The horrendous shooting of 12 innocent people at a country music bar in Twin Oaks, Cali., reminds us that no place in America is safe.
If we thought there were some safe sacred zones in our country then we should ask the people in Pittsburgh. In particular, ask the people of the Tree of Life Synagogue in the community of Squirrel Hill where eleven people were murdered and six others wounded during a sacred hour of worship.
Last week in Martin County, Kentucky, a woman shot her sleeping husband in his bed in the early morning hours. She then called a friend and told her that she was going to end her own life as well. She told her friend about their life stresses, consisting primarily of health issues and medical bills, and that she felt they could not overcome them. By the time her friend and others got there she was dead along with her husband.
What makes a Marine Veteran decide to exterminate the lives of innocent people out for a night of dancing and fun in California? What gets into the mind of a man that causes him to wreak evil in the midst of a sacred place of worship? What happens to a woman who becomes so down that she sees the only way out of her misery is murder and suicide? Why did she feel like she had the right to take her husband’s life?
Why do you think we’re here — on this planet at this time living our everyday lives?
Here’s my theory: To learn, to grow, to experience — whether that’s spiritually, the accumulation of knowledge; or even physically (look at my big muscles or, in my case, “Good gosh, I’m as big as a house!”), we expand our base.
That’s my theory and part of my growth process has been to learn about other people, learn about their lives, their experiences.
I mean, everyone has a story of how they got from Point A to Point B and they are worth listening to.
I looked straight ahead, too afraid (nerves?) to watch.
“Oh my gosh that hurts … Oh, the humanity!” I scream.
Patrick Cameron looks at me with an expression that’s hard to describe — kinda like when you catch your new puppy doing something he shouldn’t be doing on your living room carpet.
“I haven’t started yet,” he says.
Under normal circumstances I would be embarrassed. This is not a normal circumstance.
“I know. I’m just … Practicing,” I say.
I say it with a smirk, too.
I’m getting ready to get inked — you know, get a “tat.”
Tennessee is the Volunteer State. It is called the Volunteer State because in the times of crisis that our nation found itself, whether a natural crisis or in defense of our country, our citizens were the first to respond.
Members of my family have fought, and some even died, for the defense of our country. I am proud to have served in the Marine Corps and appreciate my fellow veterans. Anyone who has served will tell you it was an honor to wear the uniform of our nation and take the vows to defend our citizens, our country and our Constitution. Military enlistment has no expiration date.
But we must do more than repeat the well-deserved praises of the bravery and patriotism that our veterans embody. That was established the day they put on the uniform. Rather, we should reflect on how we are treating our veterans.