AMERICA: The Blog
AMERICA: The Blog
If I had a quarter for every time my grandparents said, "Well, they say...," I'd be a rich woman today.
And whatever "They Said," my grandparents religiously did. They were injected, examined, smeared, x-rayed, operated on, treated and medicated. If "They Said," my grandparents jumped and asked, "How high?" on the way up.
They lived their entire lives under the Tyranny of They and happily never knew it. Never questioned it. Never asked why. Never asked, "Who says!?!" bless their woolly little hearts.
It never even occurred to them that the injections might be poison, that a gynecologist could be a creep, that all those old-fashioned blast away x-rays to look for cancer might actually cause cancer and that the public schools were brainwashing their children.
They lived through the most pivotal moments of 20th Century, from the sinking of Titanic when Great-Grandma was 12-years-old to the assassination of President Kennedy, and rarely mentioned any historical events.
Oh yes, they were perfect little sheep but, oddly enough, they had very nice lives. They were fairly healthy. Faithfully paid their taxes but still had more money than they ever frugally admitted. Had the expected 2.375 children and died happy after many blessed decades of life, blissfully oblivious to their sheephood.
In my more sentimental moments, I kinda' envy them. When you're exhausted as I am today, this red-pilled life is a burden.
It makes one yearn for the simple good ol' days...that never existed anywhere but in our imaginations. Now that it's our turn to actually live history, it's not nearly as glorious as one imagines.
As George C. Scott says in Patton, "The world grew up. Helluva shame."
As my husband and I watched the National Day of Prayer and Repentance, the moment came where Franklin Graham asked the congregation on the National Mall to pray. After a hushed moment, the sound of 50,000 voices raised in prayer swelled in a great din of supplication. Glancing over at Michael, I noticed that he was covered with goosebumps...and he doesn't goosebump easily.
As tears flowed down my cheeks, I had goosebumps on my goosebumps.
Thank God for a nation that prays in the name of Jesus, Amen.
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Wife, caregiver, writer, patriot. Click here to learn more about me, my husband Michael and his courageous battle against terminal lung disease.
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