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By Chris Edwards
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A few years ago I caught sight of something in the parking lot of the local retail temple known as Walmart that stuck with me.

It was a slogan, rendered in red, white and blue lettering, on a white background. “Make America Grateful Again” is what it said.

The phrase was an obvious callback to the campaign slogan/mantra of the cat who was in the White House at the time, and the font used, as well as the presence of the lightning skull logo, let me know that it was a bit of merchandise from that most jammin’ and unique of American roots/psychedelia/rock bands the Grateful Dead. I’m a fan of the Dead; I mean who couldn’t love Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty, right? This sticker, though, transcended my fairweather-Deadhead self.

Later on, in a show of serendipity, I ran into the owner of said bumper sticker (I knew this, or assumed it, because he had a shirt stating the same statement, rendered in the same font with the same skull motif) and made his acquaintance. Even had that chance meeting not occurred, the bumper sticker would still have left an impact.

I love stickers, and to me, they are right up there with newspaper advertising as an effective, and occasionally thought-provoking, medium by which to convey a message.

I come from a DIY background of promoting music gigs and found that getting stickers printed up for shows was always an essential part of a band or artist’s promotional toolbox. I can’t count the number of bands/artists and venues I’ve gotten curious about (and later checked out) because I saw a logo or name printed upon a sticker.

Last Thursday was the officially sanctioned, solitary day that all good taxpaying Americans are required to sit down, break bread and wax faux-emotively about what all they’re thankful for, golly gee, but here’s the problem with that: limiting the celebration of gratitude to one holiday that, let’s face it, is just a mandate by the cranberry and turkey lobbies, is disingenuous at best.

Yet here we are. So many of us seem to only mouth words of gratitude at the dinner table on Thanksgiving, only to return to wallowing in woe-is-me pronouncements as soon as the last piece of pumpkin pie is gobbled down.

Several years ago, a leading scientist, Robert Emmons, wrote that being grateful is good for our bodies as well as our minds. Emmons has studied the effects of gratitude on the physical health of humans for more than a decade and posited that a host of benefits were possible with those who practice gratitude, such as stronger immune systems, fewer aches and pains and lower blood pressure.

In the mental health column, Emmons reported findings of higher levels of positivity, optimism and happiness.

Celebrate the present, for it’s all we know that we have for sure and hail the good around you.

Let’s be grateful for one another and this time that we are afforded. Make America Grateful Again, indeed.

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By Tony Farkas
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I occasionally tell a joke that my wife thinks that what’s hers is hers and what’s mine is hers, mostly to tease her that I believe that whatever we have we share together. That joke can be made to fit broader subjects, but one it most definitely doesn’t cover is government, and that is at any level. Instead, our representatives feel that the money in the coffers is for their own better-informed uses. Our leaders seem to have forgotten several things, but most importantly that it’s not their money, because government produces nothing. Take, for instance, the federal folks. Their profligate spending on everything from bizarre research about drunk fish to bridges to nowhere and wars in Eastern Europe is the stuff of legend. The salaries for the bureaucracy, including the legislators themselves, are out of control. Even when a federal judge denies an executive order allowing the forgiveness of student loans, our president has decided to extend a moratorium on payments. This government decided to dole out funds without any legal mandate, then has decided to change the rules in midstream, and all with money that doesn’t belong to them. Even at the state level, when lawsuits have to be filed against the feds, all use tax money that doesn’t belong to them.  This exists at the local level, as counties, in receipt of tax funds in the form of ARPA (America Rescue Plan Act) funds and Texas Capital Credits. Eligible organizations come to County Commissioners Court with request, and the county decides. Unless it doesn’t. An organization was denied ARPA fund because one court decided that the money was better used by the county itself. This organization had applied for funds in June, but the court, after months of delay, decided only to ignore the request and state it had already decided what to do with the funds.

Another organization, looking for funds to help serve underprivileged children with bicycles and food was outright denied funds, while other organizations, one of which did not even request funds, were granted the use of money.  The court initially wanted to deny all requests, saying there were so many that all requests should be presented and then the county would decide which ones to fund — as if it were their money. This stance only came after the first two were doled out, with the explanation that if one entity should get it, so should the other. In each case, the organizations fit the requirements attached to the funds, but the county leaders felt differently, wanting the money to fund other things after the matter was studied and debated and a new definition of fair could be cobbled together. This is similar to one of the impetuses of the American Revolution; taxation without representation. While the commissioners are elected to make such decisions, those decisions seem to benefit the county, not the residents. That’s the kind of thinking that led to the Stamp Act. Seems the monarchy in the 18th century was levying taxes willy-nilly, with the excuse of helping to defray the expenses of whatever (housing military and “protection”), and that the colonists should just shut it and pay. Because, of course, they knew better. Especially in these times, taxpayers know better what they need, and what they expect from government, and that should be the deciding factor, not some arbitrary definition of fairness that excludes people.

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By Dr. James L. Snyder

Last week was the first anniversary of my heaårt attack. My celebratory plan was to go to McDonald’s for a double cheeseburger, large fries, and a chocolate milkshake.

I tried to keep my plan secret, at least from someone in the house, but I failed most miserably.

Somehow The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage discovered my celebratory plans. How she found out, I don’t know, but I sure would like to know.

She stood in front of me for a moment, with both hands on her hips, and said, “If you proceed with your celebratory plans, a heart attack will be the least of your problems.”

Not knowing exactly what she meant, I immediately canceled my plans just to be on the safe side.

Then I realized she had plans of her own. I had an appointment with my heart doctor on Monday morning at 11 o’clock. I have a checkup every six months; this was my one-year anniversary.

Of course, I had forgotten about that appointment so all my plans were put in my back pocket to save for some other time.

The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage offered to drive me to my appointment, and because it was at 11 o’clock, she made plans for lunch. I was completely okay with that; the only problem was we would have to go in her Sissy Van.

It was only to the doctor’s office and then to lunch, so that shouldn’t be too long. I don’t like riding in that crazy little Sissy Van in which the seating is so tiny my knees are in my face the whole trip. I figured it was only a short time, so I could handle it.

We arrived at the doctor’s office just before 11 o’clock, I signed in and waited for the doctor. While there, I remembered why doctors call us “patients.” It takes great patience to wait for the doctor to call you into his office. My appointment was at 11 o’clock, and by 11:40, the nurse finally called me into his office.

I was worried because it was getting close to lunchtime, and I never want to be late for lunch.

I spent about a half-hour with the doctor while he checked my vitals and then said, “You’re good. Everything seems excellent.”

I asked him, “Could I have that in writing with your signature?” I wanted someone in our house to know I was “good.”

After making plans for my next appointment, we left and got back into that little Sissy Van on our way to lunch. It takes me as long to get into the Sissy Van as it does the doctor to examine me. Oh boy.

Finally, we were on our way to lunch. She wanted me to go with her to a diner she and her daughters discovered a little while back. I was all in for that, and we had a nice time eating lunch.

Then, back in the Sissy Van, and, as I had hoped, we would be on our way home. I was getting tired of kissing my knees in traveling.

“You know what,” my wife said as we drove out of the parking lot. “I need to stop and pick up a piece of jewelry that’s ready for me at the mall.”

Looking at me, she said, “You don’t mind if we stop there, do you? After all, we go right by it. It won’t take long.”

I was okay with that, but I wasn’t going to go in because by the time I could get out of the Sissy Van, she could have gone in, picked up her jewelry, and come out. So I stayed in the Sissy Van.

She returned, and driving out of the parking lot, we passed one of her favorite stores. Something along the lines of Tuesday Morning, whatever that might be. And she said, “While we’re here, I think I should go in and pick up some things I need for my craft room.”

Again, I stayed in the Sissy Van, kissing my knees while waiting for her to return.

She got back into the van, and driving down the street, we stopped at one of her favorite thrift stores. I wouldn’t say this out loud, but her favorite thrift store is the one she’s shopping at the moment.

We continued visiting thrift stores for the rest of the afternoon, and I was trapped in that silly old Sissy Van.

Finally, we were within two blocks of our house, and I was afraid she would pass another thrift store I had no idea about.

We got home, and it took me some extra time to extricate myself from that Sissy Van. As I got out and stood up, my knees were wobbling, but I did reach the front door, got inside, and headed for my easy chair.

The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage brought all her shopping goods in from the Sissy Van and put them on the dining room table.

She looked at me with a big smile and said, “That was a wonderful day. Wasn’t it?”

In thinking about my adventure I was reminded of what the Apostle Paul said. Ephesians 4:2-3, “With all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love; Endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”

This unity is something I work at with the help of the Holy Spirit.

Dr. James L. Snyder lives in Ocala, FL with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage. Telephone 1-352-216-3025, e-mail This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it., website www.jamessnyderministries.com.

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By Tony Farkas
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Holidays offer a bit of perspective

I have a niece who I cherish. Actually, I have several, but one in particular.

She has had somewhat of a rough go of things throughout her young life (well, she’s in her late 20s, but I’m not, so she’s young).

There were instances when she was extremely down because of certain life events. She had her hopes set on many things, only to see those dashed against the rocks of reality.

Last week, though, her ship righted itself, and she gave birth to a wonderful baby girl, and I became a great uncle (in more ways than one, get it?).

It wasn’t an easy birth, and even was heralded by an earthquake in West Texas, but baby and momma are fine as paint. She even posted later how the infant has completely captured her heart.

There are two lessons in this that I found: that patience and positivity can overcome most circumstances, and, especially apropos for the season, that regardless of hardship and turmoil, there is so much to be thankful for.

My niece had never lost her hopeful nature, and that’s something to be admired. For me, that means that there isn’t anything that happens in my life that is so bad that I have to shut down.

I write quite a bit about the crappy state of government, and how that has affected all of our lives negatively, what with rising prices, empty shelves, unemployment and probably soon to be gasoline loans.

Yet I also know that these things are like a pendulum and will swing back. I also know that I have the love of my family, I have really good friend, and I live in a community that is welcoming and understands the meaning of being neighbors.

I write quite a bit about the sorry state of journalism on the big stage, where reporters have exchange objectivity for access and credibility for celebrity. Most national media reports smell like propaganda, and little credence is given to being fair, unless it can be pointed out that the other guys aren’t being fair (mostly meaning folks like me, conservative and thinking that people should be responsible for their own fates and actions).

I just have to look around at my colleagues, who strive to tell the tales of their communities and leave the silliness on television. This is the news that matters, which is what is here.

I write quite a bit about the rampant stupidity of social media, and how the anonymity of it all leads to deep acrimony. There’s no discussion anymore, there’s only I’m right, you’re wrong, and you should die a horrible death. Real problems will never be solved without compromise.

More and more, though, haters are being sought out and removed, free speech is being promoted, and there’s less need to have people face consequences for simply having an opinion. On the pages of these newspapers, there still is the opportunity to speak your mind without fear of being shut down. We also still know how to talk to each other.

There’s plenty of reasons to be thankful, and to be patient and wait for the world to change. All it takes is a little practice.