Thoughts about Gun Control

Although I’m not registered as a Republican, I wouldn’t consider supporting a Democrat for any office. Not unless I knew him or her personally and was convinced of his basically conservative outlook…at least on issues that really matter.

With that disclaimer made, I’ll admit I’ve always approved of the rights of every American to bear arms. I’m surrounded by registered gun carriers at church, although state law prevents them from having their guns in church. I wonder if that applies to the pastor as well. Or our female choir director. Or the men who stand guard in the hallways Sunday morning and evening and on Wednesday nights. I hope not. I feel safer if all of them are armed.

I don’t own a gun, although I spent several years thinking about buying one. Even though the family budget never had room for purchasing a gun, I did take a concealed carry course. But when I learned how many places I wouldn’t be permitted to carry it, I started changing my mind.

But that wasn’t what really made me decide not to buy one. It was learning that using a gun to protect myself or anyone else depended on firing at the proper time rather than hesitating while deciding if I should. I’m apt to take time making up my mind on most decisions. That wouldn’t work with a gun.

I rarely act in anger. But “rarely” isn’t “never.”

I couldn’t take a chance.  Better for me to be injured or killed than for me to harm an innocent person, no matter how good my intentions were.

After the Las Vegas massacre, do I still think every American should be free to bear arms? Or has that changed my mind?

I definitely don’t think the crazies should have them, but who can be certain who the crazies are?

And I’m starting to question why the average person should have the right to stockpile guns the way the LV killer did. Or to buy certain kinds of weapons or types of ammo.

Since in theory it may be the government we ultimately need to protect ourselves from, the idea of a government owned registry of all gun owners and what they own and perhaps even why they own guns seems like a horrible idea. But what about a registry only of people who have the kind of weapons so often used is multiple shootings?

I honestly don’t know the answer. There’s a lot of truth in the saying, “Guns don’t kill people; people do.”

Samuel Adams said this, “The Constitution shall never be construed to prevent the people of the United States who are peaceable citizens from keeping their own arms.” See other great pro-gun quotes here.

I guess the real problem is how to prevent non-peaceable citizens from keeping arms.

Comments are welcome, as always. Please just keep them peaceable.

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

P.S. The final book in the Altered Hearts series will be coming VERY soon.

 

    

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Being the Best I Can Be

All too frequently I wake up to find I have a new ache or pain. Sometimes it goes away. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Why should that surprise me? I’m seventy now. I’ll turn seventy-one this coming Saturday. While I’m not nearly as old as I hope God will permit me to become before I die, I have no choice but to either accept the fact that my body has been deteriorating since birth or hold a pity party I won’t invite anyone else to because I know nobody wants or needs to listen to me complain.

Fortunately, my mind still seems to be in reasonably good condition. I say “reasonably” because, like many of my younger peers, I catch myself forgetting more and more of those everyday words none of us can live without. So far I only forget familiar people’s names when I’m not with them, but I anticipate the day that will change.

Being the best I can be? That sounds like a real challenge since the best possible seems to be shrinking beyond my ability to control.

What does “being the best I can be” really mean, anyhw?

I’ve come to a definite conclusion. Whatever I may be good at, being the best I can be doesn’t involve comparing myself with other people. It has to do with using what I am and what I have in a way that pleases God. The fact that I’m not the best guitarist or bass guitar player in the world isn’t important.

Or the best novelist. I haven’t made it to the New York Times best seller list yet and don’t expect to.

What matters is my willingness–my desire–to use my talents in a godly way. If I’m able to do my best playing bass for the worship services and Christmas musical, if I’m willing to do my best providing a guitar accompaniment and doing a weekly solo at the nursing home ministry, I should be pleased.

Neither do I need to become a best-selling author. If I write the books God inspires me to write, if He helps me to publish the ones He wants published, if the people He wants to buy and read them and get from them what He wants them to get, I should be thrilled.

Perhaps it’s time to measure “the best I can be” in a different way. Not from the limited way I view my own talents and abilities, but from knowing God gave them to me for a reason. He wants me to use them for Him.

I treasure the sayings, “I’m a work in progress” and “God’s not finished with me yet.” I’ll never be the very best I can be in any area of my life  until He has finished with me. And that won’t happen until I come home to Heaven.

Better to hope for His “Well done, good and faithful servant” than to fret about my shortcomings and inconsistencies here on earth. As long as I’m honestly trying to let Him make me a better person–the best person I can be–He’ll use whatever talents I have in whatever way He desires. What more can I ask for than that?

Your comments are always welcome.

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

    

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The Price of Greed

[NOTE: I wrote this prior to hurricanes Harvey and Irma. Currently in Richmond–at least at the gas stations closest to us–prices have already risen to $2.49 and may easily go higher because of the hurricanes’ effect on oil production and processing.]

 

     

 

If you’re ever on Interstate 95 going through Richmond, Virginia, and looking for gas, you can take exit 86A towards Atlee and find a reasonably priced Sheets station a mile or two up the road.  Or take exit 86B towards Elmont for an equally reasonable Wawa station that’s probably a little closer. The right-hand picture above shows Wawa’s sign; the station itself is much more visible. Almost within spitting distance is a little BP station–you’ll recognize it as a former 7/Eleven store–that’s usually just a penny or so more expensive than Wawa and Sheets.

But heaven help you if you are on Rt. 295 getting off at the Rt. 1 exit going north towards Ashland. You’ll eventually come to the Shell station pictured on the left above. Even though it appears to be the only one in that neighborhood, the Wawa and BP stations are actually only a couple of miles further. But if you’re like us, you probably don’t want to drive additional miles to gas up when traveling, even if you know other choices exist further up the road. You want to get back on the road.

If you haven’t clicked yet to look at larger versions of those two pictures, you might want to do so now.

Did you notice the difference in gas prices? $2.11.9 for regular at the Wawa and $2.79.9 at the Shell! That’s a sixty-eight cent difference.

I doubt seriously whether the Shell station gets much business from us locals. And no wonder. If I waited to get gas until the fuel gauge told me I really needed to, I would spend at least $6.80 more than I would at Wawa, Sheets, or even the little BP station.

My wife and I periodically take road trips, and I’m always thrilled that my Honda Civic that only gets 25-28 mpg in city driving makes it up to 45 mpg on the highway. Even so, I don’t want to pay more for gas than I have to. I could be wrong, but I doubt seriously that I’ve ever been charged unreasonably at a highway-accessible gas station.

Hmm. Maybe because of competition?

And the Shell station doesn’t really have any competition. Or at least it appears not to.

I feel so sorry for travelers who stop at the Shell station. Not just because paying that much more for gas than they should might be hard on peoples’ budgets, but because I hate the thought that their only memory of Richmond might be the way they got fleeced by somebody’s greed.

I’d be embarrassed to be that greedy. And to know I’d angered and frustrated numerous other people because of it.

What do you think? How about leaving a comment?

 

    

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I’ll be back again on Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

Nature’s Truly Most Perfect Food

Since my wife and I don’t watch TV, I don’t know whether the dairy industry still touts milk as “Nature’s most perfect food.”

Nonetheless, I disagree. Not because I dislike milk. I don’t. I not only love it, I drink eight ounces of milk every morning. Skim, at that. And I have fond memories of drinking fresh milk at the dairy farm where I stayed many years ago on a mission trip to Wales.

No, maybe I’m exaggerating to say I disagree that milk is “Nature’s most perfect food.” I suppose it is.

But there is one food–and one only–that is “Nature’s truly most perfect food.” And that is PIZZA!

That’s me finishing up my half of the pizza we had for lunch last Sunday. Bacon on mine, pepperoni and mushrooms on hers.

Believe it or not, I wasn’t always crazy about pizza. Not because I disliked it at all, but because I never had any until I was in the tenth or eleventh grade. My mother didn’t cook pizza, and those were the days before every corner that didn’t have a church on it had a pizza place.

Not that it would’ve mattered. We wouldn’t have gone there, and since I didn’t know what I was missing, I wouldn’t have bugged my parents about it.

Not that I would’ve bugged them, anyhow. They were fine people, but not very bug-able.

But then came that magic Sunday night when we were invited to somebody’s house for an after-church social. There I had my first pizza, and I fell in love with it. Unfortunately, that was probably also my father’s first pizza, and it made him SO sick. He’d never reacted to other food that way.

I couldn’t convince my parents that the problem was probably something specific to THAT pizza, not pizza in general. Alas, we continued never having it.

I don’t know when the one-eighty came. But definitely while I was in college. I have fond memories of walking the snowy streets of Frostburg, Md.–named after a family of Frosts, not the frigid weather that typified that area in winter–from where I was living off-campus (Frostburg State) to a place downtown where I’d buy two or three slices and eat them out of the box trudging back to my room through the snow and trying to keep from falling down and getting my pizza wet.

Once I was totally out on my own, pizza became a staple. Both with my ex-wife and Kathleen. We don’t splurge as much as we might enjoy, though. “Nature’s truly most perfect” still comes with a calorie-laden price tag.  At our age and stage, we can’t ignore that.

I don’t know what foods will be served in Heaven, but I assume pizza will be available at every meal. And that–Heaven being Heaven, and Heaven being perfect–I’ll not only never grow fat there, I’ll also never get tired of pizza.

What do you think? How about leaving a comment.

 

    

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I’ll be back again on Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

The Beauty of the Neglected

 

 

I’ll be honest, as I usually am when talking about my shortcomings. My wife and I aren’t as conscientious as gardeners as we are about keeping the house clean and tidy.

We have friends in Australia who have a backyard full of beautiful roses. I don’t have any doubt that Merilyn does everything she needs to do to assure having the maximum number of healthy-looking flowers on every bush. Her efforts pay off.

We, on the other hand, planted two rose bushes some years back. One on either side of the ramp leading into the shed. The first year–maybe the second as well–we fertilized or whatever we were supposed to do to baby our bushes. The results were satisfactory, as best I can recall.

But the bushes themselves weren’t growing, and–frankly–I’d planted them where it was hard to mow between the bushes and the shed and between the ramp and the bushes. Despite my best efforts at being careful, I finally mowed one bush down; there hadn’t been enough of it left for me to tell the difference, anyhow.

As tempted as I was to cut down or pull up the other bush, I couldn’t. It periodically had some really beautiful flowers. And strangely enough, that bush seemed to bloom best when the weather was cold enough we didn’t really expect a rose bush to bear flowers. But the picture above was taken several months ago–before the weather started turning warmer.

And this picture was taken in December of last year! Definitely NOT warm weather.

Amazing what God can do with neglected things as He makes them beautiful in His own way and His own time!

At a recent writers conference in North Carolina, I couldn’t help noticing these dead flowers outside the dining hall. Not as beautiful as they had been in life, I’m sure, and yet amazingly beautiful in their own way even lying on the pavement neglected in death, waiting for someone to sweep them up and throw them away.

God is the all-time expert at making all things beautiful, even in death. How thankful I am that He’s continuing to work on me before I reach that point in time!

How about leaving a comment. I’d love to hear from you.

I’ll be back again on Sunday. Better still, go to “Follow Blog via Email” and sign up to get each of my weekly posts.

Best regards,
Roger

      

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