@kangminlee@ThomBrady5@David_Khait I literally went to a Presbyterian church with a Korean guy named Matthew and his Korean wife who have two kids. Extremely assimilated. Very American. Not the same whatsoever.
When the flags of Spain and Mexico flew over Texas, there were many Josés, but scarcely a Pooja to be found.
When the flag of France flew over Texas, there were many Jeans, but scarcely a Pooja to be found.
When the Lone Star flew over the Republic of Texas, and later the flag of the Confederacy, there were many Johns, but scarcely a Pooja to be found.
Then came the Stars and Stripes. Beneath it, Josés and Jeans and Johns lived together — some rooted in the soil for generations, others more newly arrived — each with a different claim upon the land and its history.
Then, five seconds ago, Pooja arrived.
She surveyed the descendants of all those who had come before her, announced that she was every bit as Texan as they were, and informed them that if they didn’t like it, they were free to leave.
Notice the language the lady jurors use of the lone juror who stood his ground.
He wouldn't take the "expertise" of the schoolteachers and nurses to heart.
Translation: He wouldn't let therapeutic bureaucrats persuade him not to believe his lying eyes.
An excellent article laying out the inside baseball of how politics actually works. What we do here with posting isn’t politics at all. It doesn’t translate to it even a little. And staying home and doing literally nothing with elections changes absolutely nothing.
Shocking, but somehow people got it into their heads that doing nothing will lead to the GOP being punished when it does absolutely nothing of the sort, it means that they see even less reason to do anything in your interests.
Read the article and also follow Jack. He actually does politics, and understands it better than virtually anyone I know including myself. He’s a great patriot who’s been in the trenches fighting these fights far longer than most of us.
“Here’s a bucket of federal funds that are going to get spent no matter what. We aren’t increasing the size of the bucket, but we want to improve how it’s spent.”
“Can we get rid of the bucket?”
“No, it was created through a broad bipartisan majority and has nearly universal political support.”
“And who is getting it now?”
“Mostly your political opponents and people who want to destroy the American way of life.”
“Can we stop them?”
“No, but we could change the parameters of the program to allow it to go to families with married parents with stay at home mothers who are working to raise their children and not just dump them on the state, you know, the kind that are the bedrock of western civilization.”
“No. Thats socialism!”
“Okay…”
This is very personal for me to share.
My biological mother was a stripper working at a club in downtown Seattle. My biological father was one of her clients. She became pregnant with me while struggling with addiction and used drugs throughout her pregnancy. When I was born, I was immediately taken to the ICU to detox and was eventually placed for adoption.
By God’s grace, I was adopted by two wonderful parents who loved me deeply. I was four months old when they picked me up from the orphanage, and they are the only parents I’ve ever known. I never grew up feeling like something was missing. I never felt some deep longing to find my biological parents. I had a mom and dad who loved me, cared for me, sacrificed for me, and gave me a wonderful home.
Years later, after I got married and we had our first child, my wife encouraged me to learn more about my biological history. If for no other reason, she thought it might be good for the sake of our daughter to know whether there was anything medically or genetically significant in my family history.
So I eventually submitted my DNA to Ancestry. Through that, I discovered a half brother, aunts, cousins, and eventually was put in contact with my biological mother.
We were able to meet.
And when I met her, I got to tell her something I’d wanted to tell her for as long as I could remember: thank you.
Thank you for giving me life.
I got to tell her about the wonderful parents who adopted me. I got to tell her that I’d had a good life. I got to tell her about my wife and my children. I wanted her to know that the baby she carried in the middle of all that chaos became a man with a family, a calling, people he loves, people who love him, and a life for which he is profoundly grateful.
I’ve never been angry with her. Never. Not once.
For years I told my wife and children that if my biological mother ever found me, I knew exactly what I would say. I wouldn’t condemn her. I wouldn’t demand explanations. I’d simply thank her for allowing me to live.
Because without that decision, I wouldn’t have the extraordinary wife I have today. I wouldn’t know the indescribable joy of my children. I wouldn’t have experienced the friendships, ministry, laughter, sorrow, beauty, failures, victories, and ordinary moments that have made up my life. There are people I love who wouldn’t know me, children who wouldn’t exist, and a story that never would’ve been written.
She gave me the chance to live it.
We still stay in contact. We speak every few months, and I genuinely enjoy hearing her stories and learning about her life. Since the day I met her, I’ve prayed that the Lord would bring her to Himself. I still pray that.
I share all of this because lately I’ve been thinking a great deal about the choices parents make. About life and death. About how much hangs in the balance of decisions made in moments of fear, desperation, darkness, or confusion.
And yes, I’ve been thinking about those three little children whose lives were taken by the very person entrusted with protecting them. It’s difficult for me not to think about my own story alongside theirs. Their lives mattered. Their futures mattered. Everything they might’ve become, everyone they might’ve loved, every ordinary Tuesday morning and Christmas morning and wedding and child and friendship that might’ve filled the decades ahead of them mattered.
And it makes me profoundly grateful that my mother chose differently.
So if there’s a mother or father reading this who’s in a dark place and wondering whether your presence matters, whether your decisions matter, or whether the people who depend on you would somehow be better off without you, please hear me: your choices matter more than you can see from where you’re standing.
Choose life.
Don’t make an irreversible decision in the middle of a season that will pass. Don’t allow a moment of darkness to make a permanent decision about a future you can’t yet see.
Trust the Lord. Ask for help.
I am a nationalist, not a dogmatic capitalist. I support economic liberty only to the extent that it fosters the flourishing of our people. The market exists for the nation, not the nation for the market. If commerce degenerates into an oligarchy that plunders the commonwealth then the civil magistrate must bear the sword, defend the people, and restore order.
The idol of retirement is eating our inheritance.
The notion that a man’s final decades belong to leisure is a modern invention with no basis in Scripture.
Patriarchs do not check out. They govern, counsel, build, and provide until they die.
Selling your business to fund your comfort while your grandchildren start from nothing is not a reward you earned. It is dereliction to your descendants.
If you want to pitch data centers to rural America it’s real simple:
1. You will no longer pay property taxes, your town’s tax revenue will 10x from this.
2. We will blend the architecture directly into the local environment so you barely notice them.
3. We will commit to hiring and training a % of our employees from the local community.
“Ugh Bible Belt cultural Christianity is just SOOO toxic.”
Yeah ok man well my movers just formed a huge circle in my family room and prayed over our new house before they left so that was kinda neat
A Christian employee should look like this:
• Always on time
• Doesn't complain
• Strives for excellence in their tasks
• Treats customers with love and grace
• Never engages in gossip or crude humor
People generally think Franco was bad because he stopped Spain from going Liberal and capitalist, which it is alleged would have been the right direction for Spain. They have no idea that liberalism was not on the table for Spain in the Spanish Civil War. It was Franco or Marxism. And the Marxists were burning down statues and raping nuns.
Politics is not about blueprinting out an ideal situation. It’s not about designing a system that works. This was especially so in the 20th century.
Politics is chiefly about dealing with a variation of poor alternatives and choosing the path that is best, with the tools available and the actual enemies being confronted.