This Is Only My Opinion, and the Last I Knew, I Was Still Entitled to One

 

I Can’t Keep Quiet Any Longer

Well, well…Trump has proved beyond any doubt what an ignorant and greedy dumb ass he is.  Speaking of asses, if you have ever read C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia Book 7, The Last Battle, there’s a strong parallel. In this book, Puzzle the Donkey is convinced by the evil Ape to wear an old lion’s hide and pretend he is Aslan, the true King of Narnia (and a type of Christ). He has been turned into a false Christ, what the Bible calls an Anti-Christ. I wonder who the Ape is behind the Jackass Trump. Elon Musk? Maybe the Devil himself?

Some of us have known what a blind narcissist Trump is ever since The Apprentice. He doesn’t understand or have any real experience with governing, domestic relations, economics or foreign relations, and now the whole world knows it. All he knows how to do is please his egotistical self. He doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong, truth and lies. He must always be right, the measure of all things. He thinks he is all-powerful now that he is President of the most powerful, influential nation in the world. (But how long will this last, I wonder?) Never mind checks and balances; never mind the Constitution, if it stands in his way. Never mind that the rest of the world’s leaders know what an idiot he is.

I have read a lot about the rise and fall of empires such as Rome, the British Empire, the Third Reich. All eventually weaken through poor government, and fall. Our turn is next, whether we want to believe it or not.

The saddest part to me is how he has deceived even Christians. Whenever I see a vehicle with a “Trump” bumper sticker and a “Jesus” bumper sticker, I want to attach a note to their windshield saying, “I am very sorry for you because you have been deceived by the Anti-Christ. Didn’t Jesus say ‘You can’t worship both God and money.’ ? But you elected a leader whose god is money.”

People may say they don’t worship money. It’s just a necessary part of life. Okay so substitute “consumerism”. How many of us feel we have to have the most up-to-date houses and furnishings, appliances, phones, cars and trucks-- all the gadgets of modern life. They’re supposed to make us happy. That’s what all the commercials say. But do all those possessions really make us happy? There are more depressed and suicidal people in this consumer society we live in than there ever have been before. Sometimes I think I’d be happier living in a shack on some tropical island.

I’ve pondered for a long time why so many Christians support Trump and his values. So far I’ve come up with two ideas. 1) They have been led astray by the idols of money and consumerism. Some say that it’s getting hard to tell the difference between Christians and non-Christians in their actual behaviors in the everyday world. 2) They still think that the USA is the “Big Kahuna”, the God-chosen nation, the most powerful and perfect nation, the cradle of truth, wisdom, and democracy. But any honest and diligent historian can tell you this isn’t so. History has been written by the victors, who have swept our crimes and mistakes under the rug—the persecution of the poor and minorities, the attempted genocide of the indigenous peoples, the enslavement of other humans. We can’t “make America great again” when it’s never been all that great to start with. All the great empires of the past have done these same things, but the worst part is we are still doing it.

A third possibility has also occurred to me. Perhaps God is using Trump like he used the evil kings of ancient Israel to lead their people astray to the worship of other gods and idols, instead of the True and Only God of Heaven and Earth. As a result, Israel was demolished over and over again, and eventually led into exile.

“But we don’t worship idols and bow to statues,” you may say.

Well, in this world of consumerism that surrounds us and infiltrates almost every aspect of our lives, a lot of us do without realizing it: Build a newer and bigger house, or even a newer and bigger church. Get rid of that “dated” furniture. Buy a newer and fancier vehicle with all the newest technological bells and whistles. Use more than our share of the earth’s limited resources, at the expense of the rest of the peoples of the world. Keep using those fossil fuels. Sure they’ll run out eventually, but we’ll figure something else out later. Never mind that it may be too late by then. Climate change? It’s a myth…

These are some of the idols we worship. Not to mention Trump himself, thinking he can deceive Christians that he’s one of them by printing his own special version of the Bible. Hitler did that, by the way. His Bible claimed that Jesus wasn’t Jewish at all, but a member of the white, Aryan Master Race. Sounds eerily familiar…

We might as well admit that we live in a post-Christian world. Too many people who claim to be Christian are really worshipping America, not the Kingdom of God that Jesus taught. As early as the third century AD, when Emperor Constantine of the Roman Empire made Christianity the state religion, the church Christ founded began to stray from His teachings—such as help the poor, sick, and needy; the outcasts, those on the fringes of society; comfort those in need; love your neighbor as yourself. Many churches give this lip service, but does it show in what they are doing? That early church was soon infiltrated by the forces of wealth and power, the very things Jesus condemned in the religious rulers of His day. And the church of today hasn’t escaped this influence of power-politics.

“Love your neighbor as yourself.” Too many of us love only ourselves. (I admit I’m guilty of this at times, too.) Oh and remember Thomas Jefferson’s famous words—“life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”? We’re all stuck on the last part and overlook the other two. Happiness is what we pursue, at the expense of anyone else who stands in our way.

Now we have the prime role model of this as our ‘leader’. And if anyone dares to challenge him or disagree, he’ll say his favorite line, “You’re fired!” If that doesn’t work, he’ll send in his Storm Troopers. It’s even clearer this time around, as he has Musk playing the Goebbels to Trump’s Fuhrer.

Yes, we should pray for our leaders and for God to deliver our country from its sins. But that’s not enough. We need to repent of our past sins. And delivering the USA may not be God’s plan. He may be using Trump to take us down, as He took Israel down—off our high horse—like He did to all the empires before us. I wonder what the next world empire will be—China? Russia? Or will computers and AI take over completely, making human beings obsolete? Any true reader of science fiction can attest to this possibility.

My final take is that people think Trump will save us from the “evil Democrats”. But who will save us from Trump? Will the God we worship, or at best think we worship? I wonder. He has His own plans, and they probably aren’t ours.

 

My Next Book Is Almost Here - A Historical Fiction Based On My Irish Ancestors

 

                               Book release date:  April 11, 2025

A Journey Through Tragedy, Survival, and Resilience

        In the shadow of Ireland’s Great Hunger of the 1840s, one woman’s strength shapes the destiny of generations. When time traveler Emilia Parker slips into the past, she is thrust into the harrowing world of her ancestors, through the eyes of her great-great-grandmother Maggie Cantlon. Families are ravaged by famine, forced from their homeland, and cast adrift on the perilous Atlantic.

From the ruthless grip of starvation to the cruel holds of England’s “Coffin Ships”, she experiences her ancestor’s suffering, endurance, and the unyielding hope of the Irish spirit. Inspired by true events, An Irish Odyssey: From Despair to Hope, follows Maggie’s family from the desperate shores of Ireland to the rugged frontiers of Canada and Michigan, where they carve out new lives in the lumber camps, railroad building camps, and the booming mines of the 19^th century.

         M.F. Erler’s immersive storytelling brings to life the forgotten history of a people abandoned by their rulers but bound by their faith, resilience, and determination to survive. For readers of historical fiction, Irish heritage, and epic family sagas, this powerful novel is both a tribute to the past and a warning for the future. Fans will find themselves swept away in this gripping, meticulously researched tale of loss, survival, and the indomitable human spirit. (Review by SFP, Author, Oregon)

 

For details contact: mferler@peaksandbeyond

What Is Wrong With This World?

     I know it's been a long time since I posted anything. Health and emotional problems have overwhelmed me these past few months. My mind has been full of fears, panic, paranoia, and feeling lost. Last night in bed I finally began to sort out some of the feelings and thoughts that have been haunting me, and here is what I came up with:

    After 72 years of feeling all my idealism, hopes, and dreams slowly slip away with the sands of time--never to return--I know what's wrong with the world now. Avarice--greed for power and wealth is the dominating force in nearly all of humanity.

    Ironically, or maybe intentionally, Thomas Jefferson laid the foundation in the Declaration of Independence: "...Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness." Those in power latched onto this, but in their pursuit of happiness (for themselves, of course, not the greater good), they deprived the majority of humanity their life and liberty. The have-nots, Indigenous Peoples, immigrants, etc. were marginalized, even scapegoated, and often considered inferior because they didn't have the same opportunities to pursue wealth. In fact, they were often prevented from those opportunities by those very people with the power. Money and power and success have become the idols/gods of this world, and it's even truer today than ever.

    Although a student of history (of which there are too few) can tell you that the world has been this way ever since Adam and Eve ate the Forbidden Fruit.

    And what about Jefferson's other famous phrase: "...All men are created equal..."?  In 1776, he meant only men, of course. Women weren't considered equal to men (except in a few Indigenous cultures, such as the Cherokee). In many ways, they still aren't, especially in the United States. The saddest part is that Jesus treated women as equally important to men, and the Early Church had women leaders. But the church that has taken His name was drawn into the power game and has been forever since ruled by men, with only a few exceptions.

    Also, there's that problematic word "equal". George Orwell stated if quite well in his book Animal Farm, when the pigs declared, "Some are more equal than others." This type of thinking is still at large in the world today, especially in current US political circles. History just keeps repeating itself.

It's a Travesty What They've Done to Our Flag

 I have been meaning to put this post up for a long time. A fellow-writer, Mark Hummel posted a lengthy piece recently on his site, Organic Matters on this subject, and has given me permission to quote him briefly. His was entitled "I Want My Flag Back."

Another sight prompted me just the other day to finally express myself. I saw a pickup truck with an American Flag and a Confederate Flag mounted on the back. I was appalled. This is one of the most disrespectful sighs I've seen, and there are many more. Our flag has been hijacked to stand for only one side's point of view, and disrespected as a result. It is meant to stand for all of, "the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave" with "Liberty and Justice for All." Of course these quotes are still dreams, especially the last one. There has never been justice for ALL in this country. I pray it's not too late.

Mark mentioned some other thoughts: "Just as civil discourse used to exist even among those running against one another from opposite points of the political spectrum, there were once rules regarding display and handling of the American flag. Recognizing the symbolic power of service to country, they are rules those who have survived military combat have forged as ways to show proper respect. Whatever your personal beliefs about politics, please consider the following rules of flag etiquette provided by the Veterans of Foreign Wars."

Before I list these, I have to note that any of us who grew up in the 1950s and 60s were taught these things in school, or in Scouts. I know I was.

Special Rules

Do not let the flag touch the ground.

Do not fly the flag upside down, unless there in an emergency (mainly meant for maritime vessels.)

Do not carry the flag flat, or carry things in it.

Do not use the flag as clothing. (I've even seen beach towel flags--talk about touching the ground!)

Do not store the flag where it can get dirty.

Do not use it as a cover, except on a veteran's coffin.

Do not fasten or tie it back. Always allow it to fall free.

Do not draw on, or otherwise mark the flag.

(I also remember being told that if displayed with other flags the American flag should be on a higher pole.)

Illumination Guidelines 

Per Federal Flag Code, Section 2, Paragraph (a), it is the universal custom to display the flag only from sunrise to sun set on buildings and stationary flagstaffs in the open. (Not pickup trucks or other vehicles.)

However, when a patriotic effect is desired, the flag may be displayed twenty-four hours a day if Properly Illuminated during the hours of darkness.

I must add a couple of observations of my own here. I was told the flag, if damaged or worn, was to be disposed of by burning it, not burying it or throwing it away. It makes my heart ache to see flags that have been flown 24/7 in all kinds of weather, becoming worn and in tatters, and still flying.

Thank you, Mark Hummel for giving me permission to summarize some of your message. It's something that has been bothering me for a long time. 

Sometimes I Wish I Could Change Places With Her

 

A Lost Connection

By Mary Frances Erler

 

          As I approached the small gravestone, lying almost even with the grass

around it, my legs began to weaken. Before I knew it, I was on my knees, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I read the letters I’d never been able to read:

          The last time I’d seen my little sister’s gravestone I was probably only three or four, too young to read the letters. This was at least 67 years ago. I had no idea why my parents took me to the cemetery almost every Sunday afternoon. I thought it was something everyone did. I wasn’t quite three when my brother Robbie was born. They must have brought him some as a baby. All I know for sure is that we never went to the cemetery after we moved to Magnolia Drive, and that was right after I turned five. Mom probably couldn’t handle it anymore, I suppose.

          In fact Mom never mentioned a word about Roberta Lee. Dad told us when I was about eight years old, I believe. We’d just watched an episode of the old show Wagon Train. In this episode a newborn baby had died.

          “It’s so sad that the baby died,” I remember saying to Dad.

          He nodded and took Robbie and me aside. I think Mom left the room to put our baby brother to bed. “We had a baby that died like that,” he said. “She was born too soon and only lived for a couple of hours. We named her Roberta Lee.”

          As soon as he said this, I knew what those Sunday afternoon visits to the cemetery had been for.  Robbie was too young to understand, but it all made sense to me. I had a little sister who died. By this time I had a second brother, baby Danny. So I grew up with two brothers, but I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister.

          The knowledge that I did have a sister somewhere—maybe in heaven—left a huge impression in my heart. And the name Roberta Lee meant a lot, for Dad’s first name was Robert, and Mom’s middle name was Lee. I began to include my sister in my childhood bedtime prayers: “God bless Mama and Daddy, Robbie and Danny, and Roberta Lee, wherever she may be.” Neither of my parents ever commented on how I worded my prayer for her.

          As grew older, another memory was added to the story, at least in my own mind. On February 10, 1954, I was within a week of turning nineteen months old. People say this is too young to have a memory, but I know I do remember an event the night my sister was born:

          I am sitting on a brown area rug on the hardwood floor of the rental house we lived in until I was five. There is a cup of cold water or juice in my hands. Across the room I hear my father and my mother’s mother, Nanny, talking in anxious, upset voices. My mother is not in the house. Somehow I know that she would be there with Nanny, unless something was very wrong.

          The most distinct part of the memory is the feeling of cold liquid running down my chest when I spill the cup as I try to drink from it. That is another hint that tells me I am under two years old. My adult mind has now reasoned that I picked up on the tension in the room, and that’s why I spilled that cup. And I can think of no other reason for all those things to be happening—except the birth of Roberta Lee. Mama wasn’t home because she was at the hospital in premature labor, and that’s why Daddy and Nanny were upset.

          My brothers had no memories like this. Robbie was born just over a year later in 1955, and Danny came along in 1958.

          There’s another strange twist in the story, though. When our father died, in August 2010, I was in Montana and my brother Robert (no longer Robbie) was the one who saw Dad the day before he died.

          As soon as Robert had come into his room at the nursing home, Dad had told him this story. “I had the most wonderful day yesterday. I spent it with my daughter.”

          “But Dad, Frances is in Montana, not here.”

          “No, my other daughter,” said Dad. “She has such beautiful eyes.”

          After Robert’s visit that morning with Dad, he had to go to work. Dad died a couple of hours later.

          When he called to tell me about Dad’s passing, one of Robert’s first questions was, “Did our parents have a baby girl between you and me who died?”

          “Yes,” I said. “Dad told us about her when I was around eight. You would have been only five, so you don’t remember. And of course, if they took you to the cemetery when I was three, you were just a baby.”

          That event left me wondering if somehow as Dad approached death, he had crossed over just far enough the day before he died, to see the daughter he’d never known on earth but would know in heaven. And the more I wondered, the more I wanted to go find that little grave and see it again.

          The website FindaGrave.com told me she was buried in Arlington Memorial Cemetery in El Dorado, Arkansas. This was the town we’d lived in until I was eleven. There was a photo of the gravestone, and this was the first time I found out exactly when she was born.

          Arkansas is a long way from Montana, so I wondered if I’d ever get back there. But in February 2024, we were visiting my cousin in Jefferson, Texas. When I discovered El Dorado was only three hours’ drive away, my husband Paul agreed we should take a day trip to my birthplace.

          The first thing we did was find the cemetery, but it was huge. Since we had no idea which section to look in, it would take all day and maybe more to find one small grave. After wandering and searching on foot for about half an hour, we finally found a phone number on a sign at one of the cemetery entrances. Paul called the number, and a woman answered. He explained our situation, and she told him the information office was right across the road from where we were sitting in our rental car.

          With great relief, we drove to the office and showed her the photo I’d printed from the FindaGrave.com website. I think she recognized the name of the person who had posted the picture. It didn’t take her long to locate the gravesite, and she printed a map for us.

          “I’ll take you there,” she said.

          “Oh, that’s very kind,” said Paul.

          “No problem,” she replied. “I do this often.”

          So we followed her car as she drove back through the cemetery gate. We hadn’t gone far when she stopped and pointed to a corner lot. It had only a couple of gravestones, and no tall headstones like most of the rest of the graves in the cemetery. Fuzzy childhood memories of trips to the cemetery fell into place: the grave was near one of the cemetery lanes, and there was a woodland several yards to the left. She drove away, as we walked toward the place my heart so desired to see.

(In the photo below, my sister’s gravestone is the one on the left in the foreground. Just as I remembered, it was not near a lot of headstones, and near a road. The woods I remembered are out of the picture to the left.)

That’s when I fell on my knees. I had no words, just tears of joy that I’d found my little sister at last. There was grief, too, for the years that she had missed. We were there on February 5, 2024—just five days short of what would have been her seventieth birthday. An entire life missed.

Yet as I sat on the damp ground, I couldn’t help but think perhaps she was the lucky one. She’d gone straight to heaven, while I had endured seventy-one years of the trials and heartbreaks of life here on earth. Oh, there had been joys, too. But right at that point my joy and pain all merged as I sat and talked to my sister.

          Paul gently told me, “Take all the time you need,” and went to the car.

          As I looked at the stone and ran my hands over it, I was amazed that it still seemed new. The letters and numbers were still sharp and deeply cut. There were no signs of weathering. Running my fingers on the polished granite around the name section, an eerie sensation came over me. My brothers and I had chosen the same shade of pink and grey granite when we picked our parents’ headstone for their grave in Rochester, Illinois.

          I told my sister about her younger brothers. As I told her the color of everyone’s eyes in the family I wondered what color her “beautiful eyes” were.

          “I’m looking forward to finally meeting you,” I said, as the tears kept cascading down. “I’ve wondered my whole life what you would be like. Someday I will know.” (Even as I write this, the tears are falling again.)

          With a quavering voice, I tried to sing some favorite songs to her. The only one I could get all the way through was Jesus Loves Me.  I forgot to tell her that this was one of our mother’s favorite songs when she was in her eighties, had Alzheimer’s, and was approaching death. For some reason I talked more about our father, for he was the one who had told me about her. I know the two of them are together in heaven forever, and now Mom has joined them.

          Finally, my tears ebbed and I rejoined Paul in the rental car. We drove around my old hometown. Many things had changed, but some hadn’t. I recognized the school where I had attended first through fifth grade, and started sixth, before my dad’s work forced us to move to Illinois. We drove around my old neighborhood, and it was good to see that almost all the houses still looked loved and cared for. The magnolia trees on Magnolia Drive were fifty feet taller than I remembered, but everything else looked smaller. Our former house looked beautiful, as the owners had bricked the front. I could still see the rectangular wrought iron Mom had chosen for the front porch; she wanted nothing to do with curls and leaf patterns.

          We even found the rental house where I had spilled that drink on myself almost seventy years ago. It looked well cared for, too. And down the hill there were the railroad tracks that Dad liked to walk me to. Sometimes we even saw trains going by. Dad loved trains.

          Our visit to El Dorado ended with a late picnic lunch in a park near the rental house. Perhaps it was the park I remembered walking to with Mama on sunny days when Daddy was at work.

          A Bible verse came to my mind, “Lord, now let your servant depart in peace…for my eyes have seen…” The verse is telling about a priest seeing baby Jesus, as God had promised he would before he died. I guess I was feeling that I could die in peace now, too, for I had seen with my own adult eyes the place where some treasured childhood memories dwell, of the sister I hope to get to know in heaven. Then I'll get to see what color her beautiful eyes are, just like my Dad did.

Circles of Time

 We've made it to August 1. In ancient times this was a holiday called Lughnasa or Lammas, and was celebrated as the beginning of the harvest season. It marks the halfway point between the Summer Solstice and the Autumn Equinox. 

There are 4 of these quarter feasts, but this is the only one that has been lost in modern times. The halfway point between the Autumn Equinox and the Winter Solstice is October 31, when we celebrate Halloween. The next one is between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox on February 2, when we observe Groundhog Day. And the fourth is Beltaine, May 1, when May Day falls. 

To me, these ancient feasts, celebrated for thousands of years, show that we as humans are not able to control the forces of nature and the passage of time. Only the Creator can. Whenever we humans think we can seize control of nature, the results are pollution, a decline in our environment, and unbalances in the Food Web.

In our human self-centeredness, we forget that we are part of that Food Web, too. When we hurt or destroy parts of this delicately balanced web, we are also jeopardizing our future. Eventually, the things we do will tip the scales, and our Mother Earth will be uninhabitable.

Past geological records show that there have been several mass extinctions in earth's past. We don't fully understand what caused these mass extinctions, and we understand even less about what the next one will be--or when. But it appears that the next one--the first we know of since humans appeared on the earth--will be caused, or at least exacerbated, by humans. 

Something Is Wrong Here, Part 2

 

In Post #1, I mentioned that I fear some Christians are not following Jesus's example and teachings, especially when it comes to treatment of what society considers 'outcasts.'  Sometimes I feel like our Western Society has sold out to selfishness and capitalist empire-building. Unfortunately, it started in the early centuries of the Church, around the Third Century AD, when the Church began to buy into the Roman Empire's power-structure way of thinking. Power over others became a higher focus than witnessing to and helping others. In my opinion, if Jesus had thought power was the answer, he would have overthrown the Romans and started an earthly empire of his own.  Many of his early followers expected him to do exactly this.

Instead, Jesus told Pontius Pilate (the representative of the world power of Rome who claimed to have power over him), "You would have no power over me if God had not permitted this." And Jesus added, "My kingdom is not of this world." Over the centuries, the Church sought to establish 'peace' by overcoming the foes they disagreed with. Forgetting that Jesus had promised them "Peace the world cannot give."

But the focus of the church, especially as it moved into the Medieval years, became accumulating wealth and political power, and Jesus's teachings were gradually pushed aside. There were a few 'revivals' over the centuries, but they came and went. Selfishness and thirst for power took over again. In a world where we are supposed to be compassionate and cooperative, instead we fight and compete over the earth's finite resources.

I see our country following the path of the waning Roman Empire--the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer. The ones with the power are considered above the law. Just look at the recent ruling of the Supreme Court about former presidents having immunity from prosecution. If they weren't guilty of anything, why do they require immunity in the first place? This is so far off-base from the system of Checks and Balances the founders of our nation tried to put into the Constitution that it breaks my heart.

Our nation is headed down a very dark path that has led to the fall of many nations over the centuries. And too many people deny it. Bob Dylan said it well decades ago in his song Blowin' In the Wind: "How many times can a man turn his head, pretending he just doesn't see?"

It may take decades, but we will go the way of the falling Roman Empire, and all the fallen empires that preceded it. The men with the military backing will seize more and more power in order to overthrow the duly elected government. True freedom will be sacrificed for 'comforts and the good life', but at a great cost. (Another picture of this was drawn by George Orwell in his prophetic book 1984.)

Those who don't have the security and comforts of a good life, will be told it's their own fault for being lazy and inferior. At times the masses will rebel and be put down. Leadership will become dictatorship for the sake of  'national security', at the expense of personal liberty. The Pledge of Allegiance will be a pitiful echo of an achievement and dream never reached: "liberty and justice for all."

Perhaps it was a bad omen from the very start that the Liberty Bell cracked.