I’m going to sidestep—for the most part—a discussion of politics here. I like to write about American history and culture, the focus of my historical fiction novels as well. So stay with me as I take a look at something called The Dignity Index, a tool that claims to measure the quality of our discourse, even beyond the political divide in America.

Our ability to respect those whose opinions differ from our own has fractured. (I hope not beyond repair.) Not news to most people. All it takes is a few minutes on social media, cable news, or talk radio to make this point. As a result, our American culture of civility toward one another is suffering…badly, in my opinion.

It’s fine to be passionate about our beliefs and committed to seeking change when necessary. That’s always been the American way. Diversity of thought makes us strong and innovative.

But the art of civil discourse is being lost across the country. The sense of shared community—the glue that binds a free society together—is threatening to crumble. Families and friendships are being torn apart, when not long ago we would’ve shaken hands and agreed to disagree.

Rather than risk further personal loss, many of us on both sides of the political divide choose to remain silent, keeping our convictions to ourselves even as our relationships—and perhaps our own sense of dignity—suffer.

A few days ago, while discussing flagpoles with a good friend—we’re about to put one up—she told me she’d rather not fly an American flag. Not long before that, another casual friend in the neighborhood said she was glad Charlie Kirk was assassinated.

Hard to believe. Deserves the worst score on the Index.

Neither conversation ended our friendship. But both reminded me how quickly political differences can become personal judgments. Instead of debating ideas, we’re increasingly tempted to question one another’s motives, values, and even identity. That’s a dangerous place for any society to find itself.

In both cases, I held my tongue (as best I could) even though these friends seemed to think nothing of dismissing my opinions. Call me a coward? Maybe…but I hope not.

My love for them is more important than engaging in heated arguments, where polite discussion is dismissed in favor of venting…where winning matters more than understanding the person across the table…and where differences of opinion become personal judgments.

And if I’m being honest, behind closed doors I too find myself slipping at times into judgment of people’s motives, values, and even identities.

So what about this Dignity Index? Is it a viable tool to help reverse the erosion of respectful discourse?

Developed by an organization called Dignity.US (with input from experts in conflict resolution), the Dignity Index is a nonpartisan framework designed to evaluate how people speak to one another during disagreement, especially in politics. It does not measure whether a statement is true or false, or whether you agree with it. Instead, it measures whether the language expresses dignity or contempt.

The Index uses an eight-point scale:

Score Description

1 Dehumanizes the other side; calls for or approves violence.

2 Portrays the other side as evil or an existential threat: “us or them.”

3 Attacks other side’s moral character, casting “us” as good and “them” as bad.

4 Mocks or dismisses the other side as inferior or not belonging.

5 Recognizes the other side’s right to be heard; treats them with respect.

6 Engages with the other side; searches for shared values and interests.

7 Engages even over values and interests they don’t share; is open to admitting mistakes and changing one’s mind.

8 Recognizes inherent worth of everyone; treats them with dignity.

Attacking people as “evil” and claiming they are out to destroy America might earn a 2 because it portrays the other side as morally corrupt and an existential threat. Personal attacks on someone’s character or motives would more likely fall around a 3.

But language that acknowledges the other side’s right to be heard moves into the dignity side of the scale—a 5 or higher.

There’s no adding or subtracting points here. Rather, you compare the language against detailed descriptions for each of the eight levels and assign the single score that best represents the overall communication.

This Index was designed to score the language of others—like politicians, public figures, organizations, even friends and family members. But perhaps its most consequential use is as a tool for self-examination.

It’s a mirror for measuring our own language.

Are you willing to sneak a peek at that reflection?

“B-12... I-26...G-53...N-71...”

Military coordinates? A coded radio transmission? A secret message?

Nope. Just four little calls that, for generations of Americans, meant someone was one number closer to blurting out, “Bingo!”

While millions of Americans are connected to the world from the back rooms of their homes—followed by online “friends” yet lonely for genuine human contact—millions more are rediscovering a favorite pastime woven into the American zeitgeist.

People across generations and ages—not just seniors seeking a Sunday afternoon activity at the local church hall—are still gathering to play Bingo.

Most of us older folk have played it once or twice. Remember…

Eyes glued to one or more cards. Anticipation building on the faces of the players. The quiet buildup—waiting for the caller’s next announcement—until someone jumps from their seat to proclaim…? Yep—BINGO! The letdown and laughter from the other players follows.

Can’t you just hear it. “Aw, man. I just needed one more B number!”

Well, the game has taken on a newer look.

Trendy bars now host sold-out Bingo nights, as do restaurants and entertainment venues. There are themed Bingo nights—music Bingo, drag Bingo, trivia Bingo, and charity Bingo—to attract Millennials and Gen Z looking for affordable, screen-free social activities. Many events regularly sell out.

Maybe younger adults are finding what their grandparents already knew—that simple games have a remarkable way of bringing strangers together. Perhaps Bingo’s greatest prize was never the cash jackpot. It was the conversation around the table.

As an aside, games have the remarkable ability to draw husbands and wives together from their private cocoons. Many nights, Karen and I play Qwirkle, Rummy Tiles, and other simple games out on the deck at dusk, testing our minds and our sense of humor. It’s just plain fun. Recently we played Bingo at our favorite winery. We were all smiles.

Some interesting trends…

“The global online Bingo games market has demonstrated steady expansion driven by increasing digital entertainment adoption and mobile-first gaming behaviour,” according to data from Global Growth Insights. “The market size was valued at $3.22 billion in 2025 and is projected to reach $3.42 billion in 2026.”

In an email to TheStreet, CircusCircus shared that its “…new Bingo hall embraces the true vintage Vegas Bingo experience, built around paper cards, ink daubers, cheap eats, and live gameplay.” The options include a full session of 14 games for $30, with prizes ranging from $50 to $1500.

Charitable gaming continues to benefit churches, veterans’ groups, schools, and non-profits. In 2024, Virginia organizations reported more than $244 million in charitable gaming sales.

And the comeback has hit the UK. Young and old are loving all things 90s—like Bingo.

(stock image: AFP via Getty Images)

According to the Daily Star, Bingo has returned from the dead looking renewed and refreshed. They spoke with trend forecaster Disha Daswaney, co-host of the Let's Get Ugly podcast, who said, “Bingo is making a major comeback among younger Brits by combining nostalgia with modern social experiences.”

She added, “Venues like Hijingo have transformed the game into an entertainment spectacle featuring DJs, theatrical performances, and Instagram-worthy visuals, attracting a new generation.”

Gen Z and Millennials are looking for life-style changes that promise real, in-person connections that aren’t centered on alcohol consumption. (But make no mistake, many still drink.) Bingo seems to fit that desire well.

A 2025 survey found that 44% of first-time Bingo players were under 35. Likewise, they are leading a resurgence in church attendance, reversing a decades-long pattern in which older adults attended most regularly.

People searching for belonging, meaning, and authentic community.

How refreshing.

The word democracy is being thrown around a lot these days.

Many prominent political leaders and commentators have described President Trump as “an existential threat to democracy.” Among them:

“Donald Trump and the MAGA Republicans represent an extremism that threatens the very foundations of our republic.” - Former President Joe Biden

“He is a threat to our democracy.” - Liz Cheney

“Donald Trump is a fascist.” - Zohran Mamdani

“Donald Trump is an existential threat to America's democracy.” - Kamala Harris

Meanwhile, on the other side of the political aisle…the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), a socialist political organization in the U.S., is on the march, touting 100,000 members as of February 2026. DSA candidates are advocating a heretofore unimaginable political platform that includes abolishing the U.S. Senate, replacing capitalism with “democratic socialism,” and eliminating the Electoral College.

How about this stat: About 33% of Democrats now consider themselves democratic socialists, according to a recent CNN poll. The party of Thomas Jefferson is becoming increasingly fractured.

Democracy.

I wonder if folks really understand what it is.

Check out what John Adams wrote to John Taylor—a Virginia planter, Revolutionary War veteran, U.S. Senator, and prolific political writer—in a letter dated Dec. 17, 1814:

“Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.”

John Adams

Hmm…

The letter goes on to state, “It is in vain to say that democracy is less vain, less proud, less selfish, less ambitious or less avaricious than aristocracy or monarchy. It is not true in fact and nowhere appears in history. Those passions are the same in all men under all forms of simple government, and when unchecked, produce the same effects of fraud, violence and cruelty.”

What was Adams saying? I think it’s important that we understand his thesis, with all the chatter about losing our democracy.

Five days earlier, in another letter to Taylor, Adams seems to laud democracy.

“Democracy...must not be disgraced. Democracy must not be despised. Democracy must be respected. Democracy must be honoured. Democracy must be cherished. Democracy must be an essential, an integral part of the sovereignty, and have a control over the whole government, or moral liberty cannot exist.”

What’s up with that, Papa John? Are ya for it…or a’gin it?

Let’s not miss an important distinction here. Adams, a Federalist favoring stronger national government, was arguing against pure democracies, where the majority exercises unchecked power.

He and the other Founders established a constitutional republic that incorporates representative democracy.

At the Constitutional Convention of 1787, the Founders toiled for months to ultimately fashion a government distinguished by separation of powers, checks and balances, an independent judiciary, and constitutional limits on government. Our system—not yet perfected—has endured for nearly 250 years because it was designed to divide power rather than to concentrate it.

In short, Adams was not advocating that we abandon republic government. Rather he was warning that even thoughtful and moral people will be hard pressed to resist the opportunities for power, wealth, or glory. Human nature combined with unchecked power is dangerous, Adams contended.

Is socialism the panacea, the fix for all that ails us?

History shows that when political and economic power become concentrated in the state, individual liberty is often diminished. Several governments founded on socialist principles eventually developed into authoritarian communist regimes.

Is President Trump truly a greater threat to our nation’s existence than socialism on a grand scale?

We’ll see.

Perhaps the more enduring question isn’t whether democracy is under threat. It's whether Americans still understand the constitutional principles the Founders believed were necessary to preserve liberty.

The answer is easy, really.

The digital keyboard.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I used to write out everything in cursive. My bluebook essay tests at community college. The stories I’d file at the San Diego weekly newspaper—my first journalism job after college. The early love letters I wrote to Karen. The draft speeches I wrote for the CEO in my corporate career.

In fact, for the longest time, I couldn't think straight unless I took pen to paper. Then along came the keyboard and the cathode ray tube—the clunky forerunner of today's desktop computer. Now I can barely write my name legibly. My chicken-scratch rivals Donald Trump's unreadable signature.

Well…maybe not that bad.

Seems like cursive is a lost skill in our culture.

Imagine if the Founding Fathers had presented a typed version of the Declaration of Independence to us—with all the names typed below. Something would’ve been lost in the historical significance of it all.

Likewise, to truly grasp the scope of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, you have to read it in the President’s own writing.

Thankfully, Lincoln left us five handwritten manuscript copies of the address. There are a couple of copies with his cross-outs. That’s even better. The Nicolay Copy—generally considered the earliest surviving draft—was written on two different kinds of paper, suggesting he may have revised or completed part of it while in Gettysburg.

Even Abraham Lincoln didn’t get every sentence right the first time.

Sadly, it’s reported that many GenZers struggle to read cursive, let alone to write it. So they can’t read our original founding documents or other writings like the Gettysburg Address that tell our country’s history.

And they might as well toss Aunt Sharon’s handwritten recipes in the kitchen trash too. So sad, because a little bit of Sharon lives on in every one of those stained recipe cards.

For years, my wife Karen, a retired elementary school teacher, taught D’Nealian writing. It was a slanted handwriting system created in the 1970s to make the transition from print to cursive easier for kids. The system stuck: it’s how she writes to this day.

But she had to stop teaching cursive four years before she retired. Here’s why:

• In 2010, the national Common Core Standards left out cursive to focus on keyboarding and digital literacy.

• Time Limits: Teachers had less school day time, so they chose skills deemed more useful for modern jobs.

• Digital Shift: Laptops, tablets, and phones replaced paper notebooks in most everyday tasks.

I know, I know. The keyboard revolutionized our ability to communicate quickly and efficiently. In fact, I can’t write with a pen and paper anymore. These days my ideas are driven from my brain to my fingertips to the keyboard. And editing can be done on the fly.

But I can’t help but think something personal has been lost.

Handwriting is a little like a fingerprint. No two people write exactly alike. A typed page tells us what someone said. A handwritten page tells us something about the person who said it.

We have a few friends who still send handwritten notes of appreciation that mean so much more than a text or email. It’s like they’re right beside us, speaking the words.

Maybe progress always asks us to leave something behind. But I wonder if, in trading pens for keyboards, we've lost more than a skill. Have we lost a small piece of ourselves?

To close on a positive note, cursive is making a comeback of sorts. More than half of U.S. states now require or explicitly encourage cursive instruction in public schools, typically in grades 2–5.

We’ll see if the trend sticks.

When Karen and I bought our second house in Van Nuys, California, back in 1978, the neighborhood threw a block party.

No, it wasn’t because we’d moved in. Our neighbors just wanted to hang out together. Wow! That surprised us. A similar party followed a few months later. The city gave us permission to close off both ends of the street, and the special gathering gave us a second opportunity to get to know our neighbors better.

Then, over time…

Some people moved away, and for those of us left behind, the thirst for connection seemed to evaporate. People began burrowing into their houses like Hobbits, except our street was nothing like the Shire.

Our closest neighbor right next door moved, and the new couple teamed with another new neighbor to try and block an addition we were planning to our house. That led to ugly feelings until both of those couples moved on.

It felt as though the neighborhood never really recovered, leaving most Miranda Street dwellers disconnected from the people around us.

Mind you, Karen and I were just as guilty of isolating ourselves as the others. We were raising children, pursuing careers, and trying to keep the home fires burning, as they say. Life gets in the way. Besides, we had plenty of good friends from church and other social outlets. No need, no time, for more people in our lives.

But looking back, I wonder if we just lost the art of knowing our neighbors. It’s awkward inviting virtual strangers over for a drink or some coffee. They’re probably just as busy as us anyway.

Somewhere along the way, we became connected to everyone through our phones, yet disconnected from the people living thirty feet away.

Eight years ago we moved from L.A. to a small town in the State of Washington—Poulsbo. A quaint Norwegian-themed town of 13,000, with July 4th parades, Tribute band concerts overlooking Puget Sound, and neighbors that go out of their way to welcome newcomers.

One month after we moved into our newly-constructed house, something unexpected happened on July 3rd.

While Karen and I were sitting on our deck, soaking up some sun (yes, it does shine in the Pacific Northwest), about a dozen of our new neighbors came marching up to the deck singing happy birthday. Somehow they got wind that my birthday was the following day.

We really didn’t know any of them, but one couple invited us to a neighborhood party to celebrate Independence Day. That couple has since moved to North Carolina, to our everlasting disappointment, but they remain among our closest friends in this new chapter of our lives.

Unfortunately, political differences and petty squabbles have crept into the middle of our little utopia and disrupted things for some. The art of knowing our neighbors (dare I say it, loving them, as Jesus exhorts us to do) needs some brushing up.

Still, the neighbor just below who sold us the property still delights in delivering a batch of his cookies or pumpkin bread whenever he bakes.

The neighbor from around the corner, a master in woodworking, made us a salad bowl, a sentimental favorite in our kitchen.

While on our favorite walk along the shoreline of Liberty Bay, a couple stopped us and introduced themselves because they hadn’t seen us before. Turns out, they go to our church and have since become beloved friends.

All of them, and other treasured friends nearby, have turned the art of knowing one’s neighbors into a life practice of loving those around them. We’re learning and living richer lives as a result.

So how do we practice this forgotten art?

Borrow a cup of sugar…not because you actually need it, but because a friendship just might begin. Years ago, neighbors routinely borrowed a ladder, a rake, jumper cables, or a cup of sugar. Today, many of us would rather drive to the store than knock on the door next door…convenience has replaced connection.

Venture outside…like people who used to sit on front porches in the evening. When kids rode bicycles until the streetlights came on, and adults talked over fences. You can't know your neighbors if they never see you.

Be there to help during a crisis…suppose your neighbor’s husband is rushed to the hospital. Do you know them well enough to:

• watch their children?

• mow their lawn?

• feed the dog?

• bring over dinner?

Or would you simply hear about it weeks later on Facebook? Neighbors become a community before they become an emergency contact.

Learn names…and use them. Walk across the street. Say “Hi, I’m Mike. I don’t think we’ve officially met,” like our friends Larry and Ann did with us.

Dale Carnegie observed: “A person’s name is, to that person, the sweetest, most important sound in any language.”

I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a long way to go to master this art.

A closing thought: we don’t need to become best friends with everyone on our street. But perhaps we should know enough about one another to borrow a ladder, share a meal, pray for a sick spouse, celebrate a graduation, or simply wave by name.

Smartphone apps and government programs don’t build communities. People do. Communities are built on front porches, in conversations, and acts of kindness—one at a time.

*Only one out of every four Americans says they know most of the people living on their own street. In 2018, that number was 31 percent. - Pew Research Center

“Grow old with me, the best is yet to be.” - Robert Browning

“Old age is like climbing a mountain; you get a little out of breath, but the view is much better.” - Ingrid Bergman

So many wise prescriptions out there on how to age gracefully.

For nearly 20 percent of Americans—about 65 million of us age 65 or older (July 2025 estimate)—it’s time to pay attention; that is, if we want to enjoy the final stretch of our journey here on Earth.

We need to learn how to age well.

In fact, those behind us should listen because in a blink of an eye, you’ll be here too. Maybe you can do better than us Baby Boomers.

Now it’s true that average life expectancy has risen from 77.4 years in 2005 to 79 years in 2024. Progress, right? Longevity is no longer unusual; it’s becoming the American experience.

The challenge is shifting from simply adding years to life to adding quality of life to those years.

Was Robert Browning on to something when he said, “Grow old with me, the best is yet to be.” Is the view on top of the mountain much better, as Ingrid Bergman insisted?

What about all those aches and pains that follow us into our 50s, and the illnesses that threaten our quality of life? And how about the disappointments and sorrows that try to steal our joy?

Is money the answer to securing a happy retirement? Here’s King Solomon’s opinion: “I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure...Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.” - the book of Ecclesiastes

Don’t get me wrong. Financial security certainly makes growing older easier. It can buy comfort, convenience, and quality medical care.

But can it buy joy, purpose, peace, or hope? There are plenty of rich people living lives of quiet desperation.

On the other hand, there are some like Joni Eareckson Tada, who has lived as a quadriplegic since a diving accident in 1967 while radiating remarkable joy and faith.

Spend a few minutes reading her story someday. You’ll come away encouraged. “Joy is the serious business of heaven,” she often says, a favorite expression echoing C.S. Lewis.

I think it’s true that those who choose to live in the light, despite their age or circumstances, will have hope-filled lives. How else do we explain the spirituals sung by enslaved men and women in America’s darkest chapters? Their bodies were held captive, but their hope wasn’t.

Joy has never depended solely on circumstances. I pray that I will be granted the grace to seek the light of hope in difficult times.

I also believe the opposite is equally true. Those who choose bitterness over gratitude, resentment over hope, often discover that the darkness grows deeper with each passing year.

A few weeks back, Karen and I were watching the program “CBS Sunday Morning,” when actor Ted Danson reflected on growing older. It was brilliant! (There are some great human interest segments on that show. It has become part of our Sunday morning ritual before church.)

Danson’s observations about aging, summarized here, were thoughtful, practical, and profound.

1. Don’t slow down.

“Don’t slow down, just keep going, keep living your life. I think that’s one of the things our elders can pass on to use. This is how you live life right up until the end.”

He says this mindset is inspired by watching Jane Fonda remain energetic and purposeful well into her later years.

2. Keep your foot on the gas pedal.

Danson has admitted that when he turned 70, he began thinking it might be time to ease into retirement. Watching Jane Fonda changed his outlook: “She has her foot on the gas pedal.”

Now he says he tries to live the same way—remaining curious, active, and engaged rather than assuming aging means withdrawing from life.

3. Stay curious.

Discussing his acting career, Danson said he wanted to discover what it means “to be funny and act at every age.” Rather than longing for earlier years, he embraces the challenges and opportunities of each new stage of life.

4. Connection matters.

One of his central messages is that loneliness, not age itself, is often the greater threat. Danson emphasizes maintaining relationships, friendships, and purpose as we grow older.

5. Acceptance brings freedom.

After a recent health scare, Danson said it made mortality feel real but also surprisingly liberating. He and his wife, Mary Steenburgen, now meditate together twice a day, and he speaks about living with greater gratitude and presence rather than fear.

Danson’s message is a hopeful one: aging gracefully isn’t about denying the years. It’s about continuing to live with purpose, curiosity, and faith until the very end.

Psalm 92:14 says it perfectly:

“They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green.”

Growing old gracefully. No easy task, but manageable—dare I say it, even joyful. At least up to this point.

I turned __ on July 4. One of my old mates from High School wished me a happy birthday with a couple of pics from way back. I’ve included them at the end of this stack if you’re at all curious.

Anyway, he got me thinking about past birthdays and how cool it was to be born on Independence Day. (America 250: Happy Birthday to the greatest experiment in liberty and freedom in the history of our world, btw.) I dialed into the “Way-Back Machine”—remember—Mr. Peabody on the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show—to the 1950s. Our family came together every Fourth of July at Centinela Park in LA to watch fireworks and celebrate…well…me!

If you lived in Southern California in the 1950s or ‘60s, you might’ve tuned into Sheriff John’s Lunch Brigade, a beloved kid’s show. John Rovick, the show’s host on KTTV from 1952 to 1970, would pick as many as 100 kids’ names submitted by parents who were celebrating their birthdays that day.

Sheriff John would wish them a Happy Birthday and sing “The Birthday Party Polka.”

“Put another candle on my birthday cake, my birthday cake, my birthday cake. Put another candle on my birthday cake, I’m another year-old today…”

I used to love this. Take a listen:

I’m another year old, indeed. I remember when my mother was my current age, she’d come out from the bathroom and say, “Mikie, I look in the mirror, and I don’t recognize the person who’s staring back. But I feel the same inside as I did when I was eighteen.” Well, I didn’t then, but now I understand all too well the physical representation of the years that have passed without my permission.

Another old friend texted on my birthday with a simple question: “What happened to us?”

That’s simple. Many more years have passed than we have ahead of us.

Perhaps you’re at the same stage as Karen and me. Or maybe you’re really just getting started—building a family, a career, a future.

As I look toward that future, I’m actually much more comfortable in my skin than I used to be. Even though, like my mother, I’m a little flummoxed by who’s staring back at me in the mirror.

Like everyone, life has thrown us some curve balls.

A huge breaking ball: we’ve had contact with our 45-year-old daughter only three times in the last 15 years. A huge sadness in our lives.

Another: After a very successful corporate career, I’ve pursued my life’s dream to become a novelist. I LOVE WRITING historical fiction! But…

I’ve yet to land a book on the New York Times Best Seller List or have one of my books recommended by Oprah Winfrey.

I keep reminding myself…there’s still time!

But in the meantime, Karen and I seek after joy every day we are blessed to live.

King Solomon, purported to be the “wisest man who ever lived,” is thought to have written the Old Testament book called Ecclesiastes. This, and two other books by Solomon, is considered “wisdom literature.”

In Ecclesiastes, he takes 12 chapters to review his life’s pursuits and grand achievements and calls them “…meaningless…like chasing after the wind.” We might use the old colloquialism, “Here today, gone tomorrow.” Then he makes an interesting distinction.

Everything “under the sun…” is pure vanity.

So…what? We shouldn’t strive in this life?

King Sol would say, root your pursuits over the sun and they will have great value.

I want to finish well. To grow in wisdom instead of merely growing older. To love Karen more deeply. To serve the people God has placed in my life with the same grace He’s given me. To write stories that matter. To leave behind something more valuable than another birthday.

How do we make sense of this world and finish well? That’s what occupies my thoughts these days. Perhaps you’re asking the same questions.

If so, maybe Solomon still has something to teach us.

What privilege it is to be alive in America today—and, by God’s grace, to have another candle on the cake.

(P.S. If you’re curious about the historical novels I’ve been writing in retirement, you can find them by searching “Mike H. Mizrahi” on Amazon.com)

By the way…I turned 75 on our nation’s 250^th birthday.

That’s me on the end.

Always with a guitar in my hand.

Can you pick me out?

Looking for a good, clean movie with strong production values—one that teaches a little-known chapter of American history?

Such movies are hard to come by these days.

Well…add A Great Awakening to your watch list on Amazon. My pal Tom, with whom I share a deep love of American history, told me how it impacted him, so I was quick to check it out.

The film does not disappoint. Spoiler alert: It’s a faith-based movie drawn from one of the most remarkable friendships of the eighteen century, that between Benjamin Franklin, skeptical printer and inventor, and George Whitefield, the fiery evangelist of the First Great Awakening.

They developed a deep mutual respect over thirty years, even though they differed in their religious beliefs. Franklin published many of Whitefield’s sermons and journals, and marveled at the preacher’s speaking voice. Franklin calculated he could be heard by tens of thousands in the open air.

Whitefield preached at least 18,000 sermons in his 34-year ministry, heard by an estimated 10 million people in Britain and America, becoming the foremost preacher of the First Great Awakening and helping ignite the revival that transformed colonial Christianity. Although he brought countless people to renewed or first-time commitments to Christ, as far as history is concerned Franklin never made such a public profession.

Now…fast forward to June 28, 1787.

Franklin, now 81, sits in silence as his fellow Americans debate the way forward for the fledgling nation, made up of disparate states bound only to their self-interests. General George Washington has been coaxed out of retirement from Mount Vernon to chair the Constitutional Convention.

After weeks of frustrating debate, the elderly Franklin finally rises to speak. His remarks become one of the most famous speeches of the Constitutional Convention.

With all eyes upon the elder statesman, here is what he says (as recorded in the notes from James Madison):

“Mr. President,

The small progress we have made after four or five weeks’ close attendance and continual reasonings with each other—our different sentiments on almost every question, several of the last producing as many noes as ayes—is, methinks, a melancholy proof of the imperfection of the human understanding.

We indeed seem to feel our own want of political wisdom, since we have been running all about in search of it. We have gone back to ancient history for models of government and examined the different forms of those republics which, having been formed with the seeds of their own dissolution, now no longer exist.

We have viewed modern states all round Europe, but find none of their constitutions suitable to our circumstances.

In this situation of this Assembly, groping as it were in the dark to find political truth, and scarce able to distinguish it when presented to us, how has it happened, sir, that we have not hitherto once thought of humbly applying to the Father of Lights to illuminate our understandings?

In the beginning of the contest with Great Britain, when we were sensible of danger, we had daily prayer in this room for the divine protection. Our prayers, sir, were heard, and they were graciously answered.

All of us who were engaged in the struggle must have observed frequent instances of a superintending Providence in our favor. To that kind Providence we owe this happy opportunity of consulting in peace on the means of establishing our future national felicity.

And have we now forgotten that powerful Friend? Or do we imagine we no longer need His assistance?

I have lived, sir, a long time, and the longer I live the more convincing proofs I see of this truth: that God governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without His notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without His aid?

We have been assured, sir, in the sacred writings, that “except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.” I firmly believe this; and I also believe that without His concurring aid we shall succeed in this political building no better than the builders of Babel.

We shall be divided by our little partial local interests; our projects will be confounded, and we ourselves shall become a reproach and byword down to future ages. And what is worse, mankind may hereafter, from this unfortunate instance, despair of establishing governments of human wisdom and leave it to chance, war, and conquest.

I therefore beg leave to move—that henceforth prayers imploring the assistance of Heaven, and its blessings on our deliberations, be held in this Assembly every morning before we proceed to business, and that one or more of the clergy of this city be requested to officiate in that service.”

Did the Convention adopt Franklin’s proposal for daily prayer during their deliberations?

No.

But two years later, the First Congress elected chaplains for both the House and Senate, continuing the practice of legislative prayer that had begun in the Continental Congress in 1774.

Whether one agrees with Franklin's theology or not, his appeal reminds us that many of America’s founders believed liberty required more than political wisdom alone. They believed nations, like individuals, ultimately answer to Someone higher.

And that is a fact!

I think it’s safe to say that the prevailing view among many of America’s Revolutionary leaders was that Providence had intervened on behalf of the American cause.

To wit, George Washington repeatedly referred to “Providence” in his wartime correspondence and public orders, including after the Siege of Yorktown.

John Adams frequently wrote that Providence guided the American cause.

Samuel Adams interpreted the Revolution in explicitly religious terms.

Patrick Henry often spoke of God’s direction in public affairs.

Ezra Stiles explicitly described the sequence of events leading to Yorktown as God’s intervention.

And many Continental Army chaplains, state governors, and members of the Continental Congress proclaimed days of thanksgiving and fasting in recognition of divine favor.

By the same token, others like Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin tended to express themselves in more philosophical or deistic language.

Rather than use the word miracle, they often spoke about the favor of Heaven.

It may well be the “favor of heaven” that Americans are able to salute the 250th anniversary of the rise of this historic nation. But I also believe such favor can be lost if we stray too far from our founding ideals. I can’t help but wonder what kind of country our children will experience 50 years hence.

For now, let’s remember the immediate events of 250 years ago this week:

July 2, 1776 – Congress approves the Lee Resolution, formally declaring that “these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States.” This was the legal act of independence. John Adams believed July 2 would become America’s great national holiday and wrote to his wife Abigail that it “will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations...” He was off by two days because history remembers the adoption of the Declaration rather than the vote.

July 3 – Congress debates and edits Jefferson’s draft declaration, making numerous revisions.

July 4 – Congress approves the final text of the United States Declaration of Independence. This is the date printed on the document and the one Americans commemorate.

July 5 – Printer John Dunlap produces the first broadsides, which are dispatched throughout the colonies.

July 8 – The first widely recognized official public reading of the Declaration takes place in the yard of Independence Hall (then the Pennsylvania State House), where Colonel John Nixon reads it before a large crowd.

There were announcements and celebrations in some places after the July 2 vote. Word spread fast, followed by celebrations illuminated by fireworks. John Adams predicted that future generations would celebrate the founding of America with “Pomp and parade…Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.”

May it be so.

Happy July Fourth everyone.

Happy 250^th America.

Gibson shows us a scene loosely based on the Battle of Cowpens, Jan. 17, 1781, where the American militia faces the advancing forces of British General Cornwallis—Dragoons, British Regulars, Highlanders, and loyalists.

When they are about to be overcome, the Americans retreat, drawing the British over a hill where the Continentals are hunkered down.

Waiting.

Led by American General Daniel Morgan, they fire at point-blank range, killing 110 British and capturing more than 500.

The Americans retreat quickly. They meet up with American General Nathaniel Greene, as Cornwallis follows in hot pursuit. The British general discards heavy equipment and supplies in order to catch the fleeing army.

Cornwallis arrives at the Catawba River two hours after the Americans cross. He’s greeted by a storm that swells the river, making it impossible for his army to pass. Pure luck or good fortune for the Americans?

Perhaps.

But soon enough, Cornwallis continues the chase. Then, about to catch Greene’s army at the Yadkin River, the British are slowed again. Rains flood the river, giving the Americans another head start.

Nature has intervened twice. Surely Greene’s luck couldn’t hold forever.

But as the retreat continues, both armies approach the Dan River. The Americans cross first. As the British approach the riverbank, another flash flood stops them in their tracks.

A third escape. What are the chances?

All of this leads to an amazing turn of events.

Cornwallis, having discarded his supplies during the chase, is eventually ordered into Virginia, where he establishes a fortified base at Yorktown to await support from the Royal Navy. But the French have finally arrived to help the American cause after years of unfulfilled promises. They drive off the British ships, leaving Cornwallis hemmed in and facing an army of 17,000 American and French troops.

Cornwallis is forced to surrender on Oct. 19, 1781.

The following day, General Washington writes:

To diffuse the general Joy through every breast the General orders…Divine Service to be performed tomorrow in the several Brigades…Troops not on duty should universally attend with that gratitude of heart which the recognition of such astonishing Interposition of Providence demands.

Years later, Yale President Ezra Stiles reflects:

Who but God could have ordained the critical arrival of the Gallic (French) fleet, so as to…assist…in the siege…of Yorktown?...Should we not…ascribe to a Supreme energy…the wise…generalship displayed by General Greene…leaving the…roving Cornwallis to pursue his helter-skelter ill-fated march into Virginia. It is God who had raised for us a…powerful ally…a chosen army and a naval force: who sent us Rochambeau…to fight side by side with Washington…in the…battle of Yorktown.

Stiles and Washington agree that God—or Providence if you prefer—steered these events toward an eventual American victory in the war.

But even if we remove God from the equation, we Americans in the 21^st Century, basking in the freedoms and opportunities won for us, are called to understand and teach the facts of history and give thanks for the sacrifices of so many who came before us.

We honor those sacrifices by loving our country—not because America has been perfect, but because generations before us struggled to make her better. We still have work to do. Of course we do. But the task before us is to build upon that foundation rather than tear it down.

So…facts stated herein?

(Peppered with a couple of opinions, I admit.)

Any fiction?

What about miracles?

You decide.

*Source materials: Miracles in American History by Susie Federer

Changing sides, as it were.

His decision, driven by personal debts, wounded pride, and growing resentment that his sacrifices have gone unrecognized, almost undoes the Revolution for the Americans.

General Arnold is already an American hero after he and Ethan Allen capture Fort Ticonderoga, and Arnold leads the charge against the British at the Battle of Saratoga. But his wife, a British loyalist, reinforces his grievance that he is under-appreciated, and by 1780 she connects him with a British spy, Major John Andre.

General Washington has placed Arnold in command of West Point, a critical American fort controlling the Hudson River Valley. Arnold meets with Andre at the fort to discuss terms for jumping sides. The conspiracy involves Arnold surrendering West Point for 20,000 pounds (a million dollars today) on the very day General Washington is to inspect the fort.

After their meeting, Andre disguises himself in civilian clothing and makes for the British lines. American sentries stop and search him.

Once.

Twice.

Still nothing. Then, after almost letting him go, they check inside his boots.

There they find a map of West Point, with instructions showing where to attack. Realizing his actions are about to come to light, Arnold escapes on the British ship Vulture and joins the British army. His wish to become infamous is granted, but for all the wrong reasons.

General Nathaniel Greene describes Arnold’s treachery this way:

Treason of the blackest dye was yesterday discovered! General Arnold who commanded at West Point, lost to every sentiment of honor—of public and private obligations—was about to deliver up that important post into the hands of the enemy. Such an event must have given the American cause a deadly wound if not a fatal wound. Happily the treason has been timely discovered to prevent the fatal misfortune. The providential train of circumstances which led to it affords the most convincing proof that the Liberties of America are the object of divine Protection.

On May 8, 1783, Yale President Ezra Stiles states:

A providential miracle detected the conspiracy of Arnold, even in the critical moment of the execution of that infernal plot, in which the body of the American army, then at West Point, with his excellency General Washington himself, were to have been rendered into the hands of the enemy!

History records the discovery of Arnold’s plot as fact. The documents exist. The participants are known.

But how should we explain the chain of events that exposed the conspiracy at precisely the moment it threatened to succeed?

Mere coincidence? Or something more…perhaps a miracle?

You decide.

Around 2,200 British troops are marching over the Appalachian Mountains. Their mission—seize the French Fort Duquesne. It’s July 9, 1755, the French and Indian War. The British militia, with the likes of Colonel George Washington and a 20-year-old wagon driver named Daniel Boone in its ranks, are suddenly attacked by French soldiers and their native allies along the Monongahela River.

There are around 900 British casualties in The Battle of the Monongahela, as Washington rides repeatedly through withering gunfire, back and forth, to deliver orders to Gen. Edward Braddock, Commander in Chief of the British forces. Braddock is mortally wounded and Washington helps remove him from the field of battle.

Many mounted officers are shot, yet Washington emerges unharmed. On July 18, 1755, he writes this to his younger brother, John Augustine Washington:

As I have heard, since my arrival at this place, a circumstantial account of my death and dying speech, I take this early opportunity of contradicting the first, and of assuring you, that I have not as yet composed the later.

But by the All-Powerful Dispensations of Providence, I have been protected beyond all human probability or expectation: for I had four bullets through my coat and two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, although death was leveling my companions on every side of me!

According to a later account, an Indian warrior reportedly declares:

Washington was never born to be killed by a bullet! I had seventeen fair fires at him with my rifle and after all could not bring him to the ground!

Twenty years before leading the Continental Army, George Washington survives the day that first made him a legend.

One is hard-pressed to declare this a fictional story, so we’re forced to accept it as fact. But what about the third alternative—a miracle?

A worthy question.

You decide.

Hoping to gain more wisdom in my life, I’ve taken a deep dive into the Old Testament Book of Ecclesiastes in recent days.

Ecclesiastes is defined as “the words of the Teacher”—someone wrestling out loud with what life really means.

It was written by King Solomon— maybe—who’s regarded in Jewish and Christian tradition as the wisest man who ever lived (think roughly 990-931 BC). His writings also include the Book of Proverbs and Song of Songs.

How does one become…wiser?

What do the Jewish, Christian, and Muslim faiths have to teach us about wisdom?

I’ve gone looking for wisdom before—real wisdom—the kind that helps you through hard decisions, complicated relationships, and the unexpected moments that show up out of nowhere.

And yet, more often than I’d like to admit, I’ve leaned on my own understanding and paid the price for it. That tension—wanting wisdom but defaulting to something else—is what makes the story of Solomon so compelling. Here was a man who didn’t just seek wisdom—he was given more of it than anyone else who ever lived. And still, his story doesn’t end the way you might expect.

That’s because wisdom, on its own, wasn’t enough to anchor his life. He knew what was right—he even taught it—but over time his desires pulled him in other directions. He began to chase what looked good, what felt rewarding, what satisfied in the moment, and slowly his heart followed those pursuits. That’s the tension Ecclesiastes exposes: you can understand truth and still drift from it.

In the end, it wasn’t a lack of wisdom that undid him—it was what he chose to pursue, and who he ultimately chose to answer to.

King Sol wrote these startling opening reflections late in his life: “Meaningless! Meaningless!” says the Teacher. “Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless. What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun?” (Ecclesiastes 1:2-3)

Really? Meaningless? Do you believe that?

What about new love, or the cry of a newborn. What about watching your child take those precious first steps? A table full of laughter with people you love? Moments so good you wish they would never end?

A lifetime of those moments surely can’t be meaningless. And yet, as real and good as they are, they slip through our fingers.

We’ve seen it play out in public lives—Ernest Hemingway, Marilyn Monroe, Robin Williams—people who reached extraordinary heights and still wrestled with something deeper. Darker.

But this isn’t just about famous names. Many more are living quiet lives of desperation. Despite more access, more technology, more opportunity than any generation before us, millions carry a hidden weight. Depression rates are high. Suicide claims tens of thousands of lives each year in the United States alone.

Pretty grim. Ecclesiastes named the problem long ago: “Meaningless…everything under the sun is meaningless.” But the book doesn’t end there.

Later, in Chapter 12, Solomon writes: “Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the duty of all mankind. For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.”

Solomon learned that left to his own designs, even his greatest pursuits would fade. He concludes that real meaning isn’t something we create by chasing success, pleasure, or recognition—it’s something we receive when our lives are aligned with God.

As Ecclesiastes makes clear, what we pursue “under the sun” can never fully satisfy. It’s like “chasing after the wind” (1:14)— striving for something that ultimately slips through your fingers. But what comes from above, Solomon concludes, gives life lasting weight and purpose.

Even beyond the Bible, this idea shows up. The Qur’an says, life has meaning—but only when it’s lived in light of God, not just the world. Further, it states:

• Life is a test, not an end in itself

  • Surah 67:2 — God “created death and life to test you as to which of you is best in deed.”

• Worldly life can be distracting and fleeting

  • Surah 57:20 — Life is described as play, amusement, and temporary enjoyment that quickly fades.

• Real meaning comes from remembering and submitting to God (Allah)

  • Surah 51:56 — Humanity is created to worship God.

In the end, Solomon says, it all comes down to this:

What we chase.

What we face.

And who we answer to.

More on what we face in the next post. For now, think 1960s, The Byrds, and their song Turn! Turn! Turn!—to everything there is a season.

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But when a beloved friend showed up at our door in early December, looking like her 40-ish, stylish, former self, and proclaiming she hadn’t had a drink for several weeks post her knee replacement…well, I took notice.

I was tipping the scales, going into typical Pacific Northwest winter hibernation mode, when one can count on packing on a few more pounds before the dawn of spring. In a word, I was convicted.

So Karen and I embraced the cliché of a “dry January” and stopped all alcohol consumption. Now, I knew that alone wouldn’t cut it for me. Portion control, Mikey, I told myself. Put your fork down earlier rather than later.

Six weeks later, I was one belt-notch down and still heading lower. My clothes started to fit better, always my barometer for weight loss. Karen, beautiful package as she’s always been, lost a few as well.

I don’t think I can ascribe my shedding of 12 pounds so far just to drinking. But our new habit did cause me to focus on a growing trend that’s taking hold across the U.S.

It seems alcohol consumption is falling, significantly, and GenZers and Baby Boomers are driving the decline. As I pondered this, I came to an interesting observation.

GenZ is starting with restraint…
and Boomers are arriving at restraint.

In other words, GenZ is choosing sobriety on the front end of life, while many Boomers are embracing it on the back end. One practice is preventative; the other is corrective. Together, they seem to be reshaping the culture around alcohol.

GenZ is drinking less than Millennials and GenX did at the same age, motivated by mental health, clarity, fitness, and control. They’re less interested in alcohol as a social centerpiece.

Aging Boomers, on the other hand, are motivated by health concerns, longevity, and interactions with medications. We’re often reflecting on (or correcting) our earlier lifestyle patterns.

Put together, there appears to be a cultural shift away from excess, a rethinking of what freedom and enjoyment actually look like, and a shared recognition—across generations—that some habits don’t deliver what they promised.

Different generations, different starting points. Same emerging conclusion: minimal alcohol consumption has its benefits.

Consider stats from a recent Gallup poll (2025), reported by CBS News and other media outlets.

Only 54% of U.S. adults say they drink alcohol, a record low, fueled by a growing belief that even moderate alcohol consumption is a health risk.

Fifty-three percent now say moderate drinking is a health risk, a significant uptick from 28% in 2015. Much of this increase is attributed to young adults who believe “one or two drinks a day” can cause health hazards. But older Americans are catching on as well, as indicated by a new scientific consensus that refutes an earlier conclusion that moderate drinking has some benefits.

To wit, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy said this in January 2025:
“Alcohol is a well-established, preventable cause of cancer responsible for about 100,000 cases of cancer and 20,000 cancer deaths annually in the United States—greater than the 13,500 alcohol-related traffic crash fatalities per year in the U.S.—yet the majority of Americans are unaware of this risk.”

America’s wine industry is suffering from oversupply and falling demand—one of its most painful downturns in decades—largely due to these trends. More than $1 billion in lost U.S. wine revenue last year and a roughly 6 million-case drop in production, according to industry data and reports.

Am I suggesting that we nip all alcohol drinking in the bud? Will Karen and I be canceling our memberships at the two local wineries we so enjoy, especially in the summer?

Nope.

Those of us with a few more miles down life’s twisting road are familiar with the ever-shifting medical recommendations that change habits every decade or so. Think of this. In the 1910s, Karen’s grandma took the advice of doctors and started smoking to calm anxieties over her husband’s combat involvement in World War I.

Her grandma later died of emphysema. Go figure.

Next week we’ll celebrate Karen’s 75th birthday at a restaurant in nearby Port Ludlow—water view table, lots of memories shared—joyful that the Good Lord has graced us with another year together.

And yes, we’ll clink our glasses together with a toast, filled with whatever wine variety my bride chooses.

(Faced with an after-dinner choice, nine times out of ten, we’ll choose this over a fine port.)

If modern wisdom is supposed to guide us, why does the world still look like this?

On Aug. 14, 2025, I published a Substack that promised a series on the topic of wisdom, as seen from the world’s perspective, and from the three great religious traditions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. That post (Part 1) was titled, “Why AI Won’t Save Us—But Wisdom Might,” in case you want to look it up.

Well, it’s taken a while—the distraction of publishing a new novel and a novella being what they are—but I humbly offer you Part 2 in this series now.

We live in a complicated, amazing, but still largely broken world. Yes, there is much beauty and love on display across the four corners of our world.

Yet after millennia of history and breathtaking technological progress, the same patterns persist—power used to dominate, neighbors turned against one another, hatred dressed up as ideology, racism, and antisemitism.

Pure evil also exists, defying explanation. Let’s just start there!

What are we to do?

So what does “wisdom” look like in modern culture?

• Self-reliance — trust your instincts above all

• Success — outcomes, efficiency, results

• Control — mastering situations and people

• Self-expression — speaking your truth without restraint

At its core: wisdom is about getting ahead and staying in control.

Even our oldest wisdom literature recognizes the tension. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 8)

There’s not much we can do to solve the macro, man-made issues that still plague our world. So I’ve decided perhaps the problem starts with me—with you—at the micro level, and perhaps the beginning of wisdom is this: practicing humility and discretion in all that I do.

Sometimes I fail miserably, but I recognize I’m not alone. I struggle with the same condition that has followed humanity from the beginning. However, I have the luxury of taking the medicine prescribed by God through the wise men and women who’ve come before me. The wisdom literature of the ages points us here…

Old Testament
“He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” - Micah 6:8

New Testament
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.” - Philippians 2:3

Qur’an
“And the servants of the Most Merciful are those who walk upon the earth humbly, and when the ignorant address them harshly, they say words of peace.” - Qur’an 25:63

Different traditions. Same posture. Yep…a tall order.

I’m workin’ on it.

Maybe, just maybe, if we take a step back from our zealous opinions and self-righteousness and adopt this kind of posture in all our dealings—starting at home with our families—we might actually see something like peace take root.

At times, it can be terribly frustrating.

Anyone who has stared at a computer screen, waiting to be zapped with just the right sentiment, metaphor, or brilliant turn of phrase—only to keep staring far longer than they care to admit—knows the feeling. Whether it’s the next great American novel, a heartfelt letter of apology, or even a song, writing can sometimes feel like having a tooth pulled.

So why do it?

Passion.
Connection.
A desire to be heard.

For me, there’s a fire that burns deep inside, beckoning me to create something. I don’t feel as though I have much choice in the matter. It’s as if creating is one of the ways I stay connected to my Maker.

For others, the creative impulse takes a different form.

My dear friend Don—one of the most thoughtful men I know—creates candy for the eyes with his photography. He has a knack for capturing a sliver of the original creation every time he clicks the shutter, a gift he seems to send back to the Creator with a quiet thank you.

Another friend, Denise, fills empty canvases with vivid images—paint stroked with artistry and vision. I’m about to frame one of her paintings for my office, a thoughtful gift that will bless me each time I glance up from my screen.

Creativity can transform even the most stubborn patch of earth. To wit, the nearly one-acre plot of land we purchased eight years ago.

Once choked with thorny blackberry vines and every variety of weed imaginable—our property has been shaped into a panorama of wondrous colors. Gardening has become a joy, one that draws us into the creation that surrounds us.

Before… My best pal, Bill, hacking down decades of wild growth, tangled and relentless, on our property.

After…Karen—aka “Edward Scissorhands,” or in this case Edwina—and me in the early stages of shaping our mini Shangri-La.

Inside our new home in Poulsbo, WA, Karen and I are reminded daily of how blessed we are with friends—creators themselves—who feel more like family. Our friend Jeannine fashions beautiful pottery out of lumps of clay, carefully grasping and releasing, shaping and refining, until lovely mugs, bowls, and elegant pieces emerge from what once looked like nothing at all.

In my intemperate youth, I built two spec homes with an old friend. On the negative side, it nearly pushed us into bankruptcy. But in the end, I witnessed something extraordinary: a home standing where there had been only dirt. That marvel has never left me.

Creativity comes in countless shapes and sizes. I believe it’s one of the ways we draw near to the original Creator. Whether you understand it, practice it intentionally, or doubt you possess even a trace of it, I suspect it’s woven into your DNA. Like Pablo Picasso once stated:

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

A small portion of our gardens today.

Well, we’re on our way…at least the lovers of American history are!

On July 4, we as a nation will usher in a grand celebration, one that will harken back 250 years to the beginning. Let me set the stage…

The Declaration of Independence wasn’t first unveiled in a quiet room—it was proclaimed aloud to the public. On July 8, 1776, just four days after Congress adopted it, the document was read in the yard of the Pennsylvania State House in Philadelphia (today’s Independence Hall), most likely by Colonel John Nixon, a local militia officer known for his strong voice.

Bells rang afterwards, crowds cheered, and symbols of British authority were pulled down, including a statue of King George III. Similar public readings happened the same day in towns like Trenton and Easton, New Jersey.

There weren’t fireworks yet in the modern sense—those came with later with annual celebrations—but there were bonfires and “illuminations” (candles in windows), marking the moment when independence moved from parchment into public life.

But to truly understand what led to these moments and the tumultuous years that followed, we must go further back.

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I’m in the process of publishing 27 Substack Notes, one a week leading up to this Fourth of July, to quickly recount some key events that propelled the thirteen colonies toward war with Great Britain. I hope you’ll look for them on Wednesday mornings, say, around 11 a.m. PST.

To catch you up, here are the first four notes…

Note #1: From Thirteen Grievances to One Voice

When did the American colonists begin thinking of themselves as one people?
Answer: 1765.

Parliament passed the Stamp Act, a tax on everything from newspapers to playing cards. It wasn’t so much the tax itself that etched this moment into the annals of American history, but the unity it created. Long divided by region, faith, and economics, the colonies now shared a single grievance.

“No taxation without representation” wasn’t a slogan yet—it was a gut response. Soon after, figures like James Otis, a leading voice in Boston and the Massachusetts Assembly, and Patrick Henry of the Virginia House of Burgesses thundered against the Act. The phrase spread quickly through speeches, pamphlets, broadsides, taverns, and sermons.

_______________________

Note #2: When Order Became Occupation

Few are aware that the Liberty Riot of 1768—perhaps more than musket and cannon fire—paved the road toward revolution. British customs officials seized the Liberty, a sloop owned by John Hancock, on charges of smuggling. Boston erupted. Violence broke out on the docks. Crowds chased customs officers through the streets. Officials fled to Castle William in the harbor.

The ship and the charges were secondary to the real issue. Britain wanted more than revenue—it wanted control. Many colonists now sensed that their autonomy was slipping away.

In response to the unrest, Britain sent about 4,000 troops to occupy Boston later that year. The occupation would not restore order. It would set the stage for the Boston Massacre in 1770.

____________________

Note #3: The First to Fall

On March 5, 1770, a mixed-race sailor and formerly enslaved man named Crispus Attucks fell to British musket fire during the Boston Massacre. Ask a room of students—and most adults—who Crispus Attucks was, and you’ll often get blank stares, even though he was the first to die as the fuse of the American Revolution was lit.

Attucks had no political power and few legal rights. Yet he was the first to pay the price for liberty. His funeral procession wound through Boston with thousands following—a public act of remembrance long before the nation itself was born.

________

Note #4: When Fear Burned Away

The Gaspee Affair of June 9–10, 1772—more than a year before the Boston Tea Party—revealed something new to the British. The colonists were no longer afraid. They were willing to resist together.

The British customs schooner HMS Gaspee, notorious for harassing local ships, ran aground near Providence, Rhode Island. Under cover of darkness, colonists boarded the vessel, shot the captain, and burned the ship to the waterline.

London demanded the culprits be sent to England for trial. No colony cooperated.

The message was unmistakable. Resistance had become collective, organized, and unapologetic. The burning of the Gaspee was not an outburst—it was a warning.

America, for all its triumphs, foibles, and blessings, is an experiments still in the making. A place where people from all over the globe still risk life and limb to gain entry. To enjoy the freedoms she offers.

God bless America.

When I attended Los Angeles Junior College in the fall of 1969, I stepped into a temporary bungalow classroom—the campus still brand new—thinking I’d simply knock out my general education requirement for U.S. history. What I didn’t expect to find was a teacher—small in stature but a giant storyteller—who so captivated me for twenty weeks that I fell in love with the American story.

So much so, I took his advanced history classes as electives for the next three semesters before transferring to San Diego State University. Born on July 4th, I enjoyed being identified as a Yankee Doodle Dandy—sharing a birthday with my country. A flicker of patriotism was fanned into a hot flame in my high school history classes, but my junior college teacher turned it into a torch.

Years later, when my son was attending junior college, we were talking about media bias and how to gather reliable information about the events of the day. He questioned, if history is the story people tell about themselves, and if the story they’re telling in real time is not accurate, how can we trust the historical narrative?

My son is a thoughtful, critical thinker today.

This is a rich topic, and I don’t claim to be an expert on the veracity of our history—except to boldly assert that I believe the United States remains the greatest national experiment in human history: a nation founded on an idea rather than bloodlines or geography; a living constitution that keeps correcting itself; and an open invitation rather than a closed inheritance.

And here’s where the rubber meets the road. History, at least on paper, starts with the things people left behind—letters, diaries, old newspapers, speeches, photos, government records. The raw stuff. Historians sift through it like detectives, trying to figure out what people thought, what they feared, what they were chasing, and why they made the choices they did.

Then comes the interpretation—where the detective work turns into storytelling. Some historians focus on big political figures, others on regular people, others on economics, wartime decisions, or social movements. Each one shines a flashlight from a different angle. And the angle matters. It always has.

Which brings us to distortion. Because perspective isn’t neutral, and interpretation isn’t static.

Take something recent—President Biden’s mental acuity. For months, much of the media painted a picture of vigor and stability. Meanwhile, cameras caught moments that hinted at something less reassuring. Then came the 2024 debate with former President Donald Trump, and suddenly the gap between the official narrative and the visible reality was too wide to ignore. One side of the story had been turned up loud; the other, turned down to a whisper.

History does this too. It sometimes freezes a moment or a flaw and lets it stand in for the whole. Trump’s critics reduce his first presidency to chaos and controversy, leaving out his early COVID travel restrictions or Operation Warp Speed. Biden’s critics might reduce his to a single debate moment, overlooking five decades of public service. When one side is amplified and the other minimized, we’re not getting the whole story—we’re getting a curated one.

Which circles back to my son’s question: Can U.S. history be trusted?

Thirty years from now, what will people say about this era? Will it be honestly told—or cleverly resold?

Some new interpretations of history genuinely expand our understanding and correct long-standing blind spots. Others swing the pendulum too far the other way, reducing America’s complex and messy story to a one-note morality tale about power.

The answer, I think, isn’t to cling to the old or to swallow the new whole. It’s to ask of every version—left, right, traditional, revisionist—the same thing: Show me your evidence. Show me your balance. Show me your honesty.

That’s how history earns our trust. And how we keep the American story from being flattened into something it never was.

As we approach July 4, 2026—the 250th birthday of this country—I find myself asking: How well do we really know the story we’re celebrating? No slogans. No soundbites. Just the story.

It’s in vogue these days to charge that our history has been whitewashed. Others say it’s being “rewritten” through a woke lens. Still some say it isn’t being taught at all. I will reserve judgment on such matters in search of the facts.

What can we know about the foundation of our nation?

For the next twenty-seven weeks, from as neutral a point of view as I can muster, I’m going to do something simple. Once a week—starting the first week of January and ending on July 4, 2026—I’ll post a short “note” from U.S. history.

Not a textbook. Not a lecture. Not a political diatribe.

Just one focused snapshot at a time:

• a moment

• a person

• a decision

• a small event with big consequences

These notes won’t cover everything. They can’t. But they will trace a path from the Stamp Act crisis to the Treaty of Paris, from scattered colonies to a newborn nation, and along the way, they’ll highlight voices and events we tend to forget.

Some stories will be familiar: Lexington and Concord, Valley Forge, Yorktown.
Others may be new: the Liberty Riot, the Gaspee Affair, Halifax Resolves, forgotten riders, obscure resolutions, unexpected heroes and flawed ones.

What I’m Not Doing

I’m not trying to prove America is perfect. Because she isn’t. And I’m not trying to prove America is irredeemable. I’m trying to do something quieter—and harder: To remember that this country began not as a finished product, but as a risky, fragile, daring experiment in self-government.

These 27 notes are my way of walking back through that story—one small step at a time—between now and the 250th candle on America’s cake.

My hope is that these weekly notes will stir your curiosity; give you stories to share with kids and grandkids; remind you that flesh-and-blood people, not marble statues, built this country; and help us celebrate the Fourth not just with fireworks, but with understanding.

You don’t have to agree with all my interpretations. In fact, you’re welcome to argue with them. That’s very American.

But I hope, at the very least, you’ll join me in honoring the idea that a free people should know the story of how their freedom began.

So, let’s start where the colonists first began to think of themselves as one people: 1765 and the Stamp Act. Look for it in Substack Notes on Jan. 7.

27 notes. One a week.

A slow walk to July 4, 2026.

Let’s see what we discover along the way.

The year was 1818. In the small alpine village of Oberndorf, near Salzburg, Austria, world history was made when a church organ broke down at the most inopportune time.

A young priest named Joseph Mohr led a small flock of believers attending the St. Nicholas Church. Europe was still recovering from the Napoleonic Wars—life was hard, and resources were limited.

Among his gifts, Mohr wrote poetry. This story actually began two years earlier when Mohr composed a short six-stanza poem that he tucked away soon after, never to see the light of day again—or so he thought. He titled his work Stille Nacht.

It was Christmas Eve when the priest discovered that the church organ was broken, likely due to moisture from the nearby Salzach River causing the bellows to fail. He needed a Plan B for music. Fast!

The idea, thankfully, did come quickly. But would it work? Was there enough time?

Mohr dug out his poem and walked to the nearby village of Arnsdorph to see his friend, Franz Xaver Gruber, a local schoolteacher. Gruber was the organist at St. Nicholas Church. Without the organ, Mohr needed music that could be accompanied by a guitar—something intimate enough for Christmas Eve worship.

He handed Gruber the poem and asked, “Can you compose a melody—simple enough for guitar—by tonight?” Gruber agreed.

He wrote a gentle, lilting tune in 6/8 time—something rocking, almost like a lullaby.

That night, at the midnight Mass, the two men stood before the congregation:

• Mohr played his guitar

• Gruber sang the tenor line

• Mohr joined him in harmony

• The choir repeated the last two lines of each verse

It was simple. It was peaceful. It was exactly what the moment required.

No one in that little wooden church knew the world had just heard what would become a universal Christmas hymn—“Silent Night.” Its themes were simple: peace, holy stillness, the wonder of Christ’s birth.

After the holiday, the church’s organ builder, Karl Mauracher, came to repair the instrument. He heard the song, loved it, and carried it back to his home in Tyrol.

From there, two famous family singing groups, the Strasser and Rainer families, performed it throughout German-speaking Europe. The Rainers eventually sang it for Franz I of Austria, and later brought it to America.

By the mid-1800s, “Silent Night” had become a standard Christmas hymn across Europe and the United States.

In 1863, the English translation “Silent Night” appeared.

Since then, the carol has been sung in the trenches of World War I, in rural churches and cathedrals alike, and in every corner of the Christian world.

A poem written for a small village and a broken organ led to one of history’s most beloved hymns.