Greta Thunberg is the Swedish teenager who is an environmental activist. She has gained a great deal of fame for her speeches proclaiming doom for the planet if we do not immediately change everything and embrace her style of environmentalism. She seems to have a difficult time understanding why the world is not heeding her warnings and if you do not plan on heeding her warnings, she does not like you.

         Greta Thunberg turned seventeen on January 3^rd. I turned sixty four on January 17^th. While I typically really enjoy talking with teenagers, Ms Thunberg is irritating to me. She is telling the same story over and over that I have heard all my life. The world is going to end. The cause may be different with each warning, but the end result seems to always be the same.

         Along with the end times warning come the other warnings as well. Bacon is bad for you and should be outlawed. But then, a few years later, bacon isn’t bad for you. Eggs are the perfect food, but then they are bad for you, but then they are OK. Coffee will lead to migraines and neurological disorders but, wait, actually coffee helps fight migraines. Now, apparently, tomatoes are bad for you. In Ohio there was a Waffle House near by and I would have breakfast there once a week with another pastor. My breakfast was always the same. Two slices of bacon, two eggs, two slices of toast, a slice of tomato and coffee. It is a wonder I am alive now.

         But the end of the world warnings. My generation was the first generation to know that the world could end in a series of atomic explosions. In 1947 a group known as the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists unveiled the Doomsday Clock. This was a symbolic clock that was set just minutes away from midnight because of the threat of death by nuclear blasts and fallout. I was terrified by that stupid clock. It was awful! Every year it would be moved up by thirty seconds or a minute. It seemed to me that we were finished. This year it actually got moved up to just one hundred seconds left. The closest it has ever been to midnight. Now it is not so much nuclear war that is the worry, although that is still one the doomsday agenda, but now climate change is the big threat. Young Greta perhaps feels justified now

         But it wasn’t just nuclear war we have been worried about. In 1967 a book came out called Famine 1975! America’s Decision: Who Will Survive? The premise of the book was that because of overpopulation and the drain on food resources, we would all be starving by 1975. Those who disagreed were fools. The science could not be denied. Last week I got off of Interstate 70 at Cambridge, Ohio to get gas. I do not think I have ever seen so many places to eat at one exit in my life. I had to hunt for gas, but food was everywhere. What happened to the famine? It just didn’t happen. But when we had to read that horrible book back in the day, we were all knew we were going to starve.

         In the early 1970s we began to hear a lot about the Greenhouse Effect. A professor from the University of California named Kenneth Watt came out with a study that proclaimed that, because of pollution, the earth would become shrouded with a blanket of smog which would shut out the sun’s rays. By the year 2000 the earth’s temperature would drop by an average of eleven degrees which would be more than enough to usher in a new Ice Age. From the Royal Academy of Science in London came word that global cooling was now as much of a threat to mankind as was nuclear war. You could not deny the science.

         However, in 1970 a UN scientist (why does the UN need scientists) said that it wasn’t global cooling that was going to kill us with the Greenhouse Effect, it was global warming. This scientist said that the world would be one to seven degrees Celsius warmer by the year 2000. That would be an increase of twelve and a half degrees Fahrenheit. ENOUGH TO MELT ALL THE ICE AT THE POLES AND FLOOD THE EARTH! You couldn’t deny the science.

         In 1970 a Smithsonian scientist came out and said that one way or another, by 1995, 75 to 80% of the world’s population would be dead. In 2006, former vice president Al Gore said we were done for by 2016. The science could not be argued with. In 2018, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, House of Representatives from New York City, said we had twelve years. You could not argue with the science. In 1989 Associated Press ran a story, picked up by the New York Times, Washington Post, L.A. Times and many others, that opened with this line. "A senior U.N. environmental official says entire nations could be wiped off the face of the Earth by rising sea levels if the global warming trend is not reversed by the year 2000." The article went on to say that you couldn’t argue with the science.

         Why all this gloom and doom? First, if we are really concerned with disaster, we will hand over to the government our freedoms so we can be protected. The Environmental Protection Agency does that all the time. They take the freedom of how you can use your land away from you and force you to comply. The do good things, too, but they want to limit your freedom. Second, gloom and doom sell news. Print media, broadcast media, online media. They are constantly looking for the bloodiest picture or the picture that shows the most devastation.

         Young Greta is a puppet. Someday she may realize she was used. Yes, the world will end. Not when she says it will end, but when God says it will end. Speaking of the last days, Jesus said in Matthew 24:35 and 36, Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will not pass away. But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only. Many have derived the timing of the end from the Book of the Revelation, but that is false as well. John was writing down everything he saw being opened to him during this time. Then, in chapter 10:1-4, we have this, Then I saw another mighty angel coming down from heaven, wrapped in a cloud, with a rainbow over his head, and his face was like the sun, and his legs like pillars of fire. He had a little scroll open in his hand. And he set his right foot on the sea, and his left foot on the land, and called out with a loud voice, like a lion roaring. When he called out, the seven thunders sounded. And when the seven thunders had sounded, I was about to write, but I heard a voice from heaven saying, “Seal up what the seven thunders have said, and do not write it down.” If John wasn’t allowed to share what he saw at that point, how can we make any predictions? Those that do are no better than those who try to scare us with environmental stories.

         It belongs to the Lord. We need to be ready against that day.

         It takes a special kind of smart. Everything is packed. Move it all out to the car and pack the car. Let the credit union know you will be traveling so you can use your debit card. Get all the necessary phone numbers and addresses. Debit card, credit card, insurance card. Medications. Ice for the insulated cooler for insulin and other things that need to be kept cold. Everything one needs for a trip. A Bible and a note pad. What one needs when the trip is for a funeral. Top off the tank and hit the road. It is all good.

         150 miles into the trip you realize you didn’t bring dress shoes. Now, how could you forget dress shoes? OK. Not really a problem. The dress shoes that are sitting next to the chair at home were purchased in 1995. You need a new pair and now you have a reason. Keep going. 250 miles into the trip you realize that, while you brought all the diabetic medicine, you didn’t bring the glucometer nor the lancets nor the testing strips. For those of you who do not know, these are the items you need to check your blood sugar. OK. Not really a problem. You could stop to fill up with gas, although you don’t need to yet. Make it a stop at a good sized town and there will be a Wal-Mart and you can buy the stuff you need. A good sized town comes up, you get off, you get gas and you make your Wal-Mart run. All good. As it is getting dark you are hitting the mountains around Wheeling, West Virginia. For where you are going in Pennsylvania you need to pass through about fifty miles of West Virginia. As the sky darkens and the bulk of a mountain rises above you in the gloom you remember that mountain driving at night always made you nervous, even when you had excellent eye sight. Now you feel the cold fingers of terror. But you get through it. A wonderful tension headache that involves your whole head, your neck, your shoulders and your back. But you pop out of West Virginia and enter your goal state. You wouldn’t know it in the pitch black. Still in the mountains. However, soon you pull into the Holiday Inn. You are miserable. You feel sick. However you are there. A good night’s sleep awaits. And it is a good night’s sleep. When you wake up at 5:30 AM you are refreshed. Ready to go. You are going to have to go and get some shoes, but that is doable. You start getting your clothes out for the funeral later. You find out you have forgotten something else. Couple of ties, a suit coat, an overcoat for the graveside in the morning on the next day, three shirts. Yes, everything you need. Except pants. Things are more casual these days, but as a rule, pants are still required most everywhere.

         I told you folks last week that I would be going to a town near Pittsburgh. But Pittsburgh is actually fifty miles away. Telling you I was going to Belle Vernon really wouldn’t be telling you anything. I needed dress slacks right now. In Belle Vernon the best I could do would be coveralls from Tractor Supply. TS is right across from the Holiday Inn, so it is handy, but the jeans I wore in would have been more appropriate than coveralls. So, I call Stephanie. The real reason I am there. To comfort her in this time of grief at the passing of her husband. Her foster father who protected her and cared for her when she was a young girl. The man who, through the years, has always been there for her. The one man she has always been able to depend on.

         “Hey you, its me.”

         “Hey you back. I am so glad you are here.” This was said in a tear filled voice.

         “Yes, I am glad I am here, too. It was a little shaky last night coming through Wheeling. Listen, I have a little problem I need some help with.”

         “Sure, anything.”

         “Great my girl. I need to go buy shoes and a pair of pants that can be hemmed up right away……….hello? Steph? Are you there, honey?”

         “You forgot your clothes?”

         “Well. Not everything, really. Just my shoes and my pants.”

         “Wasn’t it a little cold when you walked out to the car this morning and didn’t your feet feel funny?”

         “Don’t be smart, girl. I just didn’t bring dress shoes or dress pants. I need your help.”

         “Get over here and I’ll make some calls.”

         I couldn’t tell you where we went or how many low mountains we drove over. Stephanie drove because she is familiar with the area. 50 and 60 mph on roads that seemed so treacherous I would have walked slow on them. In about 45 minutes we came to a fair sized little town that had a Men’s Warehouse. They happily fixed me up with shoes and pants. (They happily took my money, too.) It would be a little while to alter the pants, but there was a little diner across the street, so we got lunch. As we sat there, we talked. She had all manner of questions about what was going to happen next in her life. Questions any young person who has just lost their spouse would have. And then I did my final stupid thing for the day. I slipped into the pastor mode I am so used to after all these years.

         “Well, Stephanie Lynn. You have options. As the widow….” That was as far as I got. Tears welled up in her eyes.

         “Oh my gosh! I’m a widow now!”

         Yes, folks, it takes a special kind of smart.

         But in spite of the bumbling, we got through it. Stephanie spent a good deal of time laughing at me. Her daughters picked on me. The final hugs were precious.

         I am posting this from my motel room on Friday morning. Once I check it through, I will post and then leave for home. I have to make sure, though, that I haven’t forgotten anything. My wardrobe is larger now than when I left Indiana and is also quite a bit more valuable. I need to check it all twice……..

A Missed Chance

It was probably a very nice late afternoon, summer image. A car pulls up to a small park at a small lake on the Pennsylvania/Ohio state border. Four people get out along with their towels. A Dad and Mom, a little six year old boy and a thirteen year old girl. Like the woman, the girl had long, wavy hair. Like the man, the boy had close cut hair. The Mom and Dad held hands as they walked toward the water, while the boy, walking with the man, was too busy picking up rocks to hold his daddy’s hand and the girl, walking with the Mom, was just too cool to hold anyone’s hand. At the water, the man and the boy just dropped their towels and splashed on in. The Mom looked at the girl and rolled her eyes and the girl giggled. The two of them laid out the towels and then daintily tip toed into the water. A lot of splashing ensued, but the ladies warned the guys that they did not want to get their hair wet. The girl stayed away from the man, but that would have been seen as a precautionary measure to protect her hair. The little boy tried to splash the girl, but with small hands he just managed to get her a little wet. She spoke sharply to him, but in so doing she looked away from the man. He sneaked up behind her and lifted her completely out of the water and then tossed her several feet away. She sputtered to the surface, wide eyed and a little frightened and then the little boy jumped on her head. What followed was a free for all with even Mom getting soaked.

         No one wanted to leave, but as is the usual happening in those cases, Mom called a halt to the fun. These kids have to eat, she said, a very Mom like thing. Lots of grumbling. Then Mom said she was taking all of them to Dairy Queen for burgers and ice cream. That made the difference! The two kids grabbed up their towels and raced each other to the car while Mom and Dad walked more slowly to the car. Dad asked Mom where she got the money to treat everyone and she smiled and said from you, dear. Also a very Mom thing.  A typical, all American family on a typical all American outing on a typical all American summer evening.

         Except that it wasn’t typical at all. At least not in the Norman Rockwell sense of typical. First, none of the people there were related by blood. The little boy had been adopted by the adults as a baby. The girl was in emergency custody of the adults. She had come to them a few days before with only the clothes on her back and a brown lunch bag containing a tooth brush and a clean pair of panties. It seemed she had gone to school on the last day of classes and had told her best friend that the night before her step father had done some bad things to her. The friend told the teacher, the teacher told the principle and one thing led to another. It was discovered that since the girl was eight years old she had been sexually assaulted and raped by her step father and two of his brothers. She was put in the home of that family as an emergency measure until things could be sorted out. That evening at the lake and Dairy Queen had been the first ‘normal’ family evening she could remember. She was Stephanie.  Marsha, the mother, and Adam, the son, and myself took her in as family.

         At first, she didn’t trust me. Who could blame her? But I rarely even touched her hand. (Well, there was the pick up and toss in the lake, but I was just a big kid myself and it was fun!) If there were hugs to give, they came from Marsha. As time went by, Stephanie began to realize that I was not going to harm her. She got to talking to me more, asking questions about what was right and what was wrong. She and Adam got along great. She met Marsha’s brother Joe, who was six years older, and thought she had died and gone to heaven. Joe couldn’t have cared less, but Steph was in love. She began to open up as a kid and our relationship, hers and mine, grew deeper. Every little girl needs that dad figure.

         Then came the day when Marsha called me in tears. It was terrible. I had to come home. The police and Stephanie’s mother had come to take her back. Her mother had petitioned the courts for Stephanie’s returned because we were forcing her to go to church. It was abuse, she said, and the court agreed. Everyone involved knew I was in the ministry, she was always ready before any of the rest of us to go to church and, when the court removed her, she went right back to that environment with the step father. The step father promised the court he wouldn’t touch her. It would seem that in Trumbull County, Ohio taking a child to church was greater abuse than rape. But she was older and she knew she didn’t have to put up with the old treatment. We were forbidden any contact until she was eighteen.

         One April day, Stephanie walked into my office. It was her eighteenth birthday. Much had happened in those intervening years. Her mother had met a new man, so she divorced the evil step father and married the new man. The new man wasn’t as bad. He was only a drug dealer. The mother got a job in Cleveland, some seventy miles away. She didn’t want Stephanie in an environment where there were drugs lying around, so she rented an apartment for Stephanie in the city Steph had grown up in so she could be near her friends. Her last two years in school she would see her mother once a month when the mother would come and pay the bills and stock the fridge. With such tender parental care you would never think the girl would get pregnant. But she did. On that April day when Stephanie walked into my office, she was a mommy.

         Stephanie just wanted us to know she was OK. She was ashamed of herself for having a child. She assumed we would not accept her at all. She just wanted to thank us for giving her some normalcy. It didn’t go like that, though. There were hugs all around. She had a job opportunity in Florida and she was going there in a few months. She had adult relatives there who felt she would benefit from counseling. She was excited about her future. Then, she was out of our lives again, although in contact. In Florida she met a young man named John. They decided to get married and came back to Ohio, where I married them. They wound up moving to Pennsylvania, just south of Pittsburgh. John was working for a car dealership and doing Bible school at night and Stephanie went to nursing school. Pittsburgh was only a three and a half hour trip, so we saw them quite often. As it happened, there was an outlet mall half way between Belle Vernon PA and Geneva OH. Sometimes Stephanie would call me and ask me to meet her at the mall on Saturday, and we would hang out for the day as she told me about her life. It was all good.

         Then, one cold winter’s day, John slipped on some ice at work and broke his neck. I was in Pittsburgh for his surgery. It was a long seven hours. He wound up with almost full use of his extremities, but he was in great pain. When his prescription for pain meds expired, he started buying them on the street. Then he talked Stephanie into taking some from the hospital where she was a nurse. She was caught and prosecuted. She lost her nursing license. Without the pain meds readily available he began getting whatever drugs he could get. Stephanie saw herself as a failure and she got pulled into it, as well. And, worse for her, John forbade her from contacting me. He had ended his plans for ministry and decided I had no use for him. Stephanie was so ashamed of herself that she followed what he said and I was out of the loop. Their daughters didn’t agree with that, so for these last few years I have been in touch with them.

         The drugs destroyed John’s heart. He has had five open heart surgeries in the last three years. After this last one he was told there would be no recovery. He sent me an e-mail asking me to pray for him. Then on this past Wednesday evening, with Hospice having medicated him, Stephanie called me. We had a long conversation. She has been clean for over a year and wants to get her life back together, although she will never be a nurse again. She got into the conversation very quietly, but when she realized I wasn’t going to scold her, it was like all those years before. She opened up more and more. Finally, she needed to go. After we hung up John passed away within twenty minutes.

         It is politically correct to say addiction is a disease. I disagree. All along the way you are making choices to go deeper and deeper into the addiction until it gets to where you cannot overcome it. It destroys your health, it destroys your life, it destroys your relationships. It takes you away from the people you love and who can help you. Over the years I have buried literally dozens of people who made those bad decisions.

         I will be gone next Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Maybe Friday, too. I have to go bury another person who made some really bad choices and I have to start rebuilding a relationship with someone who needs to rebuild her life. She doesn’t need counselor or a friend. She needs a Dad. Since I have some spare time, I will have to do.

         Blessings.

         Farm country. What is known as ‘fly over’ country. That jet slicing through the sky far above? Those people aboard are important. They might be flying from New York to Los Angeles. They are doing important things. If they happen to glance out of their window to take a break from the important work they are doing on their tablet or laptop they would see below, in the aforementioned farm country, a patchwork of fields. Here and their a river would be seen. Small towns looking like nothing more than a grouping of buildings from up so high. Then the important soul who took that moment to look down on the little people below would turn back to their important work and immerse their minds in the task at hand. If they give any thought to the land and people below, the word that would come to mind would be ‘quaint.’ Quaint people doing quaint work living quaint lives. Barely worth their consideration.

         The important people, politicians or business people or entrepreneurs or entertainers or whatever it is that makes them so important, rarely think of the foundation that supports their lavish life style. They use eco-fuels because of their ‘concern’ for the environment, without any thought as to who produces the eco-fuels. They pick at their salads without any consideration for those who worked so hard to provide the makings for that salad. They pay their huge price to eat their tiny steaks without a second thought to the toil and science that went into the producing of that meat. Folks in fly over country are there because they haven’t the ability or drive to become important like they, the important people, have become important.

          And to accentuate just how low those people below are there in fly over country, the important people shudder because those country folks actually hunt. With guns that shoot bullets. They fish. And even more disgusting, they eat their catch! They drink water straight out of the ground. When the important people think about these activities, they no longer think ‘quaint.’ Now they think ‘hick.’ And those hicks have conservative beliefs and religious underpinnings. How foolish are those hicks down below. How do they survive? Apparently, no ambition.

         How can those hicks have any enjoyment in their pointless lives?

         When a holiday comes along, those folks in fly over country gather in big groups with family and friends and spend serious time with people they love and cherish. When a birth happens, whole communities rejoice. When Sunday comes those simple country folks will get in their cars and trucks and go to the church of their choice and they will meet there with other like minded worshippers and enjoy fellowship as they seek to encounter their God. When it comes time to vote they will go, in droves to their voting stations and cast their ballots. When their high school team is playing, whatever the sport, they will go and scream and yell and give it their all. When someone gets a new truck some of the neighbors will stop by and do a little ‘Ooo’ and ‘Awwww.’ When some dear soul is losing a battle with cancer, folks will go by with some fresh made meal and a kind word and/or a prayer for the family that is struggling. In fly over country, if one person is traveling north on some back road and another is traveling south and they pass, there is a little wave that is given from each driver. You don’t even have to know the other driver. It is just a bit of humanity.

         And, in fly over country, when a tragedy strikes, as we had this week when Dan was killed in an accident, those simple minded folks gather together. They give up their free time to reach out and help a stunned and grieving family. They spend a little extra time with their own family and friends. They do what they can and they want to do more. In fly over country, a sudden death not only affects the family. It impacts an entire community. No one out in the country lives in a vacuum. Everyone is touched in a deep and lasting way. And those simple people, many who have degrees and advanced degrees, pull together to create a feeling of family and place and home.

         The important people give no thought to their country bumpkin cousins, except, perhaps, to feel sorry for them and their simple lives. But it is those country bumpkins who should feel sorry for the important people. What is more important than family? Than friendship? Than rejoicing together? Than grieving together? Than worshipping together? When you are so important that you go from your sterile big city apartment to your smooth riding and well insulated, quiet luxury car to the atmosphere controlled aircraft, you are not really living. You are a slave to technology and isolation and alack of emotion. You exist. And the country folk? They live.

         In a big, important city, if you have a loved one who dies, who cares? Oh, the family does. But what about the guy who owns the deli over on Fifth Street? The cop on his beat? The cabbie? Lives among the important people come and go. They mean very little. But out there in the country, life is important. Life is celebrated. Life is enjoyed! And when life is ended, there is grief.

         On Saturday when Dan Haupert’s funeral takes place, his wife Roxanne, his son Ryan, his daughters Tara and Lisa and their families, his father Dean and mother Lois, brothers Steve and Tom and Neil and sister Denise and Shelley and their families, will be gathered together to share in their common grief and pain. But they will not be alone. There will be extended family. There will be friends. There will be church family. All will be grieving, all will feel pain and all will be loving Dan’s family.

         So, fly over. Look down on us. Feel superior. And be alone.

         One day, come out and see us and see what life really is.

         It is very bothersome, really, to have so much wealth. People lining up to ask for money for their particular cause. Acting like I am their best friend. Assuring me that everything depends on me and my generous spirit. Yes, it is quite inconvenient.

         I am speaking, of course, of those seeking funds for their political needs. Going back to November 1, 2019, I have received almost 70 e-mails asking for donations for political purposes. This all started back in August, but I have only kept count for the last two months. 41 in December alone. Many are in the form of ‘Team’ requests. Team Trump, Team Trump-Pence, Team Braun. Then there are the ones from Donald J. Trump and Donald Trump, Jr. Newt Gingrich has contacted me, as has Rudy Giuliani. Various Republican groups have sent out pleas and invitations to rallies. All of these groups need money to fight the evil Democrats and their impeachment efforts. But it doesn’t stop there. Nancy Pelosi has asked for money, since I have been such a Democratic stalwart in the past. Adam Schiff and others need my support to overthrow the corrupt and evil man in the White House. My support will put them over the top. And then, there are the pleas for money from the miscellaneous groups, most notably those wishing to protect Barack Obama’s legacy from the evil Trump. In all of these cases the e-mails, and in some cases the postal mail, have referred to me in the first person. No, ‘Dear Contributor’ or ‘My Good Friend.’ No, it has strictly been, ‘Dear Larry.’ We are good buddies, apparently. Democrat, Republican. Doesn’t matter. They all love me and my expansive bank account.

         I have never, ever given so much as a single penny to any political campaign. If my life savings was accidently put into the account of any of these who have begged for money, they wouldn’t even notice the increase. They all claim I have given well in the past, yet I have given nothing. And I have begged to get off these lists. I have gone to the ‘Unsubscribe’ portion of the e-mail, to no avail. I suppose that would be because I never subscribed in the first place. Since they call me Larry, I have sent e-mails back to Don and Don, Jr, to Newt and to Rudy, to the Mikes and to Nancy and Adam and the others. I mean, if we are all friends, why not.

         I will vote when it is time to vote. I will feel privileged to vote. And I will vote my conscience. But that is it. The money I give to charitable organizations goes strictly to my church, and through my church, it goes to expand the kingdom of God.

         I am an American. Back in the day I volunteered for military duty. I have voted for decades. I love my country.

         But first and foremost, I am a Christian.

         Philippians 3:20-21, But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like His glorious body, by the power that enables Him even to subject all things to Himself. Matthew 10:29-32, Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. So everyone who acknowledges Me before men, I also will acknowledge before My Father who is in heaven, but whoever denies Me before men, I also will deny before My Father who is in heaven. In Jeremiah 1:5, God is speaking directly to Jeremiah, but I have always felt that it is to me, as well, and any who have surrendered to the call of the Lord; Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.

         On my desk is a name plate. It is small, maybe a foot long. Maybe three inches high. On the front is ‘Rev. Larry Wade.’ It was a gift from a funeral director 23 years ago. It is granite, the same material from which headstones are carved. I imagine that it was scrap rock and he had it reworked for me. When I die, that is to be my headstone. No great monument, just that name plate. Why would I need more to mark my life? These ‘great’ people, whom all seem to know my name, know nothing of me. Somehow, I got on two mailing lists. That is all. We have never sat down and had coffee. We have never swapped funny stories. None of them asked me how my Mom was doing when she was sick and I never asked them anything like that, either. We do not know one another. But I have a Father who knows how many hairs I have on my head, my permanent home is in glory, and my Father knew me before I was ever created and knew that I would give myself over to His use. Have you ever thought what you might say to one of these ‘great’ people if you ever got the chance? I already know. I would ask them if they were going to heaven when they died. In the world’s realm, that makes me a small person, so my headstone can be small. But I serve another Master, one greater than all these put together.

         2020. An election year. Do your civic and moral duty. But don’t forget your true Master.