Quandary After Quandary

Been a rough couple of weeks around the old homestead. Along with concern for the American people and having to bail out Wall Street by paying for homes I'll never own the likes of, there's been warfare in the front yard.

As a carpenter, I used to get pist off when I'd be working on some of the custom homes. One time in particular, I was laying the bathroom tile- the whole floor and half the walls and tub surround- and my partner and I were talking about how much the room was going to cost the homeowner. This particular bathroom alone cost more than either of us would bring in gross for the year. That was a depressing thought and made us wonder where the hell that kind of money comes from. This bath was not in a building that was to become a home, just a week end retreat on the lake.

Now, thanks to fools in our government, we'll all be paying for those kind of houses- not homes, just houses, we'll never be able to share in. Sure makes one (me, anyway) want to cry. My mind can see tears on Lady Liberty's cheeks as well as she realizes the lofty promises she has made these hundred twenty-two years are now just empty words. "Just words, just speeches" as our illiterate nincompoop of a presidential candidate has noted. (We all know that without 'affirmative action' and the 'no child left behind laws' he'd not have got the education he did.) Her words will never again ring true for those entering our country, dreaming of a better life, a more possible dream, of creating a free and loving home for themselves and family.

And then there's the local, in my own home, situation that has ired my dandruff, added lots of gray hairs to those few that remain.

The Kid, in all his wisdom and worldly knowledge, has decided that quitting school- he's 17, tenth grade- is in his best interests. Not that he ever did well in school or ever enjoyed any aspect of it, because he didn't, or that his teachers and classmates were 'fond' of him, because they aren't, and he saw no reason to continue since he wasn't learning anything. True enough: you only learn when you apply yourself. Education doesn't come through osmosis.

So Dad, in all his wisdom, told the Kid, "Okay: if you want to play in the adult world, you can play adult games. Find a job, start paying rent, buy your share of food, do your own laundry and start doing a fair share of the chores to keep the house up." Of course, he agreed to the program.

That evening he went to town/his mother's and whined to her (I imagine). The phone call I received that evening was to inform me he won't be coming back to the house, he hates me and doesn't want to see me again.

Well, not that I said it to him, but thought, "Well, good riddance to another deadbeat."

Like so many in our country now, his mother feels fine with living on AFDC/welfare, not having to find a job or earn a living- she's never had a job in her life- but she has instilled this kind of attitude in him all his life regardless what he heard from me or people with a few smarts.

It breaks my heart to know that my own son is now one of those liberal government handout recipients so willing to allow their country to baby sit them, take and give nothing to the overall good of the community, state or nation.

Somewhere in back of my head is the idea that "he'll come around one day, see the error of his thinking and, wishfully, come apologize for things he's said and try to be more like I'd thought I was raising him". But I also know enough to not hold my breath waiting for that day.

I find myself trying to understand how anyone can come to think as he is, how can they accept that in themselves? There can be no honest pride in accomplishment, achievement or self in people who have everything handed them by a government agency. Can there? How is it that a child reared in a home where pride, joy, and enthusiasm for a job well done not be able to see that work is an honorable endeavor?

Now, even more so than in the past fifty years, the honor of working for what is gained, for daily bread, a roof over head, is going to be the only close guarantee for those minimums of life. The nanny-state families are going to suffer more than most, be more prone to be the refugees coming after all that which hard working, prudent people have accumulated, stored and wisely set aside.

It so grieves me that Mark 13.12 and other verses are happening in my own home. To think that one of those refugees coming to plunder, destroy and possibly kill (even me) could be my own son is disheartening, grieving the Spirit within me. It causes me to wonder, "Why go farther? Why do more? Enough is enough, let the chips fall where they will."

I know I will not be firing upon my own blood. Or will I? How deep in me is the desire to live, to carry on, to protect 'my own' when it may be 'my own' coming to take it?

I've wrestled with the problem in the past: can I fire upon fellow Americans despite their allegiance, their party affiliation, their goal to take from me what I have worked for and have concluded that, "Yes, I can and will." Without hesitation I will shoot to kill and have no remorse over it. Now my thoughts are not so firm, so dedicated. What have I that is worth destroying that for which I was saving?

It's not in me to surrender, to give in to defeat. But never had I considered warfare with my blood. Perhaps it is again time to consider insuring that the pack is loaded with Bug Out supplies and head for the hills when the time is right. There is still ample time to get all the preps into the bush farther north, cached and mapped, then allow the chips to fall, set torch to the homestead to destroy any remaining usable supplies.

Quandary upon quandary, our life is a quandary.

America, bless God.

Shy