Grit, Get Some

The real problem that people have with Trump is that he’s a man, a real man. I don’t mean that he’s always right or that he’s always genteel. I mean he calls it like he sees it. Last year in a unexpected conversation, I told a teacher that Trump's a man of grit. Would we send a pale-faced, fragile man out to fight the wolves? Such was David, one whom every time I read of I become frustrated with and enthralled with all at the same time. But who are we to judge the actions of a great man who believed his sin was in secret and now is revealed to the whole world, when in true confession he said to God, "Against thee, thee only, haved I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest" (Psalm 51:4). Who are we to be taken aback by such grave doings? I, for one, am not. I know that I am capable of and have been guilty of some of the very same sins. Do not harshly judge and dismiss a person for a fall to temptation for a temptation you’ve never been in a position to have. Back to Trump though …our country, being in a fiscal battle, needed a man of skill, a man with experience not a man of lofty ideals. Such were the differences between Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. Washington spoke of trusting and following God into battle while Jefferson created his own bible negating all the foundational, miraculous deeds of Christ. The other day I told Mike that in personality he falls somewhere between President Donald Trump and drag racing legend, John Force! The truth is that the majority of the time I don’t like his tone and sometimes not his even purposes. But something I’ve learned is that on every major decision for where to live, how to educate, where to work, where to worship, and with whom to associate; he’s been right. Pure and simple. I have a marriage that has to be managed the way Esther did. It doesn’t really matter what I like and don’t; I have to remember to only come to him with the big things, managing smaller things myself. Funny that I fathomed in a post two summers ago how in his poor health he and I would live a new life of collaboration: cooking, shopping, and teaching together. Ha! He’s still a man’s man, and it may kill him, but he’ll go down swinging. A difference between Esther and me is wealth. Every day including yesterday is a decision of survival. The Impala finally went back. He bought it while he was still working prior to his heart failure diagnosis and has held onto it firmly all this time as a means to keep a good credit score in hopes of home ownership again one day. He’s tried everything legal under the sun to get rid of it before now. Megan’s selling her Jeep came just in the nick of time, albeit a couple of months earlier than she intended, so that’s what you’ll see me trolling around town in. This week holds other hard “issues.” Our neighbors have grown so fond of one of our dogs that they’ve all but claimed him, luring him with food and providing him with bedding and shelter. I’ve been biting my tongue and cooperating for a year. Last night, I couldn’t do it anymore after she confessed that she had fed him and intended to shelter him for the night after I specified that she not. Today also, we have to deal with the actions of a teammate of one of our kids. People are so used to everyone rolling over that they do and say whatever they want. No fear, no respect, no regard – a thankless generation. Harpers ain’t rollin’ over. We’ve managed to get some grit. You should get some, too.