Why attempts to revise history is risky

So what about those monuments?
When is enough enough?
When will our reach exceed our grasp of truth?
If markers of our sullied past
aren’t worth preserving, then
how will we teach kids history? Forsooth!

Are four white faces carved within
the Black Hills doomed as well?
Because both George and Tom had slaves back then?
And just because old Borglum
had some racist tendencies,
should what he did be banned because of sin?

In Germany the Nazi camps
still stand (amazingly).
They call to mind what we dare not forget.
Attempts to wipe out what took place
aren’t honest. They’re contrived.
It’s something that I frankly just don’t get.

These monuments spark memories
that give us cause to teach.
They’re symbols of both glory and of shame.
Plus who decides what is torn down,
or which ones will remain?
Revising history is a reckless game.

In Europe we find evidence
of grandeur and of ill.
Antiquities bear witness to the past.
I can’t imagine tearing down
such priceless works of art
that call to mind deep wounds that always last.

What I pray for my progeny

Amazed by how fleeting six decades have flown,
I wish for my children the joys that I’ve known:
The comforting knowledge that God is a friend
whose love never fails or grows cold.

The privilege of having a job you adore
so that going to work never seems like a chore.
The deep satisfaction of sharing your life
with someone who’s vowed to be true.

The passionate thrill having kids of your own
and then making great memories before they have grown.
And when they have married and moved far away,
the knowledge they’re glad to be home.

And should the Lord bless them with little ones, too,
I’m praying they’ll feel the delights that I do
while holding them, feeding them, watching them grow
convinced that they think you are great!

But mostly I want them to have inner peace
when sadness comes knocking and happy days cease.
When they are blindsided by problems and pain,
I want them to know they are loved.

My Father’s Day wish list is not very long.
It’s hoping my kids understand they belong
to a fam’ly to which they contribute much wealth
simply by their investment of time.

Contrasting two Georges

George Bailey had a wonderful life,
four charming kids, a loving wife.
In Bedford Falls, George had no fear
when Bert the cop stopped by.

While Potter did breathe down his neck
and caused poor George some disrespect,
when everything was said and done
he had it pretty good.

But (say his name) George Floyd despaired.
The cops (where he lived) were not fair.
They kneed his neck and took his life.
No, justice wasn’t served.

By George, this is a time to grieve
as each of us takes time to breathe
while cognizant of those who can’t.
It’s time we take a stand!

Why Jesus understands George Floyd

“I can’t breathe!”
We heard him sigh
before we watched the victim die.
While officers stood by unfazed
with hatred in their hearts.

These Roman soldiers felt no guilt
for what they’d done. The blood they’d spilt
could be washed off (or so they thought).
But they were clearly wrong.

His blood would stain and rightly so.
The droplets from his cross still flow
to cover all the sin we hide.
Praise God for blood that stains.

Yes, Jesus understands the plight
of how George died the other night.
His righteous anger burns with love.
Can ours not do the same?