Extraordinary Psychological Thriller Created by Lisa Friedman - Nothing to Lose - You'll Decide Which Side You're On...for the Death Penalty...

"Some of it was gruesome, but I was detached and thinking clinically so it didn't penetrate really," Anita said. "The part that got to me was the parole system. I saw petty criminals retained in custody because the state needed the funding, and hard-core criminals released for the wrong reasons. It's an insane system, based on unsound thinking and emotional conclusions.

Like the pardoning of January 6th criminals  in jail... 

Nothing seemed to work as it should have; nothing was untouched by politics and money. It was a very disturbing experience." Her intense feelings forced her round face to tighten and shrink until the smooth skin looked gutted with deep dark lines. "That's when I came to believe that some people are simply evil," Anita said...

...challenges the morality and personal consciousness of every last one of us. What would you do? That premise has launched philosophical debates, psychological studies and dinner table discussions. Nothing to Lose takes that premise to the farthest reaches of the imagination in a wildly entertaining story of determination, unexpected behavior and social justice.

A few weeks later, I was getting dressed in a hurry when a Special News Break interrupted the morning talk show on television. I stepped out of my closet, half dressed, and stared at the television. The reporter stood at the side of the picture, huddled against the wind, waiting for her cue. Glass Lake looked like a serene but gray place, misty, cool, and damp. Tall, striking redwood trees covered the landscape. Huge Blue Mountains blocked the background. The lake in the foreground was still and dark. A layer of white mist stretched across the lake from shore to shore, hovering just above the waterline. The reporter drew the microphone up to her mouth and squinted into the false light of the cameras. She clutched the fake fur lapels of her coat up next to her neck. The tip of her nose was red, and her breath burst from her mouth in rhythmic white puffs. Suddenly, she looked alert; as a signal transmitted to her that she was on the air. "I'm standing across the street from the sight of the murder of Edmund Garetzky, the feared serial killer who seemed to be one step ahead of our own Federal Bureau of Investigation for the past three years. Garetzky had been on the FBI's Most Wanted list since the arrest and conviction of his partner, Martin Ling. Ling was tried on nine counts of kidnapping and murder and was sentenced to three life sentences in the penitentiary. He committed suicide after just three months in prison. "The FBI had been tracing Garetzky for three years. Ironically, the FBI was alerted to Garetzky's whereabouts just yesterday by an anonymous caller who saw his photograph on the television program America's Most Wanted. Special Agent Arthur Brucemann told KUBS News how the FBI discovered Edmund Garetzky." Agent Brucemann spoke soberly and carefully: "The FBI Special Unit for Criminals at Large received a tip from a citizen and we followed up on that immediately. We arrived in Washington last night and began our search at that time. We were in the process of conducting a sweep operation from Old Forge, thirty miles north of Glass Lake, through Adeho, when we discovered Garetzky's body in the lavatory of the Stop 'N Shop at Glass Lake. We believe Garetzky stopped for cigarettes at the Stop 'N Shop, and then went to use the lavatory. That's all I can say at this time."

Brucemann moved through the cluster of microphones and tape recorders with his chin down, ignoring the excited and eager questions fired at him. "Who is that woman?" Several reporters shouted at once. The cameras whirled past Brucemann, losing focus as the lens sought out the next target. In the center of a pack of men wearing FBI windbreakers stood a woman of about fifty years in a smart green raincoat that shone like a beacon in the grim mass of men. The picture shook erratically as the cameraman ran toward the mystery woman. All around, reporters and camera crews stumbled over each other and equipment in a frantic stampede toward the woman in the green raincoat. "Who are you?" "Did you see anything?" "What's your name?" "What happened?" The questions came all at once, insistent and shrill. The agents surrounded the woman with their bodies and held their hands up to deflect the lights of the cameras.

Within all the frantic pushing and shouting, the woman remained calm and quiet. Finally, she held up her arm and waved. "I would like to say something," she called to the reporters. The agents parted, exposing her to the cameras. "My name is Margaret Linen, and I killed Edmund Garetzky." A roar formed as the collective voices of reporters and crews blended together. The woman closed her eyes and put her hand out as if to ward off the noise. The microphones reached toward her as the crowd became quiet. "I killed him because I care about society. He was a threat. He deserved to die." She paused, and the cacophony rose up again. She waited for the thunder of voices to subside before continuing. "I will tell you about him. This man kidnapped people at knifepoint. He brought them, some of them children, to a cabin in the mountains where he and his accomplice repeatedly tortured and brutalized them beyond our most horrific imaginations. The screams, gasps for breath, cries, and moans were recorded on audiotape and labeled. On the labels was a rating. Stars. Five stars if the victim suffered well, and fewer stars the less entertaining the victim was. "Parents of missing children and families trying to find missing people listened to some of the tapes in an effort to identify the screams of their loved ones. Can you imagine?" She slowed her speech, letting the impact of her words settle. "This man was evil. Evil beyond our scope of understanding. Evil beyond humanity."

"Were you victimized by him?" "Did they kidnap someone in your family?" "What is your connection to this serial killer?" "We are all victims of people like Edmund Garetzky. They perpetuate a circle of violence that affects us all. They are animals preying on us, and worst of all, they are protected by our laws. The criminal justice system does not work. We have all seen evidence of this at one time or another. In the states where the death penalty exists, it is rarely used. Special interest groups hold up the process by insisting that everyone deserves life. Well, the real truth is that some people do not deserve life. "Our government is unable to keep our families and our children safe. Bureaucracy clogs the arteries of the system and some violent criminals fly away scot-free. Well, not this one. Not anymore." "Did you know the victim?" "How did you kill him?" "Do you represent any organization or group, Ms. Linen?" "I came here on my own, to do what society is unable to do for itself — rid itself of Edmund Garetzky. Someone had to do something. And I couldn't stand by and watch our system grant this animal a trial and a life after what he did to us. He did not deserve a lawyer. He did not deserve a fair trial. He did not deserve a life, certainly not in a place that provides meals and a bed, and particularly not at our expense."

She paused for a moment, thinking. "I am going to die." She said it like a statement. "What did she say?" "Who's going to die?" She continued to speak so quietly that the camera crews and reporters had to strain to hear. "I will not be around to protect my family, my grandchildren, from evil," she said. "But now I have assured that we are safe from the monstrous behavior of one terrifying criminal. I did it because I could. I believe that we fail as a society in terms of justice. I did it in order to accomplish something positive for society before I die. My family need not fear Garetzky, society need not fear him, nor will they be forced to spend any time or money on him. I feel I have truly contributed something. I have made the most extreme contribution to society; I have given something back to the good people in this world. I have given all of you freedom. Freedom from this monster. I am not sorry." She looked into the camera lenses, one by one. Then she concluded with a small smile: "I will die in peace." The agents and enforcement officials flanking Margaret Linen were silent. They responded to her cultured, quiet voice and stood back, letting her finish. Possibly, they agreed with her. Whatever the reason, they let her speak without interruption. After she finished they moved in a huddle toward a dark sedan parked nearby with all four doors open wide. The reporters continued to shout questions at her even after the doors slammed shut and the car drove off. Holy shit, I said to myself, and I stood there as if glued to the carpet.

When the phone rang, I had to force myself to lift a foot up to walk toward the nightstand. "Hello?" "Are you ready? You sound asleep?" Lauren's voice sounded impatient. "I hope you didn't forget! We have a date to see my editor and go over your illustrations for my article." "No," I said, shaking off the shock of what I just saw. "I'm almost ready." "What's going on? Why do you sound so funny?" "It's nothing," I said, beginning to come back to life. "I was just watching something on television . . ." "What was it?" Lauren laughed. "Devil worshippers? S&M? People who were abducted by aliens, or women who fall in love with men on death row! Turn that thing off. It's just not safe!" I was laughing and it felt great. I glanced over at my desk to the illustrations I had finished the night before. They were good. I pulled the phone closer to the desk and blew some nonexistent dust off the top board before slipping it into its laminated cover for transport. "I'm ready," I said. "Come and get me." CH

Abortion and the Death Penalty are the two most controversial legal issues in the world... Why is that? Is it because the legal system is and has been flawed? Is it because of religion, civil liberties, or lack of juries willing to put somebody to death. There are no answers in this book. It is psychological fiction, perhaps one of the best I've read. Mainly because of how the ending was created...

Actually, I didn't recall that Friedman was the same writer of Hello Wife which centers on drugs. It is quite obvious that this author is ready and willing to attack today's hard questions! And we all know she may be one of the few who is actually doing so with the divided country we now inhabit... Personally, I preferred this, her first book. It is unbelievably written in such a way that it is truly fiction, but there is much non-fiction of this important issue that she purposely includes, including blackmail. Many kudos to the author. Her amazing characters presented each possible side of the issue, the Death Penalty, with a group of women... Frankly, this decision was the best possible group that could occur, in my opinion. Women care more about the "personal," yet are quite willing to deal with the facts, learning as much as is needed to make their own decisions.

It all began when a woman living in a fairly rich neighborhood and sees a new neighbor being moved in. Roxanne soon found her way over to welcome Anita to the community--and to her small group of women who met for friendship and a little food, of course...

You might recognize quickly that these two women are the two main characters. Roxanne was obviously a leader who enjoyed gathering a flock to share news and more...There was nothing that this group did not discuss. And, later, unfortunately, one of the husbands heard a rather troublesome topic...

Because, soon, a change in the discussions became geared around Anita's work... She counseled those who were going to die.  No, this wasn't hospice where you actually go to die... Anita's goal was to help each of her clients realize what was happening, how they felt about their past, the present, and the future... Frankly, learning that, I thought it was a great service for those who often didn't have family who were even willing to discuss their deaths...

I've purposely included an excerpt providing the "why" of what began to happen...Many of you will not be able to actually read this important book... Instead, I ask my readers. What would you do if you were dying and another Sandy Hook school murder of grade school children took place at that time. Would it affect you as it did me... Or have you and others become so accustomed of death, guns, and violence being around us daily? Personally? I think it would be on a case by case for me. But when the fanatics made videos of our citizens being beheaded? I would have no question about whether they should be put to death.  Just as I would disagree that shooting out boat loads of people in South American waters, without any type of documentation of who they were or a trial of their guilt? I'd say that, instead, the instigator of that total destruction should pay via death penalty.

It is a time when we must trust what we know is right or wrong within our legal system... Even if it is not being followed at this time. Each of these individuals began discussions with Anita about their need to leave this earth, having done all they cold to help improve the world... 

This book requires that you start thinking quickly... because I've already said, I would choose Jesus over Barabbas to live! It may have been planned that way, but, actually, those who chose a criminal that day is still choosing criminals in many ways for minor or major offenses. I call this as I see it. If we don't start using our minds to make our decisions, then what we do during our lifetime really doesn't matter if you're really just following the directions from anybody or everybody...

When we are facing decisions about Truth daily, I consider this book a must-read to help you start developing your own decision-making skills...

GABixlerReviews

Lance McMillian Presents The Murder of Sara Barton - A Stunning Legal Thriller!

“He was such a nice boy,” Mom observes. Was he? Am I? Is anyone? Maybe once upon a time, but the detours of life divert a person in a direction he never intends to go. Sam is dead, and Lara apparently wants me to kill Barton. I should get in my car and head west. Americans have always gone west to pursue a new world. I should drive west and forever forget this sordid business. The world is dirty, and I cannot make it clean. But the current of fate is too strong. I drive north to Atlanta, back to the city that is now my home. The fatalist in me needs to see the story through. I have no attic in the city in which to slip away—no place to call all my own.

Staring out my office window at the fading afternoon sun, a wave of loneliness sinks my mood. The sad reality is that I have nothing to do and no place to go. I’m ready for the trial. The work I could manufacture requires conferencing with Ella, and that’s a non-starter. The condo means the tempest of Lara. The thought of home fares no better. I live in a museum filled with ghosts, and I feel like a stranger to its history. I consider a hotel. Instead I just sit. A wandering mind has no peace, and mine is no different. Trying not to think about anything leads to a torrent of random, unsequenced thoughts more fitting in a dream. I think of Otis Redding—another Georgia boy from the country. My father did legal work for him long before I was born. The possibility

of leaving my home in Georgia to sit on a dock of a bay 2,000 miles from here is tempting. Otis died in a plane crash three days after recording that song. He was 26. I try to recapture all the lyrics, but lose the thread somewhere before thinking about the next thing—the Battle of Antietam. Over twenty-two thousand Yankee and Rebel casualties of war in a single day. For what? The world is mad. The mind eventually settles on Erin Riggs—the first girl I ever kissed. Friday night. The football game. Underneath the bleachers. A cool fall night. Awkward. Clumsy. Amazing. She moved away the following spring, and I moped around town for a full two weeks. Never saw her again. I swivel toward my computer and search her out for a good thirty minutes, happy to have something to do. The hunt grows cold. She probably got married, changed her name. Would I even recognize her? Maybe she was on one of my juries along the way. Whatever she looks like now, the vision of her that night materializes before me as if she were in the room right now. Erin Riggs. Then I think of Sydney. I pick up the phone and call Chad Dallas. We go to the same church, except I don’t go anymore. As soon as he answers, regret at my impulsive action descends like a paratrooper. What am I doing? “Haven’t seen you in awhile,” he says. Chad is one of the most rock-solid Christians I know, and this comment is his gentle way of chiding me for abandoning church. “I know. Been busy.” “Uh-huh.” “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I was wondering if I could see Sydney.” “Right now?” “If that works for you.” “I don’t see why not.” I look at the phone accusingly as if it tricked me into making the call. The mind’s leap from Otis Redding to Erin Riggs to Sydney to reaching out to Chad happened with astounding swiftness. I head to my car questioning my every action. Work has been my crutch for so long that in its absence I’ve become unreliable in how I fill the void. Maybe that’s how Lara ended up in my lap. Having reached the limits of my physical endurance by working non-stop, I longed for another distraction. Now I’ve had my fill of her. Tonight it’s Sydney’s turn to aid and abet my war against emptiness. The drive over changes the feeling of uncertainty into one of anticipation. I haven’t seen Sydney in over two years. Will she even recognize me? As I park on the street, the thought that she might not remember freezes me in place. Experiencing that rejection would hurt. I get out of the car, put on a mask of happiness, and head to the house with slow steps. Chad greets me at the door, offers a hug, and says, “How are you, brother? We miss you at church.” “Been busy. Murder never sleeps.” “They’ll still be dead Monday morning, you know.” Chad’s gift is an ability to say seemingly innocuous things that nevertheless convey hard truths. The dead will still be dead no matter what I do, and using my job to avoid every other part of my life is a poor excuse for living. Chad’s wife, Olivia, joins us in the entryway. More small talk follows, and I fake friendly patience. At last, Chad calls out for Sydney. On cue, the sound of footsteps coming from the basement answers in obedience. Sydney enters the room and stops for a second before bounding toward me with unleashed enthusiasm. She remembers. Her meaty paws jump up at me, and I bend down to let her lick my face. When I kneel to get more on her level, she knocks me down in her excitement. Amber and I adopted Sydney as a rescue border collie and boxer mix shortly after we got married. We had just returned from our two-week honeymoon in Australia and named her after our new favorite city in the world. The trip was incredible—experiencing New Year’s Eve at the Opera House with a million other people, climbing to the top of Sydney Harbour Bridge, the revealing bikini Amber wore on Bondi Beach. On the flight back to the States, I looked at my sleeping wife and knew that God had given me a woman I did not deserve. Then we got a puppy. Sydney’s excitement at seeing me has yet to abate. I can’t help smiling in effortless joy at the spastic display of her devotion. I’ve watched touching videos of soldiers returning from war to reunite with their ever-loyal canine friends. Now I’m living out my own heart-tugging moment. The pureness of Sydney’s love humbles me. I gave her away after the murders because the pain was too much. She invoked too many memories—memories that I was too mentally weak to handle. Every time I looked at Sydney, I saw Amber and Cale. So I turned the page and found Sydney a happy home, convinced that I was doing the right thing. Chad, Olivia, and I make some obligatory small talk as required by the customs of the South. Chad brings up the trial next week, and I respond, “I pray that justice is done.” Olivia asks if I’ve met Lara Landrum. Et tu, Brutus? I never took her for the starstruck type. Yes, Olivia, I’ve met Lara Landrum, and I could tell you some things that would burn your ears off. I leave that last part out. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I say my good-byes and give my ex-dog a parting hug. Chad encourages me not to be a stranger and even means it. But I am a stranger to everyone, most of all myself. The joy I felt moments ago gives way to deep sadness, and the night air judges me as I walk to the car. Reaching my door, I turn back toward the house and see Sydney staring at me through the window. I wave farewell to her and slump down in the driver’s seat. Giving away that dog is the single worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. I worried coming over here that she wouldn’t remember me. But her unbridled happiness at seeing me again hurts much more. Sydney doesn’t care that I gave her away. She doesn’t care that I haven’t visited her in two years. She doesn’t care about any of my faults. She loves me just as I am. And during the one time I needed unconditional love more than at any other moment of my existence, I gave it away. The buoyant man who held Amber under the December summer sky of Australia would never have exiled Sydney from his life. I hate myself. I turn again to the house, hoping to see Sydney still manning her post. But she is gone, and I am alone. The tears burst forth like a pent-up tsunami, sending me into convulsive heaves. I never cried when Amber and Cale died. I got the shakes and the chills. I vomited. I suffered in silent anguish. But I never cried. I couldn’t. The tears just wouldn’t come. Now I sit in a car on a street bawling over a dog. The release doesn’t make me feel better, only worse. I still hate myself.

~~~

Perhaps it's because I'm so disturbed by the lack of Law and Order at this time, that I've purposely sought out legal thrillers. I enjoy reading about or seeing court cases--which goes way back to when Perry Mason was a great television show... I still watch his shows if they are not reruns...  In fact, Della Street might have been one of the reasons I chose to start working as a secretary...LOL

Chance Meridian, as the Deputy District Attorney for all murders was a busy man. But the position had soured for me when his wife and son were murdered and the case became cold. Worse, he blamed himself and his position, as the possible reason of their deaths. There was no way that a normal mourning period would suffice, even though he ultimately did go back to his job... But his Faith had been badly affected.

And the next call to come to the scene of another faced him again... But he wasn't expecting to recognize the woman who was killed. In fact, Chance asked if that was her... Lara Landrum was a major movie star... her twin Sara Barton was the woman who was on her back on the floor with a bullet in her chest, blood all over her body and her face so like Lara that it was impossible not to wonder whether this was the real Sara Barton... She was married to Bernard Barton, another lawyer. Interestingly she had been found by her divorce lawyer...

Before Scott and I even say another word, Sam launches into defense mode. “I know it looks bad. What lawyer visits a client’s house this late? But Sara wanted to file her divorce papers tomorrow morning, and she had to sign the verification to the complaint before we could file. She didn’t like meeting at the office, so she told me to come over at ten. I wouldn’t normally do that for a client, but there is a lot of money to be made on this case. Or there was. Now she’s dead. I can’t believe it.” Scott and I look at each other then turn back to Sam. He leaks nervousness. I tell myself that if I were innocent and in his spot, then maybe I would be filled with anxiety, too. But something about him still smells off. Sam gives me a peculiar look, and alarm bells clamor. A memory stored in an unused warehouse of my brain stirs from the distant past. Something significant just happened, but I have no idea what. Sam launches into another monologue. “I knew I shouldn’t have come over here. I should’ve insisted that she drop by my office. I didn’t want to come. I told her. I asked about her husband. She said he had to work and would not be back until after midnight, if at all. She was persistent like that, and I came over against my better judgment. The client is always right and all that. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I knocked. No answer. I tried the door. It was unlocked. I walked in, said hello, anybody here. Everything’s quiet. I went to the kitchen and there she was. Lying on the floor. It was awful. I cannot believe this is happening to me.” He pauses before adding, “I didn’t kill her.” Scott gives Sam a disbelieving look, and Sam wilts in the glare. Giving up on Scott, he turns toward me on the verge of tears. “You gotta believe me. I didn’t kill her.” Sam is embarrassing himself at this point. A lawyer should never ramble. Scott and I have yet to ask him a single question, and still he cannot shut up. Our silent treatment is by design. Most witnesses become uncomfortable with the quiet and rush to fill the void. Talking takes the place of the silence that judges them. Sam complains, “Are you guys going to say anything? I’m in the hot seat here.” Scott and I continue our quiet vigil. Sam pivots to Scott and then back my way, his anxious eyes begging me to speak... 

“Sam, I want to help you, but I cannot help someone who refuses to help himself. You can’t lie to the police without repercussions. You’re part of a murder investigation. There’s a dead body in the kitchen. The good news is that Scott and I are close friends. I can fix what has happened in this room up to this point. You can start over fresh. Clean slate. But the truth needs to start coming out of your mouth. Now.” Without even looking at me, he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Becky Johnson.” The name confuses him for a moment. Then our eyes register mutual understanding, and he accepts my accusation without challenge. But I still need to hear the truth from his own lips. I emphasize, “I swear to God that if you lie to me now, I will prosecute you for obstruction of justice myself.” Sam straightens up and nods. Fear gives way to resignation. He asks, “Does Liesa have to know?”

~~~

And, of course, soon her sister arrives in town and all around, news reps began to be more and more involved as the investigation continues, and on into the trial... Hersister wanted to see the police so that she could tell them that her husband, Bernard, had killed her sister! She went on to say that Sara planned to divorce him--he was so controlling that she could not deal with it anymore...

Before we leave, Lara texts each of us the picture of her sister’s blackened back after Barton hit her. The photo speaks for itself. Barton didn’t hold back. I hate him already.

Sara screams into the phone, “My husband is trying to kill me!” I hear loud banging on a door as Barton tries to get into the room. Sara pleads, “He has already hit me. Please hurry.” The final sounds on the call tell the story without words—more thunderous banging on the door, yelling, a woman crying. The line goes dead. The call is chilling but evidentiary gold. I ask why Barton wasn’t arrested. The story is familiar. By the time the officer arrived, things had settled down. Both Barton and Sara were calm, and Sara did not want to press charges. No outward signs of physical abuse were present, which makes sense since Sara’s bruises were on her back. The officer departed, filled out his incident report, and left Barton and Sara alone to resume their dysfunctional lives. Scott announces, “Bernard Barton speaks to my policeman’s gut.” “The current does seem to be pushing that way.”

~~~ 

As the book moves forward, I began to see hints of the dialogue for which Robert B. Parker was known for in his Spenser series... It was a pleasure to read another writer with the skill to present tense, fast-paced words; but at the same time, writing about being in a courtroom... 

But many times, having lots of evidence doesn't mean that the correct individuals are being charged. Readers will be kept guessing as more evidence begins moving the case from one way to another, and sometimes back again, until everything can be documented and proven... That's why I love legal fiction... Everything is always clear and quickly addressed to gain a prosecutorial judgment they are correct! 

Doncha wish legal matters even were allowed to be addressed these days???

GABixlerReviews 

I Traveled Down a Lonely Road... Ruminating on A Day to Rest... Open Memoir

 

I did not plan to use the second video--I'd never seen it before... But I find it very apropos, maybe even a God Incident... Although it's probably a computer program...LOL Or it could be both...

I had looked for the song that immediately came to mind as I was thinking about what to write about. I've sung this song, Follow Me, before, but never during a time when the entire world is in pain, living within violence that is being initiated by, authoritarian leaders across the world... I don't have to name them. We, the People, of each of the countries--and now the United States--have known the loneliness of feeling like there is no hope when the leaders of our government is the one initiating the violence and worse, affecting our lives--our ability to meet basic needs of food and shelter...

I've been in a somber mood that has never set in before in my long life... and I didn't expect it to be because of the government leader! Most of my life, I'd ignored politics, not because I wasn't minimally interested as is most citizens, but that I was always working on my own career, thinking through how I would be spending my life... Thinking through whether, when I've been offered promotions, should I take them... And, then, thinking about--knowing about--the terror of not being able to stop crying. To know that, perhaps, for the first time in my life, my life had moved into a direction I could not plan for--that authoritarian leaders had been appointed over me... I wondered how for so many years I had been blessed with bosses who worked with me, as opposed to demanding obedience... 

The fact is that, right now, I've been reading many books. Hearing many news announcements. Hearing or Reading people who share my own feelings--at least that makes me feel a little better. On calm days I am somber, but it never goes away... Days when I hear that another boat of people has been blown out of the water by OUR government, without any knowledge of who those people were, AND NOT knowing that it was at least approved by Congress...

And then I read a little more of one book. Which is so startling that I begin to doubt...

The cover is so...wrong! I KNOW Jesus did not carry a gun! Yet, I am finding shocking data and concrete examples of just how guns have pervaded a major part of what is now called Christian Nationalism, a breakoff from those of us who follow Jesus as our Savior...Yes, Shocked! And I learn that it has been in my lifetime since this was brewing...And getting worse, when getting involved with politics was initiated by Jerry Falwell...

William Kole began his research after, also, being shocked when a fellow church musician, began to move his gun while at practice... The man saw Kole's surprise...and proceeded to "explain..." Kole didn't buy what he was selling... Now as I'm reading, I find myself getting nauseous just reading of this reality...

From early in my life, I came often to sing this song when I was upset, sad, or afraid. I depended upon God to bring peace back to my life, and He did...

Now, the first thing I thought of as I saw this video of young people was, "Do they carry guns?" And think "Guns are what God wants us to own?" I wonder just how many Christians, like me, are still around. I know politics has already split my family--and I don't understand how that happened either... Yet, I'm reading statistics, the timing, and when the evolution began... 

And then I remember that somewhere along the line, the present leader started speaking to the NRA and others and getting supported by them... When did Greed--a deadly sin--according to the book they swear by, come to be accepted... Did Christian Nationalism totally evolve out of Christianity, or did others, who had the guns and figured they'd get in on the use of those guns and get paid for, join that new group? Certainly, during the pre-January 6th Insurrection, protests were made by anti-Jews, supporters of Hitler were there... then the militia groups across the land who think they are those people who are to "guard us." Lord, help us! They were the ones that came with guns, prepared to use them... Now, they have been pardoned and, I believe, are on the streets under the guise of ICE... For surely the violence demonstrated by these men had to have been used in their pasts!?!

I've been ruminating about the words of the 2nd Amendment... and how those words relates to today's world... It seems to me that, the militia that was spoke of now composes two present groups in the U.S. At the state level, we formed the Police Department which, in essence replaced the militia groups which were needed in the past. And, then, as nations began to fight at that level, the Defense (I won't call in War) Department of the Federal Government was started...

But even in the beginning, there was murder as the white man came into a new country where red skins or brown skins were already living...and they killed them for the land, while at the same time forced then to attend Christian churches... Don't you see? They started doing exactly what they had left their homes to achieve...yet those it chose, used guns to begin again to greedily fight for what they felt was "God-Given?" Surely Not! Yet, History tells us the Truth. No wonder public schools are being targeted, books are being banned, universities are being targeted...Museums are being told to delete history, for instance, of slavery which we all know about! And why not get rid of those with memories so they won't affect today's world... Millions protesting are saying, we don't forget!

 “Guns are practically an element of worship in the church of white Christian nationalism.”

"...you may be startled to see the prominent role that guns play at some churches—right up there with the cross, the Bible, the bread, and the wine."

Acknowledging America’s ignoble status as an outlier, then-President Joe Biden rightfully asked, after a gunman slaughtered nineteen children and two teachers in Uvalde, Texas, in 2022, why mass shootings on that scale “rarely happen anywhere else in the world.” 

Dissident evangelicals who have been pushing for change in the United States, which has a staggering  percent of the world’s civilian-owned guns, are understandably frustrated at the lack of will to fix what Alpers calls “America’s self-inflicted problem.” Shane Claiborne, a prominent evangelical social activist who helped found the nonprofit organization The Simple Way in Philadelphia and cofounded the reformist group Red Letter Christians, has worked tirelessly for gun reforms. But even he sounded exasperated after yet another mass shooting bloodied Philly’s streets. “There are more regulations on fireworks in America than firearms. And there are more regulations on toy guns than real guns,” he said on X. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” The Center for American Progress blames apathy and the lucrative gun industry’s influence-peddling: “America’s gun violence epidemic is the result of an industry and culture that has made guns readily available to nearly anyone, with little interest in preventing these guns from being used to harm others.” 

“A disproportionate number of white evangelical Christians own guns and oppose gun violence prevention measures,” it laments in a report examining the complicity of Christian nationalists in perpetuating the problem.

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What can you think about when, all of your life, you've been singing and worshiping along with others in Christian churches around the nation, and then discover that many of them...are...probably... carrying...as part of a gun cult where guns are part of worship... Surely they didn't get the idea from the Bible. America wasn't even discovered during those times...! Nor did guns exist...

And, then, I come back to those who chose Barabbas over Jesus... They chose a criminal rather than the love that Jesus spoke of... Did the gun cult, even then, although guns weren't invested then, somehow equate those weapons to ours?

If so, then, I have been right...all the historical wars, the women slaves, the rapes and more from the Old Testament, which has been kept alive over two thousand years, merely reflects, the half that went underground along with Barabbas... until a criminal was found--a conman--was finally put in charge... It happened in Russia, in Jerusalem, in Germany, in Italy, in countries in South America, and now in North America...

This, then, must be the difference between Heaven and Hell. For if God is within all of His creations, then those who chose and continue to choose Barabbas, are those who chose, with God-given Free Will, to join the criminal cults wherever they are in this world...

But, what I do know, just like Letitia James, is that those who do love God and have received his blessing of having "No fear," we will know the joy once again of God's blessings on the world that He created...

Took a quick break and "Straight and Narrow"

came to mind--God Incident?

So I typed the words into YouTube, remembering Bible verses or a song...

But I had never heard one with the title...

Listen closely...

Because this young man talks about being chased by gunmen...and needing to stand up and follow the straight and narrow...

I had never known that I would come to know what that meant...

It had never been hard to follow Jesus

Until I learned about evangelicals supporting a conman

And I started my own research...

I feel like this is an altar call, although I didn't know I was preaching...but maybe God Within Is???

You, my readers, must choose right now in America

What path you choose

Shall it be with guns and violence

Or shall it be caring for those who hunger and thirst and need shelter just to live...

I don't know about you, but I personally I think

I'll continue to choose Jesus!

God Bless

Gabby

Ongoing Historian Contributor Michael A. Smith Presents What We Lost When the East Wing Fell - And More...

 

The hue and cry over Donald Trump razing the entire East Wing of the White House as though he owns the place, should grow louder over his disdain for American history. This act, along with his wanton destruction should show who really does not love America....DJT.

The East Wing of the White House

What We Lost When the East Wing Fell

Michael A. Smith

Historian | Author | Public Theologian

It wasn’t just bricks and mortar that crumbled yesterday—it was a century of quiet dignity, of whispered history, of the unseen labor that shaped the public face of the presidency. The East Wing, long overshadowed by its grander counterpart, held the pulse of ceremonial life. It was where first ladies led initiatives, where calligraphers etched grace into invitations, and where millions of Americans began their journey into the heart of democracy.

Built to welcome guests in carriages and rebuilt to serve a modern presidency, the East Wing stood as a testament to continuity. Its demolition for a ballroom—however grand—erases the space where tradition met service. Gone is the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, a living tribute to elegance and restoration. Gone is the East Colonnade, where presidents once walked to their private theater, and where history lingered in the hush of marble and shadow.

This wasn’t just a building. It was the stage for statecraft, the cradle of hospitality, and the quiet corridor where America’s story unfolded in cursive and conversation. What remains is not just a gap in architecture, but a rupture in memory.

First Ladies in the East Wing

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Abstract: Christian Nationalism and Its Historical Roots - Michael A. Smith

Christian nationalism is a powerful and contested force in American public life, blending Christian identity with civic destiny. Its adherents argue that the United States was founded as a Christian nation, while critics contend that it undermines pluralism and democracy. The historical roots of this ideology run deep: from Puritan covenantal theology in the 17th century, to the rise of Christian fundamentalism in the early 20th century, to the Conservative Culture Wars of the 1970s and beyond.

In "Christian to Fundamentalism to Christian Nationalism: A Primer of the Dangers to American Democracy" (Smith, 2024), I argue that Christian nationalism is the culmination of a trajectory that begins with Calvinist, covenantal traditions, passes through fundamentalism’s defense of biblical inerrancy, and emerges fully in the partisan politics of the late 20th century.

This movement’s reliance on Old Testament justice models and its entanglement with “family values” politics continue to shape 21st-century debates over identity, race, immigration, and democracy itself.

Positioned alongside the work of Perry and Whitehead (Taking America Back for God, 2020), this study underscores the urgency of understanding Christian nationalism not as a passing trend but as a historically rooted, theologically driven challenge to American democratic ideals. (Search for review in right column.)

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In the meantime...

Hunger has already started

Folks, There are so many issues that are tearing the nation apart... Like one woman says, you heard what this president was promising, but you thought you'd be safe--for whatever reason... Now millions are out of work, having been fired. Children and adults hungry...

We learned that Christianity has been split off, big time! More on that soon as I continue to read... Christian Nationalism has been kept a secret from most church-goers, while some preachers began to talk the talk until it began to be "right out of the Bible..." Yes, The Old Testament... which, in my opinion, I'll say it again, should have been archived once Christians heard the words of Jesus... So, what happened?

That group has continued to support the president who is using violence in all ways possible against not only citizens of the United States, but in other countries! ANOTHER boat has been blasted out of the waters near South America... A major war ship has been moved from near Europe and is now in the South America waters... You can be sure that NONE of this has been approved by anyone! And US citizens are protesting while republicans hold everything in their "kings" hands... But we don't believe in Kings, and especially not this conman who, while keeping himself out of wars, as he once did, now uses those that were once in the military to protect America, now being used for any grievance, game, or greed reasons of one man... Be sure you are registered to vote, wherever you are... because we cannot be sure that we...will...be...allowed...to...

God Be With Us All

Gabby

Planning for Christmas? I Recommend Where Do Snowmen Go? by Vincent Spada and Illustrated by Gillya Fox - Of course for Avi's, and Cassie's Library!

 

Where do snowmen go

when the world runs out of snow?

Do they up and fly, way off in the sky,

To a land we will never know?

Where do snowmen stay

when the cold had drifted away?

Do they plan a trip, and with hop and skip,

hitch a ride on old Santa's sleigh?

Well, I know one thing, I want to solve the mystery! Do You?

Avi, Cassie, and even Mommy might not realize that this is a mystery to be solved, but, to me, it is!  Guess I'd better continue reading...

Even Vincent, the author, started wondering!

Where do snowmen flee

when December is a memory?

Do they chart a plane or board a train,

heading north to a colder degree?

Well, I did learn that this Snowman soon had a wife and two children, with teddy bears held by stick arms!

But, the questions kept coming, in beautiful, colorful pages, and even with giant candy canes! 

You know, I was just beginning to think I had the answer, cause I knew this wasn't the last time snow would come... But the candy cane, which was often also placed on the Christmas tree inside, reminded me of where he might go! And I was right!

But while the snowmen visit Jesus, because, after all, it is His Birthday, Vincent* reminds us that the snowmen will come back when the snow next comes... with a little bit of help by Avi, Cassie and their Mommy! 

So in case this early talk about Christmas, I've added a few more Christian songs for dreaming, if you need to get started thinking of what all you've got to do before then! LOL

GABixlerReviews

*FYI, the reference to Jesus' birthday was my addition and is not part of the book... I am the only one that brought in a possible Christmas present...

William J. Kole Writes New Book: In Guns We Trust: The Unholy Trinity of White Evangelicals, Politics and Firearms

 Suddenly a beautiful space in my life was reduced to a jarring juxtaposition of God’s peace and John’s piece. What fresh hell was this?

Before I share directly from the book, I wanted to say a few words about my own interest.

I have a gun, here, in my home, somewhere. But I live in the country... So when I bought my cabin from my brother-in-law, who was the executor after the deaths of his parents, I wasn't surprised to find guns here.

There are many in my family and in the area that hunt.

Kole specifically states that he is not talking about those who use guns for hunting, or even for competition... That has happened for hundreds of years... 

But that was before

Make America Great Again

I had retired, spending time working on my new homeland, but I also had started watching news channels...

Sandy Hook was the worst for me...grade school children... That town continues to fight for gun control... One party refuses to support...

Additionally, this book merges with the part that started me on my own campaign to read and talk about what is happening to our nation.

What I think about the past is far different from those who created that slogan of wanting to go back...

You all know that already

But when the Evangelical church supported a criminal for president, I was shocked and confused

I still am and this is the first book I've seen or heard about that merges the two most important issues for me personally.

It has already split my family

Which makes it even more confusing.

Because I know what Jesus said about our children...HIS Children

At least the group has broken off and now call themselves Christian Nationalists

This man says there is no place for gun violence within the life of a Christian...

I will be reading this entire book by reprioritization

because I "really" need to learn more for my own understanding of God's Truth

I believe this Book will provide a major step...

I'm so glad I found this song I wanted to use, by one of my favorite Christian singers. He was the choir leader when I sang in a Billy Graham Revival so many years ago, I can't remember when...LOL

But I'll never forget Shea's magnificent voice...

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My Highlights--So Far

Most troubling of all: their inexplicable fervor for firearms. Aggressively promoting the right to own and carry an instrument designed specifically to take a human life felt like a betrayal of everything Christianity promised...

And it was, for a few days. My own church dimmed the sanctuary lights and convened a somber prayer meeting. We wept for Sandy Hook’s children and our own, and we cried out for healing and mercy. We, like so many in the aftermath of such tragedies, sent our thoughts and prayers to the families and survivors of the tragedy. And then we spoke of it no more. That’s how it is with “thoughts and prayers”: the fleeting good intentions with which the proverbial road to hell is paved. Such words absolve us from doing anything to make sure such a horrible event never happens again. If you really give a damn, you do something.

My exodus from evangelicalism was triggered by a revelation so personally startling, it’s what roused me to launch the investigation you’re about to read. On a sweltering weeknight in 2016, I was rehearsing onstage with my Massachusetts megachurch worship band when I noticed my bass player, an earnest and affable man I’ll call John, stop to loosen his guitar strap. “Too much lasagna for supper?” I teased. “Nah,” he said. “It’s just that the strap is rubbing against my 9-millimeter.” The truth took a few seconds to sink in. John had come to practice with a SIG Sauer semiautomatic handgun. I must have looked as dumbfounded as I felt, because he quickly assured me he had a concealed carry permit. But that’s not what had me so shaken. Moments earlier, we’d been singing about divine mercy and grace. Suddenly a beautiful space in my life was reduced to a jarring juxtaposition of God’s peace and John’s piece. What fresh hell was this? Not long thereafter, I realized, to my horror, that John wasn’t the only one showing up armed at the altar. John’s wife carried a small-caliber pocket pistol in her purse, and several of the men in the congregation possessed concealed firearms. They claimed to do so under the auspices of a church “security ministry,” but it looked and felt more like vigilantism to me. I left that congregation, but the guns stayed behind. They’re surely still there, spirited into the sanctuary every Sunday, cleaned and oiled and loaded and ready for Lord knows what.

But here in the United States, it starts with winning over the hearts and minds of the 60 million white evangelicals—many of them armed—who are reshaping the nation’s political landscape from the front lines of the culture wars.

Like everyone else, I’m struggling to practice what I’m preaching in these pages, starting with Jesus’s all-encompassing command: Love your neighbor. I merely wish to hold up a mirror to America’s most devout people, who mystifyingly and stubbornly cling to a belief that the answer to our gun problem is more guns, and ask a single piercing question: Why? Why do people who claim to follow a man called the Prince of Peace devote themselves so religiously to ensuring military-grade weapons are easier to buy than some forms of birth control? How did a group of Christians who claim to be staunchly pro-life come to so warmly embrace guns, whose primary purpose is to kill? When will we vote for politicians who will summon the courage to enact commonsense, lifesaving gun measures—simple things like universal background checks—that surveys consistently show most Americans want? To my many evangelical friends, who have the political clout to change the country’s trajectory on gun violence, I offer an olive branch and a beatitude of my own: 

Blessed are the kingmakers, for they can save lives.

What you’d surely never suspect in a congregation like this of several hundred rapturous souls: Dozens of guns, maybe more; holstered and hidden from view but no less lethal. These are my people. Or they were, before I realized how many of them are armed to the teeth.

It’s no secret that America is awash in weapons. In fact, there are far more guns than Americans themselves: 120 firearms for every 100 citizens, the Switzerland-based Small Arms Survey says.1 That’s 393 million firearms in total, not counting police or military weapons or untraceable homemade “ghost guns,” in a nation of 330 million people. That’s nearly twice as many guns per capita as the Falkland Islands, the second-ranked nation on the global rankings, with sixty-two guns for every hundred people. Every year, 3.6 million babies are born in this country, and 22 million guns are sold. That’s six guns for each of those newborns. There could be even more. Since 1899, more than 494 million guns have been manufactured for the US market alone, according to federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives data, and more of those weapons than you might think could still be in circulation.

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GABixlerReviews