Friday Tidings

Ben Carson is trying to bridge the great divide in our nation. He’s taking his medical mindset and using it to bring healing and restoration to our broken country. He’s smart, articulate, and isn’t part of the permanent political class entrenched in self-interest. Carson’s new book, One Nation , seeks to reunify us. “I want people to realize we are not each other’s enemy.” He stresses the importance of remembering the Judeo Christian values that “led us to the pinnacle position in the world faster than any nation in history.”   He readily admits that we’re not all going to agree on abortion or gay marriage, but the dialogue  doesn’t have to be mean spirited. Indeed, unless we solve the critical fiscal problems, the cultural issues won’t matter. Carson also says Americans need to be educated—spend a half-hour each day dedicated to learning something new. If we are armed with knowledge we can talk about issues intelligently. Sadly, many Americans ...

How can you go on when you’re told your son was killed on the frontline in Afghanistan? What can you do with your broken heart? What happens when all you see are the shattered dreams of what no longer can be?  No mother wants to answer these questions, yet Betsy Schultz answered each one. And because Betsy responded in a powerful way, hurting families across our nation will be helped. Captain Joseph Schultz died on Memorial Day Weekend 2011.  Ruggedly handsome with an engaging  smile and an even bigger heart, whenever he was home, he loved rolling up his sleeves and helping his mom at her bed and breakfast lodge. Captain Schultz was fully committed to serve his nation. Leading from the front was his motto. Sadly, his life ended much too soon. For his mother, alone and suffering heart-wrenching grief, she just wished it could have been her life and not his. Shattered, but not defeated, Betsy recognized how other families of ...

The two shabbily dressed hitchhikers were smiling brightly alongside the rural highway. I was heading east and they were thumbing west. Before making my turn, I had just enough time to notice their youthful exuberance. The longhaired girl stood next to her thickly bearded guy. Their thumbs were boldly extended, waiting for someone generous enough to give them and their two heavily laden backpacks a ride. As I headed in the opposite direction I thought about the hitchhiking couple. It must have been humbling to make brief eye contact with drivers as they sped past leaving them on the side of the road. Dressed the way they were, I imagined it would take awhile to get a lift. It reminded me of my college days. As a young freshman I arrived on campus with my clean-cut wardrobe and worldly innocence. I stood out like a freak of nature on a campus that featured full-blown hippies. No one dressed like me. No one seemed to care either.   But to my high-minded standards, they loo...

Mom loved reading and each evening she’d nestle in her cozy chair with a thick book. A large stack awaited her on a nearby table. I’d often curl up with her and she’d read story after story—my head on her chest, listening as her voice changed for each character in the tale.  She’d sometimes choose books that would challenge me, showing me a world that I hadn’t yet seen—stories that didn’t always have happy endings. Mom was the first person to tell me that life wasn’t fair. I remember storming off in a huff, thinking she just didn’t understand. Unfairness seemed so wrong. In my seven-year-old mind, someone older should just make things fair. She said that while life isn’t always fair, we could find ways to help deal with the unfairness. Books always seemed to give Mom the answers to her questions. We had books in every room. Whenever I questioned something, I already knew Mom expected me to go look for the answer first—in a book. This was long before computers, the ...

She asked me not to tell. Once she shared her secret I felt ashamed and would have been mortified to actually tell someone else what was happening. I was probably eight years old and back then, no one talked about the things that happened behind closed doors. When she moved away, I never saw her again. But I've never forgotten her secret. Fast-forward to a school hallway during the hustle between classes. “Do you have a minute to talk?” I looked down into dark eyes that seemed to plead with me. She’d been one of the students who had just listened to me talk in her health class. As soon as no one was close by, she said, “Please don’t tell anyone.” Those same words. Again. Only a different girl, in a different time and place. She might not want to tell, but she’d never get free unless someone came to her rescue. Most schools have “safe places” for kids to share the dark secrets that tend to perpetuate themselves. Without intervention, 30% of ab...