Let Them Be Children (A mother's plea)

I want to share a precautionary tale to parents. We live in a competitive world. We all want our kids to be the best that they can be, but many of us tend to gauge that according to their talents as compared the children around them. It is this innate competitiveness that drives parents to put their very young children in academic preschools, push concepts beyond their learning capacity, and accidentally show their own disappointment if their children are not as advanced as the neighbors.

I am guilty of this more than most. As a young mother, I put my three year old son into preschool. I wanted to give him a competitive edge. You see, to my young mind, more school had to be better. I didn’t want him to start out life behind. My oldest son was everything I could have hoped for. He started reading at the age of four. He was doing geometry in first grade. He won every trophy his school awarded and I certainly took all of this as proof that I was a great mom. 

I started my second son on the same path. And he was equally brilliant. He was tested and placed in GT classes in first grade. He got to attend with his big brother. They are only 13 months apart in age, so I pushed him hard so he wouldn’t have to feel inferior to his excellent older sibling. It wasn’t until we moved to a new state that I started to question my own parental brilliance. In Idaho the standards for GT are different. When we were in Texas, both my sons were given a battery of tests and evaluated by a panel of educators before being allowed into the program. In Idaho, they are given a single IQ test. If they score in the 98^th percentile, they are put into GT. My oldest qualified. My second received a letter stating he was “only in the 95^th percentile.” 

My perspectives began to change that day. You see, I knew that both boys were equally talented, if in different ways. And I suddenly began to wonder if I had been judging them as absolutely as that IQ test. I assumed early schooling was better. I assumed I should get them reading before kindergarten. I assumed that both boys needed the same things. 

When it was my daughter’s turn, I decided to do a little research. What I found shocked me. Long term studies on the benefits of preschool found none. The countries that have the latest age for mandatory education also have the highest literacy rates. Children who are pushed to read early are less likely to read for fun. Changing from the overly competitive mother to the one that looked at her children’s individual needs is definitely a process. But I tried. My daughter, however, chose her own levels and she was reading before kindergarten. In first grade, she was tested and placed in the GT program. She had much less intervention from me, but chose her own talents. 

Then came my sweet Quentin. My fourth child was just as quick as the others in his growing up years. He proved himself bright and capable. I was impressed by his early grasp of rhyming and his cleverness with speech. But he didn’t really understand reading before kindergarten. I taught him what I could, but the concepts proved elusive for my third son. My paranoid inner parent took over and I jumped right back into my habit of researching everything to death. I made myself remember that pushing too hard too young is a bad thing. I knew he’d be okay not starting kindergarten ahead.

At back to school night, the teachers told us that they would actually be teaching the kindergarteners a “first grade curriculum.” This set off a few alarm bells with me. Although I once would have embraced the idea of further advancement for young children, my recent research had proven in my mind that such pushing could be dangerous. I had even started to read some research that indicated it was best to wait until first grade to actually read and that kindergarten should just establish the framework, such as letter sounds and names.  Still, Quentin was bright and I was confident he could handle the work. 

Halfway through the year the teachers implemented a “reading at home” program. They sent home two books a night and the child would need to read the books until he/she could do it fluently. After achieving fluency, the child could write the book into a log. There was going to be a party (the “lunch bunch”) and every child who had reached 60 books would be invited. 

Right away I noticed problems. Quentin didn’t want to read the books. I encouraged him to and we did the two books every night, but he became increasingly sullen. Even when we weren’t doing homework, he would make comments like, “I hate sounding things out,” and “Reading is SO boring.” It was a lot of work getting through those two books a night. Since he had to read them to fluency, he would often have to go through them 3-4 times. This was on top of a very lengthy list of sight-word flash cards that the teachers had asked us to read daily. So, when, after a few weeks, the teacher sent out a clarification that the children could record the books twice if they came back and read them at another time in the evening, I concluded that Quentin did not need to do that. Once was enough.

I became scared that Quentin was really developing a hatred for reading and I went back to the internet to find a solution. I made a deal with him that if he read me a book, I would read him one from our home library. This was less successful than I’d hoped. After getting through the books he was assigned, he really didn’t feel like being read to. But, we did our best.

I was surprised, then, when Wednesday of last week rolled around and Quentin looked at his list of fifty books he’d read and mumbled, “The lunch bunch is on Friday. I’m NEVER going to make it.” I actually didn’t put much thought into the statement. Quentin must be mistaken. They wouldn’t have the reward party when they hadn’t even sent home 60 books yet. But I should have paid attention to the dates on the letters the teachers had written, because I was the one that was wrong. 

When I went to pick up my son from school, I found him in the hall awaiting pick up with two other children. The rest of the kids were in the classroom, staying late for their reading party. The teacher assured Quentin that he would be able to come to the back up party that would be held later for the kids who had not already met the requirements. But that really wasn't much comfort to my little six year old. As we were left the school, he started to cry. Among other things, he said, “I guess I’m just a dumb kid” and “I bet all the other kids in my class will have a great time at lunch bunch without me.”

The truth of the dangers of pushing these tiny children too hard came crashing home. I know that teachers are under tremendous pressure to show certain levels of progress in their students. I know that they are being judged, often unfairly, by arbitrary bench marks placed by government agencies. I think that these kindergarten teachers, who I have loved and Quentin has adored, were falling prey to the same sickness that I suffered from as a very young mother. This is not a failing of the teacher, who has been nothing but loving and encouraging to my son. I don't think it's even really my failing, although I should have been more attentive to the requirements instead of assuming what we were doing was good enough. This is a failing of our culture and our political process.

You see, I don't see this as an incident, but as an example. How many of our most valuable and impressionable are feeling dumb just because they are progressing at a different level than another child? How many kids can sense their parents disappointment in their inability to keep up with ever accelerating requirements, even when they do their best? How often does a child say inside his head, that there is no point in trying because they are not good enough? How often could all these things be avoided by just giving a child a little more time to grow?

This is truly the danger in our current educational system. This is the real danger of the language used by a president who is mercilessly pushing for younger and younger kids to be put into school. Pushing these children to be doing more than they are ready for is setting them up for failure of the worst kind. It is preparing them to give up before they are even ready to start. 

I am not someone who thinks that kids should be sheltered from all disappointment. I do not have a problem with awarding trophies to some children and not to others. Indeed, I think it is vital that children learn to experience and deal with disappointments in life. I am the mother who lets my children fall down and knows that they will be stronger for it in the end. But this is not a soccer game. This is something that every child needs to be successful at. The current state of our education system and the current mindset of our culture are absolutely failing our children. 

I wish I could take my 23-year-old self by the shoulders and explain to her how wrong her mindset is. I wish I could stand before congress and tell them what they are doing to our impressionable young children. But I can’t. So, I will just write this here for any other young mom who might be walking my path. Be very careful. Your children need to be children.

My Great, Wasted Talent.

We all have them. As young people, we cultivate them. With dreams of notoriety, we hear the “Parable of the Talents” and feel certain we are meant for great things. As we grow, they are the stuff of broken hearts. Even when we’re perfectly happy with our lives, there’s that lingering regret that we have left them behind. We were once so certain they were our purpose, our destiny. 

 

Perhaps you are a musician. Maybe your instrument is hidden away, protected against its need in the future, but largely forgotten in the present. Perhaps you are an academic who still gets excited when you see bits of calculus in the real world, even though you never use it for your work or family. There are athletes out there too, a championship trophy gathering dust in a basement somewhere. They sign up for marathons to remember the thrill they get from competition. But they always find that the time for training isn’t as readily available as they had imagined. For my sisters, it is dance. They teach when they can, but mostly they just feel the occasional sense of loss sandwiched in between thoughts of their to-do lists and actually carrying out the daily tasks. For me, it is writing. 

I love to write and I’ve spent the years since all notoriety vanished nursing unspoken hopes. At first there was college. I was able to use my talent and get credit for it there. It lacked the trophies and praise I was used to, though, and so it was harder. After graduation, things got even worse. As I supported my husband through graduate school, I got my fix by writing his papers, keeping journals and helping friends and family with their work. I wrote beautifully-worded letters to the youth when I worked with them at church. I took delight in writing talks for anyone who would let me. When we moved away from family, and I was home with young children all day, I wrote a book. I just knew I’d find a publisher and fiction writing would replace the sense of loss I felt as I saw my talent slipping away from me. 

My guilty little secret, the one that I didn’t share with anyone, was that I did try. I sent the manuscript to publishers and agents alike only to receive form rejection letters. They wouldn’t even read it. It tore my heart out. I didn’t want to let go. I wrote a sequel to my unpublished book. I started on a third. My inspiration came from the occasional compliments I received. I would get weeks worth of encouragement from a family member telling me they enjoyed what I’d written. I kept a blog. A single comment would keep me writing, wishing for more. 

It took time for that to change. I received my last rejection letter on the day I discovered I was pregnant with my fourth child. I didn’t have time for it anymore. I didn’t want the discouragement to interfere with being the mother my children needed. 

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t give up. I self-published the book with help from a friend whose great talent is art. I wrote personal statements for my husband and his friends as they applied to residency. I cherished comments they shared with me from their interviewers if they touched at all on my writing. But four children turned into five, six, and, finally, seven. 

I don’t blog much anymore. My third book remains unfinished and my second, unpublished. I do occasionally have a neighbor or friend say something about my writing and my heart still leaps as it used to, but even the regret is not what it once was. 

This past week I sent an email to a new friend. A relic from another season of life, my emails still bear the URL to this forgotten blog in the signature line. She came over a few days later to tell me how much she enjoyed my writing. It stirred up familiar feelings and made me reflect on how each of us has a “great, wasted talent.”

This past weekend, my babies were sick. I spent an inordinate amount of time holding them, rocking them, singing to them. I’m not a naturally patient person. I hate being idle and I’m a lousy singer. But, as I found myself enjoying the things for which I have no talent, I started to wonder how much of me is really wasted. 

The hands that could be typing were, instead, rubbing a tiny back and smoothing down crazy cotton hair that had been rubbed against a pillow until it stood straight up. The mind that used to dream up new concepts to write was, instead, taking mental pictures of the children I love so desperately, grasping hold of a moment that will never come again. The heart that used to yearn to be heard by strangers, now felt completely content in my own home. 

And what of my talent? Is it truly wasted? Of course not. When the Master in Christ’s tale returned to see how the talents he had given were invested, he did not go to his neighbors to ask about whether his servants had made an increase. He went to the servants themselves. That is because our own abilities are not measured by how much attention they gain. I realized I was never really looking to improve myself, but to gain notoriety. It wasn’t the writing itself that I was seeking, but the praise that came with it.

As I write this, my sweet little ones are sleeping off the sickness that I had the privilege of tending. I am writing, because that is something I love to do. But even though I’ll never be as good at it as I want to be, I love being a mother more. This blog probably won’t see another post in the next year, but I no longer see that as a loss. I’m cultivating other talents now. 

I think the young me would see this as a sad tale. But that’s only because she truly did not understand, as she was making her big plans, the joy that would come from just being a mom. Heavenly Father led me down this path because he knew much better than me what it would take to make me happy and that was his plan all along. I should have known. Parenthood is, after all, what he chose as his great work.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

I am going to ask you to ponder how you would answer the question, “Who are you?” while I tell you a little bit about who I am.

In 1979 my mom was expecting her forth child who she hoped to call “Celeste.” My dad favored, “Amy.” It wasn’t until mom did some research on the two names that she relented. She found that Amy was a Latin name that meant Beloved. She knew that my dad’s name, David, also meant Beloved. And so I was named Amy, after my dad.

My dad changed jobs a lot when I was young because of the nature of auto-mechanics. He often had to work two jobs or my mom had to take on odd jobs to take care of their six kids. There came a point, though, where my parents were sure their prayers for a good job had been answered and my dad started a business selling large equipment to auto-shops throughout Utah. He had to travel a lot and he slept in his little car, but things went well for a while. Within the course of a single year, though, my dad was in the hospital four times. He shattered his wrist installing a hoist and had to have pins put into his arm and later taken out. That same year he had emergency gall bladder surgery and an appendectomy. It was during those months that his largest client declared bankruptcy and he knew he would loose his business because of the money this client owed him. Still, my dad refused to declare bankruptcy himself, insisting that if it took his whole life he would pay off his debts. Somewhere during that year my dad taught me an important lesson. Our car had broken down and we went to a parts store to buy what he needed to fix it. As my dad and I walked out of the store, he examined his receipt closely and declared we had to return. I grudgingly followed him, not finding auto parts to be all that interesting. At the counter he handed the salesman his receipt and said, “This is for my personal car, I need to pay the taxes.”

I never said anything to my dad about that experience, but I have thought about it often since. How many people would have just walked away? How many would have reasoned that they certainly pay enough taxes or that it was a small amount and not a big deal? He certainly wasn’t likely to be called to account for it. Even as a young girl this experience made me profoundly grateful to be named after my dad, a man of amazing integrity. My parents struggled a lot when I was young, but I was never very aware of it. I think that’s the ultimate example of gratitude. My mom and dad were so engaged in service and love that they didn’t have time to complain.

President Benson explained that, “Today we are aware of great problems in our society. The most obvious are sexual promiscuity, homosexuality, drug abuse, alcoholism, vandalism, pornography, and violence. These grave problems are symptoms of failure in the home—the disregarding of principles and practices established by God in the very beginning.” I confess that I didn’t know much of these problems growing up and the credit for that belongs to my parents and the example they set. When we think about who we are, we ought to be profoundly grateful for parents who taught us the gospel and, if they did not, they certainly deserve credit for in some way instilling in us the values that brought us here today. Parents, teachers, church leaders, and friends all deserve gratitude when we consider who we are.

My middle name is Jensen. I have always been glad my parents didn’t give me a real middle name because I didn’t want to give up my family name when I married. To me it represents all my ancestors. Naturally, I cannot carry with me the names of all the ancestors who influenced who I am, but I want to tell you about one of them. Baint Johnson was a farmer in Sweden when the missionaries came to his home. He accepted the gospel and his family was baptized. It turns out that the Swedes weren’t much more accepting of the church then the people of Illinois at that time, because his neighbors organized a mob and came to his house where he was alone with his seven-year-old son. He pushed his boy under the bed and instructed him to stay there until it was safe. The mob forced their way in and beat Baint so severely that his son would later tell people he was baptized in his father’s blood. As soon as Baint was well enough to travel he and his family took what they could carry and walked to Stockholm. There were other saints there and he thought to settle but word came from the mission presidency that he was to move again to Denmark. He moved his family again and prepared to start a life in Denmark, but was told he was supposed to take his family to America. He packed again.

On an over-crowded, rickety old boat he headed for the east coast, but was soon put way off course by a huge storm. Instead of landing where they expected, the little boat went around Florida and forced all the passengers off in New Orleans. He worked there for a time to earn money to take his family to St. Louis and from there, to Nauvoo. Once again he was told he could not stay and he began the long journey across the plains to Salt Lake City. Brigham Young then sent him to Provo where he again began to farm. This trip took over seven years. It was the beginning of the gospel in that line of my family. When we ask who we are we need to remember those that sacrificed to bring us the true gospel of Christ. Remember your ancestors, and be grateful for them. If you are a first generation member, be grateful for missionaries and friends who helped you get to where you are. Be grateful for loving mothers that sent their children to answer the call of a living prophet. To the youth and primary children, take advantage of living grandparents. I remembered that story from speaking with my grandpa when I was very young. When I called him to ask him to refresh the details for me, I discovered my own mom didn’t know it.

Sometime before the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ a young boy was orphaned and went to live with his uncle, Thomas Hancock. The boy later grew to become the first signer of the Declaration of independence. While none of John Hancock’s children lived to maturity, his cousins passed the Hancock name down a few generations to prominent members of the church who lived in Nauvoo who carried it across the plains and eventually passed it down to Nathan Hancock who, six years ago, asked me to share it. While Governor of Massachusetts, John Hancock declared a state holiday which he called, “A day of public Thanksgiving.” I want to share with you a bit of the article Gov. Hancock wrote as his declaration. He asked that on this holiday the people should,

“devoutly and sincerely offer to Almighty GOD, the gratitude of our Hearts, for all his goodness towards us; more especially in that He has been pleased to continue to us so a great a measure of Health—to cause the Earth plentifully to yield her increase, so that we are supplied with the Necessaries, and the Comforts of Life—to prosper our Merchandise and Fishery—And above all, not only to continue to us the enjoyment of our civil Rights and Liberties; but the great and most important Blessing, the Gospel of Jesus Christ”

This, like the other’s I have discussed, is a legacy we all share. Not only was our country founded by men who were blessed with a profound understanding and gratitude for Jesus Christ, it was created by the Hand of God to be the place he would restore his gospel. Elder L. Tom Perry explained, “Among other things, the Constitution guarantees the religious freedom that allowed the Reformation to continue and flourish. The great religious reformers began to throw off the rituals and dogmas that had been attached to Christianity during the dark ages and sought to return to the pure and simple truths of the New Testament. “

Joseph Smith said, “The Constitution of the United States is a glorious standard; it is founded in the wisdom of God. It is a heavenly banner.”

Brigham Young said, “[The Constitution] was dictated by the invisible operations of the Almighty.”

Spencer W. Kimball added, “One of the reasons America is great today is because those men who formulated the Constitution had vision. They looked ahead to today, and all of us here are recipients of their wisdom and foresight.”

How grateful we must all be to be partakers of the blessings lavished upon those Heavenly Father brought to this promised land. I am grateful for freedom and for those that made the United States a part of who I am and those who continue to fight for it today.

My final name is one that I chose to take upon myself, but also one that came to me as the result of the divinity of all Children of God. At the age of 8, I was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ and on that day I covenanted to take upon me the name of my Savior. When we are considering the inconceivable blessing of being chosen to bear the name of Jesus Christ, we ought to be humbled by so great a trust and responsibility. And, in turn, we need to ask ourselves how we can live up to that name, the same way we should always be striving to live worthy of the other sacrifices people have made so we could be all that we were born to be. I think even as adults we sometimes tend to become casual in our behavior, our language and actions may be more to receive a desired reaction from the people around us then a reflection of what we believe. But even when we are less then diligent in reflecting our Savior, we still bear his name. When we stand before him someday, may we be proud of the way we represented him.

President Hinckley further explained this principle when he said, “As His followers, we cannot do a mean or shoddy or ungracious thing without tarnishing His image. Nor can we do a good and gracious and generous act without burnishing more brightly the symbol of Him whose name we have taken upon ourselves. And so our lives must become a meaningful expression, the symbol of our declaration of our testimony of the Living Christ, the Eternal Son of the Living God.”

While we are counting our blessings this year, may we also list those things that make us who we are. Ignoring all that I’ve said today, I could stop after listing Nathan’s wife and already be in great debt to my Heavenly Father. Adding the mother of Ryan and Sean kind of makes me the proverbial poster child for the unprofitable servant. But then I am also a daughter, Member of Christ’s Church and, of course of the Gurnee first ward, an American, a Child of God and the list could continue forever. I became who I am not because of anything special about me, but because of the amazing sacrifices of thousands of people who prepared the way, most long before I was born. And I will be forever grateful for that. And I pray the Lord will help me live up to it.

Unconditional Love

Essays on Love: Volume I

OR

I Love you Because…

OR

Unconditional Love: For Jesus, Babies  & Fools

“The only way love can last a lifetime is if it's unconditional. The truth is this: love is not determined by the one being loved but rather by the one choosing to love.”
― Stephen Kendrick

Really? So there is absolutely no one among God’s children WORTHY of love? Blech. Let’s try again…

“They say you have to earn the right to be loved; no, love is unconditional, if you love someone, they don't have to earn it.”

― C. JoyBell C.

Hmmmmmm.  Now we are not capable of loving anyone worthy of love, but only those without redeeming value? Or perhaps love for whom a person chooses to be isn’t real love? That can’t be right. Shall we give it one more chance?

“Self-righteousness is much like a spiritual egocentricity. It constitutes a secular type of love that thrives under conditionality, one in which is only existent after an individual meets the adopted standards of the condemner; oppositely, unconditional love is a holy love.”
― Criss Jami, Salomé

Oh this one is my favorite! Loving someone because they have earned your love is evil. Unconditional love is pure. I see.  

Don’t get me wrong here. I absolutely believe in unconditional love. I believe it exists and it is necessary. I believe it is a beautiful thing. When you can look at another human being, covered in the filth of their own mistakes, reeking of cruelty and contempt, swimming in the bottomless pool of self-pity and think, “This is a child of God and I love him,” that’s truly amazing. If you can serve that individual and try to lift him above his circumstances, you have touched the charity born of Christ’s immoral sacrifice. That is something remarkable, beautiful and unquestionably laudable. 

If you can look at the mess the current regime has made of this country and still see the perpetrators as people you can love with a heart full of charity, you probably ought to be translated. 

Remember that Christ himself said, “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” and then defined neighbor as everyone. But consider what that means, exactly. We should love ourselves regardless of our faults. We should love ourselves because of that deep and abiding connection with deity, that whispering in our very souls that tells us of our individual divine worth. And I suppose that is also the way we should love our neighbor. 

But I’m tired of the constant barrage of messages about how my love for my husband ought to be the pure, selfless, unconditional love I’ve been describing. THAT is how I try to love those around me. THAT is how I love my children. THAT is how I love my brothers and sisters. 

It is not how I love Nathan.

Nate is not perfect and, yes, I overlook his faults. But that overlooking is a sort of cost/benefit analysis, not “loving despite.” The faults are so much less than the benefits as to make them negligible. 

My wonderful Nathan, I love you for your intelligence and wit, your sense of humor, and your snarky political comments. I love you for the way you let the kitties sit on your shoulder and call the dogs “pupper pups.” I love you because you play games with our children and melt when you see the baby. I love you because you research various topics that have no potential for making you money. I love that learning is fun for you. I love you because you get frustrated with your job, but keep going anyway. I love your work ethic and sense of integrity. I love that you tip well and donate money to causes we believe in. I love your perspectives on current events, your random knowledge of history and the fact that you like to buy lunch for your coworkers. These are not the same reasons I fell in love with you in the first place. Those reasons have been expanded, added to and replaced. My love is not unselfish. You make me happy. I love that you love me. And I certainly hope that you don’t love me unconditionally. I hope your love is selfish and only there because I make you truly happy. I hope that I am worthy of your love. 

Pure love might be unconditional.
True love is earned.

Choice and Accountability

The problem with combining freedom and social engineering is simple. Social engineering seeks to remove the consequences of one's actions. Once the natural consequence is removed, the incentive to do what's right is destroyed. In order to fix the problem, the choices must then be controlled in order to create correct outcomes. So one must either forfeit freedom or learn to live with the consequences of one's actions. To do otherwise destroys natural law, natural rights and God's natural system of choice and accountability. If you choose your actions, you must also be choosing your consequence.

Our culture has attempted to change consequences without forcing correct choices. The result has been the complete destruction of morality.

Coming Apart By: Charles Murray

Rights vs. Responsibilites: Healthcare and the Corruption of Morality.

Growing up, my dad was a mechanic. He supported his six kids on a very small income. But whether we were rich in dollars made little difference, because my dad instilled in his children a wealth of character. It used to drive my mom nuts, but Dad was absolutely unable to see someone by the side of the road with car trouble and not stop to help. It didn't matter where he was going or what the consequences were to him; he always stopped. If I asked the general population whether these unfortunate travelers had the “right” to my dad's services, I think the consensus would be that they did not. But that did not matter to Dad because he felt he had the “responsibility” to help these strangers.

Fast-forward to yesterday. My life has changed a little bit. I'm married to an incredible man who also happens to be an emergency room physician. We have six kids, just as my parents did, but a somewhat larger income. That income is only recent, however. It came to us after twelve years of marriage in which we survived on virtually nothing and at the cost of a third of a million dollars in student loans, which we will be paying for the next thirty years. Like my dad, my incredible husband wants to help people with the skills he has so painstakingly, and expensively, acquired.

Yesterday, my husband handed me an article about how ridiculous it was that doctors make a lot of money. After the article was a spirited debate on whether healthcare was or was not an inherent human right. Those who said it was not, argued that no man has the right to the skills of another and that everyone should be able to use those things with which they have been blessed to benefit themselves and their families. Those saying it was a right gave sob-stories about people dying because they were not given their “rights.” They clearly thought they had the moral high ground.

What neither side seemed to understand was the difference between a right and a responsibility. And certainly those who argued that the sick have the right to the services of a physician seemed to misunderstand. It is they who degrade the morality of our society. Indeed, one of them argued that we should all picture a man dying of a heart attack outside of an emergency room because he could not be treated without insurance. Of course, this doesn't happen. I have, however, read about physicians and hospitals donating healthcare, individuals sending money to charities that support the research and treatment of various diseases, doctors traveling to undeserved areas to work for free, children being sent on dream vacations after and during cancer treatment, and many, many more examples of the goodness of the people of this country. These people do not give service because of another's rights, but because of their responsibility. And this responsibility does not come from the power of government, but from the Christian values with which this country abounds.

Unfortunately, these responsibilities become harder to swallow when those we would serve, demand our charity as a “right.” Let me share with you two true examples, which are only a tiny fraction of those I had to choose from. First, a man came into the emergency room with what he claimed was a broken toe. The physician said, “I can do one of two things here. I can x-ray the toe, tape it to the other one and give you something for the pain. Or I can not x-ray the toe, tape it to the other one and give you something for the pain. The prognosis will be the same either way, but the second option will save you a bunch of money.”

The response? “Doctor, I'm on medicaid. Do the x-ray.” The toe was not broken, but this man did exercise his right to spend money he had not earned.

The other example involves a young, able-bodied couple who came into the emergency room with upper respiratory infections. They, also, were on medicaid and told the doctor that they wanted to be admitted to the hospital. He examined them and determined that they were suffering from a common viral illness that required no treatment and would clear up in a couple days. Exercising their “rights” they insisted that they wanted to be admitted to the hospital for recovery. The doctor explained that there are certain conditions required for admission and that they would have to be discharged from the emergency room. The couple eventually stormed out, asking the front desk for the phone number to hospital administration and exclaiming that they were going to “get that doctor fired.” Such is the attitude of those who have been told healthcare is their unequivocal right.

You see, when healthcare becomes a right, rather than a responsibility, the perception of being entitled to another's work and services becomes the norm. The morality of giving is destroyed and hostility begins. I know a lot of healthcare professionals, being married to one. I can say that most of them feel the desire, even the need, to serve. They cannot see other people suffering without wanting to make them feel better. It is love and empathy that made them want to become doctors and nurses in the first place. They know that they have a responsibility to those who they consider to be their brothers and sisters. They know that they have been endowed by God with their abilities and that such an endowment is a stewardship.

It's ironic that the people who claim healthcare is a right think that they hold the higher ground. Indeed, these are they that honestly believe that the human race is full of evil, selfish people (themselves excepted, of course). They, therefore, think they receive some sort of moral bonus points by giving freely of what others have. All they really do is decay the moral infrastructure of our society by taking away the responsibility of healthcare providers who give out of love and transferring that as a right to those who feel entitled and demand service of others. They make charity work worthless and nothing more than what is required. Indeed, they destroy the concept of love and responsibility between God's children. I can't help but wonder, where is the morality in that?

Let's stop demonizing doctors and assuming that our desire to help others is unique. Instead of considering whether someone has the right to anything, let's start asking ourselves to examine our own responsibility to serve. It's only by changing the focus from rights to responsibilities that we can help those in need without creating an entitlement attitude devoid of the Christian morals on which our country is based.

The Words of People Much Smarter Than Me: Taxes

Tax reduction thus sets off a process that can bring gains for everyone, gains won by marshalling resources that would otherwise stand idle—workers without jobs and farm and factory capacity without markets. Yet many taxpayers seemed prepared to deny the nation the fruits of tax reduction because they question the financial soundness of reducing taxes when the federal budget is already in deficit. Let me make clear why, in today's economy, fiscal prudence and responsibility call for tax reduction even if it temporarily enlarged the federal deficit—why reducing taxes is the best way open to us to increase revenues.

—President John F. Kennedy

Miracles

I know, I've completely abandoned this blog. I've had a really rough summer since the morning sickness set it. We've also had collapsed ceilings, broken coolers, kids starting school, broken computers, and I've been really, really tired. I won't promise that posting here or on my other blogs will resume, but I couldn't miss today.

This past year has been discouraging for all Americans. We've watched a lot of political unrest. Even in you agree with the destruction of the principles of this country's founding, it's impossible not to see the rift between different thinking Americans is growing. We truly are becoming less united.

That's why I have decided to talk about something completely different of this anniversary of 9/11. The political landscape is a mess, but the people of this great country are strong. I saw this video a couple days ago and was definitely moved by it. My message to you today is simple: Sometimes free agency gives us immense pain. Because people have been given this great gift by our creator, it is often used to hurt others. But, despite his insistence on letting us remain free, the hand of God is still evident in our lives if we choose to look for it. I BELIEVE IN MIRACLES.

Happy Memorial Day

I am sorry this post is late. I did sit down with my children on Monday and discuss the reason we celebrate Memorial Day. They understand that we should honor the men and women and their families who have sacrificed everything for this amazing country. I wanted to share with you the message that those heroes live on.

Happy Memorial Day