Sixty-Six Dollars Could Change This Country

America may have to learn its lessons all over again. The painting is by Tom Lovell.

 

 Let me show you something with sixty-six dollars.

Americans were natural-born fighters, that is for sure. Our Country was born in battle, and it had to fight over and over for its life and its sovereignty. The U. S. fought military battles, verbal battles, trade battles and battles of ideals. It is truly a miracle it survived. With so many battles at its onset, those that survived had to be tough and able to defend. So it is a small wonder that our greatest National heroes were fighters. And it is no small wonder that our culture has produced so many weapons and wars since. Still, I think we have missed the point as we smugly cast a suspicious eye on our past. Violence, weapons, conflicts etc. are only half of the equation that forged the American character, until recent times, when we endeavored to reinvent it. Along with being formidable fighters, our forefathers were also incredible forgivers.

 

 

Look no further than a ten dollar bill. There you’ll see the likeness of Alexander Hamilton.  George Washington’s right-hand man during the American Revolution, his Secretary of the Treasury, the man who invented our National banking system and established the U. S. Mint.  He was also killed in a senseless duel with Vice President Aaron Burr in 1804. Few Americans ponder after all of this time how such a brilliant, stalwart patriot got caught up in a duel that cost him his life. Even fewer really appreciate how even then, he managed to save his reputation while granting his challenger his very life.

After refusing to apologize or retract damning remarks made about Vice President Burr by him,  Alexander Hamilton agreed to a duel  to settle their affairs. Hamilton stated before the duel that he would not fire upon Burr, but did not tell his opponent. He kept his word, and left his fate in the hands of the Vice President, who chose to kill him even though Hamilton had intentionally fired his round into the air. Hamilton could not be goaded into killing a man whom he had inadvertently enraged.  His was one of the first of many famous, enigmatic acts of violence in America accompanied by amazing respect and even tolerance or forgiveness towards the enemy. Burr was never prosecuted. It was an honorable disagreement among gentlemen.

Although illegal, the “code of honor” of that time demanded that men be willing to face up to their enemies and answer the challenge of a duel to settle serious disputes. There was a strange kind of superstition that somehow justice would work itself out in these deadly matches. Men of all classes and ethnicities faced off with pistols, rifles, swords and in the South, large Bowie knives. Can you imagine what effect this would have on the political pundits today? Hamilton placed his pride and dignity and reputation above his own life.  He must have reasoned that the former were worth more than the latter. Or at least the latter would be worthless without them. And so he chose pistols with hair triggers.

America was new and was feeling its oats. The idea of a “free press” was new and untested. Soon serious pitfalls became evident. In the beginning of an ominous cultural trend, the disagreement which culminated into the infamous Burr-Hamilton duel began with Hamilton’s private comments being indiscreetly publicized in the newspapers.  It seems even in its infant stages, the American Media was determined to fan the flames of controversy and contention.  Later the scandal of the illegal and infamous duel was fueled by them, and Burr’s political career was trashed.  So in a stroke of controlled, albeit illegal violence, America lost two of its greatest leaders. And it could be argued that the Media was the cause of the unnecessary debacle. It made the problem then it railed at the barbarism. Public sentiment began to condemn such uncivilized  traditions. Eventually the tragedy became a benchmark for popular opinion, as more stringent laws were passed and duels began to be restricted to the wilderness regions.

But America was a big place, habits die hard, and there was a lot of wilderness. Fifty years later the proliferation of duels in frontier California proves that the gentleman’s duel was still a persistent element in American folk-justice.  John Boessenecker reveals a hearty tradition of dueling in his thorough scrutiny of early California violence. I just read his exhausting study of it called Gold Dust & Gunsmoke and promise you that you will enjoy it if you like the mixture of truth and blood and history. Boessenecker makes Texas history appear quite tame, compared to the lawless hell of the gold miners in pre-statehood California.  Granted there were a lot of Texans there adding to the mayhem. And once again, the trouble usually started in the papers. Boessenecker  comments that dueling was almost a part of a California newspaperman’s job description, as they were often invited to back up their words with bullets. Time after time, something printed became the cause of a life-or-death match between opponents, who were often politicians or rival editors of local newspapers. And the average California editor was as game as a fighting rooster!

This caused me to ponder. This reckless abuse of the Media in Victorian times led to actual bloodshed when reputations were assassinated, and the damage was considered so bad that men were willing to kill or die rather than live in a world with those words in print left unanswered. Published insults could not be left unchallenged, or for that matter undefended.  Yet today accusers and the accused have no forum to end such injustices. There is no “High Noon,” or its offspring, justice and closure. Today’s politicians must endure the most outrageous lies and satire, proliferated by the various tentacles of the Media, with little or no recourse. Lawsuits eventually took the place of these fights to the death, but they also ended forever the other subtle outcomes from these matches.

For instance Boessenecker tells of a couple of instances where, after the two parties shot or stabbed, but failed to kill each other, and yet became mutually satisfied, they were known to shake hands afterwards. No hard feelings! Sometimes they even became good friends.  There was a strange shared mutual respect, even an admiration for the other! Can you imagine Hannity and Pelosi hugging and walking arm in arm after a good slugging? But that’s what this Country needs.

 

One jewel among Gold Dust & Gunsmoke’s treasury of criminal outrages is a tale of two San Francisco journalists. After months of insults and lawsuits, two editors for different French newspapers met to kill one another like gentlemen in a ferocious duel with rapiers!  On an isolated beach 12 miles away from San Francisco, Rapp and Thiele lunged at one another like Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep and began to slaughter each other with gusto. They stabbed and wrestled like to feisty granddaddy crawdads. After considerable blood was spilt, and they both were sufficiently wounded, they were pried apart.  Almost immediately they shook hands and declared their instant and lasting friendship! How bizarre. How… American!

There is a mystery here and it is worth being explored! It seems these face-offs helped tremendously to dampen reckless sarcasm… and foolish enthusiasm for physical retribution as well. Has anybody noticed how chummy the elder Bush and Clinton were, after their battles?

Boessenecker also relates how the editor of the San Francisco Herald, chronic duelist John Nugent survived a bloody, bone-smashing duel with dueling enthusiast Tom Hayes, only to become a good friend of his afterwards. So sometimes violent, blood-thirsty adversaries become bosom buddies… after trying to kill each other… but only after the showdown… Interesting.

This might sound silly or incidental. But it is not. I first saw this behavior in my own dealings with a schoolyard bully named James Mackintosh, in the fourth grade.  James was very big and mouthy and very pushy, and he drove me crazy all through Elementary School until finally I took him on one day during recess. I stood up to him and we got into a scuffle, and he eventually had me tied into a knot and held me between his powerful legs, squeezing me like a bug-eyed cartoon character. Soon I said “uncle.” I had never been made to do that before.  In fact I did not even understand when he demanded that I say uncle.  I named every uncle I had!  Anything to breathe again.  Afterwards we were friends, just like that. But he never picked on me again. In fact he promised to defend me if the need ever arose.

I have decided this is what we have lost in the American character.  This obscure making –up mechanism. We still have the violence part. But we have lost the gracious winner part.  Or the magnanimous conqueror part.  Lawsuits are rarely satisfactory, divorces rarely amicable. The courts usually fail to give us the direct eye to eye conflict we need to find closure. Americans do not know how to win or be the winner, much less how to be a loser, and in fact have made winning a license to prance, dance and provoke our adversaries. Professional Sports is the leader in the new paradigm, of ecstatic domination. But it is the domain of insignificant, small-minded egomaniacs. And it was not always this way. Still in High School sports you see the athletes lining up and shaking hands after the game. THAT is the old America I was proud of.

The first Forgiver in Chief.

I have decided that we all need to go back to Appomattox.  You know, where Generals Grant and Lee ended the Civil War. It turns out that most of the men pictured on our money were not only great leaders, they were great forgivers.  Betrayed by Jefferson and others, Washington led the way as a forgiver to unite our country. Hamilton was a brave soldier, and was able to stand and take a bullet from a man he knew would probably kill him, and leave his life to God or destiny or the marksmanship of his adversary.  But he could not shoot a man who was not his enemy in cold blood. He had to have already forgiven everyone involved to have been so much at peace to face his fate.

As the Commanding General in the Union Army, Ulysses S. Grant orchestrated an unexpected and magnanimous reconciliation with the South. 

And General Grant, on the $50, was no different. He had been chasing and battling General Robert E. Lee and his Confederate Army for years, and had seen hundreds of thousands of his men killed in that pursuit, and that day at Appomattox when he rode up, he had to have been so disgusted with the war and the great losses suffered that he wanted to just strike Lee down to the ground.

Lee had come to offer his grandiose sword, and submit himself and his haggard army to the victor. The last time they had seen each other, in the War with Mexico, then Colonel Lee had reprimanded underling Grant for his unbecoming appearance.  Ulysses S. Grant was the poster boy for a slob in uniform. And even now Grant came up in a humble enlisted man’s uniform, half covered with the mud slung on him by jaded cavalry horses, unkempt after weeks on the chase. He could not have cared less, as he entered the little courthouse chosen for this historic exchange with a great deal flowing through his mind; Lee was finally cornered and beaten; President  Lincoln’s instructions in such a case as this; The horrible war was finally over; The negotiations of healing a country were just beginning. And everything he did and said would help or hinder that process.

 

And President Lincoln’s (on the $5!) instructions were clear and uncomplicated. Grant was Lincoln’s man, as was often said, and he had to follow his orders, regardless of how he felt personally.  Grant was obedient.  And Lincoln’s terms for surrender were... magnanimous.  A baker’s dozen of Union Generals stood around, gawking at history unfold.  In other times and places, the likes of Lee and his officers would have been hunted down and executed with prejudice.  Depending on Lincoln’s terms and Lee’s reaction to them, these Generals were standing ready to call their men into further hostilities, or at the very least a colossal manhunt of Confederate leaders.

But Grant wrote a relatively simple recipe for peace. It was handed to General Lee, who was ready to be arrested, even imprisoned, and everyone watched as he read. This was the greatest moment in American history. It was when we chose what kind of people we were going to be. At least for a few generations. And Lincoln chose for all of us. And he chose gracious. We would be a gracious people. Even with our adversaries who had caused us great loss.

We would be a forgiving people. Like those editorial-crazed California duelists, North and South would shake and go home, and rebuild our lives. Lee had only to promise to lay down his sword, and his men with him, and go home and repair the land- the United States of America.  And now everybody knew what UNITED meant. Lincoln had been willing to lose his best and brightest, to squander is own political fortune, to engage in a terrible civil war to HOLD ON TO THE SOUTH. Like a loving father wrapping his arms around a violent, enraged son, holding on at any cost, Lincoln had held on until the angry son gave out, at his own great peril and at an equally great price. And as soon as the swinging and violence had subsided, he was ready to begin the healing. That is what Americans used to do.

We forgave the English, our tyrants, and became their closest allies.  We forgave Native Americans and set aside lands under their sovereignty. We forgave Mexico and forged a lasting, peaceful partnership. We forgave the Germans and Japanese and rebuilt their countries and became essential trade partners. And so on and so on. And in every case, we should have done just what we did. It is up to the winners to decide whether there will be burning indignation or humble gratitude.

THAT was the America that I was born in. The Yanks, God Bless ‘em, said put down your guns and go home and rebuild your farms and churches and towns and OUR COUNTRY. And we did.  It was hard and there was a lot of baggage with that kind of conflict.  They killed Lincoln and Grant was elected President and proved to be a better general than he was a politician. But I have to give those two credit. They gave us our AMERICAN LEGACY. The old one.

It wasn’t being the policeman of the world, or feeding the world, or leading the world in the race to the moon. It wasn’t about the world. These men knew that the only way that the United States would ever be a light to the world was that it first was a light unto itself.

Being raised in a Christian country, these men had been raised in the Judeo-Christian paradigm, and now was the time to put it into force. Jesus had taught his followers to love their enemies, to be kind to them. Now that the rebels had ceased hostilities, it was past time to turn the other cheek. It was time to remember Jesus’ words, “They will know that you are mine by the way you love one another.” And that all starts with those that you perceive as your enemies. That had to have been hard. But Grant was a good soldier.

Grant’s terms were more than acceptable and Lee walked out of there with his and the South’s dignity intact. The two armies went their separate ways and built the greatest nation on earth.  Only in a land where Jesus Christ reigns could you ever see that kind of forgiveness.  And that kind of forgiveness and tolerance and civility insured recovery and vitality for all. Check out your history, and try to find another example of such gracious terms between blood enemies. Try to find another recovery like that of ours after the War Between the States.  Only under the rule of Christ.  Only in America.

And we have lost that, perhaps our greatest asset.  Today political foes speak with the bravado and venom of those early California editors, but there are no duels to shut them up. They have the safety of anonymity on the Internet, the power of the pulpit, the protection of free speech. But they lack the courage of their convictions.  There is probably nothing they would actually die for.  They have no respect for anyone, they give no quarter and they ask for none. The American conversation has been reduced to crude insults and ruthless, thoughtless character assassinations. Maybe people were more careful about what they said when somebody might meet them in the street, the way Sam Houston did one of his verbal assailants.  We have lost our manners and we have lost our mutual respect and we have lost our FEAR.  It is a kind of intellectual anarchy.

All that is left to complete our fate is social anarchy. Already youths are running the streets with this in mind, knocking innocent people unconscious, proving that violence has nothing to do with poverty, and everything to do with unanswered insolence.  Insolence, rudeness… Just like on TV.

This was what we Texans loved about Gus McRae in Lonesome Dove, when he popped that condescending bartender in the face with his huge Walker Colt. “I can’t tolerate rudeness in a man!” he explained.  Sure Gus was wrong about his methods, but he was right about what was wrong.

Either way, we have lost our sense of mutual recognition and courtesy; Respect for the individual. Respect for those who believe differently from you.  In past times men were willing to DIE for what they believed in. To die over a word. Over a woman. Over disrespect.  If nothing else, you could admire them for their courage.  This was the simple logic of the Comanche.  Even the most basic culture admires sincerity and the selflessness of making personal sacrifice for one’s most valued things, whether family or kinsmen or ideals. At the heart of every true patriot is sacrifice.  Today we are numbed by the monotony of an avalanche of cheap shots.

Today’s notion of patriotism is a flawed conspiracy to make life fair, no matter what the consequences. It is the demand for others, richer than ourselves to sacrifice, even by force.  And it is a social war being executed totally by the Media. Today’s war of words is cheap and shallow, and it has produced a race of arrogant taunters.  There is no question that their lives are far more important to them than their pride or dignity.  They have twisted the words of John F. Kennedy into “Ask not what your country can do for you, DEMAND now that you receive the maximum from your Country!”

And the last thing they understand is what Grant and Lee did that day at Appomattox. They will never understand or practice the civility of worthy adversaries. They will never know or practice unity of purpose.  And that is why they could never rebuild the America they would destroy.

Once again, only in America; The “land of the free.”  Where the free gave rights to those who could and would destroy the plan, who gave up their rights in the name of equality and fairness. And the result will be poverty and slavery to the government.  The duel between our mightiest, mindless midgets is over. Not a bullet will be shot, nobody will die to save the country from itself, and in the end, we will never be able to forgive ourselves. And we can be sure our blood enemies will not.

The old America was one of stand and fight, AND lay down and forgive.  The new America is one of hide and satirize and lay down with one’s sanctimonious hatred.  America is headed for a long, restless sleep.

So that's what you can see in sixty-six dollars. Hopefully you will never look at your money the same again.

Our greatest need.

If our greatest need had been information, God would have sent us an educator. If our greatest need had been technology, God would have sent us a scientist. If our greatest need had been money, God would have sent us an economist. But since our greatest need was forgiveness, God sent us a Savior.

This was given to me, and I need to find out who said it!

The beautiful painting, one of my favorties, was done by Bouguereau.

What it means to be a Texan.

Young John Farrell from Washington on the Brazos, Texas, was just a kid when he served in the Texas Army at San Jacinto. Exhausted and half- crazy from the carnage, he wandered around the next day needing a little "counseling," as we would say today. The Mexican arms had been confiscated and piled almost chest high. Every kind and description of weapon was thrown onto the pile, to be sorted and dealt with later. Some guns were still loaded and there were hundreds of powder horns, mini-balls, swords, short swords, daggers, and other weaponry in an unorganized, dangerous pile.

John spotted an intriguing relic among the rifles. It was an ancient flintlock blunderbuss, like the ones pirates are seen brandishing in the movies. Now young John had never seen a pirate or a movie, but he still had to hold the wacky looking thing… with its stumpy, funnel-like barrel… and cock it, and what the heck, dry- fire it… not noticing the gray sand he was standing in was really an army’s worth of gunpowder. The old flint-on-steel lock slapped and exploded instantly, throwing sparks in e v e r y explosive d i r e c t i o n, and in a split second, the whole magazine spit and whoofed and baLOOOEY. Uniformly blackened, Young John Ferrell was taken into custody, lucky to still be alive.

Brought before General Sam Houston, a strong case for treason, espionage, and unbelievable stupidity could have been made. General Sam, freshly wounded and suffering terribly, looked upon the young man as if he were the cause of his misery. “Are you the young man who blew up the m a g a z i n e?”

“Yes Sir, General, I did it… but it was an accident.” Farrell breathed each word as if it were his last.

“Then sir” Houston concluded very unamused, “I will have you shot tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”

Young Farrell was taken away. He spent the worst night of his life, waiting for his execution. He had failed as a soldier, as a son of the Republic, and brought eternal shame upon his family. He was ready to die. General Houston was feeling so bad, his wounds nearly killing him, he could never expect mercy. There was not even a scrap of paper to write down a note to his mother.

The next morning, he was brought before General Houston about thirty minutes before the scheduled end of his Texas citizenship, and the beginning of his Heavenly one. General Houston, having slept and shaken off the effects of the morphine that gave him some badly needed rest, looked at the boy with different eyes. “Well young man, how did you rest last night?” Houston queried, knowing full well the answer.

“N o t m u c h, General” John choked, fighting back Texas-sized tears, wondering how he might go about begging for his life, to a man he idolized so much.

“Did you think that I would’ve had you shot?” The General asked as if it was the most important question of the day.

“I did not know sir.” John was not a big talker, especially when his life was at stake. He might just as easily say the wrong thing. Better to keep it simple.

“Well sir, young men are too scarce to be shot like dogs.” Houston reasoned as if someone else had ordered his execution. “Officer of the Guard, turn the young man loose.”

For once, a Texan was thankful that Sam Houston was not always a man of his word.

But Sam Houston was in many ways sitting in a position just like God. He was the ultimate Judge, and obligated to judge with blindness and fairness. And he was, in a backwater battlefield of a fledgling Republic, the momentary dispenser of Grace.

God does not want any of his children to perish, any more than General Sam wanted any young Texan to be shot like a dog. I love this story, because it is true, and because it is a perfect illustration of God’s Grace. And how people on this earth can learn to give it freely. If General Sam Houston, with all of his worries and concerns and personal discomfort could reverse himself, swallow his pride, then take the time to teach a boy about accountability, AND about forgiveness, then every mother’s son should try to do the same. And so should every arm of government.

That’s what being a Texan is about. The Law. The letter of the law, and more importantly the SPIRIT of it, and the wisdom to use common sense, led by God’s Mercy and Grace, to stand for what is right. And sometimes it’s just not in a book somewhere. Sometimes the book calls for something... as in this case, that would have been abominable. Sam Houston saw the young man as a resource too valuable to throw to the lions of the Law. And actually, every citizen is. Sam Houston would have been the first to make sure the wicked were punished. But he knew the difference between his children and his enemies.

What made Sam Houston so unique in the annals of history, was that he was a true leader, unafraid to stand for what was right, regardless of public opinion or law books, or special interests, or political correctness, and forces that usually win today. He made some mistakes, but Texans always respected him whether they agreed with him or not, because he was a man of conviction.

Our government today seems to mix it up more and more, discarding common sense and unable to, or not caring to discriminate her children from her ememies. Americans have traded trust and wisdom in their leaders for objective, almost clinical fairness. Everything is so PC, we are finally going to "make life fair." That of course is a relative matter and a delusion. It will only bring more contention as everyone tries to get satisfaction, and once again the social warfare will commence. And young goobers like John Farrell will be lost in the crossfire.

Honesty, and Forgiveness For It

Very recently, a Sister in the Lord approached me with an unwelcome "honesty," which I only received as most of us do, with a mental “touche.” I proceeded to share some hurtful but true “honesties” of my own. I proved beyond any shadow of doubt that when it comes to such things, no one could be more honest than me. And that is probably how we most often hurt the ones we love.

A Brother encouraged me, quite sympathetically, that complete, transparent honesty can sometimes lead to ruin, especially when conversing with members of the opposite sex. Still, sometimes a man has to get something off of his chest, and this is a good thing, as long he is doing it in the woods with no one around.

So the question is not whether we hurt one another, being painfully honest, but where do we go from there? Each time it happens. After all, this will only happen again as long as there are men. I am told that women are much more supportive and respectful for each other’s need for… tact, empathy and especially suspension of disbelief. If there were just women in the world, I have been told, there would be no guns or wars, or bars or need for government. So what are men supposed to do? The situation seems to call for one mass suicide.

Well, I ain’t goin’ THERE. First of all, to the Sister in question, I only plead guilty, with the confession that given these circumstances again, I would repeat it all, knowing all the while that Truth, or my version of it, can be a very hurtful thing. As one of my songs in this BLOG says, sometimes “TRUTH LIES TO ME.” But I offer this thought. You can have the superficial me, that nods and winks and never really listens or considers you, never takes you seriously, because honesty is too much of a minefield, and just tells you what you want to hear, or you can have the Me you have just met. All of the “truth” I just offered only spilled out after, what? An offering of frank criticism from, yes a woman of a far superior intellect, who should have known that men are basically insecure little boys with fragile egos who can dish it out, but cannot take it. Alas, women have egos too. Maybe we are more alike than we think.

Sadly, this whole needless, hurtful mess resulted out of, you guessed it, CHURCHWORK. In fact, it is an age-old temptation to let our worship services at church become like the world: a PRODUCTION, a veritable performance, and eventually a pit of snakes. But we are called to do better. To rise above personal difficulties. And we have a powerful God who will always help us in this department if we want help. In fact this is the true test of authenticity of the “Body.” As long as there are people, even women as good as they are, will have their estrangements. The way we love one another is EXACTLY how Christ said we could and should and would show the world we are… set apart. That we belong to Him; We are to be HOLY, different, changed, Born Again, as He called it. The mystery and the victory of the Christian experience is that in spite of our failures and “honesties,” and other quirks, we STILL LOVE ONE ANOTHER. And we do.

I love the person, who happens to be a female, who offered unsolicited remarks, and she can love and FORGIVE me, not because either one of us deserves it, but because our ability to forgive IS the will of God, what He has given us, what He accomplished on the Cross, just for these moments, and it is a natural reaction of people who know what forgiveness is, to share what has been purchased in blood for them.

So we can easily choose to RECEIVE the “honesties” of our Brothers and Sisters in Christ, do as we are instructed in Scripture and consider ourselves less than others, and use them if we can to become better disciples, and choose to go on, to continue to love one another. I suppose the greatest indicator of true friends is the ability, the permission to say those hard, even hurtful things to one another, trusting they will be understood in the spirit of trust that it is given. In fact when you are at that precipice of reaming someone out when they really need it, you are a hair’s breadth away from being… or becoming their best friend. Whether they know it or not, or ever appreciate it. Many times they do not. At least not initially. That goes for me as well, the big one for such necessary reamings.

The pitfall here is when we misjudge, and admonish someone we thought, perhaps prematurely, was a close friend, only to find out they did not want THAT close a friend. The openness for that intimate kind of reciprocity was not yet formed.

Still, in all sincerity, it is a tribute to someone for me to engage at that level.

That is why I have a generous portion of dear, intimate, best friends. Some people, the wise ones, learn to listen, forgive and trust, at least a few proven individuals, who can be counted on to protect them from themselves. My closest friends are those whom I have given permission to stab me in the heart, or whatever is necessary, to aid in the Sanctification of my SOUL. If you have never had such a one as this, your life probably hurts from the lack of it.

When the prophets of old spoke, they made very few friends in the process. They were rejected, chased, challenged, lied about, and killed for their “honesties.” As a lay pastor/ prophet/ elder, whatever one wants to call me, in a similar way I have to be willing to say the hard words when no one else will. “Whom God loves He chastens.” We should all consider ourselves most blessed to be grafted into such a functioning Body, which provides this lifeblood of Truth and thus a gateway for Holiness. It is God’s instrument for all of us to face each of our personal demons and barriers to Him, through the examples, teachings and yes, honesties shared within… Except unlike the sheep of old, we refrain from stoning our shepherds. Even one as worthy as I.

Jesus saw himself as the shepherd, and us as herd creatures. And we need to sometimes yield to the lessons of herd life. It takes a lot of misbehavior for a member of the herd to be expelled from it. Horses can kick and bite the snot out of each other, and the next minute can forget all about it and be running as one. He expects no less from us. He has already worked out the details and punishments.

His goad, or shepherd's staff can hurt, and is hardly ever a welcome sight. Bizarrely, in God’s upside down way, reproach or correction is, or can be our ticket out of here. Sometimes He lays it on pretty thick. That means He means business, He has not given up, and it means there is still hope for us! So beat me up some more Sister! I think I can take it better next time. At least I am going to try. I hope you can too.

Your Servant in Christ,
Russell Cushman

Geronimo!

Above is a wonderful photo of the last of the Apache warchiefs, Geronimo. He holds a Dance cap & ball revolver, made during the Civil War in Anderson, Texas, just ten miles east of the Center of the Universe.

The great thing about a blog is that you can always be one step ahead of your readers, and in some cases have time to plan a vacation around your controversial releases. Unfortunately, I never did that, so I enter this olive branch today:)

God works in mysterious ways. We can all agree on that. Any "high horse" that I might have mounted up on, got cut down and removed, west of the City a week ago, when Navasota's River Haven subdivision dismantled my monumental installation in front of their development... If I point to any failures on anyone's part, it is with mutual loss and disappointment at my own. In the past couple of years, this city has seen me shut down a failed art gallery, then resign from an elected public office, to execute a commission that ended up in the back forty. The loss of credibility is or could be an expected result from all of that tainted fruit. Tainted fruit makes the best jelly... But there is a deeper, spiritual, interesting side to this...

Even as I write this, a fellow servant of Christ is on his way to Arizona with a couple of carloads of "missionaries" from my little church in Whitehall, a man whom it would be adequate to say that I had a very rocky beginning. But a man whom I expect to say the "Amen" over my grave someday, or I him, whichever comes first. It was a fairly unimportant business miscommunication, that ended our progress together in a temporary schism between us. Later we learned why. Evil forces, not of this world knew that it would be curtains for them if we ever got together.

Now I can say the same thing about the third partner, another ruling elder of our fellowship, who had to, tearfully I'm sure, remove my sculpture from his subdivision entrance to maintain peace in his family business. I could throw in another close brother, with whom I have had very strained business dealings on a couple of projects, and in every instance we all had a choice. 1)Just kill me, the troublemaker! 2) We could look at the results of our fiasco, blame the other, and avoid the other at all costs for the rest of our lives. And that is a whole lot like the choices the people of Navasota have had to make over and over.

But in every instance, we chose to forgive, and to go on. The devil would love for me to be so hurt or angry or whatever that he could put a crow bar between my spiritual brothers and me. But we have, so far, refused to let him win. We still have a lifetime of challenges ahead just like the ones we have endured. Each one is not just a test of our friendship, it is a test of Faith. We pray that our friendships, and this supernaturally blessed fellowship, is a Testament to that kind of forgiving Faith. We cherish the idea that our little fellowship is a House of Grace.

So you could say that we belong to a fellowship full of men who have every reason in the world to despise one anbother, but through God's Grace and intervention, we know each other well, and chose to love and pray for one another anyway. And that is a miracle.

In a larger way, I hope that the people of Navasota, especially its leaders, will see the merit in this kind of philosophy, as opposed to the distructive factional politics we have experienced in the past.

It's time to bury the hatchet and work together. I love that line in the movie "Geronimo", when Captain Gatewood is going to climb a cliff to find the Apaches who are hiding above to kill him, and he turns to a petrified young officer following him and says (and I paraphrase) "We are tryin' to make a Country heah... and sometimes it's hahd." Gatewood, a southerner and a real person in history, really did risk his life to bring the Apaches in before they were wiped out completely. For the love of mankind, his country, what was right, he was willing to do the "hahd" thing, and climb that cliff.

We have a Town to make. And all we have to do is forgive each other. I'll forget your screw ups if you can forget mine. My loved ones are on the way to the Navajo people, the Na Dine, quite randomly because one person knew and loved them, to take the light of hope into the darkness of poverty and addiction. They have great things to do. It all started with men who refused to let hate win. What stories they will have to tell.

My friend Peter Canney, one of Navasota's esteemed City Councilman, was a sort of running mate when I was elected the first time. He gave a very eloquent speech that described a fork in the road, and two possible stories in the end. One was called the "Death of a Texas Town," and the other was called "The Navasota Miracle." We have witnessed the possible tremors that foretell the latter. It will be hahd. But with some humilty, forgiveness, and God's help, it will be.