Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace

I’m no good at holding my ‘forever peace.’ Not now and, never have been. But, in honesty, I think there needs to be a whole lot more people willing to speak out when they see things going on, that perhaps shouldn’t be happening.

Recently, I was exposed to a situation that certainly needed to be addressed. And then, the thought occurred to me, ‘this happens all the time and few speak up.’

A good friend was admitted to the hospital and while there suffered a heart attack, kidney failure, and pneumonia. Anyone of these things could, and has, killed lots of people. In addition to these malady’s he also experienced sepsis. Was the sepsis a result of the illness he already had, or was it present because of the illness he had acquired since his admission to the hospital? That may never be known.

My rant today, however has to do with another malady that occurs all to frequently when taking care of loved ones. This malady has a cure and should never occur, but it does, that’s where the ‘speak now, or forever hold your peace, comes in to play.

Most doctors and nurses are very dedicated humans. You will notice I used the term, ‘humans.’ Not Gods, or Generals, but humans. Therefore, they are approachable, and should be ready to give reasons as to why they are doing certain things as they treat our loved ones. They shouldn’t feel as though they are being attacked just because you question their reasoning.

However, unfortunately, not all doctors and nurses are that way. Some think because they tell you a certain thing and give you their opinion you should never question their decision.

Look, I even ask God, ‘why,’ so I’m certainly going to ask a fellow human being ‘why?’

This certain doctor pooh poohed concerns the family had about different treatments and finally said, “Because I am the doctor and I said so.”

Oh, really? Well, apparently you were absent the day medical school taught bedside manners. Apparently, you were never told that the family knows this patient better than you ever will, and apparently the doctor’s degree you obtained in the Cayman Islands needs a lot of work.

Out of spite, for it was for no other reason, he ordered a sedative given that knocked the patient out for four days. The family felt it was because he was determined to show the family he was in charge. Shame on you lowly human. Shame on you.

This patient was also on dialysis, every other day. So, since the body couldn’t dump the sedative until he had dialysis, his recovery from the sedative took much, much longer.

Don’t be afraid to ask anybody, any question, at any time. Especially, if the loved one can’t speak for themselves. Don’t be held captive by the fear that if you speak up your loved one will suffer the consequences. That’s what they hope and think you will do. Take your phone in with you and make pictures and make recordings.

Let them know that’s what your doing. You’d be surprised how quickly all that can change when they know you have proof they have acted out of line.

If per chance, you hear the excuse, “I’ll get there in a minute, I’ve work twelve hours already.”

Really, then find another job, or do this job as you should. No excuses, no complaints, do your job or quit.

There are reasons that institutions and medical personnel, have to be licensed. They aren’t Gods, they aren’t Generals, they first and foremost are human, just like you and me. If they violate the rules, they get canned, pure and simple. Their license can be revoked.

So, the next time you feel like your loved one is not being treated as they should by those in charge of their wellbeing, ‘speak up.’ Don’t be afraid of the consequences, if they mistreat they will have to endure the penalty of their actions.

Any doctor or nurse worth their salt, well understands the concerns the family has for their loved one. If not, then they need to get out of the medical field. Don’t ever be afraid to say what you feel, if you see and hear things you know are not as they should be.

There is only one God and He’s in heaven.

That recalls the old adage, “I’d like to buy them for what they are worth and sell ‘um for what they think their worth.”

Or, “If the shoe fits, wear it.”


Apron Lessons

Apron Lessons

I was reading not long ago, and suddenly this picture appeared on my screen of an aging grandmother in her apron, and all sorts of memories came flooding into my mind.

I remember well the apron my own Grandmother wore, and how it protected her dress underneath from the spills that occurred in her kitchen. But, most of all I remember how that old apron would wipe away my childish tears.

If I close my eyes tight and think back to many, many years ago, I can almost smell the aromas of her kitchen filled with all kinds of good food. Through eyes of memory I can see that apron clearly, soiled by spoils of the kitchen, and wrapped snuggly around my short grandmother’s body.

Of course, the wood stove heat would absolutely burn you up in the summer time. But, my grandmother’s ingenuity caused her to rise early, in the cool of the day, and do the cooking for that day’s meals. And always, without fail, she’d have on her old apron that remained faithful until it was worn threadbare by my grandmother.

The apron served as potholder when she’d take homemade biscuits out of the oven. She had to be extra careful, doubling it twice to be sure the padding was enough between her small hands and the hot pan. But, that same apron, wiped up the spills from the flour she used to cover the chicken she’d caught and dressed out that very morning, as she prepared it for the frying pan.

My grandmother never worked in the field. She had two strapping boys and a husband that did that, but, she worked in the home. She one and only daughter she would laughingly tell to, ‘go play with your doll,’ to get her from underfoot.

My grandmother, however, like most grandmothers, never told me that. Instead, she would invite me to come into her inner sanctum of kitchen adventures and try to teach me, as I watched her cook. She would lovingly tie an apron around my small body and I felt like I was really helping her as we worked side by side.

My apron carried the handprint of a little girl, determined to follow her grandmother’s instructions to the letter. Sometime those instructions were unspoken symbols as I watched her wipe her hands on her ever-present apron.

My grandmother’s aprons that she lovingly shared with me, made me feel so grown up and so important. They gave me a sense of well being and an attitude of accomplishment.

My mother wore aprons too. Not nearly as much as my grandmother, but enough that I knew my mother’s apron was as important as my grandmother’s.

Mother’s kitchen was equally as busy as my grandmother’s and almost as hot in the summer. However, Mother cooked on a kerosene cook stove and the heat didn’t linger as long when turned off. The lessons I learned in that kitchen were just as valuable as the ones I learned in my grandmother’s kitchen, but Mother’s kitchen and aprons taught me more about life and how a young lady was supposed to act.

Mother wiped away a lot of my tears with her apron just as my grandmother did.

Their aprons were a symbol of home. A symbol of good food, good times and a lot of love.

Aprons aren’t used much anymore. I wonder why?

It could be the aprons went the way of the family meal at night, we called supper. That was when everyone sit down together and laughed and talked about the days events. That often was the center stage for proverbs from our parents.

Or, maybe the apron went the way of discipline of children. By that I mean, manners, and if a child didn’t do as he should he knew he’d suffer the consequences. By discipline and saying ‘no,’ the children learned their parents loved them enough to tell them when they were wrong. The parents had time for them, when it wasn’t ‘easier’ to let them go to a friend’s house anytime they wanted, so the parents wouldn’t have to listen to the children whine.

Modern technology has allowed the apron to be replaced with the washing machine. Now, when the dress under the apron gets dirty it’s easy to just throw it in the laundry.

The kitchens are now air conditioned so no need to have the apron to wipe sweaty palms and brows. Now you just turn down the a/c.

Not many kitchens bake homemade biscuits anymore so the need for the apron to lift a hot pan isn’t necessary.

What about the apron wiping away the tears? Not much need for that now either. Society has dictated we need to let the babies cry. It toughens them up they say. But, instead, the children grow weaker when they realize that grandmother and mother are much to busy with their own lives to take the time to wipe away childish tears.

I miss the aprons. I miss the simplicity of homes. I’m sad the lessons the aprons taught are no longer available for the children of today. I feel somehow our children have been cheated. Oh, they have all the modern-day technology. They can run computers well by the tender age of five, but oh, how much they have missed.

Most will never know the comfort a mother’s or grandmother’s apron can bring. Our children of today may not even know what an apron is. If they do know, they may not understand the lesson the aprons of yesterday taught so very well, and for that, I’m truly sorry.

Wheat or Tares?

Jesus often spoke in parables. He made things simple to understand. When asked about the wheat and the tares He said, ‘Leave them together. The angels will separate on judgement day.’ Here’s my feeble attempt to translate this parable.

Don’t go about pulling up your neighbors tares for in so doing you may pull up some very good wheat along with the weeds’.

Simply put, ‘Mind your own business.’

Geez, that is so hard to do sometime. I just want to get in there and pull up all the things I think are weeds. However, in doing that, I may pull up some very good wheat which would supply my need for bread someday.

I think sometimes we are tempted to ‘remove the speck from our brother’s eye, when we have a log in our own.’ That’s what we do when we are guided by our own thoughts and decisions instead of consulting the Lord and asking what he wants us to do.

I had a very good friend who was a very good Christian and I laugh when I think of her saying to me, “I get so tired of having to take the high road.”

Meaning, one grows weary of having to be the ‘bigger,’ person. To take the high road and ignore mankind’s fits of pettiness. Yet, the Lord commands we do that. He tells us to follow Him and ignore the charlatans.

This same friend also said, “One more time around the mountain.

My interpretation of that simply means, we, like Moses, don’t always get the instructions clear, so God sends us around the mountain one more time in hopes that the journey will bring a clearer understanding of His will for us.

The example of Jesus’s parable about the wheat and the tares was brought home to me in my own garden.

I planted some lavender seeds. I’ve never planted lavender before, have no idea what it looks like when it starts to come up and therefore, when I look at my garden it looks like a lot of weeds are growing there.

I go out one beautiful morning and it looks to me like I’ve got a good crop of tares. I start to pull them up and suddenly it occurs to me, ‘how do you know these are weeds and not the lavender? You’ve never grown lavender before, you don’t know what it looks like when it starts coming up. What if all these, ‘weeds,’ are really lavender?’

Well, that certainly stopped me short. I didn’t pull another thing out of that garden. I’ll wait and see what grows.

It may be that I’ll harvest more weeds than I will lavender, but, after all, that’s the only way I’ll learn to tell the difference between the tares and the wheat.

What’s the lesson to learn from all of this?

Be sure you know the difference before you start pulling up your neighbor’s tares. It might turn out you’ve pulled up the good wheat and left the weeds.

In simple layman’s terms, be sure you don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.

Johnnie B.

The sun glistened off the petals of the red zinnias and one lone dewdrop cast shadows of color as I walked by. The old and well known flowers or plants called ‘flags’ by some were holding their own this hot summer day.

A lady by the name of Johnnie, had painstakingly planted these spots of beauty with loving hands and a prayer in her heart they would survive. All the flower seeds and flags had been given her by friends who wanted to share their gardens of beauty, with her.

I was carrying a pail of water and my job at the moment was to wet the pads of an old evaporative cooler, sticking out the bottom of the window. I had to hand wet it because there was no running water available. My parents idea of running water, was, ‘Jimmy, run to the well and get some water and wet down the fan.’

My mother was recovering from a surgery she had and the house was hot. I didn’t mind doing my assigned job because it helped Mom feel better.

As that thought raced across my mind these seventy some odd years later, it brought with it other things this lady called Johnnie had done in my life. Some of the things were victorious and brave and other things were just downright funny.

She was quite a lady. Actually, she was more like ‘Wonder Woman.’

When I was in high school and a typical teenager, Mom would make me beautiful dresses out of feed sacks the chicken feed came in. She was a wonderful seamstress and no one would know the beautiful dresses I wore had once lived the life of a lowly chicken feed sack.

The same ingenious brain, thought up the idea of nailing cardboard on the inside of the front porch, which she had previously made canvas curtains for on the outside. She said, “We will paint it the color you get to pick out, and this will be your room.”

I loved that I had my own room. The house only had three rooms total and for me to have my own bedroom was really a work of art and an act of courageous, ‘out of the box thinking,’ on my mother’s part.

She did that a lot in my growing up years.

She saw that I had the same as the other girls even if she had no money to give me. She did it so well I never realized we were as poor as the proverbial church mice.

Mom made what little spending money she had from raising chickens and turkeys and selling their eggs. She also milked an old cow and had butter to sell. On Saturday we went to town and she sold her wares. That’s where the money came from for the paint to paint my newly acquired bedroom.

One of my weekly chores was to sweep and mop the front porch. This was prior to it becoming my bedroom. The downfall was I would no more than get it mopped and here the big footed turkeys would come and march themselves all over the clean porch. These were free range birds long before we knew what to call them. I hated them and swore I would never marry a farmer, regardless of how much I might love him. I had no desire in carrying on, what I thought in my teenage mind, was a disgusting practice.

You can imagine the gloom the day Mom came in the house and announced her prized rooster was lying dead in the cow lot. I personally rejoiced because every time I went to the barn that rooster would ‘flog,’ me and his spurs would bring blood to my legs. So one day I prepared for him and when he made his predictable run at me I whacked him over the head with a two by four I’d purposely carried with me. His murder was indeed premeditated, but Mom never knew what killed her prized rooster until years later as an adult, I confessed my deed. Mom’s response about the rooster was the same response she always gave, “I don’t believe it.”

There are so many tales I could share, so many memories both sad and funny about this courageous woman I called, ‘mother.’

As I shared previously, her name was ‘Johnnie,’ so she thought it fitting she name me, her one and only daughter, Jimmy. I think the real reason was because this very smart woman realized it was indeed a man’s world and in order to make it you had to be able to match wits with the best of them. I can’t commence to tell you how many times in the business world, my name got me in the door simply because they thought I was a man. Once I was in the door they were too embarrassed to ask me to leave.

I never felt I was being taken advantage of because I was a woman. I just felt like it was business as usual and we’d see who won the battle. Some days I was the dog and some days I was the tree, but most days I was just ‘blessed,’ by having such a smart woman that raised me to be independent and self-assured.

Momma has been gone a long time, but I learned so much from her by the simple act of ‘osmosis.’ Just being around her and observing what I later came to realize as an adult, her innate ability to face life’s challenges head on, without fear or intimidation.

I feel as though this ability in women has somehow become endangered. Now, so many want to blame others for their hardships, when in reality it’s simply a matter of taking charge of their own life and willing to accept defeat or victory on their own terms.

I hope I’ve been successful in passing on that ability to my daughter and my granddaughters and my great granddaughters. If so, then I’ve pleased the woman who gave me that inbred ability to pick myself up and carry on.

Thanks, ‘Johnnie B.’

I pray I’ve learned the lessons you taught so well.

Words to express the appreciation and love I have for you escape this wordsmith, so I’ll simply say……….“I love and miss you Momma.”

Thunder Jacket

I have an 80-pound rescued Standard Poodle, black as night, smart as the dickens and totally a coward when it comes to storms.

So, I in my infinite wisdom, I decided one day as he lay under my feet beneath the computer table; in the midst of a Texas Thunderstorm, complete with lightning flashing and thunder crashing, to order this frightened giant a Thunder coat, Calming Coat, or whatever in tarnation you want to call it.

Now, you’ve got to understand, I’m not the brightest light on the street when it comes to following some very important details. One of which is how to put a previously unknown contraption on, once I’ve purchased it. Especially if the dog is not coperative and insists on running off with his 80 lbs. of strength tugging against my attempts at swaddling him.

Yes, you read that correctly, they call it swaddling. Now, I can swaddle a baby, I mean that’s not hard. You lay the kid on top of a blanket and wrap arms and all up tightly in the blanket until the kid can’t move. This is supposed to make the child feel safe. Humm, I might have issue with that as well, but that’s another story for another day. Today, we are attempting to swaddle a very large dog.

I swear to you, I read directions. I read directions so many times as I tried to catch my circling, illusive dog until I, in frustration, turned to YouTube. That’s what you do when you’ve used up all the treats and done everything the written directions suggest for getting your canine friend to LOVE HIS NEW CALMING COAT. Oh, yeah, we just know that’s going to happen. He was anything but calm as he sat glaring at me from across the room.

Finally, I finished watching the American Kennel instructor on how to put on a Calming Coat. Or, as he put it, ‘how to swaddle your dog.’

Now, I must point out, he personally did not put the coat on the dog. Oh, no, he had an assistant to do that. So, I may not be the only one who lacks in being able to get the canine to cooperate in the actual feat of putting on the coat. I mean, you have to wonder, right? Besides, his model didn’t weight over 10 lbs., tops.

Now, we were to the point of following the instructions and putting the coat on. Winston, (that’s my dog’s name) cooperated with me to a certain point. He stood still while I attempted to put this extra-large coat on this extra-large dog.

The first clue I had that I was doing it wrong was when his curly long ears became entrapped in the extremely short strap that was supposed to go across his very large chest. So, now we are back to square one.

Again, I lay the CALMING COAT, on the floor and read directions, how hard could this be? Just wrap the dog up in the piece of material and be done with it.

Now, I get tickled, because at this point it’s disturbing I can’t seem to follow directions. There’s one thing Winston hates, he hates for me to laugh at him. I don’t know, maybe it’s a male thing, but the harder I laughed the more disgruntled he became. Finally, the only way I could get him to stand still was to put the bag of treats where he could help himself to them.

I started wrapping and finally I succeed. He is swaddled. I asked him, “Winston, do you feel safe and calm?”

His only answer to me was to sit down in the middle of the floor, in an upright position and glare at me.

I don’t know, maybe I swaddled him too tight.

He may decide he prefers the thunderstorms to the Thunder Jacket. As his name sake, Sir Winston Churchill said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.”

How’s Your Vision

The optimist looks at the glass and says, “It’s half full.

The pessimist looks at the glass and says, “It’s half empty.

The child of God looks at the glass and says, “My cup runneth over.

What do you say when you look at the glass? The above words were anonymously written by someone that apparently got the true meaning of life.

Trials and tribulations come to all in this life. It’s not about what happens to you, but rather how you handle, what happens to you.

Do you feel like God’s picking on you? Do you think that you have been taken advantage of? Used, neglected, thrown away?

Do you feel sorry for yourself and constantly compare your life to your friends or neighbors and decide they have it far better than you do? Do you indulge yourself in a pity party? Do you have PPLOM Syndrome?

What in the world is PLOM Syndrome you ask? Well, it’s “POOR LITTLE OLD ME” all in caps.

Now, before we go any further, let me state for the record, I am not a “Polly Anna.” I mean I can get down and wallow in a problem. I scream and yell and carry on. But, the Lord has been known to say to me; “Sit down, shut up and I will handle this.”

For that I am soooo forever, grateful. I’m grateful I have a relationship with my Heavenly Father that allows me to hear him when he tells me to sit down and shut up. (although this does occur more frequent than I would prefer.) The reason is all my fault, because too often, I look at the glass and say; “Who drank my water?

Let’s face it. More times than not, our cup runs over more than it’s empty. Usually, it’s at least, half full.

Now, I know sometimes the water in the glass, may be a little cloudy. Not quite as crystal clear as we would like it to be, but at least it’s half full. Think about it. To a man dying of thirst in the desert, a glass half full of cloudy water would be welcomed. Right?

That’s all I’m trying to get you to think about. Think about how blessed we are. Think about the times we’ve grumbled about what’s going on in our life, only to find out that our neighbor, whom we may have envied his new car, has a wife dying of cancer. Or the woman who appears to have everything, buried her child last week. Stop and think. When we stop and think we will always give God the Glory.

God’s ways are often mysterious. Ways that we can’t comprehend as a mortal. It has been said, “God works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.”

Often, I have heard, “Oh, those people are so blessed to have you in their life.” Only to find out later, it wasn’t, ‘those people’ who were blessed, but me. I was the one blessed by those people.

So, as we continue this journey we call life, I hope you never look at a half- filled glass again and see it as half empty. I hope you look at it, and see it ‘overflowing.’

Are the Good Times Really Over

I listened closely to Merle Haggard’s song and I have to ask, as did he, are the good times really over for good?

So, I thought I’d take the song line by line and answer it according to my opinion. I realize my opinion amounts to nothing, but perhaps there are some who might enjoy a different take on a few things. So, here goes.

I wish a buck was still silver. That was back when we had Ft. Knox and our country was based on the fact our dollar was backed by gold.

It was back when our country was strong. Indeed, our country was strong and united.

Back before Elvis, before Vietnam war came along. How sad that our country failed to recognize the Vietnam soldiers when they came home.

Before the Beatles and Yesterday We really did exist before the Beatles.

When a man could still work and still would. Oh, my, yes, when people worked for a living and expected no welfare handouts.

Is the best of the free life behind us now? This question needs no further explanation.

And are the good times really over for good?

And are we rolling downhill like a snowball headed for hell

With no kind of chance for the flag and the liberty bell? I’d have to say, pretty much. When American citizens refuse to stand for the National Anthem and pay respect to our flag.

Wish a Ford and a Chevy would last ten years like they should. Our cars use to last a long time. During World War II no cars were manufactured as all metal etc. went to the war effort, and the old cars just kept running.

Is the best of the free life behind us now, and are the good times really over for good? I so pray not. America has always pulled itself together when it needed to. I pray that’s still true.

I wish coke was still cola. Oh, I do too.

And a joint just a bad place to be. Yep.

It was back before Nixon lied to us all on T.V. What he did pales in comparison to the things that go on today.

Before microwave ovens when a girl could still cook, and still would. What’s with that? When did women decide they didn’t have to cook anymore?

Is the best of the free life behind us now? Are the good times really over for good? I hope not.

Are we rolling downhill like a snowball headed for hell?

With no kinda chance for the flag or the liberty bell? Same answer as above, it sure looks that way.

Wish a Ford and a Chevy would still last ten years like they should. Oh, me too.

Is the best of the free life behind us now, and are the good times really over for good? I guess that’s up to us don’t you think?

STOP rolling downhill like a snowball headed for hell. Yes


Let’s make a Ford and a Chevy that would still last ten years like they should. Yes indeed.

‘Cause the best of the free life is still yet to come. This needs to be our prayer.

AND THE GOOD TIMES AIN’T OVER FOR GOOD. We got to have faith and pray our Nation comes together as one and reaches out in honor of this great land we call home.


The Art of Whatever

I’m sure that most of you are not like me. That’s a good thing, because I really do have a problem keeping my mouth shut. At the most inopportune times, words so often just roll out of my mouth and I’m as shocked as everyone around me when that happens.

Now, I want to share the ‘Art of Whatever,’ with you. You will forever love me, and thank me, when you master this fine art.

OK, let’s give an example.

You are seated in a restaurant, enjoying a fine meal and the beautiful surroundings. Suddenly, through the door, walks the biggest gossip in town. Now, you know this, so you immediately prepare to choose your words wisely. That is no small matter.

She walks over to your table and invites herself to sit down. Being the gracious host that you are, you say, “sure,” through clenched teeth, convinced that you can endure almost anything if it comes in short spurts. This woman is no exception.

Smiling, you ask how she’s been. She replies, “You are not going to believe who I saw together last night.”

Not wanting to get caught up in her desire to gossip you say, “I’m sure I have no idea.”

Then, she begins the tirade of, ‘she said,’ ‘he said,’ as you sit quietly and listen as your coffee grows cold and your appetite fades.

She ends the last story with, “Can you believe that?”

Now, here is where the ‘Art of Whatever,’ comes in to play.

You smile the biggest smile and say, “Whatever.”

Pay close attention. You have listened with an attentive ear to her gossip. You have not been a part of it, other than listening. Plus, you’ve learned some things about your neighbors and friends and you, yourself, personally have managed to not open your mouth and say anything slanderous, except, ‘whatever.’

You’ve maligned no one, you’ve shocked no one, you have smiled and been polite and the only gossip she can tell about you is that you’re a good, good listener.

I don’t know about you, but once I was introduced to this wonderful word, my world became better. I learned I could have a conversation with people I absolutely couldn’t stand and be soooo kind by just saying, ‘whatever.’

It doesn’t matter if you never utter it out loud. It works the same if you silently say it repeatedly in your mind, IF, the situation you are caught up in becomes unbearable.

The world of ‘whatever,’ is a glorious place to be. In that world the sun always shines, and the breeze is light and refreshing. Plus, it keeps you out of so much trouble.

Now, in all honesty, I must tell you, reaching the land of ‘whatever,’ is hard. The road is winding and filled with potholes. You must bite your tongue and sometimes, feel you are a tongue contortionist trying to over power the desire to speak your mind.

In the end, when you’ve won your battle against opening your mouth and getting in trouble, you just look at the person giving you anxiety and say, “Whatever.”

Then, and only then, will you have mastered “The Art of Whatever.” But, it is so worth the effort. And, you learn a lot by listening.

However, you need to be on guard. Someone may look at you with glazed eyes and utter, ‘whatever.’ It’s then you will know, you may have slipped a little.

What is the True Crisis in America?

This question came to mind as I heard all the pros and cons on gun control and all the tales of affairs with women and the general conflict and blame game played today. I am not a psychiatrist, or councilor, or anyone with credentials, but I read an article that set my mind to think on the topic Warren Farrell, Ph.D. spoke about in his book, “The Boy Crises.”

There is indeed a “boy crisis,” in America today. Millions of young men are growing up without a male figure to pattern after.

Millions of homes in America today are headed by women. This in no way puts women down, or demeans them, or takes away from what they do. Many homes are run, paid for and dependent on a one-woman operation. In most cases, she succeeds. She’s mother, father, bread winner, councilor, friend, judge, jury, cook and cleaner. She does all of this with no help from the one she once shared her bed with and had their children.

The dead-beat dad that was nothing more than a sperm donator in many of these American homes, is no where to be found. Many do not even pay child support much less lend a hand in the rearing of their sons, or their daughters. But, the daughter story is for another day. Today we are talking about the sons.

Author, Warren Farrell points out in his book, many boys have never been tried and tested by a male figure. We are talking about a grown, well adjusted, male figure. Many boys have never had a male figure to rough house with, to play games with, to laugh with, to cry with, to show compassion with, or to receive the same from.

Many of the male figures they do see today are not of leadership quality. So, some of ‘the boys of today,’ learn they can bully others and by making them cry or be embarrassed, they receive a sense of empowerment. Often those very boys they bully are suffering so much, they somehow decide life is not worth living, thus they commit suicide, or pick a way to relieve that feeling of malcontent by shooting and killing their fellow students or friends.

The above paragraph pertains to not having a male figure to pattern themselves after. The feeling of having no male friend that cares for them. Now, Mom’s doing the best she can, but there are somethings Mom can’t fix. A lot of times when a young man realizes his need for a male pattern to follow he may feel guilty for feeling that way because he knows his mom is doing all she can. So, he then suffers from mental anguish toward himself for not being able to help his mother more. Then the vicious cycle starts all over again and leads to despair.

As I said in the beginning, I certainly am no authority on this subject matter. But, I have raised sons. I do know their need for male leadership. I do know Mom can’t do it all by herself.

I think sometimes, perhaps that’s why God portrays himself as mankind’s father. He is our provider, our leader, our pattern. We, as his children are to follow Him. He gives the fathers the goal to strive for. Husbands, love your wives as yourself, etc.

That about concludes my sermonette of the day. I had never thought about there being a “A Boy Crisis, ” before. Perhaps you haven’t either. Now, I will be more aware, and thankful for men that step in, and take on, the role of a father when they don’t have to. I’m thankful for Grandfathers that step in and take on the role of a male pattern for their grandsons to follow. I’m thankful for uncles and cousins and friends, who are willing to help young boys become young men who accept responsibility.

I pray, I have open eyes to see a need when it arises and if I can help in some way, have the courage to do so.

Thank your organizations like “Big Brother,” that dedicate time and energy encouraging young boys. Thank your FFA clubs across America, Boy Scots, and church youth groups and many other affiliations for young boys. Let us all help them when we can and encourage every young man you meet to be all he can be in this great nation we know as America.

In turn, let us stop evil when we see it. Let us be all that we can be, in helping our fellow man.

He is Risen, Indeed

Now, as then, the tomb is empty.

No body to be found.

Though crucified and beaten

They didn’t lay Him in the ground.

Instead a friend with money

Said, “Use the tomb I own.”

Lay my Savior in it

For my sins I do atone.”

His bloody body they quickly cleaned,

attending to their task,

For Friday’s sundown was approaching,

Coming way too fast

Roman soldiers rolled the stone in place,

Sealing off the tomb.

Jesus’s weary follower’s set their paths

Toward a lonely simple room.

They wept and cried and wondered

How this came to ever be,

That the One they loved so dearly,

Was hung upon a tree.

They remembered His words of wisdom

“Saying in three days I will arise.”

But, they didn’t catch His meaning

Their doubts are no surprise.

Sunday morning came so quietly,

the Women left the lonely room.

Their shock upon arrival was to see

The empty tomb.

Angels smiled and softly asked them

“Why seek the living among the dead?”

Your Savior’s tomb is empty,

He’s risen, like he said.”

Then they remember He had told them,

“In three days I will arise.”

They ran to tell the others

They knew they’d be surprised.

Today we are blessed to know

this story to be true,

Because His tomb’s still empty,

And He waits for me and you.