Earlier today I commented on super blogger Rachel Held Evans’ post. She addressed the latest upset about Rush Limbaugh and how Christians are responding. Her post got a whopping 325 comments before they were closed because of trolls.
Rather than have you rummage through all that, here’s an excerpt of my lengthy comment:
As for Rush, his delivery is faulted, even distasteful. Like it or not, he’s protected just like you and I are under the First Amendment to speak and have a place at the table of public discourse. I would argue that some of his political points are spot-on in line with an evangelical perspective, especially regarding right to life issues. And he has a platform and an audience.
Tonight I revisited to see if Evans responded. She didn’t and I didn’t expect her to. But a couple other bloggers did.
Here’s the reply that zapped me back to the U.S.S.R.:
“Like it or not, he’s protected just like you and I are under the First Amendment to speak and have a place at the table of public discourse.”
Actually, he’s not.
The First Amendment states, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”
No one is petitioning Congress to make a law about Rush Limbaugh. No one is trying to get the government to intervene. People have asked political figures their opinion, but they have not asked them to legislate on the issue.
No one is guaranteed a podium from which to spew hate speech. They are simply guaranteed freedom from government intervention.
first amendment got your back
Actually he’s not? Again I wonder, what country is this anyway?
The spirit of the First Amendment means everyone may speak even if we disagree. It’s the backbone or at least the ribcage of our other freedoms.
Am I to understand it’s en vogue to toss that spirit on a technicality? It’s now okay to censor as long as it’s not the government that does the dirty work?
Lawyers, scholars, law-abiding Americans, I need you here. Someone, anyone, weigh in, please. I’m listening.
What do ya’ll think?
You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry. James 1:19 NLT
Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, Springfield, Illinois
America, we seem dreadfully divided as we stand a mere eight months from our next presidential election.
Diametrically opposed points-of-view. Mudslinging. General upset, occupation, and malaise.
It’s disconcerting, but aren’t we tougher than all that? Aren’t we kinder, gentler, smarter, and more mature?
Flawed? Yes. Fiery? Call it passion. Scandalous? Afraid so. Folks, we’ve been here before.
History reminds us our most esteemed leaders and citizens struggled through years of division and turbulence more tumultuous than this round.
Washington Monument, Washington, D.C.
If only the greats could advise us now. Maybe they could add some perspective to our conservative versus liberal, red state against blue state conundrum.
“They are feisty,” George Washington might say, “but they are free.”
“Free and outspoken,” Abraham Lincoln might say with a chuckle.
“The revolution for independence was not in vain,” Washington might say. “They have not succumbed to a king.”
“Neither was the war between the states in vain, ” Lincoln might say. “They hold together. The Union remains.”
Gettysburg Museum and Visitor Center, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Liberty and union. What a concept.
Thank you, gentlemen, for your enduring service to our great nation and for setting the bar oh so high.
Happy Presidents’ Day, George and Abe.
He controls the course of world events; He removes kings and sets up other kings.
He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the scholars. Daniel 2:21 NLT
Grab the tissues and watch this. Filmed only ten short years ago, Congress spontaneously sings God Bless Americaon Capitol Hill.
The photos in this post were taken during our family’s road trip last summer. It was our pleasure and privilege to visit these historic destinations, and we highly recommend them to you. Click on the photos to be linked to more information about each location.
Before January 2012 makes its final exit, there’s an anniversary to remember.
This month marks the 39th year since the 1973 decision in Roe v. Wade legalized abortion in the United States.
The hair on the back of your neck is rising as you read this, isn’t it?
Some of you are tuning out. Others are mentally rushing to your battle stations. Ready to defend your position in this divisive fight.
Regardless of which side you’re on, abortion inhabits a tragic, tender place.
The numbers are staggering. No one seems to know the exact figure. Most estimates agree abortion has ended more than 54 million pregnancies in America since Roe v. Wade.
That’s a lot of abortions and a lot of women. The Guttmacher Institute reports about half of American women will have an unintended pregnancy, and nearly one-third will have an abortion, by age 45.
The stakes are high. Abort73.com estimates providers take in more than one billion dollars annually for abortion services. On top of that, pro-life and pro-choice groups raise millions of dollars each year to support their causes.
Commonplace. Clinical. But still not openly discussed.
When was the last time you heard Jane or Mary or Lana flippantly drop, “Yes, I had an abortion last week,” in passing at the grocery store? More likely that conversation is shrouded in secrecy and whisper if it happens at all.
We whisper because this is a delicate subject. Maybe, despite our rights and choices, we recognize abortion ends human life.
Feminist writer Naomi Wolf acknowledged this way back on October 16, 1995, in The New Republic. Click here to read a full repost. Wolf writes:
Abortion should be legal; it is sometimes even necessary. Sometimes the mother must be able to decide that the fetus, in its full humanity, must die.
Ayelet Waldman did. In her 2009 best-selling book “Bad Mother,” Waldman writes a chapter entitled “Rocketship,” the nickname she gave her unborn child.
Waldman painfully recounts how she knew she was killing her baby. But she thought it was worth it. Better to choose to end his life than risk giving birth to a child who tested positive for possible birth defects. Waldman writes:
Although I know that others feel differently, when I chose to have the abortion, I feel I chose to end my baby’s life. A baby, not a fetus. A life, not a vague potentiality. As guilty and miserable as I felt, the only way I could survive was to confront my responsibility. Rocketship was my baby. And I killed him. (p.131)
Now we can carry out this choice in near-complete privacy. No accomplices but an inanimate pill. Clean and quiet, or so we think.
Enter Jennie Linn McCormack of Idaho. Sometime in December 2010 or January 2011—news reports vary—this unemployed, unmarried mother of three ended her pregnancy with RU-486, the abortion pill, her sister obtained online. Only McCormack didn’t realize how far along she was.
Frightened and confused, she put the corpse of her baby in a box and set it outside on her porch. The cold, winter air preserved the remains until they were discovered by authorities following a tip. A whisper.
An autopsy concluded the baby was between five and six months gestation.
Can you imagine the horror of facing the remains of your own child? Placing them in a box? Leaving them alone outside in the cold?
McCormack was arrested under a 1972 state law making it illegal for a woman to induce her own abortion. The case was dropped due to lack of evidence.
Meanwhile, McCormack’s been ostracized in her town. Can’t go out. Can’t work. Her private actions making her a pawn in the public battle to decide whose rights, whose life will be protected.
I’m not interested in condemning women who’ve had abortions. I’m not qualified to do so. We all sin, myself included. In Christ, there is the gift of forgiveness for you as much as there is for me and my transgressions. Take hold of it.
extinguished
Encroaching on your rights or privacy isn’t my concern either. I believe it’s most often in brave, lonely, silent moments of desperation you make a choice. You try to set things right in a tragic, tender place.
Yet we can’t turn a blind eye to the mass killing of a muted people. Little ones who have no means to defend themselves. Who have been blotted out of existence. Snuffed out like tiny match lights.
We are American citizens, born and unborn. Hold fire for a moment on this bloodied battlefield and listen. They are your countrymen. Hear them whisper.
How will we answer?
For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. Psalm 139:13 NIV
Dear Father, hear and bless Thy beasts and singing birds; And guard with tenderness Small things that have no words. —Anonymous
Had fun with Reader’s Choice 2011. Hope you did too. Thought it was all wrapped up until I received a comment from my friend Chef Nusy.
Nusy is a friend I would not know except for this blog. We’ve never met in person, but we converse in the comments and her story inspires me.
Nusy was born and raised in Hungary. She immigrated to the United States alone at the ripe old age of 20. Did it for love.
Nusy married and now lives with her husband in California. She coaches fencing, teaches bread making, studies, and writes a blog called And Cuisine For All.
What impresses me about Nusy is her heart of freedom.
Communism anticlimactically fell in her homeland, but not much has changed for her people. So Nusy embraces life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness we Yankee Doodle Dandies sometimes take for granted.
When Nusy’s request reached me, I was moved. Here’s what she wrote:
If there’s still a spot on Reader’s Choice… this is mine. While I enjoyed Milk Wars and I Like My Bike, this was the post that hit me the deepest this year; not just here—all around the blogosphere.
The impact of history on a generation of people… and the lack of impact on those born after the tragedy. As Tolkien would put it, “the sorrow of the Firstborn.” That we have seen and experienced something that no words can ever describe to those who weren’t there to see it; we stand monument to the greatest tragedy of modern times.
This past June, we took our son on his first trip to Washington, D.C.
Showed him the city in grand style. The museums, the monuments, the zoo. Even the U.S. Capitol thanks to my husband’s college friend Rep. Vicky Hartzler.
Previously I’d spent a good deal of time in D.C. I knew the ropes. But this trip would be my first visit to the Pentagon. Don’t know why I hadn’t gone before.
My husband had work commitments that day, so my little boy and I were on our own. We rode the yellow line out to the Pentagon stop. Emerged from the Metro tunnel into hot, blinding sunlight. Passed through security. Beheld the military headquarters of the free world.
The Pentagon is massive.
the Pentagon Memorial
We walked two long sides girded by concrete barriers. Crossed paths with dozens of strong men and women. Upright, built, neat as pins in their uniforms, marching to their cars or the train. It was late afternoon. Time for some to go home.
Then we came to the place we’d come to see.
It was seamless and silent. Completely ordered. Respectful. Logical. Such a stark contrast to what must have been the moment the plane torpedoed the southwest side of the building.
bench, pool, pebbles
And it was beautiful. The pools of water. The trees and pebbles. The paths and benches.
The benches stood in trajectories arched toward the building for the 59 passengers on the plane who died and arched away for the 125 people in the Pentagon who died. Engravings held the victims’ names.
Another mother walked among the benches and the names with her son.
“How do I explain this to him?” she said to me.
I shrugged. Nodded. Tried to connect with her eyes, “I know. I know.”
a family
My son and I walked on through the memorial. The strange peacefulness that sometimes inhabits a graveyard hung in the air. I wondered if he felt it too.
I let it be. Didn’t try to explain it.
There is no explaining it.
If there is pain, fear, sadness, anger—that’s part of grief. Part of a process that can’t be circumvented, reasoned or negotiated.
"How do I explain this to him?"
The only way through it is through it.
But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted;
You consider their grief and take it in hand.
The victims commit themselves to You;
You are the helper of the fatherless. Psalm 10:14 NIV
This is the second of three posts commemorating the 10th anniversary of 9.11.2001. The first post Somewhere in Pennsylvania was published on August 24, 2011. The final post If You See Something was published on September 10, 2011.
Driving this past summer between Pittsburgh and Gettysburg. Needed to stop for lunch.
Made our way off the Pennsylvania Turnpike, through a little town, and into a Pizza Hut. The buffet’s a crowd pleaser.
Sat down with our salads and slices. Remarked how this Pizza Hut was unlike any other restaurant we’d visited.
The place was decked out in Star Spangled Banner. Flags hung from the windows, the ceiling, the salad bar. All awash in red, white and blue.
salad bar
It was June 14th. Flag Day. Though it really didn’t matter. I’m a pushover when it comes to Old Glory. This was my kind of place.
Had the iPhone handy, so I snapped a couple pictures. After our meal, I walked the restaurant and snapped a few more.
Flag of Honor
That’s when I saw it. A large banner centered behind the buffet:
Flag of Honor. This flag contains the names of those killed in the terrorist attacks of 9.11. Now and forever it will represent their immortality. We shall never forget them.
Flag of Heroes
And centered on the other side, another banner:
Flag of Heroes. This flag contains the names of the emergency services personnel who gave their lives to save others in the terrorist attacks of 9.11. Now and forever it will represent their immortality. We shall never forget them.
Chilling, dignified, fearless patriotism. Alive and well in a small town pizza joint.
the wind farm
Soon we were back on the Turnpike. Green hills and forests surrounded us with billowing gray clouds overhead.
A wind farm south of the road offered the only hint of motion for miles. Low mountains rose in the distance, ahead of the quiet rain now spattering our windshield.
Picked up the iPhone again. Googled the county where we ate lunch: Somerset.
Mapped it in relation to the town in Pennsylvania: Shanksville.
Somewhere just north of us it happened. The hijacked plane plunged through these skies.
In this air, Todd Beamer prayed The Lord’s Prayer and concluded: “Are you guys ready? Let’s roll.”
There was no sign. No fanfare. No convenient off-ramp to pay respects. The highway speeded us through, leaving the place behind in the rain. We’d crossed hallowed ground and nearly missed it.
The people there will never forget. Will we?
overhead
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12 NIV
This is the first of three posts commemorating the 10th anniversary of 9.11.2001. The second post The Angry American was published on September 1, 2011. The final post If You See Something was published on September 10, 2011.
Yesterday I posted a suggestion for how the government could save money by stopping those Social Security mailings fictitiously describing how much we will receive in retirement. I conservatively estimated we’d save about $3.14 million a year. Well, I was more than a little off.
Within less than two hours, my friend Amy read the post and informed me the SSA decided a few months ago to suspend the mailings for a savings of $70 million. I repeat: $70 MILLION. That should make you laugh and cry at the same time.
I love social media. Not only was I pleasantly corrected by a friend, but we all gained some information we didn’t have a mere day ago. Apparently, the government doesn’t have to notify us that they will no longer notify us. Or something like that.
Another friend who works for the government explained in a comment on FB that common sense doesn’t necessarily dictate. There are many easy ways to save money, but the government “likes to make things as complicated as possible.” Hmm.
Lessons learned? You betcha.
1. Dig deeper.
For me, that means to do so preferably before posting. Here’s the link to the SSA page about the mailings: http://www.ssa.gov/mystatement/
2. Share the love.
Thanks to Amy for speaking up. Follow her lead. If you know something, say something so the rest of us will know too.
3. Reach out.
I’m delighted to eat a little crow on this to the tune of $70 million. But the patriotic eagle in my heart is rising. I wonder. What are the other easy ways we could save money?
We’re in a budget crisis as a nation. Many of us are in one at home too. I know some of you watch your family budgets like hawks and sniff out ways to save like bloodhounds. Some of you work in government agencies or have ties to them. You have a ringside seat to witness where we could cut back.
All of us intersect with the government in one way or another. What are you seeing in your experience and expertise that could be simplified or cut with a cost savings for our country? What ideas do you, the People, have?
Would love to know your thoughts, so do share. You can always comment anonymously. If we get a few good ideas going, perhaps we’ll send them to our folks in Congress or the White House.
It’s our country after all. And it’s worth saving.
Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due,
when it is in your power to act. Proverbs 3:27 NIV
“It’s hard living between airplanes,” said the stranger sitting next to me.
I had the window seat. He had the middle. No one had the end seat, but he didn’t move. He reached out with conversation.
“Do you live in Charlotte?” he said.
“No, I used to live in North Carolina. I’m just visiting this trip.”
“Do you know the university in North Carolina?” he said.
“UNC-Charlotte?” I said.
“I don’t know what it’s called,” he said. “I can go there for my graduate degree.”
“There are a lot of good schools in North Carolina,” I said. “What will you study?”
The stranger introduced himself. Said he was studying recreational therapy in Illinois. Hoped to do graduate work so he could train other therapists in Saudi Arabia. Recreational therapists are in demand there, even more so instructors to train them.
Before school, he’d organized conferences to educate Saudi companies about the internet. Showed me pictures of the events on his iPhone. Seemed impressed I have a blog. The flight attendant gave us dirty looks.
Showed me pictures of his two little boys and his beautiful wife. Said her name means scent of flowers.
He’d left them in Saudi Arabia to come to the United States to study. Left his former work to pursue American degrees that would give him job security as an instructor in his own country. He missed his family and would travel more than 20 hours on four flights to see them.
blind freedom
“Dubai is not just a city,” he said as we looked at his vacation pictures.
“Forgive me, but are those Christmas trees in the hotel lobby?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Isn’t Dubai in a Muslim country?” I said. “They have Christmas trees?”
“You have your beliefs. We have ours. No reason to fight about them,” he said. “The vacationers come for Christmas holiday.”
My new friend may be Saudi, but that sure sounded American.
He showed me apps to get free phone calls, text messaging, and voice reminders. Then more free apps to book flights or turn my iPhone into a flashlight or a piano. The refreshment cart passed us by.
He’s learning English. The writing comes hard. His iPhone is full of SAT and GRE vocab apps. We played them with abandon. Well, I played.
“You are so fast at these word games!” he said.
“I’ve been learning English all my life,” I said. “You’ll get it.”
“You know Mubarak?” he said. “The guy in Egypt?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Obama’s advisors called Mubarak because he’s won so many ‘elections’ in Egypt. They wanted him to help with the next election here.”
“Okay,” I said now hooked.
“Mubarak agreed to let his advisors work on the election here,” he said. “After it was over, Obama called Mubarak and cursed him. Mubarak asked Obama what was wrong. Obama cursed him more. So Mubarak told Obama to put Mubarak’s advisors on the phone.”
“And?” I said.
“Mubarak’s advisors were so happy. They said to Mubarak, ‘We won! We won! Congratulations, Mr. President!'”
Cheers to my new friend, wherever you are.
For the Lord is high above the nations;
His glory is higher than the heavens. Psalm 113:4 NLT
Dear sweet 1984, we didn’t know the Cold War years were the good old days. Thanks for leaving us 99 Luftballoons by Nena.
Saudis in America
While writing this post I watched Saudis in America, a short documentary by Saudi filmmaker Fahmi F. Farahat (2007).
There are no easy answers. Although I disagreed with some opinions expressed in the film, it makes good food for thought. Catch the interview with Farahat on the extras.
Saw a personal friend during spring break who is an FBI agent. On January 12, 2007, he was first on the scene to discover Shawn Hornbeck and Ben Ownby alive in the apartment of their kidnapper in Kirkwood, Missouri.
Those boys came back from the dead. Shawn had been missing for more than four years. Ben for four days.
St. Louis cheered and cried at their rescue. We remembered when they were taken. Now they were coming home. Amazing, tragic, triumphant resurrection.
My response to their kidnapper was immediate: If he were to as much as breathe on my child, I would rip his throat out with my own two hands.
I’m a Christian, and I can assure you that is not a suggested Christian response.
I knew it when I thought it. Didn’t care. I was overcome then and still quite sure now I could succeed in killing any predator of my child.
bears protect
I get angry sometimes. I have raised my voice. Even pounded my tiny fist against the wall. But cold-blooded murder? Vigilante justice? Not my thing.
This was different. A more powerful manifestation of the guttural pang of ferocity I felt the first time I sensed my child was being hurt.
I don’t recall the exact incident, but I can guarantee his life was not in danger. And it was very early on.
Probably a tiff at moms-day-out over a toy. Or a rejection by another one-year-old, if that is even possible. Maybe a thoughtless comment from an adult.
Before that, during my pregnancy when the news reported a child being hurt or going missing, a drumbeat thumped inside my heart as the feet of my child tapped inside my belly.
Protect, protect, protect. What is wrong with us? Grrr…
This usually ended in a heap of hormonal tears and a boycott of the news. Like the first anniversay of the disappearance of Christian Ferguson, who is still missing. I just could not watch the coverage. If I didn’t look, maybe this news would go away.
The day of Shawn and Ben’s redemption, my instinct was full blown. An overpowering urge to lunge. Claw. Bite. Tear from limb to limb.
I had become Momma Bear.
bears together
Momma Bear is not a tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff like Winnie the Pooh. No, Momma Bear is a living, breathing, killing machine whose primal purpose is to preserve the life of her offspring.
If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a hundred times. Bet you have too.
From good women on Facebook or in grocery store lines. Upstanding women on the playground. Christian women in schools, hosptials, and churches. Young mothers, old ladies, even women who do not have children of their own.
Listen to us growl: It’s one thing to mess with me. But do not hurt the child.
Arise, LORD! Lift up your hand, O God. Do not forget the helpless. Psalm 10:12 NIV
An estimated 800,000 children are reported missing each year—more than 2,000 children every day. An estimated one in five girls and one in 10 boys will be sexually victimized before age 18. Yet, only one in three will tell anyone. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children
