A friend recently asked me if I could logically explain Christianity. I said absolutely not. I typically reside on a mental plane of logic and reason, and the entire concept that forms the foundation of what Christians believe is illogical. The construct of Christianity is built on the existence of an Entity that has no beginning or end, exists in all times simultaneously, is so purely perfect that the radiance of His goodness would instantly kill any non-perfect living being in His presence, has the power to create an infinite universe, the expanse of which is beyond human comprehension. Light years and billions and billions of planets without end, and yet on this tiny insignificant rock He chose to create life? Beautiful life, with unfathomable intricacies of all sorts. And then, of all things, chose to become a virtual insect by comparison and live among his creation to save the very beings that he created from the sins that separate them from His presence and secure their inevitable eternity in a place called Hell. A place devoid of all things that are good, unending pain, fire and anguish. And at the precipice of it all, as if that were not difficult enough to rationalize, this same Entity with all of this power chose to be horribly tortured and killed by the creations that He came to save by becoming a blood sacrifice Himself. Thereby returning them to their originally intended perfect state and providing a means for them to reside eternally in a place called heaven. Why? Because He loved us?

How can anyone find logic in that? It is simply unbelievable. Which is exactly why I find no difficulty in believing it. Everything about our existence is unbelievable. I need look no further for empirical evidence than literally everything around me. I am not a scientist, but I do know that everything we see is energy. Numerous forms of energy with magnificent power. One of the core concepts of Quantum theory is the possibility of everything. Multiple dimensions and space-time continuums boggle the sharpest of minds. Think about the inherent randomness and variety of all of the earthly creations. The microscopic world of neutrons, protons, electrons and quarks. DNA and chromosomes that make billions of humans unique. If every planet, or any other planet within the scope of our exploration housed any form of life I would find it more logical. But why just one, seemingly random planet that sustains life while all the others appear to be emptiness? And what about life itself? Nothing intrigues me more than pondering the very essence of life. Einstein’s E=Mc2 formula calculates the amount of energy in mass. But what about the energy that gives this vessel life and consciousness? It has no mass but it’s certainly energy. Your body has mass (For most of us, much more mass than we care to have!) but your lifeforce does not. A fundamental law of thermal dynamics is that energy can neither be created or destroyed. It can only be transformed from one form to another. So where then does your lifeforce go when you die? It can’t be destroyed, and it has no mass so it can’t be transferred back into the earth. But it has to be transferred somewhere. And what about love? Could there be a more illogical thing than love? Nothing about love is logical or rational. Love causes us to willingly do wildly irrational and illogical things. Even to the point of death. Doesn’t the knowledge of that truth alone explain why the God, that is Himself love did what he did? The more I try to understand anything, the more I realize how pathetically little that I know about it. It is my contention then, that faith is not simply a choice to believe in something without proof. But lack of faith is an inability to see the very proof that we are currently immersed in. The proof of God is all around us. It lies in the illogical randomness and impossibility of everything that we see and think we know. There can simply be no other explanation for me. None of this is happenstance or coincidence. It can’t be. It has to be the result of someone so fantastically superior and so far beyond our comprehension that we will never be able to explain it. Therein lies my faith.

Anti-Critical Race Theory

The anti-critical race theory movement is gaining traction both ideologically and politically. And that has progressives both outraged and panicked. 

They’ll do anything they can to stop this movement. Their latest strategy is to distort the truth and mislead the American people so that they can continue to push their Marxist agenda. And they are using their friends in the establishment media and Big Tech to do so.

But these lies are being unmasked and exposed by The Heritage Foundation.

Merry Christmas Y’all

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn’t been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. He had no decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another day to him. He didn’t hate Christmas, just couldn’t find a reason to celebrate.

There were no children in his life; his wife had died. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through..

Instead of throwing the man out, George – Old George as he was known by his customers – told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up..

“Thank you, but I don’t mean to intrude,” said the stranger. “I see you’re busy. I’ll just go”

“Not without something hot in your belly,” George turned and opened the Thermos and handed it to the stranger. “It ain’t much, but it’s hot and tasty. Stew. Made it myself. When you’re done there’s coffee and it’s fresh.”

Just at that moment he heard the “ding” of the driveway bell. “Excuse me be right back,” George said. There in the driveway was an old 53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front.

The driver jumped out. “Mister can you help me!” begged the driver with a deep Spanish accent. “My wife is with child and my car is broken.”

George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold; the car was dead. “You ain’t going in this thing,” George said as he turned away.

“But mister. Please help…” The door of the office closed behind George as he went in. George went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting.

“Here, take my truck,” he said. “She ain’t the best thing you ever looked at but she runs real good.” George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. George turned and walked back inside the office. “Glad I gave ’em the truck. Their tires were shot too. That ‘ol truck has brand new…” George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The thermos was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it. “Well, at least he got something in his belly,” George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered that the block hadn’t cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. “Well, shoot, I can fix this,” he said to himself. So he put a new one on.

“Those tires ain’t gonna get ’em through the winter either.” He took the snow treads off of his wife’s old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn’t going to drive the car.

As he was working he heard shots being fired. He ran outside, and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, “Help me.”

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. “Pressure to stop the bleeding,” he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. “Hey, they say duct tape can fix anything,” he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease. “Something for pain,” George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. “These ought to work.” He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. “You hang in there. I’m going to get you an ambulance.”

The phone was dead. “Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that talk box out in your car.” He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio. He went back in to find the policeman sitting up.

“Thanks,” said the officer. “You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area.”

George sat down beside him. “I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain’t gonna leave you.” George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. “Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time you’re gonna be right as rain.”

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. “How do you take your coffee?” he asked.

“None for me,” said the officer.

“Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain’t got no donuts.” The officer laughed and winced at the same time.

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. “Give me all your cash! Do it now!” the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.

“That’s the guy that shot me!” exclaimed the officer.

“Son, why are you doing this?” asked George. “You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt.”

The young man was confused. “Shut up old man, or I’ll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!”

The cop was reaching for his gun. “Put that thing away,” George said to the cop. “We got one too many in here now.” He turned his attention to the young man. “Son, it’s Christmas Eve. If you need the money, well then, here. It ain’t much but it’s all I got. Now put that pea shooter away.” George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time.

The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. “I’m not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son,” he went on. “I’ve lost my job. My rent is due. My car got repossessed last week…”

George handed the gun to the cop. “Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can.” He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop.

“Sometimes we do stupid things.” George handed the young man a cup of coffee. “Being stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin’ in here with a gun ain’t the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we’ll sort this thing out.”

The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. “Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I’m sorry officer.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.” the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. “Chuck! You ok?” one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

“Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?”

“GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?” the other cop asked, as he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, “I don’t know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran.”

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.

“That guy work here?” the wounded cop continued.

“Yep,” George said. “Just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job.”

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, “Why?”

Chuck just said, “Merry Christmas boy. And you too, George, and thanks for everything.”

“Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems.” George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. “Here you go. Something for the little woman. I don’t think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day.”

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. “I can’t take this,” said the young man. “It means something to you.”

“And now it means something to you,” replied George. “I got my memories. That’s all I need.” George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. “Here’s something for that little man of yours.”

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier. “And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too,” George said. “Now git home to your family.”

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. “I’ll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good.”

“Nope. I’m closed Christmas day,” George said. “See ya the day after.”

George turned around, to find that the stranger he’d offered coffee before had returned. “Where’d you come from? I thought you left?”

“I have been here. I have always been here,” said the stranger. “You say you don’t celebrate Christmas. Why?”

“Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn’t see what all the bother was puttin’ up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin’ cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn’t the same by myself and besides I was getting a little chubby.”

The stranger put his hand on George’s shoulder. “But you do celebrate Christmas, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man.”

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. “And how do you know all this?” he asked.

“Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again.” The stranger moved toward the door. “If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned.”

George watched as a golden light began to fill the room. “You see, George… it’s my birthday. Merry Christmas.”

Author Unknown