James Michael Pratt Straight From the Heart

A DANCE WITH MAGGIE

2010-08-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

I am a novelist. An observing and curious mind prompts me to look through the lens of “what if” for answers to the big questions of life. Sometimes “what if’s” are long in coming. Other times they smack you in the head before you know what happened…

It was Wednesday August 11th , Delta flight 1192. I was seated at 28 A waiting for take-off at Reagan National Airport in Washington DC.

“Hello this is Maggie, your flight attendant and we are experiencing some unexpected delays due to weather conditions…” She continued but my heart skipped an immediate beat to a youth dance in 1971.

“Mike, where did you find that looker you brought to the dance?”
“My older sister. Don’t even think about it.”
“I like dancing with older girls.”
He shrugged, a little disgust evidenced with a nod of the head.
I nervously ventured forth and being fickle, lost my heart on the dance floor to “Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes.” She thanked me, whispered something to Mike and left.
“Where is she going?” I asked.
“No guys old enough.”
“What does she do?”
“Stewardess for the airlines,” he replied.

“Hello, this is Maggie again. It looks like we will be at least another thirty minutes. We have complimentary headsets for those who would like to watch a show. We’ll turn the video monitors on momentarily, then…”

The “what if” advanced in my mind as my heart sought rescue from the awful truth which was easily melting my manly composure.

I last heard from Mike in 1973. He was enjoying a McDonald’s burger in San Salvador, he had written me in the letter that arrived to General Velasco’s socialist controlled Republic of Peru that day in April. I was starving for any kind of food that resembled a hamburger, but enjoyed the typical jesting as he also wrote about another girl who was keeping in touch with him; a “win” he had over me from another dance the prior year.

We assumed we would reconnect back home in Southern California after our volunteer duties in Latin America, and just maybe I’d get another chance to dance with his sister; an older and wiser man then.

Mail call on a June night in 1973 caught me off guard. I opened a card my Mom slipped in an envelope. It simply showed his smiling face with this under the photo: “In Loving Memory of Michael Alan Carlisle.”

“Hello, this is Maggie again. We know you are eager for more information, and just as soon as we can we will report the cause of the continuing delays. Thank you for your patience.”

Memory is a funny thing. Sometimes on the surface it dances across the mind without a minor delay. Other times it just sits and broods, inviting you to fix the unfixable.

I looked out through the glass separating me from the downpour which had grounded us and saw Mike, and the 1970’s, and his sister, and time evaporated as tears squeezed from eyes that had seen a lot of changes since then.

She passed by 28A. Though older, she was also energetic and graceful, revealing something in her eyes, smile, and manner recognizable…

“This is Maggie again. Federal law requires we return to the gate after three hours. We apologize for this inconvenience she said,” as the plane rolled back to Gate 19.

We’d be given a chance to stay overnight or continue on waiting for final clearance of flight 1192 to take off again later. My heart raced as I got closer to confronting the death of a young friend, confront my own mortality, and revisit all I once felt as a young man.

In minutes I stood before her. Eyes searched and recognition sparked as I asked, “Are you Maggie Carlisle from Newbury Park?”

Her eyes filled instantaneously as a shy girl inside her nodded, tried to smile, and finally squeaked out “yes.”

“I’m Jim Pratt, Mike’s friend,” is all I could muster. Awkwardness followed as she and I recalled the dance, and Mike seemed to stand there as well, instantly bringing it all back to both of us.

Wiping at the tears she said, “I’m sixty now.”

I nodded. “Fifty-seven.”

We briefly caught up, I offered my love for her mother, still alive, the other siblings; all friends of mine.

“I think I’ll catch up on my sleep here in DC rather than take the flight back with you guys,” I said casually as if forty years had not just slipped by. I then walked away, found a cab, a hotel and slept.

I dreamt of Mike that night and blubbered all sorts of youthful stuff about life, love, and important stuff. Nothing political.

When I awoke I imagined a dialogue I’d have with him if he were to step off a flight from 1973 instead of the casket he was delivered home in.

“Saw your sister last night,” I’d start with.
“I know,” he’d answer. “A dance?”
“No, at the airport,” I’d say.
“So how are things? Much changed at home since I’ve been gone?”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” I’d answer.
“Catch me up,” he’d reply.

Next Post: Mike 2010

James Michael Pratt is a New York Times bestselling novelist and non-fiction author, CEO of PowerThink Publishing, public speaker, Op Ed writer for The Daily Caller, and Founder of Reagan Revolution 2. Email: james@powerthink.com.

THE DAY CAPITALISM DIED

2010-05-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

FREE ENTERPRISE vs. Socialism

A lesson from our past for our present day politicians and citizens,this movie clip, the final scene in the movie TUCKER, says it all.

There is Hope: Read Op Ed Column at THE DAILY CALLER:

"Reading Tea Leaves - Why American Free Markets Will Win and American Socialism Fail"

http://dailycaller.com/2010/05/28/reading-tea-leaves-americas-free-market-will-win/

Keeping faith and hope alive,

James Michael Pratt

The Golden Rules of Love - Post 1

2010-04-14T20:58:00.000-07:00

Post 1 in a series created for a gift book I am writing called "The Golden Rules of Love, Life, and Meaning"

THIS THING WE CALL...LOVE

“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses.” -Voltaire

Real love is the most sought after prize in all human endeavor. To understand it requires a lifetime of pondering, practice, and patience. Seekers and those who possess the quality of heart and soul thank God every day for this thing called love. We have witnessed its touch bring renewed hope to the disheartened, pleasure to the eye, a quickening to the soul; for love sustains mankind.

It leads to commitment, then marriage, on to families and as such creates the social bond we call community. It is The Dalai Lama of Tibet who has said: Without the human community one single human being cannot survive.

Love is the glue to every worldly society for it ultimately calls the mother and father home to nurture the rising generation, to hold it together.

True love beckons the brother, sister, friend to give, serve, lift, and care for one another. It calls out to a comrade to risk everything to save another. Of all virtues, true love is the greatest.

No other emotion so powerfully affects us day to day. Love feeds the starving, clothes the naked and cares for the poor, homeless, widowed and fatherless. Love, like fire, burns at different degrees in all of us. The most hardened criminal can be touched by it, given the right mix of feelings and compassion.

I first started reading on the philosophy of love in 1974 when a college student, I found professor of philosophy and comparative religion, Truman Madsen's words. This simple phrase has stayed with me all these years:“Love is divine fire, with a large F.”

Over two thousand years ago the Greek philosopher Plato said: “At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

And the eighteenth century sage, Pierre Teilhard De Chardin put it eloquently in free style verse;

The day will come,
after harnessing space, the winds,
the tides and gravity
we shall harness, for God, the energies of love.
And on that day, for the second time
in the history of the world,
man will have discovered fire.

Love.
Written of.
Spoken about.
Reviled and reveled in.
Played out on screen and stage.

Philosophers have written tomes to fill libraries on it. The religious have enjoined it to the grand purposes of the Gods. Nations have fought wars in the name of it, and men have risked their lives to seek but a taste of its sweet and addictive flavor.

When “making love,” in the vernacular of the day, a man and women may reach the zenith of life’s pleasures through physical intimacy. In a committed marriage there is rarely anything to compare with the feeling physical intimacy may bring. Because it is done in the spirit of loving their companion in every way, it strengthens and bolsters the marriage, and increases the pleasure of the experience.

If marriage is sacred, then love making is sacred...

Happiness does not come cheaply, and perhaps there’s the rub. We often find in our present condition that the luster of fidelity has faded. Some film and publishing has elevated sexual intimacy alone to the position where real love had always reigned. As long as the uncommitted “hero” is the one engaged in the “love making” it is seen as a sweet and never ending thing.

When the theatre curtain falls and the lights come on, we awaken and are brought to reality again - life is real, earnest, with commitments to be made and kept.

Is a kiss prelude or postlude? Is the touch of skin meant to be used or shared? What if the Gods arranged sexuality (as I suppose it is) to not only be for propagation of the species but absolutely fulfilling and to be anticipated?

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." -Ingrid Bergman

Sexual intimacy in the committed path, the path of action that blends the passions with the “harnessed energies of love,” as De Chardin put it, works to bond and build and never destroy.

Do I sound like a prude or unrealistic? I'm a man...quite normal and have given this some heart-felt consideration for decades. The bottom line? I love romance and...

I believe sexual intimacy to be sacred, and "love-making" is equally had in the touch of a hand, a kiss, and emtions wrapped in faithfulness; all this to be enjoyed most fully, not the other way around.

An agent and film producer in Hollywood, once considering one of my books for a film project, came to the conclusion, "Hollywood wants hard love stories James, not soft. Sorry."

"I didn't know love was hard," I answered.

Love is a verb and a noun. To explore its dimensions in literature, song, dance, worship, art and service, is to touch the hand of the Divine Creator of the Universe and partner with him in creating a piece of heaven on earth.

Love is vital...food to the soul.

It is an elixir to the spirit.

It quenches spiritual thirst and puts a quicker beat into the heart of one experiencing its taste. The human heart so affected sends life giving fluids at a more rapid rate, bursting through and to every part of one’s being.

To love truly is to be truly alive. It excites and stimulates creativity. It is loud, happy, noisy at times.

It is also the expression of silence in deference to the bereaved.

It is reverent awe at the realization that there exists a benevolent power greater than us all to comfort us in mourning.

It is the joyful sound of children at innocent play.

It is renewal at the first sounds of birth.

It is the final kiss at the brink of death of one beloved.

It is the courage of a soldier for his comrade, and a fellow man offering safety to one he does not know.

It is the flower from the garden to brighten the table and the rose on the grave as if in soliloquy petals have a voice and can whisper for the deceased to hear the word; “I love you.”

...and it is the feeling coming from an unseen world that the deceased love you still.

The Holy Bible says; “God is love.”

Men have fashioned idols to gods they have named for love. If man alone were the final authority his very testimonial in written form and art spanning six millennia of the recorded history of worship suggest he had enthroned love as the ultimate quality divine.

And if divine, love is more than a special way of feeling...

Love is a way of being.

James M Pratt

EASTER 2010 - Hope, Happiness, New Beginnings

2010-04-04T12:34:00.000-07:00

On another Easter Sunday long ago, my family posed for this photo on Garfield Ave in Southgate, CA. You may guess the little boy in the front row teasing his older sister? Yep, moi.

Life was a long journey to be enjoyed, filled with adventure, love, perhaps do like my father had done; save America in another war worth sacrifices...

NOW... It has been an adventure, and filled with love, sorrow, pain, fear, freedom, service, learning, loss, fulfillment, and pleasure. The totality of it all which I look for to sum it up? Happiness.

EASTER provides a day of reflection and new beginnings. If one word comes to mind most readily it is hope. Hope for...?

New life, new beginnings, gratitude for the meaning of a risen Christ for believer and non-believer. For hope is what starts the journey, one step in front of the other toward faith, growth, fulfillment, and finally arriving to what a sometimes elusive word sums up: "Happiness."

Sometimes life's road is strewn with boulders, and other times you find you must simply fight adverities and adversaries for cherished dreams. Which brings me to where I've been, what I'm doing, and why I care about the freedom to "hope" which Easter always resurrects. Bear with a political observation. The reason for making it will become apparent...

"Life, Liberty & the Pursuit of Happiness:" This phrase from the Declaration of Independence was wrongly quoted by US Congressman Hare of Illinois two days ago as the reason he voted for a nationalized medicine bill, which "mandates" Federal controls, purchasing upon threat of penalty to states and individuals, expressly contrary to the spirit of freedoms implied and expressed by our two founding documents.

He claimed the phrase came from the US Constitution which "I don't really care about." Here is a man who can't identify the difference between our nation's founding documents, and doesn't "care" (his words.) Here is a man whose party represents many good and loyal Americans who do "care." Here is a man willing to "force" a bankrupting concept (2.5 trillion dollars to an 8 trillion national debt)upon a people which in all opinion polls overwhelmingly rejects "force" as a road to American "happiness." I could go on with statistics and actual Constitutional law to show how far we have slipped into near "ruler" mentality. Not the point right now.

The point? Our spiritual and religious rights are inexorably linked to documents which a "ruling party" insists are not as important as the people their decisions will serve. This is backwards.

Saving the Constitution: It has become apparent that if any of the hopes and dreams of the little family in the 1957 photo have been realized, they have been based only upon freedoms our countrymen, women and wise founders sacrificed many years and lives for.

With so many doing so much, including giving even their lives for American freedoms, "could I do less?" I have asked myself. I have determined this is a fight and stand which, should I avoid in order to simply "enjoy" private peace-filled moments and my own happiness, I would later regret.

I've been "missing in action" in these "Straight From the Heart" blog posts for four months as I pursued publishing, distribution, and alliances needed for my business which is engaged in the fight for the heart and soul of America.

As publisher of the #1 Amazon bestseller THE FIVE THOUSAND YEAR LEAP with foreword by Glenn Beck, and the emerging bestselling digital software library titled, US CONSTITUTION COACH KIT, I've been buried in leadership and administration details.

Writing is my first love. I thank all my friends who have been fans of my books, posts and musings. I promise to return weekly now with insights, opinion, observations, and encouragement for life I hope will inspire the reader. I will not focus upon much in politics here, but send links to blogs on other pages where I have been invited to contribute my thoughts about political times and items of constitutional, cultural, and national interest.

Here, at Straight from the Heart I will continue to pursue my heartfelt goal; messages of inspiration and encouragement. Which brings me full circle to...

EASTER leaves me no choice but to declare unequivocally this: I believe in Christ.

I offer this because it provides me HOPE in what his life and messages offer.

HAPPINESS has not been the product of a painless life nor an easy path. It is a secret that anyone, anywhere can learn in spite of the long day of trouble they endure.

New Beginnings: Between "little boy" in the photo and newly minted "senior citizen" the freedom to believe as I desire and act accordingly, has produced satisfaction and still yields excitement to achieve new goals, with the attending "joie de vivre."

I invite you to join me. No matter where you may be in life, whatever may be your dreams, have hope, and never give up on life, our country, God, and the design and purpose for our existence; happiness.

James M. Pratt

Next Week: "Opposites Attract - Why happiness is aways right around the corner."

MORE or LESS GOVERNMENT - You Decide

2010-01-21T11:30:00.001-08:00

EVERY NOW AND THEN...Humor Identifies the Real Problem

RONALD W. REAGAN supported a lean government, less bureacracy, more cooperation between what already existed in lieu of creating "more." Watch this, enjoy the obvious, and invite the humor to clarify the underlying problem:

FREEDOM, A NEW YEAR & WE THE PEOPLE

2010-01-13T23:18:00.000-08:00

A STORY OF LOYALTY TO AMERICA & FREEDOM!

For two centuries people from all over the world have considered it a privilege to be called an "American." In this first post of the New Year 2010, I want to take you back to my nephew Grant Pratt's second deployment to Iraq and a letter he wrote home.

Consider our American freedom as you read; a freedom which I believe is under assault by fellow Americans in our nation's capitol. I speak of those liberties and fundamental citizen rights and guarantees built into the US Constitution by the Founding Fathers who, with wisdom, looked forward to our day hoping we might appreciate and safeguard their thoughtful work and sacrifices.

Read with gratitude for freedom, but also ponder on what you must do in a new war, here at home. This war is one of idealogy and fundamental principles requiring American citizens to stand up with a constitutional education, and tell elected leaders what "We the People..." Expect of them as their "employers."

"BURY MY HEART IN AMERICA"

Sergeant Grant Pratt, III is tonight on his third tour of duty in Iraq. At the time of this touching diary entry he was on his second tour, a Platoon Sergeant with the 1s Cavalry supervising 23 other medics and an aid station in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of Baghdad. This letter home was sent September 11, 2007. In his own words he describes how one Iraqi has given him hope:

I wanted to take this opportunity to let everyone know of an experience I had here that really affected me.

I have wondered over the last seven months of my deployment if this war can be won militarily, or if there is any hope that this country can embrace a democratic government. In my eyes the people seem more intent on themselves and their contempt for other each other than making things work here.

With the things I have seen, experiences, and watching friends die I kind of believe that our endeavor here is pointless. I did not believe that there was a single Iraqi in this country that really cared if the violence stopped or that there were any that did not want to kill every American they see. Then I had something happen the other day that (did not change my mind necessarily) gave me some hope.

About a month ago an Iraqi came to my aid station; he is one of the Iraqis that works with us as an interpreter. His name is Sam and he is 20 years old. He came to my aid station with a severely broken and lacerated finger after it was shut in the 300 pound door of an armored vehicle. I spent about two hours cleaning his finger and suturing it, all the while making small talk. He continually told me how he wanted to come to America and join our Army so he could come back and do more for Iraq. He told me of how he loved Americans and all he wants is to become one.

I listened and talked with him until I was finished with my procedure and wished him well, and in my mind dismissed most of what he said as just words and never thought much else of it.

On September 9th it came across the radio that one of our vehicles had been hit by an explosion and we had one soldier killed, two wounded, as well as the interpreter that was with them. I put my gear on and went with the squadron commander to the hospital to check on our injured men.

It was quite a gruesome sight. First I saw my medic, who had minor wounds, then went to the young man who had served as the gunner. He had received blast wounds to the leg which had torn away a majority of his outer thigh. I then went to view the body of our fallen brother who died due to a head injury. We helped console the other members of the platoon as this was the second Soldier they had lost in five days. Overwhelmed by the experience, we walked in to see the interpreter, which turned out to be Sam.

Sam had suffered severe lacerations to the head, resulting in over 40 sutures and staples. He had a small skull fracture and a small brain hemorrhage. Despite his severe injuries he would only ask how the others were doing. He was covered in blood and in extreme pain and just wanted to be sure that the soldiers he was with were okay.

Once satisfied they would be taken care of, he took my commanders hand and said, "If I die please take my heart to the United States and bury it there." We assured him his injuries were not mortal and left him in the care of the doctors at the hospital and told him we would be back the next day to see him.

The next morning I received a call from the hospital telling me that Sam was going to be released to an Iraqi hospital, but that he did not want to go. He feared that because of his ethnic background that he would be denied treatment and sent away. I told them I would call back in a few minutes and that we would come and get him and continue his care at my aid station. After 20 minutes of talking to the commander and making arrangements, I called the hospital and told them we would be there shortly to pick him up when they informed me that they had already released him, and had given him money to get to the Iraqi hospital. Needless to say, we were a little upset.

We began searching the area around the hospital and could not locate Sam. We were worried that he would fall into the wrong hands as any Iraqi that works with the Americans are often killed because they are aiding the enemy.

Three hours later we got a call from the gate to our base that Sam was there. He had walked from the hospital to our base, about seven miles in flip flops and pajamas, despite fairly significant injuries. My medics brought him to the aid station and as we laid him on the bed I looked at him and said "You are a pretty tough guy." He grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes and said, "I knew if I got here you would take care of me, Sergeant."

Tears filled the corner of my eyes and I replied "You bet I will." He then said, "I had to get back here for two reasons. First the memorial service for Johnson (the soldier we had lost a few days prior) is tonight and I cannot miss that. We also have an important mission tomorrow and they need me." I informed him he would make it to the service, but would not be going on patrol anytime soon. He argued for a short time then agreed that it would be in his best interest to relax for a couple of weeks before going outside the wire, but still insisted his guys (the U.S. Soldiers from his platoon) needed him.

Later that night I sat two rows behind Sam as we paid tribute to our fallen brother and watched as he mourned and cried with the rest of us. I realized he is as committed as the rest of us and is considered a brother to us.

I just got done rechecking his wounds and talking with him. He still insists on going back out with his guys because they need him. He talked about his dreams of living in California some day. I have to say I admire this guy. He displays courage like no other Iraqi I have seen and in some ways made me think again of my views.

Despite what you see and hear on the news, there are Iraqis like Sam that are dedicated to seeing their country succeed. There may not be many, but some sacrifice along side us with a simple dream of their country being better off, or like Sam of being an American citizen. It gives me some hope that things will eventually work out here, and that someday Sam will be an American citizen, because he has earned that right.

Grant

TRUTH...A New Year Gift We All May Embrace

2009-12-31T09:15:00.000-08:00

Wishing all my friends, old and new.. a HAPPY NEW YEAR!

And you know...2010 will be as we share truths as our absolute standard and motto in our communications.

Truth always triumphs, never disgraces, lifts and inspires, emboldens and encourages.

May we embrace all truth in our minds, and internalize it in our hearts. In a day of political rivalry and crisis we would do well to consider as the futurist George Orwell declared:

"In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act."

GOD BLESS US, EVERYONE & A REAL US PRESIDENT

2009-12-25T04:34:00.000-08:00

During these days of national peril, where Presidential Christmas trees of 2009 carry ornaments celebrating the communist mass murderer Chairman Mao and those expressing hope that sexual deviancy may be approved, we can take heart and go back and hear the words of faith from a REAL AMERICAN PRESIDENT.

GOD BLESS US EVERYONE...

A Personally Correct "MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

2009-12-20T19:55:00.000-08:00

I don't know if we ever needed real hope more than we do this Christmas of 2009. We are living in a world filled with godlessness in political leadership, the media, and personal lifestyles. On the flip side of godlessness, God is used to promote terrorism and fear around the world.

Of course these conditions also bring out the best in people. Many are prompted to come forth and proclaim their faith and take a stand. The readers of my blogs, books, and those like them are those fearless ones, who know they can't stand alone, but must find like-minds and stand for Christ...his birth, mission, and message of everlasting hope.

SO... In the face of opposition: from the media, the education boards, the city councils, the Federal and State government, the commercial enterprises who are afraid of the now politically incorrect refrain: "MERRY CHRISTMAS," we stand together and proclaim it loudly with joy!

This Christmas I share Chapter 1of my latest novel, THE CHRIST REPORT.

Though fiction, and created from my imaginings of that evening where people flocked to their cities of birth to be counted in a Roman tax census, I ask you to see if you can relate to the pressures of a young innkeeper, and an equally young couple destined to play the role of parents to the newborn Prince of Peace; parents desperate for clean lodgings for the eminent birth of their firstborn son, even Emmanuel.

For those who may believe in Christ, yet are not taking time to seek or “find” Him, I share the following story as found in my just released novel, THE CHRIST REPORT.

From… THE CHRIST REPORT Chapter One

Bethlehem – Eve of the Roman tax census

“More wine. And more loaves!” a legionnaire growled.

“See to it Phinnias,” the innkeeper whispered.

“Yes, Master Cleophas.”

The usual mix at occasions of celebration and feasts in the land round about Jerusalem brought all sorts to this place but the inn filled to the brim this night.

The Emperor’s edict, the Roman tax census, added the pressure that caused his dining hall to fill beyond capacity. The required reporting of each head of house to his home town or village of birth caused the inn of Cleophas at Bethlehem, not many furlongs from mighty Jerusalem itself, to be a loud place, shoulder to shoulder at the dining tables, and to overflowing with all-night boarders.

“The fool thinks this is old wine. See how he pretends at drunkenness,” Phinnias whispered into the ear of the server boy Asa, while pointing to the raucous legionnaires. Asa nodded and hurried past him with the fresh loaves for each table.

People Cleophas had never seen before were coming to Bethlehem to be counted. He himself would venture to Emmaus on the morrow. Some three score furlongs from the capital city in the opposite direction, and the place of his birth, he would be counted tomorrow and pay the tax of a single man, and then hurrying back, he would manage the crowds here again.

He longed to stay in Emmaus, be with her, but crowds also filled the purse; brought revenue. The people filling his dining hall and small inn eased their purse strings as they merrily consumed more wine, ate more victuals. His job was to insure that merriment—keep it going strong late into the evening. He would have the dowry required by Jarom for her hand in marriage soon. The sound of payment for his services in coins of copper, silver, and gold too, made this night of anticipation more bearable. He would rather be in Emmaus now, with her, but for this...

And, there was another kind of pressure this night. Jarom, his future father-in-law, would be here any minute. He wondered if he would measure up to the man’s expectations. He had already proven adept at turning a copper penny into a good shekel.

Barely twenty years old, recently inheriting this inn and boarding house from his uncle Simeon, he’d never experienced these demands before. Like a father, Simeon had brought him up to learn a trade and be an observant Jew in all the laws of the prophets. Although originally from smaller Emmaus, Simeon brought him here when his parents died.

He had worked here from his eighth year, attended school, made his offerings, and observed the Sabbath here. So close to Jerusalem, he had also picked up on the cosmopolitan pretenses of travelers from the big city who often stopped for refreshment on their way to the cities and coasts in other lands.

Cleophas had learned the art of the smile, the art of compromise. The patron is always right, Simeon reminded him along with: Satisfy thy guest and thy purse shall never be empty.

Simeon had made him this promise, he Cleophas had tested it, and so it was.
Cleophas had proven shrewd for business. It pleased Simeon greatly. On several occasions before his death Simeon would trust the young man to the hospitality enterprise on his own. Cleophas had never let him down. Simeon’s wife had died of the fever years before, and childless, Simeon’s last wish was for Cleophas to inherit the inn. With his final breath he uttered: “And remember my son, there is always room at the inn for the least to the great. Walk with God. Peace be unto you, my son.”

So here he was now; young, on his own, and he swore to make this property even more prosperous, more famous for service than his well-respected uncle Simeon had. “More wine I say! Innkeeper! The loaves! Where in the name of Jupiter, Zeus, and...and...” The unruly legionnaire turned to another soldier, now pretending to be too drunk to know the difference between the question and the answer. “What is the Hebrew’s name for their God?” the stammering soldier laughed to his company of friends. He bellowed his question to the room full of guests when his comrades shrugged the question off.

No answer. The room went silent as the diners wondered what the irrational man might do with his sword.

“No matter,” he cackled loudly. “Bring the meats!” He slammed his fist upon the table and sat, creating noisy ribaldry in his native tongue.

A soldier. But not just any soldier. These were the most despised of the Roman Legion. Provincials. And they were late. They always left for the Fortress Antonia at dusk before. Perhaps they were camping in the fields this night, manning the census tables on the morrow. Yes, perhaps, Cleophas grumbled.

You could never tell about the occupiers though. Uncertainty was one thing, he Cleophas, had learned he could come to count on. And these were of the crude Syrian band of legionnaires. Conscripts. No lovers of the Jew, even if the Roman saw the Jew as a mere conquered people, the crass Syrians from the north and the Jews from the land of Israel went back many generations to great wars and strife. Now both the Syrian and the Israelite were under the dominion of the Roman. The Syrian gladly picked up the sword for the Roman Legions, happily took his pay, a fine uniform, respect as a fellow conqueror, and occasionally the opportunity to kill a Jew.
The Jew picked up the sword for no conqueror. This Syrian sort was the most vulgar guest Cleophas had known for many months, and easiest to madden. Cleophas knew he must attend to this one, or the entire room of guests would know his wrath.

“Now!” he barked louder, standing and pounding his fist even louder now against the long table.

“Coming sir! Yes sir! I am bringing a fresh loaf, a warm loaf, direct from the hearth. The best loaf and the finest wine! Be assured sir, I want only the best for you,” Cleophas answered equally loud. “Coming even now!”

The room went still. Quiet to the sound of a rattle of a dish, a cough, any noise at all, all eyes were now upon the Syrian. How he would react would determine the fate of this warm hall and the foods spread before each boarder and diner.

The slovenly soldier wiped at his mouth, now dripping with the last ounce of wine in his cup and stuffed with the last morsels of meat on his plate. He grunted, the soldier next to him spoke in the foreign tongue, and they both laughed. A snarl, a wave for the boy to hurry, and the look of contempt for this crowd was the answer from the trouble-maker to Cleophas.

“Take this wine, take this bread, and satisfy the dogs,” Cleophas whispered to Phinnias. “Do not be far from them. Be there when the Syrian pig grunts, mutters any word of aggravation. Our night, this very busy night, the gifts left upon the tables after the meal, our reputation, depends upon the satisfaction this entire room has for an evening warm and filling. The rest; look at them. They are as eager as you and I to make sure these barbarians, these uncircumcised curs are well attended to.”

Phinnias nodded.

Cleophas shook his head, trying to jolt away the sleepiness, that wearing him down now, was causing him to increasingly lose his smile, his act; the happy host, glad to be a servant to all these, his guests. He had but three hours sleep the night before, arising early to go to the market and start the fires in the long corridors of the sleeping quarters, in the hearth for cooking the morning fare, for warming the bread stones.

Cleophas gazed to the door. The words in Hebrew carved into the white fir plank that had started life in a forest in Lebanon hung over the entrance to this inn. It was long ago. A grateful and youthful family and kin to Simeon, father and son, former Bethlehem residents but now carpenters from upper Galilee, had not only repaired tables and chairs for their room and board during Passover that year, but also created the wood plaque. A gift, though simple, Simeon had cherished the plaque and had instructed that it hang above the door forever, so that when a boarder entered or left, he or she would be compelled to read it.

Cleophas had been a table boy, a server, one week into his eighth year when they had visited. Distant cousins of Simeon, the man and his son had made the pilgrimage at the Passover in the year the boy had become a man. Cleophas recalled the name of the boy who carved these words into the soft rectangular piece of fir-wood. His name was Joseph, who was the son of Jacob, also a carpenter, and would be four years older than him now. Simeon cherished these words from the Koheleth; words from him who was simply called “the Preacher.” He strained to read them now. Tired eyes studied the words to remind him of his duty.

“Go thy way, eat and drink with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart, for God now accepteth thy works. Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest...for that is thy portion in this life.”

He wasn’t sure if God accepted his works or not, but he was sure that his inn, situated on the road into and bypassing Bethlehem would be the inn of choice for the weary traveler, one that would provide for his future bride, Mary daughter of Jarom of Emmaus, a fellow innkeeper, a first cousin to uncle Simeon.

He had long loved the slender, but comely young lady. Flaxen, her crown was made of soft, silken braids with tresses so fine, yet falling so loose upon delicate shoulders, as if to accentuate the sculpted beauty of the face one expected of a princess. Wispy locks with a hint of crimson, they seemed willing to fly easily in the soft spring breeze along with songs she so effortlessly sung with such gaiety. Every mannerism, all of her earthy beauty beckoned, called to him to touch, yet he could not. Not yet.

He yearned to have the girl, now a woman of legal age to marry. He visualized her eyes, those unusual eyes, a tint of olive, dark yet penetrating, gazing out from a face with the purity of an angel. Fair skin, soft skin, in need of tender care, he longed to hold her hands in his, sit and marvel at the woman who would bare him sons and daughters.

A living gem, she was granted these refinements and qualities by the God of Israel to stand out for him, Cleophas, to see and love. Mary was her name, and Mary was the morning sun, bright, full of shine, a sparkle to please those who came near. “Dear Mary,” he breathed, unaware of his day-dreaming solitude. “I must have her,” he said quietly to himself. “And soon.”

But first he must prove himself to Jarom, a stubborn man who no doubt would want proof that he was capable to the task Simeon had left to him.

“The door! Answer the door, Asa!” Cleophas ordered, awakened from his reverie by the urgent pounding. “If it be Jarom, usher him quietly, and without hesitation to the quarters reserved for him. But there is no room! No room in the inn for anyone else! Tell them there are victuals, but they must eat outside. No room! Make it clear Asa!”

He hurried to the kitchen to see if the porridge was ready for the kettle, the mutton for the skewer. He would gladly accept another boarder, any night but this. He had, in fact, kept it secret. One single room, his best, fit for the High Priest, or a Roman Tribune if need be. New, it was fitted with a bathing receptacle. Filled urns of fresh water from the deep well too. One for drinking, one with a basin for washing. A bed fit for a King. Ample, off the floor, with posts of cedar, side rails as well. Forgiving bedding of lamb’s wool, not straw, not common padding, but real and expensive quantities of fleece which allowed the traveler’s tired body to find its most satisfying sleep. The room was large, almost one half the size of the dining hall. And two separate chambers resided on either side of the main room. His wife and children would occupy these one day.

And something else this room had, which no ordinary home in Bethlehem possessed; a window with glass! The only room to let in the light of the mighty city, God’s City, so close, with the temple and its golden fiery dome. The glory of God resting there, and in such plain sight, would always remind them of their eternal love. It could be seen just across the valley through the fired and molded silica, a gift from an artisan whose glass-blowing craft was prized throughout finer homes in Jerusalem. He was from the far east and occasionally traveled with the caravans of friend Artemaus who, when passing this way, often camped his people in the hilly fields throughout Bethlehem’s boundaries, but resided in the inn during his sojourn in the land around Jerusalem.

Now Cleophas had just finished these rooms. Chambers for a Prince, he had considered. Jarom would be pleased. And the master chamber would be her room one day; his Mary’s room. He would serve her every want, every wish. This night would prove to Jarom, her father, that he Cleophas indeed could make his daughter a suitable husband.

Cleophas paced, working a path into the hard wood floor. He was eager to please and while this night was to impress Jarom, surely by morning the family of Jarom would follow. Like everyone else, they were commanded to be here for the census. A half day’s ride upon donkey, a full day’s walk from Emmaus, Jarom would be tired for he would have suffered the same vagaries of this Roman edict –- the Jews of Israel were to return to the town or village of birth to be counted. So Jarom would be here any time after laying out the busy work for his hirelings. And so his family would finish duties at the Inn of Emmaus and follow before first light.

“Master Cleophas,” Asa said handing a message to him. “From Jarom.”

Cleophas rolled his eyes. He read the small parchment again. So much was riding on the impressions he would make upon Jarom. “He’s not coming. The morrow will see him by last hour, before twilight. He will come with his family to do his reporting for the census and return immediately. He cannot stay,” Cleophas sighed.

“Master, what does it mean?” Asa ventured, knowing full well the anxiety Cleophas had for this night. Asa was but five years younger, a lad without family, an apprentice, and so what might affect this business and the life of Cleophas had an effect upon him.

“No need for worry, Asa. See the man there. The smartly dressed one? Notice his robes and the delicate refined lady he accompanies?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Make inquiries of him. He dresses after the manner of the publicans; a lawyer perhaps. Inquire whether he is staying in Bethlehem for the tax reporting, if he should need a room. I may as well profit from this. Hurry. Go!”

Cleophas could make quite a sum, perhaps as much for the single elegantly adorned room he had reserved for Jarom as he would make on all ten of the sleeping rooms together. He nervously watched as Asa explained the amenities. The richly clothed man smiled and arose, speaking softly to his female companion. Husband and wife, he reasoned. Reporting for the census no doubt, Cleophas silently concluded. From Caesarea, used to the finest. They probably have a plain and drab room with mother and father here in town. We’ll see, he thought as he watched Asa spread the curtain open to the hall leading to the suite. Good. They will not be able to resist.
A few nervous moments lapsed. Asa should be back by now, he said to himself. He paced, watching the servers fill the needs of his guests. Listening to the clanging of the pots, dishes, goblets, the crude talk of the Syrians, Phinnias standing by attending to their whims, the merchants, some regular diners too, all were the sounds of money being made, and he was addicted to that sound.
A knock at the door.

“Phinnias!” Cleophas pointed urgently to the door as he called out to the table waiter.

Phinnias shrugged. His hands were filled with plates and the soldier was pounding the table with fists once more, speaking to him in a stern manner while the soldier’s companions laughed. Cleophas shook his head. He understood, had told Phinnias to stay with the barbarian.

“Oh, stop. Yes, yes, I’m coming!” he shouted. He could barely hear himself speak, even though he shouted at the top of his lungs. The noise of the crowd, the laughter, the raucous behavior of the soldiers, all of it only increased with the wine being poured.

He unlatched the thick door and opened it. The man in rough homespun tunic appealed to him with an expression of panic, hurried speech. Cleophas saw the fear, desperation in this man’s eyes, and knew what he would have to say to the man, but he let him go on.

“Sir. I beseech you. This is our third stop of the evening. My wife is with child. Is Simeon in? Can I speak to him?”

“You know Simeon?”

“I have not seen him for many years. But I once stayed here with my father, the year I reported to the temple, the year I became a man.”

“Simeon is with God. Just one year ago now. I am Cleophas. Simeon was my uncle. I came to dwell with him in my eighth year.”

“Then you are kin,” the tired man sighed with comfort. His look registered relief. “You are the serving lad I remember,” he added. “But such a fine man now. I am Joseph ben Jacob here to report for the census. This is my wife…”
Cleophas forced a smile, held his hand up citing no need for the man to continue. “I am Cleophas.”

He realized his only room was a costly one, being admired even this moment, by one that would pay a small fortune, a King’s ransom, to take proper care of the lovely lady at the table.

“Can you spare a room for one night? We can pay. I am from the Galilee and she cannot ride another furlong. We must find a room, a midwife... Kind sir...dare I say kin? I don’t know what to do.”

“I...” Cleophas stumbled.

Joseph struggled in search for his purse. “I have...”

Cleophas raised his hand to calm the man and turned to see Asa nodding. Good. Now I can honestly tell this man there is no room at this inn. Cleophas started with mild tones, apologetic words.

“But she is giving birth. Please sir. You are kin of Simeon. We have no other family here. I must find shelter immediately. Simeon surely would not have...”

“Friend! I will not stand here and have you invoke the sentiments I have for my deceased uncle, sentiments close to my heart,” he said pounding with a closed fist upon his chest for emphasis. “As I said, there is no room at this inn, this night. Look for yourself.” He stood back and held the door open wide.

Cleophas nodded toward the finely dressed lawyer and his lady. The lawyer held out his hand and his wife reached up. He whispered something that pleased her greatly, and then with Asa leading the way, entered beyond the curtain separating the dining hall from the sleeping quarters. The tables were loud, and the hired servers were frantically trying to keep goblets filled, delivering bowls hot with soups, stews of mutton.

“Sir...” the voice of the man choked. “Mary cannot ride another minute. See her pain,” he gestured. “Give us a place outside the kitchen, anywhere...please?”

“Mary?” he asked. I have a Mary, he thought. She was to be here in the morning. “Mary you say?”

“Yes. Mary, my wife. She is young. I must attend to her needs with dignity,” he pled.

Cleophas’ compassion was overcoming his reason. Perhaps he could let them have his room. No, I must be here for the lawyer now. Close to attend to his whims, coax more for the service I will provide. I cannot...

He himself had slept in the stable before. The straw was clean. He was a man who would rent his own room for that extra shekel that would bring him closer to his goals of providing the expensive dowry to Jarom for the hand of his daughter. Mary, he thought.

“Sir look above your door. I hung it there myself.”

The desperate man’s words broke Cleophas from his mental wanderings. He stood back and read the hand-carved sign that Simeon had insisted stay forever.

“It is rented,” Asa whispered in Cleophas’ ear. “And for twice the asking price,” he proudly added. “Master there is no room,” Asa reminded him, noting him standing in silence, considering the couple, door ajar, as if Cleophas might not be aware.

“Shut that door, Innkeeper!” growled the Syrian. “Are you a fool? I said...”

Cleophas was in that space where people go sometimes –- the narrow corridor of conscience, a place where memories remind one of similar times and their outcomes. What would Simeon do? Give up his room? He considered what that meant. How many days? Simeon was kin. That makes me kin. I am a business man, not a charity, he reminded himself.

He pictured the woman he loved, looked at the weeping woman seated upon the donkey, the fearful man. “Asa, take care of this place. I am going to the stable. Send one of the servers for the midwife Anna. Have her report to the stable immediately. Have the server then bring cloth, and bedding, any extra bedding from storage.”

“But Cleophas, Master, I...”

“Asa! Do as I say now!”

The boy nodded and retreated.

“Come,” Cleophas urged and reached for the arm of the man. “I have shelter to give you without cost. There is clean straw and I am ordering adequate bedding for you.”
The Galilean replied gratefully blessing the name of Simeon, Cleophas and all his household as he led the animal with his quietly sobbing wife away from the boarding house.

Joseph ben Jacob of Nazereth. Well... He knew Simeon would have wanted him to keep peace at the inn. And, under ordinary circumstances, not these pressures of the Roman census, he would have found some accommodation, even if it were his room. But this is no ordinary night, he assured himself.

***

This chapter, taken from my novel THE CHRIST REPORT, creates a more complex character out of the first man, an innkeeper, to reject the Christ. Here I represent him as a young man in a hurry. Here was a young man accustomed to noise and accommodating those who could pay for his services. Here was a young man who was not bad at all, just so caught up in the day to day cares and under pressure this night of the Roman census that he listened to his head, and not his heart. He couldn’t see Jesus because he was not seeking to find Him.

As THE CHRIST REPORT tale carries on, we begin to understand Cleophas better as he ages, especially on the eve of Christ’s crucifixion. Now the questions we must each ask ourselves is this: Does He knock on our door or do we on His? If He should knock on my door tonight, what choice would I make? Would I be so busy and caught up in other things that I would not recognize the knock? If I answered the knock would I actually “see” the Christ standing there? And most importantly would I be eager to…

“…let him in?”

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

James
www.powerthink.com

THE GIPPER WOULD APPROVE

2009-11-21T11:40:00.000-08:00

All American Beliefs

Ronald Reagan is a leader for our time, and he loved football. My governor as a teen, and the President who rescued an economy in shambles, a captured Embassy in Iran, and a world in extreme Cold War when I was a young struggling married man with one kid, was part Hollywood and part politician, but ALL AMERICAN.

WARNING: DO NOT SEE THE MOVIE RECOMMENDED BELOW IF... well read on.

That's almost all you need to know when I say: "The Gipper would approve."

What would he approve of? INFORMATION; relevant truth, substance, and a reality check on what every citizen needs to know to save our country and make of him or her an ALL AMERICAN.

It was a good day, yesterday. I know that my business partner in PowerThink Publishing, world leader in ebook development,Carlos Packer, and I have created the educational equivalent to the 'A Bomb' when used to inform oneself in defense of our republic against all enemies foreign and "domestic."

THE US CONSTITUTION COACH Kit - RONALD REAGAN LEADERSHIP EDITION, over 60,000 critical documents of US history and politics on dvd/cdrom plus 32 video, mp3, and text speeches by the greatest President of the last century.

Launched both on the San Diego talker station, Rick Robert's Show 760 KFMB and presented to the Reagan Presidential Library in my hometown; Simi Valley, CA.

Check it out at www.powerthink.com and watch the surreal video of Reagan speaking in 1964 as if he were witnessing our day.

To top the day off, I went to our favorite theatre and watched the best movie I've seen all year: THE BLIND SIDE. I love football, but that is not why I went. (It was Sandra Bullock at first, just didn't tell Jeanne)

WARNING: DO NOT GO SEE THIS MOVIE IF: You enjoy true stories of overcoming adversity, kindness, mercy, love, faith, humor, and heart-filled triumph.

The "Gipper" would approve. Glad he is part of my life again and part of restoring American confidence in the US Constitution. And part Hollywood he would have loved this movie and taken Nancy out to enjoy it as a man of faith,optimism, hope, football, and what ALL AMERICAN means. Enjoy this trailer:

GHOST OF HALLOWEEN PAST

2009-10-22T15:13:00.000-07:00

HALLOWEEN & Pre-Election 2008. Has anything changed?

2008 Blog & Today: (Read then watch video)

I gave up on Halloween costumes and "trick or treating" when my 1965 12 year-old brain told me it was "childish" to hit up homeowners on Christine Ave, Simi Valley, CA. for treats in exchange for playing no "tricks." Yet that is exactly what many supposed leaders of our country and financial institutions have done to stake-holders in the Amercian dream of home ownership for decades... dressed up and played the Halloween games with our future.

How appropriate: Given the momentous "Bailout" (they like the term "Rescue") actions of the present politicos I thought I would share the Wikipedia definition of the Halloween mantra used by children. Here it is:

The "trick" part of "trick or treat" is a threat to play a trick on the "homeowner or his property" if no treat is given. Trick-or-treating is one of the main traditions of Halloween.

It isn't difficult to understand how we got into an economic mess...

"Trick on the homeowner:" Congressional Democrats and Republicans have encouraged the mortgage industry to create "entitlement" mentality to "home ownership" for nearly a generation. Documentation, and traditional qualifying requirements have been virtually suspended compared to past generations of borrowers. Mortgages; the "easy money," became "candy" or treats for "votes."

THE CANDY MAN: Both political parties are to blame; creating a sweet tooth public mentality that all people were "entitled" to home ownership regardless of classic and real ability to pay. Now we are on the verge of economic collapse. Banks sit on non-liquid assets. Banks require liquidity to run, lend, keep the engine of commerce alive. Congress created the problem, and now pat themselves on the back for fixing it? (See Sept. 27th Blog - Saving the Economy.)

New Candy Men with October Surprises? In thirty days we can choose between a war-hero seasoned Senator who claims to be a "maverick" or a freshman "community organizer" Senator who hopes we buy into an emotion filled platitude as a substitute to substance; "change we can believe in." Is this your average election year "October Surprise?" or just a coincidental convergence of justice finally catching up to theft, incompetence, and greed 30 days away from America's national election?

Not sure there are many "treats" out there, but I'm sure there are plenty of "tricks." Be careful. Be thoughtful. Judge character. Shed emotion and toss out reliance on empty "platitudes" of change. Look under the political rug for what has been swept and hidden there. These people running are experienced politicos and we may be choosing for a lesser of two evils during war and economic crisis. People who helped "create" the crisis are not going to bring "change."

Do the math. Do the homework. Your vote is required in 30 days. Obama or McCain, and other candidates will ask, "Trick or treat?"

JMP 2008

TODAY: Halloween 2009 – THE DOG SAYS IT ALL. Watch this:

MARCHING WITH THE MOB on 9-12

2009-09-20T16:14:00.000-07:00

OR...IT'S ABOUT THE CONSTITUTION, STUPID!

Four Mobster Guys from New Jersey

Marching with the Mob and a Visit to Hollowed Ground... I chose to go to Washington DC on Sept 12th to be a small part of something I sensed was going to be big. This is a quick report, which I feel obligated to write so that the truth of what I saw and felt is available on the Internet as a permanent record.

EN ROUTE: Flying out for Dulles International in Virginia, I was surprised to be surrounded by people in rows, both front and behind me, chatting it up; up until then, perfect strangers. Each guessed their seat-mates intentions by the books they had pulled out to read; two had Common Sense by Glenn Beck, and three had Cleon Skousen's "The Five Thousand Leap." I had just pulled my study copy out of the same book as the 3 behind and across from me, and decided to not get in the conversation, nor share that I was the publisher of Skousen's opus, but observe.

Each shared their motivations for going to Washington DC, and each not sure what they would find. None were representing any group, just going as individuals, as one man across the isle from me said: "I felt inspired to go. I don't know why, but my wife and I just decided to take the trip from our Christmas savings and make this our present to each other." They spoke of fiscal responsibility, family values, and expectations for the Congress and President to represent the voice of the people; and all determined to express displeasure with the apparent rush toward socialism. This was a "the Constitution matters to us" crowd.

ON PENNSYLVANIA AVE: I didn't have a group I belonged to but did have friends from Tea Party Patriot Live radio show from Orlando, FL. They became my marching buddies. We started at Freedom Plaza near the White House. People converged from all directions. If you examine photos from the event you will see a high percentage of marchers over forty. The placards were home-made, against mandated government run health care, fiscal irresponsibility, socialism, and liberal dominated policy making in rapid breath-taking speed that didn't allow time for digestion and study by our elected representatives or citizens.

OF NOTE: I recall the liberal and leftist lead protests of the 60's and 70's; they always descended from the ideals of their leaders to actual violent, loud, and property destructive behavior leaving an aftermath of trash, garbage, and injury.

MISSING:Television cameras from all the major networks. Not one. Just FOX and CNN.

In contrast this "mob," which liberal Congressional House leaders called conservative town hall protesters of the summer of 2009, were courteous, constructive, yes loud, but they actually peacefully dissented and cleaned up their own trash. (I took photo evidence of trash cans filled with used placards, and clean streets.)

I estimate the crowd was no less than 100,000 as I wandered back from the Capitol building and saw protesters filling Pennsylvania Ave for two solid hours after I arrived, walking shoulder to shoulder, until the spill over filled the Mall the distance between the Capitol Building to the north and Washington monument to the south.

An atmosphere of calm and celebration was apparent throughout the day. A victorious sense of accomplishment along with a reverence for what Washington represented; accompanied everyone I met; and I found people from every state of the Union had come in spontaneity, just as I had overheard on my flight in to Dulles.

What I saw and felt was FREEDOM.

THE BATTLEFIELD FOR THE UNION IN PENNSYLVANIA

SACRED FREEDOM and UNION: I celebrated the sense of sacred liberty the next day by a solo trip to Gettysburg battlefield, where once, long ago the fate of the Union was challenged over three bloody days of American fighting American. I climbed Big Round Top were I met four Alabamians who came, drawn as I was, to blood soaked hallowed ground where ancestors in arms fought countrymen who's motivations were, on both sides, FREEDOM.

We greeted, but spoke quietly, in awe of what took place there a violent day in July 1863. Yankee to Southerners who now only wanted one thing; to preserve the Union they love, parted knowing we would ever be united in love for country.

The country is torn again, but not by geographies. Don't be fooled by the disinformation from the media and government liberals in opposition to Freedom movements nationwide. They will call us a "mob," Nazi's, thugs, right-wingers, and racists. Heaven only knows what else...

We are NOT anti anything but "stupidity."

This is a First Amendment inspired revolution by educated people, non-violent in nature, by-in-large faith-filled for God and country with one thought; to return sanity to government, fiscally, morally, and in harmony with traditional American values. The ballot box and free speech will be the people's only weapons. Americans north, south, east, and west simply want to be AMERICAN.

And, if we could shout it in unison so that the Legislative and Executive branch of the government could hear it, it would be this:

"It's about the Constitution, stupid!"

James Pratt

WINNING IS EVERYTHING...

2009-08-30T21:07:00.000-07:00

Winning is Living Fully...until the whistle blows!

It’s Football Season again, and winning is everything…especially for final games.

This week’s movie, watched three times for the inspiration... WE ARE MARSHALL. I believe it is destined to become a football classic, and I couldn’t stop the emotions easily overtaking me as I revisited my final season and game that same year, 1970.

The look and feel of the film, perfectly cast, superbly costumed, music exactly as I recall, and team spirit die-hard football players understand.

We Are Marshall is a spirit of loss and winning. It is a story of tragedy and coping with it. It is about life, and playing what is dealt us, but ever seeking to win...until the whistle blows.

Tears in my eyes each time I watched, I recall the feelings I had when I heard the tragedy on the news that night, November 14, 1970. I had played my final football game as a senior at Simi Valley High School; injured, I was carried off the field, to never wear pads again.

The feelings never leave; those of your final game, and what might have been, and what became of the youthful passion, and friends, and expectations.

That night: I saw “pure end zone,” when the hit I didn’t see coming happened. I recall the little voice, (instinct) was to “cut right” toward sidelines, but the goal was so close. I didn’t see the man clipping me from my left as right knee extended and I crumpled in a heap yards from the score. “Should’ve cut to my right,” I remember moaning as I tried to stand. The defensive player from Newbury Park High said, “Hey man. Come on. Get up!” I thought that was generous and pure class act.

Meyers and another team member saw my dilemma and came to bring me off the field. The player from the other side, I hoped might be there was busy… as teams reformed while I limped off. He probably didn’t even know it was me who was injured. Mike Carlisle was a church buddy, but Newbury Park High was his school and all we talked about for weeks was this match of prowess and wits. I wanted back in, begging for my leg to heal. It was gone, and that was it…my final game. And winning?

Little could I know that three years later Mike’s final game would also come so quickly; played out while serving his fellow man in San Salvador. A lot of final games for a lot of friends since, I still play the game of life and wonder… is “winning everything?”

The Marshall coach tells his team just before they board the plane for the flight that would kill them, “Years from now men, people won’t remember ‘how you played the game.’ It’s winning they will remember.”

Winning takes many forms, as the movie points out. Nothing beats actually “high score wins” in a game like football, but I think there were a lot of winners that night for Marshall, and for Simi Valley and Newbury Park High. And it has never left me.

Should’ve cut to the right! Here’s a trailer from the movie. I know you’ll enjoy.

ANGEL of ILFRACOMBE

2009-08-16T17:32:00.001-07:00

A little over one year ago I went on a journey to discover the world of James Allen, the 1902 philosopher who wrote the multi-million selling classic, AS A MAN THINKETH. His fifty page book started me on a journey I enjoy today, when my mother gave it to me at age 19 with hopes I would internalize Allen's message. Thank God for good mothers.

Traveling alone, I discovered a world of wonder, and dreams, and innocence, I had only imagined in writing the novel, still in manuscript form that April 2008 day. I climbed Capstone, the hill overlooking Ilfracombe bay in Devon on the Southwest coast of England, at sunrise, and before me was a statue dedicated to the life and death of an innocent child. It was a spiritual moment as I realized the love two parents had for this child, taken so swiftly in a fall upon that hill; thoughts went to her flying away from the troubles of life and I realized how powerful mental imagery and thoughts are.

No lengthy message this week, just on "thought." James Allen climbed this hill before sunrise every day to meditate. Before the work day began he had already decided upon his actions, what he would think, how he would act, love, be. And his thoughts about becoming whatever we desire to be are still read by millions today. We become what we think about, and we can change thoughts at any time. We are really, as Allen put it, "...the sum of our thoughts."

THE BOOK: As a Man Thinketh...In His Heart coming in September for free at our new website: www.powerthink.com.

James Michael Pratt
www.jmpratt.com

RE-MAKING AMERICA

2009-08-03T18:59:00.000-07:00

OPENING LINES

"If I were not living this daily 're-making of America' as our new President proudly calls it, I would think all I see and hear was a conspiracy theory; not real. Like waking from a coma to a bad dream, we seem to be living our Founder's worst nightmares in the light of day.

"And I fear a conspiracy is not hidden from us at all, but plied upon a weakened Republic in plain sight; a Republic unable to take many more blows to its foundation dealt by the enemies to the Constitution from within."

These are the "opening lines" to a new novel series -- "THE FOUNDER's CLUB -- soon to be delivered online at my new website www.powerthink.com, now under "re-make" and re-design for "OPEN HOUSE" on Sept. 1st.

Hope you'll look for my emails regarding the newest venture; to deliver novels "online" -- one chapter at a time -- for FREE.

Keeping the faith...

James

SMALL SHIPS, 102 PEOPLE and AMERICA

2009-07-05T09:31:00.000-07:00

How a Big Dream & 102 People Changed Everything

The pilgrim story seems always reserved for Thanksgiving Day, however my visit to a replica of the famed Mayflower which brought 102 religious freedom seekers to New England, stunned me because of its size… In fact, the diminutive vessel came to life for me and became the focus of my July 4th blog as I posed against it (see photo) in Provo, Utah at one of the nation’s largest Independence Day Celebrations and parade events; over 500,000 in attendance.

The 1620 voyage of the Mayflower, more than 3,000 miles across the uncharted, unpredictable Atlantic, to an untamed and forbidding land yet to be named America was accomplished in a 100 foot long twenty-five foot wide wood-plank ship – not built for passengers, but for cargo.

Crammed in a vessel so small that there was little room to stand or move about, these 102 freedom-seekers ate, drank, slept, and took care of mother nature’s call (without bathing) in the same “hold” that would have contained precious cargo; meaning they “were” the cargo, and must have also rationed dried foods, salted pork, and grains sparingly.

No life boats, life jackets, creature comforts, in terms of today’s liability insurance and safety rules, today one would be hard-pressed to sail further than from Long beach, CA. harbor to Catalina Island (26 miles) without complete federal restrictions shutting the cruise down.

My point? Freedom is a precious thing. Our first immigrants were willing to die in the depths of the Atlantic for it. I was busy, with you, celebrating Independence Day on the 4th. The 1620 pilgrims, one of whom is my ancestor, did not do less than our Founding Fathers, our Revolutionary War heroes, or any other heroes to bequeath this land and liberty to us today.

In a nutshell… a small vessel, and small group of people – no more people than are on my Facebook site, The US Constitution Coach fan page – started a big dream; The United States of America. We are in a position today of seeing precious freedoms stripped from us by a central government bent on monitoring and measuring every one of the freedoms so many Americans of generations past and present have taken for granted.

IT IS NOT TIME TO RETURN TO EUROPEAN style governance. It is time for another Declaration of Independence in private ways; ways that encourage peaceful reemergence of the American dream our founding families established in their escape from central governments of Europe run my kings, rulers, and political bodies bent on suppressing the natural desires for self-fulfillment found in faith, prosperity, free economy, property rights, and freedom of expression (speech), protection, and self-government.

Learn about the Republic our Founders created. Become informed of the 233 year-old dream and drama that the history of America really is. Get The “US Constitution Coach Kit” at www.amazon.com with more than 60,000 searchable documents of US History and American Heritage. Understand the documents pre-dating America’s; the Magna Carta, the Mayflower Compact, Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations, and then enjoy what the Founding fathers wrote; giving context and texture to the fabric of the new Republic.

I am not a radical, but these words would seem radical to the modern educated college or high school student because they have not been taught from original documents or sources.

If a small vessel and 102 people could begin an American Republic, we can save one.

James M. Pratt
www.jmpratt.com

DAD, a DREAM, a LOVE STORY

2009-06-13T09:18:00.000-07:00

POST SCRIPT to DAD, The Man Who Lied to Save the Planet

Families begin with a dream and a love story.

My father’s dream is spelled out in simple eloquence through one hundred loving letters from the World War Two battlefields of North Africa, Italy and military posts thousands of miles from Mom.

Being a “Dad” was going to be a big deal…the written details passed back and forth between Mom and Dad though separated for three of the War years. And, so it was, with the birth of each of nine children. Just as a parent watches his dream develop and the “letting go” of his sons to Vietnam, colleges, his daughters to other men, and his youth to old age, sons and daughters “let go” with great reluctance. This column shares some of that with you… But first the changes and the “passing of the baton” from one generation to another.

Dad died on April 2, 1994. It still seems like yesterday. He had earnestly looked into my eyes and tried to tell me something important. I can only say how grateful I am that the words were finally given him for me to hear and relay to family.

The world has changed much in 15 years. Of course the human turmoil, wars, plagues, diverse earthquakes, storms and floods that have so often beset mankind for millennia have carried on with tragic and historic consequences. Both momentous and insidious changes of foreboding and potential blessing for world societies have occurred since Dad left me with the words we all long to hear spoken to us.

The speed of light communications literally available to all, mesmerize us and enhance life; but also have attached the burden and legacy of new vices and addictions. Unheard of instantaneous gratifications are elicited from messages at the touch of “click” on the key board. People that wish us well and harm literally reach inside our homes to offer messages of love but also to tempt and try; the good we can do with these tools is equal to the power in our hearts to do so, but we must beware.

In a mere 15 years since Dad’s passing, 24/7 connectivity offers us a two-edged sword.

Parents today need more wisdom, care, and vigilance than ever before to protect and nurture the innocent minds of the news ones just arrived to our modern world. And, to have innocence is a treasure beyond most minds to comprehend. We need to get it back. We need to try to rescue those who have lost it. We need the simple ways of a generation gone by to mingle with the madness of life-at-light speed so that we might remember, and cope with all that comes at us each day.

The gentle and kind admonitions of a generation almost gone now; that generation whose parents, my grandparents, literally traveled at the speed of one horse power buggy – this generation still calls to us. I think that Dad’s words and those of men and women from his generation will call to us forever. I can only thank God I have the age to look back upon many decades to understand the qualities of life that existed in the slower ways, the wise ways of thoughtfulness before action.

Then… When a boy or girl could ride a bike or one of those new skate board things to visit a friend without any thought of harm. Hanging out in a tree house to read a book, or play a board game, or fight off the imaginary bad guys with sling shots. A man or woman took things not much faster than the top speed of 1956 Chevy, of 1965 Mustang. It was fast enough to get what really mattered done, and slow enough to say, “Let’s give that a second thought.”

KEEPING FAITH: Those days are gone, but not the all the people. It is up to us now; 70 million of us in America called the “baby boomers” to recall and glean from those still living and the memories of the dead, the attributes of what really makes life “great.”

NOW FOR THE REST OF THE STORY… With all this in mind, it is still hard letting go of Dad… and Mom who recently joined him.

A DREAM and A LOVE STORY

As a “Post Script” to DAD, The Man Who Lied to Save the Planet, (coming out in a version to be released in 2010) I’d like to share a story worth noting, and perhaps an “insight” to how we are still connected to loved ones who have gone on before us, was offered to me by my Mom. Readers of MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs may recall Mom was deaf from a surgery gone awry in 1967.

She had told me she didn’t dream often, but when she did it was vivid and seems to be a message of some kind.

About one week before Dad passed away she dreamt she got a phone call. Mom couldn’t talk on the phone to us because of the near complete deafness, but in this dream she said she saw who was calling, and so she answered the phone. It went like this:

“Hello, Virginia?” the pleasant man said.
“Why Linford. Is that you? Aren’t you dead?” she asked a dear church friend she and Dad dearly loved.
“Yes,” he answered, then added: “Virginia, I have called to ask you if we can come and get Grant?” Beside him, Mom saw Linford’s wife, who had just passed on not long before, and a daughter she had never met. (She did not know of a deceased daughter at that time.)
“Well, I guess that will be alright,” she recalled answering.
“Will it be alright if we come for him on April 2nd?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” she remembered saying, and the dream was over.

LETTING GO

See, it was Mom’s child-like innocence that she carried in her heart that allowed such a dream; such spiritual awareness to take place. To others it might have meant nothing. But to Mom, God had answered a prayer to help calm her and prepare the “letting go of Dad”

I was there. It was just after 2:00 pm on the afternoon of April 2nd 1994 when Mom stroked his tired brow and kissing it said, “You can go now Grant darling.” And it was then after a half hour of struggle to try to tell me something important that he left for me, the rest of the family, and you my reader-friend, a final lesson found in those three cherished words, “I love you.”

I suppose Linford came. I suppose other friends, but also his brothers, and father and mother came to that tiny room in the farm house of Heyburn, Idaho to take him safely to another glorious home.

There were final lessons for me and I share them with you. The lesson of love, and of friends, and of family, and of connections that seem gone, but are just out of reach; yet still really there. These all occurred in a humble setting with a deaf woman, a dying man, and a son on April 2nd 1994.

MOM’S PASSING: Another Dream:

It was February 5, 2008 in the political world it is known as “Super Tuesday.” A little after 6:00 pm Janean, my older sister, called and said, “Jim, Mom just died.”

Just the day before, Mom had emailed me about another dream she had. It was a dream about her departure, meeting Dad, and a question she had been trying to make sense of. It went like this:

“I dreamed I was trying to catch a bus Dad had just left on, and was so disappointed that I missed it. I asked the bus driver when the next bus would be leaving so I could be with Dad. The bus driver the said, ‘5-12.’ Jim what do you think 5-12 means?”

I answered in an email that it probably meant the month and year the Mayan calendar ended and that she’d see Dad pulling up in that bus to get her in May 2012.

“Janean," I asked, as I tried to absorb the information about Mom’s passing I was receiving. “Do you know what time Mom died?” I questioned.

“Oh yes! I recall looking down at my watch. It was 5:12 pm.”

I invite you to read, DAD, The Made Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs and MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs to learn more about love and timeless values we all must keep faith with during these troubling times…

Go to www.jmpratt.com, order either one for $4.95 and I’ll simply send the other free.

D DAY -- REMEMBERING THEM

2009-06-05T17:25:00.000-07:00

D DAY June 6, 1944 SPECIAL REPORT & PRAYER

I first sent this report out as a member of the "Official US Press Pool" at Normandy, France on the 60th Anniversary of D-Day. Still relevant, I'm happy to say Howie Beach, is still alive, well, and just finished his memories soon to be available on AMAZON.COM: Titled: "THE PRIVATE WAR OF HOWIE BEACH." A "must read" for anyone interested in the soldier's eyewitness account of D-Day through VE Day.

REMEMBERING SOLDIERS WHO SAVED THE PLANET
James Michael Pratt – Official US Press Pool
Normandy June 6, 2004

As a member of the official US Press Pool to the multi-national sixtieth anniversary ceremonies commemorating the Allied D-Day invasion of June 6, 1944, I had the privilege of witnessing a never-to-be-repeated celebration of honor and courage at the battlefield locations in Normandy, France.

The war was nearly five years old for our British and other allies by 1944. The gathering of old warriors in their eighties and nineties said it all. They came because they knew this would be the last time in their lives such a large congregation of nations and people would pay them and their fallen comrades homage. We, the sons and daughters, came for the same reason.

My father’s age of old-young men, are leaving us at more than 1000 veterans a day. They take their history of war, love, and bravery with them to a place their comrades who died in arms have preceded them to. I miss Dad, a man who entered Rome, Italy with the victorious Allies on June 4, 1944, 2 days before the famous Normandy landings. I am growing in awareness at how much I will miss all of them. So I stumble a bit at conveying the depth of reverence and awe I felt among the 10,000 crosses so elegantly and poignantly witnessing to us of young men's sacrifice.

Equally in awe were hundreds of the aged veterans, like Howie Beach, 79 years old, from La Habra, Cailifornia. I was privileged to receive an oral history lesson of his experience of coming ashore and then 11 months of fighting hell that followed. In childlike candor he seemed the young soldier asking me, the gray haired wise old man, this question: “Do you think I can find them?”

He teared up, and I got a lump in my throat as he added, "I lost seven good friends in France and Belgium and I want to find them. Do you think I can find where they are buried?"

“Yes,” I answered. "Your friends can be found, Howie.”

“Oh,” was his simple reply as he searched the meaning of sixty years having passed.

“You are 19 years old again, aren't you?” I asked.

“What?” he asked with moist eyes.

“You aren’t 79 today. You are 19.” I knew that the recognition of this first trip back to France - one totally done in peace, and not carrying a rifle - was slowly dawning on Howie, and confusion of 60 years of time so compressed now mixed with memories so startlingly fresh.

“How do you know that…how I feel?” he responded with surprise.

“Everyone feels the same way. We are eternally young inside, like the young soldier friends of yours. They haven’t aged, and in some ways, neither have you,” I replied.

“That’s right! It is just like it was all yesterday. I don’t understand it. I shut it out for so many years and now it’s as if I am there again and it is all fresh; fresh in my mind, I mean.”

This was Howie’s moment to teach and my opportunity to learn. Howie opened up and I took notes on the spontaneous oral history lesson. I didn't need a movie screen; his eyes shared the scenes of comradeship and horror of battle as if it played out just days ago.

Howie Beach was one of many men, American, British, French, and Canadian who I met on travels for one week in June to honor on film and in the written word American Dads who stormed on to these beaches in an effort to save the planet from self-created demons and evil. These men had a call, and all recounted how they felt quite ordinary then, but part of something bigger.

“It was a mission,” Howie reminded us. “We were part of millions in uniform. Most of us figured it was a matter of time before we were dead men anyway, so we fought like mad.”

Norman Akers, a British soldier traveling to Normandy to be at a reunion of fellow British D-Day survivors was with his daughter, when I met him. He showed us an original photo of his brother’s shrapnel torn helmet lying upon a fresh mound of earth where he lay buried. The custom of the British was to immediately bury their soldiers where they fell. Later he was crossing into Belgium and then Holland during Operation Market Garden and came upon a bridge named “Akers Bridge.” He inquired and found out from a British officer, “Oh yes. That would be named for your brother. He was quite the hero, you know.”

Norman Akers looked proud, wistful, and sad all at the same time as his 83 year-old eyes strained at the graying photo of the bridge he was sharing with us; the sign posted as “Akers Bridge,” and what it meant to him to “carry on” as the surviving Akers brother of a war that consumed so many hundreds of thousands of British sons. “It seems like yesterday now,” he whispered. “I can’t understand why, but it is all so clear again.”

I thanked him for his service for us. Our British allies lost nearly one million sons beside our American forces in bringing victory to the cause. These two men both testified that they were not uncommon of other men of their time. They think of their dead brothers and comrades as the true heroes. But they survived to remind us of the cost; that FREEDOM WASN'T FREE. And now those “common men” of yesterday remind us of just how much one good man can do to make a difference in the world.

Our French hosts were generous in their regard for their American friends who gave their lives to liberate their country. American flags hung from the windows of Normandy countryside homes along with French, British, and Canadian flags.

A proud people, sometimes with disputes regarding American foreign policy, they lacked no gratitude for their hero “soldats Americain” who waded from chest deep water into withering enemy fire on D- Day beaches. More than 50,000 French civilians would also end up surrendering their lives to bombs made by Germans, and the Allies as they lived in the midst of warfare during those first terrible summer months of 1944.

The city I stayed in, Caen, France, is as charitable today in her regard for American, British, and Canadian sacrifice as it was 60 years before when nearly 95% of the buildings were destroyed and thousands of inhabitants were killed or wounded during the several weeks of fighting there between Allied and German forces.

Somehow everyone gathering during the week ending June 6th 2004 to honor our dead and living veterans of the great conflict understood that with the sacrifice, with something given up and lost, the pendulum of justice swung fully to the opposite direction offering a precious but sacred blood-stained gain in return.

In Howie Beach’s life the loss was friends and the innocence he had known as a teenager when he was called upon to become a killer of men. What he gained was a profound depth of appreciation for freedom, a love beyond measure for comrades, and a decency he would live the remainder of his life in spite of carnage and terror he experienced.

In Norman Aker’s life it was the same, plus the sacrifice of his beloved older brother. For French men and woman it was often their homes being destroyed along with family members being sacrificed for their final freedom.

One week earlier I had the honor of speaking to thirty wounded Marine’s at the invitation of personal friend at Camp Lejeune, NC. Now home from Iraq and Afghanistan’s battle fields, these men had gathered to listen to the Chaplain’s instructions on how to transform from warrior to peace-time dad and husband.

The Marines wondered aloud if we, the American citizen, appreciated them; if we cared. Many are husbands and dads, doing simply what they know their fathers and grandfathers did in World War Two, Korea, Vietnam and other conflicts.

“Will the American people be grateful?” one asked. “Will they let us finish our job?” another questioned. “I used to take my family for granted,” added a young staff sergeant. “I used to act like a drill sergeant to my young son. But when I got back from Iraq, and some of my friends didn’t, I just looked into his eyes and when he said ‘Daddy…and I…’” His throat closed tight on his own words. He wiped at the tears. “I’m not the same man,” he began once more. “I’ll never be the same man. I will never take my family or this country for granted again.”

Gratitude, love, honor. I witnessed these with our current crop of heroes, some Marines who want nothing from us but understanding and respect. And then on June 6th 2004, in an overflowing abundance of appreciation on French soil, hallowed and made sacred by men who died and also lived to tell their tales, I understood what soldiers of every time and conflict may have wondered when they asked themselves, “Will they remember me back home?”

I imagined in my mind’s eye a beneficent Creator offering an approval for a collective gathering of the spirits of the fallen whose bodies lay buried in the Normandy sod. Dads, sons, brothers, heroes all – I imagined another cerebration taking place near us; the dead among the ten thousand crosses, witnessing an earnest heartfelt homage being paid to them.

“Do they remember me back home?” I thought I heard whispered.

I knew the answer and whispered back: “Yes soldier, we do remember. We haven’t forgotten you. And we never will.”

THE D-DAY PRAYER by FDR:

James Michael Pratt - June 6, 2004
www.jmpratt.com

"BURY MY HEART in the United States"

2009-05-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

Tender MEMORIAL DAY read, first posted on 9/11 6 years after the day New York was attacked.

I felt many, if not all readers would enjoy this and pass it along to friends. Sometimes another perspective is helpful in order to appreciate the GOOD which comes from the service our men and women at war give to a world in need of hope. How about a point of view from a Freedom loving Iraqi and equally freedom loving America soldier...

An Iraqi, a tired American Soldier and...A MUST READ!

Letter by Sergeant Grant L. Pratt III, 1st Cav. Baghdad, Sept. 2007

Sergeant Grant Pratt, III is on his second tour of duty in Iraq. He is a Platoon Sergeant with the 1s Cavalry and supervises 23 other medics and an aid station in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods of Baghdad. This letter home was sent September 11, 2007. In his own words he describes how one Iraqi has given him hope:

"Bury My Heart in the United States"

I wanted to take this opportunity to let everyone know of an experience I had here that really affected me.

I have wondered over the last seven months of my deployment if this war can be won militarily, or if there is any hope that this country can embrace a democratic government. In my eyes the people seem more intent on themselves and their contempt for other each other than making things work here.

With the things I have seen, experiences, and watching friends die I kind of believe that our endeavor here is pointless. I did not believe that there was a single Iraqi in this country that really cared if the violence stopped or that there were any that did not want to kill every American they see. Then I had something happen the other day that (did not change my mind necessarily) gave me some hope.

About a month ago an Iraqi came to my aid station; he is one of the Iraqis that works with us as an interpreter. His name is Sam and he is 20 years old. He came to my aid station with a severely broken and lacerated finger after it was shut in the 300 pound door of an armored vehicle. I spent about two hours cleaning his finger and suturing it, all the while making small talk. He continually told me how he wanted to come to America and join our Army so he could come back and do more for Iraq. He told me of how he loved Americans and all he wants is to become one.

I listened and talked with him until I was finished with my procedure and wished him well, and in my mind dismissed most of what he said as just words and never thought much else of it.

On September 9th it came across the radio that one of our vehicles had been hit by an explosion and we had one soldier killed, two wounded, as well as the interpreter that was with them. I put my gear on and went with the squadron commander to the hospital to check on our injured men.

It was quite a gruesome sight. First I saw my medic, who had minor wounds, then went to the young man who had served as the gunner. He had received blast wounds to the leg which had torn away a majority of his outer thigh. I then went to view the body of our fallen brother who died due to a head injury. We helped console the other members of the platoon as this was the second Soldier they had lost in five days. Overwhelmed by the experience, we walked in to see the interpreter, which turned out to be Sam.

Sam had suffered severe lacerations to the head, resulting in over 40 sutures and staples. He had a small skull fracture and a small brain hemorrhage. Despite his severe injuries he would only ask how the others were doing. He was covered in blood and in extreme pain and just wanted to be sure that the soldiers he was with were okay.

Once satisfied they would be taken care of, he took my commanders hand and said, "If I die please take my heart to the United States and bury it there." We assured him his injuries were not mortal and left him in the care of the doctors at the hospital and told him we would be back the next day to see him.

The next morning I received a call from the hospital telling me that Sam was going to be released to an Iraqi hospital, but that he did not want to go. He feared that because of his ethnic background that he would be denied treatment and sent away. I told them I would call back in a few minutes and that we would come and get him and continue his care at my aid station. After 20 minutes of talking to the commander and making arrangements, I called the hospital and told them we would be there shortly to pick him up when they informed me that they had already released him, and had given him money to get to the Iraqi hospital. Needless to say, we were a little upset.

We began searching the area around the hospital and could not locate Sam. We were worried that he would fall into the wrong hands as any Iraqi that works with the Americans are often killed because they are aiding the enemy.

Three hours later we got a call from the gate to our base that Sam was there. He had walked from the hospital to our base, about seven miles in flip flops and pajamas, despite fairly significant injuries. My medics brought him to the aid station and as we laid him on the bed I looked at him and said "You are a pretty tough guy." He grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes and said, "I knew if I got here you would take care of me, Sergeant."

Tears filled the corner of my eyes and I replied "You bet I will." He then said, "I had to get back here for two reasons. First the memorial service for Johnson (the soldier we had lost a few days prior) is tonight and I cannot miss that. We also have an important mission tomorrow and they need me." I informed him he would make it to the service, but would not be going on patrol anytime soon. He argued for a short time then agreed that it would be in his best interest to relax for a couple of weeks before going outside the wire, but still insisted his guys (the U.S. Soldiers from his platoon) needed him.

Later that night I sat two rows behind Sam as we paid tribute to our fallen brother and watched as he mourned and cried with the rest of us. I realized he is as committed as the rest of us and is considered a brother to us.

I just got done rechecking his wounds and talking with him. He still insists on going back out with his guys because they need him. He talked about his dreams of living in California some day. I have to say I admire this guy. He displays courage like no other Iraqi I have seen and in some ways made me think again of my views.

Despite what you see and hear on the news, there are Iraqis like Sam that are dedicated to seeing their country succeed. There may not be many, but some sacrifice along side us with a simple dream of their country being better off, or like Sam of being an American citizen. It gives me some hope that things will eventually work out here, and that someday Sam will be an American citizen, because he has earned that right.

Grant

Thank you for reading and sharing! MORE BLOG POSTS COMING from www.jmpratt.com and www.powerthink.com. James Pratt

LIFE AT DAYS "Bye Mom...Love You!"

2009-05-07T18:45:00.000-07:00

A Little Boy, a Mom, and Me

I get story ideas wherever I am at the time; talking a walk, mowing the yard, and shopping at Day’s. So I wasn’t surprised to get my Mother’s Day Column while standing in line at my favorite family owned small town grocery, Day’s Market.

Jim the Bag Boy usually offers me something to write about, as he has with two memorable columns illuminating life and its pitfalls. I didn’t see the hard-working and totally delightful Down’s Syndrome adult yesterday. So… I wasn’t expecting another page of wholesome goodness to scroll itself across the right-brain screen of my mind; only temporarily devoid of action as I considered to buy or not to buy the Snickers bar tempting me to throw off my diet for one more day.

A story formed as a nine year-old boy ahead of me in line, counting pennies, nickels, and dimes to pay for what used to be “penny candy,” caused the voice of my Mom to speak to me the words of a card I found one year after her death.

I was in 1962 again and headed to Knolls Corner Market. I was on the three-speed bike with a playing card securely attached to the spokes of my back tire with a cloths pin. I had collected a quarter in pennies, nickels, and dimes, and knew it was enough for a Frostie Root Beer and a Butterfinger candy bar with a couple of Double Bubble Bubble Gum’s thrown in.

I was momentarily brought back to the present by the cashier saying, "Eleven more cents please," and watched the boy’s story unfold as he counted the change out just as millions of boys before him had at every grocery store in America.

I smiled, totally grateful for the time it was taking for the boy to carefully take each red cent from his small plastic sandwich bag.

See, I recently discovered a message my Mom had left for me to find after her death. She had put all my childhood report cards, photos, awards in a box, and in the “Baby Book” she knew I would open, there was the card; the words of her last message to me as penned by Marsha Newman:

“Bye Mom. Love you!”
I let you go alone to the store when you were only nine.
Your father said it was high time to let you go…
It was hard the first time. I knew you would come back,
An older boy full of talk about your grand adventure.
I knew you’d soon forget our world of popcorn and games,
Of peas porridge hot and peas porridge cold. Then one day,
You’d turn and say, “Bye Mom. Love You!”
And you’d be twenty years old.
And now our little world of games and finger play,
Has truly given way to other roads that never,
Quite lead home again. I comfort myself with knowledge,
That, although I don’t know where you’re going,
I do know where you’ve been.
On my knee.
Beside my bed in the dead of night.
And always close to my heart.
So when we must part, as inevitably we all must do…
The sweet good-bye you gave to me,
I now give back to you…
“Bye son…Love you!”
MOM

I miss you so much Mom! What can I do now but share that sentiment with others? God bless you now and forever!

James Michael Pratt, Author
MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs
www.jmpratt.com

PANDEMICS, Fear, and You!

2009-05-03T13:25:00.000-07:00

The Greatest Pandemic of All

A new strain of Swine Flu H1N1, in which thousands may become infected and die is the current world health headline. To put that in perspective 35,000 lives are taken annually in the United States by the common flu. All things being equal, the ending of life is tragic from whatever causes; illness, pandemic or not.

A “Pandemic” may be classed a noun describing an epidemic or widespread outbreak, or as an adjective describing a state of being. While the World Health Organization is definitely monitoring the threat level, now at 5 out of 6, the highest rating given, there is a state of being that causes more death-like symptoms among the living than any other outbreak known to man.It even kills…

HOPELESSNESS… is the surrender to chronic discouragement and depression. When you arrive at a hopeless state you have lost any inkling of healing physically, spiritually, morally, financially, and believe there is nothing left to “live” for.

DISCOURAGEMENT… is the precursor. Discouragement has many causes, and one size does not fit all. Life has dealt some strange and interesting hands to all of us. I’m an expert on discouragement, caused by varied experiences I never could have guessed would be mine to deal with; reversals in health, finances and economics, career, unexpected and sudden losses of family and friends, and other discouragements offered in a life-customized sort of way.

Some get discouraged rather easily in one department of living while another may seem impervious to the same negative details life throws at him or her.

There are issues with real and perceived discouragement triggers including:

Self-Esteem – Looks, Figure, Personal Talents

Wealth – Not Enough, Never Enough, None at All

Education – Affording, Maintaining, Learning Difficulties

Addictions – Drugs, Alcohol, Porn, Relationship, Lifestyle

DEPRESSION… is a cousin to hopelessness caused not only from some science confirmed in genetic studies but from chronic misdirected thinking, and focus upon negative life events past, present, or those perceived as future.

Mixing obsessive negativity with real biological disorders of mental and emotional kinds becomes a chronic cycle condemning one to see the darkness surrounding the stars at night rather than the majesty of the lights dispelling the darkness.

The antidote? It is said that... HOPE is the ingredient which makes life bearable. Man's hope may be born of great effort, trial, patience or from the luxury of a God-given gift of irrepressible positive energy I so admire in many.

Pliny the Elder said: “Hope is the pillar that holds up the world. Hope is the dream of a waking man.”

Indeed, without hope one risks the loss of health and life. It is the “hopeless” who pull the trigger ending so many lives. Murder-suicides are becoming epidemic; all “hopeless” related. Heart attacks linked to blocked arteries, are often blamed upon diet, but did you know stress and anxiety causes plaque buildup, creates hypertension, (HBP)and causes immune system breakdown? The correlation between stress and anxiety and linkage to other illnesses and pains of a hundred kinds is indisputable. (A topic for another day.)

I feel such empathy for those lost souls, and plead for those others to not give up; those with emotional ability to choose the “light” and goodness, and sounds, and sights of beauty available in a world also suffering its “Pandemics...” DO NOT GIVE UP! Keep seeking the light of hope, the laughter that innocent joys, and good humor, and simple pleasures of life brings.

I hope the reader knows that I am not pointing a finger at the sufferers of depression and hopelessness. I am just pointing out that HOPELESSNESS is a bigger killer than swine flu ever will be. It strikes every second of every hour, and lasts sometimes for years. It increases the chance of the immune system weakening, thereby becoming vulnerable to a myriad of physical ailments that the body could otherwise defend against.

The news of today; unemployment, wars, disasters, and now Swine Flu Pandemic; all real, all frightening, must not be allowed to take anchor in our lives as if we depended on the outcome of news to “fix” the problems. The scythe called “hopelessness” isn’t diminished by waiting for something “good” to happen, for our “lottery ticket” to be pulled a winner. These uncontrollable events cannot “fix” themselves through more reporting.

The answer?

More on HOPE and PANDEMIC cures in my next post.

James www.jmpratt.com

TELL ‘EM STORY!

2009-04-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

Create Your Best Life Story, NOW!

“My grandfather, King George, he take-a-me walk-about. He teach-a-me black fella ways. Grandfather, he teach-a-me the greatest lesson of all; TELL ‘EM STORY!” -Nulla’s opening line from the movie, AUSTRALIA.

I love this movie! Movie Critics (people who cannot create) have given it a very hard time.

This movie has all the elements I enjoy in a masterpiece: epic drama, good guys, bad guys, romance, humor, historical and cultural references from each character’s point of view. More than a "chick flick" as some categorize it, the entire Three Act Play structure is fully developed for each of the main characters.

While critics have said it, “…goes on and on…” - I find myself enjoying that too. Why? Because you constantly get happy surprises just around the bend, and hope the story doesn't end. And, I love how a movie "wraps," begins and ends with the same premise. I won’t spoil that too much for you, though I hinted to it already.

Enjoy this film clip from You Tube:

We live in tough and turbulent times. Your life and mine is filled with drama, and sometimes epic in scope, it contains good guys and bad guys, romance, humor, and is based on our own individual historical and cultural elements.

The hero - “The Drover” played by Hugh Jackman - early on instructs Lady Ashby, played by Nicole Kidman, about how he has chosen to live his life simply, and without clutter when he answers a criticism with this:

"See, everything I own can be carried in this saddlebag here. At the end of the day your life’s story is all you own. I’m just trying to live a good one.”

As your personal life story continues on, that's something worth thinking about, pondering, and developing.

James Pratt
www.jmpratt.com
www.powerthink.com

EASTER 2009 WISHES

2009-04-11T11:07:00.000-07:00

IN GOD, FAMILY, FAITH, FRIENDS… We Live, Love, and Hope

We live in a time of trouble, turmoil, disaster, despair. We need each other; family and friends. I often wonder, however, why a person would not want to add the faith and assurance of having God in the mix. In Him we find stronger arms, greater strength, mending broken hearts and minds…

Just over 2000 years ago a life proclaiming peace, love, and redemption both ended His life and then showed to over one hundred followers that He had conquered death, and the effects of mortal weakness, sin, loss, and temptation.

We celebrate Christmas and Easter, and many of us Passover, to honor this singular life; His meaning and victories.

I have no eloquence to share beyond what great men and women have already penned. I do pray, however, that my final words of life shall be these simple ones I freely offer now:

“I know my Redeemer lives. I know Jesus is the Christ, Messiah, Savior of all men and women.”

The Jewish carpenter’s son from Nazareth, who had used hammers to drive nails into beams to build useful things for others on so many occasions during his life, had his palms nailed to beams created by another carpenter in Jerusalem that awful day. Yet even in this, He was in the building business… When He breathed his last breath and said:

“It is finished!” he also meant, “It begins!”

You are Christ’s, and so am I, ransomed before we were even born by a willing builder of men and women. Is it such a hard thing to live for Him? To walk with Him?

I recommend to you a path less trodden. One often ridiculed by our world. In it you will find peace, faith, hope, love, and contentment; a knowledge that comes from deep within and tries to summon eloquence to describe it. But, in the end this knowledge can only be offered simply, and it is this:

“I know that my Redeemer lives!”

James Michael Pratt
www.jmpratt.com

The Golden Rules of Love

2009-03-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

New Book Coming Out This Summer

Over the past 14 years of writing, this theme has been with me and is threaded into the story fabric of each novel and non-fiction work I've been privileged to write. It isn't because I am someone special, but it is because I want to be; to my wife, friends, children, family members... May I share a condensed chapter?

Love is Life

“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses.” --Voltaire

How important is love? Its touch brings renewed hope to the disheartened, pleasure to the eye, a quickening to the soul; love sustains mankind. It leads to commitment, then marriage, on to families and as such creates the social bond we call community.

Love is the glue to every worldly society for it ultimately calls the mother and father home to nurture the rising generations; it beckons the brother, sister, friend to give, serve, lift and care for one another.

No other emotion so powerfully affects us day to day. Love feeds the starving, clothes the naked and cares for the poor, homeless, widowed and fatherless. Love, like fire, burns at different degrees in all of us. The most hardened criminal can be touched by it, given the right mix of passions and compassion.

“Love is divine fire, with a large F.” --Truman Madsen

Love… Soliloquies issuing from the mouths of the dying have summoned it. Defined in written and spoken words it has been reviled and reveled in as played out on screen and stage. Philosophers have written tomes to fill libraries on it. The religious have enjoined it to the grand purposes of the Gods. Nations have fought wars in the name of it and men have risked their lives to seek but a taste of its sweet and addicting flavor.

“At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.” -- Plato

Love is a verb and a noun. To explore its dimensions in literature, song, dance, worship, art, and service is to touch the hand of the Divine Creator and partner with him in creating on earth a small space of heaven.

Love is food to the soul. It satiates spiritual thirst and puts a quicker beat into the heart, sending life-giving fluids bursting to every part of ones being. Love is from the fountain of the heart.

Indeed, we may say in truth, “Love is life.”

James Michael Pratt
www.jmpratt.com

LOST CAUSES & the Jimmy Stewart Solution

2009-03-21T19:38:00.000-07:00

The 1 Rule Solution to Every Day Crisis

The shortest column I have ever written is accompanied by this YOU TUBE from the classic 1939 film, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. A newcomer, he takes up a lonely battle against the entrenched establishment in the US Senate.

We are faced with a "national crisis," and "international crisis" and for each one of us, at least one current "personal crisis." The national, international, and personal dilemmas have a solution. I think I'll let "Mr. Smith" share it.

What if we adopted Mr. Smith's solution? Just one rule...The Golden Rule?

James Pratt
jmpratt.com
www.powerthink.com
www.usconstitutioncoach.com

5000 Year Leap by W. Cleon Skousen

2009-03-20T06:19:00.000-07:00

An Elegant Thinker and Writer

Birth of a National Bestseller: I'm so proud to announce the birth of the 30 YEAR ANNIVERSARY EDITION of W. Cleon Skousen's THE FIVE THOUSAND YEAR LEAP, commissioned by his sons and family to my small publishing company, American Documents, and distributed by PowerThink.

I met Dr. Skousen on several occasions, first in 1981 when this book was published and just before he passed away in 2006. I never met another man, outside of my own father, with a gentler and kinder spirit, and more firm conviction for God and country coupled with passion for truth, morality, ethics, law, and family.

It was the 1930's when law school student, and later FBI Agent W. Cleon Skousen, wondered why socialism was the college professor's choice in perspectives for successful governance. Working in the nation's capitol, he was further stunned by the average Congressman's lack of understanding of the US Constitution. He set out to remedy that in an age where an increasing number of college students and celebrities idolized men like Fascist Mussolini, and communists Lenin, and Stalin. Soon to arise on the international scene would be Hitler of Germany and Mao of China. No matter that 10's of millions had died and more than 100 million would yet die under their philosophies and regimes, those Marxist and socialist inspired ideologies were not about individuals, but the undoing of capitalism and the perceived ruling classes.

A populism driven by steel resulted; guns, bullets, bombs, and mayhem, the "people's revolutions" these despots preached was nothing more than "tyrants rule." Individuals were seen as expendable and no more valuable than grass to be trampled, cut down, or left to burn in the path of revolutionary fires.

I first studied Skousen's national bestseller, THE 5000 YEAR LEAP in 1981. It explores 28 principles the Founding Fathers used to create the 222 year-old document guiding the American success story. I could never have imagined this day, when everything it warned against would become an item of daily news.

This 30 Year Anniversary edition with Foreword by Glenn Beck (given by him to Skousen's sons and copyright holders for use in this edition) is now available at our website with other specials including our 7 day old CD ROM study tool, the US CONSTITUTION COACH KIT... a product I believe will be the only tool you will ever need to gain a thorough understanding of our 222 year old history and its founding documents.

By the way, no one illuminates the news, makes its meaning more applicable to Dr. Skousen's work than the highly entertaining Glenn Beck. He is a true friend to Dr. Skousen who would have loved him like a son. I urge all readers of this and my other blogs and works to enjoy his daily insights.

We are so honored to be authorized by the Skousen family to bring you this amazing book and its story. Only at: www.usconstitutioncoach.com, www.5000yearleap.com, and www.5000yearleap.net.

James M. Pratt

PAUL HARVEY, TOUGH TIMES, and You!

2009-03-08T13:01:00.000-07:00

When Times are Tough, Be a Creator…

This week I want to pay tribute to radio legend Paul Harvey… and lessons learned along the way about “creating.” Paul Harvey passed away this week at the age of 90. I cannot recall a time when I did not know the voice of Paul Harvey. See, that’s because I’m a “youngster;" a mere 55 years old. He was already broadcasting in an unploughed commercial radio medium for years before the doctor spanked me and told my Mom, “You have a son.”

His 10 plus minutes of news, humor, and inspirational American vignettes were carried daily by over 1000 radio stations for nearly six decades. It would be a really rare American who had never heard his soothing, sometimes folksy, but entirely self-trained and “All American” baritone monologue delivery of the “News with Paul Harvey” and “The Rest of the Story.”

What I find compelling is Paul Harvey had an "idea" and did not wait to be “found” or until conditions in the market place were “ideal.” He did not go to school and present credentials to interviewing employers; nor did he look for “approval” of others. He found a way to “create” what his mind envisioned and a service he could give. This is probably the best tribute I can make to a man I did not personally know, and one I am happy to offer:

He inspired me, because Paul Harvey was a CREATOR.

I am a creative writer. I have been writing all my life it seems, first in private journals, and just random thoughts. My first novel was published after suffering a near death experience and in recovery. But of the 10 books published over 11 years, just five of those years have been real “paying” years. In other words, I have stuck to “creating” anyway, even though at times feeling a bit delusional and very strapped financially. Why?

Creating is a way "out" for tough times, and the only option for beginning life fresh everyday.

Over the past six years I haven’t had the luxury to “wait” until “things turned around.” I just had to believe if I just put forth the effort, and gave my best, that what has happened for so many others – people like Paul Harvey, and fellow creators – would also inevitably happen for me.

Searching YOU TUBE for a perfect video message to fit this theme I found an inspiring 2 minute message worth watching:

What I am trying to say is that though “times are tough,” and are not “ideal for a new beginning” or start, and though it is quite natural to feel fear and anxiety...

THERE IS A REMEDY: It is found in a uniquely human and universal gift available to everyone called, “CREATING.” See, not being “ready” or polished, or capable, or top of the class in your gift or talent is no excuse. You simply need to have an interest.

It can be in writing, music, or any of the arts. It can be inventing, making home-made products, business, working with the mind, the voice, or the hands. Age is not a requirement, but being “alive” is.

When you are down, everything is “up.” Why not be a CREATOR? What’s the worse that can happen? Creating soothes the spirit, calms the soul, and draws others to you. It opens doors you may have never seen coming, and ones which never could have opened for you until you “created.”

It comes down to “value.” I have not been working for money for many years. I have been working for value, and for something else; a dream to touch you and others unknown to me. Money will come again and that is because “CREATING” produces “value.”

Never underestimate the unique quality in you, nor the one of highest importance and immeasurable by any means but by God; for you are His child.

For more on the life of Paul Harvey visit www.paulharvey.com

"Good day!"

James Pratt
www.jmpratt.com
www.powerthink.com

PEACE, Troubles, Fear, Jean Valjean and You

2009-02-24T20:04:00.001-08:00

I don't know why I am writing this. I have had trouble for two weeks finding the right inspiration for the next post. I had Valentine's Day all lined up... You know I wrote The Last Valentine, and was going to share some history of that magical first novel to be made into a Hallmark movie for next year; history few know about... but for some reason, with all that is troubling the world, and just life, the lover's holiday got by me.

So I share with you this... about finding peace in these toubled times. It is something I understand. I have had some experience getting through tough times and major reversals more than once. The lessons learned form Victor Hugo's masterpiece come to mind as I consider the feelings of my heart right now.

Jean Valjean’s Choice

I love the line in the film version of Les Miserable when the Bishop protects Jean Valjean from going back to prison.

The Set Up: We see Jean Valjean in the opening scene, a man wearing rags and asleep on a bench in a quiet French village at the turn of the nineteenth century. He is an “ex-convict,” just freed from a French prison where he had spent 19 years at hard labor for stealing bread as a hungry and homeless youth. Bitter, he must make his way to his home town by foot in three days and report to the Parole Officer, where he will be denied work because he is an ex-convict, and thus find himself once again in a position to starve.

An old woman prods him to wake up and tells him, “You can’t sleep here.” He tells her, “Leave me alone…” and that he hasn’t eaten and no one will give him a place to sleep. “You haven’t tried that door. Try that door,” she says pointing.

It is the local Protestant Bishop and his wife. Valjean is fed and offered a place to sleep. His smallness of soul and bitterness cause him to do something that could land him back in prison, and yet he, for the first time in his life, will be shown “mercy;” by the very Bishop he beats and robs. The Bishop teaches Valjean a lesson that will not only serve him but changes all those lives who come into contact with Valjean forever. Watch this collage of clips from the movie…

The Bishop’s Mercy:

Bishop: “Now Don't Forget, Don't ever Forget, you've promised to become a new man.”

Jean Valjean: “Promise? What, Why are you doing this?”

Bishop: “Jean Valjean my brother, you no longer belong to evil. With this silver, I have bought your soul. I've ransomed you from fear and hatred, and now I give you back to God.”

Jean Valjean’s Lesson Learned:

The movie picks up years later. We see Valjean is a wealthy hermit of a man, having worked his way from the investment the Bishop made in him to owner of a factory. Though he prefers being left alone, he is so well respected for his honesty, tender regard for others, and humility, the people of the village of Vigot near Paris elect him Mayor. We see Jean Valjean as a good and merciful man who, like a ripple effect, adopted the goodness of the old Bishop and passes it forward in this new life of his.

Just as he thinks some peace may finally be his permanent reality, into his life comes a former enemy, a prison guard named Javert, now assigned to Vigot as “Inspector” (Chief of Police.)

To make a long story short Javert, his nemesis for the rest of the story, finds out that the mayor is really an ex “convict” by the name of Jean Valjean, and he is determined to see that he goes back to prison. The crisis continues as now Valjean must escape, create a new identity and seek some peace. Over the next 20 years he almost finds it and then Inspector Javert finds Valjean in Paris. Caught, he tells Valjean, who has committed no crimes, yet certain a criminal can never change: “It's a pity the law doesn't allow me to be merciful.”

The truth? Mercy is a choice. Forgiveness is a choice. Love is a choice. Only those who must follow some heartless list of rules exact punishment upon others long after the turbulent water has passed under the bridge once crossed by two who could not reconcile their differences.

Inspector Javert inspired fear in Valjean. He represented everything evil, unjust, and unfair about Jean Valjean’s earlier life.

Fear? The world has changed. Fear among the people across the globe is palpable. Many are faced with losing everything, and many more have had all their retirement and savings wiped out.

There is something we can do about it. Something that may seem small right now... It doesn't have to do with "getting" more stuff, or rescuing "things" but with giving away something more valuable than the financial and material things people are so fearful of losing. And... strangely, this very thing I recommend will begin to set the world right for you, and "getting things" restored that are lost will become not burdensome but a new adventure.

It is giving that unlocks getting: Is there someone who wronged you? Is there someone who has fear of you? Is there anyone who lacks peace because of hurt feelings, even if they are in the wrong? Does someone "owe" you? These are faced with wondering where God is for multiple reasons right now. They are filled with uncertainties about the future. They carry burdens and may carry one you do not intend for them to still carry. Release them...

The Bishop had told Valjean, after Valjean explained his torment for stealing to solve his hunger and the price he had to pay: “Man can be unjust.” Yet, the Bishop "freed" Valjean from his fears, and his only experience; the unjust nature of man and things, by a simple act of generosity and kindness and forgiveness...even though Valjean did certainly not "deserve" it at that moment.

Jean Valjean had to begin anew three times in this story. Jean Valjean was given multiple choices to get rid of Javert; twice violently, (and to all appearances no one would have missed the implacable Inspector) yet he would not allow the gift of the Bishop to become wasted. He spares Javert who then still will not let go...

In the end the victory was Valjean’s as he would not allow total destruction of one part of his life become the reason for an entire life of self-pity, fear, doubt and despair. The victory was priceless.

The wealth Valjean accumulated over time never solved the underlying problems of his fears… And with the hard-earned wealth he could not have purchased the peace of mind and heart that he longed for without giving something else away. It was giving away that which was given to him; passing it along...that gave him meaning and well-deserved peace from fear at last.

It was the reliance upon a power of mighty mercy that was the gift the Bishop gave to Jean Valjean and I recommend to you… It was Valjean’s losing himself for others, and giving mercy and forgiveness away that gained him every other victory.

Lose everything (I have twice) and your health (twice there also) yet do not lose your soul and hope. “Stuff” can been gained again, and health restored, but the satisfying peace that comes from knowing your heart is right with the world… that is priceless.

We can all have claim to it… Like the silver given to Valjean from the Bishop, we have the redemption from fear of one who did no harm; one who reached out to all to have his palms pierced, and who still reaches out to calm troubled hearts... if we will reach back, and in turn pass it along to others.

James Pratt
www.jmpratt.com
www.powerthink.com

ABOUT LIFE and CAMELOT, Cory and You

2009-02-09T18:07:00.000-08:00

Camelot, An Idea, and Your Highest Meaning

“Consider your origin; you were not formed to live like brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.” --Dante’s Divine Comedy

Animals and Men:

Animals exist. They do not reason. They do not plan. They offer pleasure and affection as pets, nutrition as staples for diets, and balance nature in the wild. In short, they serve the destiny nature and God intended.

Men and women were made in “the image of God…” to those who are believers, and at least highly evolved, rational, reasoning, and intelligent species to those who have not acquired a belief system which includes the concept of a divine ancestral nature.

King Arthur, Camelot, and an Idea:

I’ve placed a film clip in this column below. It is 6 minutes worth watching which wraps the story of a King who once was a boy, with the story of another boy who has the heart to become a king. It is about dreamers, and making a change in life through your heart and head before the actual event is finished.

But before you watch it you should know it is the ending scene. It is a brief moment of hope where King Arthur tells an aged Knight something of great importance. "Pele" the forgetful King of a place he can't remember, brings Arthur's sword but asks, "Who is that?" referring to a boy he sees running from the scene. "One what we all are Pele. Less than a drop in the great blue motion of the sun lit sea!"

It Begins With Knowing Who We Are

The 1967 Academy Award winning film offers deep introspection in the opening monologue as Richard Harris, playing King Arthur prays to his wizard Merlin. Arthur is preparing to send his forces against the walls of Lancelot’s Castle. He loved Lancelot like a son, he having been the right hand to Arthur at his famous “Round Table” where “right made might” and not “might made right.”

Though both Lancelot and Queen Guinevere are now repentant, and seek forgiveness, Arthur is forced by his other Knights of the Round Table to fight for honor’s sake. His men seek revenge for the betrayal Lancelot showed in his affair with Guinevere. He asks several things of Merlin. One thing that has always touched my heart is this line in the first few moments of the film:

“Oh Merlin, I have seen many men die in battle not asking, ‘Why must I die?’ but rather, ‘Why have I ever lived?’” Then he goes on, “Merlin, if I am to die in battle this day, let me not die bewildered.”

Honor, Character, Betrayal: The 2 hour plus movie then takes place and we learn of the deep love of Arthur for his queen; her's for him. We enjoy honor displayed. We see how a vision by one man can transform an entire nation. We learn of “right for right,” and real justice, and honor because honor and character are worth having, and that the Round Table suggested all men may be truly equal. We finally witness the crumbling of an empire; the frail nature of good men and women who cause a kingdom to fall because of passion and betrayal of the highest meaning in them.

As all good stories go, we learn that redemption is possible when a stow-a-way boy named Tom of Warick announces his dream to be a Knight and his intention to fight in the battle. That 6 minute ending from the movie is located below. I want you to think about how it applies to all of us, but first...

Just Existing and Cory Joyner

Cory is a homeless man from South Carolina. Living on the good will of others, I fed him for three days in a row last week. But each time I really grilled him. See, I have seen his story a thousand times, including up close with loved ones choosing to live just a step above living on the streets.

In the lecture this 30 year-old got direct counsel, warnings, and the truth: “Cory, you deserve better than you are giving yourself. You were not created to live like this, but you are a son of God. You have value. You are living like some discarded junk on the street. You need to choose discipline, decide to change, believe in your potential. God knows you and does not want you throwing your life away.”

He quickly put his hand on his heart and tapped it, and with a gasp said, “I felt that. I know that right here,” he said, wide-eyed. Cory felt pure potential and love for just a moment. I fed him, and hoped that he would take the hands that were reaching down, look up, and see more than he was seeing on the street.

I asked where he was from. “South Carolina,” he said. “Do you have a Dad?” He answered, “No.”

"I'm your Dad today and going to ask some questions then give advice," I said. “Family?” He answered, “A brother who is a computer programmer and a sister in college.” "Job skills?" I persued. "Trained chef," he answered.

“Cory,” I began. “You deserve more than you are giving yourself. Will they take you in to get cleaned up and a fresh start?”

“My brother wants me to come home but I love this girl, see. She is in jail for drug dealing, and I have to wait for her to get out.”

“Hum… In love. Addicted.” I could tell he was barely listening now. Finally I gave him lunch money and said good-bye with, “Love is hard.” He nodded and in low voice whispered, “It sure is.”

Day two and three he looked me up again. I’m easy; he knew it and I did too. So I grilled him some more. I reminded him of his divine potential and then said, “So when she gets out of jail, she gets you as a bonus?” I asked. “Look at you! You deserve more self-respect than you are offering yourself and her." Then I gave easy and direct advice on starting over and all the advantages he had going, if he'd just expect more from himself. I finished with, "Are you and her, with your combined habits and criminal records, going to step up and make something of yourself?”

“I don’t know man. No,” he added. “I guess not.”

“So you have no plans, make no decisions, just slum and hit people up everyday? Hang out, do 'dime bags' get in trouble and hope for the best... Your life is a result of choices, Cory. You have potential from God, because you are made of the same stuff!”

He was looking down, probably trying to figure out how to get away from me, yet compelled enough to stay for lunch. “You don’t feel the pain enough to change,” I added. (I wasn’t going easy on this guy on day three. That would be of no service to him.)

“Man I want to change. But I don’t know how to start.” I tapped my skull, then my heart and said, “You’ve got to want to. I reached out to you. Your brother and sister are reaching out to you. You just haven’t decided to reach back. Step 1 is, ‘you got to want to!’ It all begins here and here,” I ended, tapping again on my head and heart. "Run from this life, Cory. Run! People will give you a break if you do."

Well – there was more to the story but I will save it for later. See Camelot is an idea. It is a transformation in thinking. It was, to King Arthur, the idea that the best that existed in a man could come out of him if he would decide that it could. It was that a man was not formed to live like an animal but to be as a Knight dealing good, and justly to all. It was about dreaming, and how a boy became a King!

Now I think you will enjoy watching this ending to one of Hollywood's greatest movies…

See... It isn't just that, we are "...less than a drop in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea!" as Arthur said to Pele. It is what he finished with to Tom of Warick:

"But it seems that some of the drops sparkle Pele! Some of them do sparkle! Run Boy! Run Boy! Run!!! Oh run, my boy...."

James Pratt
www.jmpratt.com
www.powerthink.com

AN END IS A BEGINNING UPSIDE DOWN

2009-01-27T17:40:00.000-08:00

Beginnings and endings are very close…

This column is written with true concern for those feeling the stress, fear, and anxiety from recent losses. If it applies, I hope you may take courage. If it is useful for those you know facing losses, and believe it will be helpful to someone near you, I hope you will share it.

What matters is the perspective we have on what really matters most; the highest meaning in our lives. An economy is lost. A way of living ends. BUT... perhaps also the beginning to a new way of living, loving, enjoying life is also at the door... That depends on how we respond to life's curve balls...

Today a man in Los Angeles took his life, his wife's and his three children because they lost their jobs, and as he said, "Life just wasn't worth living anymore." Over the course of many weeks, multi-millionaires have been committing suicide out of shame, fear, and realization that what gave them their "meaning" (personal fortunes) was seemingly lost. Self-esteem is a fragile thing when tied to "stuff" and appearances.

What really matters most? To many basic survival, to others their image, to many the stuff they don't want to live without...

During the past several months I have had several friends ask me to pray with them, and I am delighted to do so. This is a positive thing for it indicates faith in a higher power, and an ego not so highly wrapped up in material matters that they cannot see that in the end, we control nothing, but God controls all. I was particularity delighted that my daughter, who indicates little use for God, would ask for Dad and Mom's prayers. (More on this later, but "faith power" is an absolute necessity in tumultuous times.)

So... these beloved friends recognize that control over their lives has slipped. Jobs have been lost. A way of life is jeopardized because of new economic uncertainties. Health issues abound, stress over debt unpaid mounts... I am very uniquely qualified to offer solace having been severely hammered economically (and unexpectedly) four times in four decades. I understand starting over, losing everything, including beginning again from a hospital bed. (Story found in next week's column) I have tender feelings for the fear being experienced. There is hope, even in the darkest night. I know from surviving beyond anything I ever anticipated... BUT rather than share a dozen hard luck stories with you, and how everything finally works out, I prefer to ask you to do this one thing right now; Believe in power beyond yours to make things right...

Opportunity knocks more often when starting over than in the flow of constant comfort and predictable results day after day. Why? A few thoughts…but first watch this, or simply listen to the music and continue reading:

Humans Beings Create and Possess Potential for “Re-Creating”—

We are best when challenged. We are human "beings," (the present tense) and as such, creators. We take raw material and fashion homes, clothing, harness energy, make metal ships fly and float, communicate in milliseconds to any part of the planet, create drugs that heal, fortify foods, make entertainment that allows a symphony orchestra travel with us if we choose, access encyclopedias of information in seconds, and the list goes on.

Children of God, are part Supermen and Superwomen—

Believe it. This is not some hyperbole. You and I really have chemistry and stuff made of the stars, and the Universe, and everything… So look up... What do you want to "be?"

"Being" something new is a choice in the present moment, so choose! And then, address the greatest "Being" of all; God, regarding your choice. Here's how:

Give thanks for what you've had (have) and just talk. Share the pain you are going through, and ask for ideas to help guide you. Listen (or better yet feel) for the peace. Peace is the answer that you are on the right path. Trust is the next step. If you do not feel peaceful, maybe it is also answer... Perhaps not how you see best, but how he sees best for you is happening. Let him be the extra set of eyes you need in this quest of new beginnings and a path you may not recognize today. He will begin to partner with you if you choose to let Him. Can you trust Him?

Personal Meaning is Purpose Filled Living—

Each person, at some time of their life, will face deeply searching questions about “who” they are, “why” they are here, “what life is really all about.” The sooner that happens, the sooner a deep and rewarding personal “meaning” is developed; a meaning and purpose which can drive you through any obstacle, over any mountain, and out of deepest despair. (This kind of "meaning" has spiritual power in it. When you lose a job you won't kill yourself over it, you'll just say "Next?")

When you live with "meaning" you live "on purpose."

Having purpose means you are partnering with someone in the Universe greater than you, and yet focused on making decisions (from your freedom of choice and free will) designed to be in harmony with this wonderful feeling of real worth, meaning, and value.

The biggest blessings in life may not be the calm and peaceful seas we travel upon, but the storms which force us to ask those questions about our meaning and purpose and then develop the answers.

Please… Understand—

That Super Being most believing in you is the one most willing to love, forgive, and partner with you!

When stripped of his cloths, a carpenter who used hammers and nails to build things, had them used upon him and then was hung on a cross, (ironically built by another carpenter that day) and mocked, ridiculed, and at the end… was laid in a borrowed tomb— (Not much real estate to show for a perfectly lived life, huh? Think He understands?)

He then arose to new life, and offers that same new life to you! God made no junk, a bumper sticker once read. That is because you are literally made of Divine DNA… Perfect stuff, just on a ride on an imperfect planet spinning through time and elements of space, with all the potential of divine matter residing within.

What you will do with it matters…

Endings are Just New Beginnings—James

NEXT WEEK: ABOUT LIFE 101 - How to Begin a New One

UPSIDE of the DOWNTURN

2009-01-17T09:28:00.000-08:00

Finishing Strong!

Going, going...

MONEY!

COMFORT!

SUCCESS!

Gone?

The fear across the land is palpable. It is mostly related to the economy and so let's begin there....

MONEY: Need some? Who doesn't? From Saudi Princes, to the most respected banks, every corner of the globe is looking under rugs to seek out lost pennies. Billionaires and millionaires have been taking their lives over the last weeks as their fortunes dwindle; along with wisdom; an understanding of what matters most.

Money & Success: Let's create some perspective on real success before we deal too much with the money problem...

I was a finisher...a tradesman in one of my previous work lives. After framers, hangers, and others do the rough start to a wall job, along come the finishers...those trusted to make the final wall look like framers had never been there; just an architect and owner's vision should become apparent.

In carpentry, "finishing" is the art part of making raw materials and basic structure appear as if the piece of wood was always meant to be an elegant paneled room, a deck for watching stars, a library that was meant for the best books, and chair that was built for a king. (Jesus of Nazareth, for example, was both framer and finisher.)

Starting over every day with new raw materials was never easy. But, just like life, it is something everyone must do with the rising sun, and the first step toward whatever you call "success." Finishing strong...day after day; that's where hard work blends with talent, ending up in a daily satisfying victory.

Daily Bread: It might feel like MONEY gives “life” to all things but it doesn’t. After living in a desperate third world country for two years and seeing enough destitution and squalor beyond any that a young lower-income California suburbanite's mind ever imagined, I swore I would never complain again. I learned if you had "daily bread" you could start over again. Hunger does an interesting thing; it motivates -- it moves you to action. Comfort doesn't do that.

Though I saw enough pain to break any heart, I also witnessed the ingredients for real success that guides me to this day. And, I quickly learned that...

Not all bread is equal: Coming back to a recession in California in the 1970’s was like going to the “Magic Kingdom” – Disneyland - for the first time. At home there was more bread than I could eat; a fridge that overflowed with so much stuff in one place; something I hadn't seen for years! After asking Mom if I could eat anything I wanted, I dove in, and then crashed at the kitchen table...

THE CONSTRAST between real poverty and simple abundance! Everything sparkled, and “hope” seemed to hang in the air. In fact the air was so thick with “anything was possible” that I felt, though penniless at the time and without a college education or vocational training, that I could literally become anything I wanted. After all, I was starting at the bottom... and looking up was filled with every dream or possibility imaginable! And I had my daily bread!

Fast forward 2009...

MONEY by the trillions lost in just 90 days! You need some?

COMFORT has dissipated in three months. You want some?

SUCCESS in the big things seems to have faded... You desire it again?

Having lived in shacks, surviving with what dignity I could during three recessions, I have witnessed many people “reach up,” take hold of their circumstances, rekindle hope, walk before they rode again, restore wealth, and get it for the first time under often mind-boggling conditions. Many have more peace in their life because of the perspective losing has given...

(My first book contract was given to me over the phone in my hospital bed with tubes coming out of three parts of body, no health insurance and no job.)

OPPORTUNITY KNOCKING: Someone said, "If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door." The current situation of financial chaos and political unrest is not your burden to carry alone, but felt by billions of people in the world today; it may require you to "build a door" just as finishers do. I tell you this from experience, but...

To encourage you a bit more, stop everything. Watch this:

How do people pull themselves up after losing everything?

Before you go away scroll down and listen to to a short piece of Paul Pott's "Britain's Got Talent" rendition of the opera "Nesum Dorma," as it ends with "Vincero! Vincero! Vincero!"

I will be addressing tried and true "solutions" during all of 2009.

MONEY, COMFORT, SUCCESS...It takes hard work, and conquering frequent despair, but also simple belief in dreams, looking at raw materials with inspiration for what they can become, and...

FINISHING STRONG!

NEXT WEEK: "Going the Distance - Endings and Beginnings Are Very Close."

James Pratt

www.powerthink.com
www.jmpratt.com

Paul Potts VINCERO; "I Will Win"

2009-01-07T15:38:00.000-08:00

New Year's Hope for All Who Will Step on Stage...

Last year an insecure mobile phone warehouseman from Wales stepped onto Simon Cowl's "Britain's Got Talent" stage and stunned the judges, and the audience. If you are not touched in ten seconds by this video, get a heart exam. Listen for the Italian word "Vincero." It means, "I will win [conquer.]"

The point? With all that i s going on in the world, negative reports of economic chaos, and the gut-check on the reality of our world-wide dilemma, there is still room for something more; YOU AND YOUR UNIQUE TALENT...

IF YOU WILL STEP UP TO THE STAGE.

More coming next week: "UPSIDE of the DOWNTURN."

James Pratt
www.jmpratt.com
www.powerthink.com

MY GROWN UP CHRISTMAS WISH

2008-12-13T11:59:00.000-08:00

A Gift for You

During these times of war, confusion, economic chaos, world turmoil, there is hope found in a place you or I can go any time... It is the safety of our heart's most cherished beliefs. Beliefs root and ground us in a foundation that stays firm though the earth moves uncontrollably. Along with pleasant memories of innocence, an inner voice calls to us to "believe" in what Christ's Mass is all about.

I wish I could wave a magic wand for all my friends and family who suffer, or long for just the sweet peace of child-like dreams. If I could I would wave it and make the heartaches and frenetic pace accompanying life in a 21st century world; a world sometimes seeming out of our control, go away.

Amy Grant sings a song I have loved for many years. "My Grown Up Christmas List" which answers the question what I would "wish" for you. It really brings it all home; At the end of the day all I care about is what Amy Grant sings, "MY GROWN UP CHRISTMAS LIST."

ALONG WITH THAT WISH I want to offer you a book FOR SHIPPING COST ONLY. It needs to find homes and friends before publishers and distributors will take note, and I hope you may enjoy it along with the cost: FREE with shipping only.

FOR YOUR CHRISTMAS...and friends & family: I wrote a story 6 years ago that is only now in its first few months of birth in paperback form. THE CHRIST REPORT, a story of hope, redemption, love, and return to simple beliefs. Cynical New York television host Sam Robertson, ailing with a broken heart and deeply in love, must help a man from the past if he is to survive one more Christmas; an innkeeper from 2,000 years ago and similarly with a broken heart but for a different reason. Their message? The secrets found in The Christ Report. It isn't in stores yet. But it is available to you for FREE... a limited edition and autographed. All I require is the cost of shipping at the check out of my new website: www.powerthink.com/store. Click on The Christ Report and follow the instructions.

Enter the "Redemption Code" word: CHRISTMAS (in caps.) I'll ship it out immediately.

Please feel free to share with all your friends and family. Books with inspiration-filled messages in a box under the tree are better than in a box in storage...

I will be sharing the "silver lining" in the economic storm clouds all next year... Until then:

May this Christmas be simple, and filled with the warmth of hope, faith, and love!

James
www.jmpratt.com
www.powerthink.com

PROCLAIM LIBERTY...For Christmas

2008-12-01T17:24:00.000-08:00

“Proclaim liberty throughout all the land and unto all the inhabitants thereof.” Leviticus 25:10.

Inscribed upon THE LIBERTY BELL, at its permanent residence in Philadelphia, PA. are those words from Leviticus of the Old Testament. Wise and enduring words which would bring peace to everyone all year around. Speaking of "peace..."

“Christ’s Mass” is upon us. I love this time of year. It is more joy-filled, light-hearted, and giving. I believe the spirit of Christmas is literally a spiritual manifestation from God of how the world could be all the time if we proclaimed His liberty and freedom to all…

The Christmas season is a perfect occasion to rejoice and celebrate the words “freedom” and “liberty.” Most often associated in the average mind with country and independence, the words come from the God of Israel thousands of years before the United States was established as a free nation. When liberty was spoken of by God it had dual meanings:

Personal Liberty: One was the liberty and freedom from the effects of sin and breaking laws through an atoning Redeemer, thus giving us freedom from the burden, weight, and punishment that is a natural consequence of law-breaking. By simply offering “virtue” as a path, God offers “freedom” to any individual who is willing to try his experiment in "liberty."

National Liberty: The other meaning God had in mind is quite literal; that we should offer the same equality within God’s framework of laws to every man, woman and child. By “proclaiming liberty” to act, according to morals and virtue, God expected people to choose leaders of conscience and virtue to ensure personal freedoms were never trampled or denied.

This nation was established by men and women who believed it would take a high degree of individual morals and virtue to “self-govern;” an experiment seldom tried in past history. I will be sharing their written words upon this subject in coming months. Know this; most nations had always been governed by “rulers” who set the “policy,” created the laws, and expected compliance.

Our Founding Fathers offered, “We the People” the governing role through the vote, trusting us to pick wise and morally virtuous people who understood that “self-government” also meant “self-control.” A “balance of power” was also inspired so that no “single person” could be the total “policy” maker or “ruler.”

Without going into today's headlines, allow me to ask:“How much self-control as individuals and as governing parties are you seeing in our nation's leaders today? How much liberty is being established upon tried and true morals and virtue?” The list of national ills and dangers is long but has simple solutions and remedies. (Not simplistic but “simple” as in “reasonable and reliable.”)

US Constitution Coach and American Documents websites:I will be exploring thoughts on new websites being built with some very high powered associates who are fed up with the Constitution of the United States being walked on, disrespected, and generally disregarded as not relevant for today. Our aim is to “enlighten” and guide all, even those who may be sincere in their disagreement with the Founding Father’s vision, as to what “liberty” really means. We will link with other great websites, news sources, and original source documents to give the tools for anyone seeking clarity on what our rights as Americans are, and how to maintain them.

PROCLAIM LIBERTY for Christmas: I will offer you some FREE electronic downloads now and for the next several years as, “We the people” decide to collectively, “Proclaim liberty, throughout all the land and unto all the inhabitants thereof."

Please send this gift to all your friends, post comments on this site below, and watch for the new: www.usconstitutioncoach.com.

I will be inviting everyone I know to become a US Constitution Coach. Our country may be on the skids, and our Constitution hanging by a thread, but we have solutions and tools. The solution is “knowledge” rightly applied by "the people." It involves a revolution of virtue, morals, and sound judgement. The tool is the Internet and email connectivity with a willingness to have courage to share. It does not matter what political party or affiliation a person has. Not to me… and it shouldn't matter to you. Liberty from God invokes the sentiments of kindness and love, but it invokes courage too. We may debate issues with others but we must never debate the need for real and lasting LIBERTY.

Will you “Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land and unto all the inhabitants thereof,” with me? Let’s begin at Christmas and follow up all year long. It doesn't take money. I will give you all the tools needed to learn and share with the hundreds of friends and family members you communicate with. Freely give to them and encourage them to do likewise. We will build a fire that burns as bright as when the Founders first lit it if you accept... I promise.

At the end of the day, "Liberty" is God's call to all of us. What else matters if we can't breathe the exhilarating air of freedom?

Watch for www.usconstitutioncoach.com to go “live” in January. In the meantime, I have FREE offers for you to share with everyone. Offers are found in the “History and Freedom” collection at my website store found at www.powerthink.com. Go there create a “Login Account” and use the code: Constitution (with a capital “C.”) Three documents are FREE with this code:

"US Constitution,” “Federalist Papers,” and “Democracy in America.”

Freedom is a gift to protect. Don't wait to begin to learn and understand how blessed this land has been because of our founding principles. And don't wait to...

“Proclaim liberty throughout all the land and unto all the inhabitants thereof.” Leviticus 25:10.

James
www.powerthink.com
www.jmpratt.com

100 YEARS TO LIVE

2008-11-25T16:02:00.000-08:00

THANKS and GRATITUDE for Life & "The Battle for Everything"

Having Thanksgiving and Christmas within 30 days gives us all time to pause, take a breather and an inventory of our lives. It is a time for reflection, family, friends, God, and giving. We are allowed to relax, and just “be” whoever we are at this time of our life.

I miss a lot about friends and family gone on; gone at 16, 18, 20, 25, 30, 33, 40, 45, 50… and beyond. I find myself considering that I will join them in God’s time, and reflective of what everyone living and passed on have meant to me. I consider the smiling faces of the departed, the reunion and “abrazos” for my brothers and sisters, the sweetness of arms around parents, and my heart fills with love and gratitude.

I am looking over my shoulder and living with the end in mind in moments like these; considering all the years gone by. I have become my father, and am very aware how “time flies.” I believe living with “the end in mind” is healthy. It argues the necessity for being “grateful” and causes one to pause and consider his ways when making decisions that have meaning for self and others.

Suddenly “having it all” takes second place to “having you all” in my life; and being who I was born to be.

We are still breathing if reading this, we are probably eating enough, and have a warm place to sleep. There is a lot to be grateful for, (even in scary and tough times for so many) especially if you have lived abroad in a third world or under-developed nation for any time at all. I think about just what we have as Americans...too much here to list in the "gratitude" department but I am especially mindful of those who, in their youth, died in wars, and the living who fought for ideals and their American comrades... I can't tell you how deeply I am touched by heroism and love that men and women freely show in laying everything that matters to them at the altar of freedom.

The American experience is 221 years old since the Constitution had its first birthday. I am 55. That means I have lived 1/4th of our nation’s history. If you are reading this and half my age, I have some good advice. So write me... Or just keep reading my blogs. I promise to be clear and won’t let you down. With all the chaos going on right now, just know America is always well, and will rise above financial, moral, or political chaos, if the dream of goodness, honor, and freedom remains bright in the hearts of its citizens. I believe the dream still does...

The Battle for Everything: If you are over 25, you are getting on into serious life and seeing that life can seem, at times, a “battle for everything;” the trials, loses, and accompanying emotions you experience will make you reevaluate values and beliefs. But, during the struggle there are moments of clarity; exhilaration, friendships, love, is when the bitter past accentuates the “sweet” joys of the present. Gratitude, a smile on the face, and the knowledge that all is not lost is the result. Hard times do not last forever, and broken hearts get compensating relief along the way. Having survived means more, and so does life...

I write tearjerkers; so I am told. I am reminded by Emerson how that really works: “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.” Emotion, even hard times, allows us to grow and consider what matters most as time so blithely moves on in this modern world of life tugging at us at light speed.

Once in awhile a popular tune really grabs me and speaks of a common theme we all experience. One by the group “Five for Fighting” is filled with sweetness, reflection, and speaks a fundamental truth about how fleeting life is. I wanted to share the lyrics with you as I look back with gratitude for every blessing, for being American, for making it through the many life-struggles, and having hope to continue to make a difference with my, “100 Years to Live.”

“100 Years to Live” from the album, Battle For Everything

I'm 15 for a moment, caught in between 10 and 20 and I'm just dreaming… Counting the ways to where you are.

I'm 22 for a moment, she feels better than ever and we're on fire, making our way back from Mars.

15 there's still time for you, time to buy and time to lose. 15, there's never a wish better than this When you only got 100 years to live…

I'm 33 for a moment, still the man but you see I'm a “they…” a kid on the way, a family on my mind.

I'm 45 for a moment, the sea is high and I'm heading into a crisis, chasing the years of my life.

15 there's still time for you, time to buy and time to lose yourself within a morning star. 15 I'm all right with you. 15… there's never a wish better than this, when you only got 100 years to live.

Half time goes by, suddenly you’re wise, another blink of an eye, 67 is gone. The sun is getting high, we're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment, dying for just another moment and I'm just dreaming… Counting the ways to where you are…

15, there's still time for you, 22 I feel her too, 33 you’re on your way… Every day's a new day... 15 there's still time for you…

Time to buy and time to choose, hey 15, there's never a wish better than this; when you only got 100 years to live.

Group -Five for Fighting

May you feel God's love and enjoy a HAPPY THANKSGIVING! JMP

FREE ebooks: Go to my website: create an account at my store. Don’t need to buy anything. Test drive the FREE ebook downloads for your computer found in the “History and Freedom” section. They are: US Constitution, Democracy in America, Federalist Papers.

REDEMPTION CODE: Constitution. (with upper case "C.") Go to www.powerthink.com/store

HEART and MIND in TOUGH TIMES

2008-11-16T12:29:00.000-08:00

AS A MAN THINKETH…In His Heart

Thoughts are things: For 37 years now I have kept a copy of James Allen’s 1902 opus, As a Man Thinketh upon my desk or near it to remind me, “thoughts are things.” The basic premise is this: “We become what we think about. Therefore cultivate thoughts carefully. You will get out what you put in and it will reveal itself in circumstance.” Who can argue that?

Yet argue we do: As “human beings” we are constantly in an argument with our “human becomings.” Passions, desires, worldly distractions often drown a natural child-like voice of the inner man and woman calling to us to “become” something greater than we find our self “being.” The tough part is discipline of the thoughts we allow to just "hang out" in our brain. We habituate thought patterns of worry, and so we naturally "worry" about things we may or may not have control over. We caress the dominant thoughts of unbridled passion, and naturally careless passion manifests itself bringing heartache after the pleasure. We focus upon what politicos have in the way of control over us, and we are dominated by the politicians, our anger, resentment and feelings of helplessness.

We must simply take control of thought so that thought's negative offspring; our actions and circumstance, do not control us. In times such as these, and which are sure to come, we can ill afford "lack of control" and be at the mercy of circumstances thrust upon us.

To simplify, I often tell my kids: "Think good, get good. Think bad, get bad." It is essential to understand that thought is the birthplace of all "action" or "inaction." I add, when giving the good-bye lecture: "Life is already hard enough. Make good choices. They begin here," I'll say as I point to my heart.

SO, what's the answer to control and "thinking good to get good?" Part of the answer lies with the heart, but first...

Back to Basics After a National Election filled with High Passion: I won't stop writing on my feelings for American freedoms I hold dear, just will do it at a different blog location, soon be announced. Politics really isn’t religion and politicians really do not wield God’s power. The faith we practice is one we discover along the way and determine to obey, even formalize with a religious membership in a church. Our church is not the “state” and our God is not a man living in the White House.

May I suggest? Let’s take a step back from all the raucousness of politics and economy to examine the inner man or woman. No one (but politicians) ever promised a smooth road to financial and other securities in life. Even God said to Adam, "By the sweat of thy brow, shalt thou eat thy bread all the days of thy life..." and "Thorns and thistles and noxious weeds shall I plant to afflict and torment man..."

We shall suffer some “equity” losses during life as we go through the storms. Thursday night last, thousands of Southern Californians from the area where I spent most of my life growing up and working, enjoyed sleep in homes that were suddenly and ruthlessly destroyed Friday night. To count, some 800 homes were totally and quickly destroyed from Santa Barbara to Los Angeles suburbs; rich to the poorest, just as certain as a fire-bombing experienced in World War Two European cities wiped out homes and thousands of lives in hours.

Lifestyles were changed immediately. Inner fortitude will carry the day with many, others will suffer almost fatal despair. There is no government "bailout" for the emotions, the losses of personal and cherished possessions (journals, heirlooms, photos, letters, other family history.) Life is filled with unwanted tragedy; often when we least expect it.

I know the sting of personal loss and tragedy is real from many tough experiences, and so I hope to suggest some ways to pick oneself back up after the hard blows; after uncontrollable events or controllable choices in life knock the wind out of us.

Economic firestorms: We are in for an interesting ride. Markets are collapsing to be propped up by "bailouts" from those in government boats full of their own holes. (No one talks much about this; government debtors bailing out the debt-ridden; another topic for another day.) I have experienced multiple financial firestorms in my adult life; unwanted, unexpected, and unforeseen wipe-outs. It has built something in me that I cannot give to others; only share and encourage. "It" is this…

As we think in our hearts, we indeed are. The control of mental thought begins with the planting of good ones in the heart. From the heart a man lives. It is from there life-blood flows to every cell of the body. The brain does not live, nor cause life but only upon the mercy and good-will of the beating heart. IF THE HEART WERE TO STOP, it may yet be transplanted to give life to another. Not so with the brain.

Here is what I am suggesting: Be strong at heart. Have a firm resolve what you will think about, how you will think, and what you will control. Plant it deep within your soul, where the heart resides. The brain will obey firm resolve. It seems a simple formula to change thought habits. Though simple, yet the brain won't give in without a fight. The brain habituates easily, never sleeps, constantly begging for attention, stimulation, and more information to process--it can become like a nagging child always wanting more...

The way to modify brain dominance is with core convictions, firmly planted and created like the ancient King of Israel stated: "As a man thinketh...in his heart, so is he."

Life is a journey and not the destination we think it is. Faith to get you through the tough times is something one must want. Along with faith one must desire change. It doesn’t matter which way the winds of life-circumstances outside our control blow; it matters what the heart believes. Having a deep inner-meaning gives purpose to life, desire to change, and credibility to a brain that really doesn't want its "flow" of thought interrupted by new instructions. The answer to credibility, where the brain is concerned, is the heart offering the instructions...

It matters what the mind accepts. It matters “what we want to become” no matter how hard an economy, how bad a relationship is, how tumultuous the experience in body or spirit is; whatever we "think in our heart" will either become our stumbling block or path to final victory.

So how can I share something very hard earned? This is a “book pitch” I guess. Might sound crass, but no margin = no mission. It is about the mission of this gift to me, written with no income and no resources to fall back upon. One of the greatest blessings of my life, and a journey of immense spiritual growth...came as a result of losing everything years before the present financial crisis; which will cause others to experience what I have just passed through. I needed to have the pain to offer some solutions and do my mission in writing. so I share it with you.

Visit my website www.powerthink.com and buy the “2 for 1” of my latest paperback; the advanced reader edition of AS A MAN THINKETH…In His Heart. I want you to go on a journey with me to Ilfracombe, England where I met James Allen, who died in 1912. Go with me to a cottage on “Lamp Hill Lane,” far away from all the noise going on in our world. Stay there for awhile with me and discover “Power Thinking.” Share the free copy with a family member or friend. Spread the word that real "change and hope" is but a "thought in the heart" away...

IF I had not had everything taken away one more time just recently: well, this book would not have been produced. Good can come out of a dark night IF it comes from the heart… Take courage and take heart!

James Michael Pratt
www.powerthink.com

TRADITION, AMERICA, VALUES

2008-11-11T14:44:00.000-08:00

ELECTION EXPECTATIONS & TRADITIONAL VALUES

My Vote: It’s been one week. I voted against the man who won, and voted for the VP on the ticket of the man who lost. Outside of that I confess to nothing. Goes to show when you can’t be passionate for the leader of your side on fundamentals, how hard it will become for voters to push him to the finish line in to first place.

I wasn’t passionate because I feel the conservative movement is dead. I have a hard time mingling my vote with those who want to “reach out across the aisle” to people who want to cut your hand off. (Not cynicism, just reality) I don’t vote for “compromise.” I, like the liberals who won the election, want to vote for the “win" and the "winner” because we believe in the values he/she stands for. I voted against the other side because I don't believe in their track record or rhetoric. So much for that.

Liberals and Conservatives in America. We need each other. It clarifies things and gives feeling of empowerment when we can state our views. Opposition can be forceful but doesn't need to be nasty. We are empowered through the vote. Some of us believe in "change" because we want to get back to fundamentals that have proven reliable, and some want "change" because of a new vision for an old recipe...in spite of the fact those recipes have poor records on rising to their promises.

“Change” has always been the “raison de vivre” for the left and liberals, and often because it is more exciting (less boring) than substance. I believe in action. I love action, but "action for action sake" may take one down a road with a predictable dead end.

Liberals experiment, Conservatives stick with values and virtues that have a proven track record. Liberal ideology seeks to re-invent failed social experiments as if experimenting enough will finally “fix it”; whatever “it” is. A mature person does not believe in “change” for change’s sake; "change” without definition of what that means.

PRESERVING VALUES: I have liberal friends. I have liberal family members. We debate. I just disagree on the direction that will be best for America based upon the past evidence, present circumstances, and probable future if we choose to obey principles that work versus experimentation.

“Conservative” comes from the word “conservation,” which means to “preserve.” I prefer to “preserve” American values, not ‘re-create.’

Not guessing: It really isn’t a guess on my part when I make these statements. History is in on socialism, for example. It hasn’t worked well. It stifles creativity, kills dreams, not to mention people. Tyrants and autocrats have failed somewhere near 100% when they employed it, and democracies have fared no better. The reason is simple. Government becoming the “Super Nanny” dehumanizes the individual; taking over personal responsibility, the traditional role of religion, and even family, to create utopia. And the kicker? It actually takes money to do this. You really want to invest? The cultural elites who back this stuff never feel the pain of the people who suffer from the stuff. They look out for each other. So...

Where does the money come from? Not a money tree. It comes from taxes which, deducts, takes away, robs, incentives from private business--the engine builders of economy, killing job growth, which jobs pay our bills until killed by over-regulation and high taxation, which puts the citizenry in a position of asking the government for a pay-check, which gives the socialist government the power they seek, until there is no more money and the people revolt...etc., etc. Let's list all the great socialist governments whose citizens controlled by fear and guns finally gave up on the Marxist dream and bolted to capitalism:

Former Soviet Union, Poland, East Germany, Hungary, Chechslovakia, Yugoslavia, Romania, Bulgaria, Albania,...to name a few. Let's ask those who remember the post WWII 45 years of socialist repression, "IF" we should adopt even 1 percent what they went through... You know what the answer will be. The Berlin Wall fell and the truth of socialist glory was exposed. Present day socialists long for that kind of lost power, believing it just wasn't done right.

Successful Socialism? Socialism can’t be invented to work successfully unless success is defined by some low-level economic equalizing of all incomes and living standards.

>Think “gray apartment buildings.”
>Think “trash heaps.”
>Think no heating, poor sanitation.
>Think long lines for doctor's visits, dying from illness unnecessarily.
>Think food, gasoline, medicine, water, "rationing."
>Think third world countries...

I'm not kidding. I’ve seen it, and I’ve lived in it. I am NOT guessing about the results. Should we just keep trying until it does work?

So until something else becomes clearly preferable to that which really has worked, I feel strongly about “traditional values” being the ongoing answer for America. That means “equal rights” for all to succeed, fail, have a voice, vote as they please, and live the ideal life they choose. The evidence is clear that it has worked. It has built a beacon of hope and prosperity unlike any country or empire that ever existed in human history. And all this in 230 years.

Traditional Values and America: In 230 years versus the previous 5,000 years of recorded history, we have gone from handcarts to space travel, from letters to email, from speed of oil lamp to “speed of light” in all areas of endeavors. The founders of our country believed in economy, no debt, progress, individual improvement, freedom of speech, freedom from state religion, freedom to explore, grow, live and breathe the exhilarating air of progress where men and women choose their leaders; where we govern the governors.

I am a “traditional All-American” who believes in the values of the Founding Fathers, the US Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and especially appreciate that we can have opposing views. Opposing views, like market-place competition vs. regulated commerce, clarifies things, helps us formulate opinion and action. Finally...

HIGH EXPECTATIONS. There are high expectations, set by the Presidential election. The winner has promoted “change we need” and “hope,” and promised in his victory speech “We will get there…” Wherever “there” is. I have chills up and down my spine, but not for the reason the immature who buy empty rhetoric as facts may be feeling.

One thing is sure. The higher the bar is set, the higher the expectation and the harder to satisfy those who buy-in to the dream. We are already half-way to full socialism. Will the promoters of "change" be able to fulfill the promises of "hope?" New national leadership can’t fall far for those of us who don't understand the rhetoric of non-defined change, and yet do understand dead-end hope-filled infatuation with a promised and coming socialized culture.

We accept his win though. We do not expect him to change things for the better unless he can formulate and articulate an actual reason and plan with substance, that departs from the present and past policies of failure. We hope he will govern with wisdom and intelligence and not as his chief strategist Ms. Jarrett said he would on a weekend talk-show; that he would,"...be ready to rule from day one."

For a FREE COPY of the US Constitution for your computer, go to my website www.powerthink.com/store and choose the History and Freedom category. Select US Constitution, Democracy in America, or The Federalist Papers (all three are available for free) and go through "check out." You will supply a "Redemption Code" when prompted. The code is: Constitution. (Be sure to upper-case 'C' - it is case sensitive.) Please feel free to share with others.

More coming on AMERICAN VALUES...

James Pratt

SUPER POWERs & WHO WE TRUST

2008-11-01T11:11:00.000-07:00

SUPER POWERS, POLITICOS and ELECTIONS

The political machines of two dominate parties in high gear, we are days from electing our "future." The candidates are all making promises, thick enough if spread beneath their feet over the average lake in your neck of the woods, they could literally walk on water. Politicians are asking for power and would have you and I trust them. They offer “God bless America,” just enough to make you feel they really mean it. Some do, of course. But that’s not the point.

Much is made of the United States, Russia, and China as “Super Powers.” The difference lies in which country honors the real “Super Power.” Other countries such as Iran, North Korea, seek weapons in order to “join the club.” “Joining the club” of political Super Powers through political and military might isn’t the way it works. It's about people, their will, and what they grant in the way of power that makes a nation great.

The point is this. The people of a nation must govern their leaders and insure that those elected officials remember who is the REAL Super Power. When that check and balance of people governing elected officials, and God acknowledged in public and private freely, along with freedoms established by a Constitution guaranteeing such rights, the term “Super Power” begins to have real muscle.

It’s simple really. The United States of America was the only place on earth, when first established, where the RIGHT to worship God according to the individual dictates of the conscious was a primary protection. The founders, including my ancestor Lt. William Pratt who settled in Massachusetts and then Connecticut in the 1640's, came to this land for religious and economic reasons; in a word "Freedom."

Every other country on the planet was either secular in nature or ruled by a strong central figure coupled with a “State” authorized religion. Belief in “super powers” was often highly controlled. Not much has changed unless…

You consider the great debates resulting in the Constitutional Convention (1787) and the resulting document deemed sacred to Americans for over 200 years. Every time I look at a US minted coin and see, “In God we trust…” I hear a prophetic Isaiah of Israel (Isa. 42:1-3) who must have foreseen our day. We know what happens when faith is persecuted and prosecuted. My paternal ancestors fled England in search of “Freedom of Faith” – to be who they wanted to be, worship as they wanted to worship, build a society in the fashion of their ideals based upon individual effort in collaboration with others of the same desire.

More moral freedom always encourages personal and community growth and greatness. Openness to faith and the promotion of the moral compass inherently found in faith creates not only individual character, but the character of an entire nation; resulting in “Super Power” status.

Mantras of Change: Beware of those who find it necessary to change a successful formula, or tweak it with ideals and social experimenting that has a track record of failure and oppression. All one needs to know is found in the reading of history, and where failure is concerned, a study of political change in the 20th Century.

Take God out of the ‘Super Power” and you have a hollow inside with an outer shell of bellicose rhetoric, some angry men and women guiding a nation on their own, mixed with intercontinental ballistic missiles, and self-worshipping ego-centric “follow me” attitudes the size of the title “Super Power.”

The Autocrats: Chairman Maos, the Castros, the Stalins, Hitlers, Pol Pots, dictators small and large come and go. While tens of millions have died under their power faith lives, and their memory is one of contempt. Heaven forbid we ever elect one...

China, Russia, and other supposed “Super Powers” will never rise to the level of greatness that their people as individuals aspire to until they learn the lesson of faith in a power beyond themselves, and power beyond theirs to control. As long as the human spirit yearns for faith, the bands of political control may never contain it.

To remain a SUPER POWER we in the United States must rule the leaders. We grant them the “power” to manage the greatest nation ever conceived in mortal history. The sacred document organizing our United States was agonized over by a group of wise men who began their deliberations with prayer each day during the summer of 1787. The Founding Fathers looking beyond their day and into ours, knew that absolute power corrupts absolutely. If we get back to the genius inspired principles of balance of power, free market economics, (Adam Smith, author Wealth of Nations, was the Founder's hero...available at my website www.powerthink.com)along with freedoms of faith and others guaranteed by their concensus in the US Constitution, our position as a people and a country will remain blessed and secure.

“In God We Trust” and “God Bless America” are located on coinage and through the written and spoken word. To the degree they are genuine and heartfelt we will remain a free nation and Super Power.

James Michael Pratt
www.jmpratt.com

SOCIALISM 101 Eyewitness to Failure

2008-10-24T18:14:00.000-07:00

2 Years in a South American Socialist Utopia and Why Socialism Cannot Create a Thriving Economy out of the Best Economy Ever Built

Socialism 101 Preface: I was an eye witness who lived among the poor. I saw first-hand the Russian allied Peruvian dictator Juan Velasco ruin his country, turning it into a trash heap of despair and squalor. Living in Peru for two years during the volatile swings from free market to socialism, and now back left me with little doubt as to the absurdity that any new comer with a "remake" of the modern European style, Leninist, Marxist, or Maoist ideas of social utopia can succeed.

Life in General Velasco's Peru 1972-1974 As a wide-eyed young American eager to do my spiritual/humanitarian best for the people I went to serve among I learned several things. The list goes something like this:

1. I learned Americans were'nt poor under our worst conditions.*
2. People really do die from preventable sickness and disease.
3. People really do starve, and struggle on $1.00 a day under hyper-inflation.
4. Capitalists offer a "hand up" not merely a "hand out" but lose their hands.
5. Socialists take the capitalists businesses and re-distribute the property.
6. Re-distributed "rich" man's companies fail when nationalized due to stupidity and lack of incentive.
7. Educated businessmen leave the country they love because of economic bias. People they once employed go jobless.
8. Joblessness soars. Life is one big "black market" of selling anything to survive.
9. Cops carry machine guns. Easier to hit rioters that way.
10. People who get arrested often dissapear.
11. 15 days a month without meat or protein except for the last chicken egg, sucks.
12. Hot showers are a modern marvel enjoyed far far away.
13. Shaving cream @ $12.00 a can (1974) stinks. So does shaving w/soapy cold water.
14. Running for your life from thugs, thieves, and desperate people stinks.
15. When the government can't tax more people they simply blame evil capitalists.
16. People live in fear and wish the socialists would go back where they came from.
17. Right wing dictators eventually kill or jail the left wing dictators.

* Poverty comparison to millions I witnessed living "dirt poor" without sewers, running water, with thatched or mud walls, no roofs, food and clothing, emergency care, dirt floors, and so on.

A WHOLE LOT MORE I never wrote home to Mom about... Coming soon.

TRUE CAPITAL, CHARACTER & Joe the Plumber

2008-10-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

“I've never been able to understand why a Republican contributor is a 'fat cat' and a Democratic contributor of the same amount of money is a 'public-spirited philanthropist'.” --President Ronald Reagan

The Final 2008 Presidential Debate: Last night I stayed awake for most the Presidential debate. I was wide awake during all comments about “Joe the plumber.” I have to say that Joe the aspiring business owner from Ohio stole the show and, of course I connected with it, because I have been an “average Joe.”

Obama’s blunder: Senator Obama may have lost the election because of just an average Joe, and now must regret talking to the plumber from Ohio. Answering a question that he was interested in “spreading” Joe’s “wealth around” if he made over $250,000 a year was like revealing he was going to play "Robbing" Hood on the middle class job creator. Days ago paying higher taxes was called “…time to be patriotic” by another “Joe;” Senator Biden, Obama running mate.

America’s Joe from Ohio uncovered the hidden truth about Obama and Biden’s redistribution of wealth plan and showed how out of touch they are with small business owners, and what constitutes wealth in middle America. He asked a simple question about taxes and found out that his “dreams of wealth” could not be achieved unless he “spread” his gains around; courtesy of the Obama Administration hopefuls. With all the costs of doing business, including payroll contributions, worker’s comp insurance premiums, liability insurance premiums, expansion capital, etc. $250,000 is HARD EARNED, and can be lost overnight without extreme business oversight and diligence.

I KNOW JOES' DREAM: I was a small builder that started a construction business with $900 dollars severance from a Police Dept. in May 1984 with a need to care for a young family, and a desire to make something of myself. I was constantly struggling to do all the work I could physically do to keep control of quality and dollars in our pocket. It was extremely difficult. If I had known what I was in for, especially with regards to six day work weeks, 12 hours a day for twelve years, and then losing nearly one million in California real estate and other business value during a deep real estate recession of 1991-1995, I wouldn’t have had the heart.

But it was MY dream... AND we had a great life. Hard work didn’t hurt me at all, and we enjoyed the “fruit of our labors” during the Reagan tax-cut years. I had proved I could start with under $1,000, and simply started over once again in 1994.

A NEW DREAM: There were no handouts, welfare payments, or government interventions when I was in a hospital bed, just back from near-death after the second life-saving blood transfusion in as many years. It was May 1997. I got a call from a literary agent. We had no income, no health insurance, and no job. I had chosen to “start over” in spite of it all. I had a “dream” to write. That dream then and now included making a fine income, and building wealth from my new self-employed risk taking. I had three tubes coming out of my body when I was told I would make a $250,000 “Advance” for The Last Valentine, my first of seven novels. It was hard work and risky to get from bankrupt “bad news” to the hospital bed “good news” where I recieved the welcome phone call. But I had a dream, and have once again benefited from a land that didn’t “spread my wealth around” but allowed me to dream big enough to grow a new business.

THE POINT: “Spreading wealth around” needs to be a private choice and not a “social” experiment run by a government. The character it takes to be self-employed, take no paydays for sometimes months at a time, and build something from just an idea can’t be appreciated by the non-participating “receiver” of my hard earned “wealth.” In fact without hard work the “welfare” recipients put on my payroll by a government mandating my charity expect to not be asked to contribute to my dream and business vitality. Class envy is enevitable when the government decides who should prosper and how and it cannot produce wealth. Such socialism cannot solve budget deficits, cannot provide new value or help someone develop the personal characteristic that fosters profit for a truly wealthy economy and personal life. Taxing wealth cannot produce more of it.

WHAT WORKS: Work works. Hard work, freedom to earn and work at whatever we chose without the fetters of government will solve the present economic crisis.

Capital, Values and CHARACTER: At the end of the day, it’s all about the essence of capital: value and character. The greatest “capital” created in any economy is the personal capital of the American man or woman with a dream. Incentives to better ourselves and personal lifestyles contribute to wealth. The dream begins it, hard work continues it, and the realization of profit takes it to a new level.

THANKS JOE! Your question clarified what America is all about in spite of our politicians inability to do so.

James www.jmpratt.com & www.powerthink.com

NOTHING COMES FROM NOTHING; The Universal Bankruptcy

2008-10-12T07:44:00.000-07:00

The Latin axiom: "Ex Nilhilo Nihil Fit" applies to our current crisis. I'll explain:

CONSUMPTION: All my contacts and friends linked to the financial community agree; we are in for a long cleanup after the meal, because the meal has been a fifty year gorging on credit unlike any period known in human history.

THE MEAL: It's been a long and enjoyable ride since the post WWII families showed us the way of the future; the prosperity and suburban middle class homes, new cars, backyard swimming pools, and entitlements to a higher level of living never enjoyed by the "average American."

I'm not knocking it. My memories of the blue-collar neighborhood I grew up in are wonderful. People worked hard. Few had credit cards in those days; the 1950's and 1960's. They remembered the effects of the Great Depression, debt, and vowed to "own things" when they bought them. All of us worked, mowed lawns, got paper routes, did something to train us in the American work ethic; that "nothing comes from nothing."

Where I'm going, you already are: Wally and the "Beave" demonstrated to the world the ideal American life with June and Ward Cleaver offering us a window into a family world where values counted. No one forgot values, even though the families in Father Knows Best, Dennis the Menace, Leave it to Beaver, The Nelsons, seemed to have it pretty good.

VALUES in a nutshell: Morality was the rule that guided having something of value. If you could afford it, and you could own it (no encumbrances) then you deserved it. It would have been thought immoral (social responsible sort of way) to offer the "Beave" a credit card at 17 or 18 years old when he graduated from High School. It would have been, socially speaking, "bankrupt" for banks to offer strings of credit cards to just about anyone who asked, because the "ability to pay" for things you can't "own" outright was still fresh in the minds of the American, and indeed the world psyche.

"Value" is defined as something of worth and implies clear possession; clear ownership and "title."

EN-TITLE-MENT: Splurging on the desert of credit card consuming, Americans have mortgaged everything. Few "own" anything they use. Even groceries are often purchased on "credit." And the government, banks, stores, and industry have encouraged "ownership" - having possession of "value" - without traditional definitions being applied. "Debt" and "Credit Scores" became our God in whom we trusted. ALL Americans, we have been sold, deserved more "stuff." "Entitled" mentality took fifty years to become "normal," yet having clear "title" always meant REAL VALUE to prior generations. We became a people drunken with "entitlement" to "have" and "get" and strangely believing we "owned" stuff without owning it.

FIFTY YEARS: I've lived long enough to know the difference between "Father Knows Best" values and "government will provide" entitlement values. We are bankrupt as a society, wanting, and crying, and whining that we never have "enough." That we don't have "what the other guy has" therefore it isn't "fair."

I could go on...but you have seen the movie, because you are part of it. My wife and I own very little. We do not live in it, drive it, eat it, wear it, or show it off unless we "paid" for it.

"Goodnight" to desert. Hello basic values of hard work, true value, and real ownership. It will be a tough road ahead as credit card living, and bankruptcy is the next "default" wave to hit the economic shores. But then "Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit, applies: Truely "nothing comes from nothing."

James Michael Pratt
www.jmpratt.com

YOUR VOTE, 30 DAYS & CONGRESSIONAL "TRICK OR TREAT"

2008-10-03T16:04:00.000-07:00

Halloween, Bailout, and the "October Surprise"

I gave up on Halloween costumes and "trick or treating" when my 1965 12 year-old brain told me it was "childish" to hit up homeowners on Christine Ave, Simi Valley, CA. for treats in exchange for playing no "tricks." Yet that is exactly what many supposed leaders of our country and financial institutions have done to stake-holders in the Amercian dream of home ownership for decades... dressed up and played the Halloween games with our future.

How appropriate: Given the momentous "Bailout" (they like the term "Rescue") actions of the present politicos I thought I would share the Wikipedia definition of the Halloween mantra used by children. Here it is:

The "trick" part of "trick or treat" is a threat to play a trick on the "homeowner or his property" if no treat is given. Trick-or-treating is one of the main traditions of Halloween.

It isn't difficult to understand how we got into an economic mess...

"Trick on the homeowner:" Congressional Democrats and Republicans have allowed the mortgage industry to create "entitlement" mentality to "home ownership" for nearly a generation. Documentation, and traditional qualifying requirements have been virtually suspended compared to past generations of borrowers. Mortgages; the "easy money," became "candy" or treats for "votes."

THE CANDY MAN: Both political parties are to blame; creating a sweet tooth public mentality that all people were "entitled" to home ownership regardless of classic and real ability to pay. Now we are on the verge of economic collapse. Banks sit on non-liquid assets. Banks require liquidity to run, lend, keep the engine of commerce alive. Congress created the problem, and now pat themselves on the back for fixing it? (See Sept. 27th Blog - Saving the Economy.)

New Candy Men with October Surprises? In thirty days we can choose between a war-hero seasoned Senator who claims to be a "maverick" or a freshman "community organizer" Senator who hopes we buy into an emotion filled platitude as a substitute to substance; "change we can believe in." Is this your average election year "October Surprise?" or just a coincidental convergence of justice finally catching up to theft, incompetence, and greed 30 days away from America's national election?

Under the Political Rug: When you need to "clean up in a hurry" you sweep the dirt under a rug. You suggest by doing so that you maintain a "clean house." The house isn't clean in Washington. And all parties running are pointing to fellow "House Members." Kind of comforting, huh?...

Not sure there are many "treats" out there, but I'm sure there are plenty of "tricks." Be careful. Be thoughtful. Judge character. Shed emotion and toss out reliance on empty "platitudes" of change. Look under the political rug for what has been swept and hidden there. These people running are experienced politicos and we may be choosing for a lesser of two evils during war and economic crisis. People who helped "create" the crisis are not going to bring "change."

Do the math. Do the homework. Your vote is required in 30 days. Obama or McCain, and other candidates will ask, "Trick or treat?"

God bless America... JMP
www.jmpratt.com

SAVING AMERICAN ECOMONY The Right Way

2008-09-27T18:54:00.000-07:00

BAIL OUT, RESCUE, GOVERNMENT, and COMMON SENSE

RONALD REAGAN: “Government does not solve problems; it subsidizes them.”

Bailout Definitions:

PRATT definitions of a bailout: “Tossing water out of a sinking ship without plugging the hole.”

PRATT definition of Government financial bailout: “Tossing my money into the sinking ship with a hole in it.”

WASHINGTON definition: “We allowed your ship to have a hole in it. Now we are keeping your ship from sinking by stuffing money in the leak. This is temporary. Together we can all row to shore while we decide who caused the leak. We think the money stuffing is good for the economy. Please agree with us, after all we are doing this for your own good.”

Football coaches reminded us when we wanted to give up: “No pain, no gain.” We were taught by those coaches that "performance excellence" required "practicing excellence." You can't "bailout" a game when "excellence" matters and no one can hand high performance to you. Bailouts sound mighty good when you can’t quickly assume responsibility for the the travesty of poor performance, and saving "hail Mary's" seldom come to the rescue.

Magic Wands for Fixing Ships?: Congress treats their check book privileges like a magic wand. No market responsibility, just demagoguery in hopes the market "responds." A billion here, a billion there in magic; but please no "responsibility." Wish I could wave financial "fix it wands" over the manuscripts my reviewers give "10's" to, but the market decision-makers (publishers) decide aren't quite worthy of the next 6 figure advance. If I goof in any given area of performance I don't have them to bail me out, nor do I want them to. I am “fixing” my ship in every port of call, before the next storm or dangerous tides. How? By editing my behaviors, and constant production of new value. Downturns are "my turn" to assess, fix, and course correct. This has been my constant focus for five years of writing against the currents. High quality products now appear to be gaining momentum and increased worth to buyers as a result.

Why? Struggle-inspired solutions... Patching the hole isn't the answer. Re-fitting the ship is. Perhaps the Wall Street paper manipulators should take struggle as a learning opportunity to improve future performance. Will the government let them? Ah well...who am I to lecture the financial genius dressed in degrees from Princeton, Yale, Harvard, et al, who created the mess they are eager for me to help clean up? Bet they won't have to "chip in" to save their sinking ship. Watch carefully, as they quietly row safely away from the Titantic...

"God help us all if this bailout fails.” Quote, Warren Buffet Sept. 25th 2008. One of the richest men to have ever lived on the planet owns Berkshire Hathaway, whose 'Class A' shares are valued at $143,000 per share. Yes, you read that right. What does this mean? The guy understands values. He’s smart. He’s patient. He follows the rules of investing. He buys real value and doesn’t invest in overinflated, hyped properties or worthless paper. He just personally “rescued” Goldman Sachs by buying a significant stake for 5 BILLION cash. (Seems the old axiom, “Buy when blood is running in the streets…” holds true. Buffett just made $783,000,000 in one day on that investment plus locked in guarantees on stock purchases for five years at fire-sale rates.)

Marketplace Rescue: "Mr. Buffet, excuse me? ‘God help us?’ You are suggesting we 'bailout' this disaster created by greed merchants? You’ll walk away with sweet deals either way. The market always corrects itself. You know that. Worried your $143,000 per share might take a hit? So, are you worried about us little guys too, or want us little guys to collectively offer 700 BILLION dollars to prop up financial industry big guys so that us little guys don’t feel so much pain?"

“God help 'US'?” I respect the talent of Mr. Buffett; his professional calculated risk taking. But isn't his asking us, the little guy to insure Wall Street through a taxpayer 'bailout" a mitigation for his risk? Sure, it really is about jobs and the loss of them and our income. We get the "big picture." We know it may result in tough times for the average guy...

IDEA and CONGRATULATIONS! What an opportunity. How many times does bargain-basement stock day opportunities come along in a life-time? Why don’t you put some buddies together and purchase Wall Street instead of asking us to? You guys take the risk and reward! It's a world economy. Take control and be men! Imagine what you could control...and the power! There have to be a few more billionaires milling around smelling the blood and with your combined skills, willing to take a risk.

If you lose then pull out your AARP discount card like the rest of us and tighten belts. A little painful to contemplate? You ever play football?

GOD HELP US... God will help us when we learn integrity, grit, values, and honor. I understand real bailouts. I've done it. Left school and my dreams; paid for by the US Army, to stand with struggling parents in their recession-hit business 6 days a week for four years in my prime education years. Learned alot about real economy, the marketplace, and from suffering, Mr. Buffett...

SO... Should I insure your investments for my own good? Congress and President Bush think so.

Real bailouts come from people working shoulder to shoulder with respect for each's value, through tough times, and not capitalizing on their positions of trust hurting the shareholders of a common dream. God help us, indeed, to learn and not ask for dollars from heaven to rain on the results of poor choices, or greed, power-mongering, and mis-management of resources he already gave us!

Financial Value and bureaucrats: “Value” means an increase from a subjective monetary worth to an objective point of view governed by what the market says something I produce is worth. If government sets the value, rescues my dream, the market goes away. It (the marketplace) doesn’t want to pay for a product where price is determined through bureaucrats. (Socialism)

Government “Public Servants” to the rescue: “Hey public servants… thanks for being ‘on time.’ Thanks for seeing the early warning signs of this problem and rescuing us as the ship sinks! All you wizards at “serving the people” are doing just that; “serving” us up on a ‘golden platter’ filled with financial parachutes for those who failed shareholders through fraud, deceit, and incompetence.

Punish Theft: I’m not sure I can improve on those two words. This much is true. Theft of value, real money, and trust of shareholders was a combination of greed, manufacturing bogus values, and incompetence. Will it go unpunished?

Who gets punished: Some of us little people are not stupid. We chose our common everyday lifestyles and who we are, often because we don’t want to live a life of lies, false pretense, and thievery. Seems like the guilty get “life rafts,” freeing them to sail away from the sinking ship with government help to some eternal pina colada party while we the shareholders of our government and national interest find the hole, fix the hole, and sail their ship to port.

These rantings feel really good. I encourage everyone to write to get their anger out, and if you do, share with others. If you've read this far, you and I share something in common; an understanding of what the word "value" really means.

“Thanks Coach Paris, Mears, Cratty, Mieke. ‘No pain no gain…’ You taught us average boys well. We’ll get through this.”

Finally leave it to "the Gipper" to make sense: RONALD REAGAN

“Government's view of the economy could be summed up in a few short phrases: If it moves, tax it. If it keeps moving, regulate it. And if it stops moving, subsidize it. Governments tend not to solve problems, only to rearrange them.”

MORE COMING SOON... JMP www.jmpratt.com and www.powerthink.com.

LIPSTICK ON A PIG and LOVING IT

2008-09-12T22:31:00.000-07:00

“Lipstick on a Pig,” My Wife, Atom Smashers, and Black Holes

"JUST WORDS"

It is the heat of the battle for the Presidency and Congressional seats…less than 50 days to go and the beautiful Governor from Alaska used the term of “lipstick on a pit bull” as being “…the only difference between a Pit Bull and a Hockey Mom.” That endeared me to her automatically as it did millions of others I presume.

This week Presidential candidate Barack Obama used the words, “like lipstick on a pig,” to describe some differences in points of view with McCain and Palin. Outrage overflowed from the Republican defenders, and yes, it was an obvious poor tactic and choice for Mr. Obama, when the attempt at humor back-fired. But then Mr. Obama has no idea what “lipstick on a pig” really looks like.

ADORABLE WOMEN

I don't care much for either political party... Let me state that up front. But, being introduced to Sarah Palin, I esteem Mr. Palin a lucky guy and both a class-act; maybe because she seems so much like "us," and that I would never have considered McCain a strong candidate until she came along. Both Presidential candidates are too much "same old" stuff. Back to Mrs. Palin... Yes, she has good looks, a great brain, and nice legs, BUT my wife beats her in two of three categories and matches her closely in the other; well unless you consider her considerable capacity for consumption of edibles in a way that would be embarrassing if you didn’t know “the rest of the story.”

PETITE VS. PORKER

I thought I was all alone in my awe of the petite wife of over thirty years, with looks that still turn heads; I mean in awe with regards to her considerable appetite. But her brother Tim took a trip to Lamar Colorado to celebrate the 100th birthday of Grandma Best who, it was assumed wouldn’t be with us much longer. (Still alive and ‘kickin’ today.) I’ll get back to his reaction after I “set up” the story a bit. See…

It's not fair, but Jeanne weighs no more than her high of her teen years and still is regarded as “wonder woman” at 54 years old at the elementary school where she multi-tasks from PE teacher, to self-defense instructor, to teacher aide, and part time custodial helper (when needed.) Jeanne is no ordinary woman. She keeps “going and going and going.” ...

THE ATOM SMASHER

I get accused of winding the Energizer Bunny up every morning. No one in public sees her wind down. The energy just never stops. She has that petite Asian hurry for places; a rapid walk and pace that means, she takes two steps for every one of my strides; I call it a “…nervous atom smashing move where she is everywhere at once and then back at your side as if she never left” sort of thing. Kind of like that Hadron atom smasher-thing that just this week in Geneva, Switzerland conducted its first experiment. It is 17 miles long and under ground trying to see if it can duplicate the effects of the “Big Bang” seconds after it happened.* That’s what living with Jeanne is like. Many scientist opposed to the experiment claimed that the effects could cause “dark matter” or “black holes to appear inside the earth and gradually four years from now could cause the earth to collapse under its intense gravity. That’s also kind of like… Well let’s not go there.

Anyway, back to Jeanne’s capacity for five course meals, mid-meal snacks, and sneaking a bite off other people’s donuts when they aren’t looking.

Tim took his sister on that three day vacation to Colorado and had no idea what he was in for. Jeanne took enough money with her, but it ran out by the time they got into the return trip. From the beginning of the trip and frequent stops at the fast food dollar menus to the buffet tables at the birthday bash for Grandma Best, the after social eating, the next day leftovers, (including all of the left-over B-Day cake)and all consumed between rushing around setting up, taking down, cleaning up and accommodating everyone the way Jeanne is famous and known for, her calorie burn rate was maintained at about 10 for every one of yours or mine. That’s how she gets away with it.

Being the Energizer Bunny creates an insatiable hunger, and does not pack pounds. But the actual snorting up food can only lead an observer to conclude, that the person they are observing is, what I called my wife today at a Sizzlers,’ as I waited for her to finish her ice cream sundae. With extreme determination though she struggled with intense pain from constant brain freeze… Well, you would have had to been there to watch the struggle of spoon meeting mouth but stopped in mid-stream between bowl and lips as she considered on one hand, the pleasure of the hot fudge verses the sure pain of adding more cold ice cream to an already intense stabbing going on in one eyeball. Literally "frozen" in indecision, whether another bite was a wise move, she asked, “What are you starring at?" I answered:

“LIPSTICK ON A PIG!”

Back to her brother Tim. A two hour layover in Denver Airport had Jeanne begging her surprised brother for spare change when she realized that the Swedish Fish staring back at her would not get consumed unless mercy outweighed common sense. He too saw beauty, though a hungry kind. It is the beauty of service to others, a zest for life, and the ability to burn calories at somewhat the speed of light.

Well…Mr. Obama, if you understood the beauty of lipstick on pigs you’d enjoy a picture of Jeanne. (Photo below)

“I’m Jeanne Pratt, and I approve this message.” ...

www.jmpratt.com

*Large Hadron Collider, a 17-mile-long doughnut-shaped tunnel that will smash sub-atomic particles together at nearly the speed of light. But a handful of scientists believe that the experiment could create a shower of unstable black holes that could ‘eat’ the planet from within, and they are launching last-ditch efforts to halt it in the courts.

LIKE AUTUMN IS TO LIFE

2008-08-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

SEPTEMBER...

It sneaks up on you, though it got cold sometimes where I grew up. I remember one winter where it was it dipped into the 50’s almost every night. It would be hard to tell the seasons were changing by the turning of the leafs though; oak leafs simply fell to the ground revealing the twisted, ghostly limbs of branches which had already seen decades more time on earth than I might in a lifetime. Lime green eucalyptus leafs don’t offer a sign that summer has come to an end and autumn is upon you either. The cedars and evergreens, popular in landscaping along the coasts of California, are the tint of jade in October as they are in April.

Just outside Los Angeles, where at barely 800 feet above sea level in Simi Valley, the Santa Anas alerted me to Fall’s approach, but the hills were as brown then as May. Fire season meant the hills would burn the scrub off as the Santa Ana winds, up to fifty miles an hour, would whip through the dry valleys; but even that didn’t stop the Football game against Hart High School one October night in
1970...

The fans left to protect their homes as fire ringed the hills; fire so bright the new night lights in the stadium we had earned through selling chocolate bars could have been turned off; yet we played on. I never quite figured that one out. Of course the Hart High School team couldn’t return home over the Santa Susana Mountains on the new 118 Freeway because of the fire (later to be named for Ronald Reagan, our former Governor and actor who made “B” Westerns in these hills.) We couldn’t even get home after the game, so many roads were shut down. So we went to Chi Chi’s Pizza to eat and to watch the hills burn down, then each of us walked home through the smoke and fire-lit cinders whipping around us on LA Avenue. It was exciting to water down our roofs that night, play fire-fighter too, as September just closed its door.

That was a bad one. Usually one or two homes got it. In 1970 their were dozens burned down and even murderer Charlie Manson’s hideout just miles away, the Spann Movie Ranch, burned to the ground in the Fall of 1970. But life went on, and we barely noticed the oak trees regain their tiny hand-shaped leafs, or that the Eucalyptus dotting either side of LA Avenue had lost any of their tiny feather-like emerald ones. Leafs don’t change on evergreens.

I paid attention to February and May; those months as turning points in a year that alerted me to so much change coming. It meant tennis season and the fun-filled days at the beach, and summer jobs, and growing up, and dating pretty girls, and maybe playing another season of Football approached; and a boy needed to stay in shape for all that. Life was long as the days were too…

But September? It had no meaning other than another school year. And I had a long life ahead of me, and leafs falling weren’t a gage for such things, and colors were browns, except for those found in little suburban ranch home lawns and gardens of roses, gardenias, flowering ice plant, periwinkle, Japanese boxwood, and the ubiquitous juniper bush.

I recently visited Simi Valley, and stayed with Mark May on a hill that burned to the ground in 1970 while he and I played football. We reminisced. We looked out over the valley we grew up in and loved, and for a moment we hadn’t grown to be our father’s age…

You remember Mark May? The part-time 4th grade bully in MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs who would become one of my best friends? I uncovered the single home movie from my last football game, November 6th 1970 – We watched and laughed, and became boys again...impressed with out lithe running and skills which included getting clobbered only to get up and take it on the chin again, and again...

I got hurt, never put shoulder pads on again, but it was the game of my life. I played my heart out on a muddy field against a team boasting of another great friend, the team captain from Newbury Park High School, Mike Carlisle. We didn’t know he would have two "Falls" left to live back then… Or that our quarterback Phil, would see his last autumn season just one year ago.

Ah September. Where did it go? The quiet approach, hardly noticeable, then…

Another approaches. I live in the mountains now. It snows here. Leafs turn amber gold and the aspens quake among the evergreens. I became as old as some of the oak branches back home on the coast, and quake at the cold that is coming upon us as I realize the golden youth of so many Septembers is but a dream…

“Jim”
August 2008
www.jmpratt.com

Coming in 2010: WHEN THE LAST LEAF FALLS

JIM the BAG BOY for CONGRESS!

2008-08-05T15:20:00.000-07:00

POLITICAL CULTURE UPDATE

AUGUST 2008 Congress on Vacation

Not much has changed in a year. The Democratically controlled Congress blames the Republicans for the energy mess and wants us to inflate our tires and ask for oil from the Strategic Oil Reserve to mitigate price at the pump...

The Republicans want to drill for oil at home, become energy independent in an age of terrorist sympathizers controlling the world oil supply...

There is alot of blame to go around but LEAVING WASHINGTON FOR A VACATION during a war and energy crisis? Sorry that is a "Majority" House and Senate decision. Nancy Pelosi actually turned the lights and power off last Friday during an energy debate.

Kind of like your Mom telling you, "Go to bed. I'm tired!" Well, what's a blogger to do? I decided that "common sense" is the answer, so I pulled up last July 19ths (2007) blog about a man with alot of it, and present it to you for your enjoyment!

JIM, the Mentally Challenged Grocer and Congress!

Sometimes it takes the mentally challenged to point out the truth and enlighten the lost. I was standing in the checkout line of my favorite “Mom and Pop” grocery store here in my hometown. I often go there just to support it over the larger “brand” supermarkets. At Day’s Market you get a clean environment, old-fashioned service, and fair prices. You also get Jim...

Jim was born with Downs Syndrome and is a man I would judge to be in his thirties. Jim is a bag-boy and general “go to” person for simple things needing done at the store. The owner, Steve Day, told me that a sitcom could be written around Jim alone. Jim has served faithfully for nearly two decades, and frankly the store just wouldn’t be as fun to go to without him.

So there I was today. I didn’t need anything really. I just wanted a dose of “Life at Days,” (the title for Steve’s sitcom idea.)A tall lanky boy with jet bleached-black hair, (intentionally “un-combed,”) a tight black T-Shirt with some death rock group symbol emblazoned upon the front, and tighter than tight black pants with the silver studded belt-buckle, bare footed (it’s July and 102 degrees today) came up behind me in the check-out counter. He had a “Sangria” (means “blood” in Spanish) drink, and I smiled (the new me) as he neared.

“Why don’t you go ahead,” I said. He was pleased, and once ahead of me I saw what no one wants to see. I wanted to scream, “And pull your pants up!” or ask the direct question I’ve always wanted to ask members of the color deficient teen cult, “How do you keep the pants up in front, but below the bottom of the bottom in the back?” This boy’s presentation of a non-muscular buttocks and immature physical development left me wondering about his mental stability. I knew that his intention was to attract attention, and also “fit in” – no matter how weird the societal element. I have a daughter suffering from insecurities, and so I really really work at holding my honest opinions in check and just “loving” the nearly unlovable...

So, I let the boy off the hook, desperately wanting to tell him that his pants would fall down at the lightest brushing up against a door, wall, person, whatever. If that happened he would no doubt fall on his face, require some medical treatment, feel more stupid than he looks, and get angrier at society. In short, the best option for his skinny, ugly derrière, was to pull his pants up near his waist and get on with life “safely” and without incident.

I didn’t have the courage to do so. Besides, I look like a Dad and therefore have no credibility. I walked out of the store, shaking my head, holding my tongue, wanting to act decent about the scrawny in-your-face- buttock-indecency strolling to his car just ahead of me. Here’s where justice, humanity, and honest voices join together for “the rest of the story.”Another Jim, one more bold than I, took control. See, Jim looks out for customers.

He was busy making sure the parking lot was clear of shopping carts and otherwise on patrol for customer needs. He was near the car (parents SUV) as this boy was attempting to lift his leg (hard to do when the pants are wrapped tight around your knees) into the driver’s seat. Jim saw the dilemma and loudly let the young customer know. It went like this:“HEY! HEY YOU!” (of course everyone in the parking lot turned) “YOUR PANTS ARE COMING OFF!” he shouted.

Now my self-loathing for not having courage to be fatherly turned to pure joy. This was a parent’s dream come true – the young man HAD TO listen to the mentally challenged person filled with pure light and truth. Besides, the teen probably grew up knowing Jim, when as an innocent pre-teen child-customer he came in the store with Mom -- and the teen no doubt liked him, as all Days customers do. No decent human (the real teen underneath the outlandish clothes) would brush off such a truly pure individual who, with child-like candor, was only trying to help. If only this boy’s parents and world decision makers were there to witness the exchange where simple truth met social belligerence head on.

The boy hurried (best he could) to get into the SUV driver's seat and take off. Jim, worried about the teen's struggle to get into the car, came over to the passenger side window and wrapped his fist on it. “HEY YOU! OPEN UP! I want to tell you something!”I cannot even describe the delight coursing through my skin. This was one more magic moment at Day’s I could have missed had I not shown courtesy to this culturally handicapped boy in the check-out line, now being challenged by the mentally handicapped man in the parking lot.“You should never walk around like that,” I heard Jim counsel. “You could fall down and hurt your face, and then I would have to pick you up and call an ambulance!” Jim counseled. The boy, who having rolled the window down, now nodded vigorously in agreement.

I last saw the boy in the rear-view mirror, still trying to get away from Jim as I pulled away from Day’s.Well, to make a long story short I felt that God had sent the correct Jim, the Day's employee with no sense of anything but right and wrong, to the rescue. Perhaps the lanky kid will listen and save himself some grief. Or perhaps he will go on to embarrass himself, and his poor parents as he continues to expose his sorry under-developed behind to the rest of us.But for a moment at least, justice and truth combined today. Jim, the slow thinking grocer, can teach us all a lesson.

As hard as honesty may be to accept, and even harder sometimes to announce to another, there is nothing quite like the simple and child-like truths to straighten out a culturally sensitive situation, like not tripping over pants hanging below the bottom of one's bottom. Now if the members of the US Congress could meet Jim.

"Jim" www.jmpratt.com.

STRAIGHT TO THE HEART

2008-07-15T19:52:00.000-07:00

FROM BLOG CREATED FOR: http://www.powerthink.com/

From my author website, http://www.jmpratt.com/, I have been making opinionated commentary evaluating cultural, social, political, and personal conduct as it relates to positive results and personal growth. These opinions and musings are titled: James Michael Pratt Straight From the Heart. I figure a man has got to be straight up honest and who he is in this information age. We live in a time of inescapable transparency. In this "Golden Information Age," what we say, write, even wear, (or embarrassingly not wear) all may be captured for a world-wide audience to hear, read, or see.

As a kid I was asked to read a scripture in Sunday School class (my parents were mean; while other kids were playing they made me go to church) about men being "...judged and their sins shouted from the rooftops for the world to see." (Paraphrased.) I couldn't figure how God was going to do that (1967)...until cable TV came along (1980's CNN). It hit me while watching a US President's embarrassing White House closet secret come in to the open for the entire world...(1990's) I mean ALL the world to literally see while sitting in the comfort of their homes.

With the growth of the Internet, and email, and text messages, and IPhones, cameras everywhere, privacy has vanished and our actions literally "speak" for us. An ancient scripture spoken by Solomon 3,000+ years ago but repeated by many since: "As a man thinketh in his heart...so is he," makes alot of sense in 2008.

THOUGHTS ARE THINGS: Neuroscience is finding that out. (More later on the magnificent mind.) Thoughts are the "blue prints" to inevitable actions built from them. Beware what you think about; it will be known for others to see or hear. Who would have "thought?" Of course "right thoughts" make things "right." Take heart; there is a great deal of positive about the science of thought; and a great deal to consider when we decide what our life will be for a world to see. You have far more control than you may be aware of. AND... It takes no more energy to focus the mind on useful information that shapes us, than it does on the useless and mindless information that makes us stumble and humbled.

YOUR SUCCESS: I care deeply about fundamental success, not only for myself but the world at large. See... there are truths that are indispensable for living a happy and successful life. And the more of us attempting "happy" and productive lives creates a literal ripple effect that continues on to touch others. (I won't ask you to sing Kumbaya with me now.) In the end "joy" is what makes one successful. Rather a subjective thing, real success does not depend upon "having" stuff to make one happy; not like the hyperbolic "success principles" for wealth that the late-night TV gurus of slick training programs and seminars pitch. What we think about in our heart is where heaven or hell begins, bliss or its opposite. It's all about knowing you are in control of life and your circumstances, through the garden of the mind. Sow seeds of serenity, contentment, and "joy" is a result - and a better definition for success. So let's have at it.

CHALLENGES and BULL: But just when you think you are headed on the right path...more bull manure than a man or woman should have to wade through makes its way toward you even if you are sitting still. Noise and stuff you don't even want to see or hear is literally floating in the air for you to simply "tune in" to in our hyper-connected world of non-stop information flow.

Nothing like the "information at light-speed" age to guarantee serenity will have its share of challenges. It can be innocuous like a music lyric, or shrill from a radio "shock-jock" or pundit. It can be pornographic, or masked in "feel good" theory; man-made theories about living without consequence for actions. No different from the 1960's "If it feels good do it," (oops, got an STD... Hum...) or "Just once won't kill ya." (oops, tell that to Lenny, Alan, or Marty - teenage friends... all dead from "1 time.") I believe in Freedom of Speech, BUT all information is NOT equal, or useful. Choices about what we tune in to determines what we think about. And in turn what we think about...literally becomes us.

POWER THINKING: I am a partner in a small, but focused, publishing and training enterprise called PowerThink. The birth of Power Thinking is given in my newest novel, AS A MAN THINKETH…In His Heart, available today at http://www.amazon.com/, but not yet circulated in retail stores. The novel is a first person journey, fun-loving in its approach, Og Mandino (1923-1996) style inspired, and is calculated to invite the reader to examine proven principles for success...

Time tested - as delivered succinctly by original author/philosopher James Allen (1864-1912) in his timeless masterpiece on personal growth and self-improvement, As a Man Thinketh (1902) - these success principles have been proven by a modern audience for over 100 years. His book has sold to tens of millions and as a testimony to well-written words that change lives, continues to sell well almost one hundred years after his death.

Given to me by my mother and father for my 19th birthday (a long, very long time ago in a land far away, before the invention of smog less cars, calculators, Internet, telephones to fit your pocket, color TV, [in our house] pizza delivery, cable news, and deprivations of the modern kind too numerous to count) James Allen’s little book, As a Man Thinketh, helped me formulate a view of personal conduct for living in an increasingly complex world.

(Everyone should take 30 minutes and read James Allen's popular prescription for personal happiness. FREE in the back of my novel, AS A MAN THINKETH...In His Heart.)

His Victorian world of horse carriages, motor cars, and slowness doesn’t diminish the the impact his meditations may have for a more modern and sophisticated world. If James Allen were alive today he would not sound the trumpet less for what he called "right thinking," but in fact double his energy to get the word out on the "root" of the problems afflicting individuals who suffer, and to the "root" born from what he called the "seed of success."

I can never forget his line about thought and circumstance. I memorized it at age 19 and it has kept me away from alot of the "Danger Zone" signs of life offering peace and satisfaction instead. It goes like this...

"Mind is the master power that moulds and makes, and man is mind and evermore he takes the tool of thought and shaping what he wills, brings forth a thousand joys; a thousand ills. He thinks in secret and it comes to pass. Environment is but his looking glass."

In fact…

More coming soon…

AMERICAN MADE from AMERICAN ASSETS

2008-06-20T13:18:00.000-07:00

Oil is Currency. Talk is Cheap. Values are American Made. American Assets are from where?

I can’t do better than talk show hosts who have staffs to study this stuff and are daily exposing the naked truth about American dependency on foreign oil – AND, consequently, American dependence on the stability of the governments producing it.

So it’s a short blog: Here are some talking points to banter back and forth with your conservative or liberal friends, family, and colleagues. (Except at social gatherings...)

1. We have 30 years of known oil reserves at the current import levels, right here, right now, "AMERICAN MADE."

2. We have enacted strict laws to protect endangered species, and the environment, thus not drilling our assets but relying upon others who don’t give an endangered rat’s tail about those things in their countries. With the threat of nuclear terrorism in the hands of those from oil producing countries we Americans and our endangered environment are:

a. Not endangered
b. Not threatened
c. In danger and threatened
d. Stupid

3. Oil is used for machinery and in by-products to produce the following:

Food, clothing, shelter (housing), transportation (to get vital goods like food from farm to the market) communications, national defense, all products manufactured, entertainment, medical and health care & research, and guarding the non-voting rights of endangered species.

Something to think about: As the oil price skyrockets minimum wage jobs will go away when Americans guard against waste and discretionary purchases of stuff like Big Macs, Whoppers, and Tofu burgers. A domino effect will occur in the economy as spendable money tightens. More homes and automobiles will be foreclosed and taken back by lenders, etc. etc. etc. We should:

a. Not drill for oil, but rely on thugs, socialists, and American enemies to supply it.
b. Drill for oil, and hope the environment and polar bears survive this assault.
c. Drill for oil and scare the foreign suppliers into lowering their prices to compete.
d. Drill for oil, employ Americans, produce reliable sources of energy for independence.
e. B,C, & D
f. Stop producing: Food, clothing, shelter, health care, research, transporting goods and services, and walk or swim to those locations where we need to protect the non-voting endangered species.

I'M REALLY GREEN: Meaning God gave us a world I love and will protect. He also gave man (not Congress and Special Interest Groups)"dominion over all these things..." when he created the world; (Chapter 1, Genesis.) I’m just addressing, with respect, the idea that we can solve a current looming crisis to our successful two hundred year run at “AMERICAN MADE” lifestyle and independence. We have, without trying become the envy of the world. We have, to large degrees, been a wise and generous people to the planet, and yet we are babes, as far as countries go. Just 200 years old, and still learning. What we need now is OIL to keep going while we create alternatives and become an even better steward of freedom and progress for all.

And…selfish me--I need paper made by machines run on oil, or at least energy for the electricity made by turbines running on oil, to deliver my words so I can afford to spend money to help the economy. You are in the economy…No? Do I sound self-centered because I care about AMERICAN MADE from AMERICAN ASSETS?

AND, “Who’s in charge here, anyway?” The people? Eight hundred or so legislators and officials from various federal government agencies and branches? Polar bears?

James Michael Pratt

YOUR HEADLINE... READ ALL ABOUT IT!

2008-06-08T17:53:00.000-07:00

CHOOSE TO MAKE YOUR OWN HEADLINES... IN ADVANCE

CHOICES: This blog begins and will end with the word "choice."

If you took a quick look at Sunday June 8, 2008 headlines you would read about earthquakes, floods, destructive and deadly tornados, mass murders, tragic accidents, wars and rumors of wars, diseases, increase in oil prices, global warming, political strife, and some stories sprinkled in the headlines offering HOPE… medical news, heroics, and what would seem just plain old good fortune smiling on a lucky few.

In reality most people are going to wake up tomorrow morning without a building they are in or a bridge they are on collapsing. Their plane will arrive safely and most of those on time. Politicians will actually do little to affect how most people decide to live their lives, and much of the bad around us will offer a new look at the opposites – creating previously unconsidered opportunities.

Though deaths in family and among friends inevitably happen, so do births. Losing fortunes or the house means you get to assess anew what really matters most. I know…It has happened to me. No one eats you, though the news would make it out they would. Credit scores plummet, but now you quit racking up a mass of stressful debt to live a lifestyle you couldn’t pay cash for anyway.

Wars rage, sons and family members go. Some will not return. Most will though. Even when we had a world at war (1939-1945) with 16,000,000+ Americans in uniform roughly 15,500,000 came home. This is not to diminish the tragedy of the lost or fallen. Heroes are made from how strife is handled, not from unending ease or lack of conflict. It is real life; to look at the thousands of decisions ahead of us yet to be made regarding how we will respond to the vagaries of life, the sudden reversals, the trials and losses. They certainly will come to all, and though suffering and stresses occur, the sun rises tomorrow and everyday with a question for you… “What will you decide to do with this day?”

CHOICES and Attitudes: We have much to be grateful for in America. Sure there are bad policies affecting us and our life-styles formed by either self-centered politicians or stupid ones (or both) and sure it isn’t $1.50, $2.50, or $3.50 for a gallon of gas any more. Things could be better. But here in the USA you can get up in the morning and change your life, your career, your job. It won’t necessarily be easy. It might take re-training. It might take re-locating. It could be selling one dream in exchange for a new one. Jobs aren’t handed out by governments anyway – not in a prosperous country. They are made or unmade by people with ideas, hopes, dreams, visions of accomplishment. That’s what brought my English ancestors here to virgin land untouched by all but natives 400 years ago. My Dutch ancestors one hundred years ago came with luggage and dreams. They did okay leaving Holland behind – not because someone handed them “freebies” right off the boat, but because of dreams they had and choices they made.

Life isn’t always fair. But, as the saying goes, “What doesn’t kill ya usually makes you better.” It is the future that drives an individual to have faith in the hoped for better days, not the past. Thank God for HOPE. Thank God for INSPIRATIONS which come to us. Thank God for Freedom of CHOICE. And I have to say, thank God also for family, friends, and opportunities to begin anew... I know, you may wonder if the fair-haired (younger years) "golden boy" (quite a while ago) really "gets it." I must sound like one more "positive mental attitude" cheerleader to many.

As I write this I have come to the end of a four year near “zero income” cycle in which I finished two novels, started three more, finished one screenplay and built a company from scratching out the concepts with a friend on a note pad. From hope, creativity, support of loved ones, encouraging words of readers, and belief that great things were ahead, I have created new and prosperous alliances I never would have had if former professional dreams all came true. I have generally laughed my way through each day with the love of a great wife, good friends, and this dream... To do some good with my talent. To remake my life into one that stands for principles during storms and carefree days of ease was not in my plans a few years ago. I was a one novel a year man with what I figured were slam dunk opportunities. Funny how it goes...

Since over one thousand sun risings, I have experienced some sad and almost unbearably hard moments; health and family welfare concerns, deaths and tragedy. But the sun always came up with a question on the following day… "What will you decide to do with this day?”

The dreams never died and choosing them over surrender made all the difference. They are my HEADLINES written in advance. I see what “will be” not what “was” or “can’t be.” I love more because of losing love. I feel more because of pains that nag and ridicule my fading youth. I believe more because I must. I am more because of going through less than comfortable moments; those adversities so common to all. I've earned my "cheerleader" badge.

The Headlines in tomorrow’s news will no doubt speak of destructions, mayhem, violence, and unspeakable tragedies. Don’t you add to them. Make your own Headlines. Announce on a notepad what you are willing to do, who you want to be. To make your life as big as anyone ever has, start and finish new projects. Touch the lives of others around you. It doesn’t take money to begin. It takes a decision. A great novel never will be written in ease or comfort until several have been written out of necessity with grit and determination to the final punctuation mark preceded by these words; The End.

Good beginnings promise victory and good endings. Good beginnings are offered each new day; our "choices" make them or break them. Make sure you have a dream bigger than mere “survival.” Cut loose all those who have hurt you. Do not hate them but do not tether your life to theirs, or to broken promises. Ignore the politicos who promise the moon. The sun is already shining for you. Forget a boss who doesn’t deliver; just make sure you “deliver.” Let go of “unfair” and make the world “fair” by how you live it; what you do for it.

Today, be someone who changes a life for the better, and begin wherever you are… and with whatever you have. Create a HEADLINE in advance! Soon the world will see who you have become and will READ ALL ABOUT IT!

I know this all sounds terribly optimistic. But… the alternative attitude is a terribly poor choice. It’s all up to you and one little word arriving with tomorrow’s sunrise and morning news: Choice!

JMP http://www.jmpratt.com/

FATHER'S DAY TRIBUTE 2008

2008-06-07T14:34:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to fathers everywhere. From... DAD, The Man Who Lied to Save the Planet

Chapter 12

The Three Most Powerful Words

"Express love while you can. It’s who you are in here," he said, pointing to my chest, “and in the end, that’s the only thing that matters.” Words are symbols of the action implied in them. Dad was more a man of action than words, yet his final words summed up the man.

He was unable to speak during his last week of life. He had elected to die with dignity in his small Idaho farm home, and my deaf mother could only helplessly watch as he gasped for air during those final days, unwilling to leave until he was invited by a Higher Power. My sister, who lived next door to them, finally called and told me to hurry from my home in Utah, four hours away. Hoping this was really not the end, I asked her to tell him to wait for me. Then I delayed my trip until the following morning. I was selfish. I knew he would wait, and I didn’t want him to go.

He suffered through that entire night and into the middle of the next day, a devoted father keeping his word. What I saw as I walked into the room shocked me. Even more skeletal than two weeks before, and fighting for air, he relaxed as I entered the room. He had made a final promise and had kept it. He spoke to me with his eyes as I sat beside him and read to him the eulogy I had prepared. I sought his approval. Unable to speak, he just weakly nodded his head.
Grant Pratt was a religious man and a spiritual man. You can be one or the other or both. He was both. His most fervent desires were that his children share his belief in God, and that we understand that our dad loved us.

By then, it was physically impossible for him to speak. His voice was gone, his lungs rattled, and his breathing was labored and shallow. I wanted him to witness to me one more time that there is a God. I needed to hear it from him. So I asked a question. I asked it for both him and myself, knowing he would somehow answer. “Dad?” I asked. He stirred in an attempt to keep his tired eyes open.

“Is Jesus Christ the Son of God?”

He groaned as if he would shout, and his back arched as if he would rise from his bed if he could. “Don’t you know that by now?” his face questioned, appealing to me to believe. Then he relaxed.

I was stunned at the great final physical exertion he made. I had my answer and was satisfied. I felt this was all I would get from Dad by way of communication. I had given him an opportunity to testify, and he had given one last gift to me—his final testimony. What I wouldn’t do for one more hour of talking with him, I said silently. It was time for him to leave. The talking was finished.

Mom said a tearful good-bye as she stroked his head and kissed him over and over, whispering into his ear, “You can go now, Grant. You can go, darling.”

My father groaned, struggling to form something with his lips, but unable to do so. He could barely raise an eyelid now but kept trying to speak, at least with his eyes. Even if he had been able to speak to his wife, her deafness would have prevented her from receiving the offering.
He closed his moist eyes and tears drained from their corners as his pulse steadily weakened. I sat at his side holding his left hand with both of mine.

So this is how Dad dies. Congratulations, Dad, I found myself thinking. He had “finished the race” and had “fought the good fight,” as Paul the ancient apostle wrote. I didn’t expect any more from Dad. But suddenly he turned his head to me, and he opened his eyes once again. Gazing intently into mine he said in the clearest and most deliberate earthly voice he had ever owned, these words—“I love you”—and then his eyes closed, and he was gone.

In the end it won’t matter what is left behind, if the gift of love isn’t. The three most powerful words any father or parent can speak to his child, and any child can speak to his parent were his final words, his parting gift to me. Of all the sacred words in human language, they are the three that say it all.

He didn’t leave a famous name. He left no money or wealth. But I was given something most kids on the block never got. He left me with his heart and soul, and that’s not bad. And after all, my dad was a hero. He had lied to save the planet, and that’s something no one can take away.

Express your love while time is on your side. In the end, it will be the only thing that matters.

LOST INNOCENCE, PROMS, HILTON HOTELS

2008-06-03T13:01:00.000-07:00

Statutory Rape, Teen Sex, All Night Booze and Drugs, OK with Hilton Hotels

June 3rd 2008

I wanted to stay one more night at one of the best accommodations for the price I had ever experienced, a Hilton “Homewood Suites” on the border of LA and Ventura County.

I was told, “Sorry Mr. Pratt, our hotel is entirely booked up by Prom Night parties.”

“Say what?” I answered, somewhat astounded. (I’m not a prude, I’m a father.)

“We have two entire buildings reserved by High School Prom Night people. They have been calling all day asking, ‘Is it okay to come in at 1:00 am to 2:30 am?’”

I stared the young man down. “You are telling me, a businessman can’t extend his stay; get a room, because you are renting two entire buildings of the three out to teenagers and their dates?”

“Yes sir.”

I asked,” How do you do it? I mean we could have never gotten away with it in my time.” I meant legally.

“These are different times, Mr. Pratt.”

“They sure are,” I answered.

I didn’t sleep well at all May 31st. I couldn’t. I kept imagining the lies being told parents; something like “Mom, I’m staying over at Lisa’s after we get home from Disneyland.” Stuff like that. I kept thinking of the boys talking about “scoring” and getting the girls drunk. Now days it is also the girls talking the same about scoring and getting the boys stoned. I thought about the 18+ year-olds; (legally and supposedly adults) with 14-17 year-olds (supposedly girls) – “statutory rape.” It occurred to me that some parents knew and their credit cards probably charged for this "loss of innocence." I have no illusion to the number and quantity of pills, alcohol, condoms, and in the units, all with two beds per room and a pull out sofa-sleeper in the living room, what would be happening in the “multiples” of couples.

It all was too creepy. Sleep deprived, the "love story" writer could only think about NO “love” going on, just immature teen bodies flaying at each other to wake up the next day with hangovers, stories of glorifying rape, consensual teen copulation… ugh…

“How did I ever turn 55 with such thoughts NEVER occurring to me,” I asked a business associate. “You have an innocent heart, Jim.” (Nice compliment.)

“I love real love too much,” I mumbled to no one. I thought back to Simi Valley High School Prom Night 1971. Disneyland, the laughter, the fun, the all night temptations too... Sure I knew shacking up was going on here and there, but even the post “sex, drugs, and rock & roll” of Hippie Heaven days, 1970’s seems so innocent now.

So much for business trips. I’m staying home the rest of my life. And oh yeah, circulating my experience to Radio Talk Show producers and newspapers.

JMP www.jmpratt.com

MEMORIAL DAY SPECIAL TRIBUTE

2008-05-23T17:16:00.000-07:00

MEN WHO SAVED the PLANET- SPECIAL REPORT

ELEVATOR VERSION

I was privileged to freelance report on an event to never be repeated, the 60th anniversary of the World War Two D-Day landings at Normandy. The few remaining American, British, and French warriors in attendance were boys again. You could see it in their eyes. My own father, Grant Pratt had already fought with the 1st Armored Division in North Africa and was entering Rome, Italy on June 4, 1944, that "day of days," after spending four months being shelled by German guns at a beach-death trap called Anzio.

Hundreds of thousands had died and were yet to sacrifice their lives in the clear fight of good over evil, as the black cloud of Hitler's tyranny hanging over Europe was gradually becoming dispelled by freedom-fighters paid under $50.00 per month. Freedom wasn't "free" then, and it isn't today. Now over 4,000 men from those uniform wearing years of World War Two pass on every day. I thought you might enjoy what I witnessed on the beaches of Normandy, France, and with me pay homage to those who saved the planet 60 some years ago.

STAIRCASE VERSION

Remembering the Soldiers Who Saved The Planet

James Michael Pratt – Official US Press Pool

From the American Military Cemetery, Normandy June 6, 2004

As a member of the official US Press Pool to the multi-national sixtieth anniversary ceremonies commemorating the Allied D-Day invasion of June 6, 1944, I had the privilege of witnessing a never-to-be-repeated celebration of honor and courage at the battlefield locations in Normandy, France. The gathering of old warriors in their eighties and nineties said it all. They came because they knew this would be the last time in their lives such a large congregation of nations and people would pay them and their fallen comrades homage. We, the sons and daughters, came for the same reason. The speeches of the French and American Presidents, contained solemn and spiritual tones while at the same time spoke to the ideals of the common-man-soldier who made it all possible for us to enjoy what we have.

My father’s age of old-young men, are leaving us at more than 3,500 veterans a day and soon will take their history of war, love, and bravery with them. I miss Dad, and am growing in awareness at how much I will miss all of them. So I stumble a bit at conveying the depth of reverence and awe I felt among the 10,000 crosses so elegantly and poignantly witnessing to us of young men's sacrifice.

Equally in wonder at the historic review were hundreds of the aged veterans, like Howie Beach, 79 years old, from La Habra, Cailifornia. I was privileged to receive an oral history lesson of his experience of coming ashore and then 11 months of fighting hell that followed. In childlike candor he seemed the young soldier asking me, the gray haired wise old man, this question: “Do you think I can find them?”

He teared up, and I got a lump in my throat as he added, "I lost seven good friends in France and Belgium and I want to find them. Do you think I can find where they are buried?"

“Yes,” I answered. “There are seven American Cemeteries throughout Europe. The Cemetery at Colleville overlooking the invasion beaches is the biggest and most famous with over 10,000 American crosses. Your friends can be found, Howie.”

“Oh,” was his simple reply as he searched the meaning of sixty years having passed.

“You are 19 years old again, aren't you?” I asked.

“What?” he asked with moist eyes.

“You aren’t 79 today. You are 19.” I knew that the recognition of this first trip back to France - one totally done in peace, and not carrying a rifle - was slowly dawning on Howie, and confusion of 60 years of time so compressed now mixed with memories so startlingly fresh.

“How do you know that…how I feel?” he responded with surprise.

“Everyone feels the same way. We are eternally young inside, like the young soldier friends of yours. They haven’t aged, and in some ways, neither have you,” I replied.

“That’s right! It is just like it was all yesterday. I don’t understand it. I shut it out for so many years and now it’s as if I am there again and it is all fresh; fresh in my mind, I mean.”

This was Howie’s moment to teach and my opportunity to learn. Howie opened up and I took notes on the spontaneous oral history lesson. I didn't need a movie screen; his eyes shared the scenes of comradeship and horror of battle as if it played out just days ago.

Howie Beach was one of many men, American, British, French, and Canadian who I met on travels for one week in June to honor on film and in the written word American Dads who stormed on to these beaches in an effort to save the planet from self-created demons and evil. These men had a call, and all recounted how they felt quite ordinary then, but part of something bigger.

“It was a mission,” Howie reminded us. “We were part of millions in uniform. Most of us figured it was a matter of time before we were dead men anyway, so we fought like mad.”

Norman Akers, a British soldier traveling to Normandy to be at a reunion of fellow British D-Day survivors was with his daughter, when I met him. He showed us an original photo of his brother’s shrapnel torn helmet lying upon a fresh mound of earth where he lay buried. The custom of the British was to immediately bury their soldiers where they fell. Later he was crossing into Belgium and then Holland during Operation Market Garden and came upon a bridge named “Akers Bridge.” He inquired and found out from a British officer, “Oh yes. That would be named for your brother. He was quite the hero, you know.”

Norman Akers looked proud, wistful, and sad all at the same time as his 83 year-old eyes strained at the graying photo of the bridge he was sharing with us; the sign posted as “Akers Bridge,” and what it meant to him to “carry on” as the surviving Akers brother of a war that consumed so many hundreds of thousands of British sons. “It seems like yesterday now,” he whispered. “I can’t understand why, but it is all so clear again.”

I thanked him for his service for us. Our British allies fought hard and lost nearly one million sons beside our American forces in bringing victory to the cause. These two men both testified that they were not uncommon of other men of their time. They think of their dead brothers and comrades as the true heroes. But they survived to remind us of the cost. And now those “common men” of yesterday seem so extraordinary to us. Their heroics remind us of just how much one good man can do to make a difference in the world.

Our French hosts were generous in their regard for their American friends who gave their lives to liberate their country. American flags hung from the windows of Normandy countryside homes along with French, British, and Canadian flags. A proud people, sometimes with disputes regarding American foreign policy, they lacked no gratitude for their hero “soldats Americain” who waded from chest deep water into withering enemy fire on D- Day beaches. More than 50,000 French civilians would also end up surrendering their lives to bombs made by Germans, and the Allies as they lived in the midst of warfare during those first terrible summer months of 1944.

The city I stayed in, Caen, France, is as charitable today in her regard for American, British, and Canadian sacrifice as it was 60 years before when nearly 95% of the buildings were destroyed and thousands of inhabitants were killed or wounded during the several weeks of fighting there between Allied and German forces.

Somehow everyone gathering during the week ending June 6th 2004 to honor our dead and living veterans of the great conflict understood that with the sacrifice, with something given up and lost, the pendulum of justice swung fully to the opposite direction offering a precious but sacred blood-stained gain in return. In Howie Beach’s life the loss was friends and the innocence he had known as a teenager when he was called upon to become a killer of men. What he gained was a profound depth of appreciation for freedom, a love beyond measure for comrades, and a decency he would live the remainder of his life in spite of carnage and terror he experienced. In Norman Aker’s life it was the same, plus the sacrifice of his beloved older brother. For French men and woman it was often their homes being destroyed along with family members being sacrificed for their final freedom.

One week earlier I had the honor of speaking to thirty wounded Marine’s at the invitation of personal friend, Chaplain Ronald Ringo, USN stationed at Camp Lejeune, NC. Now home from Iraq and Afghanistan’s battle fields, these men had gathered to listen to the Chaplain’s instructions on how to transform from warrior to peace-time dad and husband.

The Marines wondered aloud if we, the American citizen, appreciated them; if we cared. Many are husbands and dads, doing simply what they know their fathers and grandfathers did in World War Two, Korea, Vietnam and other conflicts.

“Will the American people be grateful?” one asked. “Will they let us finish our job?” another questioned. “I used to take my family for granted,” added a young staff sergeant. “I used to act like a drill sergeant to my young son. But when I got back from Iraq, and some of my friends didn’t, I just looked into his eyes and when he said ‘Daddy…and I…’” His throat closed tight on his own words. He wiped at the tears. “I’m not the same man,” he began once more. “I’ll never be the same man. I will never take my family or this country for granted again.”

Gratitude, love, honor. I witnessed these with our current crop of heroes, some Marines who want nothing from us but understanding and respect. And then on June 6th 2004, in an overflowing abundance of appreciation on French soil, hallowed and made sacred by men who died and also lived to tell their tales, I understood what soldiers of every time and conflict may have wondered when they asked themselves, “Will they remember me back home?”

I imagined in my mind’s eye a beneficent Creator offering an approval for a collective gathering of the spirits of the fallen whose bodies lay buried in the Normandy sod. Dads, sons, brothers, heroes all – I imagined another cerebration taking place near us; the dead among the ten thousand crosses, witnessing an earnest heartfelt homage being paid to them.

The thoughtful question, as if posed by a silenced warrior asked again, “Will they remember me back home?”

I knew the answer and whispered back: “Yes soldier, we do remember. We haven’t forgotten you. And we never will.”

James Michael Pratt -- June 6, 2004

MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs

2008-05-09T14:24:00.001-07:00

APPRECIATION for EVERYDAY MOMS

When I awoke today, realizing it would be "Mother's Day" on Sunday, my instinct was to go to the computer and tell Mom how much I loved her, and let her know I still think she was the "World's Best Mom." But a day before her 85th Birthday this year, she left to go be with Dad. May I share a MOTHER'S DAY tribute to her. FROM the book:

MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs

CHAPTER ONE:

I figure my Mom was normal in almost every respect regarding basic mores and teaching her children the standards of conduct, faith, and values passed on to her from her mother who was born in the late 1800’s.

Mom did her best to instill in her boys born in the ‘40’s, 50’s and ‘60’s, virtues that would bring them success, happiness, and well being. Mom had seven sons, two daughters, and adopted an adult, my third sister, later in her life. She qualifies, in my mind, to remind us of what really matters most. She represents the best effort of millions of Moms who as children grew up in the milieu of the Great Depression of the 1930’s, waited for their soldier boyfriends and husbands of the world’s greatest military conflict of all time – World War Two – and denied herself comforts unknown to previous generations in favor of her children having the best she could give.
With that alone, Mom merits Sainthood. And I believe the reader will also agree that “Mom” is a sacred and affectionate title given to the woman we know the best, one who always put our needs above her own.

The themes portrayed here are also appreciations for Moms. I am sure my stories are, by in large, representative of most experiences the reader will have known in growing up under the care of a good mother. But my Mom is, after all, the only Mom I have had experience with. So for fun I will refer to those days and experiences that showed me a way of living I give gratitude for now.

If by chance you did not have a positive experience, missed growing up under the protective wings of an angel mother, I offer you mine, with the hopes you may feel the guiding love, and use it from this time on to influence those in your care and all others around you.

Mom, we can never say “thank you” enough. These words pay tribute to you and are in appreciation for everyday mothers who build the world, one soul at a time!

From CHAPTER THREE

“Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You.”

Charles Dickens said, "I think it must somewhere be written, that the virtues of mothers shall be visited upon their children.” without a doubt, I can say that the virtue of the Golden rule is the one Mom hoped all her children would adopt.

The Golden Rule is perhaps the most widely accepted maxim and standard for personal behavior that exists on the planet. This value of “treating others as you would like to be treated” is the foundation to every moral and law-abiding civilization known. A planet alive with such a denouement to cap off all other laws would be an antidote to war, crime, famine, disease, and a host of other ills.

It might sound simplistic, and it might seem a cliché but the best policy is and always has been to consider how you would like to be treated before dealing with another. Nature abhors a vacuum. It must be filled with something. Mom intuited that as the boys grew, and possibly even witnessed war, devastating hunger, illness, and privations, that the Golden Rule would be the best medicine for negative circumstances they encountered.

We are faced with daily situations that don’t seem quite right or even fair. Life offers no guarantee of evenhanded treatment. Moms worry about this, and rightly so. In the event a bully shows up, or an opportunity to cheat, fib, slip from the light into the dark and forbidden paths comes our way, Mom’s concern always was that a morally prepared son is the best answer to the challenge.

It was 1965 and I was late for school. “Remember Jimmy, do unto others…” she called as I raced out the door and started my run to Knolls Elementary School. “…as you would have them do unto you!”...

“Yeah, sure Mom,” I mumbled as I waved her off. "Whatever… " I answered under my breath.
Why does she always have to say that? As if I don’t understand or something? I posed silently as I ran up Christine Avenue five blocks to see if I could squeeze under the tardy bell.

I liked to run. I enjoyed sports. I was always competing and loved the challenge to my sixth grade body to see if I could go all the way without giving in to walking. I’m pretty sure I made it to school just before the bell for starting classes rang.

It was the early 1960’s, and our somewhat rural town just over the hills and the northern Los Angeles County line, was starting to sprout suburban neighborhoods. It was not unusual for a new kid to move in every couple of weeks. I always enjoyed learning where the new kid was from, and generally making friends.

I remembered what it was like moving to this new town three years earlier during my third grade year. Being uprooted from friends and familiar playgrounds was and still is not an easy thing for a child. Without going through any mental gyration of why having more friends was better than less, I usually tried to make friends the first day a new boy or girl would show up. I didn’t know it at the time, but looking back I can clearly see that Mom’s daily admonition was having a subconscious effect.

So, when I noticed the new kid, Phil Piraino, I decided to make a friend, make him feel comfortable. Besides, he could come in handy after school when we chose up teams for games, or playing war in the wide-open fields and rocky hills that surrounded our home. I had another friend at Knolls who didn’t have the same idea about how to greet the newcomer. I recalled three years earlier when he had first bullied me; had given me arm burns, twisted my right arm behind my back to see how much I could take. This was a friend made more by necessity than by desire. Mark May was tough. He liked it that way and would probably test my new friend his first day at school.

Come morning recess, I was standing in the ball line—the line that was formed outside the sports equipment room where all kinds of balls were checked out. Footballs, basketballs, those big red bouncy rubber balls that the girls really liked in four square games, softballs and bats, and by the time I finally got the last basketball a crowd had gathered near the hoops.

“Hey! Stop it!” I heard Phil groan.
“Uh oh,” I thought, stopping dead in my tracks. The crowd grew noisier.
“Punch him Mark,” one said.
“Fight back,” another called.

If I just walk away, pretend I didn’t see this. If I just let it go and not get involved I won’t end up with a bloody nose or worse. The problem was Mom’s words kept ringing in my ears: Jimmy, do unto others..."

Yeah, but Mom, this is not me doing anything wrong, it’s Mark May, I protested to the voice inside. “…as you would have them do unto you,” she finished. “Ohhh…” I moaned as I moved forward.

“Hey! Mark!”
“Hey what Pratt!” he called back as I broke through the crowd. Mark had Phil in the familiar arm lock and was twisting him to the ground. Tears were starting to form in his eyes.
“Leave him alone!” I mustered with all the courage I could.
“You gonna make me?”
“Yeah. Maybe I will."

Now by this time I didn’t have a clue as to what I was doing or why I was saying this. Mark was grinning ear to ear with a look that said: “Oh boy! Two people to beat up. This is my lucky day.” He still had Phil in the arm lock.

I moved forward. “Let him go Mark!” Mark’s face turned from grin to questioning expression.
I moved forward again. “I mean it. You’re gonna have to fight me too!” I said, as I put up my fists. I could tell Mark was weighing the consequences. Maybe two scrawny kids could take him on and then he’d lose face with everyone else. If he lost face, then he’d lose power. Or worse, he’d lose face and have to answer to the principle and the long wooden paddle he had become familiar with.

“Oh go on!” he huffed letting Phil go. “I’ll get you later Pratt!” he barked as the recess bell chimed for it to end...

That day I made a new friend and reinforced the bond with Mark May that lasts until today. I don’t quite understand what it is about Mark that I like. Maybe it is because once you were his friend he was truly loyal to the core. We had good clean fun in years to come, and while admittedly on the wild side with other types of friends, Mark paid me one of the ultimate compliments a few months after my twenty-first birthday.

I had just returned home to Simi Valley, California from South America where I had been for two years doing volunteer service and had just spoken to our local church congregation. I was standing outside the chapel now in the foyer. I was greeting well-wishers when out of the corner of my eye I saw a familiar and sturdy young man in blue jeans and T-shirt come busting through the double pane glass doors that led to the foyer.

“Jim! I heard that you were home!” Mark said as he burst through the crowd and gave me an American style “abrazo,” the customary Latin but manly hug I had become so accustomed to by now. “Man it’s good to see you! You are the only friend that never let me down. You know that?”

I was stunned. I muttered something like, “Thanks Mark.” Then we caught up on old times. Before he left the building, and I went my way in life and he his, he smiled and said, “I still wish you would have let me beat up Phil Piraino.” We laughed and had our little secret. Mutual respect had been earned years before. I both treated Mark and Phil how they would have wanted on that spring day in early ’65 and Mom was to blame.

I was given a payday that Sunday morning that I have never forgotten. Over the years, I had remained friends with both Phil, the Italian kid whose parents had immigrated to the United States after World War Two, and with Mark, the bully.

Maybe Mom was right after all. Maybe when you do unto others as you’d like done to you life pays you back in kind. Like medicine that Moms spoon-feed their kids to keep them well, this simple remedy to relationship building was given in doses I could swallow.

"Thanks Mom – my world is a better place because of a simple prescription you reminded me to take and it has worked from the inside out. "

Now, as I consider those days of youth I understand that one of the finest things Mom ever did after the oatmeal was finished was to remind me: “Remember son, do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

MOM DIED February 5th, 2008. for the Tribute and her final lesson to me, see February 5th post.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull

2008-04-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

ONE OF THOSE RARE BOOKS...Helping inspire a new course for life

I write this blog listening to Niel Diamond's musical score for the 1970's film based upon the book by Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. The book and music are equally inspirational and I recommend them as a timeless return to dreams, values, and joys found in achieving the best in us. I first read the book in 1973 while in Lima, Peru. I was a young idealist on a mission to change lives, and the harder I tried to bring a message of change to others, I found my own life and mission in the process.

Another young American loaned the book to me, and I was immediately carried away to a place of vivid imagery; knowing what I wanted my life's work to be. I wanted to become part of what this writer had contributed to; inspirational storytelling, an art form I had appreciated since my earliest recollections of boyhood viewing Disney classics, and reading fairy tales of heroics and honor.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull tells of one gulls attempt to break from the crowd of fighting between other gulls upon the seashore over daily scraps of food washed up, or cast off by others. While other gulls were satisfied with flights designed to bring them an advantage over their fellow gulls, Jonathan had the idea that perfecting flight would become his ambition.

He had heard of fairy tales of the "Great Gull" and thought if he flew high enough, soared well enough, at speeds fast enough, perhaps he too could reach a perfection few other gulls ever thought about. Instead of fighting over cast offs Jonathan soon learned his ideas made him a loner and a literal cultural cast off from his society of gulls.

Jonathan was soon formally banished to live outside the society as a non-conformist. I won't spoil the tale, but you get the idea. Sometimes following a dream makes us feel alone. It perhaps sets us apart from others. It even has the potential to make others feel uncomfortable around us.

I am taking a break from editing, AS A MAN THINKETH...In His Heart, to add to my blogs. A novel I began in August 2006, it is now timed to go to the printer in one week, yet the discoveries I made two weeks ago, on a trip alone to the novel's setting, Ilfracombe, England, needs to be included in this final revision.

I have ventured into a life of no security, a dreamer's life where seeking to be like Jonathan, all I care about is how high I can reach, and from time to time, like now, am able to look back and see the view. It isn't easy to separate oneself from the flock, trying to justify a risky life-pursuit, such as novel writing. Not easy to go without the scraps (money) of what feeds us in hopes of finding the great goal an even better reward.

If you ever seek to break from the routine, and feel like finding your place "in the lonely looking sky" as Niel Diamond sings of, I recommend the read by Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull as a good place to begin.

James Michael Pratt

http://www.powerthink.com/

ARROGANCE & PRIDE and a Peanut Farmer

2008-04-13T19:26:00.000-07:00

WHAT DOES ARROGANCE, PRIDE AND A PEANUT FARMING EX-PRESIDENT HAVE IN COMMON?

I don't like getting involved in political rhetoric which attacks the character of an Ex-President of the United States, but Mr. Carter has crossed the line from self-appointed peace-maker to self-appointed international policy designer, IN A TIME OF WAR.

Mr. James Carter is going to consult with Iranian backed HAMAS terror leader Khaled Meshaal in Damascus, killer of US, Israeli, Lebanese troops and civilians, AGAINST THE ADVICE of our sitting US President and State Department.

When this was pointed out by today's Sunday News wonks he shrugged it of, and suggested he was, "quite at ease" about meeting with Hamas because they were an important player in the Israeli Palestinian peace movement.

HELLO! Mr. CARTER? YOU WHOOOO! ??? You aint' the President. You are a few decades removed and a few marbles shy! It isn't your turn, sir! You aren't appointed to the "peace process." YOU SIR, SMACK OF "ARROGANT." And arrogance in self-appointed missions of peace to sworn enemies of our country is as dangerous as it gets. Remember the Biblical injunction: "Pride cometh before the fall." Well it isn't your "fall" alone at stake! It is our country's!

Webster's Arrogance: "That species of pride which consists in exorbitant claims of rank, dignity, estimation, or power, or which exalts the worth or importance of the person to an undue degree: proud contempt of others; lordiness, haughtiness; self-assumption; presumption."

YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, MR. CARTER. We had an embassy taken over by Iranian thugs under your watch. Rescuers were killed in an ill-advised attempt at saving your reputation. Energy crisis and gas lines, the spread of Soviet aggression, one chaos creating economic policy after another. Yes - you got Mr. Sadat and Mr. Begin together. Good for you! NOW LET GO!

UNDERMINING: This is really about you, isn't it? Come on, you can't get over the fact that the American people would like to know you are in Plains, a dignified ex-President, writing occasional advice pieces but staying put where a "former head of state" belongs... Past tense!

Teach Sunday School! You are good at that! It makes you like-able.

Write a book or two. They out last us all and add luster to a personal legacy of service.

Plant peanuts. Who knows? You may produce a viable fuel alternative from them... make up for gasoline lines we endured under your Presidency 30 years ago.

Ex President Jimmy Carter -- The super smiling, harmless appearing man who ACTS the self-effacing patriarch of goodness and American correctness, is a wolf in sheep's clothing in this mis-guided "peace-making" romp to the Middle East. His pride won't allow him to take the lead from those legally and morally obligated to create and administer policy with regards to fighting the war on terror, with the clear stated policy of NO NEGOTIATIONS WITH TERRORISTS!

Shame on you Jimmy Carter! You are ending your life-time of "public service" in "private service" by snubbing those directly involved in our country's policy making. Can't you give it a rest and just let us like you? You were President once... or has age caught up and you forget what it means to have the burden to make final decisions, hard decisions, based upon information you alone and a few others trusted by you, possessed?

YOU SIR ARE pride-filled, and have the civic intellect the size of the nuts you so proudly produce. Do us a favor, and be a true servant of all Americans. Yield your proud heart to the voices of those whose stewardship it is to deal with our enemies.

James Pratt

April 13, 2008

HAPPY MEALS & VIAGRA

2008-04-09T16:05:00.000-07:00

Have a HAPPY MEAL

Learn How Viagra Can Change Your Life!

I was traveling to Nashville, Tennessee last week. I pulled off I-40 west bound during a drenching the area was receiving from the recent storms. It was near 10:30 and I hadn't eaten breakfast. I knew if I went to McDonalds what to expect in the way of a quick but satisfying egg and sausage BIG BREAKFAST, and easily found the franchise location just off the exit in Lebanon.

I must say, the franchise in Lebanon, Tennessee has to be the most impressive McDonald's I have ever seen. From the landscaping outside, to the very clean and modern interior (bathroom as well) I was immediately and favorably impressed. I had just returned from a writing research trip in England, and had trusted the scrambled eggs there, as well as enjoyed an English made BIG MAC, but still there is "no place like home."

I grew up with McDonald's. While I don't eat there often any more due to age, cholesterol, and calorie concerns, I still trust the people and the reliable menu. I got my BIG BREAKFAST for half the English McDonald's price (1 Brit pound = $2.00 and a Big Breakfast is 3.99 British) and headed to one of the fanciest settings I have ever seen in a fast food restaurant.

Booths and bar stool seating with personal television monitors, video game controls, one choice of channels. My immediate reaction was "WOW!" then moral judgement kicked in and I suddenly shifted to realize the huge disservice and negative factors... even though it is a fun new idea for the giant of fast food marketing.

WHY? Because to our continuing social denigration and possible cultural demise CONSTANT STREAMING OF INFORMATION doesn't give the brain a break. FAMILIES ALREADY AREN'T TALKING TO EACH OTHER!

But, I'm calming myself down, readying my BIG BREAKFAST as I try to ignore the fact that commercials are being run, and, "...this slick new addition to 'captive audience' marketing is, after all, under the roof of a family enterprise," I say in self-talk.

While applying the ketchup to my hash browns I saw the first and last commercial I intend to ever see in any food establishment. I was so angry and frustrated I had a hard time downing my meal. And besides, the coffee drinking seniors the commercial was aimed at were leaving as the menu board changed to HAPPY MEALS and BIG MACS!

ALL The television monitors at every seat were showing a healthy attractive older couple touting the increased joy of taking a pill designed to enlarge the anatomical male organ necessary for pleasure giving to the overly eager female... FOR SUFFICIENT HOURS AND DURATION THAT WOULD MAKE ANY MAN FROM ANOTHER GENERATION BLUSH!

What's going on in our society? Can't we take a break and eat our HAPPY MEALS without being presented commercials designed to enhance sexual gratification? Can't we just have Bambi (oops, that depends) playing or some innocent and fun-loving commercial ads if advertising is necessary?

NAW... Life's all about pleasure and profit, not responsible commercialism. Let's get everyone hooked to male organ enhancement. The female actors seem to suggest it makes their day... There isn't enough sex going on in other programming venues. Let's take over the family-friendly environments too. Maybe Disneyland can start offering commercial interruptions to our innocent joys and pleasures. Condoms and libido enhancing formulas can be advertised next to the Fantasy Land Sleeping Beauty ride...

VIAGRA commercials...and McDonalds.

Now this gives BIG MACS a whole new meaning.

James Michael Pratt

http://www.jmpratt.com/

http://www.powerthink.com/

EASTER 2008

2008-03-22T11:40:00.000-07:00

This link to an Easter "You Tube" message says it all...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9m5GIXfPjIs

Wishing you a joy filled Easter and Spring 2008.

James Michael Pratt
www.powerthink.com

DUPLICITY and REAL POWER

2008-03-09T17:53:00.000-07:00

A Power Think Paradigm

The Dangerous Dance of Duplicity and Personal Integrity

REAL POWER: Real power comes from carefully guarded thoughts guided by our hearts. "Thoughts are things," James Allen said in his ground-breaking book written in 1902. That truth learned in 1972, my 19th year, has had profound impact on me and directly influences choices in personal behavior and what my life is all about, since then until this day.

Thought is power, for good or bad. "He thinks in secret and it comes to pass. Environment is but his looking glass," the English philosopher stated. His multi-million copy bestselling book, AS A MAN THINKETH, still sells world-wide to this day. See, the truth about character and conduct is a stubborn thing; it clings to us as an outward garment woven from the inside out. Hard to run from that...

Good seeds yield good fruit. It's that simple. The code of the fruit is in the seed. The code of character is in the thought, persisted in over time. Why people seek some different outcome from the mental seeds sown and then cultivated over time is a matter of "duplicity." Duplicitous behavior is the killer of every good desire, hope, and aspiration.

PURPOSE and MEANING: Real personal power comes from developing real personal purpose or meaning in life. With that "meaning" we become known through the development of "character." Integrity and living congruent with personal values and society standards offers not only the development of character strengths, but delivers the precious gift of personal trust from others to us. "It is better to be trusted than to be loved," I heard a speaker say when I was young. I never forgot that axiom and it has proven invaluable to me in growing the opportunities that have come my way into a meaningful and lasting lifetime of benefit.

Everyone wants to “matter”and “mean” something to others. The danger lies not in wanting to “matter” but in what we might delude ourselves into believing really “matters.” Sometimes we want two opposing things of value. One has higher meaning than the other and, in what I will refer to for this blog which deals with personal integrity, I call this "wanting to matter" in such a way as to "short cut" integrity, “The Dangerous Dance of Duplicity.”

As I write this a scandal brews with a NY politician who's personal dark side of life collided with a public duty and trust. He wanted it all. He danced to a tune of personal wants in places the public would never be allowed to follow him to, only to find the civic dance floor empty when he was found out to be duplicitous by an eager media and press.

Personal integrity is the glue which bonds us in trusting ways to others. Without it the fabric of society is one strand weaker. Collectively, the loss of integrity impacts us all through the success of our economy, business, and indeed is the cause of every ill or crime known to man. "Be true to thyself" the Shakespearean line goes, "and as night follows day, thou canst be false to no man."

Duplicity means wanting two things out of harmony with each other. It means "dual" in one sense, just as it means "duel" -- where we literally fight with our better half -- in another sense. The dance of duplicity begins with seductive music which sings of “things” of an outward nature. "I can have this in exchange for that." Perhaps cheating on a test in school begins the character weakening dance. And when a few successes at it are presumed, "My cheating won't hurt anyone," reinforces the duplicitous belief. After all "I am a good guy. Moral, and wouldn't hurt anyone," we might add to the disarming voice of conscious which is ever becoming more faint.

"I can make up for it later," becomes the lie we believe out of convenience. For with the crumbling walls of character we sooner or later become exposed for who we really are. When "things" become “symbols” of who we are, "why" we matter, and "what" we want others to see in us, we are tip-toeing onto the dance floor where duality becomes a "break dance." It begins to occur to us that we cannot do two different dance steps at once. What we are inside becomes clear for everyone to see, through our ever growing number of "mis-steps." After all, the drunkard knows it is hard to be sober. The thief believes it is hard to be honest. And the liar knows that the web must continue to build or he will be ultimately "found out."

We only delude ourselves, weaken the relationships of trust that we might otherwise enjoy. We impact our society, and there is a real cost to that. Selective honesty disables trust as fast as complete dishonesty does. Studies are done annually on employee theft, padding government contracts...these seem so innocent to the protagonist at the time. Collectively we are talking of billions of dollars in lost productivity, stolen goods, and out-right theft.

Trust? Ask the Governor who retires in disgrace today. Ask the thousands of former millionaires now in State or Federal prisons. They sure looked good for awhile. They mattered and meant something to others. Now they are a number awaiting parole.

"He who dies with the most toys wins," the humorist and bumper sticker creator of the 1980's said. A dual reality is implied here, whether the bumper sticker was found on a Mercedes-Benz or a Ford Pinto. In living, and seeking the best of life and things, the external circumstance may be most important...of course until one dies, which will happen to everyone. Then what will be is a memory in the minds of others, and a legacy both real and eternal.

Why we want to be honest, should never be subordinated or compromised to “what to be honest” about. So much more could be said about the dangerous dance of duplicity - being "two people" at once, but I will save some interesting side-notes and facts for another blog. Back to "meaning" and "what matters" most:

Duplicity is cerebral. It is heartless. It is rationalization at its best. The human "brain is for getting and the heart is for giving." This line comes from my less read novel of 2005, THE GOOD HEART (to be released in paperback Fall 2008.) Our brains constantly want more stuff. Our hearts constantly give life and love. Together they can offer "two" seats of power and wisdom for the price of one, and integrity need not be compromised. The heart and head really can act as a combined force if we "power think." That is allow the heart to dictate wisdom -- guard our actions -- over rationalization which so easily creates a partnership in our ever addictive information striving brain; partnerships with greed, lust, avarice, lies... These need not be. The heart can guide us if we will stop, slow down, listen.

The heart dances to a rhythm which is elegant, steady, reliable. It nourishes with life-sustaining blood, every cell of the body and brain. It is eager to matter and "mean" something but is quieter than the noisy brain. It requires careful listening to insure we tune in to its softer voice. It is intelligent and intuitive. It also seems to be filled with ancient wisdom. Wisdom, as we all know, is the non-tangible essence of truths which seem to give us a sound moral compass, and a sure map to destinations of good for all; not just self. The heart seems to place things of intrinsic moral value ahead of the more expensive material stuff of life.

In life, as in Power Thinking, it really is a matter of the heart being right, and the brain doing its job within the bounds of personal integrity. What I hope is an entertaining look at personal growth and inner integrity, is my latest inspirational novel, AS a MAN THINKETH...In His Heart.

We really must decide what we want. Duplicity is a sure-fire formula for failure in personal relationships and in society at large. With the heart in the lead and brain collaborating at its best, the dance of real personal power, like a good waltz, replaces the weaker dance of duplicity. In the end we really are what our heart thinks about.

More about the novel and these musings can be found at: http://www.powerthink.com/.

--James Michael Pratt

INFORMATION, SPEED, AND PERFORMANCE

2008-02-23T11:03:00.000-08:00

Speed is Good, Information Important, but Performance is King

JAPAN just launched a satellite today that as CNN states:

(CNN) -- "Japan launched a rocket Saturday carrying a satellite that will test new technology that promises to deliver "super high-speed Internet" service to homes and businesses around the world. " 2/22/2008.

Ah the wonders. Now an 80 hour work week can become a 100 hour work week as more is expected of you by the employer. Nothing short of heaven sent! AND, welcome rural China and other places that could never have sped up with the rest of us! All you need is a satellite dish and voila! You can have all we have faster than blinking your eyelids! (You should probably buy a refrigerator over a satellite dish first though. Keeping food longer in dishes you now own will help you live longer than dishes placed upon your roof.)

THE WORLD IS FLAT: Now we can sell anything to anyone! And, there are benefits. Information to enhance life such as medical, intellectual, spiritual, and in commerce will definitely be a plus for the deprived masses who do not live, as we do, 24/7 with the Internet.

The speed and output of the new satellite up-link connection is estimated at 1.2 gigabytes per second. One hundred years ago, a person connecting their Alexander Graham Bell talking device (phone) to another used "Mabel." (That would be a person with a wire and switchboard. ) A few minutes would go by, as you pondered upon the message and talking to a friend, loved one, or business associate. In fact, communicating across town or around the world was a treat!

Now it is an entitlement. In fact, now a person connects in real time faster than the time it takes to type in a telephone number on their keyboard.

Meaning? Time to access information is immediate. Speed to request it takes longer. If we expect performance to increase just because access to information does, we may be in for an anxiety-riddled reality check.

Those were the days -- rotary dial telephone. Our home number in a Southern California area code was 526-3104. Had that number forever. And when you asked a girl out for date you had enough time with the rotary dial to back out, or practice how you were going to ask her to go out. The nerves it took with all that time lapsing. How did we ever get anything done?

DRUGS: I can tell you we did it "all" without Prozac, other anti-depressants, and performance in personal areas of life didn't require "enhancing." (We had libraries, exercised through playing, walking, running, and adults who wished for intimate moments didn't need two bath tubs; aka the "Cialis" RX television commercial.) Information is like a drug for a brain constantly crying out for a faster way to connect, do, experience...

This is a shorter piece -- on purpose. My partner Mark Kastleman at http://www.powerthink.com/ and I are engaged in writing and creating audio on surviving and thriving in the modern age of mass communications, high speed demands, instant gratification, stimulation, and information overload; all creating more stress and anxiety than any other generation could have imagined.

"Power thinking" is introduced in my upcoming novel, "As a Man Thinketh...In His Heart." It is about a "heart-mind" alliance that maximizes the body's potential for using the right information in a high-tech world. The heart needs time, while the brain begs for more information in less time. With two competing vital organs, the human spirit needs some time as well, for meditative reflection just to sort things out. Life is coming at us fast and furious whether we want it to or not. If we simply absorb speed, information, and try to keep up in a performance mode, we will be headed for a super-cardiac arrest, not to mention spending more on RED BULL drinks and its competitors over food, just for the extra "kick" we want in order to "keep up."

Personal performance is what life really is all about. With the heart in the lead, and the brain obeying, the quality of life does not require the quantity of connections we have available to us now. We simply need to access information "use-full" to us. And, to make the point, "Mabel" down at the local telephone company, was a "new" invention a mere ten decades ago. Before that the telegram had it's day in the sun for fifty years, and before that there was the horse.

When personal performance is at stake, it isn't how much in gigabytes you get in a second, but which information available is most important and useful. The "right" information, the right use of it, will always enhance life, bring peace in high stress times, and focus attention on the "best" in personal performance. Power Thinking is an answer. More on its way...

"MOM, I'M HOME!"

2008-02-05T17:49:00.000-08:00

MOM Passed Away Today... Super Tuesday Feb. 5, 2008.

I've been a bit worried about Mom. She's been lonely without Dad. Been 14 years now. Readers of my books heralding their teachings and strengths know I owe DAD's final words to me, and MOM's final words to him for creating the writer.

The winter has been cold and brutal in Idaho. Thankfully my older sister, Karen lives next door and checks on her. We also email quite abit. She's been deaf for forty years, so emailing has been like a blessing from heaven. We talked about "passing on" twice this week. She was turning 86, and yet didn't seem to comprehend it. She was as much the girl and Mom with all the cares, insecurities, and yet faith, love, and mix of baggage that she'd shouldered her entire life. But she expressed saddness that others she knew were leaving, and that she was stuck in a painfilled body; and though grateful for adult children and their children who kept in touch, felt she was missing another kind of "home" - the kind one finds in the care and comfort of familiar love of husband and others of her generation.

The morning of her death I opened my email and read about her confusion of a dream she had where she had missed a bus that Dad was on. The bus station attendant had told her, "The next bus arrives at 5-12," he said.

"What do you think 5-12 means, Jim?" I replied with a tease, "I guess the bus is coming in 2012, when the Mayan calendar ends." She replied, "Oh well, I guess I can wait that long."

"Time Tested Values -- Oatmeal It Sticks to Your Ribs" -- my post of Jan. 21st, 2008 means more to me now. I hope you will read it and share with others, who, through my words, knew MOM and loved her. It's hard to pay tribute more than I have in the book I dedicated to her while she lived: MOM, The Woman Who Made Oatmeal Stick to My Ribs, so I think I'll live the rest of my life like she wanted me to; like she trusted me to, right up to the last time we shared "I love yous" in our last emails.

Back to the email. I'd like to share her last one with you. See what you read, between the lines:

Dear Jim and Jeanne:
Did i sound sad in my letter? i suppose maybe a little, when we are here and able to still do--------it is hard to give up and let go, so i sense this bit of sadness, but i do not feel a regret at all about going when it is truly, my time. Honestly, I think I can see the handwriting on the wall, already. My children are all going to make it, i will go when the lord says, it's enough.

Jim, did you think I don't believe in the resurrection? Of course, I do. If Dad had not had the promise of choosing his time to go, and had gone that same weekend, I would have known somehow that he had chosen, simply because it became such an overpowering experience for me.

For myself, i still think that dream I had a couple weeks after Dad died could be valid as for when I might go. "The next bus from the Genealogy library would not be back until 5-12????I don't think about that a whole lot and I don't dream such explicite dates either or times.

Then she ended with some personal words and "Love you lots, MOM."

I got a call on my cell from my older sister Janean around 6:00 pm, while waiting for an ordered pizza, (taking it to share with friends who are rather political -- Super Tuesday in full swing, like a good football game, you know.) Janean had just gotten a call from Karen in Idaho. She had found Mom, on the floor, barely breathing. She lifted her into the bed and she took a few more breaths and then passed on.

The next day I talked again to Janean. I asked her, "Do you remember the time Mom passed away?" She answered, "Oh yes. Karen called me at 5:12 pm."

I guess Mom was right in the beginning when she counseled me about the "oatmeal sticking to my ribs" and in the end about timing when she said that she had, "no regret at all about going when it is truly, my time."

Good bye Mom. I love you. And wherever I am, there you are in my heart. Just like I used to say as a kid busting though the front door on Christine Ave. in Simi Valley, I know, with you I can still say, "Mom! I'm home!"

IN LOVE and ROMANCE...I'm Hopeless.

2008-01-29T13:11:00.000-08:00

ABOUT LOVE, HOLLYWOOD, and Well…LOVE

The Culture of Hollywood and Why Love Stories Become Twisted When Translated to Screen:

I’m hopeless. AND, I refuse to yeild...

This personal review of a ten year journey to get a film made, once promised to a publisher one year after the book came out, is a typical journey for stories where “love” is defined by those with the money, but perhaps not the heart for it.

In Hollywood it is a battle of, “Hard Love vs. Soft Love…” Case in point: “Jim, Hollywood isn’t really doing your kind of stories. They just aren’t hard enough.”

Suspicions confirmed, the sale of my “soft love” story, New York Times best selling The Last Valentine, was what thousands of fans had been asking about for years, and now ten years later it is where it belonged… Hallmark Hall of Fame and CBS. I never believed that “Hollywood” didn’t have interest in “soft love.” The list of enjoyable hits, even blockbusters is too long.

When it comes to love being “hard,” I realized too late, that he was speaking of the “head contrived love” stories but not the kind that comes from the heart. As long as his mental perspective was fixed, I wasn’t going to shift enthusiasm to area perceived as “not” profitable or at least “interesting” to Hollywood film making contacts.

The truth is, he and I are still friends, but live in different worlds. We come at romance from different experiences and paradigms. His world includes a lot of “Noir” (French word for “black” and meaning cynical, rough, violent, dark, etc. class of novels and film.) I refuse to allow any noir into my world. I mean ZERO. What that comes down to is differing views on “reality.” I’m in love with real love; the warm-hearted journey a man or woman makes in winning at it and…

I’m hopeless.

I’m just not interested in noir; aka “hard love.” Something is wrong with me. I want to understand (therefore explore) a love found in the most gentlemanly and heroic of characters… the kind that makes a woman swoon (and stay swooned) – a love that doesn’t demand, but gives, and then receives through no compulsion, obligation, or manipulated feelings – the soft, gentle, kind, filled to the brim with emotion that comes after the effort. It is a culture full of “we and thee,” not the Hollywood view that portrays movie after movie of a narcissist’s “about me and mine.”

Am I missing something here, Hollywood? Am I all alone on this? I don’t think so. In fact, I know Hollywood is losing money from those who WANT to enjoy a great movie filled with realism – the reality of “how love works” not “how it does not.” Even the Soaps acknowledge love affairs they portray as built upon moral quick sand leading to personal and collective destruction.

I’m hopeless, and that seems to be the bottom line to my romantic notions.

To me LOVE, “amore,” the stuff of true passion, is not the knocking around of bodies flailing away in fits of myopically narrow-minded and so-called “love-making” by the literati of cheap noir novels and film at large – but it is the committed touching of the breath and soul of a partner through willingness to believe in, and cherish her. THEN let the holding, touching, and being one with her begin. I like marriage, for example. I mean, to me that kind of commitment is romantic. If I failed at it, I would try again until I got it right. It is in the EFFORT that the reward of ROMANCE is achieved. It is in loving (the verb synonymous with giving) that loving (the verb synonymous with feeling) is received. Where am I going wrong here?

I learned late that I was dealing with one kind of producer in trying to get a beloved “soft” love story produced. The 1,000’s of pieces of fan mail can’t touch a mind whose heart is not in it. The idea of a gentle love that isn’t believed in cannot be written by even an Academy Award winning film-script writer given 2 chances (true event in the epic journey of The Last Valentine to screen) if his heart isn’t in it. The truth about love in Hollywood often is, “hard is hot” and “soft is cold.” In terms of the heart “soft” is very hot to those of us who like great story lines and don’t want orgasmic gratuity or cynicism to interrupt it.

The exception is CBS and their fabulous alliance with Hallmark Hall of Fame; a realization of what makes a great love story. Stories that have heart are remembered forever and a good story line with “heart” is what it is all about with those producers. We can all be grateful for that.

I believe Hollywood at large is missing out on huge revenue potential from those of us who have “given up” in search of something to “watch” and often just “opt out.” (Hopefully good news for publishers.) Ever said, “There’s nothing on!” or “I can’t find a decent movie!” That is really saying something when there are over 100 channels to choose from vs. the four we had when I was young.

Though I feel friendly toward them, my past book-to-film making team have a different view of what a “good love story” is made of. That’s why it took ten years. They see “hard” and I see “soft.”

Finally, years after the promises, I was able to encourage a script written by a lovely person who is now a dear friend, and she found the perfect production partner to create the long hoped for Hallmark Hall of Fame production, The Last Valentine, becoming a CBS movie of the week in 2009.

I recount this for one simple reason. I’M HOPELESS… and VALENTINE’S DAY is coming up. I’m not giving up on writing gentle love stories for book and film, nor giving up on an audience I believe in and who daily continue to express their belief in me. Love is soft… It was never supposed to be “hard.” The world in its splendor wasn’t created with tunnel vision in mind. Neither was love.

Though 4 years old now, this well thought-out news article bears review – IF Hollywood wants to thrive and enjoy our business and confidence once again.

ON FILM AND TELEVISION AUDIENCE TUNING OUT

Spring 2004 USA Today in “LIFE” section with heading CAN TV BE SAVED? 12 Ways, by Robert Bianco.

The Audience

We can find the answer, I believe, in what happened at the last Super Bowl. The Super Bowl at its height attracted 140 million U.S. viewers. On any given night, only 35 to 40 million people watch network television. That is a differential of approximately 100 million people who don’t watch. And it was, in my opinion, those people who were most offended by what they saw and it was those people who spoke out and were heard.

Therefore, network television panders and caters to the base tastes of a minority of people, the lowest common denominator. It is this minority that keeps the networks and their affiliates in business. If the networks and affiliates gave the people what they really want and not what a perverse minority demands, based on the numbers alone, their ratings would almost triple.