Toleration

Denver, Colorado – Many rifts are created and relationships destroyed because of disagreement of opinion.

I have heard the president called an orangutan, a cave man, and other unrepeatable things. It is often the same on both sides of any argument. Many arguments are not against ideas, but rather the people that hold them.

It is easier to savage your opponent, or to shout so loud that he cannot be heard and others cannot think, than to think logically and rationally through a problem. Emotions are not good arguments. We must remember that the enemy of today may be the ally of tomorrow.

Benjamin Franklin, in his Autobiography, said that when a man walks in the early morning, in the fog, immediately around him, the air is clear, and everyone else of the road appears to be in the fog. But in fact all are in the fog. This much is true. No man knows all the truth, nor holds strictly to it. As feeble human creatures created by God, we ought rather to attempt to aid each other to find the way of truth, than to mock others who are bumbling about.

I have read many books claiming to be fair and reasonable treatments of theological or political issues, however, they make no real arguments, but rather attack people, talk about how sad and comical they are, convince no one, offend many, and do nothing but give their compatriots a good laugh.

One of the founding father’s stated that the heart of the Christian Religion is the Ten Commandments and the Sermon on the Mount. The one are the commands of the way not to go, the other is the way to walk in. Christ said that the greatest commandment was to love God, and then to love your neighbors. It is more loving to help others onto the right way rather than mocking them for not being on it.

Much shouting proves nothing. It sometimes makes one think that your opponents must think a great deal of your opinion when they become so angry when you disagree with them. We must lower our voices until they can be heard. Matthew 5:9 says “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.”

 

Andrew C. Abbott

The Other Half

Calvert City, KY – According to a speaker I have heard on several occasions, 75% of America is wealthier than 75% of the rest of the world. A native of the Philippines I spoke with yesterday told me that a minimum wage job here pays, in one hour, about as much as a regular job pays in an entire day in his country. Another young man I spoke with who came back from Egypt told me that many of the people he spoke to, they wanted to move to America, thinking of it as the land of opportunity.

In America on the other hand, if one connects to enough news outlets and opinion watchers, one will hear every day about how America is about to end its time as a world force, how our government is old and corrupt, and maybe it cannot even be fixed by anyone. About 58 percent of Americans turned out for the last presidential elections, according to Wikipedia, and over 80 percent of Americans disapprove of Congress, according to recent polling work released by CNN News.

That is because there are two sides to the coin. There are those that do very, very well. And there are those that do not. (The haves and the have-nots.) Many, many books have been written to explain why some are have and the others are not. There are those, such as Thomas Malthus, an eighteen hundreds thinker and clergyman, who, in his book An Essay on the Principles of Population stated that the poor are poor because they are not virtuous and thus should be exterminated. However, we must remember the words of one of our presidents “But for the fortune of birth, we could be each other.”

There are sometimes moral failings and failings of wisdom that cause people to move to the “other side of the tracks” but not always. And probably not normally. My grandfather ate at soup kitchens when during the great depression, even though he had had a job since he was twelve.

Not everyone will be successful, some will work hard all their lives so that their children can have more, others children will still not make it for many reasons, education, etc. The poor are not all poor because they are not virtuous and it is not a crime bordering on communism to feel pity for them and to wish to help them.

More handouts are not needed, we cannot afford to pay out all the ones we have already promised, but we can extend a helping hand. A loving hand. When a nation works together, great things can be accomplished.

Andrew  C. Abbott

Flipping the Coin

Calvert City, KY – America is the largest and strongest economy in the world. Its’ single states have economies stronger than those of entire nations. Its’ citizens, according to Time, on January 14^th of this year, own up to 50 percent of the world civilian owned guns.  Our president is known as the leader of the free world. America has the strongest army on the planet, some of its ships housing thousands of crew members. For America, to declare war is to win the war.

Some have had the experience of seeing a coin laying on the ground, catching your eye because of the glint off of it made by the lights on its smooth and polished surface. But when you turn the coin over, you see it is rusted on its underside, and eaten away with corruption and decay and wear.

Recently I was in Cairo, Illinois, the place where Ulysses S. Grant once had his headquarters during the American Civil War. But now there are no long rows of white tents, no drumming and bugle calls waking grumbling soldiers dresses in blue to another day of camp life. The dazzling devil-may-care saber wielding last-of-the-knight cavalry are gone. Instead there is a town of boarded up buildings.

Restaurants, shopping centers, gas stations, and churches are all closed. Massive parking lots stretched out to the tree line, weeds and flowers pocking up through the cracks. Loiterers were everywhere, and so was graffiti, even a church, with no name or times for service visible, had a large sign which read “No Loitering.”

But above all of this, filling several city block and taking up perhaps a hundred acres, was a fenced in, massive factory, flanked by a granary. Neither operates any longer. According to the man I had lunch with on Sunday, a member of a church in the area, that factory shut down not because it ran out of money or business, but it was forced to relocate because of a shortage of labor.

This is the other side of the coin. The rusted, decayed side. This is the side in which The Other Half Lives. The place where mechanics shops sit closed, and the perhaps the briskest business in the once good sized town and one of the few places still open is the bank. The place where bankruptcies are managed.

However, this underside did not develop because of a coin toss.

To be continued.

Andrew C. Abbott

Rosa Parks

Perhaps it was early Christmas shoppers that caused it be crowded, but on December 1^st, 1955, the white section of a bus was full in Montgomery Alabama. The driver, James Blake, ordered Rosa Parks to give her seat to a white man. He was the same driver who had, according to her account, left her in the rain after she had already paid her fare twelve years earlier. She refused to move to the back of the bus, moving over instead to a window seat. Blake asked if she was going to move. “No, I am not.” Parks arrested and charged with violating the law that stated blacks could not sit in the white section. She had been sitting in the colored section.

Edgar Nixon, president of the Montgomery chapter of the NAACP and leader of the Pullman Porters Union, and her friend Clifford Durr bailed Parks out of jail the next evening.

Ann Robinson, a local activist, and the others decided that the chance was too good to pass up to fight against discrimination. Robinson stayed up late into the night preparing 35,000 handbills to pass out about the bus boycott. Around 75% of the city bus riders were black.

On the 4^th, plans for the boycott were announced at the local black churches, and at a rally. The local newspaper, The Montgomery Advertiser, ran a story. At the rally, it was decided the boycott would continue until they won. On the 5^th, Rosa Parks’ trial took place. It lasted 30 minutes. Found guilty, she was fined. The same day, they distributed those 35,000 handbills. They ended: “Please stay off the buses Monday.” It rained Monday, but they stayed off the buses.

That evening a small group met at the Mt. Zion Church to discuss the boycott. They elected Martin Luther King Jr., a local unknown minister, as their leader.

The boycott lasted 381 days. The bus company was nearly ruined, while dozens of their buses sat idol, rusting. The Supreme Court ruled in Browder v. Gayle that the city law was unconstitutional, and the city, probably gladly by this time, repealed it.

The group had won the right to sit anywhere just about anywhere on the buses they wanted. If they had not been willing to walk in the rain they would not have won. And they had also brought Martin Luther King to national fame.

Andrew C. Abbott

Breaking the Color Line: Jackie Robinson

Terre Haute, IN – On April 15^th, 1947, a six decade old, imaginary line in the major leagues was crossed, by a former soldier. Jackie Robinson was entered at first base by the Brooklyn Dodgers.

The reception was not good. He was called names. Other members of the team said they would rather sit out than play with him. Other teams threatened to strike. Once he received a seven inch gash in his leg through purposeful rough play. One manager shouted form the dugout he should go back to the cotton fields.

This was characteristic of America at this time. There were the “separate but equal” facilities for whites and blacks, the term being derived from a law of Louisiana, which actually says “equal but separate.”

Of course, it was not equal, the back of the bus for the blacks, the shabby restrooms, etc. Between 1882 and 1968, according to Tuskegee Institute, around 3,450 black were lynched by mobs. Groups such as the KKK had been formed long before, and at times reached upwards of 5 million members.

The blatant racism, stemming from a direct disobedience to the scriptural command to “love thy neighbor as thyself” and to live peacefully with all men, did not go unopposed, but often it succeeded in getting its way, such as when a group of black boys were accused of raping two white women, and despite little or no evidence, were sentenced to prison. It was many years before all of them were released, and by then their lives were stigmatized, ruined, and already half over.

In the “Negro Leagues” there were many good players, such as Satchel Page, who threw games, according to some, in which he struck out every single batter. There were many minds wasted in other areas because of bigotry and hate.

As for Jackie Robinson, he at least was given an opportunity to prove himself. He did not scream back when a black cat was thrown onto the field and called his brother, he did not respond to things thrown at him or said to him. If he had become angry, it would have affected his playing, which would have forced the management to send him down, which would have “proved” to the critics that they were right, it was a white man’s world. But instead he was the first ever Rookie of the Year, leading the league in stolen bases.

Before a game in Cincinnati, Jackie Robinson was having racial slurs thrown at him by the crowd. The shortstop, white, of course, walked across the field and put his arm around his teammate. Because that was what they were, teammates.

The image is one that teaches us much, of two men, no matter the color of their skin, standing side by side, and destroying the color line.

But the line still remained in other places, including buses.

Andrew C. Abbott

The Civil Rights Movement Part 1

Terre Haute, IN – It was September 2^nd, 1945. For some, the war had lasted four years, and they were heartily tired of it. They had lost their sons from Pearl Harbor to Berlin, and in villages whose names they would never know, and in cities whose names they could never pronounce. The bloodshed had been horrific, the scale of violence unknown. But today, on the battleship USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay, Japan signed the end of the war.

In Times Square, an unidentified Sailor kissed an unidentified girl. People everywhere celebrated. To my knowledge no one kept a record of how much Champagne was drunk that night, old bottles held ready for this event, if it would ever come. But, like the World Series to a team with the Curse of the Goat, it had finally come.

With the war over, the time had come for the soldiers to come home. They made their way back from every corner of the globe, from Okinawa to Germany and France. Some came back walking, others hobbling, others were carried. But for those that came back, they had been, and always would be a band of brothers, who had shared time under fire together, when inches and seconds mattered to existence. Then, it had not mattered if you were black or white to your survival under fire, you had to trust the guy next to you, no matter his skin color.

As they came home, they began to seek desegregation. In response, in December, before the snow began falling, President Truman ordered Executive Order 9808, the Presidential Committee on Civil Rights.

The committee published a 178 page report entitled To Secure These Rights, finding that lynching and poll taxes, among other things, should be outlawed. The president responded by desegregating the military, and ordering “fair employment” in the civil service. The rest of the nation did not respond.

For now they were overlooking the whispers of those that had to stand in the hallways of society, but not for long. They would soon force the ballroom doors.

Andrew C. Abbott

A Tale of Camelot

Chicago, IL – In the fifth and sixth centuries, so say the legends, in England, a king united the land, with his one hundred and fifty knights, living in Castle Camelot. Out of the dark fall of Rome a leader had risen to save the nation.

It was the golden age of knights and fair ladies. Quests and adventures, tournaments, revenge, dragons, and heroic battles. Out of the barbaric wastelands of doom rose leaders who could cut their way through any enemy, could survive any quest, defeat any foe.

Arthur was the hero who boys still imitate, still pulling the sword from the stone. People still find themselves enamored with the king who ruled part of a small island, fifteen hundred years ago.

We love Camelots and Arthurs. Heroes who rise above the circumstances to defeat enemies without any difficulty. It is a part of human nature to wish success would come easily to us, as is does to them.

The modern day Camelots, such as the Kennedy White House, enamor us even after the veil has been torn from it, and the truth has been established about the real goings on of Kennedy and his knights.

However, Arthur, at least in the way he is most often remembered, may never have existed, he never rode the lands the way we imagine him doing. If he did exist it would have been more of a barbaric king, a man fighting to survive against other war lords.

And yet still the idea remains about him, even when we are told the truth. It is unfortunate. It gives the idea that there are those to whom everything comes easily. Hero worship has taught us that there are other classes of people, and since we were not born into it we will never be great. But they are all still human, in the words of the prophet, they are men of like passions.

It takes hard work, but that is how great men are made. There are no real Camelots, there are no real king Arthurs who are able to walk above the world. But there are men who change it, by being common men doing uncommon things.

 

Through His Strength We Will Conquer,

Andrew C. Abbott

"When God Wants a Man"

I posted this some time ago, however I have decided to do so again. It is a highly inspirational poem with a great deal of truth to it. (I have changed “Nature” to God.)

When God wants to drill a man
And thrill a man,
And skill a man,
When God wants to mold a man
To play the noblest part;
When He yearns with all His heart
To create so great and bold a man
That all the world shall praise--

Watch His method, watch His ways!
How He ruthlessly perfects
Whom He royally elects;
How He hammers him and hurts him
And with mighty blows converts him
Into trial shapes of clay which only God understands--

While his tortured heart is crying and he lifts beseeching hands!--
How He bends, but never breaks,
When his good He undertakes....
How He uses whom He chooses
And with every purpose fuses him,
By every art induces him
To try his splendor out--
God knows what He's about.

When God wants to take a man
And shake a man
And wake a man;
When God wants to make a man
To do the Father’s will;
When He tries with all His skill
And He yearns with all His soul
To create him large and whole....
With what cunning He prepares him!

How He goads and never spares him,
How He whets him and He frets him
And in poverty begets him....
How He often disappoints
Whom He sacredly anoints,
With what wisdom He will hide him,
Never minding what betide him
Though his genius sob with slighting and his pride may not forget!
Bids him struggle harder yet.
Makes him lonely
So that only
God's high messages shall reach him
So that He may surely teach him
What the Hierarchy planned.

Though he may not understand
Gives him passions to command--
How remorselessly He spurs him,
With terrific ardor stirs him
When He poignantly prefers him!

When God wants to name a man
And fame a man
And tame a man;
When God wants to shame a man
To do his heavenly best....
When He tries the highest test
That His reckoning may bring--
When He wants a god or king!--
How He reins him and restrains him
So his body scarce contains him
While He fires him
And inspires him!
Keeps him yearning, ever burning for a tantalizing goal--
Lures and lacerates his soul.
Sets a challenge for his spirit,
Draws it higher when he's near it--
Makes a jungle, that he clear it;
Makes a desert, that he fear it
And subdue it if he can--
So doth God make a man.

Then, to test his spirit's wrath
Hurls a mountain in his path--
Puts a bitter choice before him
And relentless stands o'er him.
"Climb, or perish!" so He says....
Watch His purpose, watch His ways!

God's plan is wondrous kind
Could we understand His mind ...
Fools are they who call Him blind.
When his feet are torn and bleeding
Yet his spirit mounts unheeding,
All his higher powers speeding
Blazing newer paths and fine;
When the force that is divine
Leaps to challenge every failure and his ardor still is sweet
And love and hope are burning in the presence of defeat...

Lo, the crisis! Lo, the shout
That must call the leader out.
When the people need salvation
Doth he come to lead the nation....
Then doth God show His plan
When the world has found--a man.

Angela Morgan

"Paris is worth a mass"

Terre Haute, IN – On the 27^th of February, 1594, in the Cathedral of Chartres, about 50 miles from Paris, the new king of France, the first Bourbon, Henry IV of Navarre, was being crowned his most catholic majesty. To become the king of France the Protestant had to become catholic. The man who had almost been martyred, and had fought on the side of the Protestants against the catholic king and the Guise family for a long time for religious freedom, renounced his former religion.

The Huguenots had lost their great hero. Henry is rumored to have said about his converting to the rival religion “Paris is well worth a mass.”

That is a common rallying cry of men without principle. It could be the motto of many a politician, to whom public opinion is them what wind is to a weather vane. The men that think that they have power by compromising, yet actually lost the greatest power on earth to the one they make the concessions to-the power of self-government.

These are the men that believe that evil men can be appeased with concessions, just as they themselves can be appeased with votes. They believe assurances of “we want no Czechs” and hold papers over their heads proclaiming “peace, peace in our time!” They make alliances with the devil for power, and would rather, like the Romans at the end of their empire, buy off Alaric than go out and fight him.

That is the danger of loving power more than principle. But the love of the people is fickle. The same crowd that cried Hosanna one day, a week later, cried “Crucify him!” Many emperors of Rome were killed by legions that had once sworn allegiance to them.

Compromising for power is the ultimate loss of power. In the words of Henry Clay “I would rather be right than be president.”

Through His Strength We Will Conquer,

Andrew C. Abbott

Dreaming

“The American Dream does not come to those who fall asleep.”

Richard Nixon, first Inaugural Address.

"Dreamers look for a break, visionaries make their own."
Voddie Baucham.

Plans are good things, they are helpful to know what we are to do next. However, the arrows of intent must be propelled by the strong bow of purpose.

No Greater Love

By David Woodworth *

When I and a number of my family members went to the state capitol in Austin, The

contrast between good and evil was more stark than I ever remember seeing it. While standing
in line for over eight hours in order to flood the senate gallery with blueclad, prolife supporters, I had a great deal of opportunity to observe the actions and persons of demonstrators on both sides. Some things were surprising, others were not. It gave me pause to reflect and to contrast the nature of our cause and theirs.

If I had to boil the differences down to one word it would have to be the word “Love.” This word defines our cause in more than just an abstract philosophical sense for few things in life are stronger than the natural love that a mother feels for her baby. Love defines not only our strategy but our tactics.

The contrast in behavior that I witnessed that day, was not coincidental it was a natural extension of each side’s worldview. For their part, the pro-abortion crowd didn’t seem to have an endgame. What I mean is that the tactics they employed hardly seemed targeted at winning the hearts either of their opponents or those on the fence. It was simply an ugly display of rage. In fairness, there were a number of proaborts who seemed to be trying to go out of their way to be nice. However, there were a lot more of them in the rotunda beating drums and carrying on like demons from the pit. Particularly disturbing was an old woman on the second balcony of the rotunda who had a collection of signs that she individually displayed from the railing. Periodically she would scream unintelligible slogans to the floor of the rotunda. Her manner denoted a degree of rage the was truly shocking to see in a woman of her age. Something about her was profoundly disquieting and as I watched her I couldn’t help but speculate that this woman had had an abortion earlier in life and had hardened her heart against the guilt instead of finding peace and forgiveness from God. (When told about her my dad independently speculated the same thing.)

When two nice looking young girls from a church group placed themselves behind an individual who was being interviewed in order to hold up prolife signs for the camera, this woman angrily rushed over and held up one of her enormous signs to completely block them out. I don’t know who she was aiming to impress with this ugly display, but quite frankly it didn’t appear that she was calm enough to even care.

When we would sing “Jesus Loves Me”, “Jesus Loves The Little Children,” or “Amazing Grace” the pro-abortion crowd seemed to become even more enraged. Songs had some sort of uncanny infuriating effect on the proaborts all out of proportion to their volume which seldom rivaled that of the mobs' own preffered form of worship. The chants went on and on sometimes rising to a screaming pitch as they echoed through the rotunda. Throughout the day we saw proaborts displaying obscene slogans and images either on tshirts or signs. There was worse to come.

After we left we heard that the capitol police had advised prolife demonstrators to leave so

angry where the pro-abortion crowds. The police confiscated, paint, glitter, jars of feces,  from demonstrators attempting to enter the senate gallery. Just what they were planning to do with those items is better left unsaid.
By contrast, the polite, orderly prolife crowd remained mostly silent. It was a conscious
decision on the part of prolife organizers to remind everyone that unborn infants have no voice
to raise in defense of themselves. And yet this does not do entire justice to the prolife crowd for their orderly and quiet demeanor were more organic than organized. A “petition of peace” was passed around for prolifers to sign. It stated the undersigned's resolve to use only peaceful,
orderly means of demonstrating. All of us signed it, but nothing could have been more
unnecessary. Looking around me I couldn’t see any prolife demonstrators who looked remotely
likely to do any of the things forsworn by the statement. Here were people showing up in
recognizable family groups something that proaborts seldom seemed to do.
There were prolife groups moving through the capitol halls, where the line for the senate gallery coiled ponderously, passing out snacks and water to those in orange as well as blue. I couldn’t help but think that if a person from another planet came and viewed the scene, without ever knowing anything about the issues at stake, he could come to the right conclusion about who the “good guys” where just by watching their behavior.

Most of the prolifers stayed out of the rotunda but a few stalwart souls had walked into the middle of the chanting crowd to hold up signs. Still others had formed a sort of circle, albeit incomplete in places, to surround the chanting mass with prolife signs. While I couldn’t help but admire the courage this must have taken, I wondered if this was a good idea. They stood there calmly, making a mute appeal that I think must have penetrated to the consciences of the prodeath crowd. Whether these proaborts were simply enraged or whether they really were trying to drown out that "still, small voice," their ability to go on yelling for hours seemed almost inhuman.

Prolifers, I am told, gathered to pray in the rotunda. When word came that the capitol was no longer safe for them, many prolife demonstrators retreated to the offices of politicians who had graciously volunteered them for just such a purpose. By contrast, there was not the slightest suggestion of prolife violence against prodeath demonstrators. The events of that day made it clear, if it had not been before, that proponents of abortion identify with hatred much more than with love.

As I have had pause to reflect on my experiences I have come to realize that our means of carrying out this war must be as fundamentally different from theirs as the still, small voice is from enraged shouting. We have accomplished nothing if we participate only in a shouting match. Our goal must be to get people to listen to that voice by showing them what God's love in action looks like. At heart I believe most people understand that abortion is not a medical issue but a moral one. Deep down I think they understand that abortion takes an innocent human life.

We won't do win by shouting back. We can only do that with love.

"And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.


* The opinions and beliefs expresses in articles not written by the blogs author are the writer's own and do not necessarily reflect those of the blog's author. Views expresses elsewhere in any form whatever are in no way connected with this blog.

In Flanders' Fields

On April 22, 1915, the Germans on the Western front of The Great War launched the famous second assault at Ypres. For the almost the first time in the war, chemical weapons were used. Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, a man who could have been spared active duty because he was aged 41, had opted to fight for what he believed was the glory of the empire.

He had already published poetry in several magazines, and was a medical man in the army. He was on his second tour of duty during the War to End All Wars.

The firing, during the battle, never stopped for “over 60 seconds.” The men kept their clothes on, knelt in the trenches and fired until their guns were empty, then took those of dead comrades.

On May 2^nd, a friend of his was killed in the fighting. McCrae performed the funeral, and as he did so, he noted that the poppies grew quickly around the graves of the soldiers who had been buried there. They were the boys who thought they would be home by Christmas, and they were still here, and some would never leave. The next day while sitting in the back of an ambulance, McCrae wrote the famous poem. The final verse is the one to contemplate.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

The Day that changed my life

The following is an essay I submitted recently to a contest.

A hole in the American Skyline changed my life.
On September 11th, 2001, Presidents, armies, fire, wars, nations, politics, and madness broke into my four year old world. The first thing I knew was my father would be late in coming home, his plane was grounded at the San Jose airport, on his way back from a conference.
I saw images of fires coming out of two large towers, and watched our president -I was told he was in charge of our country- give a speech with school children around him. It was my introduction to government. I saw people cry.
My father brought home magazines; there was rubble, a lot of it. That was a new word for me-rubble, it meant what was left of a building-or a nation. I heard someone say that America was the greatest nation on earth. It was my introduction to patriotism.
The adults were angry at the terrorists; an image of a man who everyone said was evil- very evil. My father pointed to his picture -Osama Bin Laden- so he was responsible for all of this. He was in hiding. I wanted to know what a president was. It sparked a lesson on government. I heard people say bad things about the mayor of New York; it was my introduction to public opinion. And throughout it all I saw images of blood, of smoke, of people running.
Then came Operation Enduring Freedom. We were at war-which meant there would be killing. War to me meant guns, explosions, and planes; I assumed that was the way of the world. I knew grandpa had been in war, so war must be a perpetual thing. Everybody must do it all the time.
And then I grew up. Time passed. The images of the towers passed from magazines and newspapers to books and movies. It passed from news to history. The tears dried, the wounds closed, but the scars remained. It was only then that I learned of “conspiracy theories” and political parties. I repeated what I had heard, “America is the greatest nation in the history of the world.” I was told to be careful, unless someone stopped it from its decline, that greatness would end.
I found that war was not the common life of human kind. Not every other man was a soldier, and politics was not just making speeches. The story was more complicated. At the time of the Twin Towers Tragedy, I watched congressmen sing “God Bless America” on the steps of the capitol. But I found that not everyone was always that unified. On 9/11, men and women, both civilians and government operatives, had risked and lost their lives for others. But I found not everyone was always that courageous.
I do not know the exact moment I knew my vocation would be politics. It began slowly, I assume, but it came in the end. It had to come, it was imprinted in me. What I learned was deciding my future. Government, patriotism, and bravery.
I am fifteen, and I do not remember a time without a war.
Not long ago I was in New York. There was the Empire State Building, there was Rockefeller Center, the Stock Exchange, and all the buildings that mark American greatness in their own way, but there was an empty space in the skyline. My thinking had been shaped by that. I had learned since that day that government had problems, that we were in debt, that people were out of work, and not everyone was patriotic and brave.
But that did not matter on the day the towers went down. On that day, we understood that through unity and bravery we are strong, and through unity and bravery we will conquer-with God’s help. It is the same throughout the entire national history. There are enemies, and problems, and failures, but we do not simply succumb to them, we do what we must, and we do in spite of all that they do. It takes bravery, I learned that that day. It takes unity, I learned that to. That is how not just I, for I cannot do it alone, but that is how all of us will save America.