I am sure rubber would have squalled for 1/4 mile! Hate was in the air and the boys were terrified.

A little later when they were snuggling and talking the truth came out: their daddy had spent the day saying all kinds of hateful things about my wife and I as his parents goaded him on in front of the boys. All it really did was make the boys evaluate even more who cared about them and what a loving home they were coming back to. We turned out the lights, popped popcorn, and had a good children's movie along with child talk and play until it was bed time.

In a way I am laughing myself to death over this: he had criticized behind our backs only to find both of us being nice to him when he brought the boys in. That was the real source of anger--he knows his family and him are mean and cruel---then he had to see 2 grandparents giving the children only love and control. How sad!

As I drove back home 1.5 hours yesterday I spent most of the journey in thought and prayer. I put in a call to my daughter's attorney and talked with his assistant. They were supposed to have the Separation Papers drawn already, but it hasn't yet happened. They have been paid in full. They advised Sara to be sweet and non-combative so he would be more prone to sign. The trouble is, no matter how nice we all are, he continues awful phone calls and messages with all the horrible female expletives of "b" / "w" / "s" / etc. accusing my daughter of an affair she never even thinks about. The secretary immediately called my daughter to see if more severe things should be done to further protect her. They care about this more than the money involved. This lawyer has been through divorce himself with a abusive wife!

Imagine this: the mother of 4 active boys who gets no help with their discipline or care outside a bag of fast food which makes them worse / a house which never gets all straight because he and his boys think clothes should just be thrown anywhere they take them off / a manager of a Bed, Bath, and Beyond store at Christmas shopping time---and she is out chasing some man!!!! Give me a break. With his bad male behaviour and 4 boys copying him, the last thing she wants is another stupid male. She may never marry again.

I have counseled many women in this situation. To a person, they have all said, "The last thing I care about now is another stupid bully / idiot / self-centered man! If I never have to live with one again, it would be nice!"

Women have a great capacity for love and tolerance, far more than men. BUT there comes a time when they have been abused enough and all love ceases. They might feel sorry for the rascal, but there is no response to attempted hugs or kisses. He thought it was cute to take a picture of his "manhood" and show it to my daughter with an invitation to the marital bed. He might as well have poured a big bucket of cold water over her. It was TOTALLY gross!

The LAST THING she wants from him now is any touching or even being in the house or within sight of her or the boys. He has died as far as she is concerned because love has died. In this sense she has totally fulfilled her wedding vow: It says "til death do us part" and the death of love through abuse is as real as physical death--in many ways, if he went through with his empty threat to "kill himself," it would be kinder and more final. In fact when he said it in a follow up to his hateful recorded message she wisely told him, "Go ahead! Use a long knife or big gun so there will be no big hospital bills or debilitated person left behind to bother me any more!" It is all empty threat--I doubt this one has the guts---BUT NEVER SIT BACK THINKING THIS---he has enough crazy and anger to harm others, if not himself!

I back my daughter 100% on all this! For her sake and the boys this terror must end. Love and family living deserve much more. He is trying to pass on the sick upbringing he had, but my daughter, and us, are moving ahead to get his Demon Possessed personality to the Isolation Ward. Unless he chooses to change after 35 years, all he will do is spread the germs of "I can't love myself" in any relationship he makes.

If he killed himself today, he would be no more dead than with what he has done to love in 15 years of abuse! I pray for him an exorcism of his demon of not knowing what love is because he got only hate and abuse as he grew up.

My daddy always said, "You can't keep a bird from flying over your head, but you can surely keep him from nesting there."

This was in terms of his poorer than poor upbringing out of which he WORKED! He hitch-hiked to college, peeled potatoes and cut hair to get through, and then worked every day so his family would never experience the Depression era poverty he knew! I did yard work and trim carpentry to get through!

Anyone can grow up in difficult circumstances, but NO ONE has to stay there! If you stay there it is by choice and excuse rather than getting hold of your boot straps and pulling yourself up. Nowadays, race or poverty are somewhat an asset because every expensive tax-paid program is available should you be a minority / poor / uneducated / etc. Don't tell me "you can't help it" because my father and I have proven otherwise.

Just get off your pity pot and get on with life!

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Payback is HELL -- divorce update

It is hard to believe a week has passed. I spent the night at my daughters, stayed with her sick twins for the day, had the middle boy come home early from school with my wife having to leave work and bring him. The oldest is the only one somewhat intact, but he has a terribly sullen attitude much like his father these days.

This morning my wife filled me in on yesterday--You're gonna love this!!!!

My daughter's abusive "5-year-old-in-a-man's-body" is now staying with his parents who created this monster with their crazy parenting techniques. He called my daughter to tell her to shut the air vents under the house and turn on a light you have to crawl to since a freeze was coming. Not that he is off right now and knows exactly what to do, but he has to keep his commands going!

Next he starts complaining about how he is being treated:
  • Must be home at a certain time (early, even though he is 35)
  • Must make his bed and wipe the shower door to leave it EXACTLY as momma dictates
  • If he is 1 minute late to a meal the (usually chicken strips because momma hates to cook) plate will be in the microwave
  • Answer all kinds of questions and listen to all kinds of stupid advice from meddling parents.

Payback---indeed it is HELL and this abuser deserves every bit of it!

He would get worse right now from an angry father who has just learned his daughter was grabbed by the hair and had a butcher knife placed to her throat in front of all the boys. He can thank God the separation is in progress and daddy does not have to intervene on that one.

My father, years ago, told me something very important: "When the Bible says, 'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord,' it means it!" I am eternally grateful to my father for pointing it out and telling stories of how it worked out for him. My Baptist preacher experiences have been exactly the same--I left the vengeance to God and it certainly was provided in ways I could never have planned nor predicted if I had taken vengeance into my own hands.

One quick example:

My second Senior Minister church had a group called "the clique" at its core. These people appeared to be faithful church members. They sang in the choir, taught SS, were elected Deacon and other positions. To the quick observer they seemed to be "righteous."

Once there and trying to work with them, I quickly discovered it was all a cover-up for backbiting, illicit affairs, making people with spiritual needs more sick instead of helping them to heal.

To make a long story short they corrupted 2 of my new staff members--literally physically with sexual antics corruption--to the point one had to be forced to resign and the other through his "other woman clique manipulator" ended up in a divorce / job loss / almost successful suicide place.

Guess who got fired as the Senior Minister----ME!!!!

I wanted to hurt several someones for how my wife and children got treated. Their actions were so threatening and hostile I took a friend and a .357 magnum with me after the vote to get things from my office. It may sound like a strange tale to you, but I had to live it.

You will never guess what happened to the "prime schemer" in this little story of having my career and family badly hurt. He had an elder son whose wife was expecting a baby. That young pregnant lady was the daughter of another participant in the "ousting of Gene event." In fact, he moderated the meeting when the church could have rejected my resignation, but the Moderator told them they could not do it because I had submitted it-----HOGWASH!!!

The beautiful child was born. Mommy and child were home alone in the first few days. She had put the baby to bed and decided to take a long warm soaking bath. Her husband came home within a few hours to find his beautiful wife and new mother drowned in her bath tub!

It sends chills down my spine!

Another participant in my pastoral slaughter had his beautiful beauty contestant type daughter in her early 20's fall off the back of a motorcycle into the path of an 18-wheeler which ran over her head! I'm not making any of this up. To a one those who meant evil for me paid a price as vengeance happened within the first year of my leaving!

Payback is HELL---usually it sets straight those awful things hurtful people have done to others who were just trying to do their job / get along / live and honest life.

If anyone chooses to take life in his own hands and exact vengeance, it turns into the kind of awful martyr bombing / plane hijacking / etc. stuff of recent years which has our soldiers by the thousands being exposed to vengeance bombing / roadside devices / etc.

Vengeance begets vengeance ad finitum!

When Jesus advocated returning good for evil / turn the other cheek reactions, he was offering a better way. Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. proved that what seems impossible can become so by peaceful protest as hard as it might be to endure the blows, dogs, water hoses, etc. from those presently in charge.

As Christmas approaches, we did get a present from above which gives us encouragement to believe that when God says, "Vengeance is mine," he means it and you can trust it. It is proven to me that my father was right!

Thanks, Dad, I will surely see you again one day. You just got there before I do.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Riding Herd on Buffalos

I loved cowboy movies growing up. They were the highlight of TV as we got our first black-and-white set from Sears in the mid-50's. In fact, a kid who didn't like westerns was pretty much out of luck on any given Saturday. I remember Howdy Doody--it had a western theme? My Friend Flicka was on later with the beautiful black stallion. Finally, was my favorite: The Roy Rogers Show.

I dreamed of owning a beautiful Palomino like Trigger. I asked Santa for Roy Rogers guns one Christmas, and got, instead, a Lone Ranger set of 6-guns while my younger brother got the Roy Rogers set. The difference was brown leather for Roy Rogers and black for Lone Ranger. His guns were light and could shoot caps. Mine were silver and 3 times as heavy. Later on, as a father it came to me that children with identical toys would be fighting all the time so our parents wisely got Santa to bring different kinds or there might be a real killing between the Scarborough boys. They were quite competitive!

I was born on March 23 and my brother came along on March 3 the following year! We were almost like twins without having popped into the world at the same time. Momma later confessed to my wife in her first pregnancy: "Don't you dare believe that old wives tale that you can't get pregnant while nursing a baby. Gene's younger brother Charles is living proof that it is a total LIE!"

My brother and I grew up when life was good. There was no A-C nor power steering. Few people had a TV--much less color. Media was more radio than TV and we spent many a night or sick time from school listening to WSB Radio in Atlanta--"The voice of the South." It's funny how things stick to a child's mind! We even survived riding in a car without seat belts or cell phone distraction! Our parents actually had enough sense to drive carefully and slow enough to be safe for their sake and us children.

Like WSM in Nashville, WSB can still be heard in a scratchy way almost anywhere in the SE United States. I still sometimes tune to 750 AM just to feel like home again. Atlanta was not yet to her first million residents. You could play all over the neighborhood safely. DeBell street in Clarkston was nothing but wall-to-wall children laughing and make believing! Anything you did wrong would get back to momma before we got home, and God help us if we did anything immoral or illegal. There was no "wait til your daddy gets home from that SC farm girl."

She would almost always make us pick our own switches! This was my first adventure in executive decision making: what is "just the right size?" If it is too little and flimsy it could cut you / if it is too stiff and big so it won't cut, it might bruise! Dear God, help me pick the right one 'cause I'm gonna get a whipping soon!

One thing I remember about the westerns were cattle stampedes. Even worse was the dreaded buffalo stampede. Where cows could bash the poor cowboy whose horse slipped, the buffalo would mash them all flat as a flitter. Cows would go around the buildings and boulders, buffalo would go through and leave nothing standing! A buffalo stampede was the most dreaded result of nature's wrath. They would spook at thunder and lightening and come over the hill after my cowboys felt the earth shake as a warning. God help the cowboy sleeping peacefully at night with his innocent herd of cows nearby when the buffalo got loose!

We had a small herd of buffalo residing near us at my last house. It was always neat to take our grandchildren by to see these massive animals. Normally children get to see them only at a zoo, but the Red Oak / Castalia area had our own herd. They were beautiful. On of the things which fascinated our small ones was the time a baby buffalo got somehow under the fence. It's momma was close to pushing down that barbed wire before the farmer discovered the little lost baby. Instead of just the momma cow pushing until the barbs hurt and stopped, a buffalo has such thick hide and companionship no fence stands a chance when the herd wants to get to the other side.

I know now why "You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd" was a popular teen song. It stimulated a funny image, but it told a serious truth: try to skate among the hairy beasts and you will get smashed!!!

Now for the application as to why I feel like I am skating in a buffalo herd these days!

Our ECONOMY is a buffalo herd to me. After some 2 years of Depression (notice I didn't say Recession) the buffalo herd of corporate America is getting all the favors, while the small businessman is seeing virtually NOTHING. At last they are talking about "tax credits" and "easier loans," but why has the buffalo herd crushed for so long.

The first response this time in Depression was massive bailouts to financial and investment firms along wit the auto industry. Instead of setting investors back on their feet and customers right, the feet of the buffalo herd crushed them more! The buffaloes running each part of those 3 herds gave themselves bonuses for running their business into the ground.

Did the customer or investor get one red cent???? Not just "NO" but "HELL NO!"

Us American taxpayers now own 61% of GM, but are their products 61% cheaper to the poor fools whose money bailed them out??? Same answer as above!!!

Has the unenforced rules and regulations of the Stock Exchange brought lyers and thieves to justice or removed their securities license from them? Again, same answer as above!!!

How many have gone to Federal Prison for depriving the typical investor of about 45% on average of the value of their investments??? Has my retired school teacher / preacher's wife mother had her portfolio restored. It was wisely managed, but where she had little or non worries, she is in a tight spot now.

I don't like that!!!

I earned a Series 6 Securities license and it wasn't easy. The test is hard and few pass it the first time. I took a course to help me after getting completely buffaloed by the books. The most helpful thing the teacher told us was that most of the multiple choice answers would be similar and more than enough were tricky with very similar answers.

HOWEVER, the way to get passed was to ALWAYS ask a simple queston: Which answer is closest to "Always tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth to the client."

I did not know all there was to know about equity management, but that 1 major concept above got me passed with a right good score the first time through---truth, whole truth, nothing but truth! I like that.

Our buffalo herd feeding grounds seem to lack too much of the above for some reason. The honest brokers and managers as well as corporate executives tossed that motto out the window and traded it for another:

Always tell the investor what he wants to hear--profits / more profits / and nothing but profits!

This is a dangerous motto.

Did you know EVERY Corporation in America has the legal right to keep 2 sets of books: 1 for the Tax Man and another for the Investor!! Guess which one shows roses and rainbows while the other shows gloom and doom. What happened to truth / whole truth / nothing but the truth? Why are not the same figures shown to both parties--pay your fair taxes and if it is bad, just tell the investor why you have learned and how you hope to improve the future!

I had my Insurance License first and then added the Securities License so I was pretty schooled in 2 professions which call for utmost honesty. That was not a hard push for me because in my childhood westerns--the good guys wore white hats and always told the truth. Even my other hero, The Lone Ranger, who wore a dark outfit had a white horse and white hat both. Roy Rogers nor the Lone Ranger would ever tell a lie to anyone. As soon as they heard about corrupt land barons or dirty business people in a town, they got seriously on their trusty steeds and ran them out.

Now, if Saturday morning cowboys reflected society 50 years later, Roy's immediate response to hearing of corruption today would be: "Let's take a survey to see what the public thinks! I'm not risking getting shot if it's not popular with the people!"

What a wuss! All of us "made in America" kids would immediately switch to the Lone Ranger and never trust Roy again! Forget his beautiful palomino and dog "Bullet" with lovely Dale Evans and Pat Brady by his side. If he tells lies and won't do anything about crime, I will never send in my cereal boxtops again for a decoder ring!!!.

Things in buffalo herd land are so bad today, we haven't even noticed our .50 box of Kellogg's cereal now costs $5 and has air blown into the mash which makes the cornflakes so we get less grain and more air in that "family size box at Wal-Mart."

Meanwhile, that poor farmer raising the grains is getting about the same price per ton as he did 20 years ago! The boys on the Commodities Exchange in Chicago are riding their Bentleys and Rolls-Royces to the airport for their corporate jets to buy oil futures in Saudi Arabia and vacation for $10,000 a day in Dubai at the same time!

My God!!!! The buffalo herd is thundering at us and we have no place to go! As a small businessman I am making 30% of what I did 3 years ago. I finally met another man in worse shape--he makes $300-400,000 luxury cruisers and is making 10% of what he made 3 years ago. His customers seem to be those described above vacationing in Dubai. I guess a large, beautiful, gas guzzling yacht just pales in comparison to a corporate jet and Dubai.

Does it have anything to do with buffaloes thundering down on us?????