Tens of thousands gathered in Glendale, Arizona, to pay tribute to the assassinated Christian-conservative leader Charlie Kirk. Millions more around the world watched his memorial service from their homes and churches. With Amazing Grace playing in the background, Elon Musk, responding to a reporter on the why, said, “Charlie was killed because his words made a difference. He was killed because he was showing people the light, and he was killed by the dark.”

Musk’s use of “light” (truth, hope, freedom) versus “the dark” (deception, violence, tyranny) frames Charlie Kirk’s life and death as part of a larger spiritual and cultural battle. Oftentimes, we refer to it as the battle between good and evil.

While Musk doesn’t quote the Bible directly, the imagery is unmistakably resonant with Judeo-Christian symbolism, especially in the context of Kirk’s faith-based activism and the violent nature of his assassination. Many, including me, interpret Musk’s words as a call to continue Kirk’s mission in the face of evil.

The connection is direct: Kirk is the light, revealing truth and exposing evil. The assassin is the dark, acting in hatred of that truth. Charlie was more like a shooting star. He’s gone, but we can still see his light as he continues bringing people together even after his physical death.

But the battle is not over. The attacks against him have intensified and are now directed against his wife. Ephesians 6:12 (NKJV) says, “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.”

More accurately, it doesn’t end on earth until God intervenes in the final battle; the forces of good led by Christ and the forces of evil led by Satan and worldly powers. But until then, we continue the fight. The good news is that evil will ultimately a defeated.

We have the hopeful certainty that while the fight continues, Final victory is assured through Christ.

to be continued

Passing out Halloween candy by President Trump and the First Lady at the White House was so cool; I watched the whole thing. Fresh from a successful Asian trip, Trump handed out the candy to children, chatting with kids and their parents, laughing, shaking hands, patting people on the shoulder as they passed by. Melania looked beautiful as always, bent down to speak with children as she passed out candy bars, smiled warmly as she talked with parents, and posed for a picture when asked; it was clear both enjoyed the evening with their guests.

As I was watching, I couldn’t help but wonder how the media would cover it, if they did at all. If people would just see these tender moments, I thought, what a difference it would make. Well, a difference it should make. I’m realistic enough to know that to those on the Left, none of it would matter. It’s too bad–sad, really. But I can’t let the naysayers bring me down. If they choose to feel miserable and hate, that’s on them. I choose otherwise.

I’m all in on God, my family, my country, President Trump, and our gracious First Lady, Melania.

All things work together for good for those who love God.

Here it is, Halloween, and I’m feeling safe, but it wasn’t always this way. I mean, I’m not one to believe in ghosts; hauntings were never my thing. But something happened, something I can’t explain.

It was 2021, and I was binge-watching Petticoat Junction when my screen went white. A low, unearthly hum filled the room. I heard an eerie voice say, “There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission…” and then it appeared-a ghostly apparition on my TV screen. It hovered right on the screen for a few minutes, its edges flickering with static, as if the signal itself was rotting flesh. The room felt cold, so cold the blood in my veins came to a stop. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. The flirtatious Billie Jo returned, and all was well.

But each successive Halloween the same thing would happen, only worse. The apparition appeared ghoulish, with an ashen, sunken, and almost skinless face, skin stretched so thin the face looked vacuum-sealed over bone. Hollow eyes glowed like dying embers in a skull. He looked like the Cryptkeeper from Tales from the Crypt.

At times, the apparition would float from place to place for no apparent reason, passing through the screen into the room itself. I’d catch it in the corner of my eye, drifting behind the couch, leaving a trail of cold vapor that smelled faintly of mothballs and government offices.

It spoke in a guttural, mumbling way in words not recognizable to me, but sometimes I swore I heard fragments, each syllable stretched and warped, like a tape playing the Beatles’ “Revolution 9” backward, repeating the phrase “Number nine” sounding like “Turn me on, dead man”. The words haunted me but are gone tonight.

I conducted research with local paranormal experts, and they informed me that many people have seen the same ghost-like apparition. At least I wasn’t alone. The experts called it “BIDEN.” It was the scariest four years of my life.

Note: At the suggestion of a reader on my FB page, I’ve added an alternate title.

My sister and I had a falling out years ago over our political views. We both said things in anger. We’re both stubborn. And we’re both older now, which means time is running short.

Our parents are gone. They would be heartbroken.

I remember her first time in church; she cried her eyes out. I was five years older, the protective older brother. To comfort her, I spent Sunday school class at the little kids’ table, squirting an almost-empty Elmer’s glue bottle in her face. With each puff of air, she went from smiling to laughing. Or the family vacations as kids, at the beach, a pool, or an amusement park; the shared good times of family. 

At ages nine and four, roughly, that’s what love looked like then.

As adults, the dynamic changes. We grow into our own convictions, our own lives. But those early shared experiences, moments of glue and laughter, should carry forward. They should matter more than the silence.

The Bible says: “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” -Romans 12:18 (NIV)

That verse does not promise peace; it invites effort. It does not say “agree with everyone,” but “live at peace.” There is a difference.

Sometimes the first step is not a grand gesture. It can be a quiet one: a memory shared, a note written and sent, a silent prayer. Even if the other person is not ready, you can still choose grace. Forgiveness may come later—or not at all. If the wound is deep and left to fester, it may remain. Grace doesn’t wait for an apology. It simply says, “I still care.”

If you are in a similar place, do not wait for perfect conditions. In other words, don’t wait until you are sure it will work. Just do what depends on you.

And don’t do it in baby steps. This isn’t “What About Bob?” with Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss. Lay it out all at once. Say what needs to be said. Because if you wait for step two, it may never come.

Reconciliation doesn’t mean abandoning your principles. It means choosing relationship over resentment. It means remembering what you once were to each other—and saying it while you still can.