A Love Story.

The first time he saw her was in the cafeteria at high school. She was young — just a freshman — and he thought she was cute. What he noticed immediately was her huge smile. It spread from ear-to-ear, and lit up the whole room. It was clear she was reserved, but it would be some time before he found out just how shy she really was.

He was rebounding from a breakup with his first love. That’s tough, and if you’ve ever been through it, you know how much it hurts, and what a confusing time it can be. He was currently dating a crush he’d had since junior high school, but it was on and off, because of his own immaturity, and it was now cooling off.

He was outgoing, and fairly popular, and president of his Junior class. But mostly he just loved being a musician, and playing music for Jesus. As fate would have it, the younger sister of the crush he was dating, was herself dating another musician — a young keyboard player. They met one evening and formed an instant friendship.

The keyboard player’s cousin was the shy girl from the cafeteria.

They were introduced for the first time at a school music program. And as the musician friends began to hang out together, so did the shy girl hang around as well. And so the friendship began.

She was beyond shy. Not popular — not because she couldn’t be, but because she didn’t want to be. She was nearly an introvert. But for some reason, not with him. Oh, she was always quiet — still is, to this day — but she could talk to him. And she would listen as he would unload all the hurt from his recent breakups. She was a good listener. They would secretly talk on the phone until the wee hours of the morning, whispering into the phones to each other as they hid in their beds. And the friendship blossomed.

They were accused of secretly dating long before they actually were. In fact, as the accusations flew among their friends and family, he took her aside to assure her his intentions were only to be friends, and that he wasn’t interested in dating her romantically. She nodded in agreement, but he knew later she was hurt to find the friendship would go no further.

But he was stupid. And it only took him a few weeks to figure it out. She was a great girl. Quiet, and shy, and cute, and supportive, and loyal, and loving. And they had developed into great friends. And he loved being with her — near her. Two days after Christmas, 1986, he asked her for a date, and kissed her for the first time. Oh boy…

Dating for them was an uphill battle in many respects. Most of their family and friends didn’t believe the two completely diverse personalities could succeed. But what the others couldn’t see or possibly understand was how the two complemented each other. He providing spontaneity, and excitement, and a silliness in her life that she might not have had on her own, and she providing quietness, serenity, and unconditional love that wouldn’t be there otherwise for him. Opposites attracted a perfect match.

Four years of dating gave way to marriage in 1991. She worked in the healthcare field, while he pursued his music and self-employment endeavors. She supported him completely, and always encouraged him. And he loved her all the more for it. Like most young couples, they had little money. They dreamed of living at the beach someday. But all they really wanted to do was hang out with each other. And they did that a lot. They still do.

But things weren’t simple, and they certainly weren’t easy. Her health has always been precarious at best, and life-threatening at worst. Non-working sinuses sent her back and forth to the doctors and the operating tables, and continue to cause problems to this day. The really rough stuff was still to come.

Five years of marriage saw their first child arrive. The second two years later. The former, a beautiful baby boy, put her in pre-term labor and 10 weeks of bed rest, and arrived a full month early. The latter, another beautiful baby boy, put her in the hospital mid-term as he arrived 11 weeks premature. And it was here that he began to see just how strong and courageous she really was.

And she was a world class mother. A real pro! Quite frankly, the best he’s ever seen. She has the pure, ingrained skills that most mothers envy, but not all have. Watching her with his boys melted his heart. She gave up working to stay home with the boys. And she joyfully handled the bulk of the day-to-day work of raising two boys, while he worked to provide for the family. And when she’d fall ill, he’d take care of her. But she was always better at taking care of him and the children.

Five years of marriage turned into 10. Through each chapter, and every hardship, he fell further in love with her. They still dreamed of living at the beach someday. Money stayed tight, but they managed to earn enough to pay the bills (mostly!) and create memories with the family. Going to Reds games was the favorite past time, and they went to a game every time they could save up the few extra bucks to do so. They’re so glad they did. And so are the boys. With every game, every new adventure, and every new memory, he fell in love even more.

It was the year between their 10th and 11th anniversary that changed their lives forever. In the previous few years, she’d had some serious health setbacks. More sinus surgeries, a battle with a nasty little fungus that attacked as a result of some of the meds she’d taken for her sinuses, and a hysterectomy brought on by complications (and negligence) from the second pregnancy.

But 2002 was the year of the brain tumor.

Fifteen hours of surgery, and six weeks later, 11 more. Massive complications resulted in 3 spinal fluid leaks, and 3 more surgeries. The whole ordeal left her with deafness in one ear, and half a smile. But he thinks its the biggest, most glorious half smile on earth. And still brighter than most others.

He loved her ever more. But he learned as he never had before that she was the strongest, toughest person he’d likely ever know. She powered through things that would have broken normal people. She stood up to pain that would have leveled most anyone else. And through it all, she made sure the children were covered, made every practice and activity, and got all their homework done. Amazing.

She survived, and they celebrated with a trip to Disney World, thanks to her parents. Vacationing near an ocean, in the warmer climates, would become more regular. She felt better near the ocean. And they dreamed of living there even more.

Ten years became 15. Self-employment had given way to an everyday job. He still played music, and she still supported it. They made a little headway in the world, and still spent all their time together as a family. As 15 years turned into 20, their love continued to grow even more. He became his own boss once again, and with her continued support and encouragement, he was able to grow the business into the most prosperous years of their marriage.

The boys were growing up. And he was becoming more and more clingy. The older he got, the more he just wanted to be with her. He didn’t realize it all those years ago, but from the moment he first saw the shy girl, the rest of his life would be consumed with being with her. They began spending twice a year at the ocean. The salt air helped her headaches and cleared her sinuses. And he loved when he could see her feel good.

The boys graduated high school and left town to pursue their own lives and dreams. But there was sadness too. They lost two good friends, and another family member. Very suddenly, and very sadly, and far too young. And as God blessed his business and their marriage, the dream of living at the ocean became much more. It became a quest.

As 20 years came and went, they put the wheels in motion. But the wheels got stuck one night when a flood visited their home and took away well over half their possessions. But it couldn’t take away their dream, and couldn’t slow down their love as it grew for each other through every hardship. They’d long since learned that nothing could stop them. Certainly not three feet of water.

Twenty-five years arrived. Their children threw them a party, and their friends and family gathered to celebrate with them. Many who’d never thought it would work over 25 years earlier. And they were happy to be there, and happy to share it with the people they love.

And now the dream is coming true. In a couple weeks, they’re moving to the beach. In a brand new home they never could have imagined when they were kids just learning what love was really all about. They’re older now, and their bodies a little more wrinkled and broken down. But not so old and broken down that they can’t enjoy holding hands on the beach. He’ll still work, and she’ll still take care of him and their home, and still encourage his endeavors. And she’ll still love him in that innocent, quiet, unconditional way she always has.

And she’ll still take his breath away every time she’s near him.

And for maybe the first time in her whole life, she’ll get to wake up every morning in a place where she doesn’t feel sick all the time. A place where her head doesn’t hurt every day. In a home she’s always dreamed of, with the man she’s loved for 30 years.

For him, he’ll be happy to see her feel better, to be sure. But mostly, he’ll just be glad to wake up next to her every day. Doesn’t matter where it is.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Thankful for Friends and Family!

I've been around the block long enough to have learned you should never say never.

That being said, today is our last Thanksgiving as Indiana residents. And so today, we're especially retrospective. As cliche' as this is going to sound, today we are thankful for good friends.

For the past several weeks, we have been scheduling get-togethers with as many friends and family as possible before we scoot out of town. And what a joy it has been. No matter the breakfast, lunch, or dinner, we have had an absolute blast catching up with loved ones, and it is an endeavor I'm so glad we've undertaken.

And after each, I've left thinking, "Why haven't we done this more often?"

Wonder why that is, ya think?

Why did we wait to make this effort now, right before we're leaving town?

I get it. I fully understand how busy everyone is, because our own lives can get really busy, really often. Especially when we were raising our boys, our time could be filled up quickly with little else than dealing with all their activities. The reality is we're all busy. And it's probably been that way for most generations.

But then, we all set our own priorities, don't we? Don't get me wrong, our immediate families should always be our first priority. I know mine was to me, and I make no apologies for the fact that often, other friends and family in my life got pushed aside for anything I wanted to do with my wife and kids. I would expect the same treatment in return.

But sometimes I do think we lose focus. Outside of immediate family, how many other things -- and I do mean "things" -- do we put in front of spending time with loved ones? As I look back at my own life, and especially as I get older, I can reflect on numerous times when I chose to occupy my time with something that now seems completely meaningless, over spending time with a good friend or family member.

How many times have I been invited to do something with someone, only to tell them no, I'm simply covered up right now? I regret a lot of that now.

To be fair, and completely honest, the Mrs. and I have always been really good hanging out with just each other. In fact, there's nothing I enjoy more than just being with her. And so while we have many friends and family to whom we feel very close, we've never been that couple who always goes out with that other couple, or always vacations with those particular friends. And that's OK. We know others who virtually always go out or vacation with another particular couple or group. And that's OK too.

In either case, in the larger scheme of things, how many times have we put off spending time with loved ones for something far less important?

A good friend of mine recently told me that they have a rule in their family: If another friend or family member asks them to do something together, the answer is an automatic yes. Life is too short, he says, to pass up those opportunities. So they always say yes.

I like that. I like that very much. I wish I'd adopted that mantra a long time ago.

And so here we are, just over a week away from our big move. And we will be leaving everything -- and most everybody -- we've ever known. Don't misunderstand... we're VERY excited for this new chapter in our lives. And moving across the country isn't the same today as it used to be. With social media, friends can sometimes now stay in touch better than ever before.

But it isn't, of course, the same as being able to sit down over dinner and just fellowship with each other. Or just hang out in each other's living room and catch up, face to face.

Yes, today, we are especially thankful for all our friends.

Which is why it was so important to us in this move to find a home that had space for people to come visit. We've never lived in a home that was really big enough to house visitors. And it was a priority of ours to make sure we got one in this move.

And we have. Plenty of space, in fact, at the risk of sounding boastful. We're moving to a vacation spot, and we'd love nothing more than for our friends and family to come and enjoy it as much as we do. To everyone we've invited to come visit... yes, we're serious. To each of you who may be reading this... yes, we're serious. It would be our absolute pleasure for you to come visit us.

There may be times, to be sure, as we'll have to handle the responsibilities of our everyday lives, that you may have to come and entertain yourselves a bit while in town. But to the best of our ability, we'll strive to be good and gracious hosts. We'll make time over dinner a priority, and perhaps we can play a round of golf, or explore Savannah for a day, or just relax on the beach.

We'd like that very much.

And so, on this Thanksgiving Day, please know beyond a doubt that we are are deeply thankful for all the friends and family in our lives. And we hope to see you all again very, very soon.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May your lives be as blessed as ours.

The Late Night Coon Kill

It was late at night. Actually, it was early morning, ‘round about 1:00 am or so. I remember that much, although on a normal ride home, I probably would have remembered very little other than walking in the door and going to bed.

My buddy and I, Kenny Fulk, had spent most of the evening at another friend’s house in Paragon, IN, playing music. We’d made this trek a few times before, but we always had a good time playing guitar at Dan’s house. And so, this Friday night we’d decided to head down again for the jam session.

If you know anything about Paragon, IN, then you know it doesn’t matter where in Paragon you find yourself — either out in the ‘burbs, or in the beautiful, downtown Metropolis — you are out in the sticks. Paragon is one of those small southern Indiana towns that is rural no matter where you go. Even though IN State Road 67 runs right through the middle of town, there’s nothing uptown about it. Paragon is in the woods.

The home we visited when playing guitar together is not in the downtown Metropolis. It is off the beaten path, to say the least. So the drive home, at one in the morning, involves a lot of backwoods roads that, save the headlights of the van, and maybe the moon, are bathed in darkness. “Pitch” black is the term we like to use.

After a night of singing and playing guitar, as the passenger in the van and not old enough to have my license anyway, I was nodding off to sleep, and quick. Kenny was driving.

Just as I was almost out completely, I felt the van swerve suddenly, and vaguely heard Kenny exclaim, “Oh man, that’s a $20 bill!”

The van came to a screeching halt as I was instantly snapped awake. By the time I realized what was going on, Kenny was exiting the van — in a hurry. “Come on!” he yelled at me.

It’s here where I should digress a bit and tell you that Ken Fulk is a hunter. And while he’s good at hunting many things, he is, beyond measure, a raccoon hunter of the highest order. I mean, this guy’s a pro! Raccoon hunting, as you may or may not know, involves hunting with dogs. Coon hounds, to be more precise. Really, one doesn’t necessarily hunt raccoons in and of itself. One actually releases Coon Dogs into the wild, and THEY hunt the raccoons. The hunter, in turn, just chases the dogs around in the woods until they “tree” a raccoon, which means they’ve chased the raccoon up a tree. And now, as the coon tries to hide up in the tree, the hunter then tries to shoot the raccoon out of the tree. It’s big fun.

And Kenny is a master. He’s also a maniac — when it comes to coon hunting, I mean. When he’s hunting raccoons, he’s absolutely ruthless. Yelling and cussing and kicking and screaming, mushing the hounds like an Iditarod racer, rambling head on through briars and bushes and thickets in search of the kill. Kenny is a great man of God, and one of my dearest friends and mentors, and I can say this without any reservation whatsoever: When he’s huntin’ coons, he’s an absolute madman!

Now, you can’t really eat raccoons. Or so I’m told. But raccoon hunting is popular, A) because it’s big fun, and B) there’s money in the pelts. Skin a raccoon, and good coon fur is worth some money.

And that brings us back to our story. It was the aforementioned “…that’s a $20 bill” exclamation that caught my attention. Apparently, as I slipped off into dreamland, an unlucky raccoon had rambled across that Paragon backroad right into the path of Kenny’s van. Recognizing the financial opportunity, Kenny had swerved the van and ran him down!

To secure his bounty, Kenny stopped the van and jumped out to retrieve the dead coon from which he could extract the $20 pelt.

Except he wasn’t dead.

Apparently, the run-in with the van — literally — hadn’t killed the raccoon, but rather had merely wounded him. And now, though injured, the little critter was making a break for it down the dark road. Kenny opened up the back of the van, shoved a big, black flashlight into my hands, and, not having a hunting rifle in the van, grabbed a hatchet. Once again yelling, “come on!” he gave chase.

Now get this: the van — running, with the lights on and the doors open — is sitting cockeyed in the middle of this dark road. Here I am, still barely awake and not really sure what’s going on, following a hatchet-wielding wild man as we’re running right down the middle of the road chasing a limping and retreating raccoon.

At 1:00 am.

In my memory, it looks like a chase from the TV show, Cops. Just as we reach the raccoon, in a last ditch effort to escape, the little critter darts off the road to the right, down a ditch and up the other side, and get’s stopped by a fence. Kenny, of course, heads into the ditch in full chase. Realizing the only option is to turn and fight, the raccoon spins and snarls. Before the little guy can launch the attack, Kenny pounces.

Remember, I’m holding the flashlight.

Kenny leaps upon this spitting and snarling and scratching and biting and screaming and injured critter and starts pounding away at his head with the butt end of the hatchet. Through it’s squeals and Kenny’s grunts, I can hear it’s little skull cracking. And I stood there and watched Kenny beat this thing to death.

When the carnage was over, Kenny turned around, all sweaty and out of breath, and said, “I can get $20 for this guy.” Or something of that nature.

And so, he picks up his prey, and we trudge back to the van. Not surprisingly, not one car had driven by to witness the battle, not that they could have gotten by anyway, what with the van blocking the road as it was.

Lest you forget, we’d been playing guitar together earlier in the evening, singing songs that were loving and touching and meaningful. Now, Kenny dumps this dead, bloody carcass in the back of the van, right alongside our guitars and amps. It was a touching tribute, I thought, to the valiant fight the little guy had waged.

We got back in the van and drove off. We didn’t say much to each other, and I didn’t fall back asleep. I was never really the same after that.

That was over 30 years ago, and in case you’re wondering, Kenny and I are still best friends. He and his family mean the world to me and my family. We still play a lot of music together, and yes, he’s still a maniacal raccoon hunter. This is just one of probably a hundred hilarious stories I can tell involving experiences with Kenny.

Most of my friends, and virtually all of our mutual friends have heard the story about the time Kenny beat a raccoon to death with the butt end of a hatchet in the middle of the night. As it is seared into my memory, I’ve told it many times, often in the presence of Kenny himself just so people know I didn’t make it up. There are other raccoon stories as well. Funny ones. But none as fascinating as this one.

Tonight, Ginger and I had the pleasure of having dinner with him and his wife, along with other great friends of ours. We sat and ate Japanese food together, and laughed as we told old stories. And yes, the infamous raccoon story was mentioned. As we’d all heard it before — and Kenny and I lived it in all it’s glory — I didn’t have to retell it. I just had to mention it. And we laughed.

It occurred to me that I had never written the story down, to save it, you know, for posterity sake. So here it is. And it was all true. I promise.

We look forward to our good friends coming to visit us in our new home. There’s no raccoons where we’re going to live in South Carolina. Well, actually, I don’t know if that’s true or not. What IS true is that where we’re gonna live, its not uncommon for alligators to ramble around, even out in the middle of the road.

And what a story that will be when Kenny tries to get money for some alligator boots!

Biff's!

The title should tell you all you need to know. Perhaps my all-time favorite part of Mooresville, Indiana, is Biff's Bakery. Equally for the food, the sweets, the experience, and the memories. The official name was Biff's Pioneer House. The staff answered the phone by simply saying, "Bakery!"

My Mom and Dad were taking me and my brother and sister to Biffs as early in my life as I can possibly remember. Opened on Main St. in 1956 by Al "Biff" Hornaday, ol' Biff ran things until he passed in the late 80's. By that time, most of the day-to-day operations were run by his son Larry, and Larry's wife Alice. Larry passed away in 2007, and ownership was subsequently transferred to his children, but Alice ran things -- mostly by herself in the past few years -- until her death last year. Sadly, despite multiple offers and options to keep it open, the children chose to close the doors upon Alice's death.

My Dad worked there as a teenager in the 50's, alongside Alice, who met Larry at the diner as she waitressed there as a teen. And my family remained friends with the Hornaday family until it closed. So my connection to Biffs goes all the way back to practically when it opened.

My first memories of Biffs came sometime in the 70's when my Dad, by then a trucker, would stop at Biffs before coming home from a run, and bring home a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I loved those cookies! Eventually, my memories morph into actually going to the diner and having breakfast. After my parents divorced, we continued to go to Biffs regularly.

By the time I was a teenager, but still years away from driving, I would ride my bike there on summer mornings and buy donuts. Often, friends and I would walk up there in the evenings to eat. And when my buddy and I, Ken Fulk, (refer to my last Fond Memory) started playing music together every Friday night, we would end our jam sessions every week with a trip to Biffs, often well after midnight.

And let me tell you, you haven't lived unless you've been to Biffs after midnight.

Until the last decade or so, Biff's was open 24 hours, and in addition to the normal late-night clientele, if you hung around long enough, Pat's Tavern would close up just down the street, and a good deal of their inebriated crowd would ramble down to Biff's for a late night (early morning!) meal. And that's when the real fun would begin!

My friends and I, and subsequently, my family and I, continued to patronize Biffs up until it closed. And I miss it tremendously.

I could write a book full of memories from Biffs alone. But there are some highlights:

First, of course, is the food. Oh, the food. From a breakfast standpoint, there has never been, and likely never will be, anything better than Biff's biscuits and gravy. Many loved the sausage gravy, indeed some of the best. But for me, it was their chipped-beef gravy.

OMG! The best ever. It's bad enough that one can hardly even find chipped-beef gravy these days, but to this day, I've never had any, anywhere, as good as Biff's, and I doubt I'll ever find any. There was magic in their gravy, I'm convinced of it, and it is to our detriment that we'll never get to experience it again.

After breakfast, they made a killer Beef Manhattan that may not have been the best ever, but it was pretty darned good! A full lineup of great, down-home, small-town, Indiana country cooking.

But what made Biff's famous was it's bakery, and what put Biff's on the map, was the Bismark. There are many who believe Biff's may very well have invented the entire concept of the Bismark, the standard by which all the other imitators today are measured. The Bismark, simply put, is a cinnamon roll, topped with white icing and sprinkled with nuts. And it was world famous, as they literally fielded requests for Bismarks from all over the world, as far away as Russia! They would cook 'em up, box 'em up, and ship 'em out. And they were in demand from all corners of the States and beyond.

As for me -- and I realize this is almost sacrilegious -- I wasn't a big fan of the Bismark, primarily because I like chocolate, and I don't like nuts. For me, it was the Long John! The Long John was a creme-filled (not gross custard!) pastry, topped with chocolate icing. And it was pure Heaven and Hell all in one donut! I miss them tremendously, as, again, no one has been able to quite duplicate it. I'm sure many of you miss the Bismark just as much.

As for the people, well, who doesn't remember Ruby?! Ruby Gregory was old when I was a baby, and old when I became an adult. And all the while, waitressed at Biff's like a boss! For those who may not remember, Ruby was about 3 feet tall, with white hair, and if you complained about the food she brought you, she'd smack you in the back of the head. You never really had to tell her your order, because she already knew it anyway, and it was fun to watch the drunks from Pat's come in and hit on her, only to receive their own smack in the head!

And I never walked out without giving her a hug. Ruby was an absolute angel, and I miss her to this day.

Alice, of course, was the constant for the entire 50+ years Biff's was open. She was the owner, the waitress, the bus boy, the cook, the dishwasher, the bill payer, and register girl. For the final few years, as her children were content to let it die, Alice did most of it all by herself just to keep it going. Many was the time I'd go in the diner and Alice would be the only one working in the whole place. And the food would still be as good.

She knew most everyone's name, and knew everyone's order. And for a place that was founded by, and named for, her father-in-law, she was the face of the business for the last decade it was open.

And my other memories are endless. The countless after-midnight meals. My buddy writing my name on the bathroom wall. The bible-studies with friends. That chats with friends. The booth that belonged to Theo Hastings, who would enter the diner through the back kitchen door. Arkie Vaughn. Ruby smacking me on the back of the head. The passed-out drunks with their faces buried in their biscuits and gravy. Donnie. The night a preppie couple chastised my friends and me for being too boisterous. Dirty. The night my very large best friend climbed up on a chair like a baby because he saw a mouse. Biscuits and chipped beef gravy chased by a Long John. Alice's smile. And on, and on, and on...

I went into Biff's hundreds of times over the years, with just as many memories. You probably did too.

But here's today's memory: One night, just a year or two before Larry Hornaday died, my wife and I bumped into him and Alice at the Golden Corral Buffet in Plainfield... of all places. It is the only time I can ever recall encountering either of them outside the diner. Larry's health was failing him, as was his eyesight.

As I approached to say hello, of course Alice gave me a hug, but Larry couldn't see me well enough to recognize me. Alice told him, "It's Paul Uhls." "Paul Uhls?" Larry replied. "That's a fatter Paul Uhls than I remember!"

I laughed. I said, "Of course I'm fatter. It's your fault from me eating at Biff's all those years!"

Indeed... from all the food at Biff's, all those years. And I'd do it all again.

There's a little diner just down the street from our new home in South Carolina. It's called the Squat N Gobble. It's little. Homey, and kitschy, and inviting. We've visited a couple times. It's pretty good. Nice, down home cookin'. We'll probably eat there with some regularity. I might even become good friends with the owners and people who work there.

But they don't have chipped-beef gravy. And they don't have Long Johns. And they don't have Alice and Ruby.

It's not Biff's. It could never hope to be.

Time to Make the Right Choice!

This is my final political post for this election. No debate on this one. Comment if you want, but there is nothing left to debate. You’re either voting for our future, or against it.

Tomorrow is the day. If you’ve already voted, I pray you’ve made the right decision. If you have not, then it’s time to face the reality of what you’re about to do.

There are only two candidates with any chance of winning tomorrow. ONLY two. And it’s time to stop playing around and understand exactly what is at stake. A vote for anybody other than Donald Trump tomorrow is a vote for Hillary Clinton. Plain and simple. And before you “vote your conscience” you need to fully understand what you’re doing.

Donald Trump is a flawed man, there is no question about that. He’s done and said things in his life that he himself says he regrets. He has not been a man of extremely high moral character over his life. As a Christian, I understand the apprehension, I really do. It would be far easier if we had a man with the character of a Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush. Unfortunately, we do not.

But let me be clear about this: I believe Hillary Clinton is an absolute snake. She is evil to the core. She is the serpent in the Garden, and don’t you forget it! Since the beginning of her political career (which has been her whole adult life, by the way) she has done nothing that hasn’t been self-serving, to advance her own position, and make herself wealthy beyond measure. The same could be said about Donald Trump, but the difference is that she’s done it at the expense of the taxpayer, not in the private sector. She’s used her positions in public service to advance her own agendas, that benefitted no one outside her own personal circle. She changes her political position as often as the wind changes, to whatever side is most politically prudent at the time to keep her positions. (Think: the Iraqi War and Gay Marriage.) She’s hell bent, as are most Liberals of her ilk, on destroying America as we know it and turning it into a state that serves her own, selfish needs, while creating a permanent lower class of people that keep her in power. She’s a bad, bad person.

So, if you do not vote for Donald Trump tomorrow, here’s what you’re voting for:

1) A party that specifically and on purpose — and by a vote — removed any reference to God from their official platform. (Look it up.)
2) Per her own campaign promises, an all-out assault on the Bill of Rights, including but not limited to the Freedom of Speech, the Freedom of Religion, and the Right to Bear Arms. (Which will eliminate your right to decide how to protect your family)
3) The willingness to murder up to 1 million babies per year.
4) The end of traditional family values as we know them.
5) The continuation of 8 full years of Liberal agenda, with a specific intent to put an end to America’s superiority in the world.
6) The continuation of a path towards the government controlling all costs and decisions about your healthcare. You’re own thoughts, needs, and desires about your own healthcare will become irrelevant.
7) A promise to raise taxes on anyone who becomes successful in business.
8) A promise to allow unfettered immigration, with no attempts to vet radical extremists whose sole goals are to destroy the United States and kill Americans. (See how that’s working out for places like France and Germany.)
9) The possibility that the Supreme Court could be stocked with Liberals for at least the next generation or two. Your children, and perhaps your grandchildren, will be forced to live under a Court system whose entire belief system revolves around the idea that the government should control every aspect of their lives, and that the rights our forefathers envisioned for us are no longer valid.
10) A promise to continue the completely out-of-control government spending that has plunged this country into a deficit that is now virtually un-fixable, with no plan whatsoever to curb frivolous spending.
11) A promise to take the decisions about how to educate your children away from you and the people in your community, and place it in the hands of a few people in the federal government 1000 miles away from your home.
12) A blatant and conceited disregard for the laws of this land. The only presidential candidate in history to be under an active FBI investigation at the time of the election.
13) A history of corruption and scandal, that has left a lot of dead bodies in her wake, and created ridiculous wealth for her and her family.

Remember, everything you think is wrong with our federal government today is the fault of Hillary Clinton and all the other career politicians like her. Donald Trump has never raised a tax, never voted to take away your right to anything, never voted to spend away taxpayer money, and never created any policy or law that furthered our deficit. Everything you believe Hillary Clinton will fix by voting her into office was caused by her to begin with!

That’s what you’re voting for if you vote for anyone other than Donald Trump tomorrow. You can vote your conscience if it makes you feel good about yourself when you’re all done, and yet, all that above will be the only result. You can say that at the end of the day, God will remain in control, and that will be true. But remember this, God routinely let nations wallow in their stupidity, and suffer the consequences of their selfish desires, ambitions, and decisions. God will remain in control to be sure, but it doesn’t mean he will miraculously reach down and fix all the problems we ourselves created. Your children and grandchildren could suffer for years for the decisions you make tomorrow.

Donald Trump might be a creep. He might be off-the-cuff. He might be hot-headed. He might be insensitive. He might not be the best we could have nominated. But in this election, he is the man who represents our platform. He is the man who looked into the camera and admitted that even though he might not always hold the same standards we do, he would fight for our right to hold those standards, believe the way we want to believe, worship the way we want to worship, and not have to bow to the will of the government. Yes, he said that, and promised that. Hillary doesn’t even pretend.

Feel good about yourself if you want. I can’t stop you. But just know the future is in your hands, and regardless of how you cast your ballot tomorrow, your vote will result in either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton as our next president.

I pray our children can live with the results.

Mentoring a Young Man

My mother and father divorced when I was 10 years old. My older brother did a great job of stepping in as the man of the house, and played a huge hand in helping to raise me. I will be forever thankful to him because he never treated me as a younger brother, but rather treated me pretty much as an equal, and spent a lot of time with me. The countless hours we've spent over the years playing baseball and softball together will mean more to me than he will ever know.

But there were other men who stepped up and mentored me in my younger years as well. As I grew into my early teen years, the paths -- both good and bad -- I could have taken in my life were wide open in all directions. I wanted to be a rock-n-roll star, that was for sure, and there were several men in my church who recognized my talents and my desires and helped foster me in the right directions.

These men took me to my first Christian rock concerts when I was yet still a young lad, and when they finally took me to my first Petra concert, it was over, and I was hooked. My career, such as it is, as a musician for Jesus has continued ever since.

The men of God who shaped me into the man I am today are probably too numerous to mention, but I would like to single out a few. Scott Johnson, Bill VanHuss Steve Gregory, Randy Weece, Jerry Shrake, Tom Reedy and Terry Crist were all men who played a major role in helping raise me, whether they realize it or not. And with some, we've forged friendships that are as strong today in my adult years as they ever were when I was a kid.

But here's today's fond memory: When I was a youngin', our church, Mt. Gilead, would hold a New Year's Eve party each year at Neil Armstrong elementary school. On New Year's Eve 1982, as I was playing games with friends in the gymnasium, a jam session broke out in the corner. Several men from the church had toted their guitars along with them to the party, and they started playing music together. I was enthralled. As I stood there gawking, Terry Crist asked me where my guitar was. I instantly insisted my Mom drive me home so I could get it.

She did.

I returned and was instantly invited to sit in -- me, a boy of 12, among men, all seasoned musicians. They all treated me as one of the guys! And I was in absolute Heaven! It was the first time I'd every gotten to "jam" with anyone else, and they let me play the songs I knew and play along with theirs.

One gentleman in particular had a 12-string guitar. I'd never seen one -- actually didn't even know such a thing existed. He played it like a champ, and I was in awe. We played well past the midnight New Year, and I went home with my Mom a very happy young man.

Flash forward about 8 months: As the new school year started, our new Sunday School classes changed over, and I stepped into my first Jr. High Sunday School class. The teacher for the class was the man with the 12-string guitar. It was the first time I'd encountered him since New Year's, but I instantly recognized him and reminded him who I was. He remembered and asked if I was still playing guitar. When I assured him I was, he suggested that perhaps we get together and play some more music together.

A few weeks later, he picked me up from my house on a Friday night, and took me to his home. We sat in his (sparsely furnished) living room and played guitar together into the wee hours of the night. That began a regular Friday night get together that would last for years, and dominate almost my every Friday night clear thru high school.

More importantly, we formed an instant and strong friendship that has lasted to this very day. He was 13 years older than me (still is, actually!) At 27 years of age, he treated me, a 13 year old boy, as an equal. He mentored me, and taught me about life, and how to be a man, and a gentleman, and how to be a better person. And mostly, how to love Jesus.

The ensuing years saw countless nights at Biffs, trips to Paragon, the senseless murder of an unfortunate raccoon, endless laughs, forming a band, gigs, gigs and more gigs, he as my employer, and a thousand other memories I don't have space for here.

Oh yeah... and gas -- methane, I think -- lethal, toxic, tear-inducing, breath-taking (gagging?) gas. 'Nuff said.

Today, his family is my family, and mine his, and our friendship might as well be a brotherhood, as strong today as it was when I was 13.

Thank you, Kenny Fulk, for taking a young kid under your wing, for seeing something in him, and not only encouraging it, but fostering it. For teaching him about Jesus, and for playing a vital role in forging him into the husband and father he is today. You've been as good a Mentor, Father, Brother, and Friend as I could ever ask for.

I might be moving a little farther away, but I think there's still plenty of music to be played. Perhaps a jam session on the beach is in our future, with our girls swooning off to the side, yeah?

And I would ask you to stop stinking things up, but what fun would that be, huh?

P.S. I considered publishing a list of things I've learned from Kenny. The list would read like lines from a movie. A lot of great stuff, but, alas, they're not all family-friendly enough to make public. Shame, that. But they're funny!

The Real Reason We're Moving.

Many people have asked us why we are moving away from Mooresville.

There are multiple correct answers to that question, with varying weights of importance to each answer.

But to reiterate once again, aside from the fact that as we grow older, we become less and less enamored with Indiana weather, our decision to move has absolutely nothing to do with Mooresville.

But there are definitive reasons, and the elements that have factored into our decision to relocate have come into focus, and have been pondered, prayed over, and considered over the course of many years. The ultimate decision was not made lightly or flippantly, and certainly didn't come without some trepidation and some sleepless nights.

At the top of this list is the benefit to my wife's overall health the change in climate is going to provide. As many know, the Mrs. has suffered from multiple health issues for most of her life. It started with a brutal case of Histoplasmosis (look it up, kids) when she was in 2nd grade as a little girl. The belief is that that bout damaged her overall immune system, and she has struggled with numerous sicknesses and illnesses ever since, not the least of which was a brain tumor in 2002.

The underlying issue she has dealt with her whole life is sinus problems. Not the normal sniffles and allergies so many of us deal with, but rather, wholesale sinus failure, wherein her sinuses simply don't work, and her's don't function the way our's do for most the rest of us. Back in the early 1990's, her ENT doctor told her if ever a sinus transplant was invented, my wife would be first in line for the procedure. He told her then she would eventually need to move to some low humidity clime to eventually find some relief. "You'll need to move to Arizona, or to an ocean somewhere before you'll ever really feel better," was how he explained it to her. That was nearly 25 years ago.

Since then, that bit of wisdom has proven true every time we've vacationed near an ocean. In the week or maybe two we might have near the ocean, her sinuses clear up, her headaches clear up, and she's quite frankly a different person, only to have it all plug up again the moment we cross the state line back into Indiana.

With the residual complications and headaches she now suffers as a result of her brain tumor, the almost daily weather and pressure changes Indiana is so famous for are absolutely brutal on the Mrs. And without boring you with all the other details, let's just say that that seed of wisdom that was planted by her doctor all those years ago has been slowly growing in us ever since.

In the summer of 2014, most of the other factors simply began to fall into place pretty quickly. Our children were growing up and moving away on their own. The housing industry was such that the time was right to sell our home here and buy something there. And various other factors lined up which finally made the whole puzzle just sort of solve itself.

But the reality is that something far bigger was at play. And there was essentially one much larger factor that drove us to finally pull the trigger on all of this. And to explain it, I have to take you back to the Spring of 2002.

That was when Ginger's brain tumor was diagnosed. And while I've marginally explained the damage it did to her health, and the permanent physical damage with which she was left, the whole episode had a much bigger impact on our overall psyche.

As you might imagine, the whole thing scared the daylights out of us. There was a very real fear of (and a very real chance of) her dying from this. After she came through it all, it left us with a very different outlook on life in general. It put many things into perspective for us. In short, we were left with a much bigger appreciation for life than we'd had before.

After her brain tumor, certain things that had been important to us before just weren't anymore. We began to play a lot more. And I don't mean just spending money frivolously or ridiculously, but rather making sure we spent our time more on living life, and less on worrying about things. Mowing the grass could wait. That project we'd been meaning to tackle just didn't seem to matter that much anymore. Certainly not at the expense of spending time enjoying each other's company, and spending time with our kids.

We made sure we didn't miss vacations. Often, when chores needed to be done around the house, we'd instead all pack up and head to a Reds game. Rather than asking the Mrs. to slave over dinner, we'd just go out and have some pizza or Japanese food. (Kabuto Steakhouse in Greenwood is one of our favorite places, not because the food is great or it's priced well, but rather because we just have so much fun every time we go there!)

We just spent a lot more time playing, relishing every moment we could to be with each other.

A few years went by, and one day, a dear friend of mine from my childhood died suddenly playing softball. Literally dropped dead running between 1st and 2nd base. From a heart attack. She was 42.

Flash forward to 2013. On my way to Cincinnati with my brother one evening to enjoy a Reds game, we got a call that my Brother-In-Law had just suddenly died from a pulmonary embolism that afternoon. He was just over 50 years old.

A few weeks later, my best musical buddy -- the best musician I ever played with -- died in his living room from a heart attack. He was in great health. Died so suddenly they never even transported him to the hospital. Took him straight to the morgue. He was 47.

Six months later, my dearest friend in the whole world contracted the flu and died three days later. With the exception of my wife, he was my very best friend. A brother, spiritually and emotionally, virtually bound at the hip since we were in high school together. He was 42.

I miss them all tremendously. And through it all, the idea that time is precious and life is short was reinforced in both my wife and me stronger than ever before. Our dream was to move to an ocean, and all of the sudden, we realized if we didn't do it soon, at any time, we could lose the opportunity to do so.

Even after the decision was made, our home here was sold, and we were whiling away the time to move south in a simple, innocent little home we were renting from my mother, we were hit with a flood and lost half our possessions. There's an old adage that says all our best laid plans are good, "If the Good Lord's willin' and the creek don't rise." That night, just over a year ago, quite literally and unexpectedly, the creek behind our house rose, in a way it hadn't in over 85 years.

And there was something else. In all the times we've spent vacationing at the ocean, my wife and I noticed something: There weren't a lot of retirement-aged people walking on the beach. Most of the people we saw were younger, full of life and vibrant. Healthy and active. And I finally decided: I want to walk on the beach and hold hands with my wife while I'm still young and healthy enough to do so. If I'd learned anything over the past several years, it was that tomorrow isn't promised. Now is the time.

So here we are, on the precipice of chasing our dream and making it come true. We're building our dream home, in our dream place. Not because we have an abundance of money, or that we've finally somehow "arrived." (I'm definitely not retiring!) Rather, just because we realized that if we ever want to make our dreams come true, now's as good a time as any, before it's too late. If you don't take the plunge, how can you ever get wet?

In some ways, I guess you could say, in part, this is our way of honoring all those dear friends and family we've lost. I'm sure if any of them had the chance, they'd tell us to go for it, and don't waste a day. I like to believe that, anyway. We're in charge of making our dreams come true. The health benefits are just a bonus!

Let me leave you with this: A few years ago, I read an article that impacted me so much, I printed it out and tacked it to the wall in my office. The only such article I'd ever done that with. It was titled, "The Top 5 Regrets of the Dying." It impacted me profoundly, even as I was already on the journey. #2 in particular got to me: I wish I hadn't worked so hard.

Wow. Doesn't that hit home? Sure, every decision we make carries consequences and requires certain sacrifices. And the reality is that we have to have a job, pay our bills, and provide for our families. But for us, the decision to play more meant we couldn't drive the nicest car, or buy the coolest stuff, or have the trendiest clothes. But we sure do have a lot of great memories. We spent a lot of awesome time together as a family. And I wouldn't trade a moment of any of it.

Now, we're moving on to the next chapter, ready to make brand new memories, and share them all with our expanding family.

And my encouragement to you is this: if you're reading this, chase that dream! Go for it. Don't let words of others talk you out of it. Don't make any excuses and don't have any regrets. Only you can make your dreams come true. And despite what this world might tell you, you can do it if you want to. You'll have to make sacrifices, and there will be consequences. But you can do it.

And you should do it now.

Epilogue: As of this writing, my wife and I are blowing off work tomorrow and heading to Cincy for a Reds game. Because when your son and his new wife call and say, "Hey Dad, you wanna meet us for a Reds game this weekend?" you go. You just go.

The answer is always yes.

Colin Kaepernick: Yep, I Went There.

So, a friend of mine asked me today what I thought about the Colin Kaepernick flap. I posted the other day, after reading a single article on the subject, and seeing a couple news reports that I thought he was a piece of trash.

I still believe that, by the way, but that's about as far as I'd thought about it, until today.

After researching the whole thing much further, and reading countless others' thoughts and posts, and watching several more media wonks give their thoughts, I feel as though I have more to offer on the whole situation.

Until my friend asked me what I thought, I figured there probably wasn't a whole lot more to write about it that hadn't already been written, but as I dug a little deeper, I realized there's probably much more to offer.

First, the facts. Yes, Kaepernick has every right to do what he did, and will continue to do, so he says. Like burning a flag, and other un-patriotic acts that make the American in all of us very unhappy, it is behavior that is indeed protected under 1st Amendment freedom of speech. As I heard a comedian say once, "Every moron has the right to be stupid and wrong."

And second, to be fair, Kaepernick had been doing this for several games (as well as posting quite a bit of un-patriotic propaganda on his social media sites for the last year or so.) He had been doing so quietly. He didn't call a press conference to announce his feelings. Some media hack finally noticed and asked him about it, and that's when he broke his silence. So it doesn't appear he was trying to make a scene, at least initially, or seeking any significant publicity by his actions.

With all that said, however, as the Apostle Paul says in the Bible in his first letter to the Corinthians, "All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things edify." Suffice to say, just because some behavior is protected by the Constitution, it doesn't necessarily mean its a smart or beneficial way to act. I posted yesterday that just because his decision not to stand for the National Anthem is Constitutionally protected, it doesn't mean it's not stupid or hypocritical.

And that's especially true in this instance.

He's dumb because he thinks this is actually gonna accomplish anything. The truth is, all it does is piss most people off, and does little but further divide the very factions he claims he wants to draw closer together. We can give all kinds of lip service that this type of thing props up a social and national conversation about race, and so forth and so on, but the reality is that is simply polarizes people further. We've had plenty of conversations over the past 50 years. What we need is for someone to actually do something constructive for once. For example, the only thing the Black Lives Matter people have done is burn down their home cities. Nothing positive at all. Kaepernick has done little more.

Which brings us to Kaepernick's gargantuan hypocrisy. First, here's a guy of mixed race, who's black father abandoned him, was taken in by white adoptive parents and given a great education and every opportunity any man of any race could ever ask for. He succeeded in his field and reaped a fortune-building contract, north of $100 million. There's not another country on the planet where a man of his talent -- and his race -- could gain the accolades and earn the type of money he bagged. Not one where he would even have been give the chance!

Not one.

But its worse than that. With all the very real poverty, oppression and injustice this country does have, how does a man of Kaepernick's means choose to help?

By sitting down during a song.

That's it. Just sitting. Not one donation of his enormous fortune to any decent cause. Not one offer to volunteer to an advocacy group. Not a run at a public office where he could effect legislation to change. Not even open his mansion to a few homeless people. Nothing. Nothing at all of any substance whatsoever to actually make a difference.

I don't make much money. But I like seeing kids have a better life. So I volunteer at Kiwanis and the Special Olympics. It's not much, but its something. Something that actually does something tangible.

Every Black Lives Matter constituent actually ought to be offended every time this nutbar takes their hard-earned money. Because that's what he does every time one of them watches one of his games, either on TV or in person. Every beer they drink at the game, or from an advertiser on the broadcast is the very money that pays Kaepernick's contract. He's taking the money (LOTS of it) from the very people he claims are so oppressed and repaying the fight by sitting on his butt.

Now there's a hero.

But here's the real problem: When you burn our flag, or deny respectively standing for the National Anthem, you're not simply protesting what you believe to be an oppressive government. No, what you're actually doing is disrespecting every man or woman who has ever put their life on the line to protect the freedoms under which you live. You might believe our government is jacked up (and it is, in many ways,) and you might believe we have a long way to go regarding basic human dignity. But what you cannot deny is the sacrifice so many have made, and still make on a daily basis, to allow us to live as freely as we do.

When you refuse to stand for the National Anthem, you are thumbing your nose at the very people who risk their lives to protect the Constitution that covers your moronic behavior! Maybe you believe police officers are out of line sometimes. But you can at least be thankful to them when they catch the burglar that broke into your home, or bring down the drug pusher that sold drugs to your kids, or nail the guy that tried to rape your wife.

Not cool. Not cool at all.

Of course, you have many bloggers and media dopes making the situation even worse. I read an article today that claimed we should all refuse to stand for the Star Spangled Banner because it was written as a celebration of the murder of slaves. The article was so dumb, I'm not even gonna link it here. But if you search, you'll find it.

I've read many others who lauded it as heroic, and others that stated we should all be thankful he did what he did because it means we all have the freedom to stand up (or sit) for whatever it is we believe in. Yada, yada, yada.

All, of course, that totally miss the point of why this so upsets so many people.

And in the irony of ironies, many of the same, liberal, media hacks who've hailed Kaepernick as a hero for exercising his 1st Amendment rights are the same dopes who not only decry others for saying anything derogatory about blacks, or Latinos, or gays, but claim we're not even allowed to think such things. As though some dumb behavior is protected by the Constitution, but another is not. Unfortunately, ALL dumb behavior is protected by the Constitution. All morons are equal in the eyes of the law. But it just lends credence to the idea liberals are OK with whatever you do, as long as what you do is something they agree with. They're tolerant of your behavior, as long as your behavior falls in line with what they believe.

Kaepernick is no hero. He's a misguided, entitled brat. There's even reason to believe that he might just be motivated by good action in the sack, as his behavior has turned for the worse ever since he started dating a very good looking female DJ who just happens to have Islamic sympathies and kinda hates America herself.

He's a hypocrite of the highest order, and is ultimately gonna reap what he's currently sewing.

Plus, he's a 49er. So there's that. But maybe not for long.

It's Not a Goodbye: It's Just, "See Ya Later!"

What an honor and a privilege it was for me to be named the Greater Mooresville Chamber of Commerce’s Businessperson of the Year for 2015 earlier this Spring at the Annual Dinner. It is so far the pinnacle of what has been a seven-year journey for me as I’ve striven to grow my printing and graphic design business into a respectable and successful venture for me and my family.

Five years ago, as I stood in front of those in attendance at our Chamber monthly luncheon and asked to be considered for a position on the Board of Directors for the Chamber, I honestly mentioned that my desire to be on the BOD was a selfish one. I explained that I wanted my business to grow. I wanted it to be successful and one of the ways to make that happen was to serve in a position that would allow me to help others make their businesses more successful. For me, and what I do, if other businesses prospered, they might need more of what I offer, and in turn, that would help me be more profitable.

Serving on the BOD helped me do just that. In general, being a member of the Chamber of Commerce offers businesses a wide variety of opportunities to network with each other and several avenues by which they can share their own business opportunities. Being on the board gives one a great opportunity to help plan those events — make them bigger and better — and come up with new ideas that can help Mooresville businesses grow and prosper.

Being a member of the Chamber helped me streamline my business, to make it the most efficient and helpful service possible. It helped me identify the businesses that would most benefit from my services — which tend to be small businesses — and it allowed me to tailor those services so they would most meet the needs of my clients.

When I started this business seven years ago, I did indeed have an eye on the future and the ability to be mobile with what we do. In streamlining and tailoring my business in such a way to best meet the needs of my clients, it has also allowed me the ability to do what we do from just about anywhere.

Which has now brought us to the next chapter in the lives of my family.

Many already know that we are in the process of moving out of state. Specifically, next to the ocean in Hilton Head, SC. There was a time in our lives we never dreamed we’d ever leave Mooresville. And please know that our desire to move now has nothing to do with wanting to leave our hometown.

Mooresville is our home. It’s all we know. It’s all we’ve ever known. My wife and I grew up here, went to school and married here, and raised our family here. Most of our own friends and family are here and will remain here after we leave.

But for a variety of reasons — none of which have anything to do with Mooresville — we have decided to move. Health concerns, our children living and going to school out of state, and the ever less desirable cold winter weather are just a few of those reasons. Some life-altering events also have factored into the decision. The loss of a some real good friends way too early and an unexpected flood also made us realize that if we’re ever going to pursue our dreams, now is as good a time as any, before we might not be physically able to do so.

So it is with a mix of excitement and sadness we have chosen to move and start a new life by the ocean. But I’m not retiring by any stretch. Thanks to the support of the Mooresville business community, and the Chamber of Commerce, I’ve positioned my business to be able to function from anywhere, and to be able to continue to meet the needs of my current clientele.

I intend to build a client base in our new hometown, but I also continue to serve the needs of my Indiana clients as well, who know that what they need from me is never more than a phone call or email away. Our goal is to make sure they all know I’m still available to serve their printing needs, and to know that even though we might live in another town, our hearts will always be in Mooresville.

All our current contact information will remain the same, and I will continue to maintain my Chamber of Commerce membership, and with frequent visits back to Mooresville, continue to stay involved in Mooresville events. For my Mooresville clientele, with the exception of seeing my goofy mug a little less often, nothing should change regarding your printing and graphic needs.

We cannot thank the people and businesses of Mooresville enough for all they’ve done, and all they’ve meant to my family. Perhaps we can convince some of you to come visit us by the ocean. We’ll have a guest bedroom available to anyone who wants to drop by.

For us, this is by no means a goodbye. It’s simply a “See you later!” We’ll send pictures!

Trump: Part 1

What a ride, huh?

It's a sticky wicket we're all in, us Republicans. By now, you've no doubt heard every argument possible from both sides of the issue about why you should or shouldn't vote for Donald Trump.

I've heard from the Trump fanatics who tell me we should vote for him because he's gonna change the world. I've heard from the #NeverTrump crowd (have I ever mentioned how much I detest hashtags?) telling me all the reasons I shouldn't. Christians are up in arms because we can't vote for a man so immoral.

What to do? What to do, indeed?

First off, here's links to two good articles from the Christian perspective. The first explains why Christians should NOT vote for Trump. The second explains why we, as Christians, SHOULD vote no matter who the choices are. I like both articles, as I think they both make valid points. And in the end, as a Christian, we're each going to have to make our own personal choice, through prayer and God's word, as to what we actually do come voting day in November.

But while it's been laid out there like its a simple black and white choice, it's not. And the truth is, I think it will do us all some good to try to grasp exactly why Trump is where he is, and discern, if we can, exactly what he stands for, especially before we simply state "I am," or, "I'm not." Because in reality, the GOP Establishment has yet to figure out why Trump has done so well, and Christians haven't done much better.

A couple weeks ago, I posted a transcript from Rush Limbaugh's show, where he states some of the same things I've been saying for the past few months. In the effort of full disclosure, I get quite a bit of my conservative news from Rush. Whether you like him or not, his take on what's going on in the world of Conservatism is usually pretty accurate, and long before Trump came on the scene, Rush was postulating that there is a huge conservative voting base out there that feels wholly disenfranchised from the Republican party they used to know. Moreover, Rush has stated for some time that there is a huge disconnect between the powers that be in Washington, and those of us "out there." And he's right.

Along comes Donald Trump, who recognized that disconnect and was able to tap into it. It really isn't a lot more complicated than that. I saw his appeal right away. Not that I was taken by him, but rather I saw why so many others were. But it's also important to understand why that disconnect was there in the first place, specifically within the Republican party.

Ronald Reagan was the last great Conservative, although George Bush Sr. and George Bush Jr. were no slouches. But George Bush Sr. got shafted by a 3rd party candidate in 1992 (sound familiar?) and George W. was sabotaged by a rabid, increasingly Liberal media that incomprehensibly was able to convince an uninformed public that it was somehow wrong to fight back against evil people who shamelessly attacked and killed 3000 innocent American citizens. But more on George W. later.

Stuffed in there was eight years of our first modern Liberal President, Bill Clinton, who actually did some smart things financially for the country (which was to sign bills into law that were coming out of a Republican congress) but who's Liberal agenda started us down a path of not only moral degeneration, but of social dependence on the government. The American public, after eight years, saw that this was not a good path, and voted a Conservative back into office, but George W. -- who did not campaign as a wartime President -- had 9/11 dropped into his lap, and that pretty dominated his entire two terms, forcing him to back burner some other issues that could have helped get some things back on track. (Mark my words -- George W. will go down in history as one of the truly great Presidents. Save this blog, so you can refer to this when that finally happens!)

For reasons only God can ascertain, the GOP ran the most moderate candidates they could find in the next two Presidential elections (just like the media said we should... hmmm...) and they promptly got their butts handed to them by a black man with a Muslim name who NOBODY had ever heard of prior to 2008. And who also happens to be so Liberal, he makes Bill Clinton look like Mickey Mouse.

Out of that frustration of not having a viable and electable candidate in those Presidential elections, the American public then handed the Democrat party the two biggest beatdowns they have ever suffered in the Midterm elections of 2010 and 2014. By landslides, they elected Republicans and Tea Partiers to majorities in both houses of Congress with the specific mandate of going to Washington to oppose the absolute moronic Liberal agenda of the Obama Administration. They promised to do just that in their campaigns, and we bought it and elected them.

Needless to say, they have failed in that mandate. But it's far worse than failure. They absolutely refused to put up a fight! The GOP Establishment has backed down at every turn, unwilling to make the tough decisions needed to turn around the Liberal agenda that's demoralizing this country. Unchecked, Obama's policies have been implemented without barriers, and even though they vowed to stop them, the GOP has done absolutely nothing to oppose him, which is what we elected them to do. (All that talk about getting along is hogwash. Neither side elects their officials so they'll "get along" with the other side. That's just media fodder.)

So, that's where we stand today. Enter Donald Trump.

Of the 17 candidates who jumped in the GOP Presidential race, only Trump, Ben Carson and Carly Fiorina were truly outsiders of the political scene. Ted Cruz is not a Republican, but rather a Tea Party member, with a voting history of opposing the GOP Establishment in Washington. So, he really was the outsider before Trump took that role.

To begin with, the Establishment candidates didn't stand a chance, not after 2010 and 2014. But Trump was able to tap into that disenfranchised base in a way that Carson and Fiorina couldn't. Sadly, Carson was too nice. Great guy, he really is, and one of my top choices. But for right now, in this climate, the base was looking for someone not only willing to fight, but PICK a fight, and maybe fight nasty if need be. Ben Carson is not that guy. Perhaps in another time and place, Carson could rise to the top. That would be nice.

Fiorina just couldn't connect, for similar reasons. Our side is looking for a bulldog, and we don't want that person to be a woman. We just don't. Someday, a woman will rise to the top of the Conservative ladder, and she'll do so for the right reasons. With grace, and skill, and purity. We just don't want to throw a lady into the depravity of Hillary Clinton, and watch them duke it out. That's probably a good thing.

But that's where Donald Trump thrives, and from the very beginning, he knew what he had to do to win. And that's get down and dirty, and not take any crap from anybody, including the media. It's what we've been begging our reps to do for years now, with no takers.

Meanwhile, the voting base was screaming "THANK YOU! FINALLY!" Somebody not only willing to fight, but willing to pick a fight, and willing to tell the media dopes to shove it, and to finally stop caving to all the PC nonsense.

So it's easy to see his appeal. He simply tapped into that disconnect Rush has been speaking about, a LARGE group of voters who were simply waiting for someone to come and get them. Trump did.

And the Indiana primary voting numbers prove this. In 2008, John McCain won the GOP Indiana primary with just over 330k votes. In 2012, Mitt Romney won with nearly 430k votes. Now get this: in this year's primary, Ted Cruz garnered almost 406k votes, nearly matching Romney's winning total from 2012, AND LOST! Trump nabbed 590,000 votes! Cruz got more votes than either Hillary or Bernie on the other side, but Trump almost matched their COMBINED totals with nearly 600k votes! There were over 1.1 million total Republican votes in this year's primary, an all-time record. In short, Trump got nearly 600k votes that haven't existed for years!

Why is he winning so big? How does a complete outsider, a man who had no political background, no campaign management to speak of, funded his own campaign and did no fundraising, and is as off-the-cuff as they come, beat the absolute best, most experienced politicians the GOP can throw at him? And they used every political tool they could to beat him -- still trying, in fact -- and he just keeps winning bigger and bigger.

How does that happen?

The Establishment can't figure it out because they are trying to put Trump, and view his campaign, in the traditional political box they all know so well. And Trump doesn't exist in that box. Never has. And he's not trying to reach the people that live in there so comfortably. He’s an in-your-face, say-what’s-on-his-mind, not-afraid-to-tick-someone-off, and not-back-down-from-a-fight kind of guy. With any other faults, he’s connected to the void, the base that's "Out There," the wild-card that no politician has had to deal with for a very long time. Sure, he’s pulling from some traditional GOP voters, and he's also pulling from some traditional Democrat voters as well, but the bulk of those nearly 600,000 votes mentioned above have come from voters who haven't been voting in a while. THAT'S why he's winning.

In the end, the Republicans AND the Democrats have nobody but themselves to blame for Donald Trump. The Democrats need look no further than the last eight years. I mean, if Obama has been so great, why would someone like Trump rise to the top and be so popular? If pandering to transgenders and people who want to kill policemen and burn down cities, and limiting people’s legal right to protect themselves is so great, and if gay marriage, growing the deficit, Christian-bashing, open borders, and Obamacare are such positives for America, then why in the world are so many people fed up to the point they’d support a candidate like Trump? Make no mistake, his appeal isn't just with Republican voters. One of the knocks on him by Conservatives is his past connections with Democrats. He's as popular with Democrat voters who realize the mistake they made in falling for Obama as he is with disenfranchised Republicans.

And Republicans have been screaming for someone to stand up and fight. And they found him. Quite frankly, I'm surprised there's as much backlash as there is. Both sides have been yakking about ousting the incumbents for the last several years. Now they have a candidate who looks as though he can get that done, and they're freaking out. Fickle kids, those voters.

There’s much more to consider here about Trump, and if you stuck with me this far, feel free to check out Parts 2 and 3, where I share why I believe not only why he’ll win big in November, but what I think we, as Christians, should do concerning the election. More to come….

And the Madness Continues...

So I was sitting in a restaurant today at lunch. I was by myself, just eating and checking emails on my iPad.

I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I could not help overhearing a conversation between two young men sitting in front of me. There was a TV on in the restaurant, and it was tuned into some news channel that was covering the aftermath of the Istanbul airport bombing. These young men were watching the coverage.

A young, well-dressed, and well-spoken African-American male (with a mohawk) was explaining to his buddy, a young white male, who was a worker at the restaurant, that we shouldn’t jump to conclusions that the airport bombers were ISIS members. He explained:

“You see, the problem with the Orlando shooting was that the shooter wasn’t a member of ISIS. He pledged ALLEGIANCE to ISIS, but he wasn’t an ISIS MEMBER. I mean, why would someone who is already ISIS pledge ALLEGIANCE to ISIS?”

Go figure.

The young white male was nodding in agreement absent-mindedly, although I couldn’t decide if he actually agreed with his buddy, didn’t care, or couldn’t articulate an argument. In any case, it didn’t take me long to discern that the young black male was a classic victim of today’s liberal ideology.

What he was saying, in essence, was akin to saying, “I’m not a Christian, but I pledge allegiance to Jesus.”

How stupid is that?

But that is indeed what many — especially in the media — want us to believe. I’ve heard many, and read many on social media, who have made the argument that not only can we not jump to conclusions when yet another radical muslim kills a vast majority of people, but that we cannot also assume that these radicals represent all the other “peace-loving” Islamists.

The problem is — and this is where we usually get ourselves into big trouble with Liberals — Islam is not, by it’s very nature, a peace-loving religion. A cursory reading of the Koran clearly reveals that it is the desire of the religion to eliminate anyone who doesn’t comply. Even to the point of killing off dissidents. Sorry, but that’s what the religion teaches.

Most of us, however, know one, a few, or even many Muslims who are not interested in blowing up airports, shooting up gay bars, or hi-jacking planes and flying them into buildings, all in the name of Islam. So we assume that most Muslims are a peace-loving folk who just want to be left alone. But that doesn’t change the fact that Islam is NOT a “peace-loving” religion.

And while the argument that every religion has it’s radical fringes is true, the problem lies in the response to those radicals and their actions by the larger, overall religion base.

Let me explain: Christianity, by nature, is indeed a “peace-loving” religion. By that, I mean that nowhere in the Bible does it advocate it’s followers to kill off those who don’t believe like them. (Don’t confuse this with going to war to protect our beliefs, freedoms, property, family, etc. That’s a different matter.) The truth is that we are taught in the Bible to love our enemies, and to pray for them that they might someday come to know the redemptive love of Jesus. Nowhere does it say we should kill them if they don’t come around. Final judgment is left to God Himself.

That’s why each time a nutbar “Christian” goes on some rampage and bombs an abortion clinic, leads hundreds of the cult followers to kill themselves, or otherwise breaks the law and causes harm to others in the name of God is roundly denounced by the larger Christian community as a whole. Those of us who know what the Bible really teaches are quick to publicly denounce those on the fringe, and stand up to show that these are not true, Biblically-sound Christians. (The weirdos at Westboro Baptist Church would fall into this fringe category!)

But that doesn’t happen with Islam. When was the last time you saw or heard Muslims publicly go on the record as denouncing these ever-growing number of terrorist attacks?

As I’m sure many do, I watch much of the news coverage, from different outlets, following these terrorist attacks. But I’ve been listening for something, and I haven’t heard it. In fact, I watched very closely the press conference the morning immediately following the shooting in Orlando last week. The normal officials spoke — law-enforcement, emergency responders, etc. — and then they invited the highest-ranking Muslim leader of the city to speak.

He said all the normal things: They don’t want people to jump to conclusions, they want to love people of all religions, and they hope people don’t retaliate against other Muslims. But not once did he say he denounced what the shooter did. I watched for it, and he didn’t say it. He never said something like, “Hey, this guy is a nutbar, and doesn’t in any way represent other Muslims. He’s crazy, and we don’t believe in killing people.”

Never said it.

And they never do. What we DO hear every time an attack of this nature takes place is cheering in the streets. Not here, in the States, of course, because that wouldn’t be prudent to their overall safety. But certainly overseas. And we see signs that say, “Death to America!” and “Down with the Infidels!” And we watch them pitch homosexuals off of rooftops. We watch them burn alive women who somehow embarrassed their husbands. We watch them behead Christians, and anyone else, for that matter, who they feel disparages Islam.

All the time. And you never hear a Muslim official stand up and say, “Sorry, but this is just wrong.”

And I’m not sure what we’re trying to protect here anyway. First of all, religious freedom, at least how our founding fathers envisioned it, is just a myth. It doesn’t exist anymore. The amendment that was written to forbid government from stopping the free exercise of any religion has been, by a court that was never created to make law in the first place, bastardized it into preventing anyone from exercising their religion unless the government says it’s OK. Which is not often.

A clause that doesn’t exist anywhere in our Constitution has been created out of thin air, its sole purpose being to avoid offending anyone. (And to avoid lawsuits.) Putting a nativity scene in the public square doesn’t establish anything, any more than putting up a statue of Stonewall Jackson makes people be racists. But that’s what today’s Liberal has brought us to, and somehow claims we’re all better for it.

And for what? Name me one Islamic Humanitarian organization? Name me one Muslim Relief organization? Name me one Islamic charity?

Anyone?… Bueller?… Bueller?…

Every — and I mean EVERY — significant Humanitarian, Relief, or Charity organization in the WORLD is either run by a Christian, or Godly faith-based group, or has it’s foundation in a faith in God. Did the local Islamic Society of North America send any help at all in the form of money, goods, or people to aid the people of Orlando? No? The Red Cross did. Other local charities did. Local firefighters held a blood drive. What did the Muslims do?

This is not a hate column, although I suspect some readers may have already checked out and are in the process of outing me as a hater, bigot, Islamaphobe, or whatever other nonsense they can conjure up. Rather, I’m just making a point. The reality is what it is. Every major terrorist attack in the last 20 years has been carried out by a Muslim, or a group of Muslims. That’s just the truth. And the more we try to play it off as something it’s not, the more we try to downplay the end goal of Islam, and the more we limit the message of Jesus, we do so at our own peril.

Remember, they’re not REALLY killers, they just pledge their ALLEGIANCE to them. No worries.

Sadly, the young black man (and his mohawk) in the restaurant today is in for a rude awakening someday.

Our Little Bear: A Trip Down Memory Lane

I was asleep.

I don’t recall whether I was dreaming or not, but I was sleeping well. While it wasn’t too late in the morning — around 9am or so — since I was working nights at the time, I hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours. What I do recall is that I awoke to my wife’s frantic cries.

“Get up! My water just broke!”

For some couples expecting a baby, that might be a happy, even welcome occurrence. For us, it was not. My wife was just a few ticks over 26 weeks pregnant. And even though she’d just had a good checkup with the Doc a few days earlier, we knew this was bad. And certainly unexpected.

Our first child a couple years earlier had been a handful for my wife. She had suffered pre-term labor beginning at 26 weeks, and though her water never broke, she endured labor pains roughly every 15 minutes for the last 10 weeks of the pregnancy, on bed rest the whole time, finally delivering our oldest son at 36 weeks. He was four weeks premature, but relatively healthy, and home with us after a short, three-day stay in the hospital.

Because of this, our OB Doc was watching my wife very closely this second pregnancy. Considered an “at-risk” pregnancy, she was being checked every week, and after some small, very early-term issues, she was doing well and everything was proceeding normally with no problems.

Until this.

We were in a new home, and less than a week earlier had just finished remodeling our new bedroom. We’d been sleeping on the couch and in a chair up to then. That morning, as I slept in our new bedroom, she had wakened earlier and was sitting in my recliner reading a book to older brother when it broke loose. No labor pains, no trauma: it just broke.

In my recliner… but more on that later.

We scrambled ourselves together quickly. I honestly do not remember what we did with our son, but he was secured somewhere, and we rushed to the hospital. I remember our car had a problem with a tire that I had planned to get fixed that day, but instead we were breaking the speed limit on the way to the hospital, fighting a significant tremor in the steering wheel because of the tire.

We check in and get ushered back to a room. The wife was not having labor pains, that was the weird part. We simply didn’t know what to do, or what to expect. The doctor comes in, and explains that if it were just one week earlier and we’d had the baby, we would actually have the choice of just holding our baby and allowing it to die, or asking the doctors to do what they can to save it. We’d actually be given the choice to allow our child to die. But since we were at 26 weeks, they were mandated by law to deliver the baby and do whatever they can to save it. And then, I will never forget what he said next. I remember it verbatim:

“But you don’t want to have this baby today. If you have this baby today, you’re gonna have problems.”

All well and fine, I say, but what does that mean, since her water has broke? He explains that given her condition, she is at risk of infection, and so they are gonna take a “hands-off” approach to her, and while they won’t do anything to prevent labor should she go fully into it, they will give her muscle-relaxers if she simply has labor pains. They’ll put her on meds to help the baby develop more quickly, but that’s about it. He then tells us that’s she’s gonna lay in that bed there in that hospital until she delivers.

“When will that be?” I says. He says, “98% of women who’s water breaks go into labor within 48 hours, regardless of when their water breaks. However, I’ve seen some woman like this carry to term.” That’s 40 weeks, I say. Does that mean she might have to stay in the hospital for the next 14 weeks?

“Yes,” he says. “She’s not leaving here until she delivers.”

And so we wait. The next week goes relatively smoothly. She lays in bed in the hospital. I go back and forth to work, to the hospital, to home with the son, bringing him up periodically to see Mommy. The following week, not so well. She begins to endure regular labor pains, and as a defense, they keep her drugged up on muscle relaxers. The final three days, she’s in a constant drugged stupor.

I finally go to the doctor with concerns that such a state can’t be good for her health. I explain clearly: “I want my baby to be well, I really do. But I will sacrifice the baby in a heartbeat to make sure my wife is OK. So you need to do something.”

He breaks down and does a physical check of my wife and discovers that our baby has decided to stick his foot out of the birth canal, and she’s ready to go. I say “she” because we were absolutely convinced we were having a baby girl. We hadn’t confirmed it officially, but all indications were it was a girl. And there was no evidence of a boy. We hadn’t found out the gender of our first son, and we didn’t want to find out with the second either. But we were speculating. We hadn’t gone as far to decorate the baby room for a girl, but we were virtually certain our oldest son was going to soon have a baby sister. Little Tori Michelle was on her way — early, apparently.

“It’s time to take this baby,” Doc proclaims.

A C-Section is scheduled immediately, and I ask if I can go in and watch and be with my wife. And here is where he tells me the other thing which I remember verbatim. He get’s right up in my face and says, “Dude, if you go in that room and pass out on me, or cause me any other kind of problem, I’ll kill you myself after I’m done.”

The marching orders being firmly set, I assure him he won’t have any problem with me. From that moment, they had my wife prepped, in surgery, and our baby delivered within 30 minutes. 

I’ve heard stories about women scheduling C-Sections like they might a simple dental appointment, and they make it all sound so easy. I was surprised to find out just how vigorous a C-Section is. And while I’ll spare you the details, I’ll just say that it isn’t a mild, minimally-invasive procedure. I watch the whole thing from the head of the bed. The wife is awake, but totally numbed and feels nothing below her chest. In the end, our baby was delivered.

And it was a boy.

We’re stunned, yet still thrilled. 2 lbs. 11 oz. Apparently it wasn’t Tori Michelle who was in such a hurry, but rather a little baby boy. After he’s disconnected from his mother, we don’t get to hold him. Rather, he’s whisked away to some unknown place and we’re told we’ll be allowed to see him at a later time after he’s stabled. They begin to put my wife back together, which was a fun scene to watch, but a story for another time. After 10 minutes or so, the door opens to the room and in walks a nurse holding our new son. She brings him to us and says, “Would you like to hold your son for a few minutes?”

Of course. And we do. Well, Mommy does. I watch, because I am genuinely afraid of breaking him in half. He’s SO tiny. Tinier than I’d ever imagined. Apparently, he’s doing well. After just a couple minutes, the nurse says she’s needs to take him back, and she’s gone again with our son in her arms. I ask the Doc how often do they bring preemies back into the delivery room for the parents to hold? He replies, “He must really be doing well, because I’ve never seen them do that.”

What followed was an eight-week emotional roller coaster, the likes of which I would never wish on anyone. Not due until the end of January, our baby was born October 22, a full 11 weeks premature. At under 3 lbs., he barely fills the palm of my hands. He’s given baths in what is essentially little more than an average sized cereal bowl.

Even though he’s tiny, he’s generally well developed. The problem is his lungs. His lungs are so small, and so little developed, that he has trouble breathing on his own. I can barely hold him. He’s so small, I’m afraid of him. But his Mommy and the nurses aren’t afraid at all, and they move him and shift him and turn him over like it’s nothing, despite all the wires and tubes attached to him. None of which makes him happy at all. When they’re so little, preemie babies like that can’t cry yet. So our baby grunts and growls whenever he’s unhappy. So much so that we begin to call him “Bear” and his Big Brother picks out a little white teddy bear from the gift shop and gives it to him. “Little Bear,” as the toy becomes named — not more than 5 or 6 inches tall — is placed in the incubator with our own “Bear” and dwarfs him in size.

It’s here that I have to make an honest disclosure. Relatively-speaking, our baby was pretty healthy. There were lots of babies that came and went during the next eight weeks who had real problems, far worse than ours. We saw it physically, and we knew it instinctively, but it didn’t make our ordeal any less scary to us. One minute he’d be doing really well, the next he’d be moments away from going on a respirator and being rushed off to the far more serious Riley Hospital. We’d go home one evening with him breathing great and feeling well, only to arrive the next morning to find the nurses scrambling to get him stabilized again.

Every day, up and down, back and forth. For eight weeks.

Finally, with a mandate that he could not leave our house except for Dr. appointments until the following Spring, on December 23 — two days before Christmas — he was allowed to come home and be with his Mommy and Daddy and Big Brother.

I tell you this story because this past Saturday, our “Cody Bear” graduated high school. He’s grown into a stunning young man, both intellectually and physically. Aside from some asthma issues in his early years, you’d never know today that he was ever a preemie, or ever so tiny.

He’s smart and witty and handsome and stubborn and a handful. The past 18 years have been fun, exasperating, adventurous, exciting, frustrating, and ever so wonderful, and I could not be more grateful that our miraculous little 29-week preemie pulled through. He’s known what he wanted ever since he stuck his foot out the birth canal. And he’s grunted and growled his way into a Godly young man we couldn’t be more proud of. He is our proof that God answers prayers.

Oh yeah, about my recliner. It was dried and cleaned. It survived. No worries.