Tagged: family
The DNC Is Overplaying the Black Card
At the modern, respected, and accredited evangelical Seminary I attended, the guest preacher at one Tuesday Chapel was a pastor of a large church in either Michigan or Wisconsin. His sermon was supposed to model to us future preachers a near perfect exegetical (as opposed to topical and/or liturgical) evangelical and biblical sermon. I remember the sermon encouraged “humility”. I also remember he used PowerPoint perfectly. (This means no words, just pictures. And take the picture down after you make your point.) But most of all, I remember that they said he went down south to start a church and never really got one off the ground. But when he went back to where he was from (WI/MI), he had a congregation of several thousand. The implication was “one’s language is far more than English”. (This concept is not new or debated.)
Likewise, the DNC is overplaying the Black Card. This is another reason why I (and you) know Harris loses. They are not speaking to the whole audience.
It is certainly true that the Blacks own pop culture—what influencer-wanna-be teens don’t act Black around friends? No Black teen attempts to ball by imitating Musk or Romney or Tom Cotton or (this is oddly difficult). White is Right, but it is not cool. Mic Drop evidence: Beyonce opened the intro of the USA to the Olympics. (She’s Black.)
The Blacks (even Black Lesbians) own sports. (Thank you, MJ.)
The Blacks own public speaking. From MLK Jr., to Jesse Jackson, to Malcolm X, to Obama, to Oprah, to Corey Booker, to Tim Scott, to any Black Baptist gospel preacher, all other cultures would only improve with diligent study of Black orators. (Tip: Chew the meat; spit out the bone. \m/)
The Blacks own simplifying. Or they own what could be called “sorting.” Try telling a Black a convoluted story or nuanced description of how things went and they will see through you like a window. Three words. They will restate what you said in three words.
The Blacks own Matriarchy. Tiger Woods made the headlines, not only for golf, but because he thanked his dad. Tiger Woods had a relationship with his dad. “Stop the press! A successful Black man has a relationship with his dad? That’s like us!”
But the Blacks, while a unified voting block, are a small group. And while woke Whites in attendance will nod along with the poetry and call-and-response (exciting-‘cuz-it’s-new and I-can’t-wait-to-tell-my-friends), the same woke Whites are not really able to speak Black.
I am certain of this. How do I know? Because no other whites are at the Black churches.
This isn’t manifestation of racism. It isn’t mean-spirited. It happens for the same reason precisely zero non-English speakers are at Black churches. It is why no English speakers are at Spanish services or Ukrainian services. It is why Catholicism dropped Latin. When you go to hear someone tell the truth (sit down for this), you want to be able to understand what they say.
Tonight, Kamala will bring the DNC to climax. For Blacks. The rest of the audience won’t really understand why they’re cheering.
Or why Harris lost.
Ben Shapiro’s “Authoritarian Joy” Piece Misses the Point
He’s a busy man. I get it. But he missed the point.
We don’t need someone to clarify to Americans that joy is an emotion and not policy. We don’t need someone to clarify that appeals to emotion have been used by bad guys in the past.
Instead, we need some event to prove that government isn’t the answer to our problems.
When you listen to DNC speeches, even if you only lend one ear, the content is chock full of the idea that government can solve problems.
Ben Shapiro disagrees. I disagree.
But he and I have different understandings of where Kamala and the DNC err in their thinking.
He thinks their error is being inconsistent.
I think their error is theft.
The DNC is advocating (besides the actual theft its administration commits today) that the government (schmucks built no different than you and I) should be able to rob us as they tell us “We’re here to help!”
I am not ready to revolt. I can’t imagine how that would work. For now, I rest assured that Trump has this one in the bag. And while he is as guilty as the DNC of robbing us, he doesn’t make it hard for me to teach my kids that government cannot solve your problems.
Today Is The Greatest Day For MAGA Since the Escalator
You’ve been sweatin’ it, I know. Or at least that’s what I felt like the media wanted me to believe.
But with Walz as VP, it is time to shower and go on vacation. I wouldn’t even take the inconvenience to vote anymore. Yes, that’s how in the bag this election just became for Trump.
For those not paying attention, the MAGA folks’ thoughts on how Kamala of all people was chosen include “the dems know they lost this one, so they offer her up as sacrifice and will be back in ‘28 with a real candidate.”
Walz fits this bill perfectly too. My guess is they’ll have two folks in ‘28 that will be billed as “moderate”.
One cautionary note: Walz is a bit of a siren, in the Homer sense. Something in his speech inspires Whites to think, “Oh, good. Someone who knows.” And by knows they of course mean, someone who will stop racial integration, all immigration, financial regulation, and public intoxication. And then they will have their little slice of heaven on earth.
How else can you explain the Nordic Minnesotans turning a blind on to the full on invasion of their state by Somalia? It certainly isn’t happening because these Vikings (Skol!!) desire it.
Nope. The Minnesotans are stupid (sorry, friends but heartiness in cold weather only scores so many points). Somalis are more stupid, and add the double sins of lazy and Old Testament horny. And you, faithful reader, need to guard yourself. Walz may look like a duck and sound like a duck, but, like the Sirens of old, he is only interested in destruction.
Reaction to Today’s Obituaries
In this version of a recuring theme, I want to call your attention to each person’s “best”.
I mean that in each obituary there is usually one truth which sneaks past the editor, one ridiculous claim that isn’t about the deceased—but the writer. Some, if we’re lucky, have more than one.
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“Among his many achievements were a state basketball championship at G- High School and a state football championship at W- High School.”
-unnnnnnfortunately, you can’t take it with you.
“He and his family also spent summers growing gladiola for sale to commercial florists and at farmers markets in (city).”
-must’ve been some flowers for commercial florists to take notice.
“She was the beautiful blonde cheerleader and [her husband, E-], the handsome basketball star.” And, “She studied His Holy Word and lived in His Way always.”
-pretty much everything a little tow head girl could ask for in life, no?
“Beginning in 1982 they lived in homes in (city) that P- spent his time improving, until 1977.”
-wish I knew him!
“He was a voracious reader; reading every book in the public library during his elementary and high school years.”
-middle school must’ve been when he experimented with hard drugs though obviously he ultimately decided against the practice.
“Following an intense loss at the B- Invitational Golf Tournament, he decided against a professional golf career.”
-Oh. Interesting. So that’s why. Hmm. Quitter.
(Same man) “He was open-minded and did not see distinctions of class, education, or wealth.”
-lots of Black friends probably.
“They specialized in high quality and custom hardwood lumber for the local building industry.”
-too bad commercial buyers weren’t interested. That would’ve been something to write about.
“C- strived for morality and enjoyed the unique qualities of everyone she met.”
-is that how pro-lifers are described today?
“J- poured his heart and love of writing into this book which can be found on http://www.amazon.com.”
-slow down. Was that three double-u’s or four?
“In 1972, she graduated valedictorian from S- high school.”
-set. For. Life.
“A beautiful woman of deep faith and exceptional grace, she excelled in many endeavors in her life.”
-what can I say? Rotator cuff injury took me out in 8th grade. Downhill from there.
(Same lady.) “At the time of her selection (three years ahead of her peers) she was one of the youngest officers in the Air Force selected for promotion to full colonel.”
-no comment
(One more from this David-hearted mortal.) “L- lived the life that she wanted to have.”
-lucky!!
“S- was an astute businesswoman who helped build a successful business that still exists today.”
-ahh. Finally. In the only meaningful sense of the word, one lucky dead woman found happiness. Or as Aristotle called it, “Eudaimonia.” Flourishing.
****
As always, reader, please do better. Please take life seriously. Please do not write this crap about your loved ones. If you need help, comment. Or email me. I would be happy to help you tell the truth.
Point/Counterpoint: Will the Influx of Africans to the West Work? (4)
Yes.
(By work, of course, we mean “rule of law” holding.
By fail, of course, we mean “might makes right” resuming.)
It occurs to me that the well of knowledge in the West—given its unique and rich tradition of valuing literacy—is deeper than any living African immigrant, and his total unfamiliarity with literacy, can dig in one lifetime. However, my conscience will not let the matter settle there.
The African is not without hope. The main lesson of literacy, the main point of the written record, is to insist that we tell the truth.
Will rule of law hold? Yes. If the Africans adopt our manifestly dominant tradition of valuing honesty, then it will hold.
The Rumored Sudanese Family Budgets
The great influx of Africans, in this case Sudanese, is taking on an almost uniform shape at churches across our great country. The general situation is the almost dead whites have their Sunday services as they have for the past 80 years. But then the vibrant-seeming African redeemed, fresh off the airplane, bring out the whole family, extended family, and more and use the same church buildings for their Pentecostal services.
The white pastors, then, in talking to the African church leadership have their finger on this aspect of the immigration pulse more-so than you or I. (If any of this interests you, track down a pastor. He’d love to chat after such a long break.)
The specific heartbeat one pastor revealed to a friend of mine that I want today’s post to illuminate is family money.
Want to know how these non-Western families handle the family budget? I’ll tell ya.
Rumor has it, the fathers are slaving themselves out as their wives spend without limit.
The situation, surely applicable to more than just Sudanese culture, is the wives expect to never be told “no” when it comes to money and then the husband has to figure out how to pay the bill.
Worse, the Sudanese wives, like all you lovely ladies out there, really want to work and have their own money, money which the husband is never allowed to acknowledge exists.
Reader: you know my point. That’s right. The next time you see a midnight-skinned African-looking man whose every fiber screams high strung, summon your compassion. He needs it.
And to you readers who are American wives: if anything I have written remotely describes you, then, seriously, WTF?
A Rooster Crowed
And as Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant-girls of the high priest came, and seeing Peter warming himself, she looked at him and said, “You also were with the Nazarene, Jesus.”
But he denied it, saying, “I neither know nor understand what you are talking about.” And he went out into the entryway.
And when the servant-girl saw him, she began once more to say to the bystanders, “This is one of them!” But again he was denying it.
And after a little while the bystanders were again saying to Peter, “Surely you are one of them, for you are also a Galilean.”
But he began to curse and swear, “I do not know this man you are talking about!” And immediately a rooster crowed a second time. And Peter remembered how Jesus had said the statement to him, “Before a rooster crows twice, you will deny Me three times.”
And throwing himself down, he began to cry.
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On this day, congregation, I ask you, “Did you hear it?”
Today Is the Definitive Day of Sadness for the United States of America
I feel sad.
It’s difficult not to brood or stew for the next several hours until the press conference.
I don’t join the “elder abuse” or “his family won’t let him” choruses.
I just feel sad.
As a child, all I wanted was to serve our great country, the greatest country the Earth had ever seen, bar none.
As a man, all I feel is sad.
I Am Never Ready
These last three days I learned that despite my training and full belief in the Boy Scouts’ “Be Prepared” motto, there are three things I am never ready for.
Firstly, America’s natural beauty, specifically the Rocky Mountains.
I drove to Salt Lake City from the Springs (and back) and while my eyes were necessarily on the road, I could’t help but marvel at the grandeur passing by my right and left.
I have decided that this area will be my kids and I’s new playground.
Secondly, folk’s response to, “What is the gospel?”
“You are insolent,” the friend of my buddy told me, as we sat next to each other late into the wedding reception. This was preceded by, “You are proselytizing.” Which was preceded by a three to five minute recounting of his entire childhood interaction with the Church which concluded, as he could tell he was avoiding the question, with a tremendously subpar answer, which he knew was subpar as he delivered it even before my eyes surely indicated so. This being preceded by his rehearsal of the lunacy of the concept of the “chosen people” and my, “Well, and to be sure—I am giving you my best now, no pulling punches—you must understand the gospel before you can understand or be at peace with any of the rest of it. There is an order of events, so to speak. So I would ask you (you don’t have to answer) what is the gospel?” And of course this was preceded by his, “You’re religious, huh? My problem is…”
I guess I am just an optimist. It’s my only explanation why I am always surprised that such a simple question can evoke such a dark response.
Thirdly, once in a lifetime offers of unimaginable wealth and luxury.
“Are you happy there? Are you happy with your job?”
I said, “Sorry what are you asking?”
“Are you settled in for good? Do you like your job?” the man repeated.
I had just met him. I learned he was a doctor. He was immediately kind. I believe his opening banter was complimenting the toast I had just given/hosted as best man. And, I never confirmed, but I am pretty sure he was a Mormon.
Do you see it now?
He saw what I had just accomplished in the other room and was ready to put those talents to work for the faith—and we all get richer in the process.
But I stumbled. Someone else was nearby and asking those around if they knew the movie that the current bluegrass band’s song was from, and I couldn’t help but ignore my new friend and lean over to answer, “O’ Brother Where Art Thou?!”
By the time that reverie ended, the moment had passed. The “doctor is out”, and never to return.
Oh well. I do like my house and I do like my job. But I also feel shame that I have acted in the same way during similar moments enough times to recognize the physical sensation I get afterwards as the “missed/blown opportunity” one. And this shame is only made worse in that these moments keep happening to me.
Maybe next time, I’ll be ready.
Point/Counterpoint: Will the Influx of Africans to the West Work? (3)
No.
The influx will not work, at least not for the first few generations (and deeper, the longer they segregate).
There has been too much “foreign aid” to their homelands, and not the requisite amount of humble (which is inherently also wise), “Say, how do you get to a place where your ‘cup runneth over’?” for the Africans to ever get out of the mindset of thinking manna falls from heaven and transition to contributing.
Captain’s Log 