John Hancock
1st Signer of the Declaration of Independence
“Resistance to tyranny becomes the Christian and social duty of each individual. … Continue steadfast and, with a proper sense of your dependence on God, nobly defend those rights which heaven gave, and no man ought to take from us.”
John Adams
2nd U.S. President and Signer of the Declaration of Independence
“Suppose a nation in some distant Region should take the Bible for their only law Book, and every member should regulate his conduct by the precepts there exhibited! Every member would be obliged in conscience, to temperance, frugality, and industry; to justice, kindness, and charity towards his fellow men; and to piety, love, and reverence toward Almighty God … What a Eutopia, what a Paradise would this region be.”
Benjamin Franklin
Signer of the Declaration of Independence and Unites States Constitution
“Here is my Creed. I believe in one God, the Creator of the Universe. That He governs it by His Providence. That He ought to be worshipped.
That the most acceptable service we render to him is in doing good to his other children. That the soul of man is immortal, and will be treated with justice in another life respecting its conduct in this. These I take to be the fundamental points in all sound religion, and I regard them as you do in whatever sect I meet with them.
As to Jesus of Nazareth, my opinion of whom you particularly desire, I think the system of morals and his religion, as he left them to us, is the best the world ever saw, or is likely to see;
But I apprehend it has received various corrupting changes, and I have, with most of the present dissenters in England, some doubts as to his divinity; though it is a question I do not dogmatize upon, having never studied it, and think it needless to busy myself with it now, when I expect soon an opportunity of knowing the truth with less trouble. I see no harm, however, in its being believed, if that belief has the good consequence, as probably it has, of making his doctrines more respected and more observed; especially as I do not perceive, that the Supreme takes it amiss, by distinguishing the unbelievers in his government of the world with any peculiar marks of his displeasure.”
Ever feel like the elephant in the room? I do. At least sometimes. It is tough to feel different and have a voice at the same time.
But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy – 1 Peter 2:9-10
I struggle with trying to stay clear of the mold. Often times I wonder if it’s intentional or just part of my DNA. Forever it has been the latter, at least from my point of view.
There was a time when the elephant was bigger, and there was a time when the elephant was noisier and more self motivated. Today, the elephant is more calm and ready to take on more challenges with less need to trumpet. Not that trumpeting is bad, but it can be noisy and irritating.
So, where is this going? Belonging to something good, something right, something holy, something pure. That has always been a desire of my heart but I always believed that I would simply be the guy who didn’t belong. For many years I would struggle with why I never fit in. Being the one labeled the squeaky wheel, the trouble maker, etc. was not a label I enjoyed, but had accepted as something I must be destined to be because no matter where I found myself, that was the result over time.
While I rarely was concerned about what other people think of me, I was genuinely concerned with how to correct whatever wrongs I found in any situation. That need has been calmed, as I have become more in tune with what God wants for me in my life. It is still a struggle to try to figure it all out, but I have become more at peace and more accepting of the fact that I cannot in my own strength determine everything I am supposed to do, be or become.
What I can be thankful for is the relationships I have been blessed with, the ability to finally feel like a piece of a larger puzzle. There is no clear cut black and white answers, but there is a peace that I have never experienced before. Again today I had the opportunity to reflect and discuss these things in depth. God has brought me to a place where I can belong, where I feel like I can fit in. My voice is no longer silenced but rather requested from time to time. My opinions and thoughts are listened to rather than feared or rejected, and my walk with the Lord has been such a sweet experience as I have stepped out in faith to do what he has asked me to do, and through that he has honored, blessed, and lifted me up.
Forever I will be thankful for this season, this time of change and these opportunities to live and work in “the rest” of God. He wants us to belong, and he longs for us to believe…
As a journalist, I decided to go to the animal shelter, and interview some of the “inmates”. I wanted to know what it was like in there from their perspective.
I entered the building, and one of the workers accompanied me to the holding area. This is where dogs are kept before they are allowed up for adoption. IF they are allowed up for adoption. If the dogs are found to be aggressive in any way, euthanasia is employed. Fortunately, if “fortunately” is the word to be used here. In this establishment, and they use lethal injection, not a gas chamber.
The shelter worker led me past a big steel door that says “Employees Only”. “What is in there?” I asked. From the look he gave me, I knew that this is where dogs go in, and never return.
We moved on to a row of kennels. The dogs were barking loudly, there was the acrid smell of urine and feces, and a feeling of despair seemed to permeate the room.
“Go ahead,” the worker said. “They’re all yours.”
Pete Pitbull
I looked into the first kennel, and saw only the back of a medium sized dog who was curled up in the corner of his kennel, shivering. He was mostly white, with some black spots. “Hello?” I said. “May I come in?” He lifted his head, as though it weighed more than he could bear. When he looked at me, I could see he was a Pitbull. His eyes were gentle, but filled with grief.
“Enter,” was all he said.
I stepped in, closing the gate behind me. He put his head back down, facing away from me. I crouched down a few feet away.
“My name is Pete. Petey my Master called me,” he said, still not looking at me.
“Why are you here Pete?” I asked.
“I am here because Master cannot afford to move. I am here because someone with power said I am vicious, and a killer. Someone who never met me. Master took me for a walk one day, and some lady started to scream when she saw me. I got frightened, and barked at her. The dog police came, and they took me away. I have been with Master for 10 years. The last time I saw him, he just held me and cried. He kept telling me he was sorry. I worry for him. Whatever will he do without me?” Pete shivered even more.
A tear slid down my face. I am supposed to remain objective, but this was wrong. So wrong.
“Thank you Pete.” I said. He said nothing as I got up and left his kennel.
Popper – Border Collie
The kennel next to Pete’s held a very young looking dog. Pure Border Collie by my guess. He stood on his hind legs, looking at me through the gate.
“Hello. My name’s Popper. He tilted his head. “Are you here to take me home?”
“No, I’m sorry,” I replied. “But I would like to talk with you.”
“Sure. What would you like to talk about?”
“Popper, how did you come to be in this place?” I asked.
Popper dropped down from the gate, with a perplexed look on his face. He walked to the back of the kennel, then back to the front. I noticed he had one blue eye, and one brown. He was quite beautiful. His black and white coat was shiny and thick.
“I am not certain WHY I am here. I think maybe my family will come back for me. They bought me when I was only 6 weeks old. I remember they said how smart Border Collies are, and how it would be so easy to train me. They were very excited at first. The little ones played with me all the time. But the trouble with little Masters is, they refuse to stay in a group. I constantly had to nip their heels to keep them together.” He looked confused. “Why won’t they stay in a group?” he sighed. “So I did what I thought I should do. I am not quite sure why the little ones screamed when I did my job, but they did, and the Masters got very angry at me. They also got angry when I had to relieve myself, and did so in the house. I am not sure where they expected me to go. All they said was that I was the smartest breed in the world, and I should just KNOW better. Then they left me in the yard for a month or so. I got bored a lot, and I dug holes in the grass. The next thing I knew, the Masters brought me here.”
Popper jumped back up on the gate, his white paws protruding through the links. He looked at me with his lovely eyes, and asked “Will you please let them know I want to come home? Please tell them I promise I will be good?”
“I will Popper,” I said.
Spartan – Rottweiler
My heart was breaking. I was beginning to regret coming here, but their stories had to be told. I moved along. The next dog I saw looked to be easily 100 lbs., a Rottweiler. He was handsome indeed, except for the scars on his face and back. He tilted his head, and looked me right in the eyes.
“Hello. Who are you?” he asked.
“I am a reporter,” I replied. “May I speak with you for a little while?”
“Most certainly. My name is Spartan. You ca n come in, I won’t bite,” he said.
“Thank you Spartan. I will.”
I entered his kennel, reached out and stroked his giant head. He made a loud grumbling noise, and closed his eyes.
“Spartan, why are you here?”
Before he could answer my question, he was suddenly in the grip of a nasty coughing spasm. It sounded painful.
“Please excuse me,” he said when it passed. “Kennel cough. It seems all of us who come in here get it. “Why am I here? Well, about two years ago, I was born in the backyard of some person I can’t even recall. I had 11 brothers and sisters. I recall a day when a big man came and gave that person some money, and took me away from my mother. They had to chain her up, as she was very angry that he took me. They chained her and beat her. I came to know the man by the name of Jim. I overheard him telling his friends that I would grow up to be big and mean like my mother. But as I grew older, all I wanted to do was play and be friends wit h everyone. Jim said I needed to be taught how to be mean, so he chained me up in the yard. No more house for me, he said, I was too spoiled.
When people came by to visit, I was so happy to see them. I wanted them to come and play. But that made Jim angry, so he beat me with sticks and chains. When he came near, I would roll onto my back so he would know I wasn’t a bad dog. That made him beat me more.” Spartan’s eyes clouded with grief. “Then he brought me here.”
I reached out and stroked Spartan’s massive gentle head once more. “I am so sorry Spartan. Some people are just plain evil.” I gave him a kiss and left his kennel.
As I walked away, Spartan called out, “What will happen to me, nice lady?”
I shook my head. “I can’t say Spartan. Maybe someone kind will come and get you. We can only hope.”
Patsy – Jack Russell Terrier
I walked a little further down. I could see a shape moving at the back of the next kennel. “Hello?” I called out. Suddenly the shape lunged at the gate in a fury, barking and gnashing its teeth. I stumbled backwards, and crashed into an adjacent kennel. The other dogs began barking loudly and jumping at their gates.
“Don’t go near her,” a small female voice came from behind me. “She’s mad.”
I gathered myself back together, and saw a little Jack Russell Terrier behind me.
“Thanks for the warning,” I was still trembling. Across the way, the other dog, apparently a Husky and German Shepherd cross, was glaring at me, lips curled back revealing brown stained teeth. Her ribs and hips showed through her dull, matted grey coat. The little dog invited me into her kennel, and I gladly went in.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Patsy.” The little brown and white dog held a paw up to the gate in greeting.
“My owner surrendered me. She said she wanted a cute little dog like the one on the TV show, Frasier. She didn’t bother to look into the type of dog I am.” Patsy heaved a sigh.
“I suppose she expected me to just lie about and only need a short walk each day, just like Eddie , but my energy was so high that I needed to run and play.” She glanced at her surroundings. “Now I am here. I suppose it could be worse. I could be like.her.” Patsy looked towards the still growling dog across the way.
“What happened to make her so vicious?” I asked.
“From what we could gather,” she replied. “she was found tied in a back yard. She only had a three foot chain. Some days there was no water. Rarely was there any food. One day a nice neighbor came by and brought her some meat. By then it was too late. She was already mad. She broke off her chain, and bit the poor man badly. We know she will be going behind the steel door. I am sad to say, I think it will be best. Perhaps then she will know some peace.”
Just then, the door at the end of the building opened, and a woman stepped inside. All the dogs began to bark wildly, then one by one, they went quiet.
I whispered to Patsy, “Who is that? Why have all the dogs gone quiet?”
Patsy breathed deeply through her little nose, and closed her eyes. “SHE is a Rescuer. Can’t you smell it?” she asked.
“Smell what?” I was confused.
“Compassion. Love. Sorrow. It emanates from her pores. She is here for one of us, but nobody knows who just yet.” Patsy looked hopeful.
The Rescuer moved from kennel to kennel, looking at each dog. I sat quietly watching. I could see tears in her eyes as she made eye contact with each one. She stopped at Spartan’s cage and spoke quietly to him.
“No more beatings my man. No more. You are coming with me. From here on in, it’s all going to get better.”
The Rescuer produced a leash, opened the kennel door, and took Spartan away. As he walked beside her, his little stubby tail wagged with delight.
Patsy sighed again. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, and it grieved me. They all had the same look, as they watched The Rescuer depart.
“I am so sorry Patsy,” I said in a whisper. “But you are a little dog, and everyone loves little dogs. I am convinced you will be rescued soon.” Patsy’s brown eyes twinkled at me, a little bit of hope returning.
I had heard and seen enough. I needed to tell people how it was for these unfortunate creatures. They were all here through no fault of their own. I stood to leave. I passed by many other dogs I did not interview, looking at each one, wishing I could take them all home with me and give them the love they deserved. I stood by the door taking one last glance back, when it opened, and one of the pound workers came in. His face was drawn and sad. He walked by without a word, and stopped at Pete’s kennel. I heard him take a deep breath, then he paused, and opened the kennel door.
The words were muffled, but I am sure I heard him say “I’m sorry old boy.”
He came out, with Petey in tow. The old dog’s head hung down in resignation, and they both disappeared behind the big steel door. - Author unknown…
As long as someone doesn’t move my cheese, I think things are going to be good. I have embarked on a journey which I know will be challenging and rewarding.
A group of us are formulating plans and working together to begin a film project. It has long been a dream of mine to produce a full length feature film. I have also felt compelled at different times throughout my life to write a book. I actually started a book once but never finished it. A work of fiction that may or may not have been a good story.
In more recent years I have fallen for the technology and availability of video equipment and the ability to produce video at low cost. That said, I am now working to combine the desire to write a book with the stronger desire to create a film.
The film “Roger” (You can now visit rogerthemovie.com) is about life, love, adolescence, and difficult choices.
As I set out on this journey, I can feel God’s hand in it. It feels like a gentle breeze, blowing a little leaf across the street. As the leaf is willing to take the path directed by the wind, so am I willing and desire to take the path that God wants.
This is not a “Christian” film, but as with anyone who watches it, Christians I hope will come away relating to one or more of the characters. That something within the experience will trigger deeper emotion and connection.
All things are possible, and I believe in what we are doing. It is a daunting task, but with the help of God, some cool special effects and wire, we will be able to rescue the cheese….
A few of us chipped in and purchased this movie. A film about decisions, their effects and the echoes they leave behind. Based on shocking World Net Daily article by Ron Strom, on victims testimonies, and real 911 calls about one of the most controversial subjects of our time.
Looks like an excellent independant film which they say is well acted and professionally produced. “It leaves you breathless” is one of the critic quotes…
Where we live we get to share life by living in and among much diversity. We are close to what some would call good and bad parts of town. We get to see beautifully cared for homes and gardens, side by side with homes that suffer from addictions, neglect and poverty. We don’t see a large homeless population right here, however they are only five minutes away in various downtown locations.
What we do see however, are many meth addicts, prostitutes, dealers, pimps, mentally challenged, sign flying panhandling, and a host of other ethnic, people and cultural diversities.
This morning, as I approached a stop light next to the freeway off ramp, there was a panhandler on the island holding a sign that read “BROKE”…
Walking toward us down the sidewalk, was a woman carrying on her hip a 2-3 year old child. The other arm was carrying a six pack of large 24oz Keystone beer. Now beer first thing in the morning is interesting enough, but the woman was an obvious meth addiction victim. She looked horribly anorexic ( a skeleton in jeans) with a deep sunken face, horrible teeth, sores, hair that had not been washed in days or weeks, and a sadness in her eyes that was as deep as the farthest reaches of the ocean.
As she and the child passed me, they stopped right behind where I was stopped at the traffic light in a small grassy area. She put the child down and reached into the bag. At this point the light was green and I had to leave.
That image has stuck with me and will not go away. The grip of addiction, especially to meth or heroine, is so incredibly strong they say it only takes once. What must that 3 year old see everyday? His mother drunk from her morning six pack, agitated, stressed, and destroying her body with meth mites (meth addicts pick their skin apart trying to remove imaginary bugs), suffering from the neglect of a meth addict home.
Meth children are quickly becoming the number one abuse cases in America. Is this another sign of the end times fever? Another plague, another pharmakai example for end times preachers to proclaim the rapture is coming in 2012? Maybe…
But it is also a sign of our culture, and other developed cultures whose cast offs or forgotten have the opportunity to continuously enjoy the lack of care and concern that is so prevalent in our society.
Oh sure, there are programs, there are ways of getting help, and there are those whose hearts are truly benevolent and who desire nothing more than to serve God by being a light in such dark times. But the reality seems to be that MOST people simply turn a blind eye. They feel powerless to stop or slow the progression of disease such as hopeless addictions, and therefore play house or church and work hard to shield their own families from the realities of the warfare going on right next door.
Imagine if everyone decided to befriend a neighborhood meth girl? What would happen if everyone adopted the Jesus way for a day? A week? A month? What if everyone began to pray and intercede for the lost in the way that Jesus did?
If we as followers of Christ were to yield our hearts to the call that Christ gave, and began to truly model the way he lived, maybe we could slow the progression of killers like meth.
When you see someone with obvious struggles, regardless of the nature of that struggle (prostitution, addiction, disabilities of any sort, isolation and loneliness, on and on) PRAY for them. Pray that God would give you opportunity to help in some way. Pray for the Lord to intervene in their situation, and pray for the children.
Remember, Christ said what you do to the least of these you have done to him. He also said it would be better to tie a rock around your neck and drown yourself than to cause a child to sin…
I would submit that in doing nothing, we are doing the very things Christ was referring to. Those lives endangered by the addictions, young and old, are as precious to God as your own.
Feel free to click on any of the pictures above and reflect on it, and know this,
Ninety percent of meth labs are never found
Children of Meth Users
Children are particularly vulnerable to the health effects associated with meth labs. Children are generally more at risk than adults to environmental hazards because:
they have immature organ systems, faster metabolic rates, and weaker immune systems
they eat more food, drink more fluids and breathe more air per pound of body weight
they are less able to protect themselves
their behaviors (crawling, dirt eating, hand-to-mouth) expose them to more hazards.
Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) data showed that 30% of labs nationwide, and 50% of Minnesota labs had children living in them at the time of seizure. Illegal meth labs pose the greatest danger to children living where drugs are made. Children in meth labs are exposed to the highest levels of chemicals. They are at risk of explosion, fire, chemical burns, and are often neglected and abused by drug-using parents.
Other hazards to children in these chaotic environments may include exposure to weapons, finished drugs and unsanitary conditions. Children in adjacent apartments, and those who live in former lab properties that have not been adequately cleaned are also at risk. Additionally, growing evidence shows risk to fetuses from exposure to ingested drugs and toxic chemicals in the home environment. Studies in Washington, Iowa and California show that childhood exposure to toxic meth lab chemicals can result in damage to kidneys, liver or spleen, and may lead to violent behavior. Absorption of methamphetamine through the skin may cause rapid heart rate, hypertension, seizures, or solvent intoxication. Therefore, children taken from meth lab environments should be evaluated at a hospital or clinic.
Children of meth makers take a hit
The dirty faces and filthy clothes belong to abandoned rag dolls, but the children Danielle Bishop finds living where meth is made cry real tears.
They come from homes where what’s cooking in the kitchen can kill them. Their sippy cups sometimes share a refrigerator shelf with toxic chemicals.
Their tiny bodies reveal what their parents may deny — exposure to methamphetamine often as homemade as mom’s apple pie.
“One kid told me how his dad makes it,” said Bishop, a child crisis detective with the Tulsa Police Department. “He said, ‘He puts the pills in there and shakes it up, and then he …’
“That boy was six years old.”
Law officers won’t breathe the air in these homes, entering only in head-to-toe protective gear. And yet, they find teddy bears and toy cars lying next to dangerous chemicals used to make meth.
Last September, a 7-year-old boy grabbed a Mason jar of what he thought was water from his refrigerator and took a drink. What he drank, police said, was lye intended for the manufacturing of meth.
He lived, but “the kid will never be the same,” said Dr. William Banner, who treated the child and described his esophagus as burned away.
In July, a 2-year-old girl was hospitalized after ingesting an unknown amount of the drug. Law officers who went to her home found glassware, acids and solvents used in meth-making. They also found toys.
But what really worries doctors and authorities is the unknown — the long-term effects on children daily exposed to chemical contamination where they live.
So far this year, 19 of 25 children have tested positive for the drug after being taken from suspected meth labs. Four of the 25 couldn’t be tested, because they were too dehydrated to produce urine.
Their parents may smoke meth, baby bottles may share the dishwasher with meth-making beakers and meth may be made in the kitchen, “where they cook the food,” she said.
Some of the exposed children she has examined show developmental delays, particularly in speech, she said. But it’s hard to know if that is from meth or because of other factors, such as neglect when meth-addicted parents fall into a deep sleep for days.
The legacy of meth’s rapid spread in may prove to be the expense of special education down the line, she said. Studies have found children exposed to cocaine don’t show some delays until they are school age.
“If we don’t intervene when we can, we’re going to have big problems,” Grant warned. “I don’t think we’ve seen the peak effects yet.”
Once treated by police as an afterthought during meth busts, children are now considered potential witnesses and victims.
“We’d release the kids to a relative,” said Cpl. Mike Parsons, “and as soon as the parent would be released from jail, the kids would be stuck right back in that environment.”
When children are found in meth labs, prosecutors can charge the meth makers with child endangerment. Mothers in particular escape the worst punishment, in part because males often take the blame for the meth making so their children won’t be taken away.
“We had one lady say meth made her a better mom because she could stay up with her kid and keep the house clean,” Bishop said. “The house was a mess.”
Filth is common in homes where meth is made.
Parsons shows photo after photo of living rooms that are nothing but mounds of dirty clothes, carpet burned with acid and kitchen countertops overflowing with encrusted dishes and beakers of half-cooked meth.
Toilets often sit full of feces, the plumbing long eroded by the flushing of chemical waste.
And the children are often found dirty, sometimes with no underwear or shoes. They come to Bishop hungry and thirsty. And boys and girls as young as 5 commonly act as caretakers to their little brothers and sisters, a job she suspects they often have in their neglected homes.
“What tells us a lot,” she said, “is when they go to the shelters, they’re happy to go.”
Last year, more than 2,000 children were present during meth lab seizures nationwide, according to the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration. Twenty-two were injured and two killed.
the state of existing in space before the eye: The elevations look all right, but the building’s composition is a failure in perspective.
5.
the state of one’s ideas, the facts known to one, etc., in having a meaningful interrelationship: You have to live here a few years to see local conditions in perspective.
6.
the faculty of seeing all the relevant data in a meaningful relationship: Your data is admirably detailed but it lacks perspective.
7.
a mental view or prospect: the dismal perspective of terminally ill patients.
For a long time there have been things that have pressed on me in different ways. Attempting to discover or rediscover my identity has been a challenging endeavor on many fronts. As a Christian I strive to do what God intends for me to do. Within that there has always been conflict. Conflicting thoughts and ideas that are difficult to discern what is and is not of God. There was a time when I believed that inner conflict was born of insecurity in who we are and a lack of motivation to go and discover it.
I have since started to believe we all have to go through what we have to go through to get to where we are going. The trick is figuring out where we are going. That, I have found, is really the question that wants an answer. That answer is not necessarily one that God is ready to give until it is time.
It has long been a dream of mine to write a book, and to produce a full length feature film. Whether or not these two endeavors would cross paths, I am unsure. They say that change is typically born out of inspiration or desperation, and real change comes about when the desire to make something happen overrides the natural desire to continue in the comfort zone.
The gap in professional versus amateur equipment has closed considerably in the last few years. Prosumer equipment such as digital cameras have made it possible for the creative to create in ways that used to be unattainable without large amounts of cash. Time and again we are seeing the fruits of hard work, coupled with the “Ultra Low Budget” filmmaker outline, produce good independant films.
This is encouraging to me because now I can get out of my comfort zone and out of my box. A small group of us are working together to create a film. It is in it’s beginning stages but feel free to click here and check it out.
When something can be done with passion and desire, pursued with vigor and tireless faith to see it to completion, and done with excellence, I believe we are then doing what God has placed in us to do, at least in part.
I am sure that many artists are not pursuing their dreams. Photographers, videographers, writers, painters, singers, musicians, and many more have within them the inner desire to create on the level God created them to. In my journey, I hope to be able to say that I tried my best.
In quiet desperation, we sit waiting to fulfill dreams vicariously. God is helping me to change my perspectives. I know it is right to pursue our dreams.
