The Pocketbook Is the Address to Send the Hurt To

First, let me start off by saying that I am NOT a gun control advocate. Our Founding Fathers gave us the Second Amendment because they knew there would come times when we would need to defend our property, our freedoms and our lives. They even understood that there may come a time when we needed to protect ourselves from an out of control government.
Throughout history, there are lands where gun control by anyone except the military has been made mandatory. One of these was in Stalin’s Russia. Another was in Hitler’s Germany. If you are a student of history, you know how that turned out.
Second, let me say that I do not think we should deport Piers Morgan or anyone else for speaking their mind. Before the Second Amendment, there is the First Amendment, which guarantees a person the right to free speech.
Instead of deporting Morgan, why don’t you turn the channel when he is on. I have done this to a number of people who I grew tired of listening to. When enough people stop trying to get a petition to deport him, and letting his fame and celebrity reach zenith heights, and instead just tune him out, ratings will drop. Sponsors will drop him. The sponsors who do stick with him, why not boycott their products? The pocketbook is the address to send the hurt to.
My heart still aches for the parents, brothers and sisters, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and friends who lost loved ones in Newtown, Connecticut. I feel that there is a problem with violence in our country, but was the violence caused by guns? Or was it caused by video games, TV, movies? Or, is it caused by deviant lifestyles? Or, is it just caused by depraved minds who have never accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior?
When those planes hit the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, they were used as weapons of mass destruction. Did anyone start crying that airplanes should be banned?
I urge people to stop this ridiculous movement to try to get a man deported for speaking what he believes in. Use an alternative method. Write letters to the network, write letters to the sponsors, write letters to newspapers, write letters to websites. We live in a free country (at this time anyway) and we all the freedom to say what we want to, as long as it does not slander or libel anyone.
Think with your head. Think with your pocketbook. Think.

A Different Approach

Today has been a somber day. Twenty-seven people dead, seven of them children, in the tragic shooting in Newtown, Conn.

My day began with a childhood friend from Monticello telling me that the father of three more childhood friends had died that day. I was also praying and remembering my first cousin, Rick Sealey, who is in a hospital in Tuscon, Ariz., showing the fighting Marine spirit embedded in him as he battles to get well. I was also praying and thinking about my friend, Jean Carroll, who fell the other night and broke her shoulder and her ankle. On top of that, my father and brother have been battling their own illnesses.

Decembers always seem to be eventful months in my family. For the last four years, I believe, someone has been hospitalized with something serious and life-threatening. My father and my brother, in years before, and myself last year after going into cardiac arrest. All four times, God has shown up and performed miracles for my family.

I know there are some sad people right now in Newtown, Conn., that need their own miracles to happen. They need emotional healing. There are people around the nation, including myself, who are hurting for them. While we can sympathize with them, we can’t really empathize with them and feel the same hurt and anguish that they are feeling.

The area where I live in north Florida has never experienced a school shooting. While bad things happen at the schools, as they have for years, no one has drawn a gun out and decided to kill the people they are angry at or kill little children. It does not mean we’re immune from it, however.

Love him or hate him, Mike Huckabee made a valid point when he said he wasn’t surprised because we are “systematically removing God from America.” We have taken Him out of our public schools. We have taken Him out of public places, such as courthouses and county commission and school board meetings. We do not even allow HIm in prayers before football games anymore.

A few years ago, the ACLU got upset and had prayer removed from Madison County High School Cowboy football games. However, a brave group of students decided the prayers would be said from the stands at each game. Nothing could be said because the prayers were not initiated by the school. Students did it on their own. Still, such groups cry out that we, as Christians, are violating other people’s rights when we do such things as pray in Jesus’s name. They try to break our resolve and say Christians are to blame for every thing, while they see nothing wrong with music and video games which glorify raping women, murder and cursing God.

I’m also positive that the gun control advocates will begin shouting that guns need to be outlawed, but the emphasis should be on a different approach. Shouldn’t we look to what we are doing wrong, in schools, in Hollywood, in the music business, in the video game business, in the choices we make? Why don’t we fall to our knees and ask God to forgive us as a nation and bring back Christ into our homes and into every facet of our lives, including school?

If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. 2 Chronicles 7:14

My Crush On Kathy Ireland

         I used to have this really huge crush on Kathy Ireland. Okay, I’ll admit it. I still have a slight crush on Kathy Ireland, but not in the way that you may think or in the way that my huge crush was.

            These days, I don’t go all gaga over Kathy Ireland’s beauty or her pretty green eyes or her long legs. (I call it being more mature. I’m sure that you’re thinking that I’m just getting old.) What attracts me to Kathy Ireland these days is more her viewpoints and her stance on some things and the fact that she has taken a pair of socks and parlayed them into millions of dollars.

            Some of you may remember all the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues that she was in during the 1980s and early 1990s. Some of you may remember seeing her in the movie, Necessary Roughness, or in the movie, Miami Hustle (renamed from Hello, She Lied.) I remember all this stuff.

            Kathy took her fame and opened a clothing line with Kmart. Later, she got into the furniture and home design business, with a Midas touch that turned everything she touched to gold.

            While I admire her as a smart businesswoman, I admire her most as a Christian. She is a wife and mother and she has taken a staunch stance against abortion. She also proclaims the gospel of Jesus Christ through a website named “I Am Second” (www.iamsecond.com).

            During a conversation on Twitter once, I complimented her on the website. She responded to me, “Thank you. http://iamsecond.com  is my truth. Grateful they captured it and that it speaks to your heart.”

            Despite being six months older than me, Kathy has kept her beauty and it glows even more because her inside beauty (with the love of Christ) is so much more beautiful than her outward appearance. 

Trying to Give Away Tickets to the Game

He couldn’t even give the tickets away. Who would think that giving away a ticket to see a major college football team play would be so hard? It was the problem the coach faced. One day, he went to the barbershop to get his hair cut. Having a couple of extra tickets, he figured out an easy way to get rid of them. He put them under someone’s windshield wiper on their car. Smiling he went inside and got the haircut. His smile turned into a frown when he returned to his car after getting his ears lowered. There, under his windshield wiper were the two tickets he had left on someone else’s car.
One couldn’t really blame the fans. The year before, the team had won only one game and only three games the year before that. The previous head coach had sat in the press box instead of being down on the field with his team. Something funny happened with the new coach, though — he started to win. Sure, they only won five games that first season the new coach was in town but they won 10 games the next year, including a bowl victory over Texas Tech. Then, they played in the Orange Bowl two years in a row against powerhouse Oklahoma. Most importantly, they were finally able to compete against their dreaded rivals from Gainesville, beating the Gators four years in a row.
Bobby Bowden had brought winning to Tallahassee and those tickets he had once tried giving away were now valuable. The Florida State University Seminoles have not had a losing season since 1975 and have won two national titles and had two Heisman Trophy winners, Charlie Ward and Chris Weinke.
` Throughout October 23, I will be giving away free Kindle editions of my book “Higher Call.” Join readers in the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia, Germany and Canada who have read the book. Remember after tomorrow, it will go back to the original full price of $2.99 for a Kindle edition. The regular book edition is available at Amazon.com for $10 plus shipping and handling. If you would like me to sign a copy of the book, you can order them directly from me for $10 plus $3.99 shipping and handling. They will make great Christmas presents and stocking stuffers as I share stories of faith, family and some funny and poignant stories about my mentally challenged sister Abbie, who I love dearly. I also tell the story of God’s miraculous healing of me when I literally died one day at work. To order directly, send $10 plus $3.99 shipping and handling to Jacob Bembry, P.O. Box 9334, Lee, FL 32059 and indicate if you want the book signed.

Spanish Moss, Concrete and Asphalt Carpets and Florida State Memories

Strange interludes of madness seem to softly walk by me. Memories of yesterday blend in with now and create the fabric of which my life is made.

Memories of Tallahassee begin to flicker like the beginning of a motion picture in a darkened movie theater; memories of Spanish moss hanging from oak trees, near Lafayette Circle; memories of canopied roads off side streets down Mahan Drive.

As the motion picture begins to start, and the memory becomes less clouded, canopy roads and Spanish moss give way to a carpet made of asphalt and concrete, surrounded by curtains of steel and bright lights.

The city becomes more clinical looking each day, but parts of it still retain a rural, genteel Southern charm. There are still women who say, “Bless your little heart,” old men who call all women “honey” and young people who answer their elders with “yes, sir,” “no, sir,” “yes, ma’am,” “no, ma’am.”

As Mahan becomes Tennessee Street and you go farther into Tallahassee, you come up on Florida State University. Turn down Macomb Street and then College Avenue and you will see the Westcott Building with its historic fountain. Memories of being a student at the College of Communication seem to emerge on the silver screen, as I watch frat boys in a Jeep drive by and throw a pledge into the fountain and drive off. Minutes later, the frat boys are back, throwing another pledge into the fountain. (At least, I hope they were pledges and not students the guys had decided to kidnap.)

I also see the scene where I was thrown into the fountain by three girls but that was pre-planned as a stunt for a TV show (1800 Seconds) that the students produced for WFSU-TV. Unfortunately, that footage never aired because there was too much background noise from the fountain.

The fountain that the unfortunate students and I (who actually had fun being thrown in by three cute girls) were thrown in was replaced by an exact replica of the original fountain in 1988 because of failure in the support structure of the original. I remember lazy days spent sitting at the fountain, talking with friends. I even remember sitting there, talking to my friend, Nicole (Nicky), on my birthday.

I was a student at FSU during 1986 and 1987, transferring from North Florida Junior College (now North Florida Community College). Football reigned, although FSU was struggling like a newborn calf to find its legs to stand on. Bobby Bowden was the head coach but he had not yet reached his legend status. Mark Richt, current University of Georgia head coach, was a grad assistant for the Seminoles, having formerly been a backup quarterback for the University of Miami.

On the evening of Saturday, Sept. 13, 1986, FSU did not have a football game. A 21-year-old starting offensive tackle for the team was shot following an argument at a dance outside of Montgomery Gym. Pablo Lopez died at the hospital at 1:30 a.m. the next day. Nicky and I spoke briefly that Monday about the death of the young man who she knew but that I never met.

A longer conversation about Pablo’s death took place between Mark Richt and Coach Bowden and Richt gave his heart to the Lord. Today, he is an example to young men everywhere, especially in Athens, Ga.

It has been a long time since I have been back to FSU but I will return next Saturday as the Seminoles continue their proud football heritage under Coach Jimbo Fisher. It will be my birthday and I hope to celebrate in victory as the Seminoles defeat Murray State. Go, Seminoles!

Larry the Cable Guy and the Hot Dogs

I just saw Larry the Cable Guy at Love’s Travel Stop in Lee. His credit card wasn’t working and I bought two hot dogs for him. For $2.39, Larry got a blessing but I got a bigger blessing from God because actually, it was a truck driver. It was an honor for me to help him out because as Merle Haggard sang in the theme song to the TV show, “Movin’ On,” “The white line is backbone of this country.” Let’s support our American farmers, American businesses and American truckers. And, the guy actually looked like Larry the Cable Guy. How cool is that?

World Champions

It was just a game and sometimes I would get confused about the infield fly rule but I remember the names. Man, did I remember the names!

Steve Garvey at first base for the Dodgers.  Davey Lopes played second base for the Dodgers. Bill Russell was at shortstop. Ron Cey played third base. In the outfield were Dusty Baker, Rick Monday and Reggie Smith. On the mound was Don Sutton. Steve Yeager was the catcher.

The Dodgers were my team back in 1978 but they would always run into the New York Yankees in the World Series. My dad was a Yanks fan so it made for an interesting rivalry.

Time goes on. Teams change. There is no more team loyalty for the players. It’s all about loyalty to the paycheck. I cannot blame the players for being that way. I would probably be the same way if I were offered as much money as them to do my job. Another newspaper would make a bigger offer and off I would go, changing my green jersey for a different color. I don’t see that happening, though, and I am happy to carry on the tradition at Greene Publishing, with my publisher, Emerald Greene (yes, that is her real name) and her mother, Mary Ellen, and daughters, Cheltsie and Brooke. I am the editor and have three fantastic reporters, Kristin Finney, Lynette Norris and Bryant Thigpen. There is also a fantastic production crew, Heather Bowen and Dee Hall, and an excellent newspaper carrier, Sheree Miller.

I thank God for my own family, but I also thank him for my work family. I thank Him that my team is like the Dodgers in the 1970s. I thank Him that my team is like the Yankees in the late 1970s. The team is National League champs. They are American League champs. My team is world champions.

Father, thank you for the work my hands have found to do. Thank you for appointing me to be the editor of a small town newspaper. Thank you for the lovely people I meet all the time and for the fun I get to have with them. I even thank you, Lord, for the hard stories I sometimes have to do. Father, I ask that you go with me and that you guide me. I give you praise in all things. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Treading the High Wire

I have to trust in the tautness of the cable as I attempt to walk the high wire from a building on one side of the street to a building on the other side of the street.

I must resist the urge to look back to the place I began my journey. I do not want to be like the Hebrew children who complained they would be better off in Egypt than they were after God had granted them liberty.

I must not pay attention to the traffic and the mass of humanity in the street below. Millions of eyes look to see if I will fall.

I must not fear crossing to the other side. I do not want to embrace the cries of the ten spies who returned and told Joshua that there were giants in Canaan.

I have my own giant that I must conquer. I must conquer the high wire. I take another step. I lose my balance. Time seems to stand still as I fall from the cables and head to the street below.

Expecting to feel asphalt, I instead feel the strong but gentle arms of my Savior, Jesus Christ, as He catches me.

So many times, I have found myself on a high wire and so many times I have fallen, but oh so many times, Jesus has caught me.

Thank you, Father, for being there for me. For understanding me and for giving me understand. Thank you for forgiving me and helping me learn to forgive others. Thank you for catching me the times I fall from the high wire. I love you. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Something About Monday

The weekend draws to a close and Monday looms ahead.

I will admit that Monday has never really been one of my favorite days. Think about all the songs about Monday that were hits over the years. Fats Domino sang “Blue Monday.” Fats lamented the fact that he hated blue Monday. The Carpenters sang “Rainy Days and Mondays,” with that refrain “Hangin’ around, nothin’ to do but frown, rainy days and Mondays always get me down.” The Mamas and Papas sang “Monday, Monday, don’t trust that day.”

While I don’t hate Monday, and I love my job, I hate the fact that Saturday and Sunday have to end and I have to go back to work again. When I get there, though, Monday comes. Monday goes. The week passes by in a rush and then we have the weekend. The rest of the week still seems longer than Saturday, though. Sunday is the second shortest day of the week.

So, I will put on a smile tomorrow and enter the workforce again, with a prayer to God, in Jesus’ name in my heart.

Lord, let me enter the week with a possible attitude. Help the obstacles before me seem diminished in my eyesight and help me conquer them. Help me have kind words for people and they have the same for me. Thank you, Father, for all that you do for me and thank you for helping me have a great job and co-workers I love working with. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Saturday Will Soon Be a Whisper

Saturday’s memories will only be a whisper tomorrow. Washed away with the tide of time, they will be drowned in the ocean of so many other memories.

Why do Saturdays have to disappear so fast? Why does that day of all the others seem so short? Maybe it’s because most of the time I get a chance to breathe on Saturday. The rest of the week, even Sunday, seems like it’s such a game of hurry up for me.

Saturdays have always been special days for me. As a young child, I would watch cartoons. Later, I would still watch the cartoons, but joining them in the afternoon would be “Star Trek” and “Championship Wrestling from Florida” and, in the fall, college football.

Books were also on my Saturday to-do list. There were so many books and so little time. Today, there are still so many books and so little time.

I am a geek. I am a nerd. I will not claim to be smart, but I will say that I love learning. I love reading. I love watching documentaries. I love watching Cali Lewis and John P. on Geek Beat TV and learning more and more about technology and our ever-changing world. I am thirsty and hungry for knowledge and there are so many ways to gain that knowledge today.

One thing I find myself sorely lacking in, however, is wisdom. There are not enough Saturdays in a year or in my lifetime to give me the wisdom that I so desperately need. I thank God, though, that I have His Word to guide me and His grace and forgiveness to help me when I stumble.

Saturday’s memories will soon turn to whispers which will get farther away as I step into next week and walk along its corridors. Oh, how I will miss Saturday, but chances are, Saturday will soon appear before me again.