Keep calm, it’s summer

This is a mantra I keep telling myself. But when you just finished up your math curriculum from last “school year” this past week, well, one can understand why calm has been an elusive thing around the Dillingham household for much of the summer.

Clan Dillingham on the stern of the U.S.S. North Carolina in Wilmington, NC. Now there’s a nice looking crew!

Many friends that are normally at school during the day are now home while the 3 Amigos and I do lessons, so it has been a bit challenging. Even though we’ve summer-schooled in year’s past, the dudes didn’t have as many solid boy friendships in the neighborhood back then, so there simply weren’t as many distractions.

But that has all changed, which is a blessing, of course. It can just sometimes make the logistics and implementation of educating year-round a tad arduous. Not mention, all of our sleeping-in late hasn’t helped … then again, that’s part of the “calm” of summer, right?!

And now that we finally wrapped up the Saxon math curriculum, I feel like I have broken free of the chains. See, Saxon is very teacher-centered and time-intensive, so it was taking virtually all morning for me to complete a lesson with Houston and then one with Gabriel and Zeke.

Gabriel “steers” the battleship from the bridge. He sure makes one cute & confident captain!

This obviously left sparse time to do other necessary school, catch-up work, supplementary learning activities, and other fun projects I have been putting on hold till what I hoped would be a big, fat swath of seasonal spare time. I guess the laugh’s on me.

Good news is now that Saxon is finally complete, we will never again use that curriculum. I am in search of a more student-centered math that frees up the parent significantly while also fostering independent learning for the child.

I think I’ve decided on Teaching Textbooks, which comes highly recommended by other friends and is fairly cost-effective, considering that I’ll eventually be using Houston’s curriculum for the twins. Plus, it’s pretty popular among home-educators, so it shouldn’t be a problem to resell a level once we’ve completed it.

A contemplative Zeke looks out a porthole from the bridge. Maybe being a helmsman is what it’s going to take to calm down this wild child.

Another rough spot of the summer has been dealing with our exit from Mercy Hill. I wrote about our reasons in the three previous blogs, but it was still a hard decision. I mean, two of my kids made their professions of faith in Jesus in the baptismal waters at that church, so yeah, it’s sad.

And right now, we’re taking a church hiatus, just trying to get our muddled heads and broken hearts in order before “church shopping” later in the summer. There are two in particular that I think may meet our theological and non-social gospel needs, but we shall see. Please be praying for us that we find a church home. Thanks.

Of course, there’s seemingly always some behavioral bone of contention that decreases the calm around the homestead. It has been a mostly twin thing for most of the summer, sometimes one, sometimes the other, sometimes both (a la the “freight train.”)

A view of the battleship bow from the bridge. Can you imagine actually steering this behemoth?!

As of late, Gabriel has been showing a much greater deal of self-control and maturation, though. Thank the Lord! You can tell he’s really trying and liking the results of being a bigger boy. Fewer punishments. More rewards. Greater freedom and independence.

Zeke, on the other hand, well … let’s just say that he has always been our most stubborn, quick-tempered, prone-to-a-meltdown child. We’ve made a tiny bit of progress over the last few days, but geez, can that kid wear a person out! Prayers on that front would be sincerely appreciated, as well.

Despite these hurdles, we’ve actually had a great many adventures this summer … yet they’re ostensibly peppered with a dash of stress here and a sprinkle of anxiety there. I suppose that’s parenthood, but for the love of Pete, let’s relax and have some fun, people. There are too many cool things to do and see to be sitting around, crying about nothing!

Inside the battleship, we found Uncle Bill’s name on the Roll of Honor wall commemorating all North Carolinians (listed by country) who fought in WWII. Bill Houston was Stephen’s grandmother’s brother on Granny’s side. He was a pilot in the war & died in action when he was shot down over India.

Oak Island

We went to this wonderful destination June 18-25. It’s a quaint, low-key little island, about an hour south of Wilmington. Not too fancy and commercial, just the perfect mix of down-home beach town but with a few nearby conveniences.

The interesting thing is that we went with extended Biddix family, including Granny and Cathy; Kelly, Rusty, and cousin Ella; Dale and Teresa; Tiffany and cousins, Grace and Faith; Dustin and his girlfiend, Anna; Christy and cousins Marley and Sofie; Tee, Morgan, and cousins Rawley and Sloane; and Mike and Diane.

It was a raucous week of drinking too much, eating yummy homemade food, and having many loud, boisterous, and often profanity-laden conversations. The swimming was excellent because it never really got that deep, so you could walk way out onto what I guess was a sandbar to catch waves, while never having to tread water.

Granny & Houston hang out @ Oak Island Point, right where the Intracoastal Waterway, the Eastern Channel, and the Atlantic Ocean meet … very cool.

The weather was incredible, even kinda chilly in the evenings, because there was an ever-blowing ultra-force wind. I mean, it was powerful. It even blew over Mike’s canopy, which hit a guy, so there was never any shade to be had while on the beach. Too dangerous.

On the flip side, I never broke a sweat, despite the heat and humidity, so it was always temperate and nice. Most nights featured exquisite moon shows, including a Blood Moon, and a billion perpetual stars dancing on the ocean that we viewed from the front-row seats of our ocean-front house.

Now, there was one particularly stressful time when Stephen and Houston took our new inflatable raft into the Eastern Channel from Oak Island Point. This is where the channel meets up with the Intracoastal Waterway and the Atlantic, causing a huge suction toward the ocean, unbeknownst us.

During our camping trip to Peaks of Otter, here are the boys, precariously balanced on a cliff face & ready to conquer the world during our hike to Harkening Hill, a 3.3 mile loop with an altitude of 3,364 feet.

At first, I thought I could swim out, and help them get back shore. Certainly my kicking at the back of the raft and Stephen’s paddling would create enough force to actually move through the water. Well, as confident of a swimmer as I am, I was scared to even get out to them.

Luckily, Uncle Mike had his boat and proved his nautical skills by rescuing my dudes, even navigating through 2-3 feet of water without getting stuck or ruining his engine. Of course, holding on to the rope that pulled them back to safety almost broke my hand and Stephen’s finger, but eh, that’s the stuff of which memories are made.

And even after all that, awesome Uncle Mike still took Clan Dillingham for an amazing sightseeing ride along the Intracoastal Waterway. Thanks, Mike!

U.S.S. North Carolina

On the way home from the beach, we took a detour to Wilmington to visit this battleship, which was part of the American fleet during WWII.

Enjoying a break @ the summit of Harkening Hill. Sure, you couldn’t see the mountainous view from this high vantage point because stupid nature was in the way, but @ least the national park rangers made up for their lack of stewardship by sorta helping us out when Rick & the boys went “missing.”

According to the battleship tourism pamphlet, “She steamed over 300,000 miles. Although Japanese radio announcements claimed six times that the North Carolina had been sunk, she survived many close calls, near misses, and one hit when a Japanese torpedo slammed into the battleship’s hull” on Sept. 15, 1942.

The boys learned about all that history, and got to check out the ship up close and personal, from the gun mounts and gun turrets, to the Kingfisher scout plane and the plotting and coding rooms, to radio central and the bridge, to the engine room and the powder magazine and projectile storage, to the chapel, galley, and barber shop. Neat.

Houston’s 9th birthday

Santa gave the boys season passes to Wet n’ Wild, and we finally put them to use on July 2, as a belated celebration for Houston’s 9th birthday. Yeah, I knew a Saturday on a holiday weekend was going to be a bit chaotic, but it was even crazier than I had imagined.

Gabriel, Jackson, & Piper do their best “Atlas Shrugged imitation during our hike off the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The additional stress began when I was prohibited from using my two free friend passes, even though my official paperwork didn’t specify any such a restriction. Then we were forced to pay adult prices for Nick and Bret, who are 8 and 11, because they exceeded some arbitrary height rule. What a ripoff.

Despite all this and the very long and tedious lines, I think the boys had fun. Good thing kids are so resilient because I was exhausted by the end of the outing. I think the pizza, chocolate cake, ice cream served at the house and enjoyed with all their neighborhood pals, and a sleepover helped to create some fond birthday memories.

Independence Day

4th of July really wasn’t that notable. We did school that morning, since we were still in hardcore Saxon mode then, but that evening entailed yummy burgers and other delicious edibles grilled by Daddy, and then fireworks and sparklers at Matthew’s house.

This pic was taken literally moments after we returned home from Oak Island. Other than Houston’s pretend angry face, you can tell how happy the hood crew is to be reunited after a week apart. So sweet.

Grasshoppers game

We went to see a minor-league baseball game on July 7 with our neighborhood posse. It was a Thirsty Thursday event, which meant the yummy local microbrews were flowing for only $2 a pop. Now, there’s a bargain!

The kids had half a row of seats along the first baseline all to themselves, and then the parents sat staggered behind them, with the moms first, followed by the dads. I got the tix this way as to foster greater conversation, and I think my plan was a hit. Good times at the ballpark for sure!

There was a rain delay, so the game didn’t end till quite late. And by the time we were leaving, there was a Black Lives Matter protest going on right in front of the stadium. Now the city cops had things well under control, but it was still disconcerting when the 3 Amigos and Matthew started chanting, “Trump! Trump! Trump!”

The boys @ Wet n’ Wild for Houston’s 9th birthday outing. With a buy-one-get-one-free discount, those Icees were about the only thing affordable @ at the waterpark. Highway-robbery prices, I tell ya!

I mean, you know I’m a firm believer in free speech, but when I’m prohibited from carrying my weapon into a baseball game and I’m put in a defenseless position, the last thing I wanna do is tee off a bunch of young, angry black people. Luckily, we made it to the van and home safely. Thanks for driving, Miss Stacey!

Peaks of Otter

From July 8-10, we went camping with the J-Crew and cousin Rick at this national park in Bedford, Va. Camping always provides for many entertaining moments, and this time was no exception.

Some highlights included:

  • a freak storm that blew in just as we were about to finish setting up the tents … classic Dillingham;
  • Houston and Zeke going in circles, like a dog chasing its tail, trying to walk the tent up the steep hill toward the van;
  • watching the twins “fall over rocks, sticks, and thin air,” as Christie described it, and out of chairs constantly around our rugged campsite;
  • an inebriated Christie (a rare occasion in and of itself) laughing hysterically at the reflectors on my tennis shoes and then me laughing hysterically at her;
  • our camping neighbor yelling, “Shut up!” at said mirthful ladies;
  • and the boys following Rick around like he was the Pied Piper.

From L to R: Yours truly, Shannon, Jessica, Stacey, & Joanne representing the hood @ the Thirsty Thursday Hoppers game. Looking good, chicas!

The last item led to our most disturbing memory, however. On our hike down from Harkening Hill summit, the boys took off with Rick ahead the rest of us. By the time Stephen, Christie, Piper, and I slowly meandered down to the visitor center, where the 3.3-mile loop began,there were no dudes were to be seen.

We sat calmly for a while, thinking that they had probably taken a detour to Johnson Farm, a 1930s-era working farm that offers a glimpse of what mountain life was like back in the day. But then an hour passed, and then another, until I started for freak. With no cell coverage up yonder, what’s a worried mama to do?

See, if I had known for a fact that they were all with Rick, I wouldn’t have been so concerned. But he’s such a fast hiker, and the boys are sometimes slow or get off trail or get separated into splinter groups, etc., that my biggest concern was that all kids were not actually with the one adult in the group.

This is what I get when I ask all the kiddos to “act silly” for the shot.

Christie drove to our nearby campground and then to a lodge that was across the parkway, thinking that perhaps in a daze of selfishness, they had completed the hike and set off on a new adventure. But again, no boys were to be found.

Stephen talked to the park ranger inside the visitor center. He apathetically radioed the farm, but got no answer. Then we considered having one person stay at at the center, one hike back up to the summit, and the other do the farm loop.

Then we surmised that that plan would take too long, pushing us way too close to sunset. And did I mention that there had been lots of black bear sightings in that part of the forest?! Yep, that’s always a good thing.

I even went back inside the center to see if the dispassionate ranger would try again to contact the farm. He did so in uncaring, post-office-like fashion, but somehow forgetting to mention to the farm rangers the most distinctive aspects of the missing crew: that Rick has bright green hair and all the missing kids are only ages 6 to 9.

Stephen & neighbors Bill & Heather attended Trump’s rally in Greensboro back on June 14. He was a little apprehensive about going to an event where he’s prohibited from carrying a firearm, even when the protesters are known to turn into a riotous mob. But the rally went off without a hitch, thank God.

As we discussed this tense predicament, a friendly ranger happened to hear our anxious conversations and queried as to what was wrong. After I, in my “Libertarians plotting to take over the world and leave you alone” t-shirt, explained our worries, the ranger commented, “Oh, you’re a librarian? My mom was a home ec teacher!”

After a quick chuckle over the libertarian-librarian misreading, we took the ranger’s advice and walked to a nearby police van. The cop was very nice and told us to head back to the center, so we could discuss the game plan, which he said would most likely entail a couple of us hiking back in and him taking a vehicle up to the farm via maintenance road.

But right as we reconvened, the green-haired leader and his minions came waltzing out of the woods. After we hugged all our beloved boys and thanked the good Lord for their return, we pieced together that Rick had confused the “.8 mile” sign pointing back down to the center with “8 miles.”

Doing sparklers on Independence Day w/ some of my favorite mamas, Stacey & Shannon. Happy b-day, ‘Murica!

In his defense, the engraved decimal was not filled in with paint. And the poor dude had tried his best to get those kids back down the hill safely, scouring the farm in pursuit of us, and even hiking back up to the summit solo (while the boys rested at a the farm-hill crossroads) to try to figure out his directional mishap.

So, all’s well that ends well. And the final humorous clincher was that the listless visitor-center ranger emerged from his governmental cave to ask me what had happened. Then he went on to compliment my shirt and admit that he, in fact, was a libertarian, too, making him the Ron Swanson of the federal parks. Classic.

Wet n’ Wild … again

On July 13, we did a waterpark redo with Jessica and Jacob. It was a Wednesday, so there were much shorter lines. We packed food and got our hands stamps, so we could eat outside and didn’t have to buy the overpriced junk food inside.

It wasn’t only the nights that put on grand displays for us while @ Oak Island, but the sunsets were pretty impressive, as well. God is everywhere, watching over us, reminding us to keep calm, it’s summer.

I bought a $4 waterproof bag that hung from my neck beforehand, so all I brought in was our season passes and my car key. When we got thirsty, we drank from the water fountains, and we reapplied sunscreen during our picnic lunch. We also got to use one of our friend passes for Jacob. I was determined not to be taken advantage this time ’round.

Well, the only thing I couldn’t foresee was that the twins were being total scaredy cats about the rides (even ones they had ridden previously), and Houston was being picky. Therefore, I got dissed on much of the fun because of that and our spending a large amount of time contemplating who was willing to ride what and how we would play that out.

I told Jessica I was “wangry and wild,” and that Santa was a fool for buying these season passes. Oh well, live and learn.

Get woke to a catch-22 existence

Well, a lot has been happening on the cultural-imperialist front since my last blog. On the positive side, Great Britain voted to leave the European Union. Brexit was a huge win for secession and for self-determination, putting a chink in the armor of the globalists. But for every small step forward, it’s like we liberty-lovers have to take 100 steps backwards.

So yeah, on the negative side here on the home front, Black Lives Matter activists are killing cops, assaulting citizens, destroying private property, and closing down interstates in an effort to push their hateful message. Just a smattering of race riots dotting the American landscape. That’s all, no big deal, people. Move along.

Seriously, these are crazy times for sure. And anyone with a brain in his head knows BLM is a Marxist movement which cloaks itself in the banner of justice and equality — a pretty great strategy since it fools unwitting, good-hearted people and self-loathing, elitists alike.

Unfortunately, many in the modern American church fall into either one or both of those camps. These Christians have been duped or guilted into thinking that “social justice” is a Biblical prescript. All you have to do is look at a generic definition of the term “social gospel” to see how poisonous this kind of thinking is. Truly frightening.

Somehow, they forgot to mention that it was this progressive social gospel that helped Wilson convince people that America must enter WWI — a horrific struggle, in which America simply had no reason for fighting. The Great War, as it was called, promised to be “the war to end all wars,” but really, it was just the beginning.

I would argue that it was the first domino of an ever-spreading and destructive U.S. imperialism (save the Spanish-American War in the late 1800s). It set the stage for 20th century American war lust. It was the first step in getting a previously free people used to the slow, but steady destruction of Western civilization, all the while subsidizing it.

And we have been on this war-time footing ever since. With flags perpetually at half mast and moments of silence booming from coast to coast, this continual “state of emergency” demands all sorts of anti-liberty actions of its citizens, specifically curtailing one’s freedoms and rights all in the name of safety, security, and the American way.

The social gospel continued the push “forward” with its noxious progressivism, giving us the New Deal and the Great Society, and foisted the dangerous “Pledge of Allegiance” into the consciousness and hearts of all citizens, tricking the people into accepting leftist nationalism and the dystopic view of indivisibility. Thanks, social-gospel totalitarians!

What do all those things have in common? Statism, the very thing of which black people should be wary. The very thing that afforded both slavery and Jim Crow legal protections. The very thing that tried to keep guns out of the hands of freed slaves. The very thing that replaced fatherhood in the black community and beyond.

The very thing that made black, white, brown, and red hapless dependents on government bureaucrats for miseducating, feeding (malnourishing), and housing their kids. The very thing whose militarized police force aggresses against people of all color (and last time I checked, white was a color, too).

The very thing whose top-down central planners are headed by a black president and a black attorney general. The very thing that is organized, implemented, and waged by predominantly black mayors against people in America’s big cities. It is statism that BLM should be fighting against, not the mythical white privilege.

Yet social-justice warriors praise the state, depend upon it for answers and solutions, and then use it to coerce others into accepting their beliefs. Statism pushes the victim status of “people of color” to an untouchable level, so that saying anything counter to them pegs me as a divider and a racist.

And then you have the “Christian” magazine Relevant pushing the narrative of “… the ongoing reality of white supremacy in America” and writing stories about there being a problem with saying “all lives matter.” One of my former pastors actually shared on Facebook a Relevant article, by “Christian” rapper Propaganda, which included much of the same tripe. Ack!

This cancerous type of thinking enables black supremacists to write/say hateful things about other populations. The lies are never questioned by the progressive useful idiots, but instead, are worshipped by SJWs who thank the racists for their “courage” and then plead for patience since whites are “struggling to come to terms with their privilege.”

A commenter to another Relevant article actually said that! Aw, look at the guilty “Anglo” who so wants a black guy to like him, that he is willing to abhor himself just to look cool. Anyone who uses white privilege as an excuse to bludgeon people with hate will never, ever trust a hipster cracker, no matter how self-loathing he is. Get woke, nihilists.

And let’s look at the hypocrisy, like the fact that more whites have been murdered by police than blacks. Where is that in the mainstream media? Where is justice for whitey? Well, that doesn’t make for sexy, divisive news, or a civilization-destroying movement.

Sure, more blacks have been killed proportionately, but honestly, SJWs don’t care about white folks dying, at the hands of the state or otherwise. It doesn’t fit their narrative: “people of color” get killed by cops, so we cry for more state intervention. Huh? It’s hard to even wrap my head around such an illogical premise as that.

But what about these facts (something that Propaganda the rapper said we shouldn’t worry ourselves with): according to the U.S. Department of Justice, which has been headed by only black attorneys general under Obama, between 1980 and 2008, black people committed 52% of homicides, even though they are 1/5 of the population.

And in 2013, black criminals committed 38% of all murders, while whites accounted for just 31%. Where are the SJWs who want to deal with that? Oh yeah, blame it on white institutional racism and then force the “Anglos” to pay for the very thing that really hurts all people: statism.

What about black-on-black crime? My former lead pastor said that shooting sprees that happen all too commonly in Chicago are not reported due to “poverty.” Really? Nope, it’s not because the victims are “poor” blacks. It’s because the murderers are black.

It was this statement during a sermon on privilege (coupled with that horrid FB share by another pastor mentioned earlier) that we decided to part with our church of three-plus years. Sad, I know, but that kind of message is either borne out of naivety or deceit.

A picture that Vester Lee Flanagan II posted to Twitter before killing two journalists on live TV in Moneta, Va. As a fired employee of the news station, the mainstream media claimed the Flanagan had gone postal. But really, he was incited to “kill whitey” due to the BLM off-shoot, F***YoFlag, whose organizer, “Sunshine,” has called on her radio show for lynching & killing crackers & then sharing the pics via social media.

Either way, I am not attending any church where the leadership pushes the privilege message. It is a dangerous narrative because I know it’s code for “white people (especially men) are devil supremacists” and “people of color are righteous victims.” You can’t fool me. I was a socialist and feminist once, remember? I understand the lingo.

What about black-on-white crime? Such crime is rampant, yet is never reported. Why? Because the media has accepted white guilt and refuses to report facts in order to purge themselves of their supposed privilege and ancestral past sins. They aren’t watchdogs of truth, but they are instead the perpetrators of fiction and lies.

Check out the work of Colin Faherty, author of White Girl Bleed a Lot. The subhead of his newest book, Don’t Make the Black Kids Angry, pretty much sums it up: The Hoax of Black Victimization and How We Enable It. This is the suspension-of-reality world in which sane people are being forced to exist.

Anti-Trump protestors w/ their Che Guevara shirts (gag!) & pro-socialism signs (double gag!) intimidate & assault citizens @ rallies “by any means necessary” — a mantra that the French intellectual, Jean-Paul Sartre, penned in his 1940s play, “Dirty Hands,” & then entered popular civil-rights culture through a speech given by Malcolm X @ the Organization of Afro-American Unity Founding Rally on June 28, 1964. Love how that chick is using a tool created by the “patriarchy” (the smart phone was invented largely by men) to film the burning of a hat. Hypocrisy.

Let’s not forget to follow the money. The Washington Post reported leftist billionaire George Soros gave more than $30 million in seed money to BLM-affiliated organizations. According to Essence, Google did the same, giving $2.35 million in grants to activist groups addressing the “racial injustices that have swept the nation.”

Another major BLM donor group is Democracy Alliance, which was started by Soros and Taco Bell heir Rob McKay, and is endowed by hedge-fund billionaire Tom Steyer. Others include Black Youth Project 100, Center for Popular Democracy, Center for American Progress, and The Black Civic Engagement Fund.

All nice sounding names that just want “restorative justice,” right? Wrong. They’re simply part of a web of communist front groups. It is hateful, anti-white, totalitarian, and evil, and spans from the black-supremacist movement to La Raza to man-hating feminist organizations, and is all kept afloat by wealthy progressives. And the media, of course.

Do ya feel the love?!

So, not only am I told to embrace guilt, pass this self-loathing on to my kids, not criticize or question or fight for peace and sanity out of fear of being castigated as “part of the problem,” I am forced to subsidize the statism that spreads the poison that is pitted against my family. How do you like them apples?

Moreover, what about “black and brown privilege” in labor quotas, higher education, welfare distribution, bank loans, housing, media bias, selective law enforcement and police protections, and other sectors of the system of which BLM and La Raza benefit, yet claim they want to fight?

It’s state-endorsed cultural imperialism. It’s violence against my children. It’s arrested development of the masses, and I’m footing the bill.

Earlier I mentioned our living in an oligarchy: rule by a few. This is indeed true, but civilization is also being destroyed by ochlocracy: rule of the government by a mass of people. In other words, mob rule or majoritarianism. It is like a two-headed monster from which freedom-loving people cannot escape. It is a catch-22 existence.

What a sweet tweet from the BLM Toronto founder. At least Tef Poe, a BLM activist who went to Geneva in 2014 to take part in a U.N. Human Rights Council panel discussion on police brutality, is just warning white folks about the race riots that will happen if Trump wins the presidency. Poe is credited with coining the phrase “This ain’t your grandparents’ civil rights movement” & pushing the riot as a legitimate form of protest. Of course, when Trump fans do it, the guilt-ridden media plays along & pegs them as “violent white supremacists.” Poe, Khogali, & the BLM is *for* brutality against who they see as the enemy & against rights for *all* humans. Period.

Liberty-lovers are persecuted by the state through oppressive taxation, a militarized police force, the tyranny of law, and increased gun control, while being told by the mob to shut up and take it, encouraged to hate and not defend ourselves, and to accept the fact that we might be killed because of our skin color. Quite the politically correct quandary.

But where’s my empathy? Where are the constant calls of unity and understanding and compassion for my family? Where are the people who want so desperately to walk a day in my shoes in order to reveal and come to terms with their privilege or to admit their racism?

Well, honestly, I don’t seek any of that. I just want people to leave me alone, let me raise my kids as I see fit, stop forcing me to pay for a corrupt and unethical system that is stacked against most everything I hold dear, and cease threatening the lives of the people I love most: four white guys named Stephen, Houston, Gabriel, and Zeke.

White people w/ sons are posting stuff like this on Facebook: a kid reciting a poem about “white privilege.” (If you wanna puke a little & shed a tear for Western civilization, check it out @ In my humble opinion, *not enough said* from this mama bear!

I am called by God to provide, support, protect, and educate my children to the best of my abilities. And I will never teach my boys that they are less than any other human being or special-interest group; we are all filthy rags, but every person is worthy of human dignity. So, I will say it since I’m deemed a racist anyway: All lives matter!

I will not submit to the caste system of victimhood or the divisiveness of identity politics a la privilege and guilt a la skin color or ancestry or gender. As Ephesians 4:14 teaches, I will not be “… tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes.”

I will not endorse the propagandistic newspeak of words and phrases, like “white privilege,” “white supremacy,” “gender identity,” “toxic masculinity,” “misogyny,” “the war on women,” “social justice,” “restorative justice,” “diversity,” “mansplaining,” “man spreading,” “patriarchy,” “hegemony,” “otherness,” or “black lives matter.”

I will raise up my kids to be warriors for Jesus, truth, and human freedom. I will tell them that popularity doesn’t matter, as long as their fight is a righteous one. And at the end of the day, I think that’s the most productive and worthy thing we Christian liberty-lovers can do.


If you’ve been red-pilled, like Neo in The Matrix, and you know the painful truth of this catch-22 existence that is being foisted upon Western civilization, and you are willing to fight for true justice, I know it’s a bitter pill to swallow, but can I get an “Amen?”

And how are you going to use talents with which we’ve been blessed to help spread the message of truth? God endowed me with half-decent writing abilities and a strong streak of anti-authoritarianism, so I plan to keep blogging when I am able to convey a message of peace, self-determination, and freedom to anyone willing to listen and question.

And for you who have been blue-pilled and are living in the blissful ignorance of illusion, we pray for you. May Jesus have his way with your heart, and lead to a more peaceful and loving world for our children.

Stay tuned for a forthcoming blog that Stephen and I are working on: solutions to creating a more angst-free South. Since those are our peeps, Southerners of all colors, they’ll be our target audience. Should be a fun intellectual exercise and perhaps will even have some real-world results!