Tagged: Jesus

How Would The Bible’s Authors Describe COVID Deaths?

I am so tired of Christians talking about the vaccine and politics and the so-called biblical response to the pandemic and its lunacy. One specific thing that wears me out is the use of the acronym “COVID”.

Did you know the writings that comprise the Bible contain precisely zero acronyms? In meteorological lingo, this mean acronyms are a zero-chance event in the Bible, much like rain on a cloudless afternoon.

Now, the men who preach the Bible today, should, on some level, believe they are called by the LORD to speak his words. On some level, they believe they are speaking divine utterances—not to be added to recorded scripture—but holy/separate speech nonetheless. And so one clear way I use to discern whether the preacher is actually called, or more to the point, whether his sermons contain divine truth, is his use of acronyms.

With this discernment tool, I have found myself stressing to friends and family (in my efforts to test-the-waters of preaching and see how it might look in my future), “People don’t die of COVID. They die because they can’t breathe. We all need to just tell the truth. Do you see how this actually makes you feel different?” I then really rev my engines and continue, “If you say ‘people are dying because they cannot breathe’ then the response at once changes from, ‘we’re in a pandemic,’ or, ‘well, were they vaccinated?’ to, ‘That sounds horrible. Were they in pain?’ And the like. Do you see? There’s an instant humanity-element added. It’s like hopping in a car and heading directly to the room of the diseased person’s grieving family members if we simply lose the acronym. ‘Died of COVID’. Puuh. They died because they couldn’t breathe anymore.”

Okay. So I wanted to likewise sound off this kind of thinking on this blog, but I knew that I was partially talking outta my arse. And so I then took to Chrome with a search of, “how do people die from COVID?” in order to be sure I wasn’t too far off the beaten path.

You should try to find the answer yourself. That’s my first recommendation. It’s actually a tricky “search” to process. Most results are about “how many people die of COVID?” and not our question pertaining to particulars. In any case, see for yourself. Learning facts is important. We’re all altering our entire life over an acronym and we should at least know what the trouble actually is.

Truth be told, before I searched for this question, I searched for “how do people die of AIDS?” The savvy reader may see what my mind was doing. I was taking one acronym and clarifying how “it” (AIDS) was used in our vocabulary and killing people, and then seeing if the answer would help me here.

Short answer: AIDS kills indirectly. Just as we all always have known. You don’t run out of breath from AIDS, you run out of breath from some other disease that was able to take such drastic effect in your defenseless body because AIDS had removed your body’s defenses. And of course with AIDS we’re not just talking breathing problems.

Is COVID the same? In short: no. COVID kills someone by an oxygen problem. Given the many ways the body/blood interact with oxygen and need oxygen, the death may be any number of things. Maybe you can’t breathe, maybe your heart stops, or many any number of other organ failures occur. (This is a very general, but accurate, summary.) So let’s go back to Bible times.

Any available pool of men from which to choose to write the books that became the Bible didn’t know—couldn’t possibly have known—how air is something that can be further subdivided. There was air, there was no air, and then there was probably “bad air”.

(Stick with me. I’m driving it home soon.)

So the authors of our text could not have said, “It’s a lack of oxygen” that killed him. It’s not that the Hebrew/Greek didn’t have a word for oxygen, it’s that that level of knowledge of life on earth and the physical atmosphere was years off from being discovered. Nobody, not in any language, had a word for the particular element we mean by the word oxygen.

I imagine if they were around death a lot, they could tell the difference between what we may call “couldn’t breathe” and “heart attack”, because the obvious symptoms are considerably different. But they certainly couldn’t see (certainly couldn’t communicate) that a “heart attack” driven by lack of “oxygen” was different from a “heart attack” driven by a blockage that a two-thousand year later “cath lab” could’ve cleared right up.

Reader, pay attention here. My post’s question has altered at this point. It’s not, “How would the Bible’s authors describe COVID deaths?” (Answer: they couldn’t do it), it’s now, “Would the Bible’s authors have thought we were in the midst of a pandemic (plague-type situation)?”

And this question need not be answered by me here. My belief is that it need be answered by you, faithful breather.

What to do?

Take away the acronym. It’s certainly uninspired, and it definitely contributes to inhumane living conditions. It may even be obscuring the truth. But that’s for you to decide; that’s for us to decide as oxygen needing people. (Or do we just need air?)

(Let us pray.)

Reaction to One Political Conservative’s Reaction to Dave Chappelle’s Latest Joke

As most of you know, I spent my twenties in the Air Force as a pilot. This means that all the things that folks generally do in their twenties, I did while a pilot in the Air Force. Before this, I was a very active little Bible thumper at church, and always working towards being an Eagle Scout at Boy Scouts. Then came college at a small private college, in a super small town whose only bar I never frequented. The picture I’m trying to paint is that I lived a life full of full disclosure. I could, did, and was encouraged to talk about life within all these groups. Real life, you know? Personal things didn’t stay personal. We all just lived together, good, bad, and ugly.

Due to the limited size of groups I was in within the elite pilot training program that is the Air Force’s SUPT, I never really gave much thought to the very different nature of social environment that I had then found myself in as a 23 year old. Put plainly, I hadn’t had my trust broken in life yet, and given the similarly small group size, I just assumed the Air Force would be no different.

Suffice it to say, I was wrong. And I got burned big time.

Time go’d on. Time go’d on.

I became known as a guy who wasn’t “one of the guys”. The fellas liked me and all, but they knew that I wouldn’t put up with much teasing (said I had “thin skin”) and they knew that I wouldn’t dish it out much either.

One day, a mentor figure saw my consternation (and I saw he saw) and so I finally asked him for help. He sat me down and answered my confusion by saying, “Pete. It just makes people more comfortable when they know that they can pick on you and that you’re willing to pick on them. Nobody means anything by it. But when you don’t join in, it feels off, and makes us nervous. You know we all really like you, right? We’re just picking on you a bit extra because we like your reaction so much. So if you want, feel free to give it back and then we’ll eventually get to a happy medium and all will be well.”

I was pretty sure then, and am more sure now, that this type of moment is rare. And so I considered it and then happily consented. And all was well.

The point of this trip down memory lane is to demonstrate that I know the concept that being picked on (a seemingly negative event) can actually be proof of a positive and healthy relationship. So, when Andrew Sullivan’s piece on Chappelle’s controversial joke landed, “Dave Chappelle Is Right, Isn’t He?”, I was intrigued and gave it a read.

In short, Mr. Sullivan claims that, much like my mentor, Mr. Chappelle, in making his joke, is doing the trans community a solid by picking on them. Mr. Sullivan argues that it’s good for the trans folk to be picked on, argues that it proves they’re approved.

Like my personal situation, I have to agree that Mr. Sullivan is right that Mr. Chappelle is doing the trans community a favor by directly, and with surgical precision, picking on them. (Make no mistake, Chappelle picks on the trans community.)

But I cannot agree that anything meaningful is taking place. The most compelling social/political problem in America and the West today (and given the hegemonic value of America—in the world today) is people valuing “social justice” and “equity” and “diversity” and “equality” and “inclusivity” above morality. It’s this replacement of core values that’s the problem, not one particular social group’s standing in society. Here’s how I know.

There is one little sentence that can be uttered which brings the whole house down, one little claim that shakes the foundation to the core. One minor comment that brings to the surface the true nature of the social/political problems our nation faces.

It’s arguable that Dave Chappelle is the greatest living comedian. It’s definitely true that he is on the leading edge—a bonafide influencer of the highest order—of Western Culture. But these two facts, powerful as they sound, don’t negate the claim I’m still preambling and which will not disappoint.

Ready? (I’m excited for you.)

“Dave Chappelle’s joke ultimately is not like my mentor’s advice, nor like Mr. Sullivan’s assessment, because Dave Chappelle is black.”

Of course he can safely say the joke. To pick on Mr. Chappelle will only earn you the label “racist”.

If you think Mr. Chappelle’s joke could do anything but help the trans community, that’s your mistake. A joke which hurts the trans community is like Muslim Imams performing wedding ceremonies for gays. It just ain’t happening. The only thing that Mr. Chappelle’s joke has influenced is the amount of confusion.

It’s not confusion we’re after, it’s alignment. It’s integrity.

My mentor helped me because he had spent years developing himself into someone all considered worthy from whom to seek social advice. So when I was stuck, I sought help, sought wisdom from him, regarding how to navigate a confusing social environment.

On the other hand, the trans community is not interested in social advice. They feign to seek social approval—and from a culture which has so far shown nothing short of total willingness to re-center the culture on “social/political tranquility” instead of “moral excellence”.

Does Mr. Sullivan have pithy distillation power on Mr. Chappelle’s inverse goal? Sure. Does Mr. Sullivan (and other erudite pop culture commenters) make the clever, pragmatic observation that he supposes he does? Nope.

Mr. Chappelle doesn’t get cancelled because he’s black.

Final proof: Anyone see Jerry Seinfeld addressing the trans community like Mr. Chappelle does? Anyone see Brad Pitt jumping on the Chappelle Show? Anyone see Leonardo Dicaprio or Christian Bale or George Clooney or Steven Spielberg or Craig, Daniel Craig signing a petition with Mr. Chappelle? No. No, we don’t. We do not see these demi-gods doing these things. And we won’t either. Why not? Because the real fight between social/political tranquility and moral excellence is ongoing and they’re hedging their bets.

If you think Mr. Chappelle’s joke is helping the trans community, you’re right.

Conversely, if you think the trans individuals need help, you’re right.

God Did Not Write the Bible

This post is driven by that same Wednesday night church experience last week behind that other post about choosing a home church. As a refresher, the Baptists had a new children’s winter Bible Study and through it, on day one, lesson one were teaching the kids that, “God wrote the Bible.” In fairness, the pastor quickly clarified or tempered this claim with something like, “…using men…” But my point remains. God did not write the Bible. Moreover and more to the point, no Baptist, alive, dead, or yet-to-be even believes that God wrote the Bible. So why teach a child that?

I’m actually a little at a loss on the topic overall, these days. Why even say, “The Bible is inspired by God?” Or, “The Bible is God-breathed?” I’m totally fine with quoting scripture as in, “In Peter’s second letter he (Peter) says the writings we consider as the Bible are…” But, if we’re talking amongst ourselves (Christians to Christians), the thing being communicated is known and part of the “Christian-ness”. It’s like two basketball players describing that there is air inside a basketball.

And if we’re not talking to Christians, then we’re telling a person who doesn’t believe in an admittedly invisible being that that self-same unseen being wrote a very visible book which is most evidently written by humans.

What, then, shall we say? Start with, “The Bible is coherent.” We Christians believe that both the Christian and the non-Christian/pagan/heathen can all understand the contents. No different than Romeo and Juliet or the Constitution of the United States of America. So start there.

Scrap all the virtue-signaling and holier-than-thou talk and just tell the truth. Say true sentences that are defensible to their core. Was the Bible written by God? I answer as a Holy Spirit filled follower of Jesus Christ and a literate human, “No.”

A Baptist, a Charismatic, and a Baby Walk Into a Bar…

…actually it was just a walk around the neighborhood. But picture it with me, because the setting is important. It’s a small town, about an hour from the major metropolitan city center. It could be any number of these type of towns. Mostly rural, but that doesn’t mean folks don’t have all the markings of city life, from fancy cars to fancy ideas.

My wife likes the local charismatic church, as does my step-son. (I choose the word “like” over others intentionally, as any Baptist should. So mark that.) It’s hard not to like the church. On Wednesday nights the foyer is lit like a nightclub, and the parking is full like a bowling alley’s on league play.

I had just arrived after ducking out of the Baptist church’s Wednesday night programming early, that is, when the games started. Baptists have recently switched from AWANA to “Kid’s For Truth” and this particular Baptist church was on its first effort with the new program. Suffice it to say, the night did not go well. Lots of scrambling, lots of evidence of lack of preparation. Lots of scapegoating that it was the “new programs” fault that things were not running smoothly.

This morning then—starting last night really—my wife and I chatted about the different experiences I had as we continue to seek out a church home. I love these types of conversations and discussions, and my wife enjoys them enough to indulge me.

Without walking you through the hour long chat moment-by-moment, though that was an eye-opening experience itself, I want to give you an analogy which captures the result, or where we landed.

The mystery of the modern protestant church is best likened to two engineering schools that teach from one specific written curriculum how to build one specific item—boats.

Now imagine that one of the schools is packed with students and that the professors all believe they are teaching how to build boats. Moreover, all the students really feel like they are learning how to build boats—the professor’s all agree—and they talk all the time about boats and their design and construction.

But they never build boats.

Mind you, no one needs any boats. It’s not like there are customers calling to ask, “Where’s my boat?” That’s just not happening. What is happening, to repeat, is there is a school which uses one specific written curriculum to teach how to build boats, there are professors teaching how to build boats, and there are paying students believing that they know how to build boats. All this, but no actual boats.

This is the first school.

The second school, using the exact same curriculum, has trouble finding professors—often resorting to retired professors and temporary professors—but they teach the curriculum to the letter. A person could build a very good boat based on their teaching. Regarding students, there are only non-traditional (25+ year olds) who actually are just auditing the course. Every once in a while, a real student shows up and pays to learn, but they often quit attending and ultimately (and quietly) stop submitting assignments. The older auditing students happily provide the materials for the boats—often one-upping each other in quality of supplies—but the students just seem to need other students around and so they keep quitting when they realize that they are the only one in the school.

So again, like the first school, there are no boats being built.

And like the other school, the written curriculum is there. There are capable, if not likeable and consistent, professors. Different than the first school, at this school there are even all the necessary supplies and tools, to build the boats, but the trouble is there are no students—and so no boats.

Now enters the problem. In what everyone sees retrospectively as a “should’ve known” moment, a bizarrely miraculous but terrible event occurs. Everybody, all people—not just students of those two aforementioned schools—fall into their own personal sink hole of varying sizes that contains themself and everything they have ever built. If one man built a lego set, it’s in their sink hole. If another built a paper airplane, it’s there. Many individuals have many items. Some have none. If someone built their house, the house is in the sink-hole. If a person built a boat, they have their boat. If a baby built nothing, there is a rather small hole with just a baby (probably crying). You get the picture.

There is no way out of these sink holes. No ladder can reach the top. No one is above who can throw down a rope. No flying machine has fuel. Everyone is stuck by themselves with whatever they built.

Then it starts to rain with no sign of stopping.

As this rather precarious and new, if not oddly predictable, situation continues to unfold, suddenly, the entire planet, and all its occupants, all its plants, everything instantly burns up. Nothing is left.

Finally, everyone gains awareness that they are still alive. Some are amongst a trash fire, unaware, and never becoming aware, that any change to their misery is possible. Others find themselves in what words cannot quite describe, but when pressed maybe something like blissful communion with what feels like an old friend and mentor, communion that has an odd mixture of familiarity and constant newness and overall is simply awe-inspiring.

That’s it. That’s the analogy.

****

In short, for my dad and readers like him who feel they want to understand but aren’t there yet, I’m saying the problem with church-shopping is that the church doesn’t direct where we end up after the fire.

Just In A Bad Mood

I only caught a glimpse of my step-son through the front-window this morning, coming up from the basement as I did, a minute too late to see him off to the bus stop. I immediately thought, “What a moron.”

The window was mostly covered by the drapes, but they were poorly closed and so a large enough crack to see through was present. The eleven year old boy was wearing his mask like all morons do, over his ears and around the bottom of his chin, like a chin strap. The sides were around his ears, the mask itself, pulled down off his face. You get the picture.

What bothers me is that the atheists that don’t have children never, and I mean never, talk about one specific topic in this mess called life. They’re so smart, they know oh so much, they want to teach us all, but they never mention the singular sight that I saw.

Because of the efforts of atheists, today’s children are figuring out how to make masks fit their personality, how to make masks look cool. Like pinch rolled jeans, or Jordans, or braided belts, masks are being adopted by children as part of their external personality. Why? Because they’re morons. Children as a group are morons. They blindly follow anything the adults say.

Now, the atheist, as a rule, won’t have children and if they do, then they don’t raise them as children. They treat them like small adults. “Babies are delivered through the vagina,” they tell inquisitive kindergartners, proud to not fill a child’s head with stories of large-beaked birds wearing funny hats.

Atheists, the godless and the childless, and I don’t mean the ignorant ones—I mean the ones who want to fight, who think they have made a proper study of the topic and are sure they are right (Freud, Nietzsche, Marx and the like)—never satisfactorily explain how they stopped being a moron. Despite this content void in their curriculum, they proceed to place all their efforts towards the obviously impossible task of teaching all children (current and former) the importance of human mask-wearing.

Trying to implement mask-mandates still? The only failure of my life that took me more than a year and a half to notice was my first marriage. How long until these morons admit that positive legislation (telling us what we must do), if not backed by a spirit of support, fails?

Atheists are children grown older. I’ll never forget that getting divorced, admitting failure, was the first time I felt like an adult. I was a father, a pilot, a veteran of combat. None of those things felt grown-up to me. Admitting I failed? That was my ticket to the real world. That was my ticket to Jesus Christ.

My moron step-son? There’s hope. Lord willing, there’s hope.

This Post Is Not About Trump

Unlike every other composition of contemporary writing, I want to be clear up front that this post is not about Trump.

My grandpa died a short while ago, after a long life. Like Billy Crystal’s character in City Slickers, I have to admit that this one death calls to mind other deaths—and death in general. Keep in mind, this post is not about Trump.

Since this post is not about Trump, I want to use it to talk about and I need to work out three deaths that have happened in the course of my life.

The first death is that of the exclusively male Air Force flying squadron. I proudly state here that I was a member of the last flying squadron in the United States Air Force that required the aircrew members to be male. The squadron, or I should say, that iteration of the squadron exists no more. Now females can take part in every aspect of aerial combat, at least in the USAF.

The second death, chronologically, is that of the Boy Scouts. I’m talking Shakespeare here. There is something in a name. Or in this case, there is something in two names. I am an Eagle Scout, the highest achievement the Boy Scouts of America offered. And when I grew up there were Girl Scouts. The best organization the females in the country could develop was the Girl Scouts—a bad facsimile of excellence training for boys. That the Scouts now lets in girls does not change history (whether meaning the past facts or the introduction of some new mode of living): where on earth do women have a club that men want to join or wish they had thought of? The new name just admits that the Boy Scouts have died. Like my flying squadron.

Lastly, the Baptists have died. Sure, sure, sure. The Baptists are still meeting every Sunday. And they collect money and they publish Sunday School materials and run some seminaries. But it’s over. What makes me so sure? I just spoke with a new-ish Baptist pastor this morning who confessed that in five years he has not had one non-believer attend, convert, and join his church. Five years. Five years? Five years!

Remember this post is not about Trump.

I spent nearly every Monday from 4th grade to 12th grade in Boy Scout meetings. I spent nearly every Sunday and Wednesday in the Baptist church. And I worked my tail darn near off to get into the last male only flying squadron the United States Air Force had.

What will America be like without Men, Boys Scouts, and Baptists?

That’s an easy answer that you already feel in your bones.

Feminine, fatherless, and godless. In other words, absolutely unremarkable.

Pointedly: uninteresting.

Tragically: unsafe.

And most frustratingly: undesirable.

Remember, this post is not about Trump.

Luckily for you, I am still alive and happy to call your attention to what has died. Why? Because I was a Boy Scout, I was in the last exclusively male flying squadron of the USAF, and I was a Baptist. In short, because I am not afraid of you.

(This post is not about Trump.)

Imitation Is The Sincerest Form of Flattery Part 2

Whatever the malady that drove Mayor Pete and Chasten to the hospital (Get Well Soon!), I had quite the adorable little experience with my 13 month old daughter the other day. It definitely was a sign of the times.

Like most fathers, in the true sense of the word, I found myself feeling weary from spending several hours in all manner of mind-numbing activities with my daughter. And like most fathers, again, fathers, not homosexual men who visit hospitals for photo ops, being tired, I began to consider poor decisions as viable options and thought, “I can just lay down on the floor, right here, smack dab in the middle of the family room. Nothing unsafe can happen without me hearing it. I just need to rest my eyes.”

Here I must confess that there is also a certain thrill when your own flesh-and-blood, your very seed—as they used to say in Bible times—believes they have free reign to climb around, on, and over you.

As most of you know, this daughter is not the only continuation of my bloodline which I have helped deliver unto the world, which I only mention here to relate that I have experienced this climbing scene before.

So, little “A-” (let’s call her) starts to crawl on top of me until she gets right up onto my chest.

Oh, sorry to interrupt, but you should know that for whatever reason A- has developed a habit of leaning her head forward when she wants a kiss. (Or at least that’s how we interpret and respond to the signal.)

So, as I can tell that her head is near my head, I next feel her head, face really, lower down to my head. This was not, to my thinking, very well aimed, if affection was her goal; her face landed nowhere in particular, it seemed. All I’m trying to describe is that her face was now awkwardly touching mine.

As you’re probably thinking, I thought, “Oh! How sweet!”

Then (my eyes are closed all the while) I feel a slightly uncomfortable, open-infant-palm go: “Smack!” And right on the button, too!

As you know, I’m tough as nails, being a hero pilot and all, so don’t read into this recounting anything more than that it startled me.

And then it hit me! No, not her hand, but what she was doing.

While laying there I remembered that we have on the shelf these old 1950s era children’s encyclopedias and that back in the 50s and before, the physicians used to have a less precise approach to CPR. Taken together (context drives meaning, folks) with the fact that, these days, especially with the pandemic going on for her entire life, everyone knows that first responders are the priestly class, if not gods themselves, and she was communicating to me—the little savant—that she, too, like her maker, wants to be a first responder.

Do you see it? In that face-to-face move, she wasn’t giving me affection. She thought I was dead, or unconscious at the least, and she was at the “look, listen, and feel” step of assessing her patient.

As far as the whack on the nose, it was a forgivable targeting error—she is only 1 after all. She had merely—incorrectly I might add (some performance improvement is upcoming)—assessed that I was in cardiac arrest and had begun old-style compressions.

My daughter! Following in the footsteps of her ol’ man. Can you believe it? It was a beautiful sight to behold, even if there was no professional cameraman nearby.

I Enjoy the Topic, That’s Why

I didn’t write anything at length yet about Afghanistan etc. I never went there. My helicopter was there for a bit before I was officially qualified on it, but it kept crashing or having expensive mechanical issues due to the combination of its gross weight and mountain operations. Therefore, it was relegated to Iraq. That said, I was an officer in the United States Air Force, during the main time that we were in Afghanistan and I joined for the main reason that we were in Afghanistan—revenge.

I want to talk about today’s Kabul attack more than Afghanistan in general, but I want to get this out there before the moment has passed. Daily I am more convinced than ever that the minute 9/11 happened, if not sooner, the United States should’ve declared war on Islam.

I don’t think this war would be blood-free, but it doesn’t have to have any killing. My aim is not killing people, but killing lies, killing Allah, and killing the Koran. All the other false gods of human history, at least in the West, went the way of the dodo, for very complicated reasons. Allah still holds his own because of lies.

Islam is a totalitarian system, not a religion.

By way of example, I wore sweat pants and a sweat shirt every day in college. It was my burka, of sorts. Additionally, I went to the weight room every Monday-Friday, like it was a mosque. That behavior, while religious, didn’t qualify me for sainthood. Anyone who knows anything knows this.

Don’t give me that “most muslims are peaceful”. The supposed “peaceful muslims” are owed an end to Islam as much as everyone else.

No one in human history has ever eradicated Islam, despite many other world-views being trounced, so it must be difficult. Enter the United States.

Now. To today’s attack. Here’s my initial gut reaction. This is said in the same vein as the one during the heated rhetoric of last election, where many of my veteran pals and I had some sort of instinct telling us to make sure our weapons were in working order. This was, of course, to no avail, and ultimately brought a healthy feeling of foolishness. But right now today, my gut is telling me the place to avoid is DC. And that’s my negative way of saying my gut is telling me the place that is going to suffer is DC.

Remember my post on “alignment”? The one where I said we need alignment, not “justice”? Well, the bad guys are being bad guys. The bad guys are aligned. It’s the United States that isn’t aligned. We’re the good guys. And we all know it. We feel it in our bones, no matter how many lies are trending right now.

I am a fairly normal, if at times recluse and eccentric, citizen. Heck, my wife just became a citizen today. Imagine that! I almost forgot about it already. This morning I stood among a lobby full of newly sworn-in Americans who were holding new American flags, who were asking each other to take pictures, and who were genuinely smiling. But there are other Americans making the news daily who seem to me to have my vision, but, unlike me, they seem to have nothing to lose.

If these other citizens get the itch to take action, I don’t think Kabul is accepting inbound flights right now. But I’m pretty sure American roads are wide open.

Again, this is just a feeling. My meaning is figurative and my aim is posterity. Except the war on Islam, bit. That needs to be declared immediately. (Consider your own loathing of the idea. I didn’t know you were an Islamic apologist, did you? It’s not a religion in any meaningful sense of the word. That’s its first lie. There is no constitutional protection for totalitarianism. After clearing that hurdle, the path to victory is clear.)

Get Lost, Loser!

I’m a loser. Fact.

The Taliban—well, you know.

Why am I so unafraid to declare my shameful status? Because I never want to stop “moving forward”, as Rocky Balboa said in Rocky 6.

As I mentioned a few posts ago, for a while now it has become evident that the next “loss” is written on the wall. The workplace is being used as a tool for government conformity, totalitarian-style. I’m stubborn (and right), but I’m not stupid. I’m talking, of course, about the vaccine and mandatory-ness.

So to hit rock bottom as a loser, I took another loss and got the vaccine just now. (I’m writing this as I wait to not have an adverse effect.)

Why get it today? Because I’m tired of losing. So today I’m a loser twice-over. I’ve doubled-down on losing. The only way to go from here is up. (Umm, wait, that’s not right.)

Wish me luck.

I’d Bet China Loses

I started the next guided reading in the GBWW set tonight. It’s Montesquieu’s “The Spirit of Laws”.

Only a preface and a few paragraphs into it, and as is often the case, on my mind is the seeming unstoppable growth of the Caliphate, Islam. I read something excellent and think, “but this thought recorded here is not stopping the Taliban or the Muslims in Europe…”

Tonight, my thoughts drifted to China as my best bud is constantly confessing how horrible it is that America is becoming just like China. And I can hear my brother and his wife say, “Well, what’s wrong with China?”

Because I’m in no particular rush, I let the world’s merge and blur.

Let’s just join my brother and his wife and admit that America as we knew and loved is a relic relegated to history. The new America isn’t China exactly, but in its new state is surely not going to conquer China.

The new question is, “Would Islam conquer China?”

Neither China in reality, nor my newly minted America can call themselves Christendom. So who comes out ahead as the muslims don’t continue to borrow from China and China learns just how stubborn Mohammedans can get?

I mentioned to my pal, “I think I may go to the Muslim Center and see if I can rent space for a Bible study.”

He, a former US Marine Officer, actually warned me that I’d be putting myself in harm’s way.

My wife familiar with mooslims from life “back home” also suggested that I’d probably end up being followed around as I kept on living here in this town if I asked about renting space.

I’m not afraid of the Chinese. I think they’re political aim is just totally wrong (not freedom), but I’m not afraid of them.

But muslims? They are something else.

What do you think? Should I ask about renting the space?

What do you think? For fun, admit that with this recent experience of living under “abnormally bad decisions made by uncommonly weak leaders” or what you call “the pandemic”, we’re basically China here in the States. Then ask, does China stop Islam? Or Does Islam conquer China in the end?

In both cases (hypothetical as they may be) Christendom is on very unstable ground. And this makes me sad.