Why Printed Books Will Always Matter: The Armenian Genocide

I learned about the Armenian Genocide - or one of its  precursors "The Hamidian Massacres" or "The Adana Massacre" - when I was in third grade.

There was an old abandoned house on the block - one of those older than the homes around it, that had either been a rent house until it became too decrepit to rent out, or whose elderly owner had died with no local heirs to help keep it up or care about its gradual decay. Windows were broken out, and someone had taken the front door, leaving it wide open, airy, well-lit with sunshine... and perfect for neighborhood children to explore.

I don't remember whether I wandered through it with a friend or alone. It was empty except for a half-filled box of trinkets, cracked dishes.... and one very old book.

Even back then, I read everything I could get my hands on. This book was old... I want to say the copyright date was 1909, but it could have been Bliss's ""Turkey and the Armenian Atrocities. A Reign of Terror" published in 1896.  I don't think it was the  one known as the "Blue Book", Viscount Bryce's definitive "Treatment of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire 1915-1916", published in 1916.

I opened it and started reading explicit, bloody accounts of unimaginable torture inflicted on innocent old men, little children, mothers, by Turkish soldiers in the name of their muslim religion. All because the Armenians were Christians.

I didn't take the book, I just stayed there and read for half an hour or so.

I didn't hear anything else about Armenia until I was grown.

Despite the herculean effort that America made through the American Committee for Relief in the Near East, efforts that are credited with literally saving the Armenian people from extinction, and which served as the model for all relief agencies that have been created since, despite that, Armenia was ignored in public school history classes.  The progressive agenda was already busy in our textbooks, deleting events and adding agendas even in the 60s.

Today, a hundred years later, the cultural descendants of the perpetrators deny those events. Events that look horribly identical to massacres happening right now in the same places, inflicted by people who claim the same reasons and use the same tactics and methods. They deny both the old atrocities and the new ones, and they convince some. Our own President is willing to acede to their fiction.

Over time, I've learned much more from that brief encounter with a book I never saw again. It taught me that a written record can be proof to fly in the face of deceit. It taught me to look for accounts printed within a few years of events, because those are the most accurate. It taught me that the printed word can survive even attempts to stamp out knowledge. It taught me that there was a great deal about the world I would have to learn for myself if I wanted to know what things were really like. And it was a powerful object lesson in the truth of that other "old book" that so many deny and try to destroy.

So thank God for that printed copy of that old book. A copy that can't be edited or deleted or removed from a search engine.  I hope we will remember that we still need printed history books, if only to witness the truth to generations to come. Like the Lord God told Isaiah:

"Go now, and write it down on a tablet in their presence, inscribing it in a book, so that for times to come it may be an everlasting witness" Isaiah 30:8

* The Image is a poster used in one of the many fund raising drives the American Committee for Relief in the Near East. Wikipedia says this about their work: "From 1915 to 1930, Near East Relief saved the lives of over a million refugees, including 132,000 orphans who were cared for and educated in Near East Relief orphanages. Near East Relief also mobilized the American people to raise over $116 million for direct relief. Nearly 1,000 U.S. citizens volunteered to travel overseas. Near East Relief workers built hundreds of orphanages, vocational schools, and food distribution centers. Overseas relief workers were responsible for the direct care of orphans and refugees, including the organization of vast feeding and educational programs. Thousands of Americans volunteered throughout the U.S. by donating money or supplies and hosting special events to benefit Near East Relief's work."

"...Those Who Went West Have Seen Him": A Memorial Day Story

Memorial Day is nearly 150 years old. During each of those years, families and towns have new reason for remembrance, have new graves to tend on "Decoration Day". American freedom is bought dearly by men and women who gladly stand up and push back against threats to liberty.

In our household, we remember these men of the 3rd LAR,seven Marines and their Navy medic, who served with my son, Sgt Ethan D Arguello, and paid for our freedom with their lives in 2006 in Iraq:
Seaman Chadwick T. Kenyon
Cpl. Phillip E. Baucus
Lance Cpl. Anthony E. Butterfield
Cpl. Adam A. Galvez
Lance Cpl. Jason Hanson
Lance Cpl. Shane P. Harris
Lance Cpl. Randy L. Newman
Sgt. Christian B. Williams

I've written about them before. In many ways, their stories are unique, and each brave member of the US Military has their own story to tell. At the same time, there is a kind of courage that is renewed with each generation of Americans, and these men shared that courage with those of older times and other wars who, like them, gave their all for God and country, for liberty and freedom.

The story below, "The Beloved Captain", is the second of Donald Hankey's stories I've shared here. It was published in 1917, painting the heroism Hankey witnessed during The Great War, as WWI was then known.When I read it, the story didn't seem like something from a hundred years ago, but instead, it sounded like the kinds of things I was hearing people say about Doc Kenyon, Adam Galvez, Tony Butterfield, Jason Hanson, Randy Newman, Phillip Baucus, Chris Williams, and Shane Harris. 

The man who wrote this story, Donald Hankey, is himself numbered with them. He was killed in action in 1916, in the battle of the Somme. May God bless us to meet them all in the joy of the Resurrection at the end of all strife, and the final, victorious coming of the Lord.


The Beloved Captain

"He came In the early days, when we were still at recruit drills under the hot September sun. Tall, erect, smiling: so we first saw him, and so he remained to the end. At the start he knew as little of soldiering as
we did. He used to watch us being drilled by the sergeant; but his manner of watching was peculiarly his own. He never looked bored. He was learning just as much as we were, in fact more. He was learning his job, and from the first he saw that his job was more than to give the correct orders. His job was to lead us. So he watched, and noted many things, and never found the time hang heavy on his hands. He watched our evolutions, so as to learn the correct orders; he watched for the right manner of command, the manner which secured the most prompt response to an order; and he watched every one of us for our individual characteristics.

"We were his men. Already he took an almost paternal interest in us. He noted the men who tried hard, but were naturally slow and awkward. He distinguished them from those who were inattentive and bored. He marked down the keen and efficient amongst us. Most of all he studied those who were subject to moods, who were sulky one day and willing the next. These were the ones who were to turn the scale. If only he could get these on his side, the battle would be won.

"For a few days he just watched. Then he started work. He picked out some of the most awkward ones, and, accompanied by a corporal, marched them away by themselves. Ingenuously he explained that he did not know much himself yet; but he thought that they might get on better If they drilled by themselves a bit, and that if he helped them, and they helped him, ey would son learn. His confidence was Infectious. He looked at them, and they looked at him, and the men pulled themselves together and determined to do their best. Their best surprised themselves. His patience was inexhaustible. His simplicity could not fail to be understood. His keenness and optimism carried all with them. Very soon the awkward squad found themselves awkward no longer; and soon after that they ceased to be a squad, and went back to the platoon.

"Then he started to drill the platoon, with the sergeant standing by to point out his mistakes. Of course he made mistakes, and when that happened he never minded admitting It. He would explain what mistakes he
had made, and try again. The result was that we began to take almost as much interest and pride in his progress as he did in ours. We were his men, and he was our leader. We felt that he was a credit to us, and
we resolved to be a credit to him. There was a bond of mutual confidence and affection between us, which grew stronger and stronger as the months passed. He had a smile for almost everyone; but we thought that he had a different smile for us. We looked for it, and were never disappointed.

"On parade, as long as we were trying, his smile encouraged us. Off parade, if we passed him and saluted, his eyes looked straight into our own, and his smile greeted us. It was a wonderful thing, that smile of his. It was something worth living for, and worth working for. It bucked one up when one was bored or tired. It seemed to make one look at things from a different point of view, a finer point of view, his point of view.
There was nothing feeble or weak about It. It was not monotonous like the smile of " Sunny Jim." It meant something. It meant that we were his men, and that he was proud of us, and sure that we were going to do jolly well” better than any of the other platoons. And it made us determine that we would. When we failed him, when he was disappointed in us, he did not smile. He did not rage or curse. He just looked disappointed, and that made us feel far more savage with ourselves than any amount of swearing would have done. He made us feel that we were not playing the game by him. It was not what he said. He was never very good at talking. It was just how he looked. And his look of displeasure and disappointment was a thing that we would do anything to avoid. The fact was that he had won his way into our affections. We loved him. And there isn't anything stronger than love, when all's said and done.

"He was good to look on. He was big and tall, and held himself upright. His eyes looked his own height. He moved with the grace of an athlete. His skin was tanned by a wholesome outdoor life, and his eyes were clear and wide open. Physically he was a prince among men. We used to notice, as we marched along the road and passed other officers, that they always looked pleased to see him. They greeted him with a cordiality which was reserved for him. Even the general seemed to have singled him out, and cast an eye of special approval upon him.

"Somehow, gentle though he was, he was never familiar. He had a kind of innate nobility which marked him out as above us. He was not democratic. He was rather the justification for aristocracy. We all knew
instinctively that he was our superior - a man of finer temper than ourselves, a "toff" in his own right. I suppose that that was why he could be so humble without loss of dignity. For he was humble too, if that is the right word, and I think it is. No trouble of ours was too small for him to attend to. When we started route marches, for instance, and our feet were blistered and sore, as they often were at first, you would have thought that they were his own feet from the trouble he took.

"Of course after the march there was always an inspection of feet. That is the routine. But with him it was no mere routine. He came into our rooms, and if anyone had a sore foot he would kneel down on the floor and
look at it as carefully as if he had been a doctor. Then he would prescribe, and the remedies were ready at hand, being borne by the sergeant. If a blister had to be lanced he would very likely lance it himself there and then, so as to make sure that it was done with a clean needle and that no dirt was allowed to get in. There was no affectation about this, no striving after effect. It was simply that he felt that our feet were pretty important, and that he knew that we were pretty careless. So he thought it best at the start to see to the matter himself. Nevertheless, there was in our eyes something almost religious about this care for our feet. It seemed to have a touch of the Christ about it, and we loved and honored him the more.

"We knew that we should lose him. For one thing, we knew that he would be promoted. It was our great hope that some day he would command the company. Also we knew that he would be killed. He was so amazingly unselfconscious. For that reason we knew that he would be absolutely fearless. He would be so keen on the job in hand, and so anxious for his men, that he would forget about his own danger. So it proved. He was a captain when we went out to the front. Whenever there was a tiresome job
to be done, he was there in charge. If ever there were a moment of danger, he was on the spot. If there were any particular part of the line where the shells were falling faster or the bombs dropping more
thickly than in other parts, he was in it.

"It was not that he was conceited and imagined himself indispensable. It was just that he was so keen that the men should do their best, and act worthily of the regiment. He knew that fellows hated turning out at night for fatigue, when they were in a "rest camp." He knew how tiresome the long march there and back and the digging in the dark for an unknown purpose were. He knew that fellows would be inclined to grouse and shirk, so he thought that it was up to him to go and show them that he thought it was a job worth doing. And the fact that he was there put a new complexion on the matter altogether. No one would shirk if he were there. No one would grumble so much, either. What was good enough for him was good enough for us. If it were not too much trouble for him to turn out, it was not too much trouble for us.

"He knew, too, how trying to the nerves it is to sit in a trench and be shelled. He knew what a temptation there is to move a bit farther down the trench and herd together in a bunch at what seems the safest end. He
knew, too, the folly of it, and that it was not the thing to do - not done in the best regiments. So he went along to see that it did not happen, to see that the men stuck to their posts, and conquered their nerves.

"And as soon as we saw him, we forgot our own anxiety. It was: "Move a bit farther down, sir. We are all right here; but don't you go exposing of yourself." We didn't matter. We knew it then. We were just the rank
and file, bound to take risks. The company would get along all right without us. But the captain, how was the company to get on without him? To see him was to catch his point of view, to forget our personal
anxieties, and only to think of the company, and the regiment, and honor.

"There was not one of us but would gladly have died for him. We longed for the chance to show him that. We weren't heroes. We never dreamed about the Victoria Cross. But to save the captain we would have earned it ten times over, and never have cared a button whether we got it or not. We never got the chance, worse luck. It was all the other way.

"We were holding some trenches which were about as unhealthy as trenches could be. The Bosches were only a few yards away, and were well supplied with trench mortars. We hadn't got any at that time. Bombs and air torpedoes were dropping round us all day. Of course the captain was there. It seemed as if he could not keep away. A torpedo fell into the trench, and buried some of our chaps. The fellows next to them ran to dig them out. Of course he was one of the first. Then came another torpedo in the same place. That was the end.

"But he lives. Somehow he lives. And we who knew him do not forget. We feel his eyes on us. We still work for that wonderful smile of his. There are not many of the old lot left now; but I think that those who went West have seen him. When they got to the other side I think they were met. Someone said: "Well done, good and faithful servant."

"And as they knelt before that gracious pierced Figure, I reckon they saw nearby the captain's smile. Anyway, in that faith let me die, if death should come my way; and so, I think, shall I die content. "

Victory! A World War American Homefront Collection

Well I had planned to blog about starting the garden, but Pat's latest antiquing "Take A Trip" got me thinking it has been a while since I shared some of my World War I & II "Home Front" collection. So let's do that first, then we'll talk gardening (maybe even Victory Gardening!) later.

I've blogged before about the shop-made toys of the WWI and WWII eras: how Germany and Japan had previously been the source of most playthings, trinkets and knicknacks found in the "5 & 10 Cent Stores", but when war started, those imports were cut short. In addition, local factories all converted to making necessities. So the wartime sources for toys were local small workshops, print shops and mom-and-pop side businesses all over America. 


Here's a cardboard playset called "Forward March". The many little soldiers are diecut standees, and the board opens out as a map on which to array the armies.

The little set of red and yellow ships, tanks, and "Big Bertha" type guns are molded composition, died with cochineal and yellow food coloring.

The carved and wood burned "Tank Bank" has little wheels on the bottom, a place to insert pennies for saving, and it is a souvenir of Victoria, Texas. Sometimes known as "poker work", by using a poker or soldering iron to decorate it, no paint was needed. Electric woodburning tools were a popular Christmas gift for kids & adults for many decades.

That little growling bomber plane is a pinback, probably a bit of sweetheart jewelry worn by a mother, sister, wife or girlfriend of a guy in the brand-new "Army Air Corps", which was the forerunner of today's Air Force.

Ever-popular Jigsaw puzzles reflected hopeful themes during the war, and this one titled "Welcome Home" probably gave a serviceman's family much comfort as they dreamed of the day their boy would return from where-ever  Uncle Sam had sent him. The box prominently features the "Buy Savings Bonds for Victory" advertisement.

The "Buy War Savings Bonds and Stamps NOW" notice is in a deck of Russell Artcraft Pinochle playing cards. Card games were a HUGE source of entertainment in those days, and nearly every family had a card table they could set up to play on. Couples got together and played rummy or bridge or pinochle or Canasta (Canasta was THE game in my family! Anybody wanna play?)whenever they had the opportunity.

The Victory theme was everywhere! These are two of my favorite little items: a spool of thread and a little box of bobby pins. The Victory Hair Pins' "Vicky victory - Hair Aid Warden" (playing on the "Air Raid Warden" who helped coordinate evacuation plans for each neighborhood), and a sewing thread company's mascot, "the Corticelli Kitten" in his own little kitty helmet, with weapon and bayonet, marching off to
serve his country. 

In both instances, the cute themes reflect serious rationing of raw materials as well as manufactured goods and food items: the hair pins were meant to be carried back to the beauty shop for reuse on your own hair, just as we carry our shopping bags today, because "Uncle Sam needs the Steel!", and the Belco thread was a substitute for unobtainable silk and nylon, both of which were being consumed as parachute material for our fighting men.

I keep running out of "blog space" before I get to the books, albums, and paper items in my collection. Oh well, there's always next time!  If you collect Home Front or World War memorabilia, please post and tell us about your favorite items in your collection, and why you appreciate them.

Come, Holy Spirit

"All around the circle of human doubt and despair, where men and women are going out to enlighten and uplift and comfort and strengthen their fellow-men under the perplexities and burdens of life, we hear the cry for a gospel which shall be divine, and therefore sovereign and unquestionable and sure and victorious. All through the noblest aspirations and efforts and hopes of our Age of Doubt, we feel the longing, and we hear the demand, for a new inspiration of Christian faith."  

Henry Van Dyke, as quoted in "The Friendly Year", a collection of Van Dyke's writing edited by George Sidney Webster, in 1909.

Art: Nicodemus visiting Jesus by night, painted by Henry Ossawa Tanner. Nicodemus was one of those in power who secretly came to Jesus, and, with Joseph of Aramathea, assisted in our Lord's proper burial. I love Tanner's beautiful paintings. I don't think anyone painted Christian Biblical scenes with the sense of concrete spirituality that Tanner achieved.

Henry Van Dyke and Henry Ossawa Tanner both played roles of ministry in World War I, drawn to serve by their passionate faith, and both were deeply affected by that Great War for Civilization.

Display Ideas For Vintage Recipe Booklets

A lot of my collections are made of paper. Vintage advertising recipe booklets are one such, and I have a few I just couldn't part with. Colorful and witty, those cute little recipe folders are just too fun to leave in a drawer.

I mean, in our Tex-Mex kitchen, who could resist 1920s and 1930s "Tasty Tested Anglo Recipes", "Gebhardt's Mexican-Style Foods" and "Walker's Red Hot Chile Con Carne"? The Walker's one, red with a bright green sombrero, is actually from 1918, the WWI era.

The company was based in Austin, Texas. Gebhardt is also an old Texas company - I still use their chili powder today for general cooking (I use Morton's Chili Blend for actual chili). And Anglo not only made canned hams and corned beef, but also advertises Deviled Ham, Deviled Tongue and Liver Spread!

One of the little projects I've had on my list was to find a way to display them that didn't take space away from some other wonderful thing that needs a prominent home!

Inspired by my new cabinets, I finally got around to it last month.

This is a super-simple project. I used the hard clear cases that sports cards collectors use, and glued a piece of sheet magnet on the back. It's a good use for those magnetic business cards we keep long after the realtor pictured has moved on.

Voila! (which is how the word "Walla!" is spelled!)

Refrigerator magnets that can be changed out, and the keep the booklet available, just in case we suddenly decide to try that recipe for jellied liver tea sandwiches.

Aren't they cute? If you have other ideas for showing off vintage paper, please share! There's always something cute that needs just the perfect treatment....

"An Englishman Prays" A Timeless Story From World War I

Donald Hankey was a British soldier in The Great War for Civilization, which we call WWI. He served in the trenches in the terrible Battle of the Somme, the bloodiest battle in Britain's history and was killed in action on the Western Front near Le Transloy on October 26, 1916.  His grave is there, with those of the comrades who fell with him, marked by the Thiepval Memorial to the 72,195 missing or unidentified among the 1.5 million men who gave their lives in the long Somme Campaign from July 1915 through February 1918.

Some of his essays were published before his death, and others collected and published posthumously. His stories were either autobiographical or based on genuine experiences of the men with whom he served.  My copy is a slim, straightforward volume of three stories published in 1917, with no extra material - biographical or otherwise - included.



An Englishman Prays

By Donald Hankey (EP Dutton, 1917)

In civil life he had always said his prayers. They had done him good, too, in a way. They had been a sort of squaring of his accounts morally. He had tried to see where he had failed, made resolutions to amend, and acknowledged to himself at any rate, that he had failed. He had remembered his relations and friends before God, and it had helped him to do his duty by them. At the same time, he was not in the least degree a mystic. Even in his prayers he had never felt the reality of God. "God" to him was rather the name for the principle of goodness than a Being of infinite power and intimate importance. His greatest religious "experience" had been a spasmodic loyalty to the Christ-man, stimulating him at rare intervals to sudden acts of quixotism.

When he first enlisted he continued the habit of saying his prayers, more because it was inconvenient than for any other reason, perhaps. The other fellows in the barrack-room did not say their prayers, and he was too English not to feel the more resolved to say his. He was not going to be afraid. So he said them, deliberately and very self-consciously, half expecting to be laughed at. It was very difficult. He could not concentrate his mind. He whispered the words mechanically, his head full of other thoughts.

The other fellows paused in their talk the first night, and then went on as if nothing had happened. After that no notice was taken at all. No one followed his example. No one commented, or interfered with him. A little persecution would have hardened his resolve. Being ignored weakened it. He could not bring his mind to bear on his words, and there seemed to be no point in going on. He tried saying them in bed, in the privacy of his blanket. Then one day he forgot; and after that he just omitted to say them ever.

After all it made very little difference. And yet at times he felt that there was a difference. It was a little like a man sitting in a room with a frosted window that only opened at the top. He understood that it gave on to a garden, but he had never seen the garden. He used to sit with the top of the window pulled open, and then somehow one day he forgot to open it, and after that he never bothered. It made so little difference. At times he did notice that the air was a little less fresh, but he was too lazy, or too busy about other matters to bother.

This Englishman's religion had always been a bit like that, like a window opening on to the unknown and unexplored. He liked to think that his window gave on to a garden, and to think that he sometimes caught the scent of the flowers. But he had never had the energy or the faith to test his belief. Suppose he were to find that after all his garden was only a paved yard.  Anyhow he had left the window shut now. At times he regretted it; but a kind of inertia possessed him, and he did not do anything about it.

When he first got to the front he prayed, half ashamed. He was not quite sure of himself, and he prayed that he might not be found wanting. But when it came to the point everything was very prosaic. It was boring, and uncomfortable, and at times terrifying. Yet he felt no inclination to shirk. He just drifted on, doing his bit like the others, and with not too good a grace. He was asked to take the stripe, and refused. It meant more trouble and responsibility. His conscience told him that he was shirking. He grew angry with it. "Well," he demanded of it, "why have I responsibilities more than anyone else? Haven't I failed?"

He put the question defiantly, ostensibly to his conscience, but with an eye to the "Christ-man" in Whom he had almost ceased to believe. To his astonishment he got an answer. It was a contingency with which he had not reckoned. Like a flash this sentence wrote itself across his mind — " Strengthen My brethren." It staggered him. He felt that he knew what it meant. " Don't whine about failure. If you are willing to serve, here is your job, and the sign of your forgiveness — Strengthen My brethren." He took the stripe after all, and fathered the boys of his section.

The final stage came later. There had been a charge, a hopeless affair from the start, undertaken in broad daylight. He had fallen between the lines, and had seen the battered remnant of his company retire past him to their own trench before a hail of bullets. He lay in the long grass between the lines, unable to move, and with an unceasing throbbing pain in his left leg and arm. A whizz-bang had caught him in both places. All the afternoon he lay still, his mind obsessed by one thought — Would anyone find him when it was dark, or would he be left to die?

He kept on wondering the same thing, with the same maddening persistence. At last he must have lost consciousness, for he woke to find that the sun had set, and all was still but for an occasional flare or a random shot. He had lost a lot of blood; but the throbbing had ceased, and if he kept still he felt no pain. He just lay there, feeling strangely peaceful. Above him he could see the stars, and the moon, though low in the heavens, gave a clear light.

He found himself vaguely wondering about the meaning of everything. The stars seemed to make it all seem so small and petty. All this bloodshed — what was the good of it? It was all so ephemeral, so trivial, so meaningless in the presence of eternity and infinity. It was just a strife of pygmies. He suddenly felt terribly small and lonely, and he was so very, very weak. He was cut off from his fellow men as surely as if he had been on a desert island, and he felt somehow as if he had got out of his element, and was launched, a tiny pygmy soul, on the sea of immensity, where he could find no bearings. Eternity and infinity were so pitiless and uncomprehending. The stars gazed at him imperturbably. There was no sympathy there but only cold, unseeing tolerance.

Yet after all, he had the advantage of them. For all his pygmy ineffectiveness he was of finer stuff than they. At least he could feel — suffer. He had only to try to move to verify that. At least he was aware of his own existence, and could even gauge his own insignificance. There was that in him which was not in them, unless — unless it was in everything. "God!" he whispered softly. " God everywhere ! " Then into his tired brain came a new phrase — "Underneath are the everlasting arms." He sighed contentedly, as a tired child, and the phrase went on repeating itself in his brain in a kind of chant — "Underneath are the everlasting arms."

The moon went down behind the horizon, and it was dark. They fetched him in at last. He will never again be sound of limb; but there is in his memory and in his heart that which may make him a staunch fighter in other fields. He has learnt a new way of prayer, and the courage that is born of faith well-founded.


---------

You can find the full text from which this story was excerpted in Hankey's Memoir "A Student in Arms", by clicking here.

Photo via Wikipedia, British War Photographer Ernest Brooks "Cheshire Regiment trench Somme 1916"

Time Magazine has just earned my subscription

This week's Time Magazine cover is a photo portrait of Aisha, whose nose and ears were cut off by her husband as the Taliban stood over her. I'd post the photo here but I don't have time to get permission. The link will take you to it.

I will be subscribing to Time because of this photo, and the accompanying article.

Before Sept 11 2001, the terrible treatment of women in countries such as Afghanistan was a primary focus of activists and liberal media. Before 1996, Afghan women had made much social progress, but when the Taliban took over in 1997, they shoved all women behind the veil and into abject slavery again. This included educated women: doctors, lawyers, politicians were all suddenly at risk of brutal death without trial if they left their homes without huddling behind a male relative. Girls were killed for attending school, women died in childbirth because only men were allowed to be doctors - and women weren't allowed to be seen by any man, not even a physician. The brutalization Aisha suffered is commonplace, and thousands have experienced far worse.

When the United States went into Afghanistan after September 11th 2001, at some point our Congress capitulated and passed laws that prohibited our military from practicing Christianity in Afghanistan and other totalitarian countries. The South Korean Christians bravely continued to evangelize among the Afghan people until they were finally forced permanently out of the country.

Today in Afghanistan, despite the long presence of our troops and those of other nations, there's only one religion allowed, and it is not tolerant, and it is not Christian. Christians are at extreme risk, cannot celebrate Holy Days, cannot display the Cross - they must hide as they did during the persecution of the early centuries. Mercy and compassion are outlawed. There is no hope for the women of Afghanistan in such a place.

How far we have come as a nation since the Great War, when these letters were printed as the frontspiece of Bibles given to soldiers and sailors:

Col. [Theodore] Roosevelt's Message to the Troops through the New York Bible Society:

"The teachings of the New Testament are foreshadowed in Micah's verse (Micah 6:8): 'What more does the Lord require of thee than to do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.'

"Do Justice: and therefore fight valiantly against the armies of Germany and Turkey, for these nations in this crisis stand for the reign of Moloch and Beelzebub on this earth.

"Love Mercy: treat prisoners well, succor the wounded, treat every woman as if she was your sister, care for the little children, and be tender to the old and the helpless.

"Walk Humbly: you will do so as you study the life and teachings of the Saviour.

"May the God of justice and mercy have you in His keeping."

Theodore Roosevelt, June 5, 1917

and in the same bible, General [George] Pershing's Message through the New York Bible Society:

"To the American Soldier aroused against a nation raging war in violation of all Christian principles, our people are fighting in the cause of liberty. Hardships will be your lot, but trust in God will give you comfort. Temptation will befall you, but the teachings of our Savior will give you strength. Let your valor as a soldier and your conduct as a man be an inspiration to your comrades and an honor to your country."

Pershing, August 10, 1917


History may prove that the greatest foreign policy mistakes the US has ever made were in violating our founding principles by denying freedom of Christian practice and worship to members of our military during these 21st century wars.

It would be far more legitimate to follow the tenets of our faith, including the commandment to seek and save the lost. Since the Great Commission is out of fashion with Western policy makers, and in fact is a despised point of view to them, why would they be expected to comprehend rationally any other consideration of Christianity?

It may not be possible for one to comprehend Christian faith without the presence and assistance of the Holy Spirit.

It is certainly folly for governments to attempt to predict and account for the actions of God in the world. But it is hubris for governments to deny the stark differences in progress that follow different faiths. The truth exists, and cannot be denied forever.

Critics who selectively pick and choose items from among what they personally perceive as fruit or practices are even then failing - or is it refusing? - to engage the reality on its own legitimate terms.

Peter Hitchens, as profoundly Christian as his brother is Athiest, said it well in the UK's Daily Mail (here):

"Why is there such a fury against religion now? Because religion is the one reliable force that stands in the way of the power of the strong over the weak. The one reliable force that forms the foundation of the concept of the rule of law.

"The one reliable force that restrains the hand of the man of power. In an age of powerworship, the Christian religion has become the principal obstacle to the desire of earthly utopians for absolute power."

And there, in a nutshell, it is. Some wealthy denominations that still call themselves Christian despite having long ago ceased to believe or teach Jesus have also allied themselves with these secular enterprises to quash the faith that they cannot control.

Other world religions do not threaten these utopians, as they have no interest in restraining the power of the elite. It is only in Christianity and Judaism that class barriers are permanently removed.

Mr Stengel need not support these things I have said, and he has given a full account of why Time made the choice to present a certain Truth on its cover this week. Next week, they may revert to the hackneyed relativity that has taken over most of our previously admirable media.

But for now, this choice to come back, even momentarily, to reality is noteworthy, and praiseworthy.

God Bless Mr Stengel and the people at Time Magazine for pulling back the veil.


`

One More Request Of The Brave: Veterans, Please Run For Office

"...there is one higher office than president and I would call that patriot."
Gary Hart





Dear Young (and Older) Veterans,

When you come home, and have completed your military service and are a civilian again for good, please run for public office. Right away.

Because, gentlemen and ladies, we still need you. We need candidates for office who are tried and true neighbors of the ordinary American. We need representatives who put the welfare of the USA and its people before political expediency and personal gain.

From our first president, George Washington, to our local governors and mayors, America has always relied on her Brave to guide her safely through the calms as well as the storms.

We need people who will read bills themselves instead of taking the word of the lobbyists who wrote them. Who will debate bills honestly on the floor of Congress instead of rubber stamping the trade-off deals their aides made in the back rooms. Who will insist that voting on bills happen in Congress and not be polled in advance.

We need people who still have the capacity to notice and say out loud "That's not right!" when they get to Congress and discover the hidden suppuration and game playing and elitism and favoritism.

We need Americans who commit to equally and fairly serve all the citizens of all colors of our land. We need citizens who, no matter where they were born or what their ancestry, pledge allegiance to only one government and one country: the United States of America. We need citizens who are not swayed by the influence of wealth or investment, who do not make decisions based on "talking points".

We need you.

Throw your hat in the ring for State Representative, or for Congress. Run for school board, or county commission or city council. Your political party has local offices that need strong leadership and integrity in one local party will empower others and spread throughout the state.

Don't listen to anyone who says there are already too many people running or that the insiders have it locked up or that you don't have "experience". Don't pay any attention to those that claim only money will win the race: you know better, you've seen what sheer dedication to winning freedom can do. Pick an office that needs the powerful hand of integrity and just do it.

Be yourself. You don't have to make promises or exaggerate. Just meet people. Tell your story. Listen to their stories and concerns. Ask them questions. Ask their name and write it down - people will be glad you want to remember them.

Be cheap. Run a lean campaign. Buy boxes of business cards, give stacks of them to supporters and leave a few in every public place you can get away with. Buy locally. Wear a name tag constantly.

Be yourself. Follow the law and be ethical. Find and follow the regulations about how your military service can be used and pictured in your campaign.

Be yourself. Enlist the VFW and the American Legion and the DAV and the Gold Star Mothers and AmBucs and every other patriotic Veterans or business organization to campaign for you by talking about you throughout their day and leaving your business cards everywhere they go.

Fax press releases about every event you attend and every issue you comment on to every newspaper, weekly, shopper, radio station, school, college, bingo hall, and community center in not only your constituent counties but in all surrounding ones as well.

No matter what church you belong to, go visit a different congregation every Sunday and Sabbath. Wear your name tag. Be honest, and be yourself.

Put signs on your cars and drive friendly. Take the long route whereever you go.

Genially annoy the crap out of everyone you know who's eligible to support you and everyone they know until they all have linked to your facebook page in every email and put your signs in their yards and your bumper stickers on their cars and signed up for specific dates to go door to door with you, a member of your family or one of your veteran supporters.

You do not have to win. It is your candidacy that matters.

Seeing you stand up, and hearing what you have to say will start other people like you thinking and it will encourage them to take the first step. If you can do it, they will feel maybe they can too. And then you'll have won back American liberty in your town or your state no matter what happens in the election.

But do remember that running for office is kind of like hitting home runs: it usually takes a couple of strike outs before you knock it out of the park.

We need you.

Please, stand up - or roll up - as a candidate - now. As soon as you get out of the service and it's legal for you to do so without ethics issues. You can be in politics and still go to school, still start a family, still work toward your dream career (most politicians still have to either be millionaires or work for a living).

But if you wait until you've made your fortune you might get sidetracked.

Worse, there's a chance you'll get used to making little compromises in the wrong things. Little compromises that reward hesitation and erode self-trust.

Run for office while you are still be able to hear the confident voice of your soul that sent you into battle prepared to defend the Most Exceptional Country that has ever been or ever will be.

Run for office and make use of the strength of will that brought you out conditioned to captain your part of the Most Exceptional Country that ever was, and prepared to guarantee it always will be.

So don't hesitate. Be yourself. Bring your bravery to bear on the government of these United States, our towns and schools.

Bring your clear-eyed humility to face down the scandalmongers without being deterred or delayed in your objective.

Bring your respect for the traditions and memories earned by those who went ahead, and your commitment to preserve "these truths" for those who will follow after.

Bring your understanding that sometimes failure is essential because capitulation is far far worse. And that falling down is just a signal to get up again. And again. And again.

Bring your confidence in a bright future for all hard-working Americans.

Bring your capacity for decisive action, your willingness to accept risk for the greater good, your visceral comprehension of what real discipline and honor are and how they are lived.

You are another Greatest Generation, and America needs you still.

Start now while you know what it is all worth.

Bring your true self.

How awesome would that be? A government of Americans who are all tried and true, who stayed true.

All it takes to make that happen is you.

Lest We Forget

Recessional

God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine -
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law -
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word -
Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!

by Rudyard Kipling
June 22, 1897, written for the London Times newspaper, for the celebration of Queen Victoria's Jublilee, her 60th year of reign

Photo is a stained glass window in the Methodist Church here in town, featuring the dove carrying an olive branch in her beak.

God Bless Our Heros

We love you, all of you. May God forever bless your service and the sacrifices you and your families make for the cause of Liberty.


Pictured: our son and daughter in law: Marine DI Sgt Ethan Duncan Arguello and his lovely wife, Valerie, shortly after graduating a fine new class of Marines, Platoon 2038 , at Parris Island in June 2009. Midland Texas

Flea Marketeer Party! Recent Favorite Finds

The Flea Market Style Magazine Blog is hosting an "I'm a Flea Marketeer" party. I am posting a little early since I go to work at 6:30 am. Be sure to see the fun posts from other Friends of Flea Market Style over at their website after you finish reading here. Thanks to them for linking back here too, both on their Friends page and for this party!


Since Paul sells antiques (check out our Ruby Lane Shop linked from the sidebar - he lists new things each week), there's always a good excuse to shop. Selling is fun because there is always something even more wonderful around the corner. But it's even more fun to keep things for a while until (if ever) I am ready to part with them!

Recent keepers include this adorable old German Porcelain Pig milk pitcher, dressed like a Monk with his keys and his cowl. He probably dates from the turn of the last century, 1890s to 1910ish. Why yes, I do have a small collection of figural animal pitchers, and he is my new favorite.


Another collection that kind of crept up on me is World War I and WWII Homefront memorabilia, and other keepsakes from WWI. This candy tin features a portrait of King George V of England, and was made as a Christmas gift in 1914 from the Cadbury company to the wounded soldiers and sailors in hospital. Paul brought it home recently and I batted my eyes until he turned loose of it. Ok maybe that doesn't count as *my* find but it is my keeper! :-)



Our church had a rummage sale last week and I bought an antique "Taylor Storm-O-Guide" Barometer, dated 1927. I have been keeping my eyes open for one since I started getting interested in traditional weather prediction a couple of months ago.

What makes this particular one extra special is that it used to be in my house. The woman who donated it to the rummage sale used to live here and had it during that time (More about the history of our little house in a post later this week).


I bought this English cutting board at Ricochet Antiques, my favorite shop in town. The verse woodburned around the edge is called "The Lancashire Poacher". The little mouse in his hunting gear, with his shotgun and sack is also woodburned. Only three words to decribe it:
cute-cute-cute!


Do you have favorite finds you want to share? Come join the party! Post over at Flea Market Style, and do feel free to post your link on Pecan Corner here as well!