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Polly goes where no one else goes, and makes a point no one else makes: Jeffrey Epstein didn't just come from nowhere. He didn't inherit his money. Nor is he a self-made man. In other words, he's a post turtle. And this is an important point because, as we've been learning lately about so many of the powerful today, like Mark Zuckerberg, Jeff Bezos, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, and, yes, especially one Barack Hussein Obama, none of them is really the self-made success they'd have us believe. All but one: Donald John Trump. He's the real deal. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Finlandia This has been my favorite hymn since I first heard it sung in the priesthood session by the BYU Men's choir. Prior to that, I had no idea that we had a hymn based on Finlandia, which has been my favorite classical piece for decades. I'm always on the lookout for better versions to enjoy, and I wanted to share this one with you before the next item. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ God bless America! I'm sorry. I wanted to share this with you last week, but I didn't manage it. I'm struggling to write this even now. My vision is growing problematic enough. It gets worse when I hear things like this. I had to make a choice in 1987. I had wandered from the church, and even from the country for reasons too numerous and personal to detail here. But I found myself far from home, married to a German girl, with a daughter whose future mattered to me so much that I had nightmares about it. And, as all my choices, which had once seemed so brilliant, which once seemed to exalt me above those who'd so denigrated, and even rejected me, now started collapsing all around me, I had yet another choice to make: Would I continue to turn my nose up at my country, and even the church? Or would I repent, return to the church, and to my country? So much of my life was bound up in Germany, that I was torn, paralyzed. The economics alone were nearly insurmountable. I was still a young man, with no career to speak of, my recent diploma from die technische Fachhochschule Esslingen notwithstanding, and no matter how impressed teachers or employers were with me, so I had a pittance of an income. My mother's parents and their farm were long gone. My parents had divorced, and my younger brother was married and gone. There was literally nowhere that I could call home to go back to, even if I had the money to do so. And that, the money, in fact, became the trigger which started the cascade of events which ultimately forced my decision. Having given up on my job at Daimler, I felt adrift, so I wandered about, and ended up at the big military base, Robinson Barracks, in downtown Stuttgart. Something in me just needed to catch a glimpse of Americana, and Robinson Barracks had the equivalent of a typical American shopping mall. I wandered about until I saw a sports store, something like a Big 5 or Dick's, but smaller. I looked over their bicycles, which have been my favorite hobby since childhood. They were relatively up-market bikes, Cannondale, Colnago, and Bianchi, but the display models were so poorly assembled that I burst out laughing. The sales girl sneered, "Well, if you think you can do better, why don't you apply for the job?" I did. And I had a job offer waiting for me at home before I'd even finished touring the mall. And the year or so that I worked there won me many accolades, some even official. But, no king-of-the-hill can avoid the inevitable attacks. That movie, The Shootist, is no joke. It's real. You become a target when you excel. But, it wasn't just an American job on an American base. I started going to church, too. And I had a bishop who very well understood my more military bearing and perspective, and even agreed with it. I was taking my daughter with me every week. I had home teachers. I home-taught. I was called to be the Elders' quorum teacher. I even sang in the choir. Next thing you know, I was invited to sing at the dedication of the Frankfurt temple. And there, I met, and stood between presidents Hinkley and Monson as we sang that old, familiar song. I thought this could last. But it didn't. My wife still wanted to live a worldly lifestyle, and my lifestyle was now becoming as uncomfortable for her as it had been for my 'peers' in the military. Rejected, unwanted everywhere, and by everyone, the church itself was my only refuge. And my bishop reminded me of the inexorable bond between the church and the United States of America. I began to research Joseph Smith's comments on the nation. He had troubles with it, too, but he saw past all the bad actors to the real United States of America. And he loved what he saw. Joseph Smith praised the Constitution. In the end, as I've said before, Joseph Smith died, not only for the church, but for the nation, too, having as much as sealed his fate by running for the Presidency as an abolitionist. It's not true that the spirit only ever whispers, and it wasn't wispering to me then: It roared. I had been given a gift all the rest of humanity in time and space longed for, even as they pretended not to. But I had thrown it away because mere people were determined to deny me my birthright. It was time to go home, even if the only home there was the entire country itself. I left Germany behind, never to return, and chose America instead. And my heart still swells with a mixture of pride and pain, pain for all the suffering and sin, for all the misunderstanding and slander, for all the lies and lack of appreciation, whenever I hear her anthem, or see her flag. I weep for the America I once knew, even though I know that even that is not the America my parents and grandparents knew. I know, and grieve, for all that has gone wrong, but it has only gone wrong because we've literally been under attack since before its beginning by forces who want to deny us our birthright. It's not a fault with America that it is so corrupt, but rather its perfection that ensures that enough of it still remains to be saved. I returned to fight back. Not just for the country, but for the church it birthed and nurtured. That's why I write here. That's why I fly our flag every day. God bless America! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |