We cannot suffer the fools any longer

It was cold that night in Bonners Ferry, Idaho, probably ten degrees. I was riding shotgun and had a slow boil going due to a piece of fecal matter supervisor, who treated the At Risk youth we were supposed to be helping, worse than he treated the staff. We’d had our “chats” over the last few months and as unfulfilling as they were to both of us I was beyond being angry with him.

It was now rage and I turned that rage right where I thought it had been earned.

I went off on God.

I left no stone unturned, no adjective, noun or verb was removed and to describe it as profane would be describing it mildly.

I questioned how an all powerful Being could allow children to be sexually, physically and emotionally abused by their parents and then sent to a camp where the guy in charge was a raging a-hole.

I sneered at the all powerful Father with an anger that knows no fear and dared Him to shut me up.

My friend, the driver, sat very quietly, as my rant went unanswered by the Big Fella Upstairs. When I paused for a breath my friend attempted  a small joke that I didn’t bother to acknowledge. I was locked in and ready to play my trump card.

“If this is all you got God, then come get me now. I f#$%ing dare you.”

Ten-seconds turned into ten minutes as the car came to a stop at our destination.  I stepped out, more disgusted than ever, when I froze in my tracks.

For those of you who’ve read Late Bird you know what happened next.  For those of you who haven’t, well, let’s just say, The BIG FELLA UPSTAIRS reminded me who indeed was in charge…and it wasn’t me.

From that point on I’ve never questioned God.

Our conversations are always me saying thank you.  On an average day this happens about one half dozen times. Fortunately for me most of my days are better than average so our short chats happen quite a bit.

Recently I was doing some home improvements and as I was working through my twentieth can of spray foam insulation the mundanity of it made me smile and look skyward. This time it wasn’t to say thank you but rather a question. Not a question of blame but rather a question I’ve asked  many times over the years.

“Am I where you want me to be?”

Now I am not saying God spoke to me.

It’s possible the fumes from the spray foam may have altered my consciousness. What I am saying is my brain fed me an instant reaction and it is one I have not had in a very long time.

Lead by example with kindness.

I should also mention I did inhale quite a bit of wood/pellet smoke from a newly installed pipe that was leaking.

With that said the thought hit me again.

Lead with kindness.

I nodded slightly and then continued the conversation by asking another question.

What do we do with those who are deaf to the truth?

The answer was immediate.

Take them by the hand my son.

My next question arrived just as fast.

What do we do with those who will not see?

Put them on your shoulders my child.

After checking the label on the spray foam one more time I posited this to the Big Fella Upstairs.

What do we with Evil?

My immediate thought was “build an Ark” followed by the famous line from the movie that kept millions out of the water “you’re going to need a bigger boat”.

I like to think God has a sense of humor.

Of course I’m not Noah or Roy Scheider.

Although appreciative of the comical break I inquired again.

What do we do with Evil?

My mind was silent, at least on this topic, for the rest of the day. I’ve had this happen before and I did what I do when braced with a subject I cannot immediately fix.

I let my brain sit with the issue and moved on to other things in life. I no longer vacillate as it has never provided me with a positive answer, simply a headache.

Two days later sitting in traffic I watched as many empty vessels around me behaved in ways that could only be described as sad when immediately the answer to my question came to fruition.

“Do unto others as they have done unto you.”

Instantly I knew the phrase was incorrect. I knew the saying was “Do unto others as you would have done unto you” BUT that’s not the message that I received or kept receiving.

As many are certainly wondering “were any of those empty spray foam cans left in your truck?”

There were not and I’m not starting a “religion” or saying The Big Fella Upstairs was talking to me.

As I’ve said many times the name is Jason Kraus not Jesus Christ but I do believe if we “ask” the right questions “we shall receive” the appropriate answers.

So, what do we do with those that lie, cheat and steal from the United States Citizen?

What do we do with those who have sworn to protect and defend America yet continue to do the exact opposite?

What do we do with elected officials who ignore the molestation, rape and murder of our fellow Americans and encourage Human Trafficking through our open Southern Border?

We’ve tried being kind, generous and “christian-like”.

It’s only getting worse.

Historically, new technological advances have made life on Earth better for Humans but today’s “advancements” have turned too many into drugged, lazy, creatures who live only to meet their next immediate need at someone else’s expense.

Do unto others as you would have done unto you doesn’t work with Evil.

It simply makes one a target, then a victim.

Yet, do unto others as they have done unto you won’t work for me either.

We aren’t animals.

As I sat down to write this column the message became clear.

One does not stop molestation, rape and murder by committing these acts, nor does one stop these things by “taking them by the hand”.

We do what AMERICANS have done for almost three centuries.

From the crossing of the Delaware, to the swamps of South Carolina, from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, from Normandy to the Mekong Delta.

We give thanks, say grace and pray that we are indeed on God’s side.

Then we grab them by the neck and “hang em high” for all the world to see.

We may laugh at the foolish but we cannot suffer the fools any longer.

Jason Kraus

www.aleadernotapolitician.com

www.freeamericanetwork.com

www.thetrumptimes.com

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