Obedience to God is Liberating or: How I Learned to Love the Bread Box

The crops we grew last summer weren’t enough to pay the loans
Couldn’t buy the seed to plant this spring and the Farmer’s Bank foreclosed
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land
He said, “John, it’s just my job and I hope you understand”
Hey, calling it your job, ol’ hoss, sure don’t make it right
But if you want me to I’ll say a prayer for your soul tonight
And Grandma’s on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing, “Take me to the Promised Land”
When you take away a man’s dignity he can’t work his fields and cows

John Mellencamp, Rain on the Scarecrow

My wife and I spent a couple of hours the other day setting a corner post for our chicken run expansion. We own a high-quality, Amish chicken coop, but the design was lacking a large enough run for breeding chickens. Hence the expansion. I also wanted to “do it right” – that is, one time and one time only – so I purchased premium black locust lumber from a Midwest lumber company. They didn’t disappoint. The posts will be standing for an easy 50 years if not longer.

Every post is a struggle on this rock shelf. Every. Single. One. It’s just a matter of how deep until I hit the limestone. For anyone who’s never had to deal with digging into a former seabed comprised of CaCO₃, I’d recommend keeping it that way. In any event, the above-mentioned post required me to pull out the jackhammer and drill through 16” of solid rock. And did I mention what backbreaking work it is to manipulate a 55lb Chinese-made gas jackhammer in slippery clay mud, let alone the equipment cleanup after the fact?

Here’s the point: “Doing it right” farming is not easy. And that’s the only way I’m willing to do it. You can tweak processes and make improvements along the way, but under no circumstances would a majority of Americans be able to handle the sheer manual workload with their lack of physical conditioning and level of cognitive dissonance.  I’ve told my wife before to go to a nearby store and study the 5 people closest to you. Now think of a world where a Black Swan event occurs – end of cheap oil, food shortage, pandemic (manufactured or otherwise) – and where the FED can no longer purchase Treasuries or corporate paper at will. 4 out of those 5 would be dead of starvation or civil breakdown within 6 months. Maybe sooner.

Based on both Common Sense and Fourth Turning cycles, we’re long overdue for a societal correction.

But perhaps a more germane point is what the “Ben Bernank” bears discuss around 2:48 in this oldie but goodie. To wit: “No, although when you call the plumber to fix something that is broken, they usually fix it, not break it more.” Ask yourself an honest question: How many Americans sincerely grok that plumbers, farmers, truckers, and steel workers are the motor of the world? As you’re soul-searching, can you also acknowledge that the overwhelming majority of law enforcement is the oil of said motor? Long ago we cast aside those “evil” guns to outsource our protective and regulatory duties to them.

Like it or not. It is what it is.

The salt of the Earth control whether or not our national motor fires on all cylinders. These are the folks in the Heartland who allow The Bernank and the entirety of the Consumer Class – lawyers, bankers, offense contractors, hospital administrators, hedge fund traders – to exist, economically speaking. For without the harvester, the shipper, the police officer, the locomotive mechanic and switch operator, everything that we take for granted today would cease to exist. That big “L” that cuts through the Midwest and the South is the Soul of America.

Consider Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and a rudimentary understanding of the division of labor in our economy. Producers provide the base of the pyramid to all of us. If a society has no food, people die. If a society doesn’t harness enough energy (BTUs) to grow and harvest the food, people die. Law and order comprise the next tier. Having a silo full of grain is pretty useless if it’s indefensible, right? As they say, possession is nine-tenths of the law. Next, examine what a lawyer or mayor provides society in a healthy, functioning environment. Each positively adds to the administrative duties – upholding the rule of law, faithfully safeguarding our liberties, and so on.

But what happens when a civilization becomes top heavy? What if it ends up with a Consumer Class that parasitizes and threatens the very survival of the Producer Class? Anonymous Conservative and Bill Whittle have both discussed r/K selection theory as it applies to environmental extremes. In a nutshell, it states that the r-selected individuals favor reproduction and eating; the K-selected individuals favor competition and quality offspring. I’ll leave it up to you, the reader, to determine if the theory holds water. If it does, then I personally wouldn’t slice groups along liberal/conservative axes like they do. I’ve encountered plenty of so-called conservatives who’ve never produced so much as a tomato in their lives, and who still have faith in institutions which warrantlessly wiretap and view them as tax mules.

I believe this is where we find these United States of America today.

I contend that we now exist in a society which has eschewed hard work and production in favor of the tyranny of “Feel-Goodism”. And, like a junkie with an insatiable addiction, those who are obsessed with raw emotions are never satisfied. They’re entitled to food that miraculously grows in supermarket cellophane. Didn’t you know that? And where do you get off calling them hypocrites for calling the police on a trespasser when they voted to defund that very same precinct?

I’m not entirely sure where everything went off the rails, and I’m really not interested in the whys and wherefores at this point. That’s something to ponder during the First Turning High. What I can say is that Western Christians seem to have completely mistaken what it means to be a follower of Jesus. Christianity is, historically, an animated contest that appears to have short-circuited once the West became awash in luxury and materialism. Too often you’ll hear a Westerner throw Romans 13 around like it’s the panacea for his or her own complacency. I imagine the internal monologue would go something like, “I have a steady income, bread on the table, shelter, two cars, and a Nintendo Switch. Plus, I’m far too busy taking my children to soccer practice. I do my part by going to Mass every Sunday!”

Good luck with that if it makes you FEEL better, but I’m here to challenge that notion. The Deadly Sin of Sloth can be spiritual as well as physical. It’s a self-constructed cage; a prison of rationalization. There is never an excuse to allow tyrants to burn the world to the ground. And it’s well past the point of debate that the world is, indeed, burning like a global dumpster fire. What, exactly, do we plan on handing our children when all is said and done? Smoldering craters where cities used to be? Because that’s exactly where we’re headed, and it’s not even broaching the topic of the transhumanist, replicant dystopia that Klaus Schwab and Bill Gates have planned for posterity.

I’d demand every Christian reconcile the notion that God would expect us to submit to an authority that defies His every Word. Suspend disbelief for a moment and imagine that several multi-billionaires and Congressmen were involved in child trafficking and slavery. Please help this writer comprehend how St. Paul’s letter excuses Christians from overtly opposing such depravity. Because in my view it doesn’t. It’s logically fallacious and contradictory on its face. I’m tired of entertaining blind disobedience to the Creator. Isn’t it utterly exhausting, to contort and twist the Bible into something it was never meant to be? Isn’t it precisely what our Roman bathhouse, Just-Us judiciary does to the Constitution?

So, what does rebellion look like? One word: Satyagraha*.

Mahatma Gandhi believed that the only way India could overcome a physically superior oppressor – the King-kneelers – was to firmly and peacefully hold onto truth. It was a balance between Love and Force, much akin to the balance between Justice and Mercy in Christianity. He didn’t like to use the phrase “passive resistance”, but for the purposes of this post, I’m going to use the two interchangeably. Sorry, Mahatma. (And God bless you for your spirit and courage.) However, there’s a catch. The Satyagrahi – one who practices Satyagraha – must come from a position of power.

And that is where my personal strategy of passive resistance comes into play. I previously implied in this post and its follow-up that he who controls the food supply controls Man’s destiny. But if truth be told, it was both serendipity and a collector’s obsession that I ended up with a diverse heirloom fruit tree orchard. Throughout the entire planting, I continuously questioned why in the Hell I was still doing it. It’s a ridiculous amount of work. I would pray every day for the strength to carry on, both spiritually and physically. Some of the varieties were nearly extinct and, like Chief Junaluska’s favorite, very difficult to successfully graft. I nearly gave up shortly prior to the Coronavirus panic just due to sheer exhaustion.

Sometimes, though, hope appears in the unlikeliest of places. One night I had a dream of my grandfather. I can’t put into words how detailed it was; it felt like I could reach out and touch his face. It was surreal and one of only a handful of dreams I remember vividly. I hesitate to even mention it because other than perhaps Llpoh (Choctaw) and Zulu Foxtrot Golf (Apache), most people would dismiss it outright. Granddaddy specifically told me, “Stay the course. Trust the plan.” And when I woke up, I knew what he meant without any doubt. It was God’s plan and I had to obey. Six months later and during the second day of lockdown, it dawned on me how lucky I was to serve the Lord. I slept like a baby throughout the rest of the COVID hysteria. I felt liberated from the cares of the everyday man and woman.

If only that were the end of 2020.

As we all know, history still had some twists and turns in store for America, but none so impactful on me as the Christmas Day bombing in downtown Nashville. That changed me forever. It was where the rubber met the road for me. I had to process the anger in order to come to where I am today, and I found myself struggling to explain what and where that place actually was. Yet isn’t it interesting how there are periods in one’s life where years go by before one reaches clarity, and at other times the answers arrive in a deluge?

One night I was watching Tombstone with my two oldest children. One of the most climactic scenes in the movie was when Wyatt Earp, pinned down and caught in crossfire by the Cowboys, stood up and dropped a wrecking ball on Ike and crew. It was fantastic theater. As Earp’s men marveled at the rabbit he’d just pulled out of the hat, Doc explained exactly where I see myself today. I’m not after revenge for the Nashville bombing, or the fetid stench emanating from Washington, or for Face Diaper mandates.

I’m after a reckoning.

I’ll never again compromise with the looters and moochers in this country. Violence, hatred, and soullessness sit terribly with me. They are a clear and present danger to the America that GEN Washington and so many other men fought to liberate from an oppressive empire. The working class in this nation no longer shares the same culture, religion, or values of Imperial Washington and the coastal elites. The Swamp is a lodestone around our necks; it produces nothing and only steals with impunity.

Civilization only works when the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Washington is no longer interested in discourse or mutual benefit. The soap, ballot, and jury boxes have all been cast out like lepers over the last few months. I’m astounded at the speed with which it’s occurred, but certainly not with the end result. However, we’re not left with the cartridge box as our last resort. There really is a peaceful way. We don’t need to stoop to the slavers’ levels to be victorious.

There is no greater power to wield than that of the bread box. Think back to Maslow’s Hierarchy and the base of the pyramid. Acquire skills that can benefit your local community. Rebuild on a local level what you’ve read about in history books. Whether it be fence building, farming, livestock guardian dog breeding, hunting, well drilling, or security, you will be sitting in the catbird seat. You will have something of value to contribute. That is what I mean by the greater bread box. It’s the last box we have left in order to outlast – and hopefully avoid, God willing – the high intensity conflict they have planned.

It pains me to say this, but we are at war now and the Democrats loathe all of us. They’re predominantly mediocre in every way that matters except brute force. Take careful note of their monopoly on violence before making rash decisions. Since they can’t create a better working world, they’re committed to destruction through their all-consuming avarice and self-loathing. Yes, they hate themselves and who they are. And to them, it’s your fault. The only solution remaining is to starve them. Yes, we must be peaceful. But my hill on which to die is refusing to feed, clothe, or shelter them.

They’ve crossed the red line and I’m no longer willing to play Hug a Marxist. It’s OUR turn to resist. The bread box is ours and THEY need US. Never forget it.

Vive la Liberté!

*Hat tip to Auntie Kriest for increasing my vocabulary.

Editor’s Note: We’re headed into a period of dark totalitarianism that is driven by the most powerful, most vindictive, least productive and least intelligent members of society. Walk softly, but carry a big toolbox of skills, readers.