Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
On Mother’s Day, I received an email from one of our readers in Kansas. She’s a mother, now in her 80s, and went to church on Mother’s Day hoping for some encouragement. But the pastor at her church never mentioned mothers.
Being a Christian isn’t just believing Jesus existed—it’s living like He was right. Which means you might have to forgive your enemies, tell the truth, shut up sometimes, or put the cart back at the grocery store.
“Dear Sean,” the email began. “I teach vacation Bible school… Last year we had three Latino children whose parents are undocumented immigrants… “Church leadership felt it best not to allow these children to attend VBS this year. It broke my heart, the kids don’t understand, I’m really struggling with this decision. What should I do?” …
Americans have a long tradition of self-sacrifice to make men free. From the time of the Pilgrims to the pioneers opening the frontier, work, and self-sacrifice have been the chief endeavors of the American people.
Whenever I am feeling sad and blue, I visit my living room coffee table. There, I consult a book that sits on my coffee table. I open this book and almost always feel better.
Waffle House. My waitress has a bunch of tattoos. The women customers in the booth behind mine are talking about it in voices loud enough to alter the migratory patterns of waterfowl.
In the heart of war-torn Iraq, amidst the chaos of conflict and the austere surroundings of Camp Victory, a remarkable initiative unfolded—one that brought solace, camaraderie, and a touch of home to deployed service members. This is the story of the Baghdad School of Fly Fishing, a testament to the healing power of nature and the resilience of the human spirit.
For over 100 years, fly fishing has served not only as a sport but as a quiet, powerful form of therapy for veterans returning from war.
It was raining when we saw the big cross. In the distance. We’d been told about the cross. We knew it was near. Everyone on the trail had been talking about it.
A niece’s loving tribute to her Great Uncle, killed in France in 1918 during the Great War.
The voice is telling you to spend more time playing; less time working. More time praying, less time worrying. More time being silly; less time being a grown-up. “Have fun with your life,” the voice keeps saying, “while you still can.”
The first big difference I noticed in America was that we move very fast. Everything we do is fast. We want our food fast. We want our news fast. We drive fast. We pump gas fast. We stand before a microwave and shout, “HURRY UP!!!!”
We entered Santiago de Compostela at 2:11 p.m. On foot. We’d been hiking since sunup. Our pace was slow. Our clothes, threadbare. I was muttering the 23rd Psalm—a kind of private meditation on the trail.
Are our thoughts, words, and deeds acceptable in God’s eyes? Or do we speak one way in public and another way in private?
Some of the most powerful lessons we pilgrims have learned on this proverbial Chisholm Trail have not been about life, or the nature of the universe. Our lessons have been in relation to each other.
Here are a few random things I have written in my journal throughout my time walking the Camino de Santiago.
Sean is back on the Camino! Here is a short video from him. Please pray for him and his wife.
I am standing at a bus stop in the unrelenting rain. Although to call this a “bus stop” is being generous. It’s just a highway guardrail. I am alone on this empty highway, waiting to catch a ride out of O Cebreiro.
Somewhere in the distant mountains, my wife is hiking the Camino. I should be with her, but I am here with shin-splinted legs and swollen calves.
My taxi arrived at Ponferrada after a long, twisty, pleasant ride through the mountains. And by “pleasant” I mean that only one of three taxi passengers actually vomited. I paid our driver, then found a nearby bush where I could double over.