Thank God for Vets! 

Unlike my father, a man of few words I am not.  My father's personal motto has always been, "better to be silent and thought a fool than to open your mouth and erase all doubt."  Well in the case of his youngest son, all doubt was erased many moons ago.  However, the last few days have been quite difficult for me and I find myself, for the first time in my recent memory, simply unable to express my feelings with words.  But as this Veteran's Day approaches I am compelled to make an attempt, no matter how feeble, to express my profound gratitude to the men and women, both living and passed, who have selflessly defended our nation's freedom.

As a husband, father, and citizen of our great Nation I enjoy luxuries never before seen in the annals of history.  Not just luxuries of convenience and prosperity, but the luxuries of freedom and individual rights.  I can proudly proclaim belief in our Almighty God-  and that his Son Jesus paid the price for my freedom from spiritual death.  And I can proclaim this without fear of death or reprisal because the American Soldier paid the price for my physical freedom.  Because men and women of many races, ethnicities, and socio-economic backgrounds defended one flag and one ideal- that all men have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

As Americans we have been truly blessed by God that he has provided men and women willing to serve and die in order to make us the most prosperous nation in the history of mankind.  On this Veteran's Day, as all Veteran's Days, we have the duty as beneficiaries of these great sacrifices to remember the price that they have paid.  Bound by a sense of honor and respect we should offer prayers and support to all those that have donned the uniform.

So, if you could read this, thank a teacher- if you are reading it in English, thank a soldier!


Interesting Discussion- thought you might like.

The following conversation took place between a Facebook Friend and myself. Needless to say she changed our friend status.

Friend: April 15 at 9:20pm Report
ok no problem, actually people that go to tea parties are not my cup of tea. so I will delete you now.

Russell Jordan April 15 at 9:24pm
I'm sorry that Tea Party People aren't your cup of tea. Most are very honest, hard-working, decent people who care very deeply about the direction the country is headed. But that is what is wonderful about America, everyone can think the way they want- at least for now.

Friend: April 15 at 9:34pm Report
There are a lot of balanced people that care about this country. A lot of us believe in hard work, personal responsiblity and also care for the world and its people. You are a bunch of extremists. Because of people like you there are terrorist in the world. It is the psychy, the same way of thinking.

Russell Jordan April 15 at 9:36pm
Why do you say we are extremists?

Russell Jordan April 15 at 10:04pm
Because of people like me there are orphans in Haiti that now have food to eat and a home to live in. Because of people like me there are millions of Europeans that aren't speaking German under Nazi rule. Because of people like me there are millions of Americans that can worship God without fear of Government persecution. Because of people like me there are millions of people who have the right to publicly disagree with their government. Because of people like me there are others who have jobs. You are right people like me are extreme in some ways. We are extreme in our belief in the Constitution of the United States of America. We are extreme in our belief that the government should only do those things which the private sector can't, shouldn't or doesn't want to. We are extreme in our beliefs that Freedom, Capitalism, and the blessings of God are the factors that have made this country the most blessed country in the history of civilization. We are extreme in our beliefs that it is our personal responsibility to take care of our families and our neighbors, not the Government's responsibility to coerce us into their skewed idea of responsibility. And because of people like me, there are a lot less terrorists than would otherwise exists. People like me didn't create terrorism. People that intentionally target innocent men, women and children for execution because they have some altered view of religion and reality are the cause of terrorism. They have been around for centuries- But thanks to people like me, and unlike the majority of liberals in this country, there are people that recognize the evil that exists and are willing to eradicate it, not placate it! Thanks to people like me, you and I can have this conversation.

Friend April 15 at 10:09pm Report
I didn't read your email. I read the 2 first lines and I thought "great you". Stop emailing me. I didnt invite you into my life. I am sure you are egocentric and ethnocentric. Obviously you wasted your time writing to push your way of thinking on me, but I do not care to read it. Please stop writing.

Liberty is to me....

Liberty is...

The guarantee of equal opportunity not necessarily equal outcome. The pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of enlightenment, the pursuit of spirituality, the pursuit of profit constrained only by one's will and one's abilities. Personal discrimination, personal discipline, self-control. Accessibility without convenience. Tolerance without endorsement. Order without oppression. Hope dashed with hazard. The narrow road with many perils. The rule of law, not necessarily the majority. Man's order absent government's coercion. The possibility of renown, the probability of obscurity. Always tiresome, never tired. Opportunity restrained with accountability, success tempered with responsibility.

God Breathed,
Man Acknowledged,
Patriot Acquired,
Hero Secured.

Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, and HGH

Ahhhh, the aroma of recently excised turf- two crisp white lines laid as boundaries- 3 square bags and one odd plate measured to exactness- the unbridled crowd roaring its approval as spheres fly and wood cracks- Nothing quite compares to the boys of summer expertly plying their baseball trade for thousands of fans. Too bad all I get to watch is a bunch of 5 year olds playing baseball- I mean T-ball, I mean boys in newly washed uniforms rolling in dirt while their mothers laugh and their fathers disavow paternity.

Tonight the family witnessed the fourth and latest game installments of the Hendersonville, TN 5 and under T-ball League, better known as “can any five year old keep from going to the bathroom for one stinking hour while we try and play a game here?” This installment proved to be the best for my son’s team “Thunder” so far this season with only three player trips to the restroom during our time in the field. Thunder also made three put outs, -not in the same inning mind you, but three outs nonetheless. My son Gibson experienced a breakthrough proving that it was indeed possible for him to go fifteen minutes without crying or calling his older sister a “poopy dumb-pants.” I wonder what Babe Ruth called his sister when he was five years old? But I digress.

Watching this and Thunder’s three previous games has been somewhat an exercise in futility. What had started with so much hope for me has definitely turned into a struggle. Because I had played in the backyard with my son since he was two years old, I was sure he would be a player extraordinaire. But it seems I was slightly mistaken. He does alright, but doesn’t really stand out in his performances. So I have a new plan.

Instead of spending my time personally working with my son and teaching him the fundamentals, I am investing in a personal trainer for him. The trainer I have lined up has assured me that with some strength training each day and a good dose of Human Growth Hormone that Gibson will be bench-pressing 250 pounds by age 10. Sure there are a few minor side effects, but I am quite positive Gibson won’t mind and his future career is worth the risk. He doesn’t want to be a rocket scientist anyway, so what are a few brain cells. And I sure know he won’t care to have children when he gets older. He can’t stand kids. Besides, not everyone has adverse effects. He isn’t too fond of needles though, so I’ll have to figure some way around that one. I can’t wait to see the results. If it works for him, I’ll try it to see if I can get rid of this spare tire around my gut. Wish us luck!

We Need More Programs

How do those birds do that? Build nests, that is. I mean the scrawny things have no arms, no hands, no thumbs and bird brains. Somehow with just their beaks they manage to build these magnificent homes in which to lay their eggs. I can’t even change a light bulb without cursing in several languages. The last time I tried to build a bird house was in shop class in the 7th Grade. That little construction foray took me a whole semester just to get four boards nailed together in what eerily resembled a medieval torture device.

Today as I sat eating delicious pieces of a former bovine dressed with mayonnaise, lettuce, and what I hope were salmonella free tomatoes, I observed these curious birds scurrying about. These odd little things were pecking at the ground, flittering about like an ADD ten year old on a three day cocaine binge. I noticed one of the fellows in particular kept pecking at the ground and then flying up in the tree that was shading my car. The rest of the clan seemed to be pulling up worms and enjoying a meal- something akin to what I was doing at the time. For the better part of an hour I sat there listening to my favorite talk radio station engorging myself on charred animal remains. The whole time I was there these birds continued in the same fashion- pecking, eating, flying, pecking some more, scurrying about. After finishing my rather tasty meal, I exited my car and looked in the tree shading my car. There sat that one odd creature fiddling around with a nest. The little rascal had some piece of grass or weed in its beak and was pushing it into the side of the nest as if the world would stop if he were unsuccessful.

As I returned to my gas-guzzler and left, I wondered what government program this bird had been through to be such a fine engineer. Was he a product of the Public Avian Education System or did his parents privately educate him? Did he attend Harvard University for the Birds? Was he an apprentice engineer and then ventured out on his own? Was he a Bird School Dropout that used a government sponsored engineering program to become educated? Was he an engineer at all? Maybe his home had been destroyed in a storm and the Bird Council lent him a mobile nest. Maybe the Council built the nest for him and he was just doing some extra decorating.

I began contemplating the plights of all his bird friends that I had seen there also. They obviously were working? But why? Was there no bird stamp program? Or were they the unlucky ones that had to work to pay their bird taxes to provide the bird stamp program? Did they live in HUD Nests? Were their nest rents subsidized by the Bird Council? Would they be able to go to college? Would they qualify for scholarships or inbirdships? Had some of the birds gotten knocked up while they were still in bird school and delivered out of birdlock birds?

What I really wanted to know was- whom or what was taking care of these birds? Surely there was a bird government that insured that all birds had the same number of worms to eat- that all nests were similarly constructed in size, shape, and accoutrements- that all the birds had free bird health care- that female birds had the right to abort their baby birdies- surely a government “of the birds, by the birds, and for the birds.”

In a bit of literary irony, before pulling into my driveway, I hit a bird. I wonder who pays for the funeral and burial?

Ode to My Wife

Lover, when first I saw thee
My heart did skip a beat,
Your beauty was unmatched
Throughout the land complete.

Your raven locks of silk
Wafting in the wind,
Would surely launch a thousand ships,
Your honor to defend.

Your skin so soft and supple
Beneath my weathered hand,
Would send a man to frenzy,
From every foreign land.

Your ruby lips so sweet
Brought forth the siren’s song,
For but a moment’s taste,
Men dreamt the whole day long.

Your eyes like diamonds shone
The splendor of your face,
That the gold in every vault
Could never have replaced.

And though some years have added
A wrinkle here or there,
Your beauty still unmatched,
Remains beyond compare.

The Gift of Grace

Seven Layers upon the Canvas lay,
For all, the Masters timeless work displayed.
Mona Lisa, Da Vinci’s story told,
The Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo’s.
And yet simple colors the Master placed,
Arranged to reveal an angelic face.
His simple strokes formed a work of love,
Picasso and Van Gough knew nothing of.
With simple tools the Master refined,
A Heart, A Soul, A most beautiful Mind.
And within our world the Master placed,
This symphony of art we know as Grace.
Earthly masters in their own right shine,
But ill compare to His work so fine.
A Master’s gift to direct our days,
The beacon of God’s ethereal ways.