Our God is a vengeful God

My vote for a new hymn for the crazy conservative Christians to sing this Sunday is as follows.

Our God is a vengeful God
He reigns in Heaven above
He kills indiscriminately
Our God is a vengeful God.

Did you hear about these Kansas Christians? They've decided that God is killing American troops in Iraq and other places because the United States is such a pro-gay place and the US military is a pro-gay organization.

Hmmmm.

Someone must have asked a question they weren't supposed to ask. Someone must have forgotten to tell the Kansans that they aren't allowed to provide answers to such questions.

----

The Kansans are traveling the country and protesting outside of the funerals of American soldiers. They sing such standards as, "God hates America" and shout at mourners as they enter the church. Recently, these people showed up in Minnesota and yelled the following at the mother of the slain soldier, "You can't admit you sent your own child to hell!" The leader of the protest then followed that up with, "If she does not heed this warning, she will look up from hell with him."

Now you may be thinking that it is unfair for me to paint Christian conservatives with the same brush as these Kansas Clowns. But I don't think I'm being unfair at all. The most widely known American leader of Christian conservatives is Rev. Pat Robertson, a man who frequently exudes pure hate. Robertson believes God is vengeful and kills innocent Americans as punishment for the political positions of our leaders. Robertson got his position of leadership because not enough conservative Christians were willing to stand up and say, "This dude is crazy."

The other reason I believe it is fair to use a broad brush is that the response to the hate-filled Kansans has NOT come from Christian leaders. Instead, the response is being organized by a group of motorcycle riders called the "Patriot Guard Riders." I love these guys. They show up on their bikes and form both a visual wall and a noise wall between the anti-gay protesters and the mourners.

But the fact that the motorcycle riders need to show up and fill a void left by Christian leaders is simply wrong. Where are Rick Warren, Jerry Falwell, Richard Lamb, Joel Osteen and their millions of followers?

I think some Christian conservatives have forgotten that there is a New testament in the Bible. They get so busy preaching about sinners (mostly gays these days) that they forget about redemption. They get so busy preaching about sinners that they forget that it was Jesus himself who spent his time among the sinners. These preachers spend so much time preaching about sinners that they begin to get confused and forget that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Most importantly, they forget that sin is sin. There aren't little sins and big sins. There is simply sin. There aren't big sinners or little sinners. There are simply sinners. And with that they fall into a simple trap. They take their focus away from redemption and begin focusing on sin. But that's a pretty uncomfortable place to be. Because our ministers are sinners too. And if you are going to shift your focus to sin then it is much easier to focus on the failings of other people instead of your own failings.

Protesting a funeral is wrong. It is heartbreaking that there are those who are willing to use the name of God to incite hatred. The greatest danger for our society, however, comes when that hatred is met with silence.

Music I'm listening to this weekend

Mary Gauthier's CD "Mercy Now" is really good -- check out a bit of the title track at NPR's homepage by clicking here now.

Putting the left into the military's left-right-left

This was written by an acquaintance of mine in Seattle and published as an opinion piece in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer in November, 2003.

Putting the left into the military's left-right-left

By MARY KAY CLUNIES-ROSS
GUEST COLUMNIST

"I never pictured you as an Army wife."

Tell me about it. The words scream red-white-and-blue bunting and I'm just not that kind. I grew up in Silicon Valley, so I've always known about defense contractors but next to nothing about soldiers. I knew the stereotype, that an Army wife is a complacent woman blindingly supporting a soldier who blindingly supports whoever is in line ahead of him. Oh, she is noble, but not especially complex. Just like her soldier-husband.

But my soldier-husband is plenty complex, and I am nowhere near noble.

I don't have a flag sticker on my car or a yellow ribbon around the old oak tree. I know gay couples that should be married and straight couples that shouldn't. I want universal health insurance, over-funded public schools and a minimum wage that corresponds to the minimum amount of money it takes to survive. I think there are too many guns and not enough condoms. I wish people didn't have abortions and I wish they didn't commit suicide, but sometimes you have to let the people with the burden decide how to carry it.

When my husband first left for Iraq with his Reserve unit, I had trouble knowing how to talk about it. I was opposed to the invasion, but incredibly proud of his powerful sense of duty. I thought President Bush was at best lying and at worst, foolish, but I still hoped that the troops could bring some security to the Iraqi people. Bush may be traveling on his first passport, but many soldiers on their way to Iraq had served in Bosnia, Kosovo and Afghanistan. The troops had experience in building peaceable nations where none had existed before, so I crossed my fingers and prayed.

When the unit's family support group had a car wash to raise money for our Christmas party, I was there to wave a flag and a "Support The Troops Car Wash" sign. Meanwhile, a pack of protesters gathered on the corner. Part of me looked longingly at the protesters, knowing that their objections were a lot like mine. At the same time, I thought they looked pretty silly out there, protesting a car wash.

I do a lot of things other Army wives do. I watch the news obsessively or not at all. I pray a lot more than I used to, and I try to be nonchalant about the danger my husband is in. Sometimes I cry in the middle of the day. When someone else's soldier dies, I am relieved, then guilty for being relieved and then not guilty or relieved, just sad. The grief is something we carry as a group. And while the "No Iraq War" signs in my neighborhood comfort me, so do the American flags.

"Do I contradict myself?" Walt Whitman once wrote. "Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large; I contain multitudes."

Whitmans' quote describes all the interesting people I know; all the great books, the worthwhile movies, the inspiring leaders. It also describes the essential element of our national character. For better or worse, this country is racially, economically, culturally and philosophically diverse. So if we are going to be the Johnny Appleseed of democracy, we need to give our military the benefit of our national diversity.

We need to give Army uniforms to hippies.

OK, maybe not all the hippies. But there's a big chunk of Leftish America that could contribute to the military and the military could gain by having them.
As a liberal married to the Army, I believe the separation between the political left and the military is maintained at great peril. And that peril comes not just to those two groups, but to the nation and global security as a whole.

Nation building is the primary objective of our foreign policy, and it will be for some time. While most Americans, including the president, fear the "entangling alliances" of nation building, too bad. Nations must be rebuilt because broken nations are dangerous. And the United States has to do it because a) we have the most to lose, and b) we're the only ones who can.

It's also inevitable that the military will continue to be the first and largest American presence in any broken country. In order to show the world a kinder American face, the left must seize the opportunity to help create security in places where there has only been tyranny and oppression.

The Pentagon has long tried to avoid such missions, with the plea that "We're not trained to nation-build." But there are people trained to do exactly that, and the Pentagon should start finding ways to recruit them and put them to work.

Where are these nation-builders? They are in the Peace Corps, where they restore basic services and teach independent living. They are in the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe, where they install and monitor democratic institutions. They are in the United Nations Development Program, where they volunteer in 132 countries to protect human rights and support the creation of electoral processes. They are in the political left -- not exclusively, but in great numbers.

If the Pentagon calls, why should liberals listen? If global peace is not reason enough, what about maintaining political credibility? National security issues are at the top of public concerns, and yet the left seems content to let conservatives rule the military roost. While it may be true that the institution will always tilt to the right, it could still be a more equitable place.

If we are going to teach other nations to live peaceably with their neighbors inside and outside their borders, our military must be as diverse as our nation. Our country is not the masterwork of one great thinker. The United States was built by a long line of inventors, philosophers, artists and craftsmen who were citizens and, when necessary, soldiers.

I've come to fall in love with the idea of the citizen-soldier. OK, there might be some transference here, but even before I fell in love with my husband, I believed Robert Heinlein was right in "Starship Troopers": National service should be a requirement of citizenship. This is not a poll tax or a literacy test, and no willing volunteer can be turned away. It just means that if you're not willing to sacrifice for the group, you shouldn't be allowed to make decisions for the group.

The administration has suggested that many of the functions of the reserves should be moved into the active Army because mobilizing the reserves disrupts families, businesses and society in general. Good -- that's their purpose. Despite the draft, most of the soldiers who died in Vietnam were poor, young and unconnected, and too many deaths went unnoticed for too long. Congress responded by moving some essential functions into the reserves to guarantee that when the nation went to war, everyone would know.

Their strategy has been largely successful. Today, when a reservist is activated, a community loses a police officer, a firefighter, a public defender, a marketing executive or a public relations official. That soldier's absence is felt not only by his or her family, but also by co-workers, friends and neighbors. It's one thing to have your taxes go to defense spending; it's another thing to send your next-door neighbor.

At the same time, I think many reservists' families were right to be angry about Iraq. Poor planning, unrealistic expectations and false promises have left many reservists inadequately trained, poorly equipped and uncertain when they will be returning home. This unpredictable and dangerous situation is much different then "regular" rotations through Kosovo and Korea.

The administration's response to its own poor planning should not be to decrease the size of the reserves. The intellectual diversity of the reserves is essential to global security, and elected officials should do what it takes to attract and retain professionals of all kinds. Most of all, America should not be able to ignore the fact it is at war.

I also have faith that the people we're trying to attract (yeah, you with the humanities degree) will be able to adjust. You won't get to pick the administration you work for, and you may have to go somewhere you don't like for reasons you don't agree with. You'll have to put other people in front of you, and you'll have to ask your spouse and your children to do the same.

In exchange for those sacrifices, we'll get a more effective military, a safer country and a better world. Maybe even a smarter, more involved electorate.
We live in the most amazing of countries. Almost 300 years ago, we started a process of idealism, argument, faith and sacrifice. There is a continuous stream of new people jostling their way to the table, trying to get their voices heard. Conflict and diversity are two sides of the same coin, one necessarily arising from the other. It's hard, and it always has been.

But look around. Not only does it seem to be working, it seems to be catching. Other countries are starting to wonder how different cultural groups can live peacefully together, and we have the opportunity to show them. We should start by ensuring that our military is a reflection of our national diversity -- not an exception to it.

When the protesters showed up at the unit's fund-raising car wash, I felt a little like a communist infiltrator at first. I was nervous about what some of the troops and other Army families might say about the protesters, and about anyone who opposed the war.

I was quickly put in my place.

"It's the greatest country in the world," I overheard one of the soap-covered troops say. "There aren't many countries where you can put your opinion of the government on a big sign and wave it around. I'm willing to die for it."

We all want peace and justice. It's just a question of what we're willing to do to get it.

Mary Kay Clunies-Ross is a communications consultant in Seattle. Her husband is serving with the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment.

Excellent baseball website

I'm not a huge baseball fan but my cousin is and he's created one of the best baseball statistic websites in the country. The Philadelphia Inquirer recently wrote this article about my cousin and his site.

An old woman in a small Texas town

October 20, 2003

The morning began at the Hampton Inn in Abilene, Texas. I was in room 216 while Grandpa and Grandma Larson were across the hall in room 215. They called shortly before 8:00 AM and we went down to breakfast in the hotel lobby.

I ate a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, a couple of slices of honeydew melon, a piece of kiwi fruit and a blueberry muffin. At 9:00 we headed back upstairs to gather our belongings and check out of our hotel rooms.

The drive to Floydada was fun. The terrain changed frequently. Just outside of Abilene we drove along the north side of a large butte covered with about 100 windmills all of which were busy capturing the power of the wind. Then we ran into a section of plains as we drove through some of the flattest land in the world. That was followed by a trip through land that reminded me of the badlands of South Dakota.

The use of the land changed with the terrain. Cotton, maize and pumpkins were the predominant crops as we neared Floyd County and we saw vast fields of each. We also saw acres of land covered with tall stretches of prairie grass as it rested in the government’s conservation reserve program. Still other land was rocky, mesquite filled scrub.

There are, however, in Texas, two constants and they stayed with us today. Oil rigs and cattle were never far out of site on our drive. They are the common glue that seem to hold this enormous state together.

At 10:50 AM we stopped in the small town of Post, Texas, for a rest. I needed to buy socks - I had forgotten to pack any - and we all needed a restroom. We pulled into a McDonald’s so that we could also get something to drink, “dump it in one end and drain it out the other,” Grandpa said. While the grandparents went into the restaurant, I wandered down to the Dollar Store and found some socks that were a dollar a pair, minimum purchase six pair.

I returned to McDonald’s for a medium iced tea and a small order of fries and then we were back on the road.

20 miles south of Floydada we entered cotton country. The roadsides were lined with wispy links of cotton that had blown off the trucks as they made their way from the field to the cotton gin. The fields that had not been harvested were covered in white. We stopped along side of one and all got out and took pictures.

On the other side of the road sat huge stacks of cotton and a cotton gin that was pushing its’ finished product out onto the flat bed of a truck.

Grandma was really excited to see Floydada again. When we got 14 miles out she said, “I just can’t believe I’m 14 miles from Floydada. I don’t know why but I just can’t believe it.” The closer we got to town the more frequently she strummed her fingers on her leg. We were early and she began to wonder if her sister Ruby would remember we were coming. She wondered if Ruby would be ready for us to arrive so early in the day. She wondered how Ruby was doing.

Ruby is 88 years old. She is exactly 11 years older than Grandma. They refer to themselves as “twins, just 11 years apart.” We got to Ruby’s house at about 12:30. Ruby looked good and met us at the door. She lives in a small duplex that is shaped like a “b” with the circle filled in. The entrance to the house is right at the top of the circle of the “b” where it meets the straight line. A sharp u-turn to your right and you are in a dining room and kitchen. A hallway in front of you leads back to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

We settled into the living room. Ruby doesn’t hear very well and hates wearing hearing aides more than she hates not hearing people talk. As a result, I was never quite sure what she was hearing and what she wasn’t hearing. She also has forgotten a lot of the details of life that aren’t directly related to her. As a result, I wasn’t entirely sure she even remembered who I was, that the last time I saw her was at my wedding or that I was her great-nephew. I also wasn’t sure that she was even matching me up in her mind with my mother. But in the end it really didn’t matter because what she did know was that I was her sister’s grandson and in her mind that was the most important title I could have.

Ruby is the oldest sibling in a large family. She’s also the one sibling that stayed at home in Floyd County. As such, she carries the burden of being the family historian and thankfully is blessed with a great ability to tell stories. Like most people, she has a number of default stories; stories that are used to fill in gaps in conversations. Today, Ruby had two default stories and she used them in just about every gap.

The first is a story that is told to illustrate what she sees as her central role as oldest sister. That is the story of helping raise her siblings. Ruby tells the story of carrying her little brother Warren around. She would carry him in such a way that Warren would sit on her right hip. She would accomplish this by sticking out her right hip while swaying her torso to the left. Her father would always tell her not to do that because she would end up “growing up crooked.”

The second story she tells is no more than a sentence. Sometimes it is a story in and of itself. Other times it is an introduction to a larger story. The story is simply this. “Ruth and I are twins. Only we were born eleven years apart.” Her telling of this story was sometimes followed by an awkward pause as we all waited to find out whether we were getting the full version or the sound bite. Other times, the telling of this story was followed immediately by a continuation of our current conversation as Ruby’s declaration had filled the gap long enough to allow us to collect our thoughts and continue on.

While we heard each of these stories today far more times than I can count. They are both very important and their repetition serves to emphasize exactly what we need to understand about the foundations of Ruby’s relationship with my grandmother. The first realization is that Ruby was a caregiver and to this day sees herself as more of a second mother more than that of a sister. The second realization is that there is a special bond between Ruby and my grandmother that comes from sharing the same birthday. I believe the power of this bond should not be overlooked.

And so our Monday afternoon began. We sat in Ruby’s living room and battled faulty memories, faulty ears and repetitive stories as we struggled to find our stride and establish a conversation.

The conversation truly began when Ruby mentioned that her son Alton thought she had too much stuff and that she ought to throw some of it out. Grandma responded by asking what kind of stuff Ruby had. Ruby’s reply was, “well, I don’t know, but I’ve got a lot of pictures.” Out the boxes and albums came and we spent the next two hours looking through pictures.

The most interesting pictures were, of course, the oldest pictures. Almost all of them had been made into picture post cards and sent through the mail. In addition to containing fading pictures of my great grandparents and other ancestors, these were documents containing a small bit of history and a glimpse into personalities of the people on the front of each card. One was a note from my great-grandma to my great-great-great uncle Edd. Another was a love letter from Ruby to her husband that said, “I hope you are not too lonesome without me,” and detailed the route of her journey home from Arkansas.

150 minutes of pictures was about all Grandpa could take. We closed up the boxes and the books and climbed in the car so that the three of them could show me the place where Grandma and Ruby grew up. I drove, Grandpa rode shotgun and Grandma and Ruby chatted in the back.

As we left the house there were four people in the car with three distinct agendas. I wanted to see everything I could see that related to my grandmother’s childhood but was completely dependent on others for directions. The two women in the back wanted to visit and spend time with each other. My grandfather was hungry. I may have been the driver but Grandpa was the navigator and so at 4:09 PM we pulled into the parking lot of Furr’s cafeteria in Plainview, Texas. Grandpa announced it was time for supper.

Now, I was hungry. We had skipped lunch and it was definitely time to eat. But supper was not a word I wanted to hear. Supper at 4:09 PM means breakfast is roughly 15 hours away. Supper was going to be a big meal. Three thick slices of ham. Baked apples on top of that, please. A side order of green beans and a side order of kernel corn. A salad with ranch dressing and two tomatoes. A slice of pumpkin pie and an ice cream cone too. Iced tea to wash it all down. I finished and looked at my watch. 5:00 PM. Fourteen hours and counting. I wanted to go back for seconds of everything but seconds were only free for those over 60. I missed the mark by 26 years.

It was time to get back on the road.

We left Plainview and headed southeast on Highway 70. At Lockney we turned straight east on Farm Road 97. That took us straight into Cedar Hill, Texas. Cedar Hill was once a one store, two church town. Today it isn’t much of anything. In Cedar Hill we turned north on Floyd County Road 231. 2.5 miles later we were at the land where Grandma Ruth grew up. The land is flat. You can see for miles. What is left of Cedar Hill pops up on the horizon to the south. A field of maize dominates the view east now. To the west and north is simply farmland as far as you can see. I was surprised to learn that a small depression in the land to the northwest had once been a lake. Today it is as dry as can be.

After taking a few pictures we headed back into Cedar Hill. There we stopped and Grandma, Grandpa and Ruby described how the town looked when they were little. A gas station once stood on the Southeast corner of the intersection. It was here that Grandma Ruth and her sister Edith would sing to entertain the neighbors. On the Southwest corner was the one-room, eight grade schoolhouse. To the east of the gas station was the store. This is one of the few buildings that still stands in Cedar Hill. When Grandma was a little girl, she would visit this store every morning. She would sell the store a dozen eggs and use some of the money from the sale to buy a bologna sandwich and pop for lunch.

Just east of the store stood the two-room house where Grandma’s Grandma and Grandpa Cypert lived. The house is still just barely standing today. Grandma would often stay overnight in this house. It was strange to see this house now. It is falling apart and filled with junk. I had a hard time thinking about it as the house of my great-great grandparents.

Grandma also told the story of her walk to school. The walk was two and a half miles long. Grandma says the first one and a half miles weren’t bad but that the final mile wasn’t any fun. There was a boy named Leo who was intent on terrorizing the girls as they walked to school. He had a Shetland pony. As the girls approached his house he would charge out on his pony right at them and terrorize them as they tried to walk to school without getting knocked down by this pony. He had a chant that he said as he scared them. Grandma remembered it. I can’t. But the final word of the chant rhymed with witch.

It is amazing what sticks with us for a lifetime and what we forget just a few hours later.

We’d had a long day. It was time to return to Ruby’s house. We stayed up until 9:30 telling stories and laughing. Grandma said it was just like when she was growing up. What she remembers fondly is a house full of laughter and singing.

Tuesday, October 21, 2003.

Ruby has two bedrooms. I slept on the couch in the living room. This bothered Ruby - she offered to take the couch - but I was just fine and slept well. Sleeping on the couch also gave me a chance to watch the end of a surprisingly good Monday Night Football game between the Raiders and Kansas City.

I woke up at 7:00. Ruby woke up at 7:30. Grandpa and Grandma got up shortly after that. Ruby and Grandma made a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, juice and coffee. We visited a bit and relaxed. By this time I had become familiar enough to Ruby that she was beginning to remember both who I was and how we were related. We were all moving slow. It was 11:30 before we left the house.

We headed north. Our first stop was at the Floydada cemetery. I wanted to see the gravestones of grandma’s parents and her grandparents. I wanted also wanted to know where they were so I could find them again. Grandma’s grandparents are in the northernmost part of the cemetery and right along the drive. Grandma’s parents are one section south and much harder to find. Their red gravestone faces west and is blocked by other gravestones and some large bushes. We managed to find both of them, however. I was glad we had made the stop.

We were joined in our look around the cemetery by a skunk. I was shocked to see it wander up directly behind our car. It appeared just as we were getting back in the car after looking at Great-Great Grandpa and Grandma Lackey’s gravestone. It toddled through the cemetery. Our presence didn’t seem to bother it at all. Eventually we saw it crawl in a hole that went underneath an elaborate burial plot. Those people must have been pretty mean to have to share their final resting place with a family of skunks.


From the cemetery it was on to South Plains, Texas. This is another little town that is dying a quick death on the Texas prairie. Ruby lived in South Plains for years. The house that she lived in was originally built on the property where Grandma Ruth grew up. It was the second house that Grandma Ruth lived in on that property. Ruby bought it and had it moved to the Northeast corner of South Plains, just west of the school on Edwards Street. Someone else is living in the house now but we stopped and took a picture of the exterior.

Leaving South Plains was, unknowingly, the beginning of an adventure. We set off to find Rex Yeary’s ranch.

Grandpa and Grandma had talked a lot about this ranch. I assumed it must have some significance to Grandma’s childhood. Turns out it has no significance at all. Rex is a distant relative. His grandmother was Sarah Lackey Beard. Sarah’s sister was Ollie Lackey Cypert. Ollie was my great grandmother. Rex, however, has a beautiful 6,000-acre ranch in Floyd County, Texas. A local newspaper had written an article about Rex’s ranch. My great aunt Edith had sent the article to Grandpa and Grandma Larson. They read the article and decided to try to visit the ranch.

We started our drive to the ranch by driving through Caprock Canyons State Park. It is a 16 mile beautiful drive. The road was rebuilt this summer and it is a fantastic drive. Then we got lost. Ruby had been to the ranch once but this ranch is about as remote a place as one will ever find and Ruby kept missing a critical turn. Finally we pulled into the small town of Flomont, Texas. Our goal was to find a bathroom and directions. I was also thinking we might find a nice small town café and Flomont probably had one years ago. But today, Flomont doesn’t have much. I can’t believe the population of Flomont is more than 100 but it might be. Our first stop was at the post office. This seemed like a reasonable place to ask directions. Unfortunately, the Flomont PO is only open from 9:00 AM to Noon every day. We’d missed the postmaster by 40 minutes. Our next stop was the cotton gin. Grandpa and I got out of the car and began to look around. The place was deserted. Soon, however, we heard a pick up pull up to a fast stop outside. Grandpa headed for a bathroom while I headed back to see if whoever was out there could give me directions.

I was met by Orville Lee. Orville was a bit suspicious at first but quickly warmed up to me. He cut away a section of a box and drew me a map. It turns out Rex’s ranch is about 6 miles and 7 turns away from pavement. We never would have found the ranch without Orville’s map.

Rex’s ranch is beautiful. He lives there with his wife and youngest son who is a senior in high school. They have two great danes, three pet deer and a cat. Not to mention cattle, horses and donkeys. He collects antiques, especially those related to farming and ranching and keeps them in an underground barn. Rex is a great guy and he took time to show us his collection and give us a quick tour of the house and underground barn.

After visiting with Rex for a while, we headed for Lubbock so that I could catch a plane home. I’d never been to Lubbock so we drove through downtown and out through the Texas Tech campus. Tech has what must be the most beautiful, treeless campus in the United States. I was much more impressed than I thought I’d be. We ended up having supper at a roadhouse. Each table got a bucket full of Texas Panhandle peanuts and guests were encouraged to throw the shells on the floor. We ate well and then headed to the airport.

MY BRAND NEW FAVORITE WEBSITE

Click the title. You've got to do it. What a great site.

The politics of fear

I am amazed by the state of American politics today. The primary political philosophy of our Republican leaders seems to be that of fear. That fear appears to be so strong that our leaders are willing to sacrifice all freedoms in the name of calming their own fear. I believe fear is the primary difference between Republicans and Democrats in our country.

Now you might be thinking, "they took down the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York, of course I'm afraid." I hear that. I understand that. I work three blocks from the White House. My company can't buy certain insurance policies because our location is too high of a risk for a terrorist strike. But if our response to the terrorists is to fundamentally alter the way we live our lives; if the response to the terrorists is to fundamentally re-prioritize our values; if the response to the terrorists is to run and hide then the terrorists will have already won.

I am fearful that the terrorists have already beat George W. Bush.

Look at what the President has asked of our country. His administration has asked that we sacrifice some of our most fundamental values and liberties. He wants the ability to listen in on the private conversations of Americans without so much as even the approval of a special court that largely acts as a rubber stamp. He wants the ability to hold prisoners of war outside the constricts of international law. He has argued in favor of the right to torture prisoners of war. His government has allowed prisoners – many of them innocent individuals to be tortured and humiliated. The Bush administration has gone out of their way to try to deny due process to individuals accused of serious crimes against our country.

We ask our soldiers to stand and fight to protect Americans and American values. They do an important job. Unfortunately, I'm not convinced their Commander-In-Chief knows what American values are. Karl Rove ought to give the President a copy of the Constitution to read.

Blog stuff

Now there is a headline that ought to inspire huge readership. I've got a technical problem. I can't get a links menu that works up on this page. I can get the links menu to show up but none of the links actually work. I have no idea how to do that. I'll have to ask for some help.

My friends Wes Beal and Chris Drew both have blogs. Wes has some good stuff in his archives about living in Africa. Chris is a knee-jerk right winger (there really aren't any other kind of right-wingers, are there?)who is now in seminary in Austin. He's a very good guy even if his political views are mostly wrong. You should be able to get to their blogs by clicking on their names.