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A Moment to Pause and Reflect


Last Sunday afternoon, I took time off from my exceptionally busy schedule to babysit my 2 year old twin grandsons so my daughter and son-in-law could take my 6-year old grandson to a "Skeeters" baseball game. Obviously, this was one of my better decisions.


Spending an entire day with two little rug rats is a life-changing experience for us old folk, not only because it is a struggle for us just to survive an entire day with them, but because it also gives us a peek into their tiny world, if only for a brief moment in time.


As I played with them, it was obvious they had no fear and absolute trust in me. They loved it when I chased them, laughing when I caught them and when I tossed then in the air, “flew” them around the room, and flipped them backwards. They always came back for more, knowing they were completely safe in “their world”.


I took them for a long walk and was in absolute awe as I watched their reaction to everything they saw and heard, storing each new experience into their rapidly expanding memory banks, oblivious to anything and everything outside of their immediate surroundings, their own little world, talking to each other in their "something similar to English" baby babble that only they understand.


Later, after they were asleep in bed, as I watched a Hallmark movie on TV in an attempt to put the rest of “my world” out of my head for just a few hours, I had a chance to reflect on what “their world” was going to be like when they grew up. And I realized I didn’t like what I saw.


Their world started the day they are born, and what they know and learn about the world is what we expose them to and teach them, or as they grow older what we “let them be exposed to and taught”. The world they will inherit is the world we make for them. Their world, their future, depends on us.

Sadly, our world, the world we live in, is changing rapidly and, in my humble opinion, it is NOT changing for the better. And I’m not talking about “climate change”.

Our world is being redefined, not by the many but by a few, by those on the radical Left who want to impose their world view on everyone else. Lies are becoming Truths. Truths are becoming Lies. Rights are becoming Privileges. Privileges are becoming Rights. Liberty is becoming Tyranny. Freedom is becoming Slavery. Anarchy and Lawlessness are becoming Order and Peaceful Assembly. Morals are becoming Immoral. Killing the unborn is just but killing criminals is not.


History is written by the Victors, those who fought and died for what they believed in. Yet our history is being re-written right before our eyes, not by Victors but by those who want to steal our History and make it their History, those who want to change our History to reflect what they think History should have been.


We are not far from the world George Orwell described in his book “1984”, but it is the world that our children and grandchildren will inherit if we continue to let the radical Left define our world for us.


I, for one, do not intend to let that happen but I realize that I, that we, cannot win without a fight. This blog is part of my feeble attempt to help in that fight, but it is not enough and I intend to redouble my efforts. This is a fight we dare not lose.


The day I die, I want to be able to look my children and grandchildren in the eyes and tell them that I did everything I could to make the world I am leaving them the best world it could possibly be. And I intend to do everything I can to make sure that happens.


But what are you going to do?


What are you going to say to your children and grandchildren on the day you die? Are you going to be able to look them in the eye and tell them you did everything you could to make their world the best it could possibly be? Or, are you content to sit idly by and let them inherit the world as the radical Left defines it?


Perhaps we all need to take a moment to pause and reflect upon our world for just a few minutes and decide if we are doing enough.


Our children and grandchildren deserve nothing less.

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