Indigo Insights

Monday, March 20, 2006
Be back sometime.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Received this tonight from an old friend who asked "Remember this?" I do remember it. Do you? I remember this as an e-mail circulating in 2002 before MSM spread the misleading poison that eventually tainted some of the patriotic enthusiasm of some Americans. That the fervor of patriotism and pride in being an American has been eroded since 2002 is evidenced by the popular emails that circulated then and those that are being forwarded today. I haven't seen enough of this ethos lately. A revival could begin by forwarding this one to your mailing list.


Your alarm goes off; you hit the snooze and sleep for another 10 minutes.
He stays up for days on end.

You take a warm shower to help you wake up.
He goes days or weeks without running water.

You complain of a "headache", and call in sick.
He gets shot at, as others are hit, and keeps moving forward.

You put on your anti war/don't support the troops shirt, and go meet up with your friends.
He still fights for your right to wear that shirt.

You make sure your cell phone is in your pocket.
He clutches the cross hanging on his chain next to his dog tags.

You talk trash on your "buddies" that aren't with you.
He knows he may not see some of his buddies again.

You don't feel like helping out your dad today, so you don't.
He does what he is told.

You walk down the beach, staring at all the pretty girls.
He walks the streets, searching for insurgents and terrorists.

You complain about how hot it is.
He wears his heavy gear, not daring to take off his helmet to wipe his brow.

You go out to lunch and complain because the restaurant got your order wrong.
He does not get to eat today.

Your maid makes your bed and washes your clothes.
He wears the same things for months, but makes sure his weapons are clean.

You go to the mall and get your hair redone.
He doesn't have time to brush his teeth today.

You are angry because your class ran 5 minutes over.
He is told he will be held an extra 2 months. He does as he is told.

You call your girlfriend and set a date for that night.
He waits for the mail to see if there is a letter from home.

You hug and kiss your girlfriend, like you do everyday.
He holds his letter close and smells his love's perfume.

You ditch class to go to a movie.
He goes where he is told.

You roll your eyes as a baby cries.
He gets a letter with pictures of his new child, and wonders if they'll ever meet.

You criticize your government and say that war never solves anything.
He sees the innocent tortured and killed by their own government and remembers why he is fighting.

You hear the jokes about the war and make fun of the men like him.
He hears the gun fire and bombs.

You see only what the media wants you to see.
He sees the bodies lying around him.

You are asked to go to the store by your parents. You don't.
He does what he is told.

You stay at home and watch tv.
He takes whatever time he is given to call and write home, sleep, and eat.

You crawl into your bed, with down pillows, and try to get comfortable.
He crawls under a tank for shade and a 5 minute nap, only to be woken by gun fire.

You sit there and judge him, saying the world is a worse place because of men like him.

If only there were more men like him!

Thursday, March 09, 2006
from Old Jimmy, Ayden, NC

(Don't start reading this one until you've got more than 3 or 4 minutes to just "scan" over it. It deserves some time for reflection.)


I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night. He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped outside his closed door to listen.
"Are you there, God?" he said.
"Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed."

I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.

He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult. He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas, and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.

I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life? Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed. The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child. He does not seem dissatisfied. He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work. He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores. And Saturdays -oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.

"That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands. His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.

And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips. He doesn't know what it means to be discontent. His life is simple. He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be. His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it. He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax. He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others.

His heart is pure. He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue. Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God. Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion. In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity, I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith. It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions. It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap. I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.

Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God. And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed. Kevin won't be surprised at all!

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Here is the feeling of a Spaniard on the Muslim invasion of Europe. This article was written by Sebastian Villa Rodriguez in one of Spain's newspapers. He wrote:
"I walked along the streets of Barcelona when suddenly the horrible truth hit me. Europe died together with Auschwitz. We killed 6 million Jews and replaced them with 20 million Muslims. In Auschwitz we burned an entire culture of intelligence, talent and creativity. We annihilated these brilliant people, truly brilliant and grand people, who helped change the face of this earth.

"The contribution these people made were in all phases of our life such as: science, art, international trading and especially providing this world with a conscience. These are the kind of people we burnt. And, under the illusion of the need to be more tolerant, we had the desire to prove to ourselves that we are healed from our prejudices.

"We opened our gates to 20 million Muslims who brought unto us stupidity and ignorance, religious zealotry and impatience, crime and poverty, all which stem from their lack of ambition to work and support their families, honorably. They turned our beautiful cities of Spain into a third world country, drenched in filth and crime.

"Locked in their dwellings which were given to them by the European governments, they confer secretly and plan acts of murder and destruction against their naive hosts. Thus ... to our shame, we traded a culture with fanaticism and hatred, traded the ability to create with the ability to destroy, intelligence with primitive thinking and superstition. We traded the desire for peace of Europe's Jewry and their talents and their continued hope for a better future for their children and love for life with all their might since life is their sanctification.

"We traded it all for the pursuers of death, people who wish death upon themselves and others, who wish death upon our children and theirs.

"What a terrible mistake this miserable continent has made!"