On Saturday night, I had been unable to sleep. So when I laid down Sunday night after a long day, I slept hard. I woke early Monday morning feeling refreshed. My mind is at its clearest in the early mornings, so that is when I do my most productive studying, reading, and writing. As I sipped my coffee, I perused the headlines on my computer. There was news of yet another shooting spree. This one was still closer to my footprint. This one was in Birmingham, AL. Four people have already been killed and dozens more are injured, some with life-threatening injuries. The reports I read said the incident appeared like a targeted attack. “Hit” was the word the law enforcement spokesman used.

Of course, the event is politicized. The big government people call it ‘gun violence.’ They say they’re concerned about ‘gun violence,’ as if guns just jumped up on their own, with invisible magic legs, loaded themselves, got into cars and trucks, drove down to the party disctrict of Birmingham, sought out targets for assassination, pulled their own triggers, then sped off into the night. Don’t your guns do that? Isn’t that the way those inanimate things work? Huh?

It’s remarkable how entire demographics are pimped by talking points about ‘gun violence,’ as if guns had wills. But critical thinking skills have taken leave of so many people. People just emote instead.

If you pay attention, you will recognize that shooting sprees rise right before political elections. The dinosaur media cover the events with lockstep canned bromides and talking points. And the sheeple go right along with the script and somehow assume (not think!) that guns–not criminals–are to blame.

Folks, guns are not our problem. Human sin is the problem. People without self-discipline, who are unrestrained by God’s moral law, are the problem.

But that does not fit big government’s leftist agenda, so the talking points just keep washing over the masses of unthinking sponges, and the violent take more by force, completely missing the underlying issues.

Most people simply refuse to admit reality until it comes to their doorstep. But it is coming, and quickly. Then you will understand at last, but it will be too late. Folks, this is why discernment and courage are vital.

My country is being overrun by those whose consciences are seared. As Yeats penned, “The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity.”

https://www.wbrc.com/2024/09/22/birmingham-police-believe-someone-was-paid-kill-targeted-victim-mass-shooting-that-killed-4-injured-17/

Carrie Jane and I were on the way to our favorite steak place in a nearby town. When we topped the hill and were rolling down the other side, our attention was arrested by the ‘decor’ of some folks who appear to relish Halloweenishness. Yikes!

During lunch this week, I had just one day where I was able to walk one of the tracks. The sun was out; the breeze blew lightly; and I was listening to my favorite music. It was just about perfect.

Then some girls came out to enjoy some grasses. For a moment, I thought they were going to walk with me.

Principle: It Is Easy to Fall

Illustration: Recently a well-respected preacher/writer/professor in Christianity was removed from ministry at Trinity Bible Church in Dallas, TX due to confessing to inappropriate relationships with a woman other than his wife. Let me restate that: It was not his confession that was the sin; it was his sin with a woman not his wife. His confession of his sin to fellow elders at his church is one of the few good things about this revelation.

It is an old story, and one which the world system devours. “Aha!” the world system says. “See? You so-called Christians are no different. Hypocrites!” 

First, let us admit that we are all sinners. That should be blatantly obvious. Second, however, let us commend the church for removing Steve from ministry. Judgment is to begin with the household of God. “For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God; and if it begins with us, what will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God?” (1 Peter 4:17 ESV). Third, let believers pray for Steve and his family. Fourth, let us learn how easy it is for us to fall. Excellence–longstanding, enduring excellence–is hard. Very hard. This is not a time to rejoice. 

It grieves me on a personal level. I looked up to Steve. I have bought and read his books. I have purchased his books for others to read and pass on to others. I have supported his ministry. And so this is not just theological mind games; this is a man who has fallen and has disqualified himself from shepherding souls, but (and this is my conviction) he is still a sinner who needs what only the gospel provides. 

Encouragement: It is so easy to fall, so easy. Long obedience in the right direction is hard work. May we all be mindful of that. Steve, God delights to convict but also to redeem and restore. That is my prayer for you in all this. You have helped many through your ministry. I have benefited from your books on Edwards, Calvin, and others. May this not be the end of your story. Why? Because God delights in redeeming and restoring us sinners.

Introduction: Thanks to the teamwork from leadership and soldiers at Mission Training Complex of Ft. Indiantown Gap, PA (MTC-FTIG), I was able to be part of a Moral Leadership training/Staff Ride at Gettysburg, PA. From 1-3 July 1863, Gettysburg witnessed staggering amounts of heroism, strategy, victory, defeat, brotherhood, and gut-wrenching division unlike anything (in terms of scale) America has ever endured. No matter how many books I read about Gettysburg, or the film’s efforts to capture its endless complexities, it fascinates us still, and with good reason. My mind and emotions are still reeling from all the historical anecdotes our historian shared with us, and the “lessons learned” (hopefully) by Army leadership, and the fascinating stories of the complex relationships between Americans, their soil, and their values. 

Connection: When we stood atop Little Round Top and looked down into Devil’s Den, and when we looked at the field of Pickett’s Charge, and we listened to LTC (Ret.) Shick teach us about Culp’s Hill and the turning points that came from there, I could feel the soil speak. Not literally, of course, but there’s something about standing on the same ground where soldiers from North and South built campfires and drank coffee and bled, and packed their gear, and fought some more.

And we stood in the infamous Peach Orchard, and surveyed the Wheatfield, et al, it moved me in visceral ways–to think of 50,000+ bodies and souls of my fellow Americans slain on those grounds, and of the toll of countless more who were maimed, not to mention the devastation upon generations of America’s families of soldiers, it changed me.

Takeaway: One of my favorite proverbs from Scripture is Proverbs 22:28, “Do not remove the ancient landmark your fathers have set.” In other words, don’t erase history. Learn from it. Rather than tearing down statues, learn why they were erected. Rather than renaming schools, roads, installations, et al to appease political winds, why not educate rather than indoctrinate yourself? 

Again, my deep gratitude to the great team at MTC-FTIG for their efforts, and to PA Guardsman/historian, LTC (Ret.) Shick, for his expertise. As a mentor of mine in GA is wont to say, “Teamwork makes the dream work.” And this past few days will forever remain with me as a landmark my fathers have set. 

I have read Vonnegut for 40 years now. And I still learn from him. Like Twain, to whom his dark satirical pen is often favorably compared, Vonnegut is pretty dark stuff. This week I reread Slaughterhouse-Five. I am not sure how many times I have read it now. But I still learn from it. So it goes. The mark of excellent literature.

Billy, the divided protagonist–the war veteran, the kind-hearted, misanthropic, romantic, sad idealist, etc. is an Everyman. He’s John Lennon’s “Nowhere Man” and Camus’s Mersault and Sisyphus, and Faulkner’s Benjy from The Sound and the Fury, and Shakespeare’s sundry fools. Who isn’t Billy?

I was so struck tonight as I reread this passage from S-Five:

There are no telegrams on Tralfamadore. But you’re right: each clump of symbols is a brief, urgent message–describing a situation, a scene. We Tralfamadorians read them all at once, not one after the other. There isn’t any particular relationship between all the messages, except that the author has chosen them carefully, so that, when seen all at once, they produce an image of life that is beautiful and surprising and deep. There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time (215).

Well, here we go again. Warning: this is not a warm and fuzzy.

So, I returned my rental car to Hertz without issue. My receipt was emailed to me within moments. The same thing at the hotel. No issues. Receipt was emailed to me right away and I was good to go. So far, so good. But then I went to the Delta counter in Pennsylvania to check my bag and print my boarding passes. Might you guess how many courteous employees were at the counter to facilitate that process? I’ll give you some brackets: It was less than 3, 2, or 1, but it was not a (-) number. That’s right. Good’ole 0. Zero. Let me say that again: zero!

Okay, I’m a nice guy, kind of on the quiet side, military, not one for small talk, and just want folks to be present and ready when that’s their job. Is that too much to ask? Finally, I walked over to the United counter.

“Ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you happen to know if there are any Delta folks around? I would like to check my military bag.”

“Oh, they’re understaffed. They don’t have anyone here right now,” she replied.

Um, what? Am I living in an alternate universe presided over by Mr. Bumblefart? (Sorry, I have these interior dialogues in order not to throat punch some people.)

“Since you’re military, you may try going upstairs to TSA PreCheck, and they’ll check it for you,” she said.

“Okay. Thank you, ma’am.”

I took the escalator upstairs, pulled out my military ID card, my boarding passes (I was able to print these via the kiosk, without a Delta employee), and placed my duffel to be checked in the gray bin, and my small ruck in another, and proceeded through the scanner.

My duffel got stopped by the gaggle of women staring at the monitor. There were six–yes, six!!!–women in blue TSA shirts, staring at the monitor as if I were a Columbian smuggler with 6 kilos of cocaine in my bag.

The man behind me was incensed. “What is this?” he exclaimed. “How many women does it take to do this? I have a flight!”

I felt bad for him, too, but I kept saying to myself, “Okay, surely, someone will step up and take charge, someone who knows what he is doing.”

But that didn’t happen. And it still didn’t happen. And it still didn’t happen.

I began to think the man behind me was going to remove his loafers from his feet and start lauching salvos at the TSA women.

But the six of them just kept staring at the monitor that revealed the contents of my duffel, as if I had a nest of cobras inside that might spring out like Medusa’s sons from her neck.

We waited, and waited, and waited. The anger at the TSA counters by the travelers was palpable.

Fiinally, a woman dared–can you believe it?–to actually talk to me, ask me if it was my duffel, and when I said yes, she unzipped my duffel. “Sir,” she said, “These shampoo and conditioner bottles are too big. Would you like to check them or would you voluntarily abandon them?”

I almost lost my cookies.

The woman downstairs, since Delta employees were missing in action, told me to come upstairs to TSA and that TSA would check my military duffel. But nope, TSA said they couldn’t do that. That needed to be Delta. Well, you don’t say? Thanks for the insight. (Insert mental throat punch here.)

So here I am, without my shampoo and conditioner (oh, and my shaving cream, I forgot that was necessarily ‘voluntarily abandoned,’ too), with my military duffel beside me, and I’m sure I’ll get the hateful look if and when a Delta employee shows up when the plane arrives.

Does anyone else deal with this stuff, and also scratch his/her head and think, “Really? Are these the most-qualified applicants? These people?” At times like this, I appreciate my dogs more and more.

Recently I was able to be with some fellow soldiers for a tour of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania’s grounds. It is the site of three days of devastating battle from 1-3 July 1863 that still boggles the mind. For the military strategy, the heroism, the carnage, the soul-splitting, nation-sundering impacts, Gettysburg is incomparable.

It is one thing for me to read books about it, but when you walk the grounds, it changes you. Period. My deep gratitude to the soldiers from Ft. Indiantown Gap, PA and our excellent historian and guide, Lt. Col. (Ret.) Shick, for the day.

This view above is from Little Round Top overlooking Devil’s Den.

Looking out over the field of Pickett’s Charge, a battle that altered the trajectory of the war.

The Wheatfield. Over 15,000 soldiers were killed here in one day.

Lt. Col. (Ret.) Shick.

We landed in Atlanta after a 35-minute delay, but I was still going to be able to make my next flight to Pennsylvania. I had time to go by a coffee kiosk for a quick breakfast and get to my concourse and gate. I took the Plane Train to my concourse, patronized my favorite coffee place in that concourse, walked to my gate, found a seat, opened my ruck to retrieve a book, completed a reading of another of the seven short pieces in a book I am thoroughly enjoying, and waited for my steaming coffee to cool.

I finished another of the fictional gems in my book, finished my coffee, discarded my rubbish in the appropriately marked cans nearby, and waited for the announcement coming shortly. Within moments, the lady’s voice came on, though she sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher–“Wah wah . . . Wah wah . . . Wah . . .” She sounded like she was eating the microphone, perhaps digesting it.

Nonetheless we boarded the plane and took our seats in typical fashion. As I boarded, those in wheelchairs and pregnant women, and parents with small children, were of course already on. I don’t know why, but I always gravitate towards those who need extra help. Something in me is determined to help those who may be overlooked or minimized.

As I boarded, there were two older women who were clearly weak and needed patience and perhaps a kind word from someone. They were struggling to get their purses and backpacks in the overhead bins. “Good morning, ma’am. A hand?” I asked. The clear leader of the two ladies turned around and looked at me in uniform. (I’m guessing they were twins, at least sisters. They had the same build, the same haircuts, even the same facial expressions.)

“O, thank you, sir,” she said. “And thank you for your service.”

“I saw you were getting peanut M&M’s out of your backpack; that’s what I’m talking about. Clearly you’re good people,” I said. They both laughed simultaneously and looked at each other and smiled. I liked them both immediately. They just needed a kind word and some patience from folks.

I got their backpacks stowed and took my seat a couple of rows behind them, and the rest of the passengers were all finally boarded. When we were all seated and about to back up from the gate, the leader of the two ladies came walking slowly down the aisle with an unopened yellow bag of peanut M&M’s. “Will you please take some?” she asked me.

“I really shouldn’t,” I said.

“Please,” she said. “It would mean a lot to us.”

She tore off the corner of the yellow bag and poured some candies into my hand. “Thank you for your service, sir.”

And thank you, ma’am, I thought. You and your companion have just made my day. (And the smell of peanut M&M’s after a cup of coffee ain’t too bad, either.) It’s the small things that aren’t, well, small.

I was flying to Pennsylvania. But the journey did not begin so well. When I was at my first airport, after we passengers were seated, and the flight attendants went through their safety and comfort spiel, we were, I thought, headed to our first stop.

The man to my left was a talker. He saw me reading my book but he was undeterred. “What unit are you in?” he asked. (I was in uniform.) I told him. He went on to tell me about himself, what shop he worked in back on post, what unit he was part of, people he knew, etc. He was quite pleased with himself. I listened for him to take a breath. Then, I thought, I would return to my book.

I was literally saved by a bell. It was my personal cell phone. A friend texted me and my old iPhone went “Ping!” I did not hesitate. I reached for my phone to read the text. Though it was nothing terribly interesting either, I thought this could be my escape from Mr. Awesome’s fascination in telling me how fortunate I was to be seated next to him.

Suddenly the pilot’s voice came on the intercom speaker. “Folks, this is your pilot speaking. Unfortunately we are going to be delayed. We have too much weight underneath. We are going to have to move some of the checked items back into the cabin. Thank you for your patience. As soon as we the weight acceptably arranged, we’ll push back on be on our way.”

He was articulate, to the point, and calm. I liked the way the pilot spoke and dealt with things, and now I had more time with Mr. Awesome. (Just a few more reasons to bring BIG BOOKS when flying. You may experience delays. And you may even have Mr. Awesome seated next to you. And if you do, you will know about it, I promise. He’ll be sure to tell you.)