The Stoning of Soraya M.

It seems I have immersed myself in all things Islamic this last two weeks. I have been reading my Koran, reading Is Fanatic Islam a Global Threat by Victor Mordecai, going to lectures on the subject, and watching films dealing with the general agenda of Islam- one specifically set to tell the human drama, the other to tell the bloody and troubling realities Sharia Law. The Stoning of Soraya M. is the true story of a beautiful Iranian woman stoned to death on the testimony of two men. That is all it takes. It doesn't matter who the men are; the fact that they are men is sufficient justification for any allegation they make. It's good to be a man, if you are a Muslim!
This story- and I hate to call it a story for it is certainly not fiction- takes place about twenty years ago, about 10 years after the Shah of Iran was ousted from power and the Ayatollah Khomeini's regime had forced its way into power. For Islam government and religion are the same thing, and the cards are stacked overwhelmingly in favor of the male members of society who have the authority to tell the masses what their religion demands, which is justice in its purist and most barbaric form.
Why was Soraya stoned? She was caught in the sin of adultery. Yeah, right. She was married to a sack of pig excrement who had eyes for a fourteen year-old hottie, the daughter of a man who was in Mr. Excrement's care in the local jail. Mr. Excrement was to delay the man's execution in exchange for a young piece of you-know-what. Obviously Mr. Excrement needed to get rid of his wife. Like many Western men who want to trade in a used woman for a new model, he didn't like the idea of using his money to prop up his ex and their two daughters (they had four kids, two boys,two girls). So the best solution for the muslim in a fix was to call AC/DC and have their "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" man give Soraya a jingle. No. Better than that, he calls on the local clergy to assist in his time of need. Brother Ne'er-do-well sees a way to help Mr. Exrement out of his tight spot. He must simply catch his wife in a compromising situation with another male. That is vague enough, right? Well, that is all it takes, and we aren't talking about Western male-female interactions here, either. All it takes for Soraya is a simple touch of the hand, a little pressure on the man whose hand she touched and viola, one Soraya M. is guilty of adultery.
I watched in a sickened frozen stupor as the kids of her village tapped rocks together in rhythm while her procession made its way to the designated place of her state and Allah sanctioned murder. She was led, wearing what appeared to be her pure white and intricately beautiful wedding gown down into a pit that had been dug especially for this holy occasion, placed on her knees, and buried up to her waist-- no need in leaving any room for error. With dramatic diliberation, each man who, were his god not the sword, should have known that this whole event was a sham, threw baseball sized (plus or minus) rocks at the beautiful, wronged, and holy Soraya.
Having caught an elbow or two about the face while playing basketball as a youth, I should not have been shocked by the amount of blood that issued forth from her blameless forehead. I was though. You can imagine what this girl, whose dress bespoke of blessed union and now, as blood both running and splattered down upon it, told of the satanic, neurotic need to control, even to death the one thing in society that should be cherished as the creative evidence of God on earth, looked like as the spark of life had nearly been completely extinguished from her eyes. With one more triumphant barrage of stones the unholy work was finished.
The story of Soraya's murder was taken by a brave French-Iranian journalist Freidoune Sahebjam, played in the film by Jim Caviezel. He wrote a book that chronicled Soraya's ordeal. and it was published in 1995.
I was initially mad at myself for not knowing about this movie, let alone the book until about three months ago. I do not want to deminish the significance of this film in its role of letting the world know about the kind of atrocities that are going on in the name of Allah in Islamic countries, but I feel that the lesson for those of us in the West is that Sharia law is not as far away as we would like to believe. Cultural Jihad is and has been underway in Western Civilization for 1400 years now. There has been an ebb and flow over time as power has shifted east to west and west to east. However, an incredible amount of wealth has flowed to the East during the last 80 years. Politicians have been telling us for years that we are running out of oil. That may or may not be true now, but the Islamists who have the money and the power to control the market for oil have an enormous advantage over the whole globe, the globe they want to see ruled under the flag of Sharia law. One decision to stop the oil flow or raise the price precipitously and the world's economy falters. Who has the real power now? We can bow to their wishes, wage war, or try to ride it out. In any case we will pay a tremendous price in terms of quality of life, lives lost in warfare, and the wealth of our nations. Jihad is upon us. The only question is whether or not it will be the sword or the law that cuts our feet out from under us.

If They are Good Enough for our Soldiers...

In the latter days of this past summer I found a good set of boots at a super cheap price. They were the Desert Tan Hot Weather boots. The same ones our soldiers who are deployed in less than hospitable regions of the earth wear. At first I was just glad to have a good set of boots. I knew they would come in handy while working around the house and for hikes into the woods, too. When I was a young teenager I had a pair of Vietnam era Jungle boots. I hated them. They were uncomfortable and.... well, just plain uncomfortable.
Since these boots were new, they required a break in period. I started to become frustrated when the break in period extended past a week of "light" duty wear. Were these boots going to be just like my Jungle boots of old? Thankfully, they weren't. After a few more days of wear, the boots were broken in. Over a few months time, I began to prefer wearing them. The more I wore them, however, the more I thought about the men and women who pull the laces taunt everyday and walk out into the sands of hostile lands to face the enemy of the civilized world.
Over time, the boots began to become an extension of me. Chances are that nowadays if you run into me on the street, in the woods, at the park, in my classroom, I will be wearing my boots. And, in the same manner, the boots have come to represent more than just "trendy" footwear, more than an article of comfort. They have become a way that I can say, "Thank you!" to all those men and women who have to wear them. I'm letting my accoutrements make a statement- a statement that I'm not at all ashamed to make. Merle Haggard sang in "Okie from Muskogee" that it was a place where leather boots were "still in style for manly footwear" and I'll have to agree. These are timeless boots, ones that any man (or woman) should be proud have on their feet. I'll have these on for quite some time.

Taking the sails down before the wind is taken from the sails

Once in a while we receive news that takes the wind from our sails. It knocks us back on our heels, shocks us, drives us off course. Some surprises are certainly better than other, but really, as a Christian, one should never be truly surprised. It is all a matter of training.
Training prepares us for adverse situations, prevents failures in procedure, and refreshes our faculties. It is needed as we learn a skill, as we continue in that skill, and as we become professional in that skill.
Ask any figure skater about training and they will tell you that from the time they were pre-school age they have been on skates. “What about now? You are a professional, surely you don't train now?”
“Oh, yes indeed! I train more now than I ever have.”
So we train, we study, we hone our skills. Good. But what if we never rest from our daily labors and our training? How effective are we in doing our job? Whom do we depend upon? Can we listen to what our Boss is saying?
A close friend told me of a weight training program that has proven very effective for bodybuilders and athletes of all sorts. Without thinking about it, one might assume that working out everyday would bring about maximum benefit in both strength and muscle growth. While it makes sense, it is physiologically wrong. Working out certain muscle groups once, twice, or three times per week gives the muscles time to repair and grow while you are resting. Some people see maximum muscle and strength growth by working out just once a week.
Spiritually and intellectually we are just like the bodybuilder. We can immerse ourselves in doing the work of the church and have it become church work in a short time. What is the difference? The work of the church is done without regret for mutual eternal gain. Church work, on the other hand, is done at a loss and for selfish gain. Intellectually, we gain consummate knowledge and esoteric detail only to lose sight of the greater picture and become a slave to the wit of man. We fuss over the gnat in our brother's eye while ignoring the rhinoceros beetle that is lodged in our own eye. More importantly, we let our intellect take credit for the work of the Almighty.
Jonathan Edwards, while doctrinally unsound in his sermon “Sinners in the Hand of an Angry God”, said that “you find that you are kept out of hell and yet don't see the hand of God in it.” We are blessed with peace and prosperity and we say, “Man did this.” We are favored among men in all manner of ways and we say, “I'm the best man for the job.” We take credit for creation, for health, for prosperity- and never see the hand of God in it.
Thankfully, we are provided with a reprieve, a chance to let our muscles repair and grow. This chance lets us reflect upon the lessons we have been taught. It lets us see the beauty around us. It lets us realize how we fit into the greater picture without missing the forest for all of the trees. It is the Shabbat, or as we like to say in Christianity, the Sabbath. The word Sabbatical comes from this root. Most people hear the term and think that it is a time to work on something else, take a pause from your real job and get more education or pursue a new venture. In its truest sense, it means to cease work and acknowledge the one whose work you are a product of.
The world we live in is so much opposed to this idea that its true meaning is all but lost in our western society. This is no surprise. We have a great enemy whose main intention is to guide God's children (everyone on the planet) to distraction. When we are distracted, we have no time to think on the big picture or the artist who painted the picture. Americans in particular are lost in a sea of stuff. We have distraction upon distraction and we crave more distractions to insure our escape from the reality that we are not our own. We run and hide. We lose ourselves in whatever distraction that suits our fancy. We never stop and rest. We die early, in poverty and in a state of unrest.
The Jewish Shabbat requires no work to be done on from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. We, as a rule, would be driven crazy, with “nothing to do.” Yet, that doesn't mean that we can not benefit from installing in our life the practice of honoring a Shabbat. Folks we have to have it. It is not an option. Without it we will work ourselves to death and drive off the very people we love so much. We will lose sight of what God really wants for his children. And we will never maximize our growth spiritually or intellectually. Neglecting the principle of Shabbat ensures our works become church work which will be consumed with fire. Not the person, the works will be consumed. God wants the best for his children, not a second rate version of something that is good. That is why He required the Israelites to practice the Shabbat. He knows that with less us, there is more evidence of Him on earth.

Things That Work: Victorinox Swiss Army Knives

Since I was a kid I have had an appreciation for the Swiss Army knife. I have memories of my fourth grade teacher, who was a giant of a man in my eyes, pulling out a gargantuan red handled knife with a gozillion blades on it for some trivial matter. Being a boy, it was natural for me to be fascinated by knives and this one was no different. How cool was a knife was a virtual toolbox? For some reason or another, I didn't get an actual Victorinox until I was 22 when my wife and then fiance brought one back from trip to Europe. It was one of the smaller knives but it did have the scissors and a few other essential tools. Unfortunately, it fell into the small knife category. Small knives have a way of working their way out of a pocket when seated. A larger knife has enough mass and heft that it will tend to fall to the backside of your leg instead of up your leg and out of your pocket.
As you have already guessed, this is what happened to my small knife. Not having a pocket knife is a hard thing to get used too, especially when you find yourself pulling it out of your pocket 4-5 times a day. That was exactly what I was doing with my little Victorinox. So I told my wife my tale of woe, and began looking for a replacement. And I found one, too. In the most unlikely of places, Casino Pawn in Van Buren. The knife they had was fairly close to a "Champ", the top of the line model. I lost the box and paper that came with it, but I do remember at the time looking up the retail value for the and seeing that it was in the $60 range. So I asked the guy behind the counter what he wanted for it and he said $15. I said I'll take it.


That was 5 years ago. I have seldom left my house without it in my pocket since then. I consider it as an extension of my hand; nearly always possessing the correct tool for the job in a pinch. Honestly, I hardly ever use either of the knife blades. The most used feature is most certainly the scissors. I am constantly trimming a kids fingernails, cutting a tag off of a shirt, opening a stubborn bag of candy, or an errant strand of hair with this device. Unfortunately, the little spring that returns the scissors to ready position often comes off track. A small grip to the greater usefulness of an otherwise very useful tool.
If I ever need to quickly amputate a limb, the saw blade should make quick work of it. I can cut through an 1 1/2" diameter bamboo trunk in about 30 seconds with the sharp teeth on this implement. Not that I'm chomping at the bit to cut my or anyone else's arm off- just knowing that I can if I need to is reassuring.
I'm always flipping out one blade or the other to fix something. The screwdriver blades, the can opener, the corkscrew (yes, no wine bottle is safe around me!), the bottle opener (nor is any bottle of beer!). All in all it is the best $15 I have ever spent on anything.

Escape from Flatland

Escape from Flatland

Six of one, Five of another

In the not too distant past I had the opportunity to shoot a revolver that I have been very curious about for some time. It is the Ruger SP101. A close friend of mine has one that is chambered in .357 Magnum with a 2 1/4 inch barrel and he was kind enough to let me shoot about 50 or so rounds through it.
I already own the SPs big brother, the GP100, and I am thoroughly impressed with it. It is simply a shooter's gun, able to take the hottest magnum loads all day long. My GP has a 3 inch barrel. I have carried it before, but at 36oz, it does weigh the hip down after a while. I have been eying the svelt SP to use as a CC gun because it is considerably lighter at 25oz and it's slimmer profile would make concealment easier. A side benefit that the Ruger SP101 has over similar small frame revolvers is that it, like it's big brother, can shoot the hottest .357 Magnum loads all day long, too.

Now, I'm not sadist. Other manufactures make light .357s, but the thought of shooting .357s or even hot .38 +Ps out of something that weighs close to nothing doesn't sound like fun to me. That being said, I don't plan on shoving Buffalo Bore 185gr Magnums in the chamber as a matter of course, but the piece of mind of knowing that I can is a comforting thought.
Both my buddy and I had plenty of Magnum ammo and we fired them all through the gun. Recoil on the small Ruger was not at all uncomfortable with any of the ammo we had. I still wouldn't want to spend all day shooting magnums in it, but for a short session it is just fine. I did shoot some .38 Special +P loads through it too. These had considerably less umph and I tended to place them on target a little better.

This brings me to my personal preference for revolvers. I've alluded already that the .357 is a versatile chambering. It is, in effect, 3 guns in one. Not only can it shoot .357 magnum, .38 Special +P, and .38 Special, it is not picky about what the type of projectile the powder is launching. I could grab 5 rounds with ranging in bullet weight from 110gr to 185gr and as much difference in the powder launching them and have no trouble whatsoever. Some automatics aren't so fortunate. I don't like to deal with uncertainties when it comes to firearms. When I pull the trigger, I expect to hear a boom no matter what ammo I happen to grab (not withstanding Remington UMC, I won't be grabbing that junk any time soon!)

The Ugly: I did have a little trouble with pulling the trigger all the way through the action. This was alleviated by adjusting my grip. No big surprise to me as the revolver is a smaller version of my own. I think a new set of Eagle grips would be good medicine for this problem. Awe, heck. A new set of grips are always in order!

Thoughts on Thermal Bottles

A couple of years ago I pickup up a cheapie Ozark Trail thermos bottle a my local Wal-Mart. I wasn't too impressed with it then, and for that matter, I'm still not all that fond of it. It has a push button lid that is prone to leaking, the occasional burn, and it leaks its heat off fairly quickly.
Fast forward to the last week of 2009. I'm at Academy Sports and they have the Stanley Classic Thermos (1.1qt) on sale for $17. Cheap enough, I thought, so I bought it. The "Classic" designation hearkens back to Grandpa's or Dad's old thermos bottle. My Dad had one once upon a time. I used to go coon hunting with him when I was a kid. It gets cold out in the woods at night, and if a boy wants to warm up, he had better learn to like coffee. I did. As I got bigger, I understood what hot really was. Camp coffee is almost exclusively percolated. My Dad's Stanley was really good at keeping its contents scalding hot for hours out in the cold.
I had high expectations for my new copy. Unfortunately, expectations are sometimes more of pipe dream than reality. I had a nostalgic remembrance of scalding my tongue on a cold winter night on coffee that was brewed several hours earlier. To be honest, the first use of this thermos was on an extremely cold day. The high was in the neighborhood of 25 degrees. At night the temperature fell down to the high teens. I used a pot and Maxwell House Filter Packs to brew the coffee. I am careful not to boil the coffee. Boiling it just ruins the flavor. I still like it as hot as I can get it, though. When it was sufficiently brewed I poured the coffee into the new Stanley and tested the results a short time later. This day I had to settle for warm coffee. It was probably around 140-150 degrees. I had no way of knowing for sure, I just knew that it was turning to ice crystals before I got to the bottom of my cup. Suspicions were raised.
Well, to satisfy my curiosity I tested the thermos this morning. The thermos itself had sat inside overnight, so it was at room temperature. The coffee coming out of my French Press was a toasty 190 degrees. I poured the coffee in and waited for an hour. After one hour the Stanley Classic had bled off 25 degrees of heat . My house was 68 degrees hardly cold enough to be a test for a thermos. Twenty-five degrees is a considerable heat loss, especially in just one hour. Stanley bills this thermos as being able to keep liquids hot for 24 hours. I'm not exactly sure what their definition of hot is, but I speculate that after 24 hours my coffee would be closer to iced coffee than hot coffee. I plan on taking the thermos back to Academy and trying another. If that one deliver similar results, I'll know that the first example was faulty and I'll modify the review at that point.

Stanley Classic 1.1qt Thermos Bottle: Junk.