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On this, Beethoven’s birthday and the anniversary of the Boston Tea Party, I turn 46. I do not feel like it’s middle age… this feels more like I’ve passed 8 of my nine lives.

At half this age, I was directionless, broke, and humbled by my circumstance — now, I see that I hadn’t quite improved on that station at all, and am living mercy to mercy with every breath.

I see friends and family who are sick, dying, grieving and cannot help them.

I see children who have separated themselves from their betters in a farcical belief that their elders hold no wisdom worth seeking.


I see believers who choose Men’s wisdom over God’s.

I see scholars who teach that intellect comes from turning our backs against authority and order, and that chaos is a sign of an bettered mind.

I see families that split to the winds as a matter of generational tradition — and often, as the only one they honor.

I see good men struggle for Truth, and Evil ones re-write our books.

I find a tapestry of denial and deceit in the hearts of broken women and shattered dreams.

In these years of change, I am not lacking for Faith — it is my only refuge. But the God I’ve come to know weeps for us, as I do. And while we are apart from Him, we will find no end to this grief.

God Bless us. God Heal us. God be patient with us.

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