During
lunch I asked the trophy wife to join me for a
mid-afternoon jaunt to Billings. We would hit the
landfill first, pick up a couple wine barrels at
Yellowstone Winery second and then check out
concrete stains at Macon Construction Supply. “I’ll
go with you,” she agreed. “I’m not doing anything
else and I need to get out of the house.”
Like all veterinary clinics, my afternoon schedule
did not run as smooth as I planned, so it was nearly
3:30 when I picked up Druann. I had barely stopped
when she burst out the door and shuffled towards the
pickup. She was wearing a blue and white frilly sun
dress with white, high-heel, flip-flops. It was a
perfect opportunity to compliment her shoes, but the
white straps of her dress and the silver of her hair
contrasting against her tan skin left me speechless.
She was stunning. After 42 years, every time I see
her it is as if I am seeing her for the first time.
“Wow,” I finally spit out. “You clean up real nice.”
“I don’t get out much,” she shot back as she jumped
into the cab and slammed the door. I whipped the
pickup around and we headed for the dump. Had this
been a sordid love affair complete with two blue
heelers balancing on the flatbed between the bale
spinner and tool box it could have been a perfect
country western song. Shortly, we pulled into the
half-mile long line at the landfill. Early summer
hail storms meant nearly every waiting rig was
filled with old shingles and tar paper and in the
hot summer sun, we crept along with the air
conditioner running full blast. Our pace was
brutally boring and with the clock ticking, I
wondered if I could pass off a dump run as a date if
one of the participants dressed like they were
actually on a date. A little before five we crossed
the scale and dropped our garbage.
Next we zipped to the winery and loaded our barrels,
but looking at the rush-hour traffic I knew we would
not be making our third stop at Macon. The trophy
wife became quiet as I turned the pickup towards
home and I sensed she was disappointed. I was
obsessed with spending another evening working on
our house so as to get one evening closer to
completion. By nightfall, I realized I let a
wonderful opportunity slip through my fingers. We
passed four steakhouses on the way home and time
spent enjoying dinner in a nice restaurant with the
woman I love would have been far better than cutting
trim on the chop saw. Our time on earth is precious
and our dinner date, the one which never happened,
may easily have been our last. When you discover an
error, immediately correct it because the chance to
do so may never come again. This brings me to my
point.
Senator Walsh (D-Montana) is involved in a
plagiarism scandal. Rallying to his defense, Montana
Education Association (MEA) President Eric Fever
quoted an unnamed source saying, “I’d rather support
a part-time plagiarist than a creationist.” Read
that quote again because it describes how cockeyed
America has become. When the leader of the union
whose sole responsibility is educating children
thinks theft is less of a crime than believing God
created heaven and earth, your mind should be filled
with red flags and sirens. Mr. Fever’s point begs
the question: Which reigns supreme, a teacher’s
allegiance to their faith or their loyalty to union
leadership? Eric Fever needs to resign or be removed
from his presidency, but I doubt educators have the
backbone to do such. Here is why this matters.
Everywhere throughout the founding of our great
republic I see the hand of God. If not for Divine
Providence it would have been impossible for a
rag-tag army of farmers, merchants and indentured
servants to defeat the most powerful military force
in the world. Rather than abandon God and dismiss
His creation, now is the time to fall on our knees
and beg for His guidance. This is the perfect time
and maybe our only time, to correct a mistake.
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