Monday Morning Rant 75

First, my apologies for my failure to find the facilities and the time to post for the last week; I confess that being covered up with grandkids was more of a distraction than I had anticipated. After the “great race” in Phoenix, I drove to Tucson to join in the confusion of being with the son’s family and the tile setters. They were in the process of replacing all of the tile in the house with new porcelain flooring. When I found the commode in the guest bathtub, the refrigerator in the living room and the washer dryer pair missing from the utility room I astutely recognized that something was amok. I was, however, aware that I shared the inconvenience with every member of the family. We still were able to have too much to eat and some wonderful “get reacquainted” time.

On Wednesday, I plotted a new route to completely eliminate Phoenix from my route to Las Vegas. I would much rather drive fifteen miles extra and avoid hours spent in bumper to bumper traffic on clogged freeways and signal light littered side streets. By diverting around the western perimeter of the city, I became reminded of the importance of the cotton crops so vital to agriculture in that end of the world. They don’t call certain cottons “Pima” (that’s the name of the county) for no reason. For those who are not regular visitors, that part of Arizona is perfectly flat and laid in traditional mile by mile squares with a cotton gin for every four square miles. Were it not for the background of mountains, one might easily think they were back in the fertile delta lands of Mississippi.

Arrival in Las Vegas was heralded by five grandkids, all ten or under, who provided the principal entertainment. Their parents and grandmother provide an intense level of activity commensurate with their energy and with emphasis on constant learning and sound direction. Don’t tell them, but they are far better at this than I was as a young father. As an observer of the “home schooling” process, the piano lessons, the prayers, and the physical exertions of play I tired rapidly. I am grateful for my new found insight into their daily regimen.

On Friday night, I joined my son-in-law, Doug Koch, for street ministry at the Fremont Street Experience. I met him and we went downtown under the glaring lights of the Casinos and the lighted cover showing brilliant programs of general interest overhead. As the evening wore on, the crowd grew and the representatives of Christ met them with their tracts and working boards to promote the gospel. To carry the message they have perfected techniques to engage the passerby and stand their ground in the “belly of the beast” to do so. There were seven or eight of us there to answer questions about salvation and provoke thought on this vital issue. Their goal is not to increase the numbers of some particular congregation or sect but rather to raise general individual awareness and create the desire to pursue the gospel beyond “glitter gulch.” Their purpose is not so much to preach against the obvious presence of sin in that venue, but, to extol the virtues of concentration on the afterlife. All in all, they are a happy, joyous, and gregarious group with their full focus on Jesus Christ.

As we stood there talking to people, the din of the casinos horns, bells and whistles were ever present and at least half of the thousands were carrying some sort of alcoholic beverages. I was encouraged to observe no overt untoward behavior or taunting of the participants. There was some jocular questioning but mostly in the spirit of location and the general humor was good. Doug’s physical presence (6’3” and 270 pounds) may have had a dampening affect. His outward appearance exudes the Christian expression which resides in the inner man. In this type of ministry, he is perfectly adapted. I thank God to have such a man for a son-in-law.

I departed Las Vegas about noon on Saturday, "crashed" in Santa Rosa, NM, and arrived home about 10:45 Sunday night, just before Jan came home from work. 1400 miles without incident with the only recorded damage to my Discover card balance. God is good!

Keeping a promise

The new president has fulfilled a few of his campaign promises and predictably raised the ire of Christians and conservatives (is that redundant?) alike. He has essentially nullified the ban on financing abortion for those abroad and any executive orders extant to protect the late term babies from certain death. Obviously I am distressed by his desire to kill babies to fulfill his obligation to the lobby of death for the unborn. Simply stated; it is more important for him to demonstrate loyalty to those who helped pay his bills during the campaign than it is to protect the lives of all of God’s creatures. It was one of his first orders of business. While keeping one’s obligations current is laudable, this is a considerable slap in the face to those of us who cherish life by making it the absolute first order of business. Ed. note: How fitting that he should sign it during Sanctity of Human Life Month.

In a further action, he also made an executive order to close the facility at Guantanamo Bay. This is interesting because of the conflict with the aforementioned action. We are willing to afford full rights and unearned privileges to those who are sworn to kill us but are reluctant to save the lives of a million innocents annually who can only bring us joy and the wealth of their future contribution to society. At least this action is virtually unenforceable. A location for their disposition will be necessary and the protests against having these miscreants in their backyard will make a site location nearly impossible. It will drag on like a slow cancer with little chance of a solution on the horizon. For that we can give thanks yet again.

And finally

I freely admit that I made no effort to personally observe the festivities in Washington last Tuesday. Frankly, I didn’t have the stomach for it. I did hear a couple of interesting observations however. One was regarding the botched ceremony at the swearing in. Someone suggested we should rename it the “Oaf” of office.

The other concerned the Nigerian delegation that were apparently in native dress and marched in the parade. I heard a tape of the “music” they were chanting as they passed the reviewing stand. One commenter suggested he recognized the language from some prior experience and it was the same tune they used prior to “boiling a missionary.”

Anyway, I came home and found the house had not blown away, Missouri is colder (yet drier!) than Nevada, and the birds thought their throats had been cut. Ed.: Not! They only went 24 hours without a feeder. Aside from a warm reception from my beloved Jan, the best part was the reaction of Gus and Maggie to my return. The moaning, groaning, tail wagging, licking and general pandemonium which greeted my return was the ultimate ego trip. Apparently they missed me. Possibly I was confusing that with their desire to go out for a stroll after nine hours without relief—and their supper. It did continue after those mundane amenities however.

In His abiding love,

Cecil Moon