Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
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!!!!”
I am in the lobby of my hotel, waking up. The coffee is lukewarm. The breakfast is freezer burnt. And the overhead music playing is “Highway to Hell.” You can’t get away from canned music. It’s everywhere.
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.
It was a little church. Off the main path. And you don’t see many “little” churches on the Camino. Most churches here are Gothic monuments. Stone gargantuans, with bells, towering medieval doors, and golden altars. This wasn’t one of those.
A Generational Decline Of American Education
I am sitting in a Spanish bar in the dusty pueblo of Villa de Larraga. This is evidently a locals bar. And I am definitely not a local. I believe I am the only Inglés speaker in this village tonight.
The 83-year-old woman has been opening her home to pilgrims since before I was born. Currently, she is bustling around her house, gathering fresh towels and soaps for us. We are standing in her doorway, drenched, cold, and looking about as content as wet Himalayan cats.
Dear God,
It’s me again. Actually, I don’t know what you want me to call you. For all I know, you might prefer to be called something Hebrew, Latin, or maybe you don’t want to be called anything at all.
Giving Back-Selfless Service-Making A Difference-Taking Care Of The People’s Business: Not Just Bumper Stickers
Once upon a time there were three little ants. The ants had an unusual home. They lived atop an elephant. Long ago the ants’ mother had reasoned that an elephant would be a wise place to lay eggs to keep them from danger.
In today’s world, where persecution of Christians is an unfortunate yet thriving trend, it’s remarkable how little attention it garners in mainstream media.
In the hectic activity of our daily lives, it’s easy to become comfortable and complacent when it comes to our personal devotion to God and our own personal spiritual condition.
Life presents you with two clear paths. One road leads to bitterness, resentment, and the soul-sucking void of perpetual victimhood. The other leads to peace, happiness, and the ability to sleep at night without grinding your teeth into dust.
The kid was filling a shopping buggy. He was reaching for a bag of tortilla chips on the top shelf. I saw one of the older ladies in our aisle reach upward and remove a bag of Tostitos for him.
Columbus, Georgia. I was eating at a barbecue joint not far from the state line. My cousin, John, insisted that this joint serves the best barbecue in the state of Georgia. He made me promise to try it.
Her name is Honey. She is in the meet-and-greet line after one of my shows. She holds one of my books. White hair. Tiny frame. Maybe five-foot.
It happened in Washington, the Evergreen State. It was late. There was a woman about to kill herself. She was young. Standing on the ledge of an overpass. Holding a stuffed animal. Hair blowing in all directions. She was really going to do it.
Bryan was walking the Arkansas highway shoulder with only the moon to guide him. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Blisteringly cold.
I have no children. The closest I ever came to having a child was when my wife got me a goldfish for Christmas. His name was Gary.
In light of the critical world events taking place in the news, I know many of you are anxious to know more about my dogs.