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:
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
MARCHING WITH THE MOB on 9-12
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
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
Sunday, August 30, 2009
WINNING IS EVERYTHING...
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.
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.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
ANGEL of ILFRACOMBE
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
Monday, August 3, 2009
RE-MAKING AMERICA
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
Sunday, July 5, 2009
SMALL SHIPS, 102 PEOPLE and AMERICA
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
Saturday, June 13, 2009
DAD, a DREAM, a LOVE STORY
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.
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.
Friday, June 5, 2009
D DAY -- REMEMBERING THEM
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
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
Saturday, May 23, 2009
"BURY MY HEART in the United States"
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
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
Thursday, May 7, 2009
LIFE AT DAYS "Bye Mom...Love You!"
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
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
Sunday, May 3, 2009
PANDEMICS, Fear, and You!
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
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
Monday, April 20, 2009
TELL ‘EM STORY!
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
“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
Saturday, April 11, 2009
EASTER 2009 WISHES
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
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
Saturday, March 28, 2009
The Golden Rules of Love
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
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
Saturday, March 21, 2009
LOST CAUSES & the Jimmy Stewart Solution
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
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
Friday, March 20, 2009
5000 Year Leap by W. Cleon Skousen
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
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
Sunday, March 8, 2009
PAUL HARVEY, TOUGH TIMES, and You!
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
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
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
PEACE, Troubles, Fear, Jean Valjean and You
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
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
Monday, February 9, 2009
ABOUT LIFE and CAMELOT, Cory and You
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
“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
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
AN END IS A BEGINNING UPSIDE DOWN
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
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
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