Along life’s path I have been most fortunate to be blessed with extraordinary friends, the kind of friends that are there when you really need them. Among these is Mike Turner who is not only an extraordinary friend but goes out of his way for me many times and handled all my affairs while I was in the hospital. Living alone as I do, such a friend is indispensable and few have such a friend you can have complete confidence in to handle your affairs when you are incapacitated. So naturally I count Mike among the blessings of God to me among a few others and those of the past.

But Mike is also the reason I seldom have any problems with my computer. Being so skilled and knowledgeable about computers whenever he drops by he is attentive to anything I need, including making sure this infernal device is properly maintained. Not a few of you are undoubtedly envious of my having a friend capable of keeping a computer running smoothly and are wishing he was your neighbor.

While Mike and I talk about various things like politics and religion neither of us ever get into any hot dispute about issues, we have been friends for years and know each other too well to ever cross the boundaries of friendship. An added plus is that Mike likes cats, and if anything terminal happens to me the resident cat will have a good home. For those who love their pets, you understand the comfort I find in this.

We all need friends with whom we can simply be ourselves without any reservations, those rare people that take us as we are and can themselves be taken in the same way. But such relationships are difficult to come by, and the best of them mature over a long period of time, not unlike a marriage that requires the same thing.

In the Bible Abraham is called “the friend of God,” quite extraordinary when you think of it since most folks don’t think of God as being a friend, especially since you don’t “worship” a friend. We may love a friend, but we don’t worship a friend. Peter didn’t have any silver or gold but he could say to the lame man “Rise up and walk.” I doubt anyone would look at the Vatican Palace and think you could be the friend of whoever that was built for. The same can be said for many of the churches built as grand palaces. On the other hand, the most humble and unpretentious of small, rural churches, ah, I can easily see these as places of friendship with God.

You don’t embarrass a real friend, and they do not embarrass you. But I have the distinct belief God is often embarrassed by some that believe they are on a friendly basis with God and do things like constructing huge monuments supposed to honor God, but they remind me too much of the great pyramids of Egypt and other megaliths dedicated to various deities.

The Temple that Solomon built was not required of God; it was built because God realized the need out of the weakness of people to have such a structure. While Jesus pointed out the Temple of his time was supposed to be a house of prayer, he did not evidence any grief in his statement that it would be destroyed.

Various impressive structures supposed to honor various deities tell us a great deal about the kinds of gods people believe in. But I confess the magnificent Christian palaces leave me a little uneasy about how such people view their personal relationship with God. After all, when David had his mind set to build a temple God instructed Nathan to tell the king how the Lord dwelt in a tent and needed no temple built by the hands of men. There was also the matter of David being a man of war with bloody hands to consider, but God did relent to allow Solomon to build a Temple. But I’m sure God knew the temple would be destroyed, just as did Jesus of the temple in his time. And it was the first martyr Stephen that incurred the wrath of the crowd to stone him who pointed out “Howbeit the most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands; as saith the prophet, Heaven is my throne, and earth is my footstool: what house will ye build me? saith the Lord: or what is the place of my rest? Hath not my hand made all these things?”

Reading Stephen’s condemnation of false worship in which the temple was the centerpiece, the people were infuriated at his pointing out they actually worshiped the temple rather than God whom it was supposed to represent, a “temple” in which Jesus had chased out the money changers. Alas, too often have such “temples” been more a place of business than houses of prayer.

In the main impressive structures meant to glorify God fail of their main purpose, which is ostensibly to reflect the beliefs of the builders. I am a lover of great architecture, a lover of the great cathedrals, but only as they reflect the genius of the designers and builders of such magnificent structures knowing God does not need them, and may even find them embarrassing, especially when so many are mortgaged as though you could put God in debt for a “house.”

If we look at the magnificent temples men have built for and to themselves many of which are banks, corporate headquarters, temples to the worship of Mammon such as those in D.C., I understand such temples. However, I also understand the need of a meeting place where a gathering of quite a number of believers needs accommodation. But such a meeting place should not be an embarrassment to God, as I believe many such are by their blatant opulence. As to megachurches and TV productions attempting to rival Hollywood as pleasing to God, I cringe in embarrassment for the Lord because I have both a heavenly Father and a friend in God.

We know the truth of eloquence at the podium being only rhetoric in the study. Perhaps Emerson’s remark struck a chord with Theodore Roosevelt; it would have lent itself well to “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” a quote in a letter to Henry L. Sprague by Theodore Roosevelt that later developed as his foreign policy as president.

I believe many of us are sick of hearing glittering generalities attempting to pass as specifics by mere oration, but are seen to be only rhetoric in the study. Personally, I would prefer the “speak softly/big stick” approach to solving our problems rather than rhetoric.

But I have to wonder when Moses was offered the biggest stick of all to use against Pharaoh he demurred because of his lack of eloquence? From the narrative of the burning bush episode Moses confronts God’s telling him to go speak to Pharaoh because of his being a poor speaker so how was he expected to speak before Pharaoh? God reminds Moses he created his tongue and mouth and would be with his mouth and teach him what to say. But when he continued to argue the point, the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses so God tells him his brother Aaron has no trouble speaking so he will be his mouthpiece.

Well, it has always seemed to me “I AM” should have known beforehand he was going to have this problem with Moses so why become angry with him? And if God didn’t know, that poses some real problems that Biblical commentators have struggled with at voluminous length surrounding the idea of God being omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent. But as I have mentioned several times God is perfect by his own definition of perfection, not by the definition of men. There are just too many instances in the Bible where God has seemed not to know something, and even misjudged the character of some of his chosen ones to maintain some humanly flawed concept of God’s “perfection” by the standards of men.

What need of messenger angels if God did not need them? What need of prayer that is directed toward changing God’s mind about something if God’s mind cannot be changed? What kind of relationship would it be if God could actually read your mind, what kind of conversation would you have with anyone who could do that? I have no doubt God knows our hearts and can certainly identify his own children, but in so many ways do I think differently about God than others, that there is a very human element to the Creator that made man in his own image.

We read God was sorry he had created man and determined to wipe him out by a great flood. But he found Noah to be righteous and saved him and his family only to have the cycle of violence and perversion throughout the earth repeated almost immediately beginning with Noah’s son Ham.

Kids say the darndest things, but they also ask some very intelligent questions. God gave us a questioning mind, and I don’t think he wanted robots but children able to ask questions of him, intelligent questions worthy of his children, and many an intelligent question arises about God from reading the Bible; not with a religious prejudice already predisposed to never question what is accepted orthodoxy of some particular belief system but intelligent questions any parent would value from their child.

Obviously a child can ask a question the answer to which they are too young or inexperienced to understand. At that point the parent can only muddle through the best they can, and in some cases the Bible does some “muddling through” best it can; so many volumes by Bible exegetes attempting to explain the visions of Ezekiel, Daniel, the Apostle John and others for example. There is the matter of faith to consider of course, and sometimes the parent just has to tell the child to trust them rather than attempt to answer a question. There are many things in the Bible where God requires we simply have to have faith and trust him, that there is an answer to our question but we are not capable of understanding it. God’s Creation alone poses questions to which we have no answers, and we still have not solved the two great mysteries of Life and Death.

In these dangerous and most uncertain of times my faith in God is all I have of any real value, a faith that defies the many charlatans attempting to pass themselves off as “prophets” or someone with an inside track with the Lord to which only they are privy. I don’t hold with any religion that professes it alone has the ear of God, or requires any secrecy among its “believers.”

Great variety exists among families, and the family of God is no exception. My love and trust of friends is not contingent on their agreeing with me in every particular, and this includes those whose beliefs concerning God differ from my own. As it is, my questions do not seem to bother God and I’ll continue with my questions, attempting to sort out the answers best I can. After all, over a long lifetime I’ve become quite an expert at “muddling through best I can.”

It isn’t only Glenn Beck presenting some pretty frightening scenarios for America’s future; there are many including me who agree with him. And Obama seems to be steering the same path of making people fearful of the future if we don’t do things his way. For my part, it is always prudent to live within your means (while keeping your powder dry) and I heartily resent my taxes going to deadbeats that depend on government to maintain them at my expense, which accounts for much of the anger being generated as discussions of endless bailouts continue to broaden into outright government control of our lives. No, allow me to correct myself; not control, but actual enslavement. And I don’t need to speak as an academic on this subject; I have more than enough real life experiences to know whereof I speak in sharing my concerns.

Take for example an old acquaintance of mine, Red, that wound up in jail. Seems he and a friend of his, Bear, had been drinking heavily and had an altercation that led to Red pumping a couple of rounds from a .22 into Bear. Red was in the pokey and Bear was in the hospital. The two of them sobered up and wondered what happened?

In discussing this with some mutual friends none of us were surprised by the shooting and we all agreed that it was a good thing Red didn't have one of his heavier pieces, like a .357 or 9mm. readily at hand. This probably would have resulted in a visit by the coroner rather than the paramedics.

I continue to mix it up with people whose lives, like my own, don't fit the normal. And some of these associations lend themselves to stories a trifle out of the ordinary. The day after the shooting, a couple of people called me. They had been worried that I might have been in attendance during the fireworks. I was touched by their concern. Alcohol and drugs continue to do their destructive work in people's lives and few of us don't know someone whose lives are affected adversely, even tragically by them.

But that poetic and romantic part of me refuses to be cowed by the most ugly of people or circumstances. However, I have a great advantage over many others in maintaining my finer instincts toward what I believe makes life worthwhile.

Forgive the repetition but I love to share the story of the time when I was a boy living on a mining claim here in the Sequoia National Forest and my preoccupation was hunting and fishing, exploring the beauty and majesty of a pristine wilderness area. With rifle, shotgun or fishing pole, I spent my time, when not engaged with hard labor or school, claiming my rightful inheritance as a Mountain Man with Kit Carson and other worthies to guide me in imagination.

I raised my children with the stories of my adventures of this time and tried to expose them to as much of it as possible. We would go fishing, shooting, hiking, and exploring forest and desert. I wanted my children to be able to have the memories to call on later in life. I knew such things would be important to them just as they were to me.

My maternal great-grandmother and grandparents had marvelous stories of their times of a by-gone era of simple virtues, hard work and the ingenuity and inventiveness of making do and my brother, Ronnie, and I would thrill to such adventures of the past. That I was able to live such adventures myself was a heritage beyond price.

Coal oil lamps and wood stoves; I kept the lamps filled, wicks trimmed and the chimneys cleaned. I felled the trees, cut and split the wood for stove and fireplace in the cabin on the claim. While other children dreamed of bicycles, I dreamed of a chain saw and explosive wedges- Never got them. But the drudgery of living without natural gas, electricity or indoor plumbing was more than offset when I was hunting deer and quail or hooking a large catfish, bass or trout, when I had such majestic glory of an unspoiled river and trout stream or the heavenly scented forest to wander and explore on my own.

I have often wished fervently that the folks had written the stories my brother and I were told as children. I determined my children would have the stories of my pioneer life as a boy and thus the “The Lord and the Weedpatcher” book came about. That other people found it of value and interest is a real plus. And it was written with a good deal of humor. I love to make people laugh. My stories about the skunk that went off in our cabin one night and my practical joke that led to the legend of the Piute Bigfoot help maintain the laughter of life and keep me from taking myself too seriously.

Every Summer I would move my bed outside under the pines. I would lie in bed looking up through the branches of an old pine in enchanted wonder at the sheer beauty of the stars, the air clean and unpolluted making those brilliant points of light in the heavens sparkle like white and blue diamonds. Then I would be lulled to sleep by the most beautiful of heavenly choirs, the gentle, balmy night breeze caressing, whispering, and soughing softly, angels at their harps, through the pine needles of the trees over and around me.

And I had the music and the great literature of those like Cooper and Gray that helped fire my imagination. My clarinet and saxophone, my books were as much a part of me as my rifle or fishing pole (and, unhappily, that large crosscut saw, maul and wedges).

Of course it never crossed my mind in such an idyllic, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn environment that life could be ugly beyond words. Such an environment where I felt safe and secure in the love of others, the critters of the forest like the squirrels and birds whose antics I never tired of watching precluded such ugliness.

But thanks to our mother's somewhat heterodox marriage pattern (she married six times), Ronnie and I did travel around the U.S. a good deal and were exposed, at times, to “interesting” situations and circumstances far removed from the safety and security of our grandparents. This made us quite cosmopolitan and aware of the Dark Side. That even as a child I was already beginning to discriminate between the diabolical and divine experiencing both never entered conscious thought. But it was there.

As a result, I virtually never write out of some naïve notion peace on earth is going to be had while people are intent on murder in the name of some heathen deity or politicians remain the same unscrupulous and greedy scoundrels they have always been. But that better part of me that responds to children’s laughter or the goodness of those that sacrifice for others together with having known so many truly loving people removes me from any danger of outright cynicism.

A C&W song has it “There ain’t no future in the past,” but my future depends heavily on the past. But it was a past that prepared me very well for the future we are now experiencing and I can’t help wishing far more people were blessed with the past I knew as a boy here in the forest, especially those that have the rule over us. I think it would help remove them from the unrealistic world they live in while attempting to force real people having to make it in the real world to do things against even common sense, things that will never work in the real world but only make bad situations worse.

Ah, the sensitivity of the fair sex. As things get progressively ugly on the political front and gloom and doom threaten on every side I’m reminded of how badly men have fouled up the world. But what if women were considered of equal value to men and had an equal voice in world affairs based on honoring the compatibility of differences rather than the differences being an ongoing source of contentiousness? Thinking about this brought to mind something in my book “Birds With Broken Wings.”

As a boy living here on the mining claim in the Kern River Valley I had a variety of wild critters around me at times including a skunk and a porcupine. Both were difficult “pets” to live with; not impossible, but difficult. Certain accommodations had to be made of necessity because of the distinctive, peculiar natures of the critters. Such has been my experience with the different women in my life. Unhappily, while I often found the accommodations to these beautiful and delightful creatures difficult at times I never found it impossible. They, on the other hand, often found me impossible. But I have a marvelous tenacity and am patient to a fault; I refuse to give up and bow to Clemens' judgment that “men and women are natural born enemies.” I do, somewhat, subscribe to my own finding that the relationship is more often that of “armed neutrality.”

Having just faced a frozen dinner which I ate for breakfast while examining, though not too closely, the mystery meat and watery, ersatz potatoes it occurred to me that my attraction to a study of women has some practical applications. While my being able to eat something that requires an ability to put your imagination on hold in the process of consumption of material some of you wouldn't serve your dog is a proof of general good health and my stomach's lack of discrimination, I know a woman would be a definite asset in my life.

I can eat just about anything as long as I am certain it is reasonably and decently dead, as long as it doesn't move, at least not too quickly, and lacks suspicious, small wet glistening things. But women are much more circumspect in this regard of food and food preparation. After all, would any self-respecting wife serve her husband such a vile mixture? I suddenly see an ancient Greek chorus of men in this drama responding with a hearty: “You don't know my wife!” Ok, so Socrates had a problem with his wife. But we weren’t there and don't have her side of the story.

My persistence in the search for answers to my questions with that sense of discovery continues. But be careful in seeking Gurus. It has been my experience that most of them have the same questions I do but fail miserably in the answers department. If the answers were simple talk show hosts wouldn’t be getting rich in the process of discussing the problem.

As I am writing, I have laundry going. Yes, I do laundry and keep up with the dishes and I wish the distaff side were here with me. Not for slave labor, but for companionship (honesty requires me to confess that her help in regard to laundry, keeping house and cooking might add some minor and relatively insignificant factor to her charms. Nor would I ever minimize another, not so insignificant but fairly obvious factor).

But I have to face up to it; men may be able to care for themselves alone, but somehow it goes better with a wife. Women have a marvelous capacity to civilize. I keep a reasonably clean refrigerator, no new life forms or new strains of penicillin emerging at my last glance into its interior. But a wife could be counted on to make sure such does not happen. I seem to recall that my coffee maker was white when it was new and the pot was clear glass. I blame my lack of attention to such things on my propensity to set different priorities. But I'm a reasonably tidy man, I don't have clothes strewn about and I make my bed each morning. However, my little cottage certainly lacks a woman's touch; there are very few of those things that women seem to need to make a house a home. In my defense I remind myself that my Spartan lifestyle enables me to pick up and go at a moment's notice since I have little that encumbers so many others. While the little house has only the minimum in the way of creature comforts, it remains a place to hang my hat.

I hate shopping while women seem to thrive on this, to me, onerous but necessary chore of life. We're all familiar with the difference between the way men shop as opposed to women. Men are basic- Get what you went in for and get out. But life has such variety because of the differences between men and women that I never tire of exploring these differences. I simply have to look around me in my own home to examine some of these differences and pose questions to myself. For example, just what is a Woman's Touch in a home? I go to my kitchen cabinet and find a miscellaneous array of dishes. Few match. Now a woman wants a set of dishes, a set of pots and pans. Some women actually want cups with matching saucers, glasses and silverware of uniform design rather than twelve different kinds.

The bedroom: Matching sheets and pillowcases. Night stands with actual lamps, with shades. The bathroom: Matching bath and hand towels and on the kitchen table actual napkins rather than a roll of Scott towels or toilet paper. I know that most women want a degree of stability and order, security in their lives. And I know the reason for this and have written much about it. This is reflected in the way a woman wants the house arranged and things like sets of dishes and pans.

In “My Fair Lady,” Rex Harrison sings a song: Why can't a woman be more like a man? One line, “But let a woman in your life...” speaks volumes about the differences between men and women. That things change radically due to a woman's influence in a man's life is a given. Now I would be the last to want a woman to be more like a man. And I have never found any grounds for resentment because a woman wants the kitchen or bathroom arranged or decorated to suit her. I have always welcomed such things as a woman’s touch in my life.

I have always loved the scent of a woman in my life. That Woman's Touch in the home includes the various cosmetics and girl-things that says: “There's a woman in your life!” I encourage those things that help a woman feel good about her being a woman, that encourage her to be feminine from the painting of her nails to the way she does her hair, the delicate lingerie that makes a woman feel feminine and romantic are, to me, works of art.

The closets with her things, the colors and variety that contrast with the comparatively unimaginative men's clothing are something in which I take great pleasure in seeing next to mine. And, of course, there are the dainty things of such delicate variety that literally shout: “There's a woman in your life!” I don't care how many doilies, dolls, and knick-knacks are spread around the house. They are all part of a Woman's Touch that makes a house a home. I don't even have to hang a moose-head, my rifle or fishing rod on a wall to prove I have a presence as well.

A woman will try to cultivate flower gardens and have flowers in the house. In even the meanest of circumstances, as with the pioneers, she will try to have a colored curtain in a window. I know that some couples battle over how each squeezes the toothpaste. Some are middle squeezers and some are end squeezers. I guess I'm not that particular to make something so inconsequential, to me, a source of complaint. Sweetheart, I don't care how you squeeze the tube. And I'll gladly do it your way. No big deal.

Why is it, then, that such commonplace things become a battleground in too many cases? Well, it isn't because of how she squeezes the toothpaste, the way she arranges the furniture or makes the bed. It has to do with the basic differences between the way men and women think about similar things.

I was visiting a very lovely woman who posed this question to me. “Suppose,” she said, “a woman comes to her husband and asks him something about the behavior of their children. Is she looking for him to provide an answer or is she asking him to cooperate with her in seeking a solution to the problem?” Now we have the nuts and bolts of the dilemma. Typically, a woman wants a man to provide leadership (In the good old days, mom would be telling the kids: “You just wait till your father gets home!”). He is the authority figure due to male dominance. But she wants to feel that such decisions are the result of the two of them cooperating in seeking answers.

The enormous complexity of the relationship now comes into play. If solutions are not mutually agreeable, if one has to bear responsibility of a decision, will the other be able to accept it without resentment? It is just such commonplace things that lead to the man after ten years of marriage looking at his wife and noticing the weight she has put on and thinking; “Why I'm only married to half of her now!” while she is looking at him as he swills a Budweiser to further fuel the paunch that spills over his belt and watches interminable sports games and thinks, “He had hair and a flat stomach when I married him. He isn't the same man I married!” The points of view have changed radically in the marriage. Why is she fat and why hasn't he taken better care of himself? But let them get divorced and she slims down, he finally notices his gut and gets hair transplants or a toupee. They used to dance together. Now, divorced, they start dancing again- With different partners.

To turn away from my book to the present time I got on this diversified and somewhat whimsical track by a recent comment from a friend. He had just read one of my essays and offered some valued criticism. My friend has worked in the motion picture industry and has known some of the powerful people in the business, people like Stephen Spielberg. He is a very knowledgeable, intelligent and sensitive man. So when he speaks, I listen.

His most valued remarks were directed at the dichotomy of my writing, especially in respect to my often calling attention to the omission of women in the grand plans of a man’s world and how this affects the relationships between men and women. He did agree that with all the political, religious, and racial tension being aroused here of late, it seems we ought to be focusing more on why women are having an ever increasingly difficult time of being taken as seriously as men. But women are often their own worst enemy by trying to force themselves into roles properly the domain of men in the mistaken notion that this thing of “equal rights” equates with “equal value.”

Dreamer that I am, I want the emphasis placed on honoring the compatibility of differences rather than women cheapening themselves by trying to be more like men. I want a woman’s touch to be exactly that: A distinctively woman’s touch that is never in competition with men but rather brings out the best in a man. But it has to be a man that appreciates that distinction, and it seems too few men do appreciate the distinction in these “modern times.”

Peanut butter and angels; if you can’t trust peanut butter then just what can you trust? It’s old news now but it only recently came to me once more that the peanut butter story emphasizes the fact that we put our trust in a lot of things only to have that trust betrayed, generally for the sake of profits as in the case of the tainted peanut butter. The problem is that we are literally forced to trust in many things by a system designed around trade and profits, but we are not forced to trust in angels.

Now, peanut butter has been around for a very long time. Most of us were raised with it as staple in our diet. And now this noble food item we trusted all these many years has fallen under suspicion, and as the facts unfold we come to realize that many other such items we have trusted in the past must be viewed with the same suspicion. But as for peanut butter; most of us are now reluctant to trust it regardless of the source, especially since it wasn’t that long ago peanut butter suffered a previous blow from tainted containers.

Regardless of the brand name, are you now willing to sit and break bread smeared with peanut butter with me no matter how much I assure you the stuff is safe? There remains that nagging doubt once your trust has been betrayed and you may need more than just my word for it the peanut butter I’m offering you is safe to eat. The problem is that while you can see the peanut butter, you know you can’t see salmonella. In countless such ways are we forced to trust the source because of things we cannot see.

But you know I can’t see salmonella either, so how can you rely on only my word that my peanut butter is safe? You really can’t. And so it is with angels. I believe in angels, but I have no right to expect you to take my word they exist. If you trust me, you might be willing to take my word for it that angels are real; but given the many fabulous stories and charlatans I don’t fault those who have their doubts. However, I’m going to repeat something I wrote last December about an experience I had while in the hospital:

I’ve read everything the Bible has to say about angels including their being ministering spirits, that some people have entertained angels unawares. But I’m skeptical of most of the stories people tell and write about such creatures and don’t place much credence in books written about angels since most are simply trading on the gullibility of people to make money from such books.

“More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver point sketches, water-colours, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office. One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply ‘Hands,’ but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love ‘The Praying Hands.’ “

There was a picture of The Praying Hands in my hospital room where I was placed in acute care and wondering along with some of the staff if I was going to come out of the situation alive and I took comfort in looking at the picture. But one night long after visiting hours and all was dark and quiet I was almost asleep when a beautiful young Indian woman dressed in a Sari came into my room. She paused to look down at me with a warm smile then walked over to the picture of The Praying Hands. Touching it reverently she moved her own hands over the picture and seemed to be talking to it as though praying, then turning around and with that same beautiful smile came over to my bed in the semi-darkness and touched my hands. I said a quiet “Thank you” to her but her warm, beautiful smile was her only reply. She then turned back to the picture and once more placed her hands reverently on it while speaking as though in a prayer and then came over to me and gently stroked my hands again, smiled that beautiful warm smile and quietly went out of the room. The following day I asked everyone I could about the beautiful young Indian woman that had been at the hospital and had come into my room after visiting hours but no one recalled such a person being anywhere in the hospital.

I’ve experienced enough of the paranormal and being delivered from several life-threatening circumstances in which I should have died by accident or been killed by others to relieve me of the burden of thoroughgoing skepticism when it comes to spiritual matters. Was this young woman an angel sent by God to reassure and comfort me? I don’t know, but why not? And why should angels most often be represented as blue eyed, golden haired Caucasians; why not a dark skinned, dark eyed Indian angel with dark hair dressed in a Sari? Whatever one’s thoughts about angels Albrecht Durer’s Praying Hands reach around the world, and not just among Christians. (End)

The children of God are identified by their love for one another; not whether they believe in angels or any doctrines of men. I get along just fine with spiritual people regardless of how their beliefs differ from mine just so long as I trust them to be sincere in their love of God proven by their obedience in doing what is right however they view him or express their spiritual beliefs. Everything is secondary to that love by the indwelling spirit of God that quickens our own spirit however it is manifested.

Most of us are going to get around to eating peanut butter again regardless of the sordid story surrounding the salmonella outbreak due to the greed for profits. But that greed for profits isn’t going to go away and will continue to threaten our food supply as well as many other things of which we are forced to rely on the source as our only guarantee. As to angels, none of us are forced to believe in them. But I believe in them and believe their source is God.

Ah, but here comes Satan with his tainted peanut butter. The Scripture warns us about his abilities as an “angel of light” together with his posers: II Corinthians 11:13-15: For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light. Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness; whose end shall be according to their works.

Bottom line: You better know the source before you trust in either peanut butter or angels. The Evil One is also known as the “deceiver” and he has well earned that pejorative distinction and the Scripture cautions that in the last days Satan and demons are going to become especially active. We may not be able to see salmonella, but the children of God are responsible to discern between good and evil and are “to try the spirits, whether they are of God or not” and are not to be taken in by false prophets masquerading as “ministers of righteousness.”

Obama and the Democrats have created their own Large Hadron Collider. The fears of a few scientists about the LHC creating unintended black holes that might destroy the earth are largely dismissed. Nevertheless, when a scientific experiment utilizing such phenomenal power is described as “smashing stuff into other stuff to see what happens” this might be less than reassuring to doubters. I reassure myself the best scientific minds that have gone into the creation of the LHC will prove to be correct and the machine will eventually work as hoped. I do not have that kind of assurance with the political LHC built by Obama and Company that poses the very real threat of producing a devouring financial black hole leading to the ruin of America by smashing money into stuff resulting in cataclysmic unintended consequences.

Now that the button has been pushed in Denver and the startup of O&C’s LHC signed into law the light of truth and reason are the first things to disappear into the black hole of legislation that will result in my opinion America becoming the Babylon of Revelation. I make no apology for believing Obama disguising himself as an angel of light to be a servant of Satan; that he is doing his master’s bidding. I believe all those who sell out for power and authority over others, that step on, take advantage of and abuse others, lie, cheat, and steal for the sake of personal advancement, power and wealth are servants of Satan. That this pretty well describes politicians as a class comes with the territory. But all those from the lowest to the highest that serve the god Mammon are servants of Satan.

Since truth and reason are the first casualties of O&C’s LHC, soon to follow and be sucked into that black hole the infernal device created will be the economic means to sustain our nation and the light of all our freedoms as Americans; the freedom of speech, the press, the right to own and bear arms, the individual’s right to personal property, all these and more will gradually be sucked into that ravenous black hole created by the servants of Satan. The light that was once America will be sucked into that gaping black maw to disappear and not even a glimmer of our former great nation will remain just as described of That Great City Babylon of Revelation.

Jesus well said men hate and will not come to the light lest they be exposed because their deeds are evil. He said he came as a light into the world; that men did not have to dwell in darkness and was crucified for his trouble. But that light Jesus spoke of cannot be extinguished by the evil men do; it will always burn as brightly as ever in the children of God. However, the fate of America is not in the hands of the children of God but rather in the hands of Satan and his followers, though the final disposition of world affairs remains in the Lord’s hands and God will have the final word.

Well folks, that’s the sermon; but stripped of any Biblical beliefs and taken on just the facts without any spiritual interpretation there are many who fear O&C has created a doomsday device, an LHC that will create just such a black hole for America as I have described.

One of the reasons I subscribe to the theory we are alone in the universe, that ours is a privileged planet in a unique solar system is that each of us as unique individuals are alone. And it is that peculiar singularity that catches my attention and draws me into a deep and profound meditation of life and death, how each of these is such a profound mystery beyond anything our science has been able to define or explain. But since we are each as individuals captive to a body that carries about this lone and unique to the individual fire of life that no one else can see burning, cannot possibly see things as the individual does through the fire of their own minds this is sufficient for me to believe we are equally alone in the universe. We are social beings, we crave society, but at no time does another find access to that personal fire burning within each individual that so often leaves some feeling alone in a crowd. The universe does appear a crowd, but only to our physical senses.

However, the far greater part of the universe is not available to our physical senses anymore than you can “see” my mind and imagination at work within me, and what we see of each other’s bodies is not what we consist of; our bodies are not what we “are.” And too many times does an attempt to share this that we really are falls into the hands of one that may betray; making us cautious about sharing some of the deeper thoughts and feelings of what we really are. Even a writer like me finds the occasional red flag of warning before putting some of my innermost thoughts on display; but this is only prudent of most people.

Obviously if we are not alone and intelligent life exists elsewhere that would provide intellectual fire beyond imagination and I applaud the science like SETI directed toward the search. But to be alone in the universe as an intelligent species; that would be fire beyond any intellectual comprehension and one reason the majority in the intellectual fraternity are loath to admit of such a thing even as a possibility.

But Michio Kaku whom I greatly admire advanced the possibility one reason we have not been contacted by other civilizations in the universe is they may have reached our nuclear capability and destroyed themselves, an acknowledged real threat to our own species. More of late it has been posited by some few scientists they may have built a Large Hadron Collider that went as infernally awry as some fear the one we have just might. But I speculate to the other side, that we are actually alone in the universe as an intelligent physical species, yet a species endowed by divinity in some few, endowed by the diabolical in some others, while the greater mass of our species never develop a soul that comes into full flower, the illustration of the profligacy of Nature casting a hundred or more seeds of which some will be sterile without the germ of life while the greater number with that germ of life will surely die that one alone might survive and come to fruition to carry on the cycle of life peculiar to its kind.

Since I believe in God and a spiritual realm unseen by human eyes but more real than our physical universe which scientists estimate is only 4% of the sum total, the greater part being unseen, unknown, and possibly unknowable there is a lot of room for God and Satan, angels, and demons, a spiritual universe in which physical matter as we know it is only a minor speck. Our own personal “universe” is what makes us spiritual beings, and each such person knows they are truly alone in that universe. “You can kill the body but you can’t kill the soul” is a well know phrase, and one I believe is true. I believe life, the soul, returns to God the Creator of these. It will be how we cultivated our souls through our minds leading to actions of which we will be judged in the hereafter.

“Guard your heart with all diligence for out of it are the issues of life.” Some do, the great majority do not. Whether we are in for a deep and devastating global depression and America succumbs to printing tons of fiat paper in lieu of value based currency is really of little moment to me. In respect to wisdom I have chosen to live simply and free of debt, as I believe wise people do. But it is in the keeping of the heart in the universe of the mind with its solitary inhabited planet that is uniquely you as a person where the real issues of import make themselves known and the decisions are made of eternal significance. I have the great advantage of not being accountable to any earthly monarch, but to my Father and God in heaven. And believing this, in the words of Scripture “what have I to fear that men can do to me.” Men’s hearts may begin to fail for fear of what seems to be approaching in the ways of the world; but I believe there is a better path, the royal path that credits being individually responsible and accountable before both God and men for our actions, yet a path if we are to take Jesus at his word few choose to take, which goes a long way toward explaining why evil men and evil times are in the ascendancy.

As I write, it is coming up on Valentine's Day. This is the day, of course, when some with a mean streak have a chance to get even with those insufferable people who deserve getting even with (and you thought I was going to start with some sentimentality regarding the day).

For example I know one guy in the Valley who is sure to get a Valentine signed: From A Secret Admirer. It's going to drive him absolutely nuts because he is such an insufferably oafish braggart who acts like he is God's gift to women. It will undoubtedly be the only Valentine he will receive and it is sure to have him climbing the walls. And while yours truly is far too kind to engage in this kind of deviltry, I did suggest the sender put a drop of perfume on the card. Nice touch, huh? I guess I'm just an incurable romantic after all.

Notwithstanding poor Charlie Brown’s disappointments, Valentine’s Day was one of those really fun times in school when I was a child. We would be given that red construction paper and white lacy trim, and with scissors and paste make Valentines. And there were those marvelous small heart-shaped candies with the cute mottos on them. It sometimes took real courage for boys to pass these to some girl they really liked. “Be my Valentine” and “I love you” on those small candies were stark messages; and it took real courage for some little boys to hand them to little girls they liked.

Charles Schulz really had a handle on Valentine’s Day. Most of us as boys knew a little red-haired girl at one time or another that would tie us in knots just like Charlie Brown, and my first experience of such occurred in Kindergarten. And though she was blonde, by the confession readers will realize I got an early start at being the proverbial incurable romantic. I mean, come on now, how many of you guys recall such an incident from Kindergarten?

But so long as there be beautiful and virtuous women, so long will there be poets like me inspired to extol their beauty and virtue. However, along the path of life that early romantic bent has taken a real beating; but it wasn’t until I became the father of daughters that I really succumbed to what these little “aliens” can do to a man. These little creatures get to a man as no other in God’s Creation can possibly do.

It was only because of my daughters that I finally realized my life was to be that of a poet; only a poet could possibly make any sense of these little aliens, these little creatures known as “daughters.” After all, they would grow up to be women; and men are forced to learn best they can how to deal with women. But those little women-to-be, those little girls that get to your heart in such a special way are beyond any normal comprehension or understanding of men.

As I read Harper Lee’s description of the relationship between little Scout and her father Atticus, I realized the author of “To Kill A Mockingbird” had the distaff understanding of the relationship that enabled Charles Schulz to describe Charlie Brown’s being tied in knots by the little red-haired girl. And Valentine’s Day continues to be an ideal tribute to the difference.

But Valentine’s Day is a peculiar institution of Western Civilization. It is the civilized nations of the world that pay such a tribute to women and the romantic tradition so much a part of Western Civilization, a tradition that made for a Camelot and Shakespeare, for Wordsworth and Longfellow.

The wise man questions the wisdom of others because he questions his own, the foolish man because it is different than his own. Leo Stein: Journey into the Self.

Carlene Carter had it right: “God can’t make an unbreakable heart.”

You don’t spend much time in honky tonks immersed in C&W music before discovering they are marvels of compressing the whole of meeting, falling in love, falling out of love, separating and beginning the whole process anew within such a brief span of time. Attempting relationships in other environments that require a lengthy span of time cannot compare with the speedy mutual seductions to be found in a bar, particularly those of the C&W scene.

However, whether the hasty romances of honky tonks or the sophisticated seductions practiced in churches or other environments, the end of most is as Carlene Carter so beautifully phrased it in her song with its marvelously haunting melody, and so many romances only have the participants working on their next broken heart.

No, I don’t always write of the evil that men and women do, and sometimes reverie carries me into those evocative memories of another life from whence came the stories I share in my book “Birds With Broken Wings.” And as I think about that former life, I realize there was much to it in learning wisdom, the kind of wisdom resulting from questioning my own. But I would not trade for those experiences that gave me more compassion and understanding of the weaknesses and failures of others.

As a musician and singer, while doing C&W I had my own share of experiences in such environments. I now look back in wonder that I survived some of these “experiences.” One such incident occurred when another fellow and I were doing a gig in an upscale supper club, not a honky tonk but one where I played clarinet and tenor sax and sang standards like “Funny Valentine.”

We were getting ready to close down when a lovely young woman, a newscaster for a local TV station and obviously somewhat inebriated, came up to me and throwing her arms around me kissed me passionately, pressing a slip of paper with her name and phone number into my hand. The fellow she was with was not amused.

After the club closed, while putting away our instruments my buddy said to me: “You know, you can never trust a woman like that.” To which I replied: “What does trust have to do with it?” That really cracked him up.

 Another time, we were close to finishing the last set of the evening when those at one table who had been especially enthusiastic gave me an idea. There were about twelve people in the group, all dressed in formal evening wear and some had been singing along with us.

 I asked if one of the ladies would care to come up on stage and sing. A beautiful, petite brunette was encouraged by her friends to do so. We managed to get her to step up on stage with us and after some short discussion as to her preference, settled on Franky’s New York, New York.

 It turned out to be a trio to get her courage up. But very quickly the three of us were really into the song and gave it a grand finale that had everyone in the place loudly applauding. The girl proved to be remarkably talented once her nervousness was overcome. I expressed the hope she would be back. There is nothing like a beautiful woman with a good voice to make your evening complete.

 But you are left wondering at such times about the lives of such people when the music has ended. Was her life one where the music continues to play or was it, as with most, composed of just meeting the ordinary needs of the day? Yet music, as with the actual poetry of life, was made to meet just such needs. While life is not, for most people, music, poetry and flowers (and love letters), we should never forget the need of such things in our lives.

Of Nature, Emerson wrote: “Ever an old friend, ever like a dear friend and brother, when we chat affectedly with strangers, comes in this honest face, and takes a grave liberty with us, and shames us out of our nonsense.”

Seldom is Nature personified in the male gender, but on this occasion Emerson found it suitable and it fits. His point is well taken; the fashions of etiquette and good manners demands that we practice a form of hypocrisy among our fellow humans, else we might very well live lives of continuous alienation; when not downright combativeness. But there is Nature; ever reminding us that, in the main, relationships are often at best only affectations, and reality, like real love and romance, often elusive. At least Valentine’s Day is a once a year chance to show our softer side to those who need to see it; and we even owe it to ourselves to take advantage of this special day to expose that softer side.

Jesus said you cannot serve both God and Mammon; that the love of money is the root of every kind of evil, but America has forsaken God and built an altar to Mammon. However, I read of a group in Bakersfield gathering to pray that God will restore prosperity and bring back the needed jobs so people will be able to provide for their families and won’t lose their homes. I have no doubt the same kind of thing is happening in churches across America. Personally, I don’t believe God is going to be attentive to such prayers because America has made the choice and built that altar to Mammon.

When accused by King Ahab of being a trouble maker for Israel, the prophet Elijah challenged the wicked Ahab and his 450 prophets of Baal together with the 400 that ate at Jezebel’s table to a duel. The prophets of Baal would lay the sacrifice of a bullock on wood and call on their god to consume it with fire. An altar that had been built to the Lord but was broken down and repaired by Elijah would be used by him for the same purpose and the one favored by a response to prayer would prove whether Baal or the God of Elijah was the one true God. At the time of the contest it seems the prophets that served Jezebel weaseled out, but all 450 of Ahab’s prophets of Baal came out to do business with Elijah. The prophets of Baal cried out from morning to evening while Elijah mocked them; but the heavens remained silent to their most earnest pleadings.

At the end of the day Elijah had a trench dug about his altar, commanded the altar and trench be overflowing with water and called on God to respond against the false prophets, which the Lord did by not only sending down fire to consume the sacrifice but even the stones of the altar and licking the trench dry whereupon the 450 false prophets at Elijah’s command were slain by all the people attending and having witnessed what happened.

I don’t expect Elijah to appear and save the day for America; his kind has been rare throughout history. But the great numbers of prophets of Baal continue as they ever have, and for some reason seem to be more successful in gaining the favor of kings; in large part because they tell kings what they want to hear, and for the greater part all worship at the altar of Mammon.

But when King Jehoshaphat of Judah decided to ally himself with Ahab and asked they inquire of the Lord whether to go to battle at Ramoth-gilead the wicked King of Israel had another 400 prophets, false prophets being in abundance and handy to tell him what he wanted to hear, that he would surely prevail over the enemy.

However, Jehoshaphat had a canny ear for the truth apparently and after the performance asked whether there were not another prophet he might hear to which Ahab confessed there was one, Micaiah, but he never had anything good to tell the king. Still, at the insistence of Jehoshaphat and Ahab wanting his cooperation in war had the prophet brought before them. But Micaiah, as with Elijah, made sport of the false prophets by at first confirming their promise of success in the battle. It was when Ahab realized the insult and sport being made of his prophets he demanded Micaiah speak the truth. How very odd that Ahab should realize Micaiah was the only prophet who would tell the truth; which proves kings are often aware of sycophants but friends are hard to come by.

So Micaiah laid it out for the two kings, and sure enough Ahab died in the battle and Jehoshaphat barely escaped with his life. Nevertheless Jehu, the son of a seer upbraided the king for even associating with Ahab and Jehoshaphat mended his ways thereafter.

America suffers a plague of false prophets, telling the “kings” of America what they want to hear knowing they all worship at the altar of Mammon, and as a result friends like Elijah and Micaiah who will speak the truth are few and far between for those of power and wealth. As one very prominent CEO once told me when I asked him whether he had anyone he could trust answered: “No one.”

So here we are folks; no Elijah or Micaiah has the ear of the kings of America who surround themselves with false prophets, all worshipping at the altar of Mammon; which is the reason I see America as the Babylon of Revelation. The worship of Mammon has brought America to the brink of disaster, and I doubt any amount of borrowing and spending by those in government is going to stay God’s judgment of our nation.

As a side note, before going off to battle Ahab had Micaiah thrown into prison for his being honest and telling the truth with the command to his guards to feed him nothing but the “bread and water of affliction” until the king returned triumphant. Micaiah simply replied should that come to pass the Lord had not spoken through him.

But it is ever the case where the worship of Mammon is found to be the rule, God is absent. Jesus chased the moneychangers out of the Temple, but just who is going to chase their latter day counterparts out of our government? It has become very nearly trite to repeat that evil prevails when good people do nothing to confront the evil. But history is full of tipping points where evil has gained ascendancy by complacency and apathy only to eventually result in the ruin of nations. Whether anyone believes the stories about Elijah and Micaiah or not why should anyone believe America is exempt from the lessons of history?

 Enduring the rampant hypocrisy of our new president and those in Congress cannot help but remind me of their counterparts in the religion business. But at least politicians as a whole are not lying, stealing, and cheating using God and the Bible as set pieces for their skullduggery and shameless chicanery.

    I was in love once. Well, more than once but anyhow.... When I love someone I am prone to overlook, even not see, what others might consider imperfections in the one I love. In other words, objectivity isn't the name of the game when someone is in love.

    I've known many beautiful women and fallen in love with some of them. Eventually, I had to admit they weren't perfect. A couple of them, arguably and subjectively of course, might try to say they discovered the same thing about me.

    Now as a mere man, I have an ideal in my mind of the perfect woman. To begin with, she thinks I'm a perfect man. I won't bore the reader with the rest of the list (which, with the exception of a couple of constants, changes from time-to-time anyhow).

    Somewhere along the line, Hebrew and Christian scholars decided God had to be perfect according to their definitions of perfection. A real burden, I'm sure, to The Lord. But to listen to some of these TV evangelists and their radio and pulpit counterparts tell about it if I believed some of these religion producers of today, angels, miracles and demons are thick as fleas on a camel, popping up all over the place! After listening to some of these charlatans I'm tempted to start my own Ghostbusters!

    You'll have to forgive me my lack of spirituality at this point but I confess that I have never heard the audible voice of God, an angel, demon, or the Devil. To compound the matter, I haven't seen any of them either. But this does not lessen my belief and faith in God, nor do I have any doubts about angels, demons, or the Devil. They are all real enough to me and I have no doubt they manifest themselves in ways I am not aware of.

    Now I maybe ought to feel cheated in this matter, snubbed, in fact. In that event, I could take it personal and change deodorants or feel righteous indignation. After all, I've never raped, murdered or pillaged (at least not yet). In short, I'm really a pretty nice guy compared to Attila the Hun, the Boston Strangler, or the Marquis de Sade; in other words, the kind of guy a nice girl would take home to meet the folks. Yet, in spite of such an illustrious pedigree, I'm ignored in terms of overt, supernatural manifestations.

    I know this is my fault. Why? Any number of people who have a direct line to God (according to them) tells me I’m being ignored because I haven't sent any of them any money! There are many of these gospel-peddlers that have told me, in no uncertain terms, that my lack of faith in them (evidenced by my pecuniary tight-fistedness i.e. cheap) in not giving them money has resulted in my insulting God Himself!

    And God isn't about to take such doubt of the bono fides of these people lying down! No siree! He is not about to bless someone like me with spirits popping out of the closet, from under the bed or the hood of my car on the freeway. Not that my old ticker could handle such blessings, but God's mad at me anyhow for not writing those checks.

    Well, I know I've done things to get the Lord ticked off at me, but I somehow don't think it's because I never gave money to Jim and Tammy or Jimmy Swaggart et al. Proving my own recalcitrant attitude to people like these, I'm more inclined to think I would incur the Lord's displeasure if I had given them money! But when you've got enough suckers, what does another one, more or less, count? They can struggle through with a few million a year and afford to tell people like me to take a flying leap.

    Now I've met a few people who didn't seem to have a full clip. They're the kind who would play Russian roulette with an automatic. Now there is dumb, and then there is terminally dumb. Realizing this, having met a few of these folks, it shouldn't be surprising there are always going to be those who are willing to support religious charlatans of every description. But this seems to pale to near insignificance when we see what we have for a government.

    UFOs might be your thing, I don't know. I don't discount them simply because I have never shaken hands with any little green men. But I draw the line at outright fraud. And especially fraud in the name of God and Jesus. I have to take being lied to and cheated by politicians for granted, but I don’t have to deal with those that give God and Jesus a bad name.

    The mental health industry is a booming one. Folks are going nuts in record numbers. If you're in the business, you might say people are going crazy at a healthy rate. No small part of those seeking help have been involved with some kind of religion that drove them around the bend.

    It occurred to me some time ago that there is a paradox here. The very kind of hysterical practices like tongues, miracles, healings, voices and visions of God and angels that some churches and TV ministries encourage are the very things a host of psychologists and psychiatrists are trying to cure! And, like the promoters of sick minds through religion, are doing quite well for themselves in the process. A symbiotic relationship if I ever saw one!

    I began to look at the tragedy of it. Watching a religious talk show where the usual religious versions of Can You Top This was going on, I kept expecting one of the participants to tell another: “I'll bet my angel can whip your angel; he's bigger than yours!”

    It may have been the same show where Mickey Rooney (and I happen to like Mickey) described Jesus appearing to him as a golden-haired busboy in a restaurant. Paul Crouch was hosting the show and everybody beamed in appreciation of Mickey's description of the theophany. Of course, when these kind of people get together to share supernatural experiences, religious show-and-tell time, you don't dare question one person's story for fear they won't cooperate in promoting your own, much in the same way politicians operate.

    Now I have nothing against the Harvey's of some people's experience. It's nice to have company if you're a little loony and enjoying it. A whimsical big rabbit that is also a good listener can be a lot of comfort at times, especially if he's invisible. Probably saves a lot of trouble about things like food and bunny-litter.

    Children have stuffed toys, dolls and it is perfectly normal for children to have conversations with these. My brother, Ronnie, and I had quite a few and they often proved far more attentive listeners than the adults around us.

    But I'm not altogether sure how we would have reacted if any of these stuffed playmates or the resident pet cat had responded audibly. Dr. Doolittle aside, it is a little unusual to carry on protracted conversations with animals. Especially if the human part of the transaction claims the parakeet, dog or cat is holding its own in the dialogue.

    The little pond and waterfall I used to be able to maintain in the backyard was host to a number of birds and animals. A pair of Quail nested and the baby chicks, hardly larger than bumble bees, troop behind papa and momma, scratching for food and learning to be quail. These and the baby squirrels are as cute as can be and I enjoy so very much watching them through the windows where I have my desk while I write.

    The granite rocks, trees, and bushes are home to my little guests and the critters are most welcome company. I never tire of watching the antics of the squirrels, especially. Like Thoreau, who found birds and animals equally good companions, I watch, enjoy and learn. Lizards are plentiful as well and have their own, peculiar and enjoyable traits. When a lady guest happens by, I have found they don't mind the reptiles with legs too much. It's snakes most have an aversion to. But, rarely does a snake appear.

    I inadvertently had three small squirrels as houseguests once. They had come in through a vent in the roof. They were easily live-trapped and returned outside (I discovered they were kind of stupid about peanut butter, much like men and sex) and I put screen around the vent to keep them from getting back in the house. But I have never struck up a two-way conversation with my small companions. Oh, I talk to them on occasion, but I'm not sure how I would handle any audible response.

    There are two occasions of animals speaking in the Old Testament. The Serpent, of course, and Balaam's donkey (Numbers 22). The first chapter of Hebrews, verse one, tells us that God spoke to the prophets in various ways in the past. But apart from the serpent in only one other instance did God use an animal to communicate verbally with a man. The story is accepted as fact in II Peter 2:15 (though the sin of Balaam is mentioned in other places like Jude and Revelation). One may safely assume that if that angel of the Lord had really wanted to hack the prophet into doggie kibble he could have done so at any time, but why let that poor donkey take a beating three times?

    As usual with many Bible stories, especially in the Old Testament, there is more here than meets the eye. Certainly more than some Bible commentators take notice of. And while I take exception to Wellhausen and many of those who follow the so-called Higher Critical School of thought, while I may disagree with much of Niebuhr and Barth, many of the points and questions raised by these scholars have validity. You simply do not throw the baby out with the bath because of points of disagreement. I am not willing to cast good people into hell because they died un-baptized or were baptized differently than me, because they don't know about the Lord's Supper or don't do it in the same way I do.

    Jesus affirmed that in our new lives, there would be no marrying because we will be as the angels in respect to neither being male nor female. No sex, no heaven! Typical man thinking according to women. Not that women don't enjoy sex ever as much as men; but let's face it, men don't suffer the aftereffects like lactating, carrying and birthing a baby. Women really get the short end on this, not to mention those monthly reminders and having to live as the prey of predatory men.

    Speaking of amoebas (brainless, one-celled animals) politicians and TV evangelists, some of you will remember the close call Oral Roberts had when God was going to kill him unless he could raise the necessary ransom. Whew! Enough suckers came to the aid of the guy who described seeing a 700-foot Jesus and good ol' Oral was snatched from the jaws of death.

    I remember the place in Jimmy Swaggart's book where he needed a valve job for his car in his salad days. He describes anointing the car's hood with oil and praying over it. Presto! Instant valve job.

    I've always had one problem with that story. Why did God want to cheat some poor, hard-working mechanic out of work? Oh, well, the ways of the Lord are mysterious at times, and even weird if you buy any of this guacamole!

    I tell a story in my Weedpatcher book about an old Indian I used to go hunting with when I was a boy. He told me he had once owned a pistol that was used to commit a murder. He said he would sleep with that gun under his pillow but every morning, it would have blood on it. He would wipe off the blood but the next morning, more blood. He said he finally sold it. Probably good thinking.

    I was raised to never show disrespect to, or question my elders. That was just good manners. It would never have crossed my mind to dispute that old Indian. It was a good story, he enjoyed telling it and I enjoyed hearing it. But I didn't believe it. A born skeptic. But that old Indian would have been crushed in his soul if he had any idea I wasn't buying it. So why hurt him unnecessarily? He wasn't trying to hurt anyone with such a fabulous tale. And, more to the point, he didn't charge anyone for listening to it!

    Now I am all for a good, honest, entertaining lie. Being an inveterate fisherman, it goes with the territory. No small part of my appreciation of Sam Clemens is the fact that he was, undoubtedly, the most bodaciously, God-gifted, natural born liar with which this old planet has ever been blessed! May his tribe increase.

    But I distinguish between Sam's and that old Indian's lies and those told by the children of the Devil, lies that are intended to take advantage and do harm to others. I recall old lady Walker in Little Oklahoma stuffing a rag in an empty light socket when electricity came to the community to keep it from leaking out. And there was an old fellow who would never eat anything from a can that had been opened from the bottom because this poisoned the contents.

    This kind of ignorance didn't harm anyone. It's good to know the difference that electricity doesn't leak out of empty light sockets and the peaches are just as good whether the can is opened top or bottom. But let's face it folks, if things like this are used to hurt or take advantage that’s another matter entirely.

    For example, when someone in honest ignorance is doing something foolish, we try to help him or her. We even try to educate our children in schools. And not doing very well. But a con is something else. And trying to con people with prayer, song, fabulous stories and the blessing of Scripture is reprehensible!

    Now the Black Coats, as Tom Paine called them, have a notorious history of conning people. And just because the witch doctors on TV, radio and in pulpits don't wear masks, feathers (though I often want to see them in such dress with the appropriate tar undercoating) and shake rattles doesn't legitimize the scurrilous acts of some of these charlatans and scoundrels making “worship services” a parody of a Hollywood production.

    The folks in my grandad's little church didn't really expect anyone to take their having a good time with their religion too seriously. The singing was spirited and joyous, fellowship was good but no one really blamed the Lord for the performances of those like old Lady Walker or Mrs. Hall. It was an outlet of expression these old ladies seemed to need in their lives. And it was entertaining, especially to us children. The multitudes in the charismatic churches flock to them to put some joy in their lives, to be noticed and they get a chance denied them in their ordinary, sometimes mean and desperate lives to perform, to be someone, to be noticed.

    Whether it's an introduction to an invisible rabbit, Harvey, or someone saying they have an angel you can't see, as long as it does no one any harm and isn't meant to take advantage, let them have their rabbit or angel, I won't complain about it. But please spare me, don't spout gibberish blaming it on the Holy Spirit and calling it an angelic language. I've never heard an angel speak but I'm sure I would understand him just as Zachariah and Mary did.

    The whole point being that even though we may pat ourselves on the back and proudly proclaim our modern age and freedom from the superstitions and mythologies of the past, there are more than enough still around for those like Muslims to go on killing in the name of God and saying they do God a service in the killing!

    Now whether I am persecuted in the name of those calling themselves Christian, Jew or Moslem makes little difference. There is no justification for any such thing in the name of God any more than the silly, even hurtful antics of those who promote phony prosperity gospels, superstition and false guilt in the name of Jesus for a paycheck and their egos.