Okay, I need to rant. I was just watching the news, and I caught part of a report on Michael Jackson. As we all know, Jackson died the other day.
I understand that his death would affect a lot of people, and I respect those people who mourn his death, but that isn't the point of my rant.
When a man dies whose contribution to the country was to ENTERTAIN people, the American people find the need to flock to a memorial in Hollywood, and even Congress sees the need to hold a "moment of silence" for his passing?
Am I missing something here? All of a sudden he's a freaking martyr because he entertained us?
What about all those SOLDIERS who have died to give us freedom? All those Soldiers who, knowing that they would be asked to fight in a war, still raised their hands and swore to defend the Constitution and the United States of America. Where is their moment of silence?
Where aren’t the people flocking to their graves or memorials and mourning over them?
Why is it when a Soldier dies, there are more people saying "good riddance," and "thank
God for IEDs?" When did this country become so calloused to the sacrifice of GOOD MEN and WOMEN, that they can arbitrarily ignore their deaths, and instead, throw themselves into mourning for a "Pop Icon?"
I think that if they are going to hold a moment of silence IN CONGRESS for Michael Jackson, they need to hold a moment of silence for every service member killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
We will never make millions of dollars. We will never star in movies, or write hit songs that the world will listen too.
We only shed our blood, sweat and tears so that people can enjoy what they have.
Remember these five words the next time you think of someone who is serving in the military; "So that others may live..." Only two people have ever effectively given their lives for you.
Jesus Christ and The American G.I.
One died for your sins, the other died to give you freedom.


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I agree with everything you've written except this line. <Why is it when a Soldier dies, there are more people saying "good riddance," and "thank God for IEDs?" >
MOST people do not feel that way. I'll use this as a Soap Box, but I will not include this line unchallenged.
Blame the modern day media, & ratings, & ad sales for the sensationalistic coverage of people with this, at the very least, unpopular viewpoint.
It gets down to how media executives with little if any true love of, and devotion to, our country can make a quick buck in the early stages of the 21st century.
Granted, there are a small percentage among us that might believe it's "good" when a soldier dies, but you know what,
that soldier died to protect every American's right to feel any way they choose. Those people are delusional idiots, and we must allow them the right to be wrong. That's called freedom. Freedom means the God given right to feel and believe any way you like. But we seem to forget that as Americans we have the right to let our opposition to lunacy be loudly known. Many do voice that opposition, but the clown draws a bigger crowd, so that's where the news crews are dispatched.
Our main problem is our apathy and distraction. Too many otherwise good Americans allow themselves a set of misplaced priorities. and neglect the need to stand shoulder to shoulder with our hands solemnly over our hearts giving thanks to almighty God, and pledging allegience to America, for our rights and our freedoms, while expressing unwavering gratitude for the soldiers standing quietly in the field between good and evil, between right and wrong, between day and night.
In my house, we are well aware of the faithful guard dogs that stand between the wolves and the flock.
MOBY

 Seen and heard worldwide from Los Angeles ... An estimated 20,000 people were in the Staples Center as Jackson's golden, flower-draped casket was brought to the venue in a motorcade under law enforcement escort.
OK!! That’s enough. Agree?!?
I don’t know a single American that doesn’t think this whole $2.5 million memorial was anything but a massive waste of valuable time and limited resources, not only for bankrupt California, but for America in general, and at a time when we’re at dire risk of losing most everything that has made America great for 233 years.
There’s no leader, and certainly no entertainer among us whose passing would change or threaten the course of peril we find ourselves in.
Yes, Michael Jackson’s dead. I’m not glad, but I’m absolutely ambivalent. And you know what, one day without exception; every set of ears within the sound of my voice will hear the trumpets of the angels. As difficult as it is to conceive, we are all going to die. Not one among us will escape the grave that lies before us. What our reward or punishment will be in eternity isn’t up to us, or anyone that attends our memorials. Now, regardless of Michael Jackson’s morality or lack of morality, regardless of his guilt or innocence of whether he spent a good portion of his adult life behaving inappropriately with children. All that is behind us now. Can we all please move on? The business of trying to save our nation and the future for generations to come is at risk, and we’ve wasted two weeks paying tribute to a guy that danced well.

Blessed be innocence, smiles from the heart,

Small dimpled fingers that take things apart,

Noses that wrinkle at spinach and such,

Eyes filled with wonder for they see so much.

Blessed be questions with no easy answers,

Bubble-bath swimmers and mud-puddle dancers,

Climbers and diggers and builders and bakers,

Dreamers and gigglers and up-at-dawn wakers.

Hearts that are gentle, wills that are strong,

Minds learning left from right and right from wrong

Blessed be hugs that wrap around your knees,

Sweet angel voices that sigh "Once more, Please?"

Blessed be, "Read me a story" and then,

Blessed be each whispered, "Bless me...Amen."

Blessed be sleepy eyes, each little yawn...

Blessed be childhood before it is gone.

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.
I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprizing a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes, but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.
I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.
'Hello Barry, how are you today?'
'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good..'
'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'
'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'
'Would you like take some home?' asked Mr. Miller.
'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'
'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'
'All I got's my prize marble here.'
'Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller.
'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'
'I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.
'Not zackley but almost.'
'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble', Mr. Miller told the boy.
'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.
With a smile said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'
I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.
A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.
Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.
They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men.
One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts....all very professional looking.
They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.
Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.
Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles...
With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.
'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded'20them.
Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size...they came to pay their debt.'
'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho '.
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
The Moral : We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Just a reminder as to the real reason why we celebrate the 4th of July.
God bless America and our military men and women, as well as their families.
Have you ever wondered what happened to the 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence?
Five signers were captured by the British as traitors, and tortured before they died.
Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned. Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army; another had two sons captured. Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War.
They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. What kind of men were they?
Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners; men of means, well educated, but they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.
Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts, and died in rags.
Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly. He served in the Congress without pay, and his family
was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.
Vandals or soldiers looted the properties of Dillery, Hall, Clymer, Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton. At the battle of Yorktown Thomas Nelson, Jr., noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson
home for his headquarters. He quietly urged General George Washington to open fire.
The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.
Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months. John Hart was driven from his wife's bedside as she was dying. Their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and his gristmill
were laid to waste. For more than a year he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished.
So, take a few minutes while enjoying your 4th of July holiday and silently thank these patriots. It's not much to ask for the price they paid.
Remember: freedom is never free!

Some years ago, on a hot summer day in South Florida, a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore..

His father, working in the yard, saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, he ran toward the water, yelling to his son as loudly as he could. Hearing his voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his father.
It was too late. Just as he reached his father, the alligator reached him. From the dock, the father grabbed his little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs... That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the father was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard his screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.
Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his father's fingernails dug into his flesh in his effort to hang on to the son he loved.

The newspaper reporter, who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, 'But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Dad wouldn't let go.' You and I can identify with that little boy.
We have scars, too; no not from an alligator, but the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go.

In the midst of your struggle, He's been there holding on to you... The Scripture teaches that God loves you. You are a child of God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations, not knowing what lies ahead. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril - and we forget that the enemy (Satan) is waiting to attack. That's when the tug-of-war begins - and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very, very grateful. He did not and will not ever let you go.

A very timely analysis since Obama met with the AMA !

BEST ANALYSIS I HAVE HEARD YET!!! But cleaned up a bit to keep worst case a PG rating.

The American Medical Association has weighed in on the new economic stimulus package.
The Allergists voted to scratch it, but the
Dermatologists advised not to make any rash moves.
The Gastroenterologists had sort of a gut feeling about it, but the
Neurologists thought the Administration had a lot of nerve.
The Obstetricians felt they were all laboring under a misconception.
Ophthalmologists considered the idea shortsighted.
Pathologists yelled, "Over my dead body!"
while the Pediatricians said, 'Oh, Grow up!'
The Psychiatrists thought the whole idea was madness, while the
Radiologists could see right through it.
Surgeons decided to wash their hands of the whole thing.
The Internists thought it was a bitter pill to swallow,
and the Plastic Surgeons said, "This puts a whole new face on the matter."
The Podiatrists thought it was a step forward,
but the Urologists were “peed” off at the whole idea.
The Anesthesiologists thought the whole idea was a gas,
and the Cardiologists didn't have the heart to say no.
In the end, the Proctologists won out, leaving the entire decision up to
the “donkey” holes in Washington.