Saturday, September 14, 2013

There's a good man dead...



His name was Paul Butterfield, Jr.

He was a veteran, serving his country in the United States Army.

He had fourteen years of service in with the Michigan State Police.

He was a good man, an honest man, an animal lover, a son, and a finance.

He left behind a grieving father, stepmother, and fiancee.

There's a good man dead...

And the nineteen-year-old punk who killed him lives on.

He's already received the best medical care available in this country.  He will be housed and fed, all of his needs seen to.

If I know cops like I think I do...  he will receive the best care possible, despite the fact he killed... murdered one of their own.

He shot this good man and left him to die on the side of a road.

Why?  We don't know yet.  Maybe because of a stolen car.  Maybe because he was bored.  Maybe because he was drunk, or stoned or whatever.

It doesn't truly matter.  He did it.

There's a good man dead...

And his killer lives on, will continue to live on for a good, long time, compliments of the State of Michigan.

It makes no sense.

Tuesday, May 07, 2013

Troubling thoughts...

This is one of those times when I fear I am not what my faith demands I should be.

Here's why:

They're having trouble finding a cemetery to take the body of the older Boston Marathon Bomber.  I refuse to learn how to spell his name because I don't think it should be remembered...

But, to deny him a burial seems... like we're failing somehow.

I don't understand it, this feeling.

He was evil.  I have no doubt about that.

He deserves to be forgotten.  I have no doubt about that.

But...

To deny him a proper burial?

That I am having doubts with.

A part of me believes he should be put into the ground and forgotten.  Maybe taken out to sea.  I mean, if it was good enough for bin Laden...

But to deny him something...

I'm conflicted

My faith declares I forgive.

I will never forget and I hope we, as a nation, never forget.

Forgiving is a different story.

Basic human compassion, something we do not dare lose because if we do, we become like them seems to tell us we need to put this man to rest and let God take it from there.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

And the eagle will fly...



Enough.

Enough shock and horror.

Enough crying.

Enough grief.

I am tired of it.

I am tired of my country being hit again and again.

I am tired of hearing how we can't jump to conclusions, how we can't judge, how we have to turn the other bloody cheek.

It's freaking enough.

Let's start with that crazy bastard in North Korea.

Then on to Tehran.

Enough of letting the madmen think they can rule us all by fear and intimidation.

It is time for the eagle to soar and the sleeping dragon to wake the hell up and roar!

Monday, April 15, 2013

On this anniversary of Lexington and Concord...




Two explosions.

Opposites sides of the street.

Seconds apart.

We were attacked.  Again.

I've never been to Boston, though it is on my short list of places I wish to visit.

I know the city, though.  How can one not, given it's importance in this nation's history?

I also know it, more intimately, because of a writer by the name of Robert B. Parker.  I've read about it as seen through the eyes of Spenser and Susan and Hawk...

I can't believe this has happened.  Again.  I don't want to believe it.

But...  I do.


We are reminded, yet again, that we are at war.

Evil people wish us ill and want us dead

It will take far more than a president standing up and declaring evil is on the run.

We have  not defeated it; we will never defeat it...

But...

Neither will we be defeated.  We will not be broken.  We will still be standing when the smoke clears, when the tears have been shed, when the grieving has passed.

God Bless Boston...



Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Habemus Papam



I am not Catholic but Lutheran.  If not for Martin Luther, who knows where my beliefs would've been rooted...

My father was Catholic, my mother Lutheran.  That seems to be the way it goes, doesn't it?  The mother often seems to be the one who decides such things.

The point of this post is not for me to wax philosophical.  It is to comment on the historic events of the day.

Habemus Papam:  We have a pope.

Jorge Mario Bergoglio, born in Buenos Aires, one of the five children of Italian immigrants, his father was a railway worker, his mother a housewife.

The first words I heard to describe him were "humble" and a "man of the people".  

Those aren't bad words, are they?

As I watched the white smoke boil from that silly little chimney, I found myself practically moved to tears.

Again, I am not Catholic, yet I have been strongly moved by these events.  The tradition, the rituals, the whatever you want to call it, has always fascinated me.

Today, however, wasn't about that.


It was, for me, about faith.  

St. Peter's Square was packed despite the fact that it was a cold and rainy evening in Rome.  When the smoke was white, the joy was palpable.  They cheered, they chanted, they sang, all with great joy.


What I noticed about the crowd were the number of young faces present, faces filled with joy, hope, and, dare I say it, faith.

I needed this day.

I needed the reminder that faith is not outdated.  It is not dead.  It was there, burning brightly in St. Peter's Square.

I pray for the new pontiff's health.  I pray for his humility and his faith.  May they carry him through the troubled waters ahead.