Tagged: family

Guests Cannot Speak. Not Even Me.

Earlier today I wrote, “Evangelical Christianity has a problem.”

Just now, I returned from attending the second half of the youth service that my wife and step-son’s preferred church puts on. I missed the games and whatever they do for the first hour. This means I arrived when the sermon began. Then it was small group time.

Twenty minutes is all they allot for the smaller groups time.

I’ve been to this church several times, and have been to a few of its members homes. And we sent A- to the youth camp two years ago etc.

I would never join the church, however, because it’s a “one church, many campuses” place that makes you watch a screen for the pre-recorded sermon.

Think of it. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Visual Illusion.

One of these things isn’t like the others.


During small group time, the two adults (one is a paid, full-time youth pastor who I’ve spoken with at length and texted and talked to occasionally) were teaching the 7th and 8th graders (one of whom was dressed in full Spiderman costume, gloves and all) about not drawing lines when it comes to lust/pornography. As in, do not say, “I’ll go this far—and no farther.” Instead, the lesson was, “whatever is pure…think on these things”.

No problem with the lesson.

But the boys were not getting it.

The way the leaders, sermon guy and two in my group, spoke, barely anyone could’ve discerned what the heck they were saying. They were so general in their vocabulary that it was hard even for me to know what was going on. I wondered, “Were they instructed to never get specific? If so, that’s odd. But it fits these type of churches. Never actually offensive.”

Anyhow, the point is, the boys were saying things that didn’t fit at all and the adults were never correcting the boys or even seeming to care that the lesson was failing.

Finally, after 17 min, I said, “I’m not sure you guys get the line thing. Will one of you explain it? Can someone give me a specific example?”

Peter Parker spoke up, “It’s like you shouldn’t drink alcohol or do drugs.”

Before anyone could respond, the unpaid teacher actually answered me.

I was shocked. Not only did I not doubt that he knew the answer, I clearly didn’t ask him. And the protectionism he demonstrated was wholly inappropriate. I obviously was trying to help teach the boys what they, the teachers, wanted to teach the boys.

I repeated the question, albeit more specific, “What’s like a rule you have in your life right now?”

A boy spoke up, “Don’t watch bad tv.”

“Good,” I said. “Now what’s the very easiest way to make sure that you never, I mean never ever, see bad tv?”

“Read a book,” he answered.

“Perfect. That’s perfect. The line would be ‘watch only good tv’ but the better thing, if you never wanted to watch bad tv, would be to never watch tv period.”

Then the boys took over with other examples and the paid guy fed off the improved mood and everything came to a close.

Skip to the end…

The paid guy approached me and said, “Hey, so I just want to honor our leadership here and let you know that you need to wear a guest badge next time. You know, just so folks know you’re a parent.”

“Will do.”

“And,” he continued, “This comes from the heart, but we want parents to come and see what we’re teaching the kids, but you can’t talk. I mean, I loved what you said tonight and how it helped the conversation, but, again, I need to honor our leadership too and so you just need to know that you can’t talk next time.”

Boy Scouts really ruined me, I think.

In Boy Scouts, the adults taught skills. Like lighting a fire. We learned fire needed three things, blah blah blah.

All the adults either helped teach or were too embarrassed to help as they didn’t know what they were doing and not helping light a fire would result in no fire, so they just sat back and watched rather than shame themselves.

Can you imagine it? Many adults helping towards one goal?

Tonight, if the youth leaders wanted to teach the boys to light a fire, the analogy would work out as follows.

“Boys, here’s a match box. Take it. That’s right, there’s enough that every one gets one. Everyone have theirs? Good. Now you take a match and then strike it on the side and the match grows a flame. Your turn. Try it.”

And then one boy says, “This box sounds cool when you shake it.”

And another rejoins, “Yeah. Like moccasins.”

The teacher corrects, “You mean maracas.”

“That’s what I said. Maracas.”

All the while, the boys are all shaking a box of matches. But no fire is lit. No matches leave the boxes. No boys strikes up a match into a flame.

And the teachers just keep gently “handling” the ignorance.

Then I say, “Boys. Will one of you take out a match from your box?”

“I’ll do it!”

“Thank you. Now will you strike it on the side of the box and make a flame?”

(Shhhh sparkle flame)!!

The boys say, “Oooo. Ahhh. Can I try?”

Then, after the dismissal, the leader says to me, “Silence!!”

Tracking, dear reader?

Maybe I’m too old. Maybe I’m too eccentric. Maybe I have too much baggage.

I just have never been to so many organizations which have such lousy teachers as the Evangelical churches I have attended of late.

It’s not like I taught something different. I merely helped focus the lesson they wanted the boys to learn. In my opinion, I should get a medal for what I did tonight.

Evangelical Christianity has a problem.


One Way I Know I’m Failing As A Father, and One Way I Know I’m Succeeding As A Father

Failing: Afternoon nap time for A- (terrible two’s daughter) and J- (infant son). And their parents.

Son awakes first. Wife brings him to living room where I am lazily reading after a pleasant cat nap. She returns to her nap.

Finally, I get up and go lay near J-.

I beamed with pride as my son rolled around. J-’s movement and posture is a near divine display of inner calm, grace, majesty, and dexterity. And all at such a young age. Impressive, for sure. I also noticed what might prove to be a subtle hint of poopy diaper was released.

To confirm, I moved in and inhaled deeply.


Succeeding: Afternoon nap time for A- (terrible two’s daughter) and J- (infant son). And their parents.

Son awakes first. Wife brings him to living room where I am lazily reading after a pleasant cat nap. She returns to her nap.

Finally, I get up and go lay near J-.

I beamed with pride as my son rolled around. J-’s movement and posture is a near divine display of inner calm, grace, majesty, and dexterity. And all at such a young age. Impressive, for sure. I also noticed what might prove to be a subtle hint of poopy diaper was released.

To confirm, I moved in and inhaled deeply.

Mayor Pete Is A Real Boy

Some of you have no doubt seen the headlines that Mayor Pete put pen to paper regarding his first year with the twin babies.

What most of you won’t have taken time to learn, what the news didn’t report, is that Mayor Pete also, after his year in the Land of Boobies, to his great astonishment, grew a beautiful pair of donkey’s ears.

It is moments like these where I am glad homosexual men are sterile. Seems nature has things under control after all.

Luck or Consequence?

You should remember that I have a step-son, A-. He’s now 12, and he has been in my house for over two years. For right or wrong, most nights, as my wife (his mother) and I lay in bed, about to fall asleep, I recount, let’s say, “areas for improvement” in his day. So many lies, so much disobedience, so much unthinkingness. He’s not hell-bent, but he has severe low self-esteem and until me, has never apparently had an adult teach him anything, let alone the big things. Making matters worse, he’s been guessing wrong and drawing wrong conclusions with his own brain—itself a testament to how incapable a human is to just “get it” without proper breeding.

Anyhow, as you also know, I fly helicopters professionally and of the EMS sort. Recently, I was able to attend a drag racing event as the “on duty”, “fly out the injured driver or fan” pilot. Well, one of the perks of this event was I got to go down to the start line and be as close to the car as anyone, well, anyone except the driver.

I’m telling you, it was like a bomb went off when the lights turned green. I feared for my own life.

In other words, it was awesome.

Later that shift, I flew an actual patient of a bicyclist vs. car event and then I had a long drive home. Long day.

Pretty much went directly to bed. And while there, I’m showing the wife videos of the crazy races and explaining the unimaginable experience of being right there (and having flown in to the event, all while being on the clock) and, because she she knows I like Nascar among other reasons, she says, “Lucky you.”

Full stop.

Lucky me? I’m at the race and being teated as VIP because I’m fortunate?

Sorry, my wife. Maybe it’s fortunate that that shift was open and I was able to fill it. Maybe it’s fortunate that the other helicopter that was supposed to be there was weathered in and we were sent until they could replace us. But the reason that pilots get these uncommon opportunities is pure consequence of consistent application of self-control, obedience, perseverance, attention to detail, service, and the list goes on.

The moment sticks in my craw because of my step-son. I’m the only adult in his life that holds him accountable, that gives him consequences, that tells him unrelentingly that “this behavior caused this consequence” and this means that I’ve created in him a fight. He has all the rest of you just neglecting him, just letting him believe in some bastardized version of “fortune” when it comes to how life unfolds in one corner. And he has me, in the other. I’m strict. I’m probably terrifying. And I talk to him more than anyone he knows. But I’m also alone. Me and my helicopter and my videos of cars exploding off the planet. 9 years of everyone, followed by 2+ years of everyone vs. one man who seems lucky. What do you think? Who’s he gonna choose to stick with?

Good things happen as consequences, and nominal and bad things happen as consequences.

Bear in mind, I’m not saying, I, Captain Pete, deserve good things, deserve good consequences. I am saying that when they happen, it is definitely and certainly due to past performance.

I saw the same images of who gets to be where at sporting events as I grew up that you all saw too. Celebrities and the wealthy have their places in the arena, and so do those of us who prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best.

But enough. I wrote this as a conversation piece. I’m curious, what do you think? Is my wife right? Am I just lucky? Or am I right? Was my front row experience the consequence of past behavior.

Lastly, help a brotha’ out. Give the kids in your, ahem, “sphere of influence” consequences.

“One Pastor Candidate for Every Five Pastor Openings”

Have you heard this one? I just heard it the other day.

I’ve been generally aware of the “pastor shortage” or, put differently, the “need for pastors,” but the other day after a men’s Bible study, a church member shared this doozy with me.

You see, the local church my family will probably join is between pastors at the moment and it’s been seven months. They have stalled in the search, basically taking the past seven months to write a church profile with only two salient facts in my view: low attendance (50-60 a Sunday) and minimal budget (somewhere around $150k a year).

But now, with only depressing effect, there’s this fact in the mix. Only one pastor is available for every five congregations looking for a pastor, or in need of a pastor.

I say, let’s honor the rumor and explore what it may mean. Like from a God’s eye view. For example, are we saying that God isn’t providing shepherds for His flocks? Seems unlikely. What are some other options?

One other option, possibly the only other option, is that the pastor-less churches aren’t churches.


Consider that.

What would that mean? What would we be saying if we concluded that four of five pastor-less churches aren’t “churches”?

I’ve been thinking about this question all week. And the answer, as I see it, is not as surprising as you might guess.

What does it mean that four of five pastor-less churches aren’t actually “churches”?

It means people aren’t religious anymore.

And that fact is not surprising at all. It’s quite mundane really. It’s not even embarrassing. It’s “just the way it is”.

Specifically though, or more acutely, it means that these pastor-less groups, are viewed by men like me (or men I went to seminary with) as uninterested in religion. Instead they’re interested in having their way all the time, and won’t be moved from their opinions.

In the particular church I have been attending, the head deacon was curious about my opinion on whether the flag could be placed back behind the pulpit in the sanctuary. It seems the previous pastor took it down as an early order of business during his tenure.

The point here is not, “What did you tell him, Pete? We are having the same debate.”

The point is, “What man on earth, let alone man of the cloth, man called by Almighty God to preach the Word, wants to debate sanctuary decorations?” That’s not a Christian church problem, that is a personality problem. Too many cooks in the kitchen.

Step 1 of problem solving, Air Force Officer Training School style: Recognize The Problem. The problem here is not a pastor shortage, the problem here is a truth shortage.

The God of the Bible, the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe is not afraid to use unpleasant truths to accomplish His will.

The truth is these groups of people long ago stopped being Christian churches. Everyone with children left—that’s the first sign. But more than that, churches grow. They also convert people. If so-called “churches” aren’t growing and aren’t gaining new converts for years, they’re not churches. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s the truth.

In conclusion, don’t put out a “Pastor Wanted” sign if you’re not a church.

And if you’re not a church, then the only public action for your group is prayer. If the “church” won’t pray together, then you’ve learned all you need to know. 1. It’s definitely not a church and 2. your two options then are evangelize or leave.

I say, why not evangelize? Most people are horrible at it and you’ve at least got a ready audience.

As for me and my particular situation, I’m attempting to practice what I preach here. I’m sticking with these folks, who otherwise are not a church, because they’re a ready audience and they need Gospel as much as the next man.

Been Driving A Lot

I’ve been driving a lot, of late. And this has provided ample time for thinking.

As my careful readers know, it is my general belief that my assessment and perspective on life is spot on, and that there is something to gain if I am able to communicate my perspective to others.

My particular aim is to develop the most eloquent and compelling, if not provocative, manner of stating whatever position I find to be true and in need of announcement.

Today, I want to firmly place the concept of “races” or “ethnicities” or “identity politics” or “racism” in the trash fire. I want all of us to stop giving ear and time to the idea that the certain subgroups of humans which have been oppressed are now in need of special, however acute, advantages to make up for the oppression etc. You know what I mean—all the mainstream, legitimate sounding equity and equality BS.

Here’s my zinger which demonstrates that I’m right:

No race/ethnicity/community will ever say “thank you” to the race/ethnicity/community that helped them.

To use one specific example, I’m saying that the venerated “black community” will never tell those former-slavers-now-living-with-“white-privilege”, “Thank you all for giving us a hand when we needed it.”

And it is this fact-of-life of perpetual ingratitude that is the proof that the Blacks themselves know who is ultimately responsible for their station in life—individuals.

Of course, I could be wrong. I long for it, in fact. I’ve even made it easy for ya. All that would have to happen for me to be wrong is one or more of my readers which hail from the “community” would have to say, “Btw, Pete. In honor of your upcoming 41st birthday, I just wanted to say, ‘Thank you for freeing us from the chains of bondage. That was very big of you.’”

(I’m not holding my breath.)

While I wait, I march on with high hopes of avoiding the consequences of unthinking stupidity—and raising my children to do the same.

A Tone-Matching Post On 50 Years of Unhurt Women, Physical Touch, and One of Justice Sotomayor’s Opinions Within Her Dobbs Dissent

I became a gym regular at the age of 16. I mean, I was a nearly five days a week regular. I loved lifting weights. Unlike most of my peers, I used my senior year’s “take an hour off school cuz you work fifteen hours a week” work consortium(?) credit on the first hour, not the seventh. I went to school late. What did I do before school? I went to the gym.

You ladies, especially you unfit ladies, may be surprised to know that gyms are a pretty well-known place for gay men to congregate en masse.

As I get going, a few factual anecdotes may prove salient here.

Back then, I had a buddy who was always more socially aware than I, and we were probably the only two 17 yr olds actively engaging in weight lifting for personal fitness, ie not football, while in high school. Despite my falling behind him in awareness, I was well-aware that one or two of the men at the gym we regularly chatted with were essentially sexual predators, and that my young friend and I were the prey.

Anecdote 1: The one man, 50ish in age—but no more than twenty in appearance (“Black don’t crack”)—offered my friend $200 to publicly shower at the gym. My friend accepted and told me that he figured, “I needed a shower anyhow.” He then told me, “So I shower, the dude walks in, (keep in mind this is a public men’s locker room) and I see him peer in, and then he leaves. Easy money.”

Anecdote 2: I never got an similar offer, but I was always a user of the one private shower, and one morning the door opened and this same gay man see me and says, “Oh, sorry about that,” and closes it. I shook my head. My predominant thought was, “I don’t know if I could stop myself from the same foolishness if an uber fit, attractive (and unconscionably funny and smart and charming…) young woman was showering in the men’s locker room right behind where I took a leak, either.” Or simply, my predominant thought was, “Meh.”

Unlike my buddy, I had more chats with another man that folks always told me was gay, but he never was anything but nice to me. Well, over time he accepted my invitation to watch me play roller hockey in a men’s intramural league. That was horribly awkward. Not sure why I did it.

Anecdote 3: And while he didn’t proposition me, he knew I was promoting a local Strongman Competition and he offered to have his company sponsor it. As I took him up on his offer, he paid me the $250 from his own checkbook—not Frito Lay’s. Lol. He must’ve wanted it real bad. I mean, I’ve been horny, but sheesh.

I could go on, believe me.

Nearly two decades later, life/poor judgment drops me off as an assistant manager at a gentleman’s club. Besides alcohol, their business is physical touch. Seriously. In a manager meeting they told us about studies which show that a waitress’s placing their hand on a patron increases tips and spending. They reminded us how some men come in to the club not having been touched ever during the preceding week or so. A handshake from the bouncer/doorman, or at least a fist-bump, is good for business, period. (Unless the gentlemen displays otherwise, naturally.)

Furthermore, at the club, I learned that Hollywood generally gets the lap dance concept wrong. I have witnessed—my own eyes—“regulars” who literally just want the “lady” to sit, cowgirl-style, on their lap, and chat. Or perhaps just sit like that and hug. Song after song after song, dollar after dollar after dollar. No dry humping, no gyrating, just body touching body. Like as much surface contact as humanly possible. Mind you, this was not every man. But many.

All the above builds to my climactic and tone-matched response to the notion that women will be hurt by the overturn of Roe.

The other day, I posted that the evidence and arguments of “women” claiming, “women will be hurt,” really mean that “children-not-yet-living-as-responsible-adults” are who will be hurt. I thought this would necessarily lead someone to ask me how to fix this “irresponsible children will be hurt”situation. But you didn’t bite. So before getting to that interesting question, I want to show another angle of how this “women will be hurt” claim is foolish. The other angle being, “Women will be hurt?? What about MEN!? What about ME!!??”

See, as above, I believe—as a man—that I need touch. I don’t mean “want”, I mean “need”. I mean, like, “can’t live without it” need. And the main touch that I want is unprotected vaginal sex—including orgasm—with a woman.

Before Roe was overturned, before last Friday, I had all sorts of ways to feel this touch, in all fifty states. I told women, “I love you.” I told women, “You can’t get pregnant if we stand/sit/you’re on top/I’m on bottom/sideways/doggy-style etc.” I told women, “I’m rich.” I told women, “My family’s rich.” I told women, “I’m smart.” I told women, “No matter what happens, I’ll make it work.” If none of those dead ringers would achieve my need, I’d dig deep and offer, “You’re so beautiful.” Finally, if fortune was not on my side, or, to be frank, if she was really dumb (“Geez, Pete!”—I know, I’m mean), sometimes, when I really, really needed that special touch, I would tell them, “Come on, baby. It’s not like first trimester abortion is illegal. Just. (Oh that’s it.) Let me. (Yes. More.) Finish in you.”

And now?

Damn you, Justice Alito!!

Nowhere, not in the United States nor in my pickup lines, did I ever have to worry about what State I was in.

Do you understand?

But now, since Friday, when all other winners fail me, when I have to resort to the classic, “It’s not like first trimester abortion is illegal,” line to spread my seed in a woman, I have to consider where in this great country I even am! (And as a Captain, I have a tendency to travel. So this overturn affects me particularly hard.)

I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. It’s true, I could say, “Even if we’re in one of the states which has banned abortion, I can get you a comp’d flight to a state that has the pills at least.” Yes, that might be a winner. But she’d probably have to be ESL at the least to let that pass. (I’m seeing that in the throws of ecstasy created by yours truly, an immigrant might only recognize “pill” and think “birth control”—and while many women on the pill only take it as a secondary, passive method—still requiring the man to use a condom—some do not. So I may be able to get the touch I need with this line.)

In the end, I want to wrap up by saying, Justice Sotomayor et al’s argument that “abortion rights allow a woman to control her destiny” (paraphrase) is true only conditionally, that is, only with the addition of one word. To make it true, it must say, “Abortion rights allow a stupid woman to control her destiny.”

Two Thoughts For To-day

First, I want, for posterity, to include content from an email to a friend. It’s about the second amendment and Bruen opinion. I know the email will never be deleted, but this is easier to find and I like the compact way I developed my thoughts.

My full attention response to your statement of the crux of the matter is as follows: by virtue of it being in English and law in a political State, the Second Amendment means something. Rather, it meant something. And by meaning something, there are things it didn’t mean. It had nothing to do with SpaceX, for example. Or vehicles in general. The rub is not “regulation”. The rub is “what did it mean?”

To be clear, I’d even be fine with deciding it is unintelligible and we’ve been fools for two centuries-plus for treating it like it had meaning.


My feeling on the passing scene is the Left will always insert straw men (“it’s about safety” or “it’s about how far does the second amendment limit regulation”) because the most plain meaning of the words (if there is any meaning at all) is, “Citizens ought be able to instill fear in the hearts of seeming attackers AND, if attacked, connect the remaining space between threat and action with certain death.” And the Left will never admit this paraphrastic or philosophical meaning because they are the attacker.

There’s no sweet spot, D-. There’s meaning. Should citizens be able to make this connection between threat and action or not? What do we believe? I say absolutely. And I mean this regardless of whether there is a second amendment, regardless which country I am in. I believe the best political philosophy on weapons is citizens must bear them. Did the second amendment teach me this? It doesn’t matter. Does the second amendment mean this? I believe it does. And part of the reason I do is that these men were revolutionaries themselves. Had they not had weapons, they wouldn’t have founded anything. By way of analogy, a mathematician who denied numbers are useful to his profession would be the same as a Founder meaning otherwise than I believe he did by the words of the second amendment.


Random slaughter? That’s also not a concept in the sense that you meant—unless the holocaust and all the major atrocities of people with guns against people without guns are included. In church world we say, “The Gospel levels the field.” In the same sense, so do guns. We’re all sinners. We’re all possible victims—and we ALL should be. No man, not the government, not “you or anyone else” gets through this lifetime without fear of attack.


That’s the email content and first thought for today.

Second, I want to say that I love hearing from people who I disagree with. In this case, I have been doing my best to understand the “women will be hurt” argument on the Pro-Choice side of things.

So far as I can understand it, in the end, the argument doesn’t really mean “women”. By “women” they really mean “children”. No, I don’t believe they mean “female people under the age of 18 will be hurt.” Instead, I believe that the “person” they mean by “women”, in the sense they employ, has not yet achieved adult status.

Adults have to make decisions. “Should I live here or there?” “Should I date this person or that?” “Should I rust out or wear out?” “My primary circumstances have changed, how does that affect my next decisions?” These are inescapably adult decisions.

“I want my way here and now, there and now, and now and forever—without consequence”, that’s a child. That’s a child, no matter the age, no matter the sex.

I believe this is a wise assessment. But I also believe it furthers the conversation in a good way by providing something meaningful to respond to. So if you disagree with the big overturn or how I have characterized this “women will be hurt” part of your stance, and if you enjoy conversation, then please comment below. I’d love to hear how I’m misunderstanding things.

WW3 Diary Entry 7

“So what, Pete. What would you have me do?”

Good question. Lots of things. I’ll begin with the first two.

During war, the first order of business is getting right with your maker, getting right with your creator.

Now I’m not trying to preach here, but we all know who that is. It ain’t Mohammed, it ain’t his god, and it ain’t more than one god. That leaves Yahweh, the god of the Bible. You can get right with him by, first and foremost, changing your habits. Pray in the name of Jesus. Study the Bible. Go to church. This should sound easy. It ain’t. But without it, there is literally no point to life. So why fight?

(This brings me to a big assumption. I’m assuming that you asked me what to do because you want to live, because you want to win the war. Good. Me too.)

After getting right with your maker, step two is increase your strength—both mentally and physically. We’re not gonna win if you’re weak in either category.

Physical strength is easy to increase. I recommend walking and pushups if you’re coming at this cold. Heck, I just started doing several sets of pushups on my walks with the stroller. Just three weeks ago I stopped about every fifteen minutes and did sets of 30. And now I’m at sets of 45. Three weeks.

Mental strength can be increased by teaching yourself something you’ve read. Somewhere in your house you have a book which has information in it. Pick some one section or chapter in it, and teach it to yourself. Focus is the particular mental skill in this practice. You’re not teaching what you think about the topic, you need to teach what it teaches. You’ll know if you’ve done it right. To kill two birds, I’d pick the Bible or a book which has a universal skill, like cooking or hunting or carpentry etc.

There are many other ways to increase your physical and mental strength. Comment below if you have any to offer or to request others.

We must win. We can win. We will win. But it’s going to take all of us, and it’s going to take strength.

WW3 Diary Entry 4

I’m feeling philosophical as the world seems passed the idea that WW3 has begun.

Why do I want to be right?

What would I get for being right?

Short answer: being prepared. I like to be prepared. I believe in being prepared. I’m an Eagle Scout for crying out loud. Boy Scout Motto: “Be Prepared.”

But with being right about WW3, it’s more than that—especially as I’m no “prepper”.

With my belief that it’s important to know that WW3 is being actively waged right now, I also get to not be some stupid, head-buried in the sand, wealthy enough to not experience war, johnny come lately when the sacrifice really begins. Put in a simple analogy: toilet paper. That was you—not me. Over a cold.

If people lost their minds over a common cold, what do you expect will happen when the fire starts?

I know exactly what will happen. Denial. Chaos. And some sort of purification process wherein the only winners will be those who consistently tell the truth.

So today, I’m telling the truth.

The truth is this is it. The big one. Be prepared. Keep the long game in mind. And stay focused.