Alan Jackson, a country singer, debuted Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning?)  in November 2001 at the Country Music Association Awards. Jackson immediately wanted to write something to express how he felt after 9/11, but it just wasn’t coming to him. He wrestled for weeks to write this song. Then, on Sunday at 4 a.m. on October 28^th, he woke up with the melody and the beginning of the song. It was just a few lines, but he finally had a starting point. His wife and children went to church and Sunday school. He stayed home and finished the song. It released as a single in November and immediately topped the charts.

I think for a lot of us, this song vocalizes how we felt, maybe what we still wonder.

Where was I? It was a Tuesday, so we were hustling to finish stories and get them turned in at the magazine. My son Cody called. “Mom, are you watching TV?”

“No, it’s Tuesday. I’m finishing some edit on stories.”

“Go turn the TV on now.”

I did and watched the second plane hit. Then I sank to the couch in shock. “Is this true? Two planes just hit the towers?”

It was true. Then the Pentagon got hit and Flight 93 went down in a field.

I sat there staring at the TV and the phone rang. It was my editor at the magazine. “Did you see the news?”

“Yes, I’m watching it now. I can’t even believe it.”

“I know. I think everyone is in shock.” Then she had to put on her editor hat. “Where are you on the stories?”

“I already filed most of them. I have two left to finish editing.”

“Good, try to push through. I know we all want to stop, but the printer won’t wait.”

“Understood. Talk later.”

I finished my stories and filed them. Then I sat down, glued to the television. Shock, anger, sadness filled me. I spent the day crying. Videos of people running from the disaster. Iconic pictures. Stories from survivors. Stories of victims.

Then, over the days and weeks that followed, the stories came out of bravery, tragedy, and a few of hope.

Marcy Borders, The Dust Woman. She said later she despised that picture because all she saw was fear. She was traumatized for the rest of her life by tall buildings and planes. The fear so trapped her that she became addicted to drugs. In April 2011, she entered a rehab center. News that Osama Bin Laden was dead helped her recapture her life and get sober.

Unfortunately, that dust that made her famous also may have killed her. In August 2014, she was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Even before her surgery, she’d racked up $190,000 in debt and still needed more chemotherapy. She didn’t even have the money for her prescriptions.

In 2019, Congress set up the Never Forget the Heroes: James Zadroga, Ray Pfeifer, and Luis Alvarez Permanent Authorization of the September 11th Victim Compensation Fund Act that funded victims of 9/11 related illnesses and injuries. It is fully funded through 2092. It was too late for Marcy who died on August 24, 2015.

 The Man in the Red Bandana. No one knew who he was at first. It was his iconic red bandana that helped identify him. His father always wrapped a comb in a red or blue bandana and tucked it in his hip pocket. “One for show,” he told his son Welles, “and one for blow.” A white handkerchief in your chest pocket and another for nose business. Welles’ dad gave him a red bandana when he was six and he carried one with him the rest of his life.

On 9/11, Welles was in the South Tower when flight 175 struck between floors 77 and 85 at 9:03. He was on the 104^th floor and called his mother at 9:12. “Mom, this is Welles. I just wanted you to know I’m okay.”

Then, he made his way to the 78^th floor sky lobby where he encountered a group of survivors including Ling Young who was badly burned. He picked her up and led them down the only intact stairwell several flights to where he found help. He dropped Young and the others off and headed back up. The smoke was bad enough that he had his red bandana on his face so he could breathe by the time he got back up to the 78^th floor.

Young later recalled him telling the group, “I found the stairs, follow me and only help the ones you can help.”

Back on floor 78, he found another group of survivors and told people to help put out fires and get people up to descend. With the fire extinguishers exhausted, they started back down. He guided them back down to the street. Among them was Judy Wein who had suffered a broken arm, broken ribs, and a punctured lung. He helped her escape.

Then, remarkably, he headed back in. He didn’t make it out. He was last seen with a group of FDNY trying to rescue people. His body was found in March of 2002 with the group of firefighters.

His parents didn’t know what happened to him until Allison, his mother, watched an interview with Judy Wein who described a young man appearing out of nowhere with a red bandana. Allison contacted some of the survivors her son had rescued and they confirmed it was Welles.

His family has since started a charity to help youth named the Red Bandana Project.

There are so many heroes from that day that it could make a book, and has…several times over.

Gwyneth Paltrow narrated a movie about him.

Then there was The Rev. Al Braca was a deeply devoted man who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald at the World Trade Center. His co-workers nicknamed him “Rev” because he declined going out drinking with the others after work and headed home to be with his family. When the plane struck the tower, he was on the phone and the other person on the line heard him yell, “Evacuate!” The intense fire blocked any escape route.

Braca called the fifty people near him together. He led them in prayer and tried to calm them. They formed a circle and prayed. People called home to say goodbye. Then, Braca said, “I’m going to be with Jesus today. Who’s going with me?” It’s reported that several people accepted salvation before the tower collapsed.

All 658 members of Cantor Fitzgerald in the building died on that day.

Reverend Father Mychal Judge was the first named victim of the attack, receiving the tag 0001. He was the FDNY chaplain and rushed to the towers following the strikes. Mayor Rudy Giuliani was already there and asked Father Judge to pray for New York and the victims. He prayed over the wounded and dead before going into the lobby of the North Tower to help at the command center. He continued offering assistance and prayers for the rescuers and victims.

When the South Tower collapsed, debris flew into the lobby, killing several instantly. Father Judge was among them.

Todd Beamer and the others on flight 93 didn’t make it to their destination. Another operator transferred Beamer’s call to Lisa Jefferson, a GTE operator. She didn’t tell him about the World Trade Center because she wanted him to have hope. He was calm when he talked to her as he related what was happening. He told her three hijackers had taken over the plane and already killed one passenger. Then, when the plane jerked violently, the passengers realized it was heading toward DC. They were going to try and take back control of the plane.

He didn’t try to call his wife because she was pregnant and he didn’t want to worry her, but he asked Lisa to tell his wife how much he loved her and his family. He told Lisa they had two boys and were expecting a third baby. At the end, he asked Lisa to pray with him. They recited the Lord’s Prayer and Psalm 23: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

Then he said to the others in the plane, “Are you guys ready? Okay. Let’s roll.”

They nearly had control back when the plane crashed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

Back in New York, thousands of people were stranded without a way to get out. Lower Manhattan was cut off. Boats started showing up for what would become known as The Great Boat Lift of 9/11. Ferries, Coast Guard, tugboats, fishing boats, private boats. Anything that could transport people showed up without formal organization. Over nine hours, approximately 500,000 people were transported to safety.

Rescue crews and dogs flooded into the city to help. Genelle Guzman‑McMillan was the last person to be pulled alive from the wreckage twenty-seven hours after the attack. Due to the heavy dust and her injuries, she’d been unable to call for help. Through it all, she said, a man named Paul held her hand and comforted her. This man and thoughts of her daughter sustained her while she lay hopelessly trapped.

There was no man named Paul found in the rubble near her. She later came to call him her angel.

She underwent four surgeries, and had to relearn to walk during her months in the hospital.

Part of the miracle of Genelle was due to the amazing rescue dogs who worked tirelessly to find victims. After a while, the strain and disappointment of only finding bodies began to wear on the dogs and they were visibly depressed. Handlers started stashing people playing rescue victims so the dogs could experience a success.

Over 300 rescue dogs participated in the efforts. It quickly turned from a rescue operation to a recovery effort. On May 30, 2002, the authorities closed Ground Zero.

Dr. Cynthia Otto, the executive director of the Penn Vet Working Dog Center and a University of Pennsylvania professor was there for a week. She and her team observed and cared for the dogs. Once, she mentioned the dogs aren’t therapy dogs, but just their presence had a calming effect on the workers.

“One of the things that has really stuck with me is that the dogs provided so much more than just the scent detection,” Otto said. “They provided some sort of source of comfort for all of us that were working there, and it really made a difference.”

She also noted a time when three firemen were sitting exhausted on a beam among a pile of debris. They reached out and petted Logan, one of the premier working dogs at the site. They went from blank stares to a light coming back on in their eyes as they petted the dog.

It was one of those moments when people realized, “We’re going to make it.”

The U.S. came together in those days. The world came together with us. Several countries around the world donated or erected memorials for 9/11. More recently, Japan lowered its flags to half-staff on 9/11.

Are we going to make it? Yes, we’re Americans.

Have we forgotten? I fear many have and the world is a poorer place for it.

I was think yesterday about how my sanctimonious mother-in-law marched into my hospital room and didn’t bother to say hello, I’m sorry, or anything like that. She just glared at me and said, “I knew you were going to kill that baby.”

She was mad because I’d been taking care of her, Don’s nephew’s boys while his wife was in the hospital having a baby, my nearly blind father-in-law, his brother who decided to visit and “help.” He was no help. Vicky insisted I bring Bill up to the hospital to see her twice a day to see her. That was a chore in itself since he was blind. I’d have to leave him at the door and then try to find a parking place and hustle back with my seven-month pregnant belly. Though I’d tell him to stay right there, he’d invariably wander off looking for the door and I’d have to rescue him before he got ran over. I finally had to tell her I could only bring him once a day.

She had gall bladder surgery and they told her she could go home after two days. She refused and stayed a week. “Why should I go home where I have to wait on other people when I can stay here and people wait on me?” They finally forced her to leave.

When she came home, she brought all her hospital menus and showed me what she wanted to eat. I was supposed to replicate what the hospital had cooked. She was supposed to have no salt. I tried. I cooked the meal without salt for her. Added salt for everyone else. Cub, Bill’s brother ate at different times than Vicky and Bill did, so I was cooking six meals a day. Don was on the road as he was a truck driver. He finally said I was cooking three meals a day and if they didn’t want to eat what I cooked they could do without.

The meals without salt had no flavor, so Vicky had to grab the salt shaker and add flavor.

On top of that, I had animals and a huge garden at our place I was tending, so I was exhausted.

I finally begged Don to get me out of there. Our anniversary was coming up on July 12^th, so he told everyone we were going to Ruidoso for our anniversary to relax. Ruidoso is in the mountains and has great horse racing.

His mother threw a fit. What was she going to do? I had no business traveling in my condition. All sorts of excuses why I shouldn’t go.

We went for four glorious days and I was extremely happy. Then, on the seventeenth, I was trying to catch up on my garden and started canning pickles. My water broke in the middle of the night when I picked up a case of canning jars.

The doctor induced labor and Mirinda didn’t make it.

The funny thing is, I knew something was wrong. I called Don’s cousin one day and said, “I think something’s wrong. Something feels off. I think I should call the doctor.”

She laughed. “Stop being a baby. Grandma Weathers used to pull a one baby on a cotton sack while she was pregnant and picking cotton. Toughen up.”

So, I didn’t call the doctor. I toughened up and tried to be a Weathers.

It was all my fault, of course, because I went to Ruidoso. I already felt like it was my fault. If I had told Don no, I wasn’t taking care of Bill after I had told Vicky for weeks not to put off that surgery when she knew Irene was so close to having her baby. It was my fault for painting Bill and Vicky’s house. I tried cleaning it, but the walls were so dirty, it was easier to paint it. It was my fault because I shouldn’t have been canning. I never regretted going to Ruidoso because I had been about to lose my mind in Odessa. I felt so guilty, I tried to get the hospital window open to jump out.

Now, I had confirmation. It was my fault.

My friend Debbie was with me. She told her to get out.

I determined to commit suicide the first time that night. I didn’t take the sleeping pills they gave me. I got dressed and looked for my car keys. Lanny, Don’s nephew had them. I didn’t have enough money to call a cab. I called Lanny. “I need my car keys. I’m going home.”

Lanny came to the hospital. I was so happy to see him. He told the nurses I was trying to leave. They took me back to my room, gave me a shot and kept me more heavily sedated after that.

If I were in Odessa, I’d go to the cemetery and trim around her grave. I’d put fresh oasis in the vase and a bouquet I’d made. Salmon colored roses and butterflies, baby’s breath. I’d collapse over the warm grave and cry until there were no tears left. I’d apologize to her. I’ll cry anyway and apologize anyway. I have been all day.

And now, I will abandon my plan to figure out what is leaking in my house. My hot water heater, I think. I tried to turn off the water to it so I could drain it, but the idiot who hooked it up didn’t put a separate cut off to the hot water heater. If I turn off the valve, it cuts off the water to the whole house.

And Will just called. They are going to a music festival. Can I kid and dog sit for a few hours? I’m happy to.

After all, life goes on.

Yellow school buses: They spot one and act like they’ve just found the last unicorn. Bus drivers let them look at our yellow school buses.

“They’re so clean!” “They have air conditioning!” “They’re really yellow!”

I’m sure some of them at least have watched US shows or movies. Did they think Hollywood made them up?

I don’t know.

Scottish fans (the Tartan Army) leased buses from a charter company and then something happened and they wouldn’t have enough busses. Someone suggested they lease some school busses, which they did. They rented fifteen of them. They wouldn’t have air conditioning or toilets, but they were safe transportation and the windows worked. district to go to the various venues. The Tartan Army knew what they were because they watch The Simpsons. At the end of their journey, they returned the buses and donated to the school. (I was sad. I liked Scotland.)

More on that in another story.

Flags: They were amazed at how many citizens display American flags. I know it’s the 250th celebration, but US citizens do have a thing about flying our flag.

Carrie Underwood put up 1,800 flags on her fence line. Good for her.

Fans reacting to huge flags.

Johnny Cash’s “Ragged Old Flag.

Air Conditioning: Yep, it’s a big deal. They’re going to miss it.

They even found some stadiums with air conditioning.

Which brings us to: Stadiums They were gob smacked. Even the high school and college stadiums. One man was showing off a high school stadium and he said, “In England this would be a professional stadium.”

Rodeo: I honestly was apprehensive about this. I figured there would be a whole lot of European fans who would be disgusted by rodeo and not understand it. I’m sure they still don’t understand it, but I didn’t see any negative rants about it. I did watch an English couple go to a rodeo a few months ago and post their reactions on their YouTube. They wanted to vomit. I’m sure they threw their cowboy hats and boots away on their way out the door.

At the rodeo in Dallas, English and Croatian fans broke out into a rousing rendition of Sweet Caroline during the rodeo. It’s safe to say a good time was had by all.

Surprisingly, all the soccer fans I saw enjoyed it. They bought their cowboy hats and bandanas. Some bought boots. Some bought the whole outfit…like Haaland and his crew or almost the whole outfit.

I used to work in a western store. The weeks before the stock show and rodeo were always busy. Every female wanted her cowgirl outfit to trap a cowboy. Every guy wanted his cowboy outfit to trap those pretty cowgirls.

Sometimes the real cowboys and cowgirls came in to shop. We did a strong business with the western crowd and, oddly enough, country singers. Merle Haggard ordered all his hats from us. Mr. Hooton, the owner of the store, knew how to crease his hats just right.

I understand the draw of western wear and I’m glad our visitors got to experience it.

I wish they’d been able to see a Native Pow Wow. Pow Wows always charge my batteries. They are beautiful and a wonderful tribute to an important part of our story.

Costco and Walmart: I laughed at this one. They took over the Arlington Walmart and had a blast.

Holy cow. “You can buy anything here!” At Costco: “They let you have samples for free? There are samples everywhere. They’re free?”

Yes, Costco is famous for its samples. When my son and his wife go shopping, they ask the boys if they want to go. The oldest seldom does. He’s a teen. He has important things to do, like work. The youngest asks where they’re shopping. Woodman’s, Walmart, Sam’s Club—he’s not interested. Costco? He perks up like a pug in a ball pit. He loves their samples.

I don’t do Costco, but I do Sam’s Club and Walmart. Wow. The things I don’t appreciate.

Buc-ee’s: “It’s a petrol station, but it’s as big as a football field.” Yes, Buc-ee’s is pretty amazing. I’ve never seen one. They look like a huge tourist trap to me, but then I like Cracker Barrel. Oddly, I can resist most of the junk there also. Except the little wooden peg games. I’m a sucker for those.

Dolly Parton built a similar “petrol station” but this one also has facilities for truckers, a little dog park, showers, laundry facilities, a lounge with a live band, all the trinkets, of course, and a good restaurant.

Ice in drinks: This amazes them. Wait staff automatically serve ice water when you sit down. I usually get mine with a slice of lemon. Our visitors react like someone is producing a rabbit out of a hat right in front of them.

Free refills! Oh. My. Gosh. Not only are the portions and drinks huge, there are free refills. I think there were some misconceptions at times. In some places, they give you a large if you order a medium. There’s small and large; however, a Whataburger medium drink is 32 ounces. That’s a pretty large drink wherever you’re from. Self-serve soft drinks and the variety!

Tailgating. A bunch of them attended some other events, baseball games and such. “They’re cooking right in the parking lot! Everyone invited us over to join them!”

Shooting ranges: Several got taken to shooting ranges to try them out. Well, that was an experience. I hope none get arrested when they get home. It’s happened.

Bass Pro

The variety of landscapes. They are amazed at how different the US is geographically. Many now understand why a lot of Americans don’t feel the need to leave the country to have a fun vacation.

Is hospitality a “thing?” Comment after comment about how friendly the people are. Servers and clerks are happy to help you. That’s not true everywhere, but it’s largely true. When we were remodeling our house in Odessa, Texas, I was the one doing most of the work. A plumber in Home Depot got to know me well and would always try to help me. He had retired but went to work managing their plumbing department. I could always depend on him to get me what I needed, explain the best way to do something, and not treat me like an idiot.

At McCoy’s Building Supply, a retired carpenter always made a beeline to help when he could. “It’s a lot cheaper to buy a full sheet of that plywood and cut it down yourself.”

“Oh, I’m building cabinets. I need straight edges and I can’t cut a straight line to save my life.”

He laughed. “Of course you can. You build a jig and zip right on down the sheet.” Then he showed me how to do it.

Friendly service is a thing and who doesn’t love that. One British guy said a friend took him through a drive-thru fast-food place. The girl taking their order was so friendly even over the intercom. Then they got to the window and she was smiling and visiting with them. He was amazed. “In the UK, you get ‘Yeah, what can I get for ya?’ No thanks, no smiles.”

Drive-thru: We have drive-thru everything. I suppose to some it seems like the height of laziness, but I often use them for a reason. If I ever go in Walgreens, I don’t walk out with that $3.00 prescription. I walk out with the prescription and $80 worth of stuff I forgot I “needed.”

A compilation of a little bit of everything.

I think what this has really shown me is how much we take for granted here. Thank you, soccer fans.

Here’s my main take away, though. Before all this, about the only thing I knew was that David Beckham played soccer. He was a good soccer player. The British royal family highly respected him as did all the UK. Good for them. Soccer wasn’t my thing, but it’s big in the UK so I could see why he was important to them. Other than that, I didn’t have any feelings one way or the other about him…until Queen Elizabeth died. He could have cut the line to view her. He probably could have asked for a private audience with the family and received it. He did none of that. He stood in line like a normal person for thirteen hours to pass by her and pay respects.

That’s when he earned my respect as a person. Well done, sir. Not that David Beckham or anyone else needs my respect, but I was impressed that he didn’t use his fame as a footballer or friend of the royal family to pull strings as many other politicians and celebrities did.

On a side note, I find it interesting that he grew up in a working class family. When teachers asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he answered without hesitation, “A footballer.”

They laughed and urged him to think of something practical. He had a dream and made it happen. Good job.

After watching this USA game, and snippets of some other games, I have to respect the great athletic shape these men are in. You can’t take that away from them. They are remarkable. The USA game ran 100 minutes. It went overtime. I watched the game and have not a clue why it went over. Don’t hate me.

A sad update to this post I’m working on. USA lost tonight, but they went out with class and good game Belgium.

Anyway, I was impressed with how talented and athletic the players are. It’s plain there’s a lot of strategy that goes into some of this. I am but a mere mortal. I have no idea what it is aside from score, don’t let the other guy score, and fake an injury and hope the other team gets a penalty. I’m just sad that these obvious silly injuries are so much a part of the game.

This is a family friend, Steve Sanders, roping. He and his family are the real deal.

I’ve been at team ropings where someone gets a finger or thumb cut off when they dally their rope. Team roping is when two ropers come out of the roping box and a steer comes out of a chute with a head start. They ride hard to catch up. One ropes the head. One ropes the steer’s heels and they face their horses, keeping the ropes taut so the steer doesn’t get loose. When the cowboy gets their rope on, they wrap the loose end of their rope quickly around the saddle horn to keep the rope from whizzing through their fingers. Once in a while, they get a finger caught between the rope and saddle horn and something has to give. It’s the finger or thumb. The roper calls out he lost a finger. They stop the roping and people get out and start searching for the finger.

Invariably, someone calls out, “Found one. Think it’s yours?”

Everyone laughs. They rinse it off, put it in a glass of ice and off he goes to the hospital to have it reattached or not. They can’t always perform miracles.

My oldest son hung up to a bull once at a bullriding practice. That means his hand was stuck in the rope and he couldn’t get loose. the bull was spinning and stepped on him several times. He had a protective vest on, but it broke. He declined to go to the hospital. This was on a Wednesday night.

His roommate drove back to Odessa, TX with him, about thirty miles. He wanted to call me, but Brandon told him not to. I would be in church. He made him wait until he thought I’d be out of church. I rushed over. Brandon was not in good shape. His stomach was the color of an eggplant and he looked like he was five months pregnant. I wanted to call an ambulance.

He refused. “No, you drive me.”

I told his roommate to call the hospital and tell them to have surgeons waiting. We were coming in with a bad wreck. Explain to them what happened. Call the police and tell them which way I’d be going to the hospital and try to pick up an escort.

Brandon insisted on putting his boots on, so we helped him put them on. helped him to the car and laid the seat back as far as it would go. I put my emergency blinkers on and drove like a bat out of El Paso to get to town and the hospital. As luck would have it, there were no cops to be had. I slowed down at stop signs and stop lights, looked both ways and then blew through them.

He was going into shock when we got there, so they couldn’t take him straight into surgery. I was praying. Trying not to cry. Brandon told me, “If this doesn’t go my way, Mom, know that I’m good with God. I was doing what I love. Don’t hate rodeo. I love you.”

They wheeled him away, and I was pretty sure I would never see him alive again.

At the time, I had a prison ministry. I always carried a briefcase with me with letters from prisoners. Whenever I had to wait somewhere, I got out the letters, graded lessons, wrote a personal note to add to the group letter, slapped some funny stickers on the lesson folder, and slapped it into a return envelope. That was before prisons stopped letting you send stickers on mail. Anyway, I went out to the car and got my briefcase. I started grading, wrote a short note. “Please pray for my son.” Said another pray, claiming a healing scripture, and put it in a return envelope. Rinse and repeat. It kept me from going crazy.

The surgeon said it would be about an hour and a half. A nurse came out after two hours. He was still in surgery. He was stable. They had two surgical teams working on him.

I have a two minute rule about disasters. I went into the bathroom and cried for while. I didn’t time myself, but I didn’t allow myself to go on forever. I washed my face and went back out to the waiting room, said another prayer, and started grading lessons again.

She came out an hour later. Same process.

He was in surgery for four and a half hours. The bull had blown out the back wall of both intestines and much had to be removed and rebuilt. They weren’t even sure it would hold.

He did recover and went back to rodeo.

My son’s mantra.

I say all that to say this. I am at a loss as to why grown, gifted, athletic men lower themselves to these dramatics.

It’s so bad they make videos about them that rival written scripts. They acknowledge they do this. Now, I’m not saying it doesn’t happen in other sports. There are multi-millionaire basketball players who notice their team is losing and all of a sudden get a leg cramp and have to be carried off the court. “Oh, if only the King of the Court hadn’t been injured they would have won.” If the team rallies without the famous one, he’s miraculously cured. Must be the Blue Emu or was it Emo Oil? My dad swore by the stuff.

I’m not saying soccer players are the only ones to do it, but they seem to have taken things to another level.

Sport Surreal put together a pretty good compilation of these dives.

Football Nerd ranks them.

As I understand it, a foul is a trip, push, pull, or tackling another player illegally. If a ref deems it valid, they can award a yellow card. top Soccer blog explains it all here. It’s a warning, but it can set things up to get more serious down the road. Apparently, you can also get a yellow card for covering your mouth. I think the purpose is they think you’re saying something naughty to another player and hiding what you’re saying.

It can lead to a red card, which can get a player suspended. That’s the goal of the opposing team, especially if it’s a good player. This short video is a red cards for dummies break down.

I realize a lot of players do them. In my personal opinion, it cheapens the sport when you think you have to cheat to win. These soccer players are so talented, so amazing that I could easily get hooked on the game, but that aspect of it drives me insane.

Peach orchard boar insane.

I want to start out by saying happy 250th birthday, USA. You aren’t perfect. No country is. If you’ve found a perfect country, go live there. Be happy.

The US was hard won. If you haven’t seen Young Washington, I’ve heard the writer tried to stay very true to the story. I haven’t seen it yet.

Diana Gabaldon’s facebook posted a link to an Instragram post Onyourfeetsoldier shared. I don’t think either will mind if I pass it on. Jamie is encouraging men to fight for freedom. Diana has always been very careful in researching her books. So, the later books dealing with the Revolution strike close to home for many of it. She brings the true sacrifices and heartache to life.

There were fifty-six signers to the Declaration of Independence. They pledged everything—their fortunes, their lives, and their sacred honor. Often, their families shared their fates. Some of those fates are revealed in the history books.

Others aren’t mentioned as often, like Haym Salomon, who gave all his substantial fortune to finance the colonies and the war. Afterward, the US couldn’t repay him and he died in a pauper’s prison at age 44. His life, his fortune, and his family were ruined.

The men who fought in the Revolution suffered terrible privations. There was often no money to pay them. They were starving, freezing, and many had no shoes in the middle of winter as they marched excruciating miles for a surprise attack on the Hessians.

At each turn they seemed defeated, but they persisted.

People should be reminded of this. They should read some first-hand accounts from the time.

My father’s family is Danish. They immigrated through Ellis Island like so many others. Grandpa came with nearly nothing. Somehow, he wound up in Montana. He delivered freight with a wagon. He and his wife Julia lived frugally until they could buy a farm. They still lived frugally. Grandma never had indoor plumbing or electricity in her house.

They earned what they owned and appreciated it. They appreciated the opportunities here.

My father was in the Merchant Marines at the end of WWII. He was part of the effort to bring concentration camp survivors to New York. He kept yellowed newspaper clippings of their stories—families searching for loved ones, two twin girls separated in the camps who were reunited, and the tragedies. He told me about the ones who couldn’t make the crossing. The ones who had survived the war but couldn’t survive the grief, the loss, and the survivor’s guilt.

One man, a well-known architect before the war, had lost everything—fortune, wife, children, family. One night he walked up on deck, took off his shoes, took off his coat and folded it neatly and placed it on the shoes, then took his hat off and placed it on the stack. Then he climbed over the railing to end it.

I was astounded. He said it happened often.

But there were also the stories of hope. When they knew they were getting close, they would often stay on deck so they could search the skyline for the outline of the Statue of Liberty. As soon as it was sighted, they fell to their knees crying and praying, giving thanks.

I have been giving thanks lately and praying hard for the US.

The beginning of the Treaty of Paris, which ended the Revolution, begins: “In the Name of the most Holy & undivided Trinity. It having pleased the Divine Providence to dispose the Hearts of the most Serene and most Potent Prince George the Third, by the Grace of God, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, Duke of Brunswick and Lunebourg, Arch-Treasurer and Prince Elector of the Holy Roman Empire etc., and of the United States of America…”

It continues for 373 words in one of the longest run-on sentences ever, basically laying out who was there.

Lawyers.

It’s OK if we pray for the US. She was founded acknowledging God.

One of the things I have been particularly thankful for lately is, oddly enough, the World Cup. I’ve been amazed and pleasantly surprised at the number of visitors who have fallen in love with this country, our people, and our culture. It’s restored my faith a bit. I was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with me for being happy and loving it here.

The love and appreciation from the people who have fallen for America feels boundless.

German fan loves Boston.

Jason Stills wrote a song about our fans. Welcome to the Land of the Free.

Boston did good. When the Boston Pops plays the 1812 Overture on the 4th, they use real cannons as Tchaikovsky intended.

A celebration at Mount Rushmore again. Yay!

Washington DC

French flew over the Statue of Liberty, which seems appropriate give France gave us the statue in 1885.

Japan! They set off some awesome fireworks and a drone show. They also donated 250 new cherry tree saplings. There is a long history of those cherry trees. Another story for another day. Thank you, Japan.

North Richland Hills, Texas put on a massive drone show. Good job Sky Elements Drone Shows. You can contact them at https://skyelementsdrones.com I don’t mind advertising for them.

Drone show in Miami.

The tall ships converged to support us. They suffered a massive storm before the parade. The USS Constitution (Old Ironsides) was there. She’s the oldest continually commissioned war ship in the world. We’ve almost lost her several times, not to battle but idiot politicians who want to scrap her. Although congress authorized repairs to her in 1900, they didn’t allocate funds and attempts to raise them privately failed. In 1905, Secretary of the Navy Secretary Charles Bonaparte proposed hauling her out to sea and using her for target practice. Moses Gulesian offered to buy her for $10,000, but congress refused. Much better to use her for target practice.

Gulesian started such a public stink that it spread across the country. Congress somehow found the funds to refit her. Amazing how that works. In 1970, she was dry docked for more repairs. They had to strip away red oak that had been used in the 50’s as an experiment and because it was cheaper. It had all rotted. Back to the original live oak to repair her correctly. The live oak is why cannon balls bounced off her sides, in case you’re wondering. Today, the navy keeps a farm of live oak trees in Indiana set aside just for Constitution repairs. The trees they use for repairs have to be between 110 and 125 years old. The more you know.

Amerigo Vespucci came to visit.

The Mediterranean, 1962. The USS Independence passed an Italian tall ship under full sail in the Mediterranean in 1962 and flashed a signal light: “Who are you?”

“Training ship Amerigo Vespucci, Italian Navy.”

“You are the most beautiful ship in the world.”

The name stuck. In Italy she’s been “il veliero più bello del mondo” ever since.

USS George H.W. Bush found her again in the Adriatic Sixty years later, in 2022 and sent the same message: “Amerigo Vespucci, you are still the most beautiful ship in the world.”

There was a rodeo on the mall among so many more events.

The Great American Fair.

Some of the states declined to participate. Their choice, but they did their states no service. On the plus side, individuals stepped forward, raised money, and put up lovely displays. God bless them.

WWII vets here honored and got to watch the festivities.

Relay for America used 250 runners to cover 3,000 miles to run from California to Washington DC for the Fourth to honor veterans.

Chris Richards (@eastmamba) of the USMT soccer team posted a picture on July 4 depicting the crew in some pretty good looking patriot gear. Good job, guys.

I could go on forever about all the remarkable celebrations. Suffice to say, I think America has gone above and beyond. Our friends around the world have joined us. Thank you. That is appreciated more than you know. I was especially happy we could share our celebration with our soccer friends.

In private I will find a way to preserve these memories. I’m sure the websites I link to, the posts, the people will disappear over time. That is the sad and fleeing thing about our digital age. In my bookcase before me are three books of poetry over a hundred years old. They were gifts to a relative. Alas, they are in Danish, so I can’t read them My point is, I have journals, diaries, volumes of letters people wrote a hundred years ago. I have five boxes of theology books from the 1700 and 1800’s. They’ve been around for hundreds of years. Even now, I’m have trouble tracking down stories that I saw last week. We’re on to our newest shiny thing.

I hope y’all had a wonderful Independence day. Enjoy your long weekend. I assume some have Monday off or had Saturday off. Share some of your favorite recipes.

I’m going to touch bases on some of the things our visitors have fallen in love with that we too often take for granted.

Our food.

I know the world looks down on us for not having sophisticated tastes, but there’s something to be said for just good old American food.

Mexican food. Thank heavens some Americans have steered them away from popular fast-food joints and taken them to good Mexican or Tex-Mex restaurants. (There is a difference.) Even so, some of them have discovered Taco Bell and love it. German visitor @FreddyLA7 on X absolutely fell in love with it…and just about everything else. Bless his heart, and I mean that in a good way. Freddy deleted his account on June 30. He said he always planned to and the sudden celebrity attention was taking away from their simple desire to just enjoy America. So, good for him and I hope they enjoy the rest of their stay celebrating the wonders of the USA and her people.

Another person who really enjoyed the Mexican food was Japanese visitor @japan_nobunaga

Someone took him to a Mexican restaurant and he was amazed they brought out chips and salsa without ordering it. But, I’ll let him relate the tale. It’s hilarious.

Although his friend warned him not to fill up on the pre-dinner offering (chips and salsa), the visitor couldn’t help himself: “Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man. I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy. Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived…”—Mr. Nobunaga. Bless his heart. Go follow him. Japan may have gone home, but he is an honorable man as are all our Japanese visitors and their team. I can’t wait to do the story on them.

Barbecue. Good barbecue is a treasure and it’s not easy. I was visiting with the owner of my favorite place in Odessa, Tx and he told me a lot of places boil their briskets and then toss them in the smoker for a couple of hours. “No, no. You can’t do that. You have to slow smoke them for hours to get them tender and that flavor all the way through.”

He’s not wrong. Even in the middle of nowhere, they know you can’t rush perfection.

I’m not crazy about ribs, but holy crow were our guests going crazy over them.

Even the bbq sides were a hit, except the green beans. I saw the ones they didn’t like and I think they looked pretty bare. I don’t blame them. Good green beans are hard to beat, though.

Steaks. Yes, they died and went to heaven when people took them to steak houses. Thankfully, they weren’t hauling them to the high-end places. Most Americans aren’t going to those places where you have to dress up and pay $80 for a steak, plus another hundred for the rest of the meal. They mostly went to Longhorn or Texas Roadhouse or grilled for them. I’ve never had a bad steak at Texas Roadhouse. I approve.

Mr.K @Realsociedad10m highly praised Texas Roadhouse as the “best cost-performance” steak. Especially the ribeye. He’s not wrong, though I prefer the filet. People are urging Roadhouse to use that phrase on billboards. I’m not sure if he was in the USA for the World Cup, but he recommended it to all the Japanese soccer fans who were coming in.

Funny, or not so funny, story about my outlaw bullrider son named Cody and his friend named Kody. My Cody also raises bucking bulls and they were at a bullriding. Afterwards, they went out to eat. Kody likes his steaks well done and that’s how he ordered it.

It came out pretty rare so he sent it back.

Cody could tell Kody was irked, so he started eating faster.

The steak came out again, closer to medium well.

Kody picked the steak up with a fork and threw it on the floor. “Run you son-of-a-b—-, while you still can!”

Obviously, this caused a big stir in a fancy steak house. This is the kind of steak house that doesn’t do well done steaks. The chef knows best. The manager came over and told them they had to leave. Cody was still busy chowing down his steak. “Can I get a to go box?”

“No! Get out.” He added a few other unkind and very uncharitable words as our hapless cowboys were leaving.

So, they’ve had Mexican food, and barbecue, and steaks. What else is on the menu?

Oh, yeah…biscuits and gravy. In the south, we don’t really think about this, but to people who aren’t familiar with the concept, it is mind boggling. Especially the British. “Biscuits and gravy?”

They think you’re dipping cookies in gravy. Eeew.

So, someone convinces them to order biscuits and gravy. The guest is pretty sure you are a raving lunatic now. It looks like dog barf. Then they take a bite. Their eyes go wide and they take another bite. They are smitten. Then they eat the rest of their breakfast. Eggs, bacon, grits. I’m not sure they’re going to be happy with beans and toast again. This video covers a wide range of reactions, including biscuits and gravy.

Oh, then some yahoo, has to mention Waffle House. Dear Lord. At least they were smart enough to tell them not to go at night. Yeah, Waffle House waffle are pretty good, but at night in some areas…it’s something else.

Boston brought the seafood. Not that other countries don’t have seafood, but the lobster rolls were a hit.

So were the sandwiches. Discovering the Philly cheesesteak.

Ranch dressing! Ranch dressing was so popular that TSA had to put out warnings about it. It’s incredibly easy to make. I’ll do a separate post with recipes for dry ranch dressing mix and ranch dressing.

I can’t cook a steak to save my life. My son does that. However, I am a very good cook. I’ll post some of my other recipes, too. Like sausage gravy and buttermilk biscuits. I make really good biscuits.

They’ve fallen in love in love with Chick-Fil-A and Raising Cane’s. Who wouldn’t? I have a duplicate recipe for Raising Cane’s sauce because I’m cheap and don’t buy stuff I can make. I’ll share.

Some of them are in love with hot dogs. I think they’ll get over that. I wish they’d find some good brats somewhere.

And someone needs to introduce them to Cajun food. Seriously.

They qualified for the finals in 1938, 1994, 1998, and 2026. Ironically, Italy was their nemesis prior to 2026. Their World Cup record prior to this year was:
1938: 1 match – Loss to Italy (2-1 a.e.t.)

1994: 3 matches – Win vs Mexico (1-0), Loss to Italy (1-0), Draw vs Ireland (0-0)

1998: 4 matches – Draw vs Scotland, Draw vs Morocco, Win vs Brazil (2-1), Loss to Italy (1-0)

It was Norway that kept Italy out of the finals this time. Revenge is a dish best served cold, it seems… and with fresh Norwegian food.

The Norwegian food they shipped in included:
300 kilograms of Norwegian salmon and trout (“red fish”) — 661.39 lbs
100 kilograms of halibut — 220.46 lbs
80 kilograms of brunost (Norwegian brown cheese) — 176.37 lbs
100 kilograms of Jarlsberg cheese — 220.46 lbs

They’re also fond of fresh orange juice, so they’re buying locally sourced oranges and squeezing their own. Good for them. Erling Haaland, one of the team’s stars, was spotted out shopping for fresh honey, raw milk, and farm-raised steak at home in the UK. Good for him. There’s no comparison. I wish I could find raw milk here. (Insert small political rant here. I’m a honey badger. I don’t care.)

The Viking photo shoot was done by Scottish fine-art photographer, David Yarrow who is also known for his philanthropy work. The title of the photo is The Vikings are Coming. The theme was partially inspired by the teams own Viking row chant which dates back to 2016, but it was The shoot was partly inspired by the team’s own where supporters mimic rowing a longship in unison. The tradition went viral by superfan Ole Frøystad in 2025.

But back to the shoot. Yarrow tried to keep things as authentic as he could. The longships in the background are real, not computer generated. A whole post could be done about Yarrow, who is not only talented, but fascinating as a man.

Okay, back to what first caught my attention about the Norwegians: their team photo shoot. The pitchfork and tomato crowd went after them. It wasn’t dignified. Go suck on your lemons and be bitter elsewhere, you hags. It was fun. They were having fun. Maybe not the guy who thought he looked like a housewife, but most of them were, and the photo went viral. The Vikings were on the map and everyone was rooting for them.

In May, Crown Prince Haakon of Norway and his son Prince Sverre Magnus rowed the reconstructed Myklebust Viking ship. I think people were in the mood for Vikings. And wow, did the Norwegians bring it.

So, Norway made it to the World Cup, but could they stay? And apparently they rowed their way to America.

The Norwegian Parliament rowed before the match with Iraq.

The fans rowed in the stadium.

They rowed on the escalators.

They rowed in the bars.

They rowed in an aquarium in Norway.

They rowed in Times Square and at home in hospitals and nurseries and nursing homes. Good for them. I think it’s great the whole country has something to get behind.

People didn’t care. They rowed with them.

As of today, their record is:
Norway 4-1 Iraq (Win) — June 16
Norway 3-2 Senegal (Win) — June 22
Norway 1-4 France (Loss) — June 26
Norway 2-1 Côte d’Ivoire (Win) — June 30 Next up: Norway vs Brazil on July 5. Brazil is favored, but I’ll light an extra candle and say an extra prayer. I’m allowed. They’ve earned my admiration.

Reporters have hammered Haaland with questions about their chances all the way through. He shrugs, says they probably won’t win, and then swivels to how much fun they’re having. They aren’t letting it get to them.

In case you ladies are interested (and many are): Haaland is in a long-term relationship with the beautiful Isabel Haugseng Johansen. They’ve known each other since they were children and she’s a former soccer (football) player. They have a gorgeous little boy together.
Martin Ødegaard married the stunning Helene Spilling in 2024 and they have one child.

Sorry ladies.

Those seem to be the two most people are talking about, but the team has a solid roster. (Please note I chose this site because it didn’t demand you allow them to flood you with marketing and it had a complete list.)

Here are the top ten according to Top Soccer Blog. They had a really good write up about the players and some wonderful photos. Good job, Top Soccer Blog. Everyone gravitates to Erling Haaland and with good cause, he is a force. If I have time (Maybe even if I don’t because he amuses me, I’ll do a blog post about him.) Who can’t adore Antonio Nusa being so open about his faith, as well as being so talented. I have to love how excited Jorgen Strand Larsen gets. Who wouldn’t? I know nothing about how Kristoffer Ajer plays. I’m sure he’s outstanding, but as I’ve said before….

OK, Ajer has a face that intrigues me. He’ll appear as a character in a book somewhere. I’m not sure as a fantasy character or a western historical, but he’s on my list. Don’t have interesting faces or quirky personalities if you don’t want to appear in books.

Norway has some very talented players. If I had more time, I would delve into all of them, but alas, life is short and so is my time with the FIFA coverage.

Now, on to what interests me — not that attractive men aren’t interesting, but there are other things that coax me into wasting hours away from my writing.

The fans! My stars, I love the fans. They are having so much fun, and now that they’ve hit Texas they are really having fun (and discovering what Texas summers are really like and why we have air conditioning).

They went shopping for western wear! Even the soccer team went shopping. Please, for all that is holy, don’t make shorts and boots a fashion trend though.

They had barbecue.

They had steaks.

They got to see Longhorns.

They got to see a baseball game. They spent as much time loving the ball game as they did wandering around the stadium and taking in all the food options. Our visiting fans have been overwhelmed by the stadiums including the college stadiums.

And a hockey game.

Even Mexico got in on the fun and put on Haaland masks and rowed after their win over Ecuador and clinching a spot in round sixteen.

I’m in love with the fans. They are having so much fun…and getting so much exercise rowing.

My grandparents are Danish, so I gravitate toward the Scandinavian side. I wish you the greatest of luck and blessings, guys and gals on the Norwegian team. You’ve accomplished so much and I’m sure you have more to do.

1 Peter 5:7 Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

For three years I rode bareback bucking horses. I was the first woman to ride at both the Miles City Bucking Horse Sale and the Rapid City Bucking Horse Sale. I use the term “ride” loosely. I got my head buried in the dirt more times than I can count, but I fell in love with it anyway. I stuck with it until I actually learned how to ride, then quit because, at the time, there was no real future in it for women. Today there are women’s rough stock events, and I’m glad to see it.

My brother and I rode wild cows on the ranch. That’s always exciting.

My husband and I raised Quarter Horses.

I’m not a city girl by nature or very prissy, just not athletic.

My elderly mother watches rodeo nonstop and regularly calls me to look up Bridger Anderson (her favorite steer wrestler) or one of her other preferred cowboys in the PRCA (Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association) standings. Other than those requests, I’d have almost no idea what’s happening in the rodeo world—even though I come from a rodeo family.

My father rode bulls and bareback horses. My uncle won the saddle bronc championship at Madison Square Garden in New York.

My husband rode bulls.

My oldest son Brandon competed in bulls, bareback, and saddle broncs.

My middle son rode bulls and roped.

Even with that background, I rarely watch rodeo unless my mother taps me to watch something. I’m a Wright brothers fan who are champion bronc riders. Truthfully, I watch very little television at all, so I can be excused for missing the rodeos unless summoned.

My husband used to try to get me to watch football (American football) with him and I’d say, “Sure. What inning is it?”

“Go away. I don’t even want to talk to you.”

I’m a master at getting banished from things I don’t care about.

As I said, I’m not really a sports fan.

Until now.

Somehow I’ve become oddly obsessed with soccer—football, for the rest of the world. Not so much with the technical side of the game (I still don’t know much about it). There are two teams, two goal areas, and this World Cup features 48 teams (I think—I’d better double-check that). The matches are being hosted across Canada, the United States, and Mexico. I looked up the total number of games: 104.

Holy crow!

What first caught my attention was the Norwegian team. They caught my attention because the pitchfork and tomatoes crowd went after them about their team photo shoot. It wasn’t dignified. It wasn’t professional. I loved it, but I love a rebel. Good for them. They embraced who they are and what they are and went with it. More on that later.

Then I started paying attention. Because I knew nothing about it I started researching—and then I couldn’t stop. I’ve been following the games, the teams, the fans, the players’ stories, and the pure chaos and joy of it all.

 I wasn’t planning to write about any of this. I have a daily writing goal of around a thousand words. A Civil War novel with romantic elements is already out (The Rain Crow), a fantasy novel (Far Rider) is in the editing phase, a steamy women’s fiction project (Just a Gigolo) is nearly finished, and a new historical is just getting started.

I have plenty to do.

But this has become a full-blown obsession. I spend hours watching fan videos and reading stories about the players and supporters. It feels historic—like the shot heard ‘round the world. I want to document it. I want to record how this unexpected passion makes me feel and what keeps pulling me in.

I may not have the “right” to write about soccer since I’m not a lifelong fan. But I am a lifelong people fan.

That has to count for something, right? So, this is the beginning of my soccer journals and I’m playing catch up.

Mom said later, he was screaming and a nurse slapped him and told him to shut up. I would have been in jail because I would had torn her to pieces. I’m sure she wanted to but her friend Mary Jane held her back. More about Mary Jane later.

She called Dad who had been driving all day, but he drove there to see him. When Dad got there, Stevie was sleeping. He said he didn’t think he looked that bad and he was going to get a nap in his car because he hadn’t slept in forever.

Stevie died during the night.

Kidney failure they said.

Daddy wrapped him up in a red blanket to take back to Billings for burial. But, before he did, he drove down to West Yellowstone to see me. I was staying with some friends of Mom’s. They had already broken the news to me and I’d spent the day crying. I would have run away, but I didn’t know where to run and it was raining hard. So I sat in the floor and cried and played with a toy horse and rider Stevie would have liked.

When something hurts, our first instinct is to get away from it, but where do you run to get away from grief? Decades later, I still can’t. Stevie was my little buddy. My best friend.

When Daddy drove up, I ran out to him. Crying, screaming, begging him to take me with him. He was wearing his gray cowboy hat, a plaid western shirt, Wranglers, boots, of course. He kept holding me and talking to me, telling me he couldn’t take me with him. I jerked the car door open and tried to crawl in the back seat. He had a big, two-door blue or green car. He always liked big cars. In the back seat was a bundle wrapped in a red blanket. I could scrunch in around the bundle I was small.

I kicked and screamed and begged him some more to take me with him.

They finally peeled me away from him and he drove away.

Mary Jane was holding me as he drove away. Mom was understandably going to pieces and ran in the cabin.

Mom didn’t know it until later, but Mary Jane was supposed to be babysitting us while she worked during the day as a waitress. What Mary Jane was actually doing was whoring. She’d lock Stevie and me out of the cabin while her Johns were there and entertain them. Other people might notice us wandering around like a couple of feral kittens and offer us a drink or sandwich, but mostly we just entertained ourselves. We shared offered food with the chipmunks. Invented jumping games or rock tossing games. We’d draw lines in the dirt and see who could toss a pebble into a square or throw it the furthest.

When Stevie first got sick, he was told he had to stay inside. He hated staying in. I helped him crawl out the window so we could play.

I blamed myself for his death for years. There were other things. There are always things you blame yourself for when someone dies. Sometimes you deserve them. Sometimes you learn.

I wish I were in Billings today. I’d take flowers to my little buddy. They say time heals all wounds. It doesn’t. It gets better, but it never heals.

So, here’s to Stevie. Forever five. Miss you my sweet little brother.

It’s a work of fiction, of course, but I wrote it to encourage students in my prison ministry. I hope I accomplished that. According to many who wrote back to me, it did.

It Is Finished

The angel watched the body lying on the stone ledge. It was hell being a hero. Amused by his own cleverness, he smiled slightly and stretched his wings in boredom. The receiving cave was cool and refreshing. Antius enjoyed this part of his job: the quiet and solitude, the peace. The gray granite walls curved inward at the top, forming a rough dome. Inside the cave, the ledge jutted out from the wall before him, and an assortment of large boulders lined the opposite wall. Antius was perched on the boulder nearest the man. The top of the rock was worn smooth from countless such vigils. A slight depression was hollowed out to fit his backside perfectly. How many such watches did it take for the backside of an angel to carve stone into a seat he wondered.

He curved his right wing around until he could touch the blue-black feathers with his fingers. Smoothing and preening the ruffled lower wing, he waited for the man to waken. It wouldn’t be long now.

Why were heaven and earth so concerned about this one pathetic being? There was nothing special about him, except maybe the gaping wounds in his body. The torture had been particularly violent. What had he done to deserve such treatment? Hushed whispers floated in the caverns and caves of this world on breezes of curiosity and fear. No one dared speak aloud of the new arrival, but everyone wondered. Was this the man their lord feared? Could this be the enemy prophesied so long ago? How would their world change? Surely no mere man could have the power to challenge their master. What if he wasn’t just a man?

The outstretched wing folded neatly behind Antius as he looked closer at the pathetic wretch before him. The man could bleed and die like any other; that much was obvious. He wasn’t a great hulking brute like many of the warriors received here. The muscles in his arms were lean and sinewy, as if accustomed to years of manual labor. So, he wasn’t a warrior and he wasn’t a scholar, although he did have a certain intelligent look about him. The eyes, closed in death, were wide-set below the generous forehead. The large hands were calloused from working, with small scars here and there. A craftsman perhaps? Someone who used sharp tools in his trade? His legs were muscled and lean. A traveling craftsman who plied his trade from town to town with no home to call his own?

Soon, very soon, the new arrival would open his eyes. He would feel his wounds and wonder why the pain was gone. He would wonder if it had all been just a bad dream. It hadn’t been. The wounds would close miraculously and he would wonder where he was. He might even ask. Most didn’t. The mind and body were still in a state of shock and didn’t function properly at first. When he finally realized he was dead, he would look for signs that he was in heaven. There were none. He would notice Antius. Then the complete and awful truth would permeate his being. The face would collapse into despair, and then terror. His voice might have returned by then. If so, he would beg to be released and explain that it was a terrible mistake. They all did. Antius would stand and offer the man a robe to cover his nakedness. The man would be awed by the grandeur of the angel before him. It was natural. Man was a pitiful being crafted of clay, while Antius was a heavenly, well; at one time he had been a heavenly being of light. The angel would stretch his wings upward, slowly adding even more height to his already impressive stature. The glistening feathers would radiate tiny slivers of light throughout the cave, and the man would crumble in abject terror.

Antius didn’t enjoy terrifying helpless humans like some of the Receivers did. Without speaking or condemning, he would convey to the human that escape was hopeless and judgment had already been set. Then he would escort the arrival to the Master for assignment. The man’s punishment would mirror the life he had lived on earth; only he would now be the victim over and over, throughout eternity. God valued the spirit of man because it was eternal. So did Satan. His pleasure at torturing God’s greatest treasure would go on and on without end. Most of these hapless creatures would beg to sink into oblivion, but it was impossible. The spirit and soul of man could never be destroyed, only corrupted.

Antius looked closely as the blue-veined eyelids fluttered softly. The arrival was waking up. Antius waited for the shock to register on the man’s face and then the horror. The large, brown eyes were open now, and the wounds began to heal. It was Antius’ turn to be surprised. The battered face resumed its normal appearance. The flayed back healed, covering the internal organs, which had been exposed by the merciless shredding by the cat-o’-nine tails. The raw and bloody knees covered with fresh skin. However, the wounds in the wrists and feet, and the gaping wound inflicted by a sword or spear in the man’s side remained. This had never happened before. Everyone was restored completely here.

Everyone except the arrival.

Antius stood, stretching his wings heavenward. He sighed inwardly. Heaven. His home. Because of his great vanity, it was a home where he was no longer welcome. He had followed Satan in the great revolt, refusing to serve and protect man as God had commanded. He was Antius, a mighty warrior angel. No. He would never be a mere servant to these puny, created beings. God gave them free will to choose which master they would serve. Those who remained in heaven gave up their right to choose ever again. Those who chose rebellion were cast from heaven until the great day when they would all be thrown into the lake of fire. He had chosen freedom. Or so he thought. He had actually chosen to serve a master of hate rather than a master of love. And here, eons later, he was serving man. Greeting him and escorting him to the Master.

“Do not fear,” Antius said. He looked into the face of the man and saw no fear. His words had been wasted. There was a deep, penetrating sadness, but no fear. There was also something he hadn’t seen in thousands of years…strength. Strength mixed with something else. Could it be hope? No, hope had long ago been exterminated in this world.

“What is your name?” Antius asked.

“Jesus. Jesus of Nazareth,” the man replied.

He was right. This was the messiah who had come to his chamber. Strange, he didn’t look like a hero. Antius had expected God to send a warrior prince to deliver His people. He sent a rather ordinary, soft-spoken tradesman instead. He pointed to the robe and sandals at the man’s feet. “Put them on. Master awaits us.”

Antius’ orders had been specific. When Jesus arrived, he was to take him on a tour of hell instead of straight to the Master. He was to show this savior what manner of people resided in the bowels of the earth. These were people who deserved to be in hell. Jesus would see their crimes and their punishment and, in the end, he would agree justice had been served. When all had been revealed, Antius was to escort Jesus to the grand chamber where Satan would give the man one last chance to listen to reason. If he refused, Satan would try him for the sins of humanity and he would be found guilty. The Son of God was guilty of every crime that ever had been and ever would be committed by man. Antius was astounded at the thought, even though nothing surprised him.

Jesus finished strapping on the sandals and stood upright. He was taller than he first appeared. The soft brown hair, devoid of the matted blood, fell in waves around his face. This was a gentle man who seemed more like a shepherd or teacher of children than a hero.

“Come,” Antius said. “Master would have me show you his kingdom.” Jesus followed the angel without question. They traveled down the main road slowing down only occasionally when Jesus would ask a question or when Antius felt obligated to point out a certain scene or person. Serpents, which were sent from Master to torment souls, slithered by on their way to feast. The serpents were always hungry and there was an ever-present meal waiting for them. Jesus frowned at the sights, but largely remained silent.

News had already spread through the depths of hell that Jesus walked among the lost souls. “Jesus, seed of David, son of God, save me. I will no more curse God. I will praise Him all through eternity.” The frail, elderly woman begged for mercy, where none existed. At last, Jesus could bear her cries no more.

“Why do you torture this woman?” Jesus asked. “What is her crime?”

“She was bitter at the calamity that had befallen her life and turned to the black arts to restore her luck. She seduced the young of the village with promises of fame and fortune through her fortune telling. The potions and charms she sold brought many to the kingdom as they lured the people away from God. She encouraged the dark arts and worship of the Master.” Antius was surprised to see a tear sliding down the face of Jesus. Antius remembered heaven even though it had been centuries since his exile. This woman had robbed hundreds of the right to dwell in peace for all eternity. Surely Jesus could see the justice of her punishment.

A bell rang as the woman shrieked in terror. The souls of the damned she had led astray poured into her pit and tore her to pieces until only her chain remained. She would soon be restored and the process would repeat itself again, throughout eternity.

Antius showed the man murderers and the murdered. Scenes of unspeakable violence were replayed so he would truly understand why mankind was undeserving of mercy. Rapists, murderers, and thieves. Blasphemers, liars, cheats, adulterers, witches, and every other manner of the damned were displayed. The great and the small occupied this world. The beautiful, wealthy, and powerful were no longer greater than the vilest beggar. All had been reduced to ashes…and then restored. Jesus saw it all.

Jesus stepped slower now. He walked as though weighed down by an invisible burden too great for any one man to carry. Antius realized this was Master’s intention. He would be so discouraged by these images that he would give up on these vile humans. He would understand they were not worth saving.

Antius watched the man breathe deeply and visibly square his shoulders before they entered the grand chamber. The sadness remained in his eyes, mixed with great sorrow. Did Jesus know he was lost?  The battle had been fought and he was the prize. Satan now possessed the greatest treasure the world had ever known. Mankind had spit on him and scorned him, not realizing they had destroyed God’s greatest gift of all. Now, he would reside in hell with the rest of the sinners.

Jesus walked into the chamber with purpose and renewed strength. The sins of the world weighed heavily on him, but he repeated the precious words he had lived by all his life. “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” He smiled slightly; knowing the battle to come was already won. “If God be for me who can be against me? No one,” he whispered, “not even Satan.”

Satan motioned for the pair to come closer. Antius was his greatest warrior angel. He could have used this superb being in many battles, but he was the angel selected to escort Jesus through hell from the time of the great rebellion. He had guided untold thousands to this chamber, waiting for just this one man to appear. Satan knew this angel would guide Jesus through hell and explain all the depravity and vileness of humanity. Other angels delighted in torturing the souls. Jesus would have turned against the guide and Satan to protect Father’s children. Antius was intelligent and gentle, in his own way. Jesus would identify with that and be lured in to the angel’s disgust with mankind. Satan smiled broadly. Antius could now be spared to return to the raging spiritual battle.

“Come forward, Jesus of Nazareth,” Satan invited. Antius moved forward, slightly slower than normal. Jesus walked steadily beside him with puzzling purpose. The mantle of sin weighed heavily on him, as Antius knew it would, but why wasn’t he cowering? He should be.

“Jesus. Do you know why you are here?” Master asked.

Jesus raised his head and looked at the filling gallery. Insults hurtled down at the Son of God from all sides. “I was made sin, for the redemption of the world,” he replied deliberately. “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whomsoever believed in me should not perish, but have life everlasting. I am the light and the way.”

Satan’s fury was barely controlled. “That whosoever would believe in you would have life everlasting? Who will believe in you now? You were despised, tortured, and killed. These ungrateful creatures wouldn’t believe in you when you were alive, when they saw your power with their own eyes. Why would they believe in you after you are gone?” he screeched.

The gallery erupted with a crescendo of shouts, encouraging Master. Satan raised his hand, silencing the crowd. The howling demons were the last to sink into silence. At last all was quiet.

Jesus looked at the fallen angel with unwavering eyes. Satan flinched. No one had ever been bold enough to look him in the eyes before. Antius hid his surprise well.

“Those who have seen me and believed are blessed. Those who have not seen me and yet believe are the foundation of faith. Their belief will set them free.”

Satan shifted on his throne. “Jesus, you who have been deserted by the Father, why do you persist in this folly? Do you not know that I heard you in your hour of sorrow? ‘My Lord, my God. Why have you forsaken me?’ You who had never been out of fellowship with God were alone. He turned away from you.” The gallery roared in approval at these words. Satan responded boldly to the encouragement. “Truer words were never spoken. When you needed Him most, He abandoned you. What kind of loving father is this? Do you see Him here? I don’t.” The crowd cheered at his wit. “No, He isn’t here. He sent you like a lamb to be slaughtered and then He left you alone to face your doom.”

Jesus knew the truth of the words and bowed his head. He had prayed for the cup to pass if it were possible, but had stayed in obedience. “Not my will, but yours,” he prayed. His flesh dreaded the torture he knew was coming. His spirit cried out in pain at the thought of being separated from the Father. He had lived in constant fellowship with the Father and yet, when he became sin for mankind, that bond would be broken. God would turn His face away from him while he was in a state of disgrace. It was the thought of being torn from God which had caused him to sweat drops of blood. He didn’t reply to Satan, because the words were true. He had been abandoned. This was something that he would do alone, but with the strength of God’s word.

Satan stood and waved his arm. “Behold!” Scenes of wars, death, and destruction filled the chamber. Armies swarmed over plains and mountains, carrying flags with crosses. Weapons of untold power fell from the air, obliterating everything and everyone for miles. Blood flowed in rivers. Nation rose up against nation. Innocents were destroyed along with the armies. Entire civilizations were laid waste.

Satan noted the pain and horror on Jesus’ face. “All this will be done in your name. Millions of people will be lost because of you and God. Religious wars will be fought with people convinced you are blessing their every step. YOU! You, the savior of mankind will be its greatest enemy. You will cause the destruction of earth and of mankind if you return. Stay in my kingdom and you can avoid all this. Return and you will become a martyr to these zealots so that they may kill and maim each other.”

Jesus turned back to Satan as the scenes faded. “I was born to be the perfect, final sacrifice for mankind. My blood was shed to save them.” His voice grew stronger. “I am not the cause of this horror. You will plant these seeds in men’s minds and tell them it is done for me and the Father. You will convince them the quest for power and wealth is done in my name and attach my image to it. You will whisper in their ears that it is the right thing to do. Do not lay your schemes at my feet, Satan. What is done in hate is done at your altar and not mine. I will return, as was foretold centuries ago. I will sit at the right hand of God. One day, when the Father has decided, I will lead the army of the Lord and you will be destroyed. Man will be free of you forever.”

Satan stung under the rebuttal. “So be it. Then stand trial for your crimes. I will not show you any more mercy.”

He motioned for Antius to step forward. “Who did this man tell you he was?”

“Jesus of Nazareth.”

Jesus watched as Satan waved his arm again. Satan was still beautiful physically, but spiritually he was devoid of light. It was as if anything good would be sucked into that gaping maw and lost forever. He had once been chosen of God. The leader of the angelic choirs, creating incredibly stirring music of praise and worship. He knew he was beloved of God and yet he turned from that. He rebelled, refusing to serve man and God. All the former light and laughter had turned to darkness and hatred.

Jesus watched the air fill with scenes of sin. Murders, rapes, theft, idolatry, and every other sin committed by mankind throughout the ages was present.

“Jesus, do you see the sin of the ages?” Satan roared.

“I do.”

“Whose sin is this?”

Jesus wept. “It is mine.”

“What is the punishment for sin?”

“The wages of sin is death.”

“What kind of death?”

“Eternal death separated from God,” Jesus answered sadly.

“Son of God, how will you pay for these sins? You can never do enough good to repay this debt. There is not enough gold in the world to fulfill this obligation. An eternity would not erase these sins. How can you go before the Father with this burden?”

“Through grace,” Jesus replied softly. “I could never work enough to erase the sin. I am forgiven by grace.”

Satan screamed in fury as sin fell away from the man. He had been defeated in his own kingdom. God’s grace and mercy extended to the depths of hell and released the man from sin. The light of God surrounded the man and flooded into the dank recesses of hell. Chains fell away from the bound. Demons fled in terror at the sight.

“The spirit of the Lord is upon me because the Lord has anointed me to preach good tidings to the poor; he has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.”

Satan howled in pain and anguish. “Enough!” he roared. “Get out of my sight.”

“Satan, you will be defeated by the word of God. Men will speak his words in faith and you will flee. You are defeated in heaven and earth, and this day you are defeated in hell. These souls you have tormented are set free. You will reign on earth for a short time longer. In that time men will freely turn to their God. They will be redeemed when they admit they are sinners. They will call upon my name as their savior and they will be saved. God’s grace will grant them eternal life with him. Mercy will abound on earth and will defeat your hatred. Your days are numbered.”

“Antius!” The name reverberated off the walls of hell. “Remove this abomination from my sight.”

Antius stepped forward and touched the arm of Jesus. “Come,” he said. “I will return you to the earth.”

They walked in silence to the tunnel leading back to the light. The screams of the damned were gone. The sound of their footsteps echoed hollowly as they ascended to the earth. Antius walked with the man into a garden. He stooped to pick a flower as the fresh air and sunlight bathed the two heavenly beings. One returning to the Father. One forever lost.

They might have been gone for weeks or days, but in reality, it had all happened in the blink of an eye, in an instant. Jesus and the thief would sit at the throne of God.

Antius remembered that complete joy and exhaled deeply.

Jesus looked out over the valley and smiled. “Goodbye, Antius. I thank you for your kindness.”

“Goodbye, Master.”

Antius wondered if grace extended to a fallen angel as he watched the man walk away.