The "Little Guy's" Right to Lie

This just in --- big, bad insurance companies expect prospective members to tell the truth.

Much to the horror of doctors nationwide, Blue Cross of California (BCC) recently requested California physicians to confirm the accuracy of new BCC applicants’ “pre-existing medical conditions” claims. In letters to these primary care providers, BCC included prospective policy members' applications, asking the providers to review their patients' applications and to "identify medical omissions…that may be considered pre-existing." Any discrepancies were to be immediately reported to Blue Cross of California.

Many doctors are upset by BCC’s request, alleging that compliance would violate the privacy of doctor-patient relationships and inhibit patients from disclosing ailments to their physicians. As reported in the Los Angeles Times, doctors are "'…outraged that they [BCC] are asking doctors to violate the sacred trust of patients to rat them out for medical information that patients would expect their doctors to handle with the utmost secrecy and confidentiality.'" This according to Dr. Richard Frankenstein, president of the California Medical Assn.

At first blush, Dr. Frankenstein's statement seems reasonable. Health insurance applicants probably would be disinclined to share important medical information with their physicians if they feared that their pre-existing conditions claims would later be debunked. This fear could lead to serious diseases going undiagnosed, as patients hide their conditions in hopes of procuring health coverage for expensive operations and treatments.

Let’s explore a scenario where a patient is spared the fear of such accountability and therefore confidently falsifies his health history to a health insurance provider.

"Bob" is concerned that he needs surgery for a particular ailment, or alternatively requires an expensive long-term prescription medication. "Bob" is not presently paying for health insurance because of the significant strain it would place on his finances, and accordingly he is not covered for whatever malady he may have. "Bob" knows he requires surgery or prescription medication because he has made several visits to his doctor's office and has been told so by his physician. However, realizing his inability to personally pay for these necessary medical expenses, "Bob" applies for health insurance and purposefully does not include his ailment on the insurance provider's "pre-existing conditions" disclosure form. "Bob" is confident he can poker-face his way through any telephone or in-person screener interview, and if "Bob" is the only resource the insurance provider can tap for “Bob’s” health history, how can his application be denied?

As far as “Bob” is concerned, the above scenario represents savlation from a potential lifetime of financial ruin. He is very willing to lie a little to preserve his own skin. After all, don’t the insurance companies owe affordable healthcare to everyone? “Bob’s” health condition presents an insurmountable debt to himself, but an inurance company would count the bill as a day’s pocket change. And doesn’t everyone try to beat “the system,” especially if there are no accountability checks to prevent success? It’s almost un-American not to lie in a situation like “Bob’s,” right?

It seems that many who are presently taking issue with Blue Cross of California are fighting for the "little guy's" right to lie and get away with it. “Privacy” is the mantra, but in my experience a health insurance applicant must explicitly authorize his health history to be shared with the insurance provider when completing the application. Assuming that BCC includes such a provision in its applications, why are doctors doing battle for applicants who have lied about their pre-existing medical conditions? I can understand a doctor’s reluctance to involve himself in these situations, both for time’s sake and for the sake of his relationships with his patients. But to express outrage that an insurance company wants to verify the veracity of its applicants’ health history claims, alleging violation of privacy by the insurer, seems disingenuous.

BCC wants to protect itself from the “Bobs” who hope to leverage boldfaced deception into financial windfalls. Knowing the propensity of our culture to lie for personal gain, why should BCC rely solely upon the "good word" of a prospective member who stands to significantly benefit from lying to BCC? What bank approves someone for a loan just because the want-to-be debtor says he is worthy of the bank's trust? What self-respecting home inspector issues a certificate of occupancy merely because the homeowner says the house merits one? Similarly, why should a health insurance company be restricted to considering only the "good word" of an applicant when reviewing a health insurance application?

As reported by ABC News, Dr. Joanna Cain, director of the Center for Women’s Health at Oregon Health and Science University in Portland, said of Blue Cross of California’s recent letters:

“This so simply and succinctly exposes what health care 'insurance' in the United States is: a business.”

Very fair. For-profit health insurance companies do indeed operate as businesses, charging their members a mutually agreed-upon fee for a mutually agreed-upon service. Auto insurers also operate as businesses in like fashion. Should auto insurers pay for the repairs of previously damaged vehicles belonging to new members? If not, why not?

Why is Blue Cross of California's verification request to doctors such an issue in a free society? No one is required to apply to BCC for healthcare coverage, just as BCC should not be required to pay for the treatment of new members' pre-existing medical conditions. Such an across-the-board requirement for BCC would astronomically increase the insurance rates of current BCC members, which members have no expectation to retroactively cover the healthcare costs of new members. Just as the U.S. taxpayer ultimately pays for the numerous programs of the "benevolent" United States federal government, so do health insurance company members' premiums pay for the company's healthcare coverage costs. If coverage costs rise, so do the premiums.

The socialists are winning. Today our society believes that universal healthcare is an inherent, unalienable right, conferred upon our generation by America's visionary founding fathers within a soon-to-be-found penumbra of our ever-evolving U. S. Constitution. Accordingly, any for-profit health insurance company that does not recognize its obligation to take upon itself the physical (and financial) cares of the world is selfish, greedy, and evil. In this vein, no applicant should be denied coverage merely because he already has the problem (and financial burden) he wants to insure against, and if a health insurance company does seek to deny coverage to such an applicant it should do so based solely upon the testimony of the applicant; no third-party accountability measure are allowed.

I do not write this post in defense of health insurance companies. We live in a fallen world where most men seek their own interests at the expense of others, and I do not ascribe undue “purity of heart” to Blue Cross of California or any other health insurer. In fact, I am not commenting at all upon BCC's merits as a company. Nor am I addressing the many reasons behind rising healthcare costs, which is another issue all its own. Rather, I am questioning the "new normal" that a private, for-profit company is expected to function as a charity provider to all. Such a perspective destroys the very notion of free enterprise and belongs to the realm of socialism.

Blue Cross of California today put an end to this controversy. Public outcry from private citizens, doctors, BCC members, and politicians was loud enough to cause BCC’s termination of its years-old application verification practice, effective immediately. I am curious how new BCC applicants will now be screened for pre-existing medical conditions, but that is not my burden to bear. It is, however, the burden of current BCC members who will have to cover the cost of any and all new applicants who falsify their health histories and thereby gain access to BCC membership.

“Welcome to Blue Cross of California. What you don’t tell us won’t hurt you.”

A Warrior Has Fallen

My friend and comrade, Michael Billings, has departed this world. His soul now stands in the presence of God. We mourn and grieve as those left behind, sorrowing at the loss of this seemingly irreplaceable man. But we glorify our Sovereign Creator Who calls men according to His purpose, not ours.

At present I have not the words to write that adeqately express my deep appreciation for Michael, and for the exhortative example his life was and is to me. I hope to offer my thoughts later. For now, please read Mr. Doug Phillips' commentary on the loss of this "...Bright Shining Star in the Kingdom of God."

Announcing....

The Stubblefield Family Name Lives On

Psalm 127:3-5
Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward. As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.

May God be praised for bringing a new little one into this world! Last night my dear friends Mark and Amy Stubblefield welcomed Isaac William Stubblefield as their firstborn child and supreme blessing from the Lord. I rejoice with them at the news of his birth, and pray that his coming years will be attended with fruitful service in Christ's Kingdom.

Congratulations, Mark and Amy. I look forward to meeting young Isaac soon.

Visit the Stubblefield family blog for photos and updates.

The Return of “Ballantyne the Brave”

Thanks to my parents’ love for good books, from my childhood I have been an avid reader of classic literature. Dickens, Stevenson, Cooper, Dumas, Henty, Anderson, Bronte, Defoe, and many other classic authors have provided me reading pleasure and thought-provoking stories for years, and my knowledge of bygone days and far-off lands stems in large part from their respective pens.

Nobility of character and a bold performance of duty regardless of the consequences is a prevailing theme throughout these favorite authors’ tales, and from a young age I was strongly impacted by their stories. At times their protagonists struggled and sometimes failed in pursuit of various quests, but generally emerged victorious through the conflict and demonstrated principles of honor, bravery, sacrifice, and perseverance while so doing. Many of these fictitious characters became my heroes and friends, and I learned what it meant to be a man in "the best of times........[and] the worst of times." (Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities).

Regrettably, too often in my favorite classics there is a very important element either hidden or missing altogether, namely Christ. Although Christian concepts are discussed and generally esteemed in these written works, in many cases they are divorced from their Ultimate Source and achieve success and provide benefit to others only through the "borrowed fruits" principle. I have long searched for more Christian authors from this era who offered both excellent stories and a true understanding of, and submission to, their Creator. Enter Robert Michael Ballantyne, or, "Ballantyne the Brave," as his literary protégé Robert Louis Stevenson affectionately titled him in Stevenson’s introductory poem to Treasure Island. Having read several of R. M. Ballantyne’s approximately eighty books, I am thrilled to share that Vision Forum is bringing back Ballantyne to tell his stories anew, offering today’s boys and families tales of grit, determination, exploration, and spirited adventure around the globe, each written from an unabashedly Christian perspective.

Born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1825, R. M. Ballantyne was a contemporary of noted authors Rudyard Kipling, G. A. Henty, and H. Rider Haggard. Ballantyne’s timeless stories were enhanced by their reliance upon first-hand experiences and accounts, often stemming from Ballantyne’s personal worldwide travels. In each of his books, Ballantyne self-consciously communicated both a spirit of manly adventure and the duties of Christians toward God and others, emphasizing God’s sovereignty over all of life.

Today’s R. M. Ballantyne readers inherit a treasure trove of classic tales featuring 19th century history, manly adventure, and Christian character. Each Ballantyne story reveals a lost era of chivalry and self-sacrifice, replete with exciting accounts of courage, fortitude, and perseverance in realms ranging from the British Isles, to South America, to the North Pole. Readers of all ages are now heirs to Ballantyne’s literary legacy of God-honoring adventure tales, and I encourage all those reading this post to consider adding Ballantyne to their own families’ libraries.

Forthcoming Titles

• The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean
• The Gorilla Hunters: A Tale of the Wilds of Africa
• Hunted and Harried: A Tale of the Scottish Covenanters
• Martin Rattler: Adventures of a Boy in the Forests of Brazil
• The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole
• Blue Lights, or Hot Work in the Soudan
• The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale
• Red Rooney, or The Last of the Crew
• The Young Fur-Traders: A Tale of the Far North
• Deep Down: A Tale of the Cornish Mines

Watch for Vision Forum’s release of ten R. M. Ballantyne books in the next week or so. I hope to post a personal review of Ballantyne’s most famous work, The Coral Island, on Monday.

September 6, 2006

This morning we grabbed another hotel continental breakfast and hit the pavement. After a rather circuitous route up, down, around, and through Hyde Park, Dad and I finally found our way and headed toward Buckingham Palace.

Outside the Palace we purchased a special pass that afforded us access to The Queen’s Gallery, the Royal Mews, and the State Rooms of Buckingham Palace. Our first stop was the Queen’s Gallery. The Gallery consisted of artwork, antique furniture, china, etc., and was a relatively small exhibit for the ticket cost (the price of royalty, I suppose). Our Queen’s Gallery visit was brief, and we soon moved to the Royal Mews.

The Royal Mews is where the traditional royal carriages are housed, as well as the more modern royal motor "carriages." The royal horses are also stabled here, and a still-active riding school is also located on the grounds. Each carriage---there are seven, I believe---has its own significance and use. Their ornate qualities vary, but each is highly decorated for the singular state occasions in which they take part. By far the most ornately decorated coach we saw was the Gold State Coach, in use for more than 200 years. This carriage was the vehicle of choice for transporting Queen Elizabeth II during her 1953 coronation ceremony.

Departing the Royal Mews, we exited onto the street sidewalk and walked the few hundred yards to the queue outside the State Rooms of Buckingham Palace. We soon passed through security and began the State Rooms’ tour. What a tour.

All manner of elegance and royalty emanated from within the State Rooms of Buckingham Palace. Numerous works of art masqueraded as furniture. Paintings by Rembrandt, Rubens, Benjamin West, Vermeer, and other masters hung from the walls. Intricate designs covered the ceilings, often in gilded silver.

Walking through the palace we enjoyed a pleasant Summer breezed wafting through the many open windows. I know not what measure of modern air conditioning is required in time of great heat, but on this day the fresh air ventilation more than sufficed (of course, air conditioning could have been simultaneously pumping in on the sly).

Of the three venues we toured, overall I was most impressed by Buckingham Palace. Its grandeur was all I had ever imagined and more; truly a dwelling place fit for royalty (and one which I was most pleased to visit and not inhabit).

Departing Buckingham Palace we headed toward Westminster Abbey. Visiting the Abbey gave much pause for contemplation as we observed a real-life example of form over substance. Westminster Abbey has all the ostentatious, "Christian" grandeur one could imagine (much of it crossing the line of idolatry), yet it possesses no "soul." The Abbey appears nearer linked to man than to God, and its selection of men to honor is at times blasphemous (e.g. Charles Darwin). England’s state church long ago compromised its integrity, and a step-back examination of the many vile, God-hating sovereigns and others memorialized within this supposed "house of God" makes laughable the very thought of such a title.

Some of the placards/floor stones/etc., I did enjoy seeing included Sir Isaac Newton, John and Charles Wesley, Isaac Watts, William Wilberforce, and Oliver Cromwell (Cromwell’s body remained in Westminster Abbey for only three years, at which time it was exhumed and destroyed by vengeful enemies).

After lunch our next stop was the Imperial War Museum, perhaps the most interesting and informative site we had yet visited since arriving in Britain. Although I had expected to focus on primarily World War II history within this museum, much of my perusing instead majored upon post-World War II happenings: the Soviets; Iran; Iraq; Israel; Egypt; Ireland; the U.S.; Vietnam; China; South Africa; India; etc., and their relations with the U.K. I learned quite a bit about the Cold War era, as well as non-U.S. vs. USSR international military actions during that time.

Although we spent a good three hours touring the museum, I doubt we saw more than 1/3 of its contents, this despite skipping many of the "artifacts" displays in favor of the excellent placard commentaries accompanying more interesting (to us) fare. Most of our time was spent in the museum’s basement, and about 30 minutes on the first floor. We never reached floors two or three.

Among the memorabilia housed in the Imperial War Museum were several World War II airplanes and tanks, together with old mortars, bombs, missiles, an ambulance, a piece of the old Berlin wall, and a 14-foot civilian fishing boat used to evacuate British and French soldiers from Dunkirk—the smallest civilian vessel used in that great rescue. Many, many additional historical items were to found in the museum’s halls, but doors closed at 6:00 p.m. and we sadly had to depart.

We killed time for the next hour or so, waiting for the Wednesday evening service at the London Metropolitan Tabernacle to begin. At a little after 7:00 p.m. we entered the church through its right-side glass doors and walked downstairs. There we were greeted at the doors of a large classroom, the older man who greeted us inquiring whether Dad and I were brothers. (Dad responded, "I like you!") Taking our seats, we waited for the 7:30 p.m. service to begin. By service’s start the entire room was filled, containing approximately 200-300 people.

The service commenced with a hymn, a welcome, another hymn, Scripture reading, another hymn, prayer, and an introduction of the evening’s speaker, an elderly pastor from a local Ridley Hall assembly. His message was entitled, "An Unchanging God in a Changing World." Our text was Jeremiah 47:1-28. An excellent exhortation ensued as the pastor urged us to compare our present world and daily challenges to Jeremiah’s time and the struggles he then faced. The pastor clearly stated that, though our world may minimize, excuse, and reject the very concept of sin, God never does, never did, and never will. He does not change, nor does His Law. After a week of observing gross physical immodesty and hollow declarations of "Christianity" throughout Britain, it was most encouraging to hear a different British perspective—a biblical perspective—on life and culture.

Following the service, Dad and I grabbed some light refreshments from the fellowship hall and headed for the church’s Tabernacle Bookshop. There I purchased The Five Points of Calvinism by Dabney and Dickinson, a Sprinkle Publications title which had found its way across "the pond." I look forward to a good read.

We finished making our purchases and departed for the Tube. The remainder of our evening consisted of shower, journal, reading, and bed.

September 5, 2006

After another narrow-bed night’s sleep we rose, ate our complimentary continental breakfast of cereal, toast, hot chocolate, etc., and departed the hotel on foot. One does not lack for exercise when touring London.

Our first stop was the Palace of Westminster, also known as the Houses of Parliament, where I snapped photos of Big Ben and other landmarks of interest. Following the nearby changing of the Horse Guard, Dad and I enjoyed a fascinating tour of the Houses of Parliament. Inside and out tradition reigned. From the ornate, regal House of Lords, to the understated and more practically decorated House of Commons, centuries of legislative and political debate live on. My great regret is that so many traditions inside those walls are practiced in form only, as Britain’s heritage of biblically-based common law is scorned by its modern-day heirs. Many are the Esaus of today.

Our guide was articulate and knowledgeable, providing our tour group of 20-30 members a helpful overview of each place we stopped. However, in all her commentary about historical events and characters not one mention of Oliver Cromwell was made (a regrettable fact indeed, considering his courageous application of interposition in the face of unjust and unbiblical "law, " an historical example particularly timely today). One would think that such a unique and impacting personage in British history, and a Member of Parliament to boot, might merit at least a passing remark during a tour of the Houses of Parliament. Apparently not in the estimation of our tour guide (my sense throughout our trip is that Britain would rather forget Cromwell than address the ramifications of his rule).

In the afternoon Dad and I visited the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms located underneath London’s city streets. This museum was formerly the real-life, secret underground headquarters of Winston Churchill and his cabinet during World War II, and the rooms we toured were the same rooms used 60+ years ago to strategize against and defeat the Axis powers. The exhibits about Churchill, from his childhood to his last days, were superb; anyone visiting London should most definitely include this museum in their trip itinerary.

The remainder of our day was spent walking through city parks and generally enjoying the out-of-doors. Before stopping for dinner I endeavored to access the U.S. Embassy in London, seeking to rub shoulders with a bit of America while on friendly, but foreign shores. However, as I approached the heavily guarded access gate one of the armed British personnel informed me that, due to new security measures, I was not permitted to enter the U.S. Embassy without a valid "reason." Apparently my U.S. Passport and polite request to enter did not suffice, as I was denied admittance. I was rather nonplused by a British citizen refusing me access to my own country’s embassy, but I have no reason to believe he was not following American orders in doing so. Good grief.

Dinner consisted of Subway sandwiches and Coke, and was actually quite good. Returning to our humble hotel we watched Chariots of Fire on TV, journaled, and retired to bed.

Buckingham Palace.

Approaching Big Ben.

Big Ben at the Palace of Westminster.

With Clive in India

Waiting for the changing of the Horse Guard.

The Horse Guard makes its entrance.

Places, everyone.

Circling the horses.

Facing each other (note the contrast between past and present in this photo).

Moving to the front.

Continuing the ceremony.

And so it ends.

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector

King Richard I.

Victoria Tower at the Palace of Westminster.

Big Ben in the sun.

The Stars & Stripes abroad.

Outside the U.S. Embassy.

Sole Possession Is Sweet

Phillies move past Dodgers for wild card lead.

Phils Move into Tie for NL Wild Card Lead

Look out, world. They're coming.

Glad Tidings.....

......from my friends.

September 4, 2006

This morning we departed the B&B by 7:30 a.m., making the short drive up into Paineswick proper. There Dad and I enjoyed a delightful meander around the village, stepping back in time to a simpler, quieter era (though the steady stream of morning rush hour traffic through the middle of town brings one quickly back to today). Strolling down quiet lanes and past well-kept homes (several built recently, but with a purposefully old-style look), an abiding appreciation for the English countryside and agrarian way of life only grew in my heart. Ne’er did I dream that the culture described by Herriot in his stories of country veterinarian life would be experienced by me—but they were. Last evening and this morning were worth the entire trip.

During our walk, Dad and I enjoyed two pleasantly surprising treats: a basket of “help yourself” plums, and a basket of “help yourself” apples. Both baskets were encountered in front of residential homes along our route, and both offers were accepted by two hungry Americans. The fruit was appreciated as much for the manner in which we received it as it was for its hunger-appeasing qualities. I have yet to meet a “help yourself” fruit basket on the side of the road in the States, and probably would decline such an invitation if I did.

Returning to the B&B, we prepared for the day and went downstairs for breakfast just before 9:00 a.m. Again we were greeted with a delicious meal of fruit, yogurt, fried eggs on toast, sausage, bacon, and buttered toast. No tomatoes on our plates today, and I skipped the cereal.

Paying for our lodging and bidding our hostess, Sylvia, adieu, Dad and I set off for Warden Way in another part of the Cotswolds (we were detoured by a failed attempt to locate Sylvia’s recommended “vista” of the local Paineswick area, but finally forsook this futile venture in favor of getting on with our planned day). This portion of the Cotswold Ramble was in Upper and Lower Slaughters, and to Upper Slaughters we repaired. Parking off the main road through Upper Slaughter, we picked up Warden Way and commenced our rambling. Truth be told, although quite lovely, this guidebook-raved-about section of Cotswold Ramble couldn’t hold muster compared to last night’s excursion through the pastures and hillsides of Paineswick. However, the trail took us through Lower Slaughter, and we admired the old mill and the lovely river and old inns/homes/etc. located therein.

Eventually we returned to our car and set course for Bleinham Palace, located in Woodstock. After paying the entrance fee to access the palace and grounds, we parked the car and walked up to the visitor’s entrance. Huge golden gates stood in our path, the right gate opening inward. We entered through the gates and into an outer courtyard, making our way past the still-occupied (11h Duke of Marlborough and family) East wing of the palace, and in front of the north—and main—entrance into the palace. What a regal and imposing sight stood before us, ornate and consuming in its grandeur; the “Versailles of England” as it is known. Towers, columns, intricate architecture of all forms combined to hold sway over their audience. Shaped rather like an open horseshoe, the palace’s east and west wings stretched toward us, while its north face sat back in stately splendor to receive palace guests.

Approaching the palace’s main entrance, we passed through two massive oak doors and into the palace’s front hall. A staff member immediately greeted us and cordially set forth the basic rules and layout of the palace. From this kind lady we learned that the two huge doors behind us were constructed using oak trees grown on the estate, and that each door individually weighed one-half ton. Dad and I were both permitted to hold the 3 ½ pound key to this set of doors, and we were duly impressed. That would not be a comfortable key to carry around in one’s pocket. (One interesting note about these doors is that they can only be locked and unlocked from inside the palace.)

After admiring additional items of interest in the front hall, of which there were many (a “hooded”, high-backed chair; a brilliant, 300-year-old fresco covering the hall’s domed ceiling; a wine cooler made completely of silver; original portraits of several historical figures who had resided in the palace; etc.), we set off down the hallway to our right to examine the Winston S. Churchill exhibit presently on display.

Sir Winston Churchill was born, early and unexpectedly, at Bleinham Palace, and spent many days there as a child under the care of his grandmother. Although Blenheim Palace was never the official residence of his parents, Churchill had fond memories of time spent in its rooms and on its grounds, and the fact that he was born there has inseparably linked these two famous pieces of British history (Churchill’s father, Lord Randolph, was not the eldest son of the 7th Duke of Marlborough, and therefore Churchill never assumed possession of the family estate.)

I digress. The palace’s Churchill display was informative and interesting, although not overly extensive. What was much more intriguing was a guided tour of Blenheim Palace. Going from room to room of the palace’s publicly accessible areas, we saw ornate antique furniture; paintings; intricate wall and ceiling décor; the famous Marlborough Tapestries; antique clocks; gold leaf-gilded architecture; busts; statues; Europe’s largest, privately owned organ housed in Britain’s second-longest, privately owned room (a library), a banquet table that seats thirty-six, used once annually for the present duke’s family Christmas dinner, beautiful china, mounted game, etc., etc., etc. Our guide, a spare, stately Brit in his early 80s, was a veritable wealth of information. He provided his audience an excellent overview of Blenheim Palace’s 300-year existence, feeding us fascinating family history anecdotes. We could not have asked for more.

Our tour at an end, Dad and I exited the palace and set off on foot across a picturesque lake via a very old stone bridge, heading toward a monument erected in honor of the first Duke of Marlborough. This imposing column, supported by a wide base and featuring a statue of the duke at its top, rose high above a field directly opposite the palace’s front gate, perhaps a half-mile away. Unbeknownst to us, the field we had to cross contained all manner of animal droppings and was a veritable minefield of “patties” and “chips.” However, our pursuit of the monument outweighed the inconvenient crossing, and we had soon passed through the danger zone and reached the memorialized duke. After reading the monument’s inscriptions and peering up at the duke above, we sought for and found a less hazardous route back to the palace and made our way thence.

Taking one last look at Blenheim Palace and its impressive and far-reaching grounds, Dad and I departed the grand estate and turned our car toward London Gatwick Airport to return our rented Vauxhall. At Gatwick we purchased train tickets to London/Victoria Station, and after a 30-minute train ride we caught a cab outside the station terminal and gave the cab driver our hotel’s name and address. It was apparent that he had never been to the hotel in question, but being a resourceful British cabby, he delivered us there without mishap and correspondingly received his due fare and tip.

The entrance to our hotel was a narrow doorway off the sidewalk, sandwiched between two restaurants. Above the doorway was an illuminated sign reading “Hyde Park Hotel,” a rather unassuming announcer of the building’s name and purpose. Inside the doorway was a short flight of stairs leading to a small landing, a second flight of stairs there reversing course against the first flight and heading up and back toward the street. Once at the top of this second flight we made an immediate left and entered a small reception/front desk room where sat the front desk girl on duty. We waited for a gentleman in front of us to complete his business with the young lady, and then checked into the hotel ourselves.

The hotel had an old-fashioned guest registrar for us to sign. The registrar sat on the front desk counter, accessible to anyone who walked in the room. Dad was checking in for us, and so the girl wanted him to enter his name and address into the registrar, along with his passport number. This seemed a rather fool-hearty stipulation to both Dad and me, and Dad requested to record his passport information elsewhere, to which request the girl returned a puzzled, “Why?” Dad sensibly explained that he didn’t care to have his passport information listed for the inquiring world to see, and he was able to convince the young lady to store this data in a more secure location.

Taking key (a key, not a card) in hand, we repaired to our room. Said room was located at the top of the stairs we had recently ascended, a little to the left and directly outside the reception room. (Not necessarily the ideal spot, but, oh well.) Inserting our single key into the lock, we opened the door and stepped inside. “Cramped” is the best one-word description that comes to mind. Immediately inside the door and on our right was the bathroom. It contained the smallest sink I’ve ever seen, a toilet directly across and about two feet from the sink, and a shower stall a mere 6-8 inches past them both. The entire bathroom was no larger than 6’ deep by 5’ across. Back in the short, narrow “hallway” between the hotel room door and the room’s main “living space” we encountered the bare necessities: a 2’-2 ½’ wide “closet” atop four drawers of the same width (this unusual piece of furniture actually stood an impressive 8’-10’ high); two twin beds measuring not more than 2 ½’ across each (I could literally straddle the bed when sitting up); a 16” x 20” stand between the two beds (no drawer); a 16” deep, 5’ long “desk” along the near wall, holding a 13” color TV, a phone, and coffee/tea utensils and supplies; and a small chair tucked under the desk. Two 4’ x 8” shelves hung over the beds, one above the other, and a tri-frame showcased three drawings of lighthouses above the shelves. (Later we located an air conditioner above the doorway leading into the main living area, a pleasant surprise in London and one much used.) This portion of the hotel room was approximately 9’ x 10’ and provided little space for anything other than sleep.

Depositing our luggage, Dad and I headed downstairs to the busy street below. The sidewalk was teeming with people, foreign languages, all manner of general noise. We commenced searching for a place to eat, as we had eaten nothing since breakfast. Our first attempt was the well-known British eatery, Burger King, but there were no empty tables inside this popular dining establishment. A little Italian restaurant sufficed instead, and Dad and I both ordered margherita pizzas. The restaurant was packed, noisy, and rather dark, but the pizzas assuaged our famished states and we were quite satisfied.

Finishing our meal, we departed the restaurant and headed toward the hotel, stopping en route for a 2-litre water bottle, two 4-packs of chunky Kit-Kat bars, and a 3-prong electricity adapter for my laptop (the one I purchased in the States converted a 3-prong outlet to a 2-prong, something entirely unsuitable for my laptop---argghh, Radio Shack). Back at the hotel we picked up our key at the front desk (hotel policy required us to leave our only key there each time we departed the hotel) and returned to our room. After a shower, a photo download, and a long read of Path Between the Seas, I went to bed.

Paineswick proper.

Town life meets country living.

Don't mind if I do.

The world awaits.

Not a bad view out the ol' kitchen window.

We did.

The breakfast room.

My "Full English" breakfast.

Upper Slaughter's hotel extraordinaire.

The old mill.

Duck.

Bleinham Palace.

The half-ton palace doors.

Quite the front gate.

Blenheim Palace from across the bridge.

The Duke.

By the lake.

Next stop, London.

September 3, 2006

This morning we woke to a delightful “Full English” breakfast of yogurt, fruit, cereal, sausage, fried egg on toast, bacon, and buttered toast. Orange juice served as our liquid refreshment, and Dad and I both passed on the tomatoes.

During breakfast Dad and I conversed with a pleasant British couple from Leicester. We discussed immigration (primarily into Britain, but also into the U.S.), home schooling (fielded the age-old “what about socialization?” question, talked about benefits of home schooling and our family’s reason for doing so, the legality of home schooling in Britain and the U.S., etc.), British history, and a local Paineswick church (St. Mary’s, circa 1350). It soon became evident that this couple firmly believed in the right, even the necessity, of a government’s daily interference in the lives of its citizens. Although they spoke of high taxes as being problematic, and of the need to limit immigration into Britain, the husband explicitly stated that foreigners had the right to come into Britain and receive free provision and shelter from the government (he did say that immigrants should pay something back to the State eventually, but this feeling of their having any personal responsibility or duty of self-provision was vague in the extreme, and not well established in his own mind). ‘Twas thought-provoking to observe the influence that concentrated socialism had obtained over this middle-aged (early 40s) couple, both of whom seemed quite normal Brits in every sense.

Following breakfast Dad and I drove to Plymouth, arriving around 1:00 p.m. (Having several years ago visited Clarks Island in Plymouth, Massachusetts, the site where the Pilgrims first touched land in the New World, a high priority for me on our Britain trip was to visit Plymouth, England, site of the Pilgrims’ final port in the Old World.) There we boarded a Tamar River cruising vessel, a small harbor/river touring boat with an open bow, an enclosed middle, and a covered stern. We enjoyed motoring around the harbor and Tamar River, sighting monuments and buildings on the shore, and passing British warships and nuclear submarines in berth (we also observed a docked German warship, in town following recent joint strategic war games; how times have changed). With the sun shining, the water sparkling, and a pleasant breeze wafting over the ship, the hour-long cruise was a definite day’s highlight.

Returning to port, we disembarked and stopped for some souvenirs/gifts and ice cream. Our Plymouth ramblings then took us to a bluff above the river, providing us with lovely panoramic views of the coast. Atop this vantage point was a collection of shops, food/novelties carts, a lighthouse, a Ferris wheel, monuments, and a small dog show, with families and young people enjoying the day all around (biking, reading, impromptu soccer games, etc.). We were loathe to vacate this pleasant place, but, desirous of walking some English countryside before dark, we left Plymouth around 3:30 p.m. and drove back to the B&B.

Parking our car, we walked down the B&B’s grass and dirt driveway and onto the country lane below. A few hundred yards up the road we encountered Cotswold Way, a 105-mile national walking trail reaching from Chipping Camden to Bath. Turning onto Cotswold Way, what a fantastic view then appeared. Green, green, everywhere fresh green! We rambled through cow pastures and up hillsides, bathing in the surreal, storybook atmosphere all around us. Rolling meadows, stately trees, fences, cows, sheep, rabbits, birds, squirrels, berries, and rays of evening sunshine delighted our eyes. I was hard-pressed to place one foot in front of the other, as every step offered ten new photos to take. Truly the beauty of Britain’s countryside is very great.

A ravishing ramble we enjoyed, past stone houses, across a modern foot bridge, through tree-limb arches and wooden gates, down quaint little lanes and beside flowing brooks. We even experienced a face-to-stony-face encounter with “ol’ Bess,” a cow in whose pasture we were lawfully “trespassing.” She seemed to be contemplating both her existence and ours, arriving at an unconcerned conclusion about either one. We wished her a good evening and continued on our merry way.

Our meanderings eventually returned us to the B&B’s driveway, an appreciated blessing only vaguely planned. Hopping into our car we drove to the local McDonald’s, seeking a taste of home while on distant shores. A taste of home it was indeed, as the level of competence behind the counter nicely mirrored what one might encounter in the States.

Stepping confidently to the counter, I ordered the new McDonald’s BLT w/cheese deli sandwich. The young man taking my order politely informed me that all their deli sandwiches were unavailable, as they were completely out of rolls. I was slightly shaken by this revelation, but pressed forward with my order nonetheless, resolutely changing my request to a double-quarter-pounder w/cheese. That menu item being still in stock, I reassumed my confident disposition and brashly added a Rollo milkshake to my tab. Regrettably, the McDonald’s establishment was fresh out of the necessary Rollo ingredient. Instead, a Coke pinch-hit for the preferred dairy treat. My order now at an end, I pulled out my trusty American Express, grateful for credit cards that allow one to conserve one’s ready cash. “We don’t take cards,” replied the helpful attendant, a gentleman whose person was rapidly diminishing in my esteem. Therefore, I reluctantly parted with a precious ₤5 note and thus completed my rather sorry order.

To top off our McDonald’s experience, the British definition of “fast food” is apparently different than ours, as we waited a good 10-15 minutes for our food to be brought to our table. I then had to request the receipts Dad and I had been promised, which were duly printed and given to me. Gratefully, the actual eating of our dinner proved much less adventurous than its precursory endeavors, and we soon finished our meal and returned to the B&B.

Upstairs to our bedroom we tromped, eager to journal, read, and sleep. Upon reaching our room, I realized that our “heavenly” walk earlier in the evening had left a rather “earthly” object on my left shoe, the complimentary gift of an offending Jersey cow (perhaps ol’ Bess herself?). TP, soap, and water were my only co-combatants against this stubborn foe, and the sole of my leather shoe was loathe to relinquish sits newly acquired raiment. However, after a dedicated effort, off came the offending substance—to a greater or lesser degree—and I got about the business of downloading the day’s photos, surfing the web (I discovered the B&B had wireless internet access), and journaling.

After about 15 minutes of journal entry, the house’s electricity suddenly died (we could tell that the entire house was affected, as the rather lively party of folks celebrating our proprietors’ 40th wedding anniversary downstairs sounded just as surprised as Dad and I felt). I found my cell phone, used its screen light to locate my LED flashlight (thank you, Mark and Amy), and finished recording the day’s events by “torch.” So ended our very full, very enjoyable, very memorable day.

The view from our room.

Upper Mills Derby.

Gazing down the driveway.

My kind of drivin'.

Plymouth Harbor.

More Plymouth Harbor.

Yep. We're in Plymouth.

A view of the bluff.

A British Navy ship in port.

What a day for a sail!

An old fortress stands guard at the harbor's mouth.

The Star-Spangled Banner and Union Jack, both waving proudly by the Mayflower Arch and Steps.

Dad in front of the Mayflower Arch, dedicated to remembering the Pilgrims' departure from Plymouth.

Commemorative "tablet" honoring the Pilgrim Fathers. Zoom in and read it.

Lighthouse on the bluff.

Show those dogs!

A grand view of the river.

Sir Francis Drake, one-time Mayor of Plymouth (among other accomplishments).

Some things are hard to escape.

Fellow ramblers on Cotswold Way.

Agrarian living at its finest.

Gold, green, and blue.

Field of dreams.

This marker was planted squarely in a farmer's field.

Ol' Bess.

A pasture gate along Cotswold Way.

A little house down the lane.

A touch of Home, service and all.

Notice anything different about this drive-thru?

Grease, wonderful grease!

That is an impressive set of room keys.

Dad, catching up on his journal before bed.

Our room at Upper Mills Derby.

“Innocents Abroad”

For many years I have dreamed of visiting Britain’s shores, of touring her countryside, of examining her historic buildings and landmarks. Never knowing exactly how I would make such a trip, but always vaguely confident I would, I meanwhile vicariously experienced this dream through the writings of others (e.g. Dickens, Churchill, Herriott, etc.). Descriptions of castles, green pastures, ancient landmarks, and courageous men only accentuated my wanderlust, and the ghosty, idle thoughts of youth gradually transformed into a definitive travel plan. However, it was not until I read Mark Twain’s classic travel tale, Innocents Abroad, earlier this year that I was inspired to finally set my course for England. It was a course worth taking.

Just yesterday my dad and I returned from a 9-day vacation in Britain, the culmination of much planning, preparation, and patience. All credit for our itinerary goes to my dad, a long-time student of British history generally, and of Winston Churchill particularly.

Following is a mostly comprehensive list of sites, landmarks, areas, and places we visited during our stay:

• The White Cliffs of Dover
• Paineswick
• Plymouth
• The Cotswalds
• Blenheim Palace
• Hyde Park
• The Palace of Westminster (The Houses of Parliament; Big Ben)
• The Churchill Museum
• Buckingham Palace
• Westminster Abbey
• The Imperial War Museum
• The Metropolitan Tabernacle
• The Tower of London
• The Monument to the Great Fire of London
• The British Museum
• The Prince Edward Theatre
• St. Paul’s Cathedral
• The Sherlock Holmes Museum

Because I kept a fairly detailed journal during our trip, I have decided to write a series of blog posts documenting our adventures. These posts will be close adaptations of my journaled daily accounts, hopefully providing a decent overview of the places we visited and the experiences we encountered. As per usual, photos will accompany the written words.

Enjoy!

September 1-2, 2006

Dad and I departed San Antonio in my car and drove to George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, arriving there around 5:00 p.m. 2 ½ hours later we were speeding down the runway, leaving the grand ol’ U.S. of A. for a week’s vacation in Great Britain.

The flight was uneventful, and we touched down at Gatwick Airport outside of London, England, at 10:35 a.m. the following day (London is six hours ahead of CDT). Upon deplaning we headed directly to passport control. This consisted entirely of verbally declaring our reasons for entering the country, and having our passports stamped. Customs interaction was non-existent, as by walking through the “Nothing to Declare” exit, we declared that we had nothing to declare. (Personally I was expecting a more difficult and time-consuming process, but I didn’t complain.)

We quickly collected our baggage and headed for the Enterprise car rental office, hoping to pick up the automatic vehicle I had weeks before reserved online. Regrettably, there were no automatic vehicles available when we arrived, and therefore we received a slightly larger-than-reserved car at a slightly less-than-reserved price. Dad is quite a competent manual driver, gratefully, so this inconvenience was not overly troubling. We stowed our luggage, hopped in the car, and set off for the white cliffs of Dover.

Dover, or at least the section we visited, was not overly impressive in its beauty. True, the day was rainy and grey, and therefore not the best background for an objective examination of Dover’s charms. Yet a general grittiness pervaded the city, and we were somewhat disappointed in its appearance. However, we did see the famed White Cliffs and walked down to the English Channel’s edge, reaching our hands into the lapping tide just to say we had been “in” the Channel.

From Dover we journeyed toward Hastings, but determined that the amount of light remaining in the day did not make stopping there a feasible option. Therefore, we continued on to the village of Paineswick and to Upper Mills Derby, the name of the Bed & Breakfast where we were to stay the next two nights.

Our drive to Paineswick was not uneventful, what with the left-hand stick-shift and wrong-side driving, not to mention the perilously narrow roads. However, God preserved us from having to make use of our expensive rental insurance coverage, and we arrived in Paineswick by 8:00 p.m.

Placing our luggage in our bedroom, we left the B&B to procure dinner, having not eaten since morning. At the recommendation of the B&B’s owners’ son, we drove back into the “town” section of Paineswick and ate at the Falcon Inn, a lodging and dining establishment dating back to the 1500s. I enjoyed an excellent dinner of Supreme of Chicken, served over bacon broth and accompanied by fresh, mixed vegetables. A fine first meal!

Rather tired from our travels and ready for bed, we returned to the B&B and thus ended our first day.

Setting out.

Our destination.

What lies ahead.

Here we come....

First view of Britain.

More farm land than I thought.

We have arrived.

Waiting for very pleasant, but not very speedy, assistance.

Wait a minute.....something looks wrong.

Grey skies and guardrail, but green, green grass!

The White Cliffs of Dover.

The English Channel, viewed from Dover.

The Falcon Inn, Circa 1554.

Livin’ on the Left

Life is filled with little pleasures. These pleasures come in all shapes and sizes, some a tiny blip on the radar screen and others a bit more significant. Recently I enjoyed a "more significant" little pleasure with my good friends Mark and Amy Stubblefield as we shared a long weekend in California.

Under the auspices of a working trip to the "Eureka" state, Mark, Amy, and I made the most of our California stay. Following the completion of our primary responsibilities, the two newlyweds and I headed north for a much-anticipated return visit to the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum (Mark and I toured the Library and Museum in 2005 with Caleb Hayden, but this was Amy’s first visit). Since our last rendezvous with Reagan history, the Library/Museum had completed its new Air Force One Wing and installed President Reagan’s Air Force One as the main attraction. The three of us boarded the plane for a first-hand view of the long-time presidential transport, pausing long enough for an "official" photograph in the plane’s entryway (for which we gullibly, but happily, paid $15.00 per photo). I must confess that my expectation for grandeur and glamor was rather more than reality granted me. It seems that the vision of Air Force One I have carried in my mind’s eye was based upon the upgraded 747 edition commissioned by President George Bush in 1990. President Reagan’s Air Force One was a 707 and fitted for functionality rather than plush working/relaxing conditions (although travel comfort and a general air of presidential prestige were far from missing onboard the 707). Nevertheless, our brief "tour" of President Reagan’s jet was a genuine treat and a highlight of our California trip.

After our several-hour tour of the Library and Museum, we departed Simi Valley and journeyed down Route 1 toward Los Angeles. What a drive! With the blue Pacific on our right and mountains to our left, we blissfully meandered our way down the coast. The weather could not have been more perfect, nor the views more sublime. Despite the constant urge to park our car and become one with the scenery, we limited our stops to one brief excursion across a rocky outcrop of coastline. Sea breeze and summer sun joined their wily forces to coax us down the rocks and close to the ocean. Braving the difficult descent (Hey, I was wearing sandals!), we soon reached a better vantage point and enjoyed a few minutes of photos, soaking in the fleeting moments of California utopia (utopia only to the visitor, mind you). Leaving this summer wonderland, we returned to our car and continued our Route 1 journey.

As the day turned into night, Mark, Amy, and I decided to find a hotel near the beach, planning to go for an early morning swim the next day. Our quest proved rather adventurous as we unsuccessfully sought after a cost-efficient, one-night housing arrangement. We finally settled upon the cheapest option available, a Holiday Inn in Redondo Beach (actually a very comfortable and professionally maintained establishment). After checking into our hotel rooms around 10:00 p.m., we ventured out to procure a long overdue dinner. Regrettably, Redondo Beach was quite lacking in the I-know-it-is-safe-because-I-have eaten-there-before chain restaurants, and the local shops were closed for the night. We finally found a 24-Hour Denny’s and assuaged our famished stomachs with its slightly suspect fare.

Morning brought with it a trip to the beach and an hour+ of body surfing the Pacific Ocean. Once we acclimated ourselves to the water, the swim became quite pleasant and well nigh exhilarating. The only drawback was a disgusting amount of slimy seaweed continually brushing against us and leading to all manner of odd contortions and startled exclamations. Despite this annoyance, all parties agreed the Pacific swim was a grand success and well worth the previous night’s expense.

Thus ended our left coast livin’. We packed up our luggage and headed off to LAX and our respective flights to our respective homes, looking forward to the next time our lives cross paths in California or elsewhere.

Yours truly is most grateful to have spent such a wonderful weekend with much beloved friends, and I can without hesitation report that the normative state agrees most heartily with both Mark and Amy. :) Following is a selection of photos taken during our trip that will hopefully shed some additional light upon our exploits.

Mark and Amy prepped for a great weekend.

A view from the rear of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum.

Air Force One.

Mark and Amy in front of Marine One.

Yep. Looks pretty much the same as last year.

Mark, Amy, and a piece of the Berlin Wall.

The beautiful surrounding countryside.

Stealin' a kiss.

Mr. and Mrs. by the sea.

Life on the edge.

A beautiful shot from Route 1, courtesy of Mark.

Where mountain, sand, and ocean meet.

A different view.

Thus ends the party.

Wedded Bliss

Saturday, June 10, 2006 -- the occasion of Mark Stubblefield’s and Amy Inge’s wedding day. A day of joy, a day of gladness, a day of glorifying God and proclaiming His truth, and a day of genuine bliss for the bride, the groom, and their families and friends.

All those who attended this grand occasion were granted the rare privilege of watching the life-long uniting of a man and woman both completely committed to their Lord, to each other, and to consciously using their marriage as a tool for declaring Christ to the world. What a blessing to participate in the matrimonial ceremony of two young people who understood the principles of authority and jurisdiction, and who entered the marriage covenant without the baggage of disobedience, dishonor, and heartbreak.

Mark, Amy, and both sets of their parents are to be commended for reminding their guests what a marriage celebration should be. Not only were two individuals yoked together in marriage, but the duties and blessings of the marriage covenant were boldly set forth for the general instruction of all those in attendance. May the admonitions of that day be not lost on their hearers.

Following are some photos I took during the events of the weekend (rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, and wedding day). Because I was in the wedding party, nary an actual ceremony photo did I take. However, the rest of the weekend was well-documented. Too bad most of the "good stuff" didn’t make it onto this blog. :)

Oh, 'twas good to be back with C.S. Hayden. Many thanks to Mark and Amy for getting married and thereby making possible the occasion.

Site of the rehearsal dinner and Mark's "Geronimo!"

What are friends for?

Snap away, my fearless friend. That man's got style.

Coincidence? I think not.

Chilly Fun.

Oo-rah, Mark!

The bride's family.

The groom's family.

Yes, yes, yes, no, yes, yes, yes.

Pledges of troth.

The happy couple.

Reality sets in. :)

Running the bubble gauntlet.

The man and his wife prepare to depart.

Bon voyage, my merrily wedded friends.

Random Pic of the Day - "Cowboys like us sure do have fun. . . ."

Here, There, and Everywhere

Of late my blog has been completely devoid of any substantive blogging, providing only the very occasional random photo or thought. Instead of my usual accounts of life’s activities and issues, minimal verbiage has ruled the day. It has now more than six weeks since my last substantive blog post, and I am growing weary of an idle blog. Time for a post!

Let it not be assumed that my recent non-blogging is the result of a slow, uninteresting, uneventful time in my life. Au contraire. These past six weeks, and particularly the most recent three, have been some of the busiest weeks of my life. It is this fact that has mitigated my opportunities to blog, and thus correspondingly diminished my frequency of posts. Allow me now to share some of the events that transpired these past three weeks.

April 20 – May 7, 2006

Thursday, April 20, marked the beginning of my "three home school conferences in three weeks" travel extravaganza. I departed from San Antonio via plane in the morning, and was met by my good friend Caleb Hayden at the Kansas City International Airport that afternoon. Caleb drove us to our nearby hotel where we deposited our luggage and then headed to the Midwest Parent Educators’ 2006 conference location to setup VF’s booths.

From setup on Thursday through teardown Saturday night, my time at the MPE 2006 conference was one of excellent fellowship, conversation, ministry, and general enjoyment. One unexpected treat was dinner on Friday night with a father, Joseph Hoffman, who formerly attended my old church assembly in New Jersey. (The Hoffman family moved to Kansas last year, I believe, and Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman were in attendance at the MPE conference). Mr. Hoffman generously took Caleb and me out for dinner, and we all three of us enjoyed a wonderful evening of conversation about life’s weightier matters. Caleb and I were both blessed by Mr. Hoffman’s willingness to share his wisdom and insights as a father and a man who desires to obediently serve God in each area of his life. How good it is to fellowship with like-minded believers and talk about the things of the Lord!

Saturday night saw the end of the conference and the arrival of Mark Stubblefield. Mark arrived in time to supervise the completion of our booth teardown efforts, and then Caleb, Mark, and I departed for dinner at a local restaurant. ‘Twas great fun for this trio of friends to reunite, an evening marked by what quite probably was the last time we will enjoy a meal together as the Three Musketeers only. As of June 10th, a Muskette will be added to our merry band, and our shared bachelorhood will lose one of its members (hot dog!). All sentimental hypothesizing aside, the short night together was a mixture of "inside" humor, recollecting "the good ‘ol days," and collective sharing of present doings and aspirations. Caleb soon had to depart for his home, so we exchanged good-byes and parted ways. Mark spent the night in Kansas City in Caleb’s stead, and took me to the airport on Sunday morning. How grateful I am for godly, life-long friendships.

Many thanks to the MPE leaders and conference organizers for their hard work in putting together MPE’s 2006 conference, and for making our exhibiting experience easy and ministerially rewarding. Many thanks also to Caleb for taking time out of his busy schedule to labor with me throughout the weekend. Working with Caleb is always a privilege, especially as our opportunities for face-to-face interaction are rather rare these days. I look forward to our next joint effort, Mr. Hayden, wherever and whatever that may be. Finally, ‘twas good to see Mark in person and take a break from our phone-only conversations. Here’s to June 10th, my friend.

After a brief one-day interlude in San Antonio, it was back on the road again for a multi-purpose, work-related trip to Massachusetts. On Wednesday night I picked up Nathan Barnes from Logan International Airport in Boston, as he was to be my co-worker at the MassHOPE convention in Worcester. Departing my Worcester hotel for the airport, I was soon driving the opposite direction from my intended destination. Pursuing this course for about twenty-five minutes, I finally realized my mistake and called Barnes to inform him that his chauffeured ride would be delayed by about an hour. (Oh, well. Not the first tip I’ve lost.) Once I reached the airport I found Barnes in a state of great hunger, having had no opportunity to grab dinner during his abbreviated layover en route to Boston. We made the hour-long drive back to Worcester and stopped for dinner at a Denny’s next to our hotel. I enjoyed a late-night meal of French toast and a chocolate shake, while Barnes went for pancakes and an assortment of breakfast items. Not so good for the digestive tract, but very tasty.

On Thursday Barnes and I conquered the logistical challenges of procuring our convention inventory and transporting it to MassHOPE 2006’s convention site. Driving to a local U-Haul facility, we rented a small U-Haul box truck for the day. From there we journeyed to the nearest UPS customer service center and loaded the truck with our convention inventory, shipped there the previous week from San Antonio. Caravanning our way to downtown Worcester, Barnes and I were ultimately successful in locating the convention center and parking our respective vehicles. The excellent MassHOPE volunteer staff of fathers and young men assisted us in unloading our truck and transporting its contents to our booths inside the facility, and in a few short hours we were setup and ready for exhibiting.

For dinner Thursday evening, MassHOPE provided the exhibitors with a tremendous buffet meal on the third floor of the convention center. Featuring lasagna, salmon, chicken, rolls, vegetables, salad, chocolate mousse, and many other tasty morsels, Thursday night’s meal was truly a feast to behold. Many thanks to MassHOPE for its generosity and thoughtfulness.

Friday and Saturday were both excellent days of interaction with conference attendees and fellow exhibitors. Barnes and I collectively and individually enjoyed thought-provoking, stimulating conversations with folks at VF’s booth, and I was able to renew friendships and acquaintances with exhibitors I hadn’t seen since the previous year. 2006 was my first opportunity to personally exhibit at MassHOPE, and I look forward to doing so again in the future.

On Sunday, Barnes and I took advantage of a late flight out of Boston to enjoy a brief tour of that historic city. Visiting sites such as the Old North Church, the Old South Meeting House, Faneuil Hall, Cobb’s Hill Burial Ground, Paul Revere’s house, King’s Chapel Burial Ground, the Bunker Hill Monument, and Starbucks, we made the most of our day in Boston. Lunch was eaten at Durgin-Park, the same restaurant where my parents treated my fellow interns and me to dinner during the 2003 Faith and Freedom Tour. In fact, Barnes and I sat next to the very same table at which we all ate 2 ½ years earlier. (Kind of a cool fact.) Anyway, the day was one of remembering God’s providential working in the early days of our country, from visiting the graves of the Mathers and Winthrops and pausing at the headstone of Billy Dawes, to walking around Bunker Hill and envisioning in our minds’ eyes the bravery and courage of the men who battled there for America’s independence. It was an absolutely gorgeous morning and afternoon in Boston, with the sun shining brightly, a slight breeze wafting off the river, and a perfect New England spring day chill in the air. With these physical elements framing the background of our meanderings, it was easy to lose ourselves in the remembrance of the countless heroes of America’s past who had been used so mightily for the Lord’s purposes. Although political correctness and history-revision were prevalent throughout our tour, we yet rejoiced for the opportunity to remember our heritage and honor the faithful dead.

Our time for touring at an end, Barnes and I headed for the airport and were soon flying over this great land on our return to San Antonio. Another conference completed, and one more to go.

That Wednesday morning I drove to the San Antonio International Airport and met David Wean for our flight to Atlanta, Georgia and the GHEA 2006 convention. Landing in Atlanta and renting a car for the duration of the convention, David and I soon arrived at the Atlanta Weston Hotel. There I was pleasantly surprised to be informed that I am a Gold Member Starwood Preferred Guest at Starwood-affiliated hotels across the country. (Not sure when or where I signed up for this privilege, but complaining seemed an inappropriate response.) Truth be told, the perks that accompanied Preferred Guest status weren’t all that perky, but we did have a placard on our hotel room door informing us that we were preferred guests (a helpful reminder, as the business of a convention can cause one to forget important details like that).

Thursday found David and me setting up VF’s booths at the Georgia International Convention Center. Although beset by a few unexpected logistical challenges ;-) (unrelated to GHEA), David and I finished our setup in plenty of time to clean up and begin exhibiting that evening. Once again I enjoyed the fruits of a well-organized and run home school convention throughout the weekend, and David and I found ample opportunities for mutually profitable conversation with conference attendees. Many thanks to GHEA for its willingness to sponsor, host, and coordinate the convention.

Convention details aside, the weekend was actually one of consistent "inconveniences," from annoyingly programmed alarm clocks, completely packed restaurants with hostesses promising unrealistic waiting times, and loud parties at the hotel, to weather-delayed UPS shipments and airline flights. However, all this is part of the fun of conference life, and makes for much better stories than do boring "everything-went-according-to-plan" trips. Nothin’ like a little spice to spike the normality of life.

As I finish this somewhat lengthy post I am sitting in an airplane flying from Chicago to San Antonio, grateful to be on board a flight that both David and I were very certain we would miss. If you are reading this post than you can be fairly confident that the Lord blessed our travels and that we arrived safely home in San Antonio. Assuming nothing unexpected arises, I should be in San Antonio for at least two weeks before I again depart for the conference trail. As much as I enjoy traveling, I unhesitatingly admit to eagerly anticipating two entire weeks at home and in the office. As a great man once said, "It’s good to be back, it’s also good to be gone." Right now, it’s good to be "back."

In Kansas City, Missouri.

Good gravy that man gets around.

Mr. Hayden enjoying our dinner conversation.

Don't you just want to buy something?

A slightly more organized presentation.

Real men don't drink coffee, Barnes.

King's Chapel Burial Ground.

Billy Dawes.

Multi-generational impact.

Back to the scene of the crime.

A happy man, and with very good reason.

Chowdery goodnes.

The 2003 Dinner Table.

Recognize this spot, Josh E.?

Feelin' rather small, both figuratively and literally.

A local gate-guard.

Cobb's Hill Burial Ground.

Remembering our heritage.

Barnes on the Freedom Trail.

Bunker Hill.

View from the top of the Bunker Hill Monument.

Life is Good

My weekend's work is o'er, the Phils have won seven in a row, and I'm in my hotel room watching the Suns crush Kobe and the Lakers. Life is good.

Random Pic of the Day - "What about Michaela's shades?"

Philadelphia Phillies: 2006 Opening Day

"Hope springs eternal in the human breast. . ."

Ahh, the first day of baseball for the Philadelphia Phillies in 2006. Another season sparkling with potential, a new opportunity for rooting the Fightin's on to victory in October. And, as is the proud birthright of all Philadelphia sports fans---regardless of the sport---a brand new year for illogical winning projections and unfounded championship prognostications.

Here's to bringing it home in 2006, one game at a time.

Game 1: Throttle the Cards.

A Blessed Birthday Weekend

This past weekend saw the 2 ½ day appearance of Mark Stubblefield and Amy Inge in the great city of San Antonio. Driving down from the Inge home outside of Fort Worth (where Mark had been visiting the Inge family generally, and Amy particularly) on Friday afternoon, Mark and Amy drove up to my house at around 8:30 p.m. and thus commenced our visit.

Last Friday happened to be my birthday (a fact that did not go unmentioned to Mark in the course of my request for a visit), and so after a brief catching-up session in the Horn Family living room, Mark, Amy, and I departed for the evening to celebrate. (My family had already paid homage to the occasion during dinner, bestowing upon me many wonderful gifts and an awesome meal with my favorite dessert, Death by Chocolate. Thanks, guys!) We three enjoyed a night out together and engaged in various conversations of cultural observation and otherwise. ‘Twas great fun to remember old times with Mark and clue Amy into some of our past history. (Look at the stars, C.S. See how they shine.)

On Saturday, Mark and Amy joining my family for a boat "cruise" on Buchanan Lake and the Colorado River (not that Colorado River) outside of Burnet, TX. Although the day was grey and sometimes misty (more so the closer we drew to the Vanishing Texas River Cruise embarkation point), we collectively braved the elements and thoroughly enjoyed our cruise. Furthermore, yours truly was granted the distinction of being the only passenger on board in short sleeves, an honor befitting a Northern-blooded man.

The Vanishing Texas River Cruise was about 2 ½ hours long, lasting from 2:30 p.m. until 5:00 p.m. In typical "cruise" fashion we slowly plodded (assuming a boat can actually plod) down the lake/river, followed closely by a flock of seagulls for all 2 ½ hours of our trip. During our voyage we observed all manner of wildlife, including herons, cattle, wild pigs, goats (I would call them mountain goats, but the rocky hills they were climbing did not meet the requisite mountain specifications), and the aforementioned seagulls. Flora included surprisingly green grass along the riverbanks, the requisite Texas cacti, and various trees of all sizes and shapes. We enjoyed the quiet beauty of the river and the sometimes sheer (although low) heights of the river-side hills. Seeing this side of Texas was a welcome relief from my every-day visuals of the state, and I hungrily consumed the scenery like a famished wanderer far from home (or something like that).

Upon our return to dry land, Mark, Amy, Cara and I headed downtown for a night of fellowship with friends from the San Antonio community. Barnes, remember the words of Marcus.

Deciding to modify our original plans for the evening, the five of us headed back to my home to watch Bringing Up Baby. Cara had gifted this longtime film favorite to me earlier that day in generous recognition of my birthday, and we all enjoyed Cary Grant’s and Katherine Hepburn’s screwball comedic exploits on the small screen.

Retiring to our rooms (minus Mr. Barnes, who returned to his own abode), for the second consecutive night Mark and I exercised our mutual prerogative to sacrifice sleep for conversation’s sake and caught up/solved the problems of mankind as we fought heavy eyelids deep into the night. That’s the privilege and blessing of true friendship!

Sunday morning brought with it breakfast and the drive to BCA. Mark enjoyed seeing old friends and introducing/reacquainting them to Amy. I benevolently watched over the two of them, remembering a time not so long ago when Mark’s world and mine were more of the same ilk. Methinks he found a better world. ;>)

So ended my special birthday weekend. Many thanks to my family for a very enjoyable birthday celebration, and much gratitude to Mark and Amy for the gift of fellowship with godly friends.

Following are some photos from Saturday.

En route to the Vanishing Texas River Cruise.

Our friends for the entire voyage.

The happy couple.

Water falls from waterfalls. Case in point.

Coming in for a landing, folks.

A little green for the eyes.

Grey Texas beauty.

A good day, Chuck.

I'll give you three guesses as to whom is the object of their laughter. Make that two guesses. Actually, one should suffice.

Hey! Is that an East Texas mountain? Mmm, no. However, I'll take it.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Farewell, faithful transporter of our persons.

Random Pic of the Day - "Friendly foosball? Maybe. . ."

Random Pic of the Day - "Lullaby."

A Call to Arms

They that forsake the law praise the wicked: but such as keep the law contend with them.
- Proverbs 28:4

Quote for the Day

"The best way to get things done is to do them."
- Anonymous

Random Pic of the Day - "Down 'n dirty."

Farewell, My Gracious Host

Due to the kind assistance of a good friend, I am bidding farewell to the web hosting service of Blogger. Although I will continue to use the Blogger interface, my blog address is now www.tdhorn.com. (For anyone who links to this blog, please modify your link to point readers to this new address.)

Here’s to progress.

West Texas, New Mexico, and Back Again

This past weekend I traveled with Nathan Barnes and Michael Fowl to attend the funeral of a friend’s father in El Paso, Texas. We departed San Antonio around 6:30 p.m. on Friday evening, caravanning behind Michael Gobart, Michael Billings, and Josh Harris. Knowing the projected driving time from San Antonio to El Paso, it was our collective determination to limit the number of non-gasoline stops. However, it soon became apparent that the necessity of wakefulness trumped our concern for timeliness, and a bevy of road breaks ensued.

As a firm believer in that well-known saying, "Real men don’t drink coffee," yours truly gutted out his driving endeavors with the assistance of Pepsi, Coke, and more Pepsi. ‘Tis rather amazing the enlivening effect large amounts of sugarized, caffeinated, carbonated beverages can have on a person once absorbed into one’s system. Suffice it to say that everyone in my vehicle stayed awake until reaching our destination. :>)

Upon our arrival in El Paso around 3:30 a.m. (MST), we made a beeline for the hotel rooms Michael Fowl had earlier reserved and gratefully retired for the night (or morning?). After approximately five hours of sleep we rose, prepared for a quick exit, and discovered the happy surprise that our room key was in the key slot on the outside of our hotel room door. The happier surprise was that we were all alive and well and that the contents of our room were likewise secure. (Gratefully Barnes had remembered to latch the door on the inside.)

We drove to a local cemetery and arrived in time to attend the latter portion of the graveside service, listening to the encouraging testimony of our friend in remembrance of his father and in clear declaration of biblical truth. In this sad day of mourning we were privileged to observe a young man honor his father and exhort others to consider their own lives and the purpose for living. May God grant each of us such strength to receive His good pleasure and be used of Him through it, recognizing God’s sovereignty in all of life.

Following the service, the family of our friend generously treated our group to a meal at a local Mexican restaurant. Genuine Mexican it was! I enjoyed beef enchiladas and flan, both definitely the best-tasting I have ever eaten of either dish. Our meal was peppered with stories and sharing, and we were grateful for the opportunity to fellowship.

The ending of our meal prompted a parting of ways between my vehicle’s occupants and the other half of our caravan. Michael G., Michael B., and Josh headed home, while Michael F., Barnes, and I set our course for Carlsbad.

As we drove through West Texas (this time in daylight) we were intrigued by the irregularly spaced human habitats dotting the roadside. From broken-down pop-up campers and seemingly bombed-out shelters with vehicles parked in the front yard, to forty-year-old trailers and strangely-shaped edifices claiming "home" status, a variety of housing oddities confronted our eyes. Every so often we passed real estate "offices" that bore a striking resemblance to something one might see in an old trailer park. A possible explanation for the local housing market? Perhaps.

Stark mountain-ranges accompanied our journey toward Carlsbad, and the closer we drew to Guadalupe Mountains National Park the more beautiful those mountains became (the Guadalupe Mountains National Park’s and Carlsbad Caverns National Park’s main entrances are quite close to each other, probably not more than forty miles apart by highway). As the mood struck we either rolled down our windows and started snapping away with our cameras, or we pulled off the road and took advantage of the many Kodak moments. On a whim we decided to stop at Guadalupe Mountains National Park, home to Texas’ highest point (Guadalupe Peak). We briefly toured the visitor’s center and took a quick jaunt to an old stop on the Butterfield Overland Mail route, a pre-Pony Express mail delivery network. The coolness of the late-afternoon air was delightfully brisk, at least in Barnes’ and my opinions. Mr. Fowl did not particularly concur with our assessment, and was wont to voice his contrary view on occasion. However, neither Barnes nor I were persuaded by his comments, either in the park or on the open road. :>)

Returning to my car we piled in and again set out for Carlsbad, New Mexico (the "city" of Carlsbad is located about fifteen miles east of Carlsbad Caverns National Park) and a decent hotel. Not finding a decent hotel in Carlsbad, we settled upon a Days’ Inn. The motel actually wasn’t all that bad, and provided the essentials we needed (clean sheets, beds, and the all-important high speed wireless internet access). After dinner and a movie we gratefully closed our eyes and enjoyed the slumber of the truly tired.

Rising bright and early the next morning, we vacated our room and returned to Carlsbad Caverns past which we had traveled the previous day. Entering the park we drove through the mountains to the visitor’s center, basking in the crisp air and morning sun. Once parked outside the visitor’s center we procured self-tour tickets to the cavern and commenced our abbreviated tour (we all had to be back in San Antonio for work the next morning).

Entering Carlsbad Cavern, it quickly became apparent that our journey into the depths of the earth would be a regrettably easy one. Metal hand-rails defined the borders of the cavern’s paved walkway, relegating us to the realm of observers rather than explorers. This was rather disappointing at first, but the beauty of this dark and hidden world soon overshadowed our initial reaction.

As we progressed through the cavern’s Natural Entrance, we were awed by the sights that greeted us. Stalagmites, stalactites, cave coral, giant boulders, and pools of dark, still water were only a few of the caverns’ unique features. Towering ceilings arched over the sometimes expansive, sometimes narrow cavern passages, while carefully placed electric lighting cast varying glows throughout the Main Corridor.

Reaching the Big Room after slightly more than a mile’s walk, we circumvented the 350,000+ square foot room in about an hour. Some of this section’s highlights were the Bottomless Pit, the Totem Pole, the Mirror Lake, and the Rock of Ages. Again the lighting was masterfully planned and implemented, turning an otherwise midnight-black experience into a brilliant work of art.

With the need to be timely in mind, we finished our tour and ate lunch 750 feet underground in the Cavern lunch room. Barnes and I purchased a couple of t-shirts to commemorate our trip, and we all headed for home. That night we arrived back in San Antonio, successfully completing a whirlwind trip (traffic ticket-free, I might add).

Many thanks to Michael F. and Barnes for joining me in this venture, and thanks to our mutual friend for his Christ-like testimony during a time of deep personal grief.

On the road from El Paso to Carlsbad.

A happenin' town.

Purple mountain majesty.

Home, sweet home.

The open road.

Ties, left! (Or our right.)

Guadalupe? Why not?

Michael and his wall (remains from a Butterfield Overland Mail route stop).

We decided to pass up this suggestion to donate $0.50 for visiting the wall.

Good gravy, Michael. What are you doing?!

Welcome to Carlsbad Caverns National Park!

Guadalupe beauty.

Down, down, down. Here we go!

Barnes and Michael in the Main Corridor.

Looks like someone broke through.

Cave scenery.

An old and definitely unsafe ladder descending into what I believe was the Bottomless Pit.

Mirror Lake.

A pretty cool water-drop swirl in a cavern pool.

The Cavern lunchroom, site of our 750-feet-underground lunch spot.

Texas and San Antonio, here we come!

Random Pic of the Day - "Home-movers."

Random Pic of the Day - "Ah, the life of a bachelor."

Random Pic of the Day - "Sing it, Barnes."