Is Paris burning?

10 Saturday Oct 2026

Posted by in Immigration, ISIS, politics, Uncategorized

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The question was asked by Adolph Hitler in August of 1944 after ordering his military governor/general Dietrich von Choltitz to destroy the City of Lights rather than have it fall into the hands of General George Patton’s Third Army, just miles away from liberating the heart and soul of France.

Is Paris burning? Such was the title of my essay posted on November 14, 2015. Is Paris burning? I asked. I was referring to a fiery attack the previous evening outside the national stadium by three suicide bombers during an international football match. Another group of attackers simultaneously fired on crowded cafés and restaurants downtown, with one of them detonating a bomb, killing himself in the process. They weren’t done. A third group carried out a mass shooting and took hostages at a concert venue attended by 1,500 people in a historic theatre. It was Friday the 13th, an unlucky day for the 130 who perished, and the over 400 who were wounded. ISIS proudly took credit, saying that it was retaliation for French airstrikes on Islamic State targets in Syria and Iraq.

I felt that Paris, and France and Europe and indeed all of western civilization were once again in the crosshairs of madness. I saw Jihad as a disease in its early stages of metastasizing from the traditional confines of the Middle East and now headed to a town near you and me. Note that this was my observation 11 years ago.

The Ottoman Empire with Islam as the official and only religion made its bloody mark on the West from the mid-thirteenth century until World War I. The conquering Turks absorbed, adapted and modified the economics and sociologies of the lands they occupied and the cultures of the peoples they dominated. Yes, the corollary effects on literature, architecture, language and art can still be seen today from Spain to Constantinople. And yes, to some degree there was an aspect of genteel sophistication to the ways of the Sultan that may have mitigated their prejudicial brutality against Christians and Jews.

Over centuries they have never abandoned their theocratically driven objective: to erase and replace our history and Christianity with a worldwide Islamic Caliphate, one that excludes everything that we love and hold dear: our faith, our families, our freedom. Terrorist acts show the vividly true side of modern radical Islam and its agenda. What is it that we don’t understand about “Death to Infidels”?

The Eiffel Tower went dark that night, maybe saving it from being an easy target for other radicals, or maybe just to show that the joie de vivre that made Paris the exciting, romantic magnet for centuries was severely wounded.

I closed my commentary with this: Perhaps we need to acknowledge our fraternité with the shocked and mourning citizens of our oldest ally, France. Maybe now more than ever we all need to recognize and say “Je suis Paris.” I am Paris.

So, almost 11 years later, where are we, mes amis?

 Just days ago, on October 7, the FBI thwarted a planned mass shooting plot targeting the Mall of America, when they arrested Sheikhdoon Abdullahi Mohamud, an 18-year-old Minnesota man who pledged allegiance, again, to ISIS and intended to murder innocent shoppers. The fanaticism continues.

Today Paris is burning. The original protests which began two weeks ago have now devolved into uncontrolled rioting. The BBC reports that it’s all driven by anger over a decades-long teacher staffing shortage, overcrowded classrooms, and neglected school buildings. Well, I don’t hear the crowd shouting “Pour de meilleures ecoles!” (For better schools). They’re waving Palestinian flags and yelling “Allahu akbar.”

What we are witnessing on the newscasts now is an example of the inarguable Biblical principle of sowing and reaping. What would a government, a society, a culture expect to grow and flourish as a result of uncontrolled immigrants flooding into your borderless country, never to assimilate but only dedicated to the destruction of your way of life?

This type of normalized civil unrest is an engraved invitation to irrational, self-driven extremists to hijack a noble idea or a movement in order to piece together a kind of Frankensteinian Monster, animated by their bloodthirsty ambition to conquer all who stand, sit or sleep in their way. They have seized a Sol Alinsky Rules for Radicals playbook premise: Never let a good crisis go to waste. This is no ordinary posters-and-marches-in-the-streets form of civil disobedience. It is a barbarian conquest.

So how do we respond to these foreshadowing events in France? It’s not like the Nazi threat of World War II, “way over there” across the Atlantic. There is no ocean that can isolate America from radical Islam, whose stated objective is to obliterate Western civilization.

If you ever took a typing class in high school, you would have practiced with the phrase “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.” Now is the time, more so than ever, to pick up our torches and pitchforks and chase the Monster out of our village, the entire Western Hemisphere. Interpret that however you want.

America, do you have memory loss issues?

16 Wednesday Sep 2026

Posted by in 9/11, rescue, terrorism, Uncategorized

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After a 13-day siege, on March 6, 1836, Mexican troops led by General Antonio López de Santa Anna laid siege to and overran the Alamo fortress at Mission San Antonio de Valero, killing all the Texan defenders inside, including Davey Crockett. Sam Huston’s army used the battle cry “Remember the Alamo” weeks later at the battle of San Jacinto where they defeated Santa Anna and won Texas’ independence. Too bad we don’t teach History in school anymore, or is that event to politically volatile?

It’s been almost a week since the 25th Anniversary Remembrance of the 9-11 attacks on our country. For 24 hours, social media and TV special programming replayed scenes that to most of us over age 30 actually watched live as it happened. In addition to the videos and eye-witness accounts of that day’s horrific events, I frequently saw and heard the expression “Never Forget,” and “We Remember.”

By now, most folks have either shrugged it off or have mentally and emotionally filed it away, back into a dark place until next year’s anniversary. Personally, I’ve been wondering if anyone will remember.

I’ll tell you who will: Survivors, those fortunate folks who made it down, out and away, baptized in flame and ash. And families and friends of the First Responders who perished. They gave their last full measure of duty, for strangers. What a parable for Who is My Neighbor.

It’s easy to move on from what was seen on TV or cell phone screens last week – a kind of remote viewing of imagery that can be easily shut off in favor of something much less psychologically unsettling. But when one comprehends what happened in terms of the individual lives that were lost – someone’s mom or dad, or spouse, or long-time associate and friend – a deep sense of shock and anguish forms feelings that are never too soon forgotten.

In the two towers, people were sitting at their computers, enjoying that first cup of coffee, maybe chatting about last night’s Netflix movie they’d seen. Outside those windows, it was a crisp, blue-sky Fall day about to unfold, like any other work day, until those planes appeared, nose first, full of jet fuel and people gripping their seatbelts, praying, unaware that they were not just feet above the Manhattan skyline, but only heartbeats away from concrete and steel.

In a matter of seconds, some people were no longer people. They were vaporized. Approximately 1100 victims. No body to recover, to send to the morgue. Nothing to return home for the family to bury, not even a fingernail.

Melissa Cándida Doi, a 32-year-old senior manager at IQ Financial Systems, was trapped on the 83rd floor of the South Tower after United Airlines Flight 175 struck the building. She dialed 9-1-1 at 9:32 AM. Speaking with the dispatcher, she pleaded for help. “It’s so hot. Please. There is so much smoke, I can’t breathe. Please! The floor is so hot. I’m think I’m going to die.” The operator kept saying “Stay calm, dear, stay calm. Everything’s going to be okay.” Then, after 24 agonizing minutes, just a humming noise on the line, shortly before the building collapsed.

Choosing air over fire, there were those who became known not by face or by name but simply as “The Jumpers.” The images of falling people were so disturbing that after several dozen were seen by millions of viewers, the live TV broadcasts stopped showing any more. There may have been over 200 who took the ten second free fall to escape the hellfire burning at their backs. Videos show first responders at Ground Zero visibly shaken as they heard the loud thumps hitting outside the lobby like huge watermelons exploding.

FDNY Chaplain Mychal Judge raced to the twin towers from his midtown Engine Company One/ Ladder Company 24. As the chaos unfolded, he prayed for the people trapped, for the rescuers and for humanity at the North Tower command center when the South Tower collapsed. Struck by falling debris, he was fatally injured. Dare we think that God took out His own man, along with the other 2753 souls at the Trade Center location? Or did the hijackers just have a really lucky day flying jet airplanes?

Even tragedy can have irony. Like the hundreds of business papers floating down and around the towers, like doves, released from the traps of death. Someone’s annuities statement. An email print-out. A memo about next week’s meeting. Page seven of an electrician in Muncie, Indiana’s life insurance policy. It reminds me of reading Ecclesiastes, how the Preacher laments that “all is vanity, and chasing after the wind,” like those once important papers. The Hebrew word we translate as “vanity” is hevel, which means “vapor” or “smoke,” affirming the reality that life is temporary, fleeting and fragile rather than worthless – a perspective mortally proven on 9-11.

Years ago, I watched an interview with a civilian who was working in the Pentagon when struck that morning. Inferno. The word is inadequate. He saw things that no human should see. People running, screaming down hallways, through roaring flames, their clothing and hair scorched off, white men and women turned black. He tried to help someone up from the floor, but their arm came off at the shoulder.

It’s truly amazing what a couple religious zealots with box cutters can do — to thousands of lives and to a country’s future.

“Remember the Maine!” was a famous rallying cry arising from the sinking of the USS Maine battleship, which exploded in Havana Harbor, Cuba, on February 15, 1898, killing over 260 crew members. That was 128 years ago. We’ve forgotten. I’ll bet some newer generations couldn’t point to the state of Maine on a map no less know about what caused the United States to go to war with Spain as a result of the attack.

Time moves on, we move on, from one triumph or tragedy to another. These few scenarios I have presented here are why I won’t forget about that dreadful date on every year’s calendar. I don’t want to forget

Lest we forget . . .

14 Tuesday Apr 2026

Posted by in Auschwitz, Holocaust, Life and death, poem, Uncategorized

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Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. I wrote the following a while back but chose to post it today.


Vanishing Point

I wonder how many times I have looked at that photo.
Iconic, in black and white forever, the parallel rails disappearing into a geometric
vanishing point through the little entrance tunnel, under the cupola,
(such a fancy name for the architecture of a Death Camp)
the giant armlike extensions of the building
as if welcoming, no embracing, countless boxcars stuffed with useless old men, frail women, gypsies and homos, young mothers clutching tight to children and a piece of luggage.
What did they think? Oh, we will work at the camp, and be fed and sleep in warm beds.

Further in, the gate proclaims
“Arbeit macht frei.”
Work makes you free.
Such a noble German proverb.
It should have said, like Dante’s gates to Hell,
“Abandon hope all ye who enter.”
The only way to freedom was up the chimneys.
Another vanishing point.

A Tale of Two Gardens

04 Saturday Apr 2026

Posted by in crucifixion, Easter, Good Friday, Jesus Christ, Prophecy, religion, resurrection, Uncategorized

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It all started in a garden, the final step in the grand genesis of life.  It was called Eden, a name closely related to an Aramaic root word meaning fruitful. God formed a man from the dust of the earth, literally out of the same elements composing the cosmos. He placed him in the garden, “to work it, and take care of it.” Adam had but one rule to follow, and he failed. He and Eve, under the newfound weight of shame and guilt, hid from God and were forced to leave, to make their own way in a land of sin and death. Such is the bitter fruit of disobedience, inherited by everyone who would come afterwards. But there was a hint of an eventual deliverance of their offspring from the curse of a life of painful toil, of thorns and thistles, and a hopeless return to the dust of the earth.

After the Passover meal with his disciples, Jesus made his way with three of them to the Mount of Olives, to a garden known as Gethsemane. The name is actually two Hebrew words used to describe a place where olives are crushed under pressure into oil. He prayed alone, asking the Father if there was any possible way to achieve the redemption of all mankind other than the cross. He knew the answer. He obeyed.

And so the prophesy of Isaiah 53:5 was realized: But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed. With his last breath, Jesus was the last Adam, representing the last in a long lineage of rebellion to the Creator. Resurrected, He is the second man, the firstborn of generations reconciled to God.

On the first day of the week, after Jesus had been buried, the disciples discovered His empty tomb. As she sat nearby, Mary Magdalen mistook the sudden appearance of the risen Jesus as . . . the gardener. What a beautifully rich metaphor! And so He is indeed, the One charged with bringing the chaos of ruined creation into a new order, into its originally intended fruitfulness, into a new heaven and earth. Finally, the mysterious parables about sowing seeds, good soil, the wheat and the weeds, pruning and the vine and the branches all make perfect sense!

Remembrandt’s version of John 20:15

Have we been misled by the Melting Pot Myth?

11 Wednesday Feb 2026

Posted by in Immigration, labels, Uncategorized

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Watchers and non-watchers all seem to have an opinion about the Super Bowl LX halftime show. In the very center of what historically has been an evening to celebrate the apex of America’s sports culture, it was not American at all.

I’m not referring to any moral issues concerning the lead performer. With the current state of the music and entertainment industry, what else would you expect? My generation endured Prince (or The Artist Formerly Known As), and Boy George without the loss of any degree of righteous innocence. Decades before, Elvis shocked our parents with his on-stage pelvic gyrations, yet we survived.

I refer instead to the devolving condition of western Judeo-Christian society, particularly in this our almost 250-year-old republic.

CNN reported in a bold headline: “Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime performance redefined what it means to be an American patriot.” Yeah, didn’t he? TIME Magazine’s website reported “Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl Halftime Show Was an Exuberant Act of Resistance.” Resistance to what exactly? An unfounded mentality of colonialization? Racist immigration policies? Xenophobia?

The event just characterized is not the topic for this post. It’s an example — a case in point — for what I believe is an accelerating effort to de-Americanize America.

“E pluribus unum” is Latin for “Out of many, one.” You must have seen it on our currency. The phrase was adopted by the Continental Congress as part of the Great Seal of the United States in 1782. It was meant to affirm the union of thirteen colonies into one nation, and was considered the de facto motto of the United States until 1956 when it was replaced by “In God We Trust.” Isn’t that an irony?

The Founders envisioned “one nation, under God, indivisible.” They saw “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” as a personal invitation to anyone from anywhere to become and enjoy what this unique political experiment outlined in the Constitution.

Citizenship was an engagement, and a responsibility, not a right, as this anonymous poem titled “A Nation of Many” describes:

Not just a paper, a stamp, or seal,
But a commitment that the heart must feel.
A tapestry woven of diverse threads,
Where freedom lives in hearts and heads. 

The key word here is “tapestry.” It’s not a patchwork crazy quilt of unmatched patterns and irregularly shaped fabric scraps. It is rather a work of hand-woven textile art, with multi-colored threads forming a dramatic expression of life. Metaphorically, it signifies interconnectedness, where individual elements, even seemingly insignificant ones, contribute to a larger, meaningful product.

Such is the thinking behind the phrase “The Melting Pot” to describe the effects of the earliest American immigration system. The concept originates from the proposition that ideally, when cultural differences meld together, they become like metals being melted down into single, stronger alloy. As foreigners came from all over the world, they brought pieces of their own culture with them. Over time, their music, food, fashion, religion, and much more, slowly became part of American culture. For example, pizza came from Italy, but it’s hard to think of anything more American than a slice of New York style pizza. Rather than embracing multiculturalism, different cultures were expected to assimilate into what would develop into a distinctive American creation.

Soon after my relatives came from Romania in the early 1900s, they packed away their native outfits into trunks and stored them away in the attic. They learned the language, even though Romanian was spoken in the home. Their children were American, not Romanian-American. They lived in a neighborhood with and worked alongside Jews, Greeks, Italians, and Eastern Europeans of all sorts. They referred to their place of origin as “The Old Country.” Get it? The OLD country. Social analysts refer to such a development as “a harmonious, hybridized society known as cultural amalgamation.” The result is a homogenous culture that functions as one, like “out of many.”

I will admit however, that there were sections of my city that became naturally segregated ethnic pockets, like Little Italy, Little Bohemia, even Dark Town.

Unrestricted immigration without the assimilation I describe will end what we know as the America of baseball, mom and apple pie without firing a single shot. 

The Super Bowl Sideshow was a carnival of Puerto Rican bravado. The music and lyrics were Spanish. It was an in-your-face celebration of Latino pride. Today, some kids in elementary school identify English as a “second language.” Some folks don’t want to blend in.

Radical Islam has not come here to benefit from “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” They are here to take over. What don’t we understand about “Death to America”? It’s not just a casual slogan. It is a brazenly proclaimed, ongoing goal to caliphate the world of “infidels,”

Or, maybe we never actually achieved the “Melting Pot” goal. Maybe folks want to remain tribal, like the Pennsylvania Dutch, the Irish of Boston, the Amish colonies, China Town, even the Yankees and Confederates.

Here’s a more sinister angle: Maybe it’s a deliberate strategy of the globalist elites, using the old “Divide and Conquer” method, defined as “the practice of creating divisions between opponents to prevent them from uniting against a common foe, allowing the one who divides to gain or maintain political control.” Hmm.

No matter what direction things take going forward, it is not unrealistic to foresee that the United States, like all previous empires, will end up someday, somehow, in the dust pan of history. There is only one kingdom that endures forever, the Kingdom of Heaven, with a citizenry of all who claim Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.

“Then the seventh angel sounded: And there were loud voices in heaven, saying, ‘The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever!’” (Rev. 11:15) The question to consider is – whether you have melted into the pot or not, regardless of your ethnicity, race, color, heritage, politics, or status – will you be there?

Just another Christmas?

25 Thursday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christmas, Christmas Day, Holidays, Jesus Christ, Uncategorized

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As Christians, if we stand back and take a really serious look at what we celebrate today — beyond the manger scenes, the gift shopping and giving, the lights and decorations, beyond Jingle Bells and Good Will to Men — we are recalling an almost incomprehensible event, the birth of Jesus Christ.

Long before Eden was built and then ruined, there was a plan. “He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world” (Eph. 1:4). The creator and sustainer of the universe left heaven and took on flesh to repair the breach between God and man. The Bible tells of it. Theologians struggle to explain it. Many refuse to consider it.

Maybe what we strive to understand actually isn’t complex at all. Maybe the gospel, the good news, is simple – even for shepherd boys to embrace. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). Thus is declared the pivotal event in all of history, proclaiming hope and salvation for all who would believe, like a child.

Perhaps a tiny glimmer of what happened in that stable so long ago can be revealed in seeking hearts by the Holy Spirit during a moving candle lit Christmas Eve service. Or by the kind words expressed in a Hallmark card. Or by hearing a song like “Silent Night” in a way you’ve never heard before.

My hope is that this will not be just another Christmas, but that we can all experience that “pivotal event” in our lives, one that launches a trajectory into 2026 to find everything we need in Emmanuel, God with us.

Memento mori, Episode 5

23 Tuesday Dec 2025

Posted by in Life and death, religion, suffering, Uncategorized

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This is the final installment of my “Memento mori” (Remember you will die) series of real-life scenarios to remind us of the brevity of our lives, and to be prepared for its inevitable, often seemingly premature, end. More details about my perspective and intentions can be found when you scroll back to the August 26th, 2025 initial post. This last one is personal.

Last week we buried my brother. My one and only brother. My only sibling.

It was unexpected. He entered Methodist Hospital on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving for a battery of tests to identify why he had been experiencing some unusual symptoms his Primary couldn’t diagnose. By Friday he was in the ICU on a respirator. Early Saturday morning, with his immediate family present by his bedside, he died. He was barely 68.

When many of our family and friends heard the news, the common response was “What!” The shock, the disbelief went on for days as grief took over in the empty spots of the lives and hearts of those who knew him. How could this happen?

At the wake, his widow and two adult children testified to his many virtues as a husband and a dad, describing a man of character and compassion, consistently serving others.

I had the last words that evening, looking out on a crowded room of somber faced mourners, longing for some semblance of comfort. I prayed ahead of time that I could get through my eulogy without choaking up. With one trembling hand holding the pages and the other gripping the side of the podium, my voice broke the heavy aura of sadness.

I said, “I don’t want to be here, doing this. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

After talking about how well he lived and lamenting his sudden passing, I asked “But what does God have to say about such a thing, the unexpected tragedy, the terminal cancer diagnosis, the fatal accident, the death too soon?” I quoted several Bible verses that address this issue of man’s frailty and his inevitable end, including James 4:14, which states quite bluntly “. . . our life is just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.” My brother’s life vanished away, leaving not even the trace of a shadow.

Is there a lesson here, I asked? If there is, it’s this: We should never assume that someone we love, or care about, will be here tomorrow. Life is so fragile, life is fleeting.

In closing, I ended with this recollection: When a young 46-year-old John F. Kennedy passed — a tragic death too soon – this lyric from an old Irish ballad was quoted and later a book written titled: Johnny, we hardly knew ye. In other words, even at age 46, it wasn’t enough. Not enough days. Not enough minutes.

And then I spoke directly to my brother. “Nick, we didn’t have enough time with you. You slipped away too quickly. The sand in your life’s hourglass rushed through to the bottom and we couldn’t see it until the final grain fell with a terrible thud, like a boulder. So we’ll have to make up for it — in heaven.” Then I sat down, weeping.

Dear reader, will you learn from my admonitions, about the end of your days? How will you deal with this statement from Ecclesiastes, where the wise Preacher says, “The same destiny ultimately awaits everyone, whether righteous or wicked, good or bad . . .  religious or irreligious.”

The post-mortem is not the end. The grave is not the end. The afterlife is exactly that. But until then, today, will you Memento mori?

Have you ever lost your car in a parking lot?

10 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by in humor in everyday life, Uncategorized

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I decided to post something a bit more lighthearted than several of my recent somber entries. As part of my Memoir prompts, I was asked to write about my experience with the above titled subject.

Yes, indeed. It’s quite embarrassing. May even happen on a weekly basis, but only if I’m by myself. I try to park by a light pole or a cart corral so it’s easier to remember the spot. It’s difficult to not make it obvious when I’m prowling around row after row of cars at HyVee with a loaded shopping cart. Everyone else knows what the problem is. How can one act nonchalant? Oh, just getting my steps in for the day.

The worst case happened to me in the past when I had what we satirically called “The Beater.” It was a gray, very indistinct, older model Nissan Sentra. On at least two occasions I actually got in the wrong unlocked car. Talk about a wake-up. I had sat down and closed the door. But in about a second I came to realize, “Oh my. This doesn’t seem familiar at all. These are not my things on the passenger seat and my seat is too low and my key won’t work.” The awkward part is getting out before the real owner shows up.

Strange things can happen in parking lots. Just yesterday I stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts Shop. As I opened my door to get out, from the corner of my eye I saw a Black man open the passenger side back door, ducking his head trying to enter. He said “Hey. How’s it goin’?” Quite surprised in cautious confusion I stuttered “Uh, what?” He asked “So are you the Uber driver?”

Still stunned (by racial profiling, not knowing if I was being mugged or car jacked) I told him no, NO! He said, “Sorry, my bad,” closed the door and walked away. I shrugged it off for the honest mistake that it was and went in to get my donuts. Kinda makes me wonder, as I get older, what could be next?

Apparently, we have put down the WELCOME mat for our worst fears

06 Thursday Nov 2025

Posted by in Communism, Uncategorized, war

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The so called “Red Scare” during the Cold War of the 1950s was a period of intense anti-communist paranoia in the United States, fueled by the fear that it would spread from the Soviet Union and infiltrate American society. By the time of President John F. Kennedy’s accession to office in1961, the suspicions had morphed into potential threats growing in Southeast Asia.

As a precaution, Kennedy sent military “advisors” to South Vietnam, and approved a CIA executed coup d’état of the government just weeks before his assassination in November of 1963.

I was in my early 20s during the progression of what became the actual Vietnam War. It was my “coming of age” season, so to speak. I was drafted in 1969, but because of a 4-F classification from the U.S. Selective Service System, I never served. But tragically I personally knew several young men who went into the jungles of hell and came home in body bags.

One such valiant warrior was Phillip “Greg” Wigton. I met him during a difficult time in my life, after abruptly leaving the seminary and starting classes at Creighton University. He was a friend, always smiling and upbeat, and kind. He was 22 when he fell in battle as a US Marine Corps Lance Corporal at Quang Tri. I think about him from time to time and can’t wait to hug him in heaven.

Sometimes I think I’d like to drag those politicians responsible for that horror out of their graves – like President Lyndon B. Johnson, Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara and the Joint Chiefs of Staff – and force them to view the bodies or body parts of the over 58,000 members of the armed services who died or were missing as a result of one of history’s most unnecessary wars.

While we’re at it, let’s have them look at each and every one of the innocent women and children we burned to death with napalm. Have you seen the 1972 photo officially titled “The Terror of War” that shocked the world? It captures the moment when 9-year-old Phan Thi Kim Phuc fled naked, her arms outstretched, after South Vietnamese bomber planes mistakenly targeted her village. Her clothes were burned off.

Kennedy’s raison d’être (the French were in control of the country until 1954) for the escalation of hostilities against the Viet Cong was in part from Cold War-era fears about the “domino theory.” If communism took hold in Vietnam, it could topple “democracies” throughout the whole of Southeast Asia, it was thought. After all the bloodshed on both sides, in 1975 Saigon fell anyway.

Last helicopter out of Saigon, April 29, 1975

Now it has come overtly to our own soil. Today we have a Communist mayor-elect (voted in by 51% of the people) in New York City. How ironic.

Because Zorhan Mamdani is not a natural-born citizen, per Article II, Section 1 of the US Constitution, he cannot qualify as a candidate for President of the United States. Too bad. I think he would give pretty boy Gavin Newsom and socially and politically retarded ex-VP Harris a run for their money, literally.


For more of my thoughts, read my February 10, 2015 post, War. What is it good for?

Memento mori, Episode 4

25 Saturday Oct 2025

Posted by in Life and death, religion, Uncategorized

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This is the fourth installment of my “Remember you will die” series of real-life scenarios to remind us of the brevity of our lives, and to be prepared for its inevitable, often seemingly premature, end. More details about my perspective and intentions can be found on the August 26th post.

Besides the unusual circumstances of the event, what makes this tragedy unique is the victim’s mother’s response. It is a sad story, nonetheless, about how unexpected circumstances like weather and a train can in an instant alter the lives of so many people.

NEWS ITEM: It was on the night of January 14, 2015, when a prison transport vehicle carrying 15 men skidded off a Texas highway overpass and plunged into the path of a moving Union Pacific freight train. After the collision, the bus was dragged for about 200 yards along the tracks, leaving it a crumpled mass alongside the tracks before coming to a stop near Penwell, just west of Odessa. The prisoners did not have seat belts and were handcuffed together in pairs, officials said. Some of them were ejected from the bus after it struck the train.

Two long-time veteran prison department officers and eight inmates died from injuries suffered in the accident. “It’s as bad as you can imagine,” Odessa Fire and Rescue Battalion Chief Kavin Tinney remarked. “In 32 years, it’s as bad as anything I’ve seen.” Officials later concluded that icy roads were to blame for the crash.

One of the victims, 29-year-old inmate Tyler Townsend had called his mother in Benbrook the night before. “I said, ‘Let’s pray for a safe journey. Call me Sunday night,’” Petra Townsend recalled when interviewed. “He said, ‘OK.’”  “I said, ‘I love you.’ He told me he loved me too, and that was it.”

She admitted that her son chose his own journey outside of the law early on, using drugs as a teenager. He went to prison twice before, for drugs and other crimes, including car theft, but managed to graduate from an alternative school, and even tried college. “I always believed he was going to change that path,” his mother told reporters. She felt that Tyler believed it, too. Sentenced to three years, Tyler had been denied an early release on Dec. 28, just a couple weeks before the accident.

A deeply religious woman, Mrs. Townsend said her son had recently been baptized in prison. She said her faith does not have room for laying blame for her son’s death. “That’s part of a plan we can’t understand. This is God’s business. This is God,” she repeated. “No, no, no. Don’t question.”

I am fairly certain that none of the men involved in this tragedy woke up that morning and expected to end up later that day in a morgue. Talk about bad timing – the weather, an icy overpass, the train schedule. But when it comes to death, what would be good timing? 

“The same destiny ultimately awaits everyone, whether righteous or wicked, good or bad” (Eccl. 9:2).