Men's Devotional: Soul Matters for Men, Thomas Nelson, 2005
As a kid I was bashful and shy, tremendously so. I still am. My wife even has to order pizza or return things to the store.
I had a teacher that recognized my problem and said the answer was to groom my leadership skills. Leadership? How do you lead somebody when you can’t even talk to them?
He started treating me as the class leader, even suppressing the natural leaders a little to make it happen. He called on me a lot during class and always made sure whatever I said turned out well. It gave me a little confidence. While I still had trouble in one-on-one situations, I discovered that a group was kind of faceless – I could talk in front of a group.
I started acting as if I was a leader, and believe me it was a pure act. When I faced a confrontation or speaking to people, I pretended I was not afraid, and got through it. I’m still shy, but I learned to hide behind a persona to do the things I needed to do. I got so good at it that I became a chamber of commerce manager, for over twenty-five years doing the thing I feared most: speaking to people.
Then came a life-changing revelation: I could write. As I worked on fanning into flame my gift of writing I suddenly had a new idea; writing fiction. I wanted to write fiction and I wanted my faith to be in my words, but as usual I was scared to try. I did what I’ve done so much of my life: I prayed about it. “God, do You want me to write and if so do you want me to put a message in what I write?”
That same day a brochure about a Christian writing conference came in the mail. A coincidence, I reasoned. Plus it cost too much to go. When my wife came home I told her about it and she got a funny look on her face. It turned out earlier in the day she had gotten a check for some back work that was almost exactly the amount needed for the conference. That was stretching the coincidence thing but I was skeptical.
Sunday the preacher had a sermon on special gifts and our Sunday school lesson dealt with the same subject. As the week progressed other confirmations arrived that I needed to go to the conference and take a step toward my dream of writing faith-filled novels and short stories.
When we pray to God we need to be prepared for Him to repeat his answer more than one way until we get it. He pushed me into going to that conference and through it He spurred me to write more and keep writing. I’m not sure I would have been able to hear Him and follow the dreams He gave me if my teacher hadn’t taught me to face the thing I fear – which makes me think that many years ago God placed that teacher in my life for that very purpose.
Throughout my life, I’ve seen over and over again the amazing truth that God doesn’t ask us to do anything He doesn’t prepare us and equip us to do.
Short Story: Heartwarming Christmas Stories, David C. Cook Publishing, 2006
Corporal Mike Cotton sat on his bunk holding the combat boot he had just removed, seeming to lack the will to drop it. His shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor anguish on his face.
“This is the worst day since we’ve been over here.”
Sergeant Steve Smith, the squad leader, nodded. He knew the look. “It doesn’t seem much like Christmas when we look out and see sand and Humvees instead of snow and sleighs.”
Both men wore desert camouflage, the uniform of the day in the field in Iraq. Beyond that they had little in common. Mike was a big man with a baby face framed and accented with dark hair and eyebrows. Steve looked older than his twenty-six years, with unruly blonde hair and an ever-present grin that made orders easier to take. His men would charge hell with a bucket of water for him.
Mike finally tossed his first boot and began to unlace the other one. “No, it’s not that. We get a good meal, and they’ve worked really hard making it all feel festive. If it were just me, I’d be okay with that. It’s my family, my kids, knowing what it’s doing to their Christmas, me not being there with them.”
The perpetual smile faded from Steve’s face. “I see. Well, eight-hour time difference, it’s mid-afternoon back in Texas. I’ll bet she’s already fired off an email telling you all about it. So what are you doing in here? Let’s head over to the com tent.” Steve rose from his cot and moved to stand by the door.
“That’s not a bad idea.” Mike quickly replaced his boot and reached to retrieve the other one.
In the com tent they found coffee and waited patiently for tie on one of the computers. It seemed to take forever. When Mike got on a machine he immediately logged into his email. A message from his wife, Elizabeth, waited in bold type. He clicked on it eagerly, not knowing whether he would find encouragement or something that would further depress him. Even if she felt down she would try to keep it upbeat and cheerful, he knew that. But he could always tell when his distance from home was weighing on her heart.
Some times are harder for you to be away from us than others.
There was no hiding her emotion this time. A lump came into his throat and a heaviness descended on his chest.
The kids and I have been decorating for Christmas and trying hard to get into the holiday spirit, but it has been very difficult.
“You get one from home?” Steve put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Mike glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, but I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t.”
“Sorry man, I’ll leave you alone.”
Mike kept his friend from turning away with a hand on his forearm. “You didn’t get anything?”
“No, I’ve got a few people that send me something from time to time, but the army is my family. I’ve got no one at home.”
“Pull up a chair then. Good or bad, you can share it with me.”
Steve positioned a chair so he could see the monitor. Mike scrolled down to reveal more text and began to read aloud.
We were feeling pretty sorry for ourselves Christmas Eve, I’ll admit that.
“Aw, man,” Steve said, “I see what you mean.”
“I can just see her, I know the look; I’ve even caused it on occasion by doing something stupid. She doesn’t have to say a word; I start trying to make it right as soon as I see the pain in her face. I want to run home right now and erase that look, you know what I mean?”
“Hey, you’re talking to a confirmed bachelor here, but I envy you having such a strong connection with her, I really do. Go on, go on, what’s she saying?”
Together the two soldiers leaned forward to follow the words as Mike read them aloud.
Then Clare (she’s our small group leader now) called and asked if they could pick us up for the candlelight Christmas Eve service. I thought that might help so I agreed. I suppose she called from her cell phone because it was no time at all before she was here.
Mike’s voice got a little husky. He cleared his throat and continued:
What a surprise we got when we arrived at the church. It was beautiful, lit by nothing but candles in all the windows, fresh green garlands on the ends of all the pews. Then it stopped me in my tracks when we got to the pew where we usually sit.
Your place was marked by a draped American flag.
Not folded, that would have brought the wrong image to mind, but draped on the back of the seat with your picture sitting on it. I started to cry and they all gathered around me. Their touch was so comforting.
Steve called out to some soldiers drinking coffee nearby. “You guys need to see this.” He looked at his friend. “That all right, Mike?”
“Sure, why not?”
Several men and women came over to stand behind them. Mike’s voice had betrayed him reading the last passage so Steve took over, catching them up on the previous part then picking up from there.
Brother Bill preached a sermon on sacrifice. He said we should all be mindful of the sacrifices our loved ones are making being away from their families, protecting our freedom and the freedom of the Iraqi people. I thought my heart would stop when he reminded us that some had paid an even higher price.
Someone murmured behind Mike, “You got a really special lady there.”
“You think other churches might be doing this?” another wondered aloud.
Mike smiled at them. “It wouldn’t surprise me for churches all over the country to be doing it.”
“You guys let the man read,” a voice in the back ordered. The group had already doubled in size.
Steve scooted his chair a little closer.
He went on in his sermon to talk about the sacrifice that Jesus made for us, going to the cross to redeem us from our sins.
Mike nodded. “Yeah, we get to feeling like we’re really putting it on the line, but that puts it into perspective.”
A young soldier looked terribly serious. “I saw that movie. You know the one, where they treated that dude so bad and then nailed him up on that cross? I don’t know what it’s all about but I can’t get it out of my head. They put him through it, and he just took it, man, he just took it.”
“We need to talk, Samuel.” Mike smiled. Right after I finish this, all right?”
The soldier nodded. They held eye contact for several moments and Mike could tell the young man had reached the point where he needed to talk to someone about it.
Steve resumed his reading:
Brother Bill said tomorrow we’d be celebrating the birth of Jesus, not his death. He wrapped up his comments and everybody gathered around us. Mike, you know it’s a small church and you’re the only one we have serving right now. It’s as if the whole church is your family, and they are all praying for you, and for those you are serving with.
Steve turned around, an incredulous look on his face. “I never knew anybody ever prayed for me.”
Mike put a hand on his shoulder. “All the time, Steve, all the time.”
“Don’t that beat all?” He turned his attention back to the screen.
By the time we got home a group of carolers were there. They all carried candles and sang so beautifully. In just minutes it seemed everyone in the neighborhood had joined in. It was just wonderful.
You remember that crotchety old man over on the corner, Mr. Sandoval? He invited everyone over to his house for refreshments. He served hot spiced apple cider and we all had a fine time.
“I’d like a little of that myself,” someone said.
“I can take care of that,” the mess sergeant said, “but not right now, okay? I want to hear the rest of this.”
Christmas morning we got up at the break of dawn, you know how the kids want to run down and see what Santa left. I guess they are all like that.
Steve looked at those behind him. It looked like the whole camp was there now. “We sure did that when I was little.”
A murmur of assent came from behind them. “My kids don’t wait till dawn, they start begging to open presents Christmas eve.”
“Ain’t it the truth?”
In the field soldiers habitually wore what they called their “game faces,” insulating themselves from the problems they faced by drawing inside, not showing their feelings to those around them. There were no game faces in the room now. These were softer faces, people allowing themselves to feel.
Steve read on.
I was afraid they would be disappointed. You know money is so tight. I couldn’t get everything as you know but I tried to get them at least one thig they really wanted.
Before we could open any gifts there was a knock on the door. I opened it and there were several Marines standing there in dress blues and one was wearing a red suit with a white beard. You could hardly see them for all the presents they were carrying.
The mess sergeant laughed. “Them gyrenes are all right. They do that every year.”
Mike nodded. “I’ll say they are all right. I’m sure they have to be taking time away from their own families to come look after mine. I’ve seen that “Toys for Tots” thing on TV most of my life but it never really hit home until now.”
Steve smiled. “You gonna yammer or are we gonna finish reading this?”
“Sorry, go ahead.”
“Looks like they had a lot of fun with those Marines and some even stayed to play with them and put things together.”
“Some assembly required,” somebody said. “Why don’t they just say you’re going to be up all night getting them ready?”
Steve went on: “But she went on to say right after they left she got a call from the commanding officer at the Army Reserve center. There’s still a contingent there, you know.”
“Lucky stiffs,” somebody said. “Done their time, or didn’t have to come for some reason.”
Steve shook his head, “that bunch is all right too. Listen to this:”
He sent a Humvee for us. The kids really got a kick out of that. They had asked all dependents with relatives that were deployed to come have a Christmas meal with the unit.
When we arrived they formed the unit for inspection. They did a roll call and when they came to your name someone in the back barked, “Deployed, sir! Standing tall in Iraq!” Someone answered for every soldier that wasn’t there. They think about you guys a lot.
They had a field kitchen set up and said it would give us an idea of what you were eating. Actually, he said you were probably even eating better than what they were set up to do, but it would give us an idea of the experience. I thought the food was good and we were treated royally.
Of course as soon as I got home I put the kids down for a nap and rushed in here to tell you all about it. I know it’s late over there and you probably won’t see this until tomorrow. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you and . . .
Steve cleared his throat. “Well, it starts getting a little personal here so I’ll let you read the rest for yourself.” He got up. “Besides, didn’t I hear something about some hot cider?”
The soldiers started filing out, heading for the mess tent, talking quietly among themselves. Fifteen minutes later Mike came in. “I answered her email.”
“Figured you would. You seem in better spirits now.”
“I think they had a good Christmas, thanks to all the people back home that care about them, and a bunch of guys that go above and beyond the call of duty. If they had a good Christmas, then I had a good Christmas.”
“Thanks for sharing, Mike, I think you gave us all a good Christmas.”
“Thank you for making me do it. I would have just gone to bed and laid awake stewing in my own juices. For somebody who doesn’t have family, you sure knew what I needed.”
“I feel like I picked up a little family myself tonight.”
Across the tent someone started singing Silent Night and everyone joined in. They sang every carol they knew, the sound drawing people back out of their rack from all over the camp.
During the singing Mike went over to put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Samuel, how about you and I go over here and talk about that movie you saw?”
Inspirational Short Story: Cup of Comfort for Weddings, 2007
The first meal grandma prepared her new husband was a pot roast with a thick brown gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, and candied carrots. He was not unkind with his words, but he pushed the latter to the side of the plate and gently said, “I don’t eat carrots.”
“It must have been the way I prepared them,” Grandma thought. She loved carrots. Surely she wasn’t supposed to give them up. She added onions, potatoes, and yes carrots to the next pot roast she prepared. Grandpa pushed them to the side and said, “I don’t eat carrots.”
There was little they disagreed on and the things that fell in that category were discussed, compromises made, and life went on. But Grandma loved carrots and continuously looked for ways to prepare them that wouldn’t offend her husband. When she shaved them on a salad he picked them off. “I don’t eat carrots.”
Grandpa and Grandma grew a huge garden, and a pair of cottontails and a roadrunner took to watching them from a close vantage point. The animals didn’t bother the garden, they didn’t have to as Grandpa left tidbits for them over to the side. The tidbits didn’t include carrots of course as Grandpa didn’t plant carrots in his garden.
One day Grandma had a craving for carrots, but she was about out of ideas for how to prepare them. She had an idea, she would make a carrot cake. When Grandpa asked what kind of cake it was she smiled and said it was a spice cake. Grandpa loved the cake, but there was no quick “I told you so.” Grandma was far too much of a lady.
Grandma’s special spice cake quickly became Grandpa’s favorite. In more than fifty years of marriage it had never dawned on him that he was far more likely to get it immediately after they had some small disagreement. The significance went unnoticed. As the years passed Grandma never saw reason to reveal that his favorite cake was actually carrot cake. She was above that. Besides, Grandpa never bothered to ask. He, as the head of the house, was content in the knowledge that his wife made the best darn dessert in the county.
Grandma smiled serenely as Grandpa pushed yet another sampling of carrots to the side of his plate. She knew in a moment he would launch into her spice cake with relish, and there was much satisfaction in knowing that his treat was not nearly as rewarding as her quiet victory.
Devotional: On the Road Home, Port Yonder Press, 2010
When I’ve finished school . . . college . . . get that job . . . win that sweepstakes . . . get married . . . when the kids are grown . . . when the bills are paid . . . when I save enough money . . .
Much of my life has been spent waiting for something to happen, something that’ll make everything easy riding. Sometimes that happens and things do get rosy and bright, but then the next thing I know I’m waiting for something else. I’ve spent a huge amount of my life ‘on hold.’
I put the Lord in charge of my life a long time ago. I look to Him and try to do what he wants. Well, at least I do it occasionally. There are periods when I get caught up in the business of living, and the next thing I know I’m back on hold again.
I know the Bible says “wait on the Lord,” and reminds us that God will help us, but it also says we have to wait on His time. That makes sense to me, it’s not like I’ve got the right to tell Him when and where things are going to happen, but I’ll admit it, patience is NOT my long suit. As a result, I continually find myself back in this waiting mode.
In addition, life has this curious little game it likes to play. Things that we numbered way up at the top of our troubles we later find strangely listed among our fond memories. Changing diapers at three in the morning and trying to get a baby back to sleep? Who knew that someday we’d look back on that fondly?
Basic training? I thought I’d die. Now I sit with men and laugh at what some call our rite of passage where we earned our ticket to manhood. Young love? There are surely problems and heartaches there, but warm memories now, some of the best. The anguish of financial woes and young marriage have turned into memories of children growing, ball games and ballet lessons, and teaching my babies to ride a bike.
Finally, I’ve figured out that it’s not our destination in life that’s important, but the trip. Our future is secure if we’re believers, so it’s not like it’s life threatening. It’s only the ‘way stations’ on the trip that we’re fretting over, and while we’re anxiously looking down the track for the next station we’re missing the flowers and trees and mountains and plains and all of the beautiful things along the way. We been told to live each day as if it were our last, and nothing could make more sense.
When I have . . . have what? I have what I need now. All I can say is, God grant me the wisdom to learn how to live for the journey, not for the destinations. I just need to learn to sit back and enjoy the ride.
Class Seminars Collection: Out of the Overflow, 2014
Have you ever prayed a heart prayer? Perhaps like me you have and just didn’t have a name for it. That would make sense to not have anything to call it since it’s a prayer that has no words in it.
It happens when life puts us on our knees and we are so devastated, or so sad, or so grief-stricken that our heads don’t work. We’re fuzzy and disoriented and our every sensation is wrapped in pain. Our chests are tight and there’s a lump in our throats and there are no words to say what we are feeling because our brains won’t or can’t put the words together.
Suddenly we are aware that something is going up anyway, that our heart is talking directly to God, and since the words are not there we don’t know what is being said, but we know pure thoughts and feelings are being directly transmitted.
And we’re just as sure that it is being heard.
It can be just the opposite as well. We can be so happy, so overcome with joy that there are no words big enough or grand enough to say what is in our hearts. As a writer, words are my business and it’s hard to admit that sometimes mere words are not enough. Some feelings can’t be contained in ink and paper, like the first time I looked on a child or grandchild that was my very own, or when I looked across at my wife during the wedding ceremony. The feelings were there, and they were mammoth and powerful, overflowing my heart and my mind, and were too much to be contained by either so they just poured out on their own and went directly to God.
No words, just pure, concentrated . . . love and praise.
Devotional: On the Road Home, Port Yonder Press, 2010
I NEVER want to say no to God. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I was doing it all the time.
When the Lord asks us to do something there are only two answers, yes or no. “Maybe” is no. “Later” is no. “I can’t” or “I’m not qualified” is no. God doesn’t call the qualified, He calls the inadequate and enables them.
A number of years ago I hit what was undoubtedly the lowest point in my life. My father and only sibling dies within a couple of months of each other. I lost my job, wrecked my car, my marriage came apart. I’m not saying every time bad things happen that God is disciplining us, things just happen. But if enough of them happen we have to entertain the thought that God is trying to get our attention.
He had mine.
I got down on my knees and asked forgiveness. I sought what it was that I needed to learn before things would get better. That’s when I learned to quit saying no to God.
Things turned around almost immediately. I started saying yes when asked to do things even if I thought I was not capable of it. If I was sure it was something God wanted me to do I trusted him to get me through it and he always does. I learned how to discern when it was genuinely from him and learned he always confirms anything he asks more than one way.
I can’t go back now. Once we realize we are telling him no even when we don’t intend to, it just isn’t something we want to do.
So I say yes.
1 Samuel 12:15 But if ye will not obey the voice of the LORD, but rebel against the commandment of the LORD, then shall the hand of the LORD be against you, as it was against your fathers.
Classbooks: Echoes of Mercy, 2013
The bird was dead.
My grandson and I stood looking down on it and he was upset. “I wish it hadn’t died,” he said simply.
I wished it hadn’t died either. “What if I had a miracle for you?” I asked quietly.
“I’m not saying I do or I don’t, but if so would you want to use it on this bird or save it for something more important.”
Youngsters believe in miracles, it’s easy for them. But if he just had one he decided it should be saved for something really important. His attention was diverted as I intended and we had a nice funeral for the bird and moved on.
Later he came in and sat down beside me. “Po,” he said slowly, “how will I know something is important enough to use my miracle?”
Ah, so now he really believed there was one there for him. “Actually I’m not the one that has the miracle, but it is really there. And there may be more than one.”
“God is in control of the miracles and He gives us more of them than we know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you think we recognize small miracles? Or do you think we call them something else?”
He wasn’t sure.
“Sometimes people recognize small miracles, but sometimes they don’t.”
“Like when people are in the hospital and not supposed to get well, but they do and the doctors don’t understand why?”
“It happens all the time. “
“So God is handing out miracles and most people don’t know it?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s true.”
“I do too. I believe He watches over us all the time and when we seek Him, he’s there for us. He puts a protective hand over his children just like your mom and dad watch out for you. But we need to keep a watchful eye for when it happens so we can thank Him for it.”
He made up his mind. “I’m going to watch for it. I want to see a miracle.”
“If you look for them, they’ll be there.”
Hartline Literary Agency Blog
Volunteers don’t work for free. Every time I say that people get their back up, altruistic motives charge to the forefront and everybody and their dog want to argue with me about it.
What right do I have to make this statement? Years of experience, over twenty-five to be specific running Chambers of Commerce in a half-dozen communities, plus being active as a volunteer myself in churches and organizations in all of those communities. I’ve worked with many, many volunteers motivated by a wide diversity of things which cause them to volunteer, and I’m here to say the statement is true.
Granted, the very definition of volunteer generally rules out actual monetary payment. If we’re getting a check we aren’t a volunteer any more, are we? But that doesn’t mean something didn’t motivate them to step forward, and how well they are motivated will control how strong a worker they are.
The key is to pay them for their work. A good leader will discover the appropriate method of payment and see that the volunteer is paid in the manner they seek. For example, some people volunteer because they care about the task itself. Assign them a role that they don’t feel is directly accomplishing the task and they won’t be motivated. Not getting paid.
Particularly in Christian organizations they may be working to feel they are making a difference, seeking to see that they really matter. If they are not getting feedback that shows they are making a difference, then they aren’t getting paid.
Some work for visibility or publicity. I certainly don’t intend to imply this is a negative thing. Whether it is to fortify their ego, to get visibility that will be good for business or advancement, to make them feel good about themselves, it doesn’t matter. The point is if we know that is what they really want we can see that they get it.
There are those who work for the reward of seeing a job well done. Putting them in a task that is ongoing and never seems to have an end to it can leave them unfulfilled. They more than any need to be able to see the fruit of their work.
Some owe a debt. It is insignificant as to how they feel the debt was incurred, but they feel they owe something to the organization, the task, or maybe to particular leaders. They have to be made aware that their efforts invested are satisfying that debt.
There are many other things that motivate volunteers and each of them is in itself the species of reward the worker desires to be paid in. No motivation is any better or any worse than the others, but merely different. A good leader is one who can determine what really is motivating the worker and see that they are rewarded for their work. For the more they are paid, the harder they will work and the more they will accomplish.
And what is the reward for the leader themselves? For most of those in leadership roles the motivator is the success of the organization or overall task that they have committed to and accepted responsibility for. If the leader correctly identifies and motivates all of those working within the organization, their remuneration will take care of itself, not to mention the adulation of all of those who are greatly impressed with their leadership skills. They may not even realize why they are so impressed, but we’ll know. Because they were correctly paid for their efforts.
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They call it Avandia, and they say it’s supposed to slow plaque buildup in your heart arteries. Out here in rural Montana we can see a snake oil salesman coming a mile away. We also figure that the best way to deal with stuff like plaque buildup is to use the stuff God give us for that purpose.
What am I talking about? I’m talking about natural healing, straightening up your lifestyle, eating right, and the natural remedies that have been working since the beginning of time. It don’t take no rocket scientist to see that pumping chemicals into your system, then more chemicals to fight the effects of those pills, is a losing battle any way you look at it.
But don’t make the mistake of thinking that a good old boy living out in the sticks means I’m out of touch. Just because I know how much good these natural remedies can make in a guy’s life doesn’t mean I don’t know about the fancy studies and reports. I don’t have my head stuck in the sand out here.
I know the medical journal says Avandia is likely to raise the risk of heart attacks and heart related deaths. That’s a heck of a side-effect, wouldn’t you say? I know the American Diabetes Association said folks should quit using it until safety questions are resolved. I didn’t ride in here on a head of cabbage.
So what’s the benefit we’re taking all this risk for? I saw a quote from a guy by the name of Dr. James Stein, and if you need some impressive credentials, he’s the head of preventive cardiology at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He didn’t have a role in doing the research on this drug, but he said “This is now the second study that was unable to show a beneficial effect.”
Let me see if I’ve got this straight. We’re supposed to think it’s a good idea to take medicine that doesn’t seem to improve things at all and ignore some little side effects like dying?
Why would we even be talking about this? Because some pharmaceutical company has a lot of money tied up in research and production? I could go out here in the pasture and take me some cow patties and compress them into pills. I could print up some literature about how good they are for your digestion and what ails you. Just because I do all that work, does it mean you need to buy those pills and take them just so I won’t lose money? They are still cow patties, you know.
If I go to a horse auction, chances are everything that goes through that show ring is going to look pretty good. But nobody in their right mind is going to consider buying a horse and plunking their money down without checking the animal out. They’re going to look in the mouth, check the teeth, look at the hooves, feel along muscles and tendons. They’re going to try to do their best to know exactly how much horse they’ll get for their money.
That’s just a horse. How much more should we do if we’re talking about our own health? Sounds like a snake oil salesman to me.
Social Media Posting
I’ve often said I’m a lifelong independent. So where do I come down in this election? For me it’s simple, it isn’t a popularity contest, it’s not about electing a religious leader others will perform that role, it’s about hiring someone to be the administrator of our country. I’d rather hire a businessman than an avowed socialist who is already talking about more and more spending and bigger government. Even more important, Clinton would take the supreme court and federal courts to the far left with disastrous rulings that I don’t want to see. I could even consider a third party candidate but only if they proved credible and worthy of support by polling well up into the thirties. Right now that isn’t the case. Right now it’s a two horse race and the stakes are higher than they have ever been in my lifetime.
If You Like Your Gun You Can Keep It
President Obama has made it clear that gun control will be the central focus of his remaining time in office.
As Politico reports:
The White House is putting finishing touches on several measures in an effort to make progress on curbing gun violence, an issue the president and close aides have found frustratingly intractable, before the race to replace him enters prime time.
None of the proposed changes would have any impact on active shooter situations but will infringe further on our constitutional rights. We can expect this to be a precursor to additional assaults on our second amendment rights.
As anticipated since the President is unable or unwilling to work with Congress changes are being made through executive action. Any progress he makes toward this agenda we can expect Hillary Clinton to build on them if she is elected.
President Obama seems to be determined to do as much damage as possible in the time he has left. It underscores how critical it is to elect a President that can undo what is being put in place instead of a person who will make it even worse.