I’m bothered that an American dentist went to Zimbabwe, shot a beloved lion with a bow and arrow, wounded him, tracked him for hours and finished him off with a gun.

Having said that, I’m outraged at several others things going on in the world, none of which can be blamed on dentists.  (By the way, my dentist is a very nice lady who would never shoot a lion or intentionally cause pain to an animal or human.)

I am outraged at Planned Parenthood clinics chopping up babies and selling off the parts.

I am outraged at abortion clinics killing millions of American babies.

I am outraged at ISIS beheading Christians.

I am outraged at nuns being forced by our government to pay for birth control pills.

I am outraged by our courts gradually – but dramatically – stealing our religious freedom.

I could go on, but the point is that there are more traumatic things happening than the unfortunate death of Cecil and lion.

Some animal activists (by that I mean people who like animals, not animals that are active) have suggested that the dentist who shot Cecil should be put on trial and executed.  That certainly has an ISIS ring to it – kill a lion and we’ll kill a dentist.

I’m sorry, but I just can’t equate human lives to lion lives – and I can’t reason my way to Cecil’s death being as serious as any of the issues I raise above.

However, when we stop killing babies and persecuting Christians, I’ll start worrying about lions.

I pray that the video series by The Center for Medical Progress (CMP) will shock America and awaken our nation to the shame that is Planned Parenthood.

The tapes are dramatic, raw and honest.  Some members of the traditional media and liberal politicians say the folks who did the videos are sneaky.  The President’s official spokesman even said the White House wants to investigate how the videos were made, suggesting they were “heavily edited” to produce the desired result.  (NOTE:  CMP released the entire unedited tapes, just in case someone wants to judge the appropriateness of their editing.)

White House objections ring hollow, coming from an administration headed by a president who vows his support for abortion because a woman who gets pregnant shouldn’t “be punished with a baby.”  In a sane, just world our leaders would be appalled that someone is selling parts of dismembered babies – and they would be praising the people who revealed the scandal.

In fact, the proponents of Planned Parenthood are afraid that the truth is finally on graphic display; it is an ugly truth.  It is a truth of crushed baby skulls and tiny dismembered bodies auctioned to the highest bidder.

Bless the video producers for this courageous work.  And if they were a bit sneaky, they were simply following a long tradition by people trying to change society for the better.  The “sting” is nothing new.

Police capture drug dealers and pimps by pretending to be customers for their illicit goods and services.  For these efforts, we give our law enforcement officials awards.

Reporters expose corrupt politicians by posing as people willing to offer a bribe for a favor.  For these efforts, journalists win Pulitzer Prizes.

CMP is doing the work journalists at the major newspapers and television networks ought to be doing.  Instead, “real” journalists are simply reading the latest liberal talking points.  Instead of questioning CMP’s techniques, they should be apologizing for not getting the story first.  They have failed to report this generation’s holocaust.

Millions of innocent souls were tortured and murdered in the Nazi concentration camps of World War II.  At the end of the war, many Germans – some living in the shadows of the camps – said they had no idea what was going on inside.  As a result, in some cases liberating Allied forces marched the locals through the camps and showed them.  As you might expect, it was a shocking experience; they could not deny what they had not know or perhaps denied before.

Now is our turn.  We have seen inside the camps of Planned Parenthood.  Will we continue to deny?

 

 

 

I’m just back from a family trip to Ireland.  It was truly joyful, the marriage of this man’s only son to a young woman he completely approves of.

Some have asked whether I’m disappointed my son lives in Ireland and likely will indefinitely.  No, to be disappointed would be selfish and would put my happiness at having him near above the happiness he finds with the woman he loves, her family that has accepted him with love and the happiness I see in the newly married couple.

This is a situation that makes a man (me) proud, grateful and happy.

I found another source of happiness that surprised me a bit:  the enthusiastic expression of the Catholic faith.

Of course, there was a time when one would expect nothing less.  Irish history is a history of Catholic fidelity and missionary zeal. But with the many scandals of the past few years, reduction in vocations and increasingly secular nature of Irish culture, it would seem the Catholic faith would be hard to find.  If you believe the news media coverage of the past decade, you wouldn’t expect to find many Catholics.

My experience was different and I offer a few supporting points of evidence:

1. The wedding was a Catholic Mass, presided over by a middle-age priest full of joy about his faith, obviously thrilled to be uniting two people in Christian marriage. He joined us for the reception dinner and I had a chance to talk with him at length; he was thrilled to be a priest and optimistic about the future.
2. We visited the Marian Shrine at Knock, a moving and inspiriting place. We planned to attend Mass in the local parish, but a visiting priest entered the shrine while we were there and celebrated Mass for the pilgrims present.  He was young, dynamic, enthusiastic and a terrific homilist – a native of Belfast, serving in England.
3. We stayed at a Bed and Breakfast owned and operated by an older lady who was obviously and happily Catholic. In addition to the B&B, she cares for her disabled brother – and has for his entire adult life.
4. The country oozes Catholicism, from the ruins of ancient monasteries to modern religious sculptures along the highways.

God is so surprising.  I went for a wedding and found my faith renewed.

I’ve been scratching my head a bit after seeing picture of the White House illuminated in rainbow colors.

My head itched more when a Facebook friend suggested that it should be illuminated in red, white and blue for the Fourth of July.  After all, if you do it for gays you should do it for patriots (yes, there could be some overlap here).

And that got me to thinking that with the nation deeply in debt, the White House has a huge untapped marketing potential.  All sorts of things are named after a commercial interest:  sports arenas, music venues, football bowl games, even segments on news broadcasts – they all have a sponsor.

We’ve had the Poulan Weed Eater Independence Bowl, the Thrifty Car Rental Holiday Bowl and the Bell Helicopter Armed Forces Bowl.

The Houston Astros play baseball in Minute Maid Park.  The Indianapolis Colts play football in Lucas Oil Stadium.  Dallas’ professional soccer team plays in Pizza Hut Park.

These various companies pay big bucks to put their names on public edifices.  So I have to think someone would pay a huge sum to put their logo on the White House.

Consider the possibilities:  The JC Penny Presidential Palace…The Coke Capital Coop…The White Castle White House.

Crazy?  I don’t think so.  If you can light the nation’s home in colors to celebrate gay marriage you might as well use the place to pitch soda and sliders.

My mom often read to me (before I could read for myself).  And I especially recall the story of the Little Red Hen.  It goes something like this…

There were many animals on the farm. They lived there happily. The little Red Hen was in the farmyard with her chickens when she found some grains of wheat.

“Who will plant this wheat?” she said. “Please plant it. Then we can have more grain when the plant grows.”

“Not I,” said the Goose. “Not I,” said the Duck. “I will, then,” said the little Red Hen.

She watered it, too. Every day she checked the plants to see how they grew. After a month, the wheat grew into plants. The wheat plants had many more seeds.

When the wheat was ripe she said, “Who will take this wheat to the mill?”

“Not I,” said the Goose. “Not I,” said the Duck. “I will, then,” said the little Red Hen, sadly. “I will do it myself.”

So then she took the wheat to the mill. When she brought the flour home she said, “Who will make some bread with this flour?”

“Not I,” said the Goose. “Not I,” said the Duck. “I will, then,” said the little Red Hen.

When the bread was baked, she said, “Who will eat this bread?” “I will,” said the Goose “I will,” said the Duck .

“No, you won’t,” said the little Red Hen. “You did not help. I will eat it myself. Cluck! Cluck!” She ate it with her children, the chickens.

My mother (the Methodist) intended to instill in me a spirit of self-reliance and responsibility.  Put another way, those who do the work get to enjoy the fruit of their labor.  Having grown up on a farm, mom probably could relate to the hard-working hen.

Neither mom nor our family were ones to take a handout.  But they also were quick to share their harvest with those in need.  During the Great Depression, my grandma regularly hosted hungry travelers for dinner, folks who were just passing by and were in need of a good meal.  (And boy could my grandma make a good meal.)

A case could be made that the hen wasn’t the most generous bird in the barnyard.  On the other hand, it wasn’t as if the goose and duck couldn’t work – they chose not to.  And they expected something for nothing.

It is an old story.  And it was the hen’s choice whether to share or keep her gains for herself and her family.

Today, the story likely would end differently:

After the hen refused to share, the goose and the duck filed a complaint with a federal judge, who confiscated the hen’s bread and distributed it among the other animals in the barnyard, after taking half of it for court expenses (and because, as I’ve read, some animals are more equal than others).

Federal intervention is what happens when society lacks Catholic values and decision.  A Catholic hen would have looked around the barnyard and shared with any other birds truly in need.  And a Catholic goose and Catholic duck would never sue to get someone else’s goods.  Catholic critters would help each other in a joyful spirit.

Thus, it isn’t hard to realize that we don’t live in a Catholic society (or Christian of any flavor, for that matter).  We live in a society where the hens are selfish and the geese and ducks are often lazy.  And instead of people willingly helping each other and taking on responsibility, the government confiscates from some and makes others dependent.

All this makes for a very messy barnyard.

Dear Grandpa Diff,

I have not written for quite some time, but the events of the last week suggest I need to say something, perhaps enough to stop you spinning in your grave.

Ah….where do I start?  Well, to put things in perspective, you will recall that our Supreme Court way back in 1973, discovered the right to abortion hidden in the US Constitution.  You and I know darn well it isn’t there, but the folks on the Supreme Court somehow fantasized its presence.  (The abortion ruling didn’t work out so well for more than 55,000,000 babies who should have been born since 1973.)

Unfortunately, they have been continuing their investigations (and fantasies) and have found new things covered in our nation’s founding documents.  For one thing, they have found the right for men to marry men and women to marry women.  (I’m not going to try to explain why that would interest anyone.)  And they have discovered that when they review laws they have the right to approve what they like and disapprove what they don’t – irrespective of the Constitution.

The result is that we’re having a bit of a constitutional crisis, although lots of politicians call it progress.

Symbolic of that progress, the White House was illuminated in rainbow colors this week, the first time it has been illuminated by anything but regular old bright, white, light.  The rainbow colors are symbol of “gay rights” – as demonstrated by the legalization of gay marriage.  I expect you are wondering why the White House would be displaying such rainbow sympathies; so am I.

My dad (your son-in-law), my wife’s father and my wife’s uncle were imperfect but brave men.  They spent some of the prime years of their lives in the Pacific during World War II.  They saw suffering and death and were ready to sacrifice everything for the country and people they loved.

They were men who could relate to your favorite expression of shock at things that didn’t add up to you:  “Oh, for the love of our country.”

That phrase has been running through my head a lot in the past week.  I know priests and ministers who are going to risk public attack, perhaps even jail, by proclaiming biblical truth.

Oh, for the love of our country.

People will be denied jobs and opportunity because they refuse to condone gross violations of natural law.

Oh, for the love of our country.

Many of us will face a “soft” persecution, marginalized and ridiculed.  We may not be put to the sword, but who knows?

Oh, for the love of our country.

This must all sound terribly negative.  Perhaps it is a bit unsettling to you – and shame on me for unsettling the dead.

But I’m hopeful.  Man is trying so hard to make his own plan come true on earth:  do what feels good and what fulfills you desire for fame, glory and things.  This has been tried before.

Man tried doing things his way in the Garden of Eden.  It didn’t work then and it won’t work now.

Grandpa, pray that we earthlings come to our senses and try it God’s way.

As a fan of the Chicago White Sox, I’m not surprised that the Chicago Cubs would get their most publicity from a fan catching a foul ball.

A few days ago (as you might have seen on social media) a fan caught a foul ball while holding a baby who was drinking from a bottle.  It is a remarkable, skillful, well-coordinated catch.  And it has generated lots of comments:

• What a great dad!
• The baby didn’t miss a drop of his bottle!
• That guy could be playing baseball!
• Talk about staying calm in a difficult situation!

OK…I don’t know the guy and, generally speaking, he may be super dad.  But it isn’t how this dad would have played the ball.

If I were holding a baby and a foul ball were headed my way, I would turn my back to the ball and shield the child with my body.  I wouldn’t risk misjudging the ball and it hitting the baby.  I would make sure that if the ball hit someone, it would be me.

This little incident makes a cute story.  I expect it will be shown again and again and family gatherings.  When the baby grows up he’ll probably tell his friends, “I was the baby when the guy – my dad – made that great catch.”

My priority would be protecting the child, not getting a foul ball.  I’m just glad the baseball didn’t smash the kid in the head.

I spent four hours watching television Sunday night.

First, let me assure you that this is not an endorsement of any particular network or program.  Second, I recognize that what you are about to read will shock anyone under the age of 40.

Yes.  It is true.  I was tuned to MeTV, a network that shows vintage shows, some of which appear in black and white.  The Sunday evening lineup is amazing (to a fan of old mystery and detective shows):

• 7 p.m. – Colombo – Two hours of Peter Falk as a quirky, slob of a detective who always figures out the crime (1968-2003).
• 9 p.m. – Man from U.N.C.L.E. – Robert Vaughn and David McCallum save the world from the plots of THRUSH (1964-1968).
• 10 p.m. – Mission Impossible – The team does amazing things that Tom Cruise could only dream of (1966-1973).

These programs are engaging, tense and compelling.  But there are things these show lack:

• Profanity
• Mutilated bodies
• Naked people groping each other
• References to deviant sexual behavior

If you want current mystery and detective shows, you probably think you can’t have an interesting program without those elements.  In fact, you can.  And I’m willing to forgive the folks from several decades for smoking on camera and having bad hair.

I was going to be a star.

Of course, I wasn’t alone.  Any kid growing up in the early 1960s in Columbus, Ohio was going to be a basketball star and play for the Ohio State Buckeyes.

My dad, my uncle and a couple older cousins had all been college athletes.  I would grow up to be six-foot-five and enjoy the speed of a gazelle.  I just had to work hard and let my dreams come true.

Work hard I did.  But I never got much beyond five-foot-ten and developed the slovenly speed of a basset hound.  (Actually, comparing my speed to that of a basset hound is an insult to the noble dog.) I made the basketball team in high school, but the biggest challenge I faced was not getting too many splinters from all the time I spent on the bench.

At the opposite end of the athletic spectrum was Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner.  Speed…strength…coordination…Olympic Gold.  But we apparently held something in common (no…not THAT).  We were both disappointed by the genetic hand we were dealt.

In my case, I had to come to terms that the world of college and professional basketball would proceed without my direct contribution.  That required acceptance of the reality of nature and God’s plan for my life.

In Jenner’s case, he decided to do something about his inner desire to be, well, a woman.  Hormone treatments.  Surgery.  Makeup.  Cover of a fashion magazine.  The problem is, even with all of today’s science and technology, a human being can’t change the hand dealt by nature – and God.  But with the help of God, he can accept who he is.

Jenner’s situation combines sadness and arrogance.  He needs our prayers.  And much more than more medical treatment, he needs an honest counselor and a brave spiritual director.

A new study finds evidence that watching Sesame Street has about the same benefit for kids as going to preschool.  Read all about it in the Washington Post.

This could change everything.

I went to preschool when I was a little darling.  They didn’t have Sesame Street back then, but I watched Captain Kangaroo and Romper Room.

My son and daughter also went to preschool and neither much liked Sesame Street.  But even if they had loved the show, we would have sent them to preschool where they interacted with live humans.  (To be honest, one of the preschool teachers was a little like Oscar the Grouch, but she did keep the kids in line.)

I don’t remember how much we paid to send the kids to preschool, but it had to be lots more than turning on the television and tuning to PBS, which you don’t need cable to view.

I did a little googling of the own and learned that in Chicago you can find a number of preschools that charge more than $1,000 a month per rug rat.  You can pay even more in New York or Washington.  It would be much cheaper to buy the best flat-screen television Wal-Mart has to offer and watch Sesame Street.

My further research found that if you like Big Bird (apparently the most star of Sesame Street) you can get a real fancy bird of your very own for under $1,000:  White Face Pied Cockatiel, Violet Indian Ringneck, Blue Mountain Lorikeets, Severe Macaw, Pacific Parrotlets or a Green Cheek Conure.

So, a parent can be way ahead of the game by getting a huge television, a fancy bird and making the kids preschool dropouts.  In my case, my kids are too old for preschool and I don’t have a fancy television.  But I do have a bird.