Vote In God We Trust

I’m Back — And the Journey Has Been Long

Where It Began: A Young Mind on Its Own Path

At eighteen years old, voter registration was made as a Democrat. Then, in the twenties, the Peace and Freedom Party took hold — a young, pliable mind eagerly absorbing ideologies that felt like liberation. The ideas ran deep, branching out and taking root. It was a mind with God pushed to the shadows, charting its own course.

Looking back, it is clear now what was not clear then: there was a gift to influence others, and it was being used to plant seeds of toxic ideology that had already taken hold from within. Women’s rights — and all the agenda that came with it — felt like the whole truth. No one was going to dictate the terms of that life. Self was at the center. The views settled in comfortably, and they held sway. There was anger underneath it all — though the source of it was never quite clear.

“There is a way which seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death.” — Proverbs 14:12 (cf. Proverbs 16:25)

The Republican Party: The Enemy, or So It Seemed

As far as the world was concerned at the time, the Republican Party was the enemy — a party that hated minorities and existed only for the wealthy. That view was not an isolated one. The entire family were registered Democrats; the thinking moved in one direction, shared and unquestioned. It was the same manna, laced with relativism, passed from one generation to the next.

There was a portrait of President Kennedy hanging in the living room — a kind of household icon. He was the family’s ideal. Our mother loved him and taught the children to respect and honor the Commander in Chief. President Kennedy will always hold a special place in the heart.

Mothers Do Know Best

Our mother was, until her final days, a political force in her own quiet way — always exercising her right to vote. That lesson was instilled in all of her children and has never been forgotten. She was a patriot. She always rooted for the underdog. Her dedication to making her voice heard was something to be honored — and it still is

The Transition

When Two Worlds Collide

Imagine moving from the Peace and Freedom Party directly into life as a Born-Again Christian — and eventually into the Catholic Church. That is precisely the journey taken. It was a paradox, and two powerful forces collided head-on. Only one could win.

During those formative years at Biola University, the Word of God was taking hold of the heart, and anger could no longer find a foothold surrounded by so much peace. The growth in belief surpassed everything else; nothing mattered more than pleasing God. Life was finally on track. This gradual, gentle transformation brought a new way of seeing — understanding the meaning of life, the purpose behind one’s very existence, and recognizing that God Himself had chosen Mike as a helpmate, all part of a divine plan. As the will was surrendered to God, the mind began to mature and grasp what was truly expected of a faithful Christian.

President Trump

A Vote Cast with Purpose

A vote was cast for this man because it was clear he would make changes. Not everyone will agree with the pace at which he has moved — but the reality is that he has only four years to address what has accumulated over many more. As always, the commitment remains the same: to pray that God guides President Trump in every decision.

Immigration

A Prayer for the Stranger

There is a genuine and sincere prayer held for all undocumented immigrants who have lived in this country for years — those who are law-abiding, God-fearing, and good people. A humane system that offers them a legitimate path to citizenship is not only reasonable but necessary. At the same time, a real question deserves an honest answer: Why are protesters flying the flags of other nations? It is difficult to imagine that approach helping the cause — and it is reasonable to suspect that many of these demonstrations are organized by American citizens rather than by undocumented individuals themselves. Regardless of where one stands politically, immigration must be handled with humanity, order, and justice.

What Scripture Says

Matthew 3:12 (NABRE): “His winnowing fan is in his hand. He will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

The discrimination between the good and the bad is compared to the procedure by which a farmer separates wheat and chaff. The winnowing fan was a forklike shovel with which the threshed wheat was thrown into the air. The kernels fell to the ground; the light chaff, blown off by the wind, was gathered and burned up.

It is a powerful image — and an honest one. A nation, like a threshing floor, cannot simply absorb everything without discernment. There are many American citizens in genuine need; it is not unjust to insist that those who come do so through a lawful and orderly process. The solution is not cruelty — it is clarity. And the work of finding that balance belongs to those who were elected to do exactly that. May they be held to it.

 

 

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Louisiana Clan

It happens about once a year when visiting my family in Louisiana. My sister Jo has lived there for over 45 years. Her boys are now grown men with families and directions of their own.

The Food

There is a love for this part of the country — the scent of the gulf, the air that carries its own personality, and the slur in the tongue of its natives.

When you visit, it is required to have a Po-Boy of either shrimp or roast beef — and don’t forget to say “dressed,” or else the sandwich will not be oozing with mayo, and the lettuce and tomatoes will not fall out with every bite. We ate at Parkway in New Orleans (voted the best in town), and the Po-Boy had endless fried shrimp with the crustiest bread. An inconsiderate appetite left not one morsel for the birds.

The Road Not Taken

A visit to Baton Rouge was on the wish list, but Jo would not hear of it. Coffee and beignets at Café Du Monde in the French Quarter was also out of the question. Being denied a photograph with the Mississippi as a backdrop, however, was simply not an option. Some coaxing was required, but eventually Jo and her son Nick drove to the Harvey Locks. Stepping down the deep levee, the scenery opened up — a crane appeared to be wading at the water’s edge, a tugboat helped a larger vessel navigate its way through the narrow passage, and the city watched silently from a distance.

The Photo That Almost Wasn’t

At first, the photo session was a disaster. Whether it was the white clothing casting an unflattering light or simply fate, every picture came out displeasing. Nick stepped in as photographer, but the more he tried, the worse things became. Then came what seemed like a brilliant idea — moving closer to the water’s edge. Nick warned that the rocks were unsteady. The warning was ignored. The unsteady rock won. The fall was not terrible, but the angle was awkward enough that getting up required assistance. Nick laughed so hard his arms went limp — like overcooked spaghetti — and he had to collect himself before any help was possible. The dramatic announcement of the fall did not go unnoticed by those enjoying the view from the park benches above.

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Sophie
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Jake, Lynda, Jo, Julia Stacie Torie and Tyson
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Nick, me and Jo

Around the Table

Dinner was shared with Jo’s son Torie and his family — his wife Stacie, their children Julia and the twins Tyson and Jake, and Stacie’s mother Myra. After dinner, a Bible study unfolded that, despite all the delightful distractions, turned out to be wonderful. Jo’s oldest son Frank and his wife Lindy were occupied with their boys, so that visit was short and sweet. The following evening, Nick and Michele and their daughter Sophie joined for dinner, followed by another lively Bible study.

Lost in the Beauty

The next day brought an adventure — dinner at The Mint, a trendy restaurant in the Uptown District. New Orleans’ infrastructure is still bearing the wounds of Katrina, and nearly every street is under construction. Even with navigation, finding the restaurant was its own journey of wrong turns. Rocky, Jo’s youngest son, had already arrived and kept calling to ask where everyone was. It was easy to get lost — not just on the streets, but in the beauty of the stately mansions lining them, each with its own charm and character, some of which were once plantations. Across the broad avenues, the old oak trees seemed to reach toward one another in a friendly embrace, their branches so intertwined it was impossible to tell where one ended and another began.

Before and After

Everyone still speaks of Katrina as a dividing line — pre-Katrina and post-Katrina. The Category 5 hurricane swept the city clean, then drowned it in salt water and brought its citizens to their knees. But it also bound them together. No storm will ever destroy the hearts of its people, and New Orleans stands as living proof.

Jo

As Jo sweeps the floors of her shop, she listens to the French singer Édith Piaf perform “Non, je ne regrette rien” — the only phrase she understands of the lyrics is “no regrets.” It suits her. Jo is on the edge of a significant transition — downsizing from her empty nest to a smaller, more intimate home. The move is exhausting, and there is much to organize before this new phase of life begins. From childhood on, she was always the one doing the chores, running the errands, holding things together for the family. The only difference now is that she does it for her own. She visits her late husband’s grave regularly, reminding him how much he is missed — and what he has missed. Her spirit remains bright, and within the family she is known simply as the woman who can do whatever she sets her mind to. To those who know her best, she is simply fascinating.

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Homeless Update

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Fifteen Years In

In fifteen years of serving the homeless, nothing has prepared the eyes for conditions this atrocious. The streets usually navigated with ease were impassable — tents consuming most of the sidewalks, the population swelling, and with it the anger, and with the anger, the contention. One woman was beside herself when a man, clearly under the influence, ran off with her obese Chihuahua. She nearly took a swing at the person who brought her the news. Her volcanic mouth unleashed five expletives in a single sentence, her green-hazel eyes glazed with fury — and then, just as suddenly, she cradled the dog like a newborn. Well-trained soldiers do not intervene in disputes like this unless a life is at stake, and even then, eyes are always on each other’s backs.

The Man with the Patchwork Quilt

A Caribbean man offered far more information than was requested. He opened his shirt to reveal a torso covered in skin grafting — it truly resembled a patchwork quilt. It was the moment he mentioned that a large portion of his buttocks had also been grafted that a politely raised hand and a firm “Okay, okay — understood” brought the presentation to a close. The poor man is still suffering from an open wound ripe for infection, made all the more dangerous by the conditions surrounding him. When asked why he was homeless, he said simply that he had no papers. His chubby companion cheerfully added that he was just visiting — and at that, the two of them burst out laughing at the whopper.

A Miracle on Wheels

With only Robert, John, and one other set of hands, keeping watch over two carts and a supply of sandwiches while praying with the homeless is no small feat — turn away for a moment and something disappears. It is a quiet miracle that the vehicles have never been vandalized. God assigns special angels to guard them.

Carlos

A parking spot opened up in front of the area where longtime homeless friend Carlos makes his home — a man known for years, and as it turned out, a natural behind the camera. At first, Carlos wanted nothing to do with the phone. After a short lesson, he did a fine job. Carlos is a peaceful soul who has earned the respect of those around him — no small thing on these streets.

The Master of the Block

At every city block, there is a territory — and every territory has what can only be called a “master.” That person controls who is welcome and who had better move along. The homeless have their own pecking order, and the one who carries the most anger tends to carry the most authority. The women here are largely captive to their addictions — wherever the drug can be obtained on a regular basis, that is where they plant themselves and call home.

A Miracle on Wheels

With only Robert, John, and one other set of hands, keeping watch over two carts and a supply of sandwiches while praying with the homeless is no small feat — turn away for a moment and something disappears. It is a quiet miracle that the vehicles have never been vandalized. God assigns special angels to guard them.

Carlos

A parking spot opened up in front of the area where longtime homeless friend Carlos makes his home — a man known for years, and as it turned out, a natural behind the camera. At first, Carlos wanted nothing to do with the phone. After a short lesson, he did a fine job. Carlos is a peaceful soul who has earned the respect of those around him — no small thing on these streets.

The Master of the Block

At every city block, there is a territory — and every territory has what can only be called a “master.” That person controls who is welcome and who had better move along. The homeless have their own pecking order, and the one who carries the most anger tends to carry the most authority. The women here are largely captive to their addictions — wherever the drug can be obtained on a regular basis, that is where they plant themselves and call home.

 

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Batman and Cleo

The Unlikely Companions

The homeless are lonely — and this is precisely where the Chihuahua earns its place. It is a low-maintenance dog, surviving on small scraps, its mess proportionally modest compared to, say, a Pit Bull. A search of any online animal shelter will confirm the irony: the Chihuahua consistently ranks among the least adopted breeds. No one wants them. Yet here, on these streets, they are wanted — perhaps needed. The homeless may be doing the world a quiet service by keeping the yappy little dog out of the shelter system.

The Holy Spirit Knows His Name

Darell and his companion Tanisha were not looking for prayer. They received it anyway. As the prayer unfolded, something was being revealed about Darell — and though he stood there skeptical, arms crossed against the whole exercise, he reacted the moment singing was mentioned. His voice would be used again. He let out a short chuckle and asked, “How did you know I could sing?” The answer was simple: “The Holy Spirit revealed it to you.” Darell and Tanisha will not make these streets their permanent home. Through the grace of God, they will find their way out.

Joseph

A prayer was offered for Joseph — a precious man in a wheelchair, completely open to whatever God had for him. Joseph’s sweet disposition, and the spirit of so many others like him, is what makes this ministry move in the love of God. For the more than 2,500 people in this 40-block area classified as chronically homeless, the prayer is simple: that God will protect them through this transition. They are a small fraction of the staggering total — over 82,000 homeless souls across greater Los Angeles.

The Promise That Holds

If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. (Isaiah 58:10–11)

God Bless you!

 

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