POETIC LICENSE

“Trying to lasso Columbus into these same devious actions wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, at least not one presided over by a nonactivist judge.”

Perry Mason

I’m sure most everyone has watched television shows or Hollywood movies where court scenes play out. As a witness rambles on and on about what they seemingly know about a specific case, an attorney suddenly blurts out for the judge to hear, “I object, your honor…. this is merely hearsay!”

If this fictitious TV judge rules that the lawyer is correct, “Objection sustained!” is immediately heard from the bench. One of my favorite such shows is “Perry Mason.” I still watch the reruns, especially loving the comedic interaction between Perry Mason and Los Angeles City Attorney, Hamilton Burger.

If hearsay was allowed in court, can you imagine the case outcome? All a witness would have to do is interject a bit of “poetic license” on their testimony to make things appear as if it happened instead of using proven facts. A case could suddenly turn into “Days of Our Lives” with both sides resorting to storytelling.

There seem to be two venues where this sometimes holds true — the 6:00 news and history books. I’ll stick to history books as my main point here because history is my favorite subject, and one where poetic license runs free like a raging river.

Before continuing on, for those not knowing what the term, poetic license, means, according to Miss Purdy, my artificial intelligence (AI) helpmate, it’s the freedom to depart from the facts of a matter or from the conventional rules of language when speaking or writing to create an effect.

In layman’s terms, where history is concerned, “Anything goes as long as it seems believable to the masses!”

Hollywood uses poetic license more than anyone. My wife and I watched “Field of Missing Shoes” the other evening. It’s a movie about a group of mostly teenage Virginia Military Academy students being used as soldiers during the American Civil War.

At the beginning of this historical film, the five words “Based Upon A True Story” slowly rolls across the screen. To some viewers, “based upon” automatically means everything in this movie is factual when, in fact, it’s not. Some things, such as romantic scenes, were undoubtedly added to give the film more viewing pleasure as I like to call it. Regardless, it was an excellent movie.

History books as a whole don’t have these five words anywhere in them. Readers are taught, especially elementary school students, that the contents inside are all real. I had no problem with that growing up, yet now I’m seeing this information attacked by activist groups using different truths or unadulterated hearsay to back up their changes.

It’s almost guaranteed that if I told someone a story about a 12-inch fish I caught in 1900, with that story being repeated over the years by 12 different people, now 125 years later, that fish story wouldn’t be close to the same.

Let’s take things back even further, with me telling it 600 years ago, with 125 different storytellers repeating it. That 12-inch fish would now grow even larger — perhaps being over 30 feet long.

Much of our history is based on passed-down stories, folklore, rumors, fables, and the like, with written documentation to back things up not always available. Christopher Columbus is a prime example. I was taught in grade school that he was a good man.

Some of his crew are known to have been filled with evil, based upon written records, yet trying to lasso Columbus into these same devious actions wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, at least not one presided over by a nonactivist judge. Much of this erroneous information against Christopher Columbus has been thoroughly debunked based upon Columbus’s own writings.

Saying that Christopher Columbus is guilty of atrocious acts because of what a few members of his crew possibly did is no different than holding President Joe Biden responsible for his son, Hunter Biden, and this younger man’s numerous illegal activities.

Mount McKinley, in Alaska, has been named that since 1895, as records prove. In 2015, President Barack Hussein Obama used hearsay in changing it to Denali, claiming that Denali is what the Alaskan Indians had originally called the mountain.

Obama’s statement is called spinning the truth, and even worse things, outside of Washington D.C. circles by those having done the research. Stories or folklore passed down via word of mouth have been proven countless times to be remarkably inaccurate.

Archived newspapers from the late 1800s, along with other documented records, show that Mt. McKinley was called “Bulshaia” by Alaska Natives and Russians way before 1895. It’s right there in black and white.

The Dena’ina Athabaskan Indians didn’t start phonetically recording their language until the 1970s. Denali would not have been one of their words five centuries ago, as their communication was strictly an oral language at that point, including simple drawings.

New Age historians are slyly trying to use the terms folklore or hearsay to substantiate their viewpoint here. That falls perfectly in line with my fish story example.

A good example of passed-down hearsay in Lake Havasu City is the rumor that an Olive Garden restaurant is coming to town. I’ve heard that story repeated over the years from many different people. Some of them still swear that their information came from reliable sources, with these people continuing to believe their own message.

It’s been some 30 years now, and no ground has been broken. In another 100 years, some citizens will erroneously report that Olive Garden was once located on Swanson Boulevard, yet has closed after being forced to by city leaders, with a good many future residents buying into this fable.

One of my favorite songs by the music group, Moody Blues, is “Knights in White Satin.” At the end of this popular 1970s song is a mind-provoking poem. In the poem, Late Lament, written by Graeme Edge, three ending lines sum up best how I now look at the truth, especially where certain manuscripts, books, movies, and television news channels are concerned.

“Red is grey and yellow white.

But we decide which is right.

And which is an illusion.”

That poem definitely applies to history books. The only book that I’ve found to tell the absolute truth, without reservation, is the Holy Bible.

If Christopher Columbus or any of my childhood heroes are guilty of atrocities against Indigenous people, as some now claim, all they need to have done afterward is ask Jesus for forgiveness, and those sins were washed away.

It’ll make no difference what history Professor Ima Knowitall or Dr. P.C. Leftist have to say about them in future history books, including me, or anyone else for that matter.

God is the ultimate and final judge here, with folklore, poetic license, and hearsay not admittable as evidence in His court of Absolute Truth!

John 17:17

1966

LIFE CHANGER

“Mikey doesn’t play that game anymore.”

I’ve read numerous times on Facebook and other social media venues where a person makes an unpopular comment, and someone slithers out of the darkness to try and ridicule that individual’s viewpoint.

These disrupters generally attempt to impress the gathering crowd of readers by first making a highly flammable or snarky comment. Their intent is to start an argument, and it often works, yet not with me. Mikey doesn’t play that game anymore.

I’ve now encountered this type so often, that I can predict whether something I say will elicit a negative response. It’s easy to forecast such, especially when I’m in a group that mostly doesn’t think the same as me.

Such was the case the other day with a man named, Bill. He wanted to change the direction of the whole discussion, at least with me he did. More on that later.

A friend of mine who shall remain anonymous, sincerely wanted to know why Republicans were so supportive of President Trump and Elon Musk, asking this of her over 1000 Facebook friends. I believe she truly wanted to get a better perspective on things for her own understanding.

This intelligent and very articulate lady does not like Donald Trump, and she’s not the only one I know who thinks this way. Hey, everyone is free in this country to their own opinions!

I commented in so many words that God, family, and country were my priorities — in that order — and that this new extremist Democrat Party was attacking a certain religion, ridiculing the nuclear family, and trying to take down our country through either not enforcing laws, or creating perverse ones against my religious and moral fiber.

I went on to say that our choice of candidates in the last election only left me with one solid choice, especially since Kamala Harris refused to answer questions, and when she tried, nothing came out of her mouth but word salad.

If someone wants to argue that part with me they better clean out their ears first. Mrs. Harris, mumble-jumbled more sentences than Fred Sanford did during his whole career at Sanford and Son.

Those people commenting on Facebook were most cordial, with a good many not agreeing with me as expected, and some folks that I didn’t know coming to my defense by saying, “We should be respectful of everyone’s viewpoints although they might differ from our own.”

The interaction between those having different opinions was quite educational and without hostility, which doesn’t always happen. I believe the debate originator came away feeling the same.

Getting back to that intended disruptor I mentioned earlier, I’ll only say that his name is Bill, and after reviewing his background we have some things in common. Both of us attended East High — also having a couple of the same friends —but things drastically ended there.

Almost every one of Bill’s posts on his site has something negative to do with DT — that’s my nickname for Donald Trump. I’m no psychologist here, but this man definitely has Trump Derangement Disorder, or TDD as it’s often called.

The man is infatuated with this hate because it spews forth like molten lava from Kilauea Volcano. Getting back to something I said earlier, “Everyone is free in this country to their own opinions and Bill is welcome to his!

Bill’s snarky comment to me regarded religion, with it being, “I’m sorry, Michael, but which God? There are so very many…”

One thing I’ve never debated with others is my personal religious beliefs. I know without doubt where I’m going after I leave this world, with others free to join me if they so desire. Bill is especially welcome because the fellow is deeply lost if he believes there are multiple creators of this universe. I’ll be praying for him in this area.

According to the Holy Bible, there is but one God. Hopefully, Bill does a small amount of reading here and he’ll see the light. Bill simply needs to repent of his sins and ask Jesus Christ to take him to Heaven when he dies. A person doesn’t have to be an intellectual guru to see this —as John 3:16 lays things out so simple that even a caveman would understand.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son. Whoever shall believe on him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”

I gave my life to Jesus Christ soon after graduating in 1972, in the front seat of a 1965 Chevy, and I’ve never looked back. I’m not a minister or an ordained priest, but I can sincerely say that it was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I can only hope that others do the same before it’s too late because I’d love to see them on the other side with me!

POWER OF PRAYER

“With us standing under black umbrellas, drizzly rain fell as the pastor said a few words before Grandpa’s casket was lowered into the ground.”

Representative picture of January 25, 1966.

The “power of prayer” unlike the horsepower of a car or motorcycle engine cannot be measured. If there were a device to try and capture the power of prayer like an engine dynamometer—the scale or graph with numbers could never capture such. I say this based on what I’ve observed in my own life and not what someone has told me.

I’ve been praying to God since childhood, although the simple prayer repeated nightly back then meant little to me. Mom lovingly instructed my brother and me to always pray before we went to bed.

“Now lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, bless me Lord, my soul to take.”

I first experienced the loss of someone in 1959, when a good neighbor, Lt. Richard Herndon, was killed in a jet airplane crash. It wasn’t so much his death that affected me as the sudden loss of someone who’d always been there. I felt sadness not only for losing this older friend but for his wife who I never saw again. Mary Herndon was my babysitter.

Death meant little to me for seven more years—until attending my Grandpa Hankins’ funeral on January 25, 1966. I vividly recall that cold, foggy, January morning in Vernon, Alabama, a line of cars following the hearse to Asbury Cemetery.

As we stood under black umbrellas, drizzly rain fell as the pastor said a few words before Grandpa’s casket was lowered into the ground. Seeing his body lying in that coffin back at the church was a sobering sight for me.

The Bible doesn’t specifically mention a year for children reaching the age of accountability, meaning, the year when children become solely responsible for their salvation. Many Catholics believe it’s at seven while Mormons say eight.

The Jewish take things a bit further by claiming it’s thirteen. It appears only God knows the correct answer to that question, him knowing that every child is different based upon their maturity. Some pastors are already shaking their heads before I even finish.

I’m not specifically talking about sin here, but the point a child “doesn’t go” to Heaven without asking Jesus to save them. I didn’t make that important commitment until 1973 soon after turning nineteen.

Getting back to the main subject, it wasn’t until after I made that life-changing decision in the early 70s that I began to notice the power associated with prayer. Our son, Gunnar, came down with spinal meningitis at nine months and was seriously ill.

Rushing him to Providence Hospital, resident pediatrician, Dr. Tower, took Joleen and me into a room and asked if we wanted to pray for our son. Of course, we did. Afterward, friends and family were doing the same. Miraculously, Gunnar came through without any brain damage, although some of his friends will jokingly question that.

Our first grandson, Kevin, was born with serious physical irregularities and spent considerable time in Denver Children’s Hospital. Many prayer warriors are responsible for his remarkable recovery. Kevin just recently entered Cedarville College where he plans on becoming a neurologist.

I’ve seen the power of prayer help pull close friends out of the stranglehold of cancer, with my wife and two of her sisters included. Lying in a Lake Havasu City, Arizona, hospital bed one night with my heart buzzing like a chainsaw, and destined for a procedure the next morning to stop my ticker and then restart it, with tears in my eyes, I asked my wife to go onto my Facebook page and ask for prayers.

She did, and only a few hours later I woke up with a slew of nurses and a doctor standing around me. The cardiologist said that my heart went back to normal on its own—although I knew the real reason why.

Since then, I’ve been involved with many prayer victories regarding health and financial matters of family and friends. Perhaps the biggest prayer miracle of all happened on November 5 of this year. Not to be political in this writing, how could I ignore this event where the power of prayer is concerned. I’ll tread ever so lightly here.

A call went out on October 24 for those of a certain political party to pray for their candidate’s success. The specific time of prayer was to be Monday, November 4, at 6:00 p.m. Millions joined in that day and the result on November 5 was the biggest presidential landslide in United States history.

What I found so “unbelievable” about this, is that not once did I hear the other side pray for their party or candidate. Did they not know about the power of prayer? Something tells me they do now, or at the least the enlightened ones will.