PURGATORY

Purgatory is not “Hell Lite.” Purgatory is for people who are on their way to Heaven. If you wake up and find yourself in Purgatory, rejoice! It means you didn’t go to Hell. The word comes from the root for “cleanse.” Purgatory is the final cleansing of our souls of any “residue” of sin before we enter Heaven. People who are not on their way to Heaven do not experience this blessing. So, finding oneself in Purgatory after death is a good thing.

The Scriptures tell us nothing unclean can enter the Presence of God. “Once saved, always saved” won’t really cut it with the Creator-Judge of the universe. If we have even the slightest “spot or wrinkle” on our souls, it will have to be punished (read, “cleansed”) before we can enter the Presence of God. Here’s where the spanking analogy fits: A temporal infraction by a child merits a spanking. Even though the spanking is delayed, it is still due. This “due-ness” of the punishment doesn’t change the parental love for the child, or even the forgiveness of the infraction. But the spanking is due, and the parent can choose to administer it at any time.

If you think your life is perfect, you are in for a surprise. A lot of people blithely go through life committing the same sins over and over, saying (if they think of it) “Oops, sorry, Lord,” and think that is all that is required of them to “lead a good life.” I have known supposedly “good” Christians who thought nothing of stealing, lying repeatedly, committing adultery or fornication, calumny (look it up), or any combination of these vices, yet presented themselves in church on any Sunday with – to them – clear consciences. Their consciences may have been clear, but that just serves to illustrate to us how important it is to form a proper conscience. Unfortunately, a lot of us choose to go through life in this condition.

Even going to Confession and receiving Absolution don’t really make us “fit” for Heaven. The job of these gifts is to forgive, not punish. The forgiveness is there, yes, and the Absolution is effective. But these gifts don’t provide the punishment that is due for that sin. (What? You thought you could sin without punishment, just because you weren’t struck by lightning, and the ground didn’t open up and swallow you?) Catholics (and others) who think that a Catholic can go to Confession on Saturday, then go back to the same old sin on Monday isn’t taking punishment into account. The Catholic who goes to Confession with this plan in mind is in for double the excitement on his way to Hell. God keeps very short accounts. Generally speaking, if this individual doesn’t exhibit some kind of remorse for this repeated sinful act, he is not even going to get a peek into Purgatory on his way to the hot place.

It’s no wonder atheists don’t believe in a personal God. They see the kinds of hypocrisy exhibited by so-called Christians. And they also see no obvious signs of Divine Retribution on the hypocrites they observe. A real God, with a real care of His people, wouldn’t/couldn’t allow these things to go on, could he? And, still, they—and we–see signs of personal hypocrisy all around us. We can know we are on the right track when we begin recognizing these failings in ourselves.

That child who does something which deserves a spanking knows that when Dad says, “This is going to hurt me worse than it does you,” the next step is Purgatory for the child. He knows, also, that all the time Dad is paddling his behind, he is loving his child enough to punish him for breaking the rules. Same way with us and the Author of All Love. Even though we know we are forgiven for all these sins and transgressions, we haven’t been punished for them. We have been loved and forgiven, but we haven’t been spanked yet.

Unrepented sin, habitual sinfulness, and deliberate evil end in an eternity spent screaming in agony with the rest of the unregenerate sinful who thought they could get by without an accounting.

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This is a good place to make mention of the execution of Saddam Hussein. WE are not his judges. We are allowed by God to judge his earthly behavior in terms of its benefits or toxicity to mankind and remove him from society permanently if we judge his actions to be so virulent that he would continue to perpetrate such acts should he ever be set free. In the case of unrepentant, buck-passing despots like Hussein, we can guess, by observing the evidence of his evil behavior in life, that his soul will be consigned to the ministrations of Satan and all his imps and demons. But we can’t be SURE, and we can’t “send” his soul to Hell. That job belongs to God, and God alone. The execution of the sentence of death in the case of Saddam Hussein was a legitimate legal consequence of his behavior before he was arrested, carried out by the legitimate government of the country in which he lived and murdered. If he did not repent of the thousands of murders of innocents he was responsible for, there’s a good chance that he will wake up in Hell.

But we serve a merciful God. And we have no way to know, when we as a State, execute a criminal of the caliber of Saddam Hussein, what God’s disposition of that individual’s soul will be. If we are praying for mercy for sinners, we are including the souls of Saddam Hussein and his followers. This side of the grave, we have no way to know the final disposition of the soul of the Butcher of Baghdad.

As mortals, weak and sinful ourselves, we know how easily we can fall into a life of unrepented sinfulness and evil. It is this side of our natures that clapped and cheered when the trapdoor was sprung. But if we are Christians, we will have to trust God to deal with him justly. (One thing Saddam didn’t appear to take into account: There is no repentance after death. It’s too late to say “I’m sorry!” after the trapdoor springs.)

A Useful Mind, As Opposed To…

I was going to wait until they spring the trapdoor on the Mustachioed Monster of Baghdad before I posted anything new, but Og the Neanderpundit brought a situation to my attention that reqires comment.

Apparently, a friend and mentor, Fran Porretto of Eternity Road, has written something that got him named by name (misspelled at least once, of course) at no less than Vanity Fair (I really hesitated before I provided the link to the entropic rag, but you need to see it to believe it).

Now, I have to admit that there are times when Fran posts stuff that flies right over my old noggin, especially in the “Bit Bucket” mode, but I don’t have to use my brain for my job, like he does, so I cut him the slack. But the post in question, in which the VF editor whines about Fran’s obvious lack of fear and loathing about firearms in the hands of regular citizens, is a lesson in point-missing. He appears to be especially miffed at Fran’s self-nomination to the post of “Curmudgeon.” Anybody who knows Fran knows enough to see the self-mockery and wit behind the moniker, but poor Wolcott just blithely sails past another point. These guys like to label any non-anti-gun writing as “warmongering.” I’m proud to put myself into this class, incidentally…

Poor Mr. Wolcott must be more jealous than anybody gave him (dubious) credit for being. I think it was Fran’s long, complex sentences that rang poor Mr. Wolcott’s bells. Sometimes, I find that going back over the sentence and reading it aloud makes it come together, but it seems apparent that Wolcott gave the post a once-over and grabbed his keyboard while his brain still had enough power to activate the LCD “ON” light.

Leftists/anti-war zealots/anti-gun nuts like Wolcott haven’t gotten past the idea that it is guns that kill people, and that owning a gun is the same thing as shooting it at something innocent, or that having several guns makes one a rabid death-machine, bent on mayhem and dead stuff.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Wolcott took up his cudgel against a wise and trusted mentor whose erudition and calm demeanor are in absolute opposition to Wolcott’s slagging blogpiece, I would have ignored it. But nobody treats my friends like that without getting me kind of testy. As Og says so bluntly: “Here’s a clue for you, Mr Wolcott: When you have spent a MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE producing something useful- say, a toaster, or a chair, or a piece of computer code that someone finds useful, you have business criticising those of us who do.” Go, OGGIE!

Christmases Old And New

It’s funny, the kinds and numbers of old memories the Christmas season stirs up. Things I thought I’d long forgotten pop up with nothing more than sniffing an aroma, or hearing a tune…

Like that one ornament we always seemed to have. I have no idea how long my parents had had it by the time I was old enough to notice it, but for me, it was like a glimpse of Heaven. A little double-pointed ornament, at one time a sort-of clear red, and it contained a little strip of tinsel to dress it up a bit. I loved that little ornament, and was drawn to it year after year. Every year, I’d await its appearance from the newspaper wrapper, every year carefully replaced in the newspaper and tucked back into the big box. Eventually the cap and wire were lost, and the paint on the inside cracked and peeled. We replaced the cap with a bent bobby-pin (a little hairpin made of metal), and just tolerated the loss of the red color, but that plucky little piece of tinsel sparkled and sparkled, year after year. Even though I remember it first in Douglas, Alaska in the Forties, I remember seeing it once or twice on the trees we had in Payson, Utah in the Fifties.

And, I remember those lead “icicles.” Yes, they were made of lead. They were heavy, crimped strips, and we saved them carefully from Christmas to Christmas, because there was a War On. They didn’t last long, though, because once they got tangled, it was almost impossible to untagle them. But I remember when I finally got old enough to help put them away, when we’d lift them from the tree branches one or two at a time, and lay them, straight, carefully, on newspaper. Then, we folded the newspaper over them and made a flat packet that would go into the bottom of the box that held the ornaments, to be resurrected one more time the following year, deployed in their dull beauty, until they simply couldn’t be salvaged again.

For a town that was in what Alaskans consider “The Banana Belt,” Juneau got a lot of snow. We actually lived in Douglas, which was on Douglas Island, across the Gastineau Channel from Juneau. We had a good view of Juneau from our little house up on the hill. 5th Street in Douglas used to be the last street up the hill. Behind our house was dense spruce forest. But, from our vantage point, we could look across the Channel at Juneau, and see the old Alaska-Juneau Gold Mine buildings on the side of the mountain behind Juneau, a large “T” shaped landmark with an extra-long crossbar. We could also see avalanches roar down the steep side of the mountain to bury some of the Southernmost addresses. And, when the wind blew in Juneau during those snowy winters, it really blew. It was called a “Taku,” and it roared down the mountainside and whipped the surface of the Channel into whitecaps (I always thought they were “white CATS”) and spindrift, coating windows, cars, and buildings with a layer of salty residue that would be washed away with Spring’s inevitable rains.

The best Christmas memory was the scariest, though. I can recall it like it happened this week. I was about four years old, and I was not happy with a judgment from my mother. In a rare act of juvenile bravado, I threw myself onto the kitchen floor and pitched a fit. But something made me look to the big window. And THERE he was, in all his “Jolly Old Elf” glory! He raised his hand to his face, shook his finger at me, and squinted through those little square wire-framed glasses, as if to say, “That’s enough of that, young lady!” And, it WAS. Or, the time my sister and I were both sick. She had whooping cough, but I managed to escape it somehow. Santa came into the bedroom and sat down on the bed we shared, and reached into his pack. Out came a red top and a little set of watercolors, complete with a little brush. Nothing like a visit from St. Nick to get a kid on the road to recovery!

Those wartime Christmases in a place like Juneau, as far away from the average American small town as if it was in China or Timbuktu, were the stuff of memories, to be sure. There were other memorable childhood Christmas trees and other great childhood events, but the perspective of adulthood gives me an opportunity to put the old times into a clearer light. At age four or so, I had no idea that the homemade Christmases we celebrated weren’t the absolute most magical and beautiful a child could ever possibly experience; exercises in making do and substituting that only being in such a place at such a time could produce.

And, we still found ourselves blessed enough to share with the less fortunate. In our case, the recipient was a German mother and her two children, in Germany. I still remember her name: Christine Shatull. We used to send boxes of things she would find useful, and at least one can of Kaffee-Hagg Coffee. She wrote letters full of gratitude and friendship, and my mother continued to correspond with her for many years.

Nowadays, credit cards, television commercials, and online purchasing take the place of clustering around the old Sears Roebuck Christmas catalog, anxious to see those few colored pictures of toys in the very back. Who wanted to waste time looking at those ugly, uninspiring sepia snapshots in the main part of the catalog–the ones on the flimsy, almost tissue-paper paper–of other toys, when those colored pages beckoned with such irresistible magnetism, just waiting for our pencilled circles and exclamation marks.

Of course, in those days, the catalogs were free to anyone who had ever ordered anything previously. And, of course, our orders had to be made in October, in order to be sure that anything that was to come from “Outside” made it across the Gulf of Alaska without sinking, hoping against hope that those orders didn’t get blown out of the water by the Japanese who still lurked in the Gulf, on the old Alaska Steamship freighters that plied the Inside Passage for so many years.

We didn’t know at the time that what we were experiencing was a slice of history. We had no idea of how much we were doing without. Paved streets? Bright street lights? Sunny weather and fresh produce? How can you miss what you’ve never experienced? We weren’t even a state, but a territory.

No wonder Dad moved us out of there after five years of rain, snow, wind, and long, dark winters between short, dreary summers. “At least,” he said, “in Utah, they’ll get some sunshine.” And away we went, by ship, by four-engined Pan Am Clipper, and by train.

I hope all your own Christmas memories are as rich and colorful. This Christmas will be the second one we’ve celebrated since returning to Alaska, and the old memories of similar winters and short, dark days come back frequently. Our fresh-fallen, 2-foot blanket of fluffy white makes it certain there is a white Christmas for us this year.

Divine Liturgy of the Vigil of the Nativity of Jesus will begin at six this evening, and we will be there for it, to greet our Lord and Savior with all the incense, processions, bows, signings of the Cross, and blessings we can manage to squeeze in. It’s a long service, closer to two hours than to one, and people will be tired of standing for so long, but it will be worth it. The ceremonial ushering-in of Jesus at Christmas time is worth all the trees, gifts, feasts, and sparkling decorations we wish to give it.

No wonder it’s such a festive time of year: Everyone recognizes the momentous meaning of the day, whether they worship or not. We can’t escape those images of the journey to Bethlehem, the Three Kings, or the shepherds in the light of that beautiful star. “Glory to God in the Highest!” the angels sang. “And PEACE to men of good will.”

MERRY CHRISTMAS, one and all!

The War on Christmas Continues…

It is very saddening to see the kind of vicious anti-religious behavior we see being encouraged in America, but there is no doubt that the opinion-makers, academics, and other clanging gongs of the Left simply will not let it rest. It is the most recent battlefront in the ongoing undermining of the American way of life. Fran Porretto at Eternity Road and Alexandra at All Things Beautiful chronicle the low blows and underhanded maneuverings of the satanists on the Left, and they know who they are…

These are the same people who fall all over themselves making goo-goo eyes at the Islamofascist pigs and insisting we all be more ’sensitive’ to their ‘religious needs,’ all the time they are cutting, demanding, outlawing, covering up, trying desperately to disprove any tradition or thought that might be Christian or Jewish in nature. Apparently to these iconoclasts, traditional, historical belief in an ANCIENT and proven system of governance and faith is not to be borne, and must not be allowed.

As mentioned frequently before, by many more educated and erudite spokesmen than myself (see links above, for instance), middle-class Americans are finding themselves smack in the middle of nothing less that a no-holds-barred battle for the minds of our children. Their future is going to depend on us and how we fight this war.

Don’t let the anti-Christs win this one, folks. We are fighting for the very survival of everything that the Founding Fathers had in mind when they wrote our Constitution and set the ship of American State on its course. We are not (I am not) going to stand on the strand and watch it be hijacked, pirated, and scuttled by haters and defilers of everything it stands for, just because they hate God.

For God-haters and anti-Christian demogogues, it is especially galling to see so many of us (roughly 74%, according to Fran’s research) believe so firmly in what they are certain is nothing more than a myth. But, they have a lot of their own myths they believe in just as firmly. So why, pray, are they so panicked over a so-called “mythical” character, who did nothing less than alter history simply by being born? A “mythical” character, I might add, whose message was one of REAL peace, real love, and real hope?

What can we do? At this point, pray like your very life depends on it. Then say “Merry Christmas!” everywhere, to everybody. This is a test of wills, and, remember, if the statistics are right, we outnumber THEM three to one…

May God be with us all.

Weather Update

Since I posted the “Weather” post several days ago (see below), the floodgates of the Heavens have opened. We have received about eighteen inches of beautiful, fluffy white stuff.

Snowmachiners are ecstatic. Homeowners, less so, since eighteen inches has to be moved. Businesses have accounts with local contractors for snow removal, but most of us just get out the shovels and start pushing. Mountains of snow are already forming at the ends of some of the streets in town, much to the delight of the local kiddery. Right now, it’s not a problem, because it’s cold, around 15 degrees, and the snow is fresh and fluffy. Warm-weather snow is wet and heavy, and is not fun to push around. Once the wet snow freezes in its ruts and bumps, it’s there for the duration. It can be like driving on a cobbled street, so the idea is to get it all off the driving surfaces before it turns to slush. This can be challenging here, since four or five days of more-or-less steady snowfall taxes the resources of everyone who has anything to do with snow removal.

“Cabin Fever” (Seasonal Affective Disorder) can strike at any time in the winter here, but getting outside on a bright, sunny day to spend an hour or two in the white snow is a good antidote. (We really don’t stay cooped up inside for months on end, as much as it makes for good stories and great poetry by Robert W. Service). An eighteen-inch snowfall anywhere else would be above-the-fold, opening topic news anywhere else. But here, it’s about half of what would be considered newsworthy weather.

The wind has come up today, though, and that usually means “ground blizzards” and poor visibility, so weather-related crashes are going to be in the news, whether we like them or not.

But here it is, December 22nd, and we are definitely going to have a white Christmas this year. Last year, it was really iffy. There wasn’t a speck of white on the ground until Christmas Eve. How’s that for timing?

The War on Christmas (Ongoing…)

I stumbled into this site this morning, and discovered that it’s not just the usual group of sites that are reporting what’s REALLY happening since WalMart decided to go back to “Merry Christmas!”

More will most certainly follow, unfortunately.

The Insanity of the Left

Sometimes, they say it so well, they leave little for the rest of us to comment upon. This is such a post.

A Little About Weather

Ok. I admit it…I spoke too soon…

Eventually, anyone who lives up here and writes is going to have to say something about the weather. If you live anywhere but Alaska, you are almost certain to have a lot of misconceptions about it. This is not a bad thing, so don’t feel bad. It just means that we keep our weather more or less to ourselves, because, like everything else up here, the weather has to be spoken of most times in superlatives, and when someone says, “How’s the weather up there?” we have to ask them what part of Alaska they are talking about.

We know we are the biggest state. We know that if a map of Alaska were to be superimposed on a map of the same scale of the “South 48,” that it would reach from coast to coast and border to border. We know that it is so big that if it were cut in two, it would make Texas the THIRD largest state. We know that at 586,000 square miles, it is almost two-thirds of a million square miles of wilderness that includes vast tracts that have never been looked at with human eyes, except from the air.

We know all that stuff, but the chances are pretty good that, unless you chose it as your special project in 6th grade Geography, you didn’t know most of it. But, a lot of times, the climate can’t be easily defined because of the sheer size of the state. It is so large that at one time, it had FOUR Time Zones. The Panhandle (the part that reaches down toward Seattle) is in a climate zone known as a “North-Temperate Rain Forest.” THAT is a first-class understatement. There aren’t many experiences in the South 48 that can prepare visitors for the weather between Ketchikan and Yakutat. The average annual precipitation down there is something like three hundred days a year of measurable precipitation. It is so rainy and overcast all the time, that when I lived and worked in Juneau, it wasn’t unusual for the Governor to grant “Sunshine Leave” to State employees so we could get out and enjoy the few sunny days that managed to come our way.

The Central area of the state is what we call the “Interior.” Or, Sub-Arctic Plateau. This is what a lot of people think of when they think (if they think of it) of Alaska’s weather. Fairbanks is hot in the summer and cold in the winter. “Hot” as in 90’s, humid, and sunny. “Cold,” as in minus 65 degrees F. at least once every winter. Lots of thermometers don’t even go to minus 20, let alone minus 65 or 70. I’ll let you figure out the implications of that kind of cold. It’s also Alaska’s Klondike. Lots and lots of gold came out of the area. Lots of gold is still coming out of there.

The Western part is where Nome and Kotzebue are located. Cold in the winter, cool and damp in the summer. A lot of nowhere. It is sparsely populated outside the bigger towns, and whaling is a common occupation.

The Arctic is just that. Deadhorse, Alpine, Prudhoe Bay, Point Barrow, and a few other locations on the Arctic Sea coast. Home to lots of oil rigs, caribou, arctic fox, some trumpeter swans, and grizzlies. Inhospitable and pretty barren. Not what the realtors have in mind when they say, “Location, location, location.”

The Aleutians are the chain of islands that stretches out across the North Pacific towards Russia, Japan, and Siberia. Most of them are uninhabited, and the weather there is consistent. Cold, windy, and wet.

Southcentral is where most of the population lives. It’s the south coast of the mainland, and is in what is called “Taiga,” or birch/spruce forest. Anchorage is the second-most prominent feature, after Mt. McKinley, since Mt. McKinley is what everybody thinks of when they think of Alaskan points of interest. At over 21,000 feet, it’s the highest peak in North America. So, Anchorage is a big city. It’s actually about the size of St. Paul, MN. It has about 325,000 people, and all the big-city problems, as well as some of its own, most of which are related to climate and climate.

But back to the weather. Since it’s winter, we in the Southcentral Taiga forest are having the quirky part of our annual weather right now. It’s been cold, well down below zero, and it’s been warm, up over 40, since this time last month (hence, “quirky”).

Obviously, snowfall is an important part of the Alaskan mystique. You have probably seen me mention Valdez here. Valdez (pronounced “Val-DEEZ”) is the snow capital of the United States. Where most places have annual snowfall averages of three or four feet, Valdez shovels out every year from an AVERAGE of fifty feet. Yep. That’s feet, not inches. Some years, more. Occasionally, a little less, but fifty feet is a good, round number. The picture above shows what March looks like in Valdez.

So, to finally get to where I’m going with this meander, I know what winter snow is like. And what they get here in Wasilla is NOT it. This is the second year so far with less than five feet, and barely four inches on the ground. What we do get here, though, is cold and wind. Right now, it’s “warm” (relatively speaking) and windy. The temperature is on its way back up into the “snowmaking” section, but the prognostications call for snow of some sort all week long. This indicates a broken prognosticator, apparently, since it has been predicting “SNOW” in some measure for the last two weeks, and we haven’t seen a flake. What we have on the ground right now is just the “glue” that holds the pebbles and gravel down when the wind gets up around 85mph.

So, there you have it. A whole lot of nothing about a whole lot of interesting somethings in Alaska. But, at least, barring any more 40-plus days between now and Monday, we should have a “white” Christmas, even though there is a lot of bare dirt showing in my back yard. Guess I can’t have it both ways…it’s either SHOPPING here in Wasilla, or SNOW, like in Valdez. Decisions, decisions…

Old Stuff

I’m falling apart. Everything that works hurts. If it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t work. If I was of the cynical sort, I’d be wondering whatever the heck it was that made me move back to Alaska. (I think it was the crappy climate in Minnesota. No kidding.) Alaska, as I have often stated here, is my home, and Minnesota, as pretty, interesting, and charming as it is, has never felt like HOME to me. Perhaps we are all endowed with a certain “resonance” that is only tuned to “home,” be it climate, sunlight, family, friends, or even just the landscape. Whatever it might be, “home” is definitely where the heart is, and no place else will do.

The hardest part about getting older is watching the breakdown of the physical plant. The mind (or what I laughingly refer to as my “mind”) is still as “sharp” as ever, maybe even moreso. I have more opportunities to explore my world, following links on the net and studying whatever intrigues me at the moment, and content myself with the opportunity to accumulate little scraps and tidbits of knowledge wherever I land on my mapless quest.

On the other hand, the stuff that I would like to do with all this newfound knowledge is limited to what can be accomplished by a 64-year-old who often feels the weight of every single year. I try not to let the frailty of the flesh slow me too much, and have merely shifted my attention from the physical labor that used to be so rewarding to more intellectual, spiritual, or family pursuits. None of it is boring, and I am rewarded daily with a renewed zest for the joys of the day.

I’ve been able to limit the worst miseries to one side of my physical self, so I have an arm and a leg that feel like they were run over by a tank, while everything on the right side works pretty-well as it should. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been unilaterally disarmed. (Sorry. Scuse the pun.) Repeated trauma to the left side has its revenge, eventually, so I have to accept the consequences of a youthful desire to push myself beyond my physical limits on more than one occasion, completely ignoring the ancient wisdom that told me repeatedly that “those injuries are going to give you trouble when you get old.” Yah, right. Okay. I’ll remember that.

Accepting the limitations of age is hard for most of us. Learning to cobble up work-arounds and find appliances that allow us to compensate for stiff or painful joints is just part of the process. We accumulate all kinds of little arm-lengtheners and joint cushions to keep us going. The quest is humorous and often rewards us with nifty innovations and cool gadgets, and I do love gadgetry.

I could take this natural decrepitude as a sign that I am at death’s door, if I was of the personality to do so, but nowadays, it’s just one more skirmish in the battle of wits with Father Time. Eventually he will win, obviously. And I’m willing to allow it. But not yet, if you don’t mind. I have a lot of stuff I need to get done, and with the help of the gadgetry of the computer age and the workarounds I’ve accumulated, I can get most of it done before I have to yield my independence to my kids. And, even then, there’s something to be said for a full life, well-lived, viewed from the midst of the family who loves you.

Take it from an experienced professional: Life is great! Embrace it with zeal and joy, even the pain and sorrows. Use it all as learning experience, and greet each day with enthusiasm and curiosity.

12-Step Program For Recovering Liberals

Old, but timely, nevertheless. Originally found at Chron-Watch for January 6, 2003.

The Program:

Step 1: Admitting that you’re a liberal. This is the first step for every liberal on the way to recovery. It is important to understand that you’re not “progressive,” “moderate,” or “enlightened.” You’re a liberal, and you need to be honest with yourself about that fact.

Step 2: Pledge to support your beliefs with facts. Realize that truth is more important than moral superiority, and is the only way to come over to reality. You must research beyond propaganda from the Sierra Club, Hillary Clinton, and CNN (the Communist News Network) to understand things as they really exist in the world. You can no longer argue based on “feelings” or emotion. You will actually need to back up your arguments with real information. This is a difficult step, because it means you can’t be lazy any more.

Step 3: Love America. This may be the most difficult step for those of you who are hippies and peaceniks. Admitting that the country you hate actually stands as a beacon to defend freedom throughout the world can make some of you physically ill. You might want to make a visit to a military cemetery to better understand that these men and women gave their lives so that you could spew hatred. Otherwise, you would currently be living in a police state that would never let you wear that nasty patchouli oil, let alone speak out against your government.

Step 4: Take a college level economics class. I’ve always defined a Socialist as someone who’s never taken an economics class. Most Socialists I’ve spoke with would have a hard time balancing their checkbooks, let alone explaining the simple concept of supply-and-demand. It’s time to flush your complete ignorance of basic economics down the toilet and understand how the world actually functions. This concept will be very important for the next steps that involve communism, facts about corporations, and the inefficiencies of government.

Step 5: Say “No!” to Communism and Socialism. While this concept is obvious to most of the free world, it is an important step in your recovery process. If you have difficulty with this step, spend a week living and working in Cuba.

Step 6: Corporations are not evil. If you’re reading this article online or in an e-mail, it’s thanks to corporations. If you get some kind of paycheck, you can thank corporations. If you work for a non-profit or the government, you still have to thank corporations. The non-profit sector and the government wouldn’t have any money to pay you without corporations. It is also important that you understand that making a profit doesn’t equate to “greed” or exploitation. Capitalism has created the greatest society in our world’s history. Even communist countries need corporations to survive, so enjoy a nice, hot cup of reality.

Step 7: The government is inefficient. If you are one of those liberals who believe the government should tax us more in order to take care of society, you need to pay special attention to this step. You need to realize that government bureaucracy will waste most of your tax dollars, while the private sector will put your money to much better use. Even most Democrat politicians understand this to some degree, which is why Hillary’s socialist healthcare proposal was voted down by a majority of both Democrats and Republicans. Go to your local post office or call the IRS to ask a tax question if you need a reminder about government inefficiency.

Step 8: The earth is not your “mother,” and she’s not dying. The time has now come to stop your donations to Greenpeace, The Sierra Club, and every other EnviroNazi organization to which you belong. Face the reality that the earth, society, and our environment are better off today than ever in recorded history and that they are continuing to improve. I realize that many of you tree huggers will have a very difficult time letting go of the Douglas Fir on this one. I would suggest reading The Skeptical Environmentalist by Bjorn Lomborg. Mr. Lomborg is a former member of Greenpeace and is currently a statistics professor at a university in Denmark. He set out to prove the world was in bad shape and ended up surprising himself by proving the exact opposite.

Step 9: Stop smoking the wacky tobaccy. Okay, some of you might need to enter another 12-step program to complete this step. Marijuana is distorting your sense of reality, and you need to stop using it. Besides, you’ll save a fortune on snacks.

Step 10: Eat a hamburger. If God didn’t intend for us to eat animals, he wouldn’t have made them out of meat. You can put your sprouts and tofu on the hamburger, but get some meat into you. You’ll look and feel better than you ever imagined. You can always remind yourself that Adolf Hitler was a vegetarian to get you through this step.

Step 11: Stop re-writing political history. It’s now time to admit that Bill Clinton is a lying-cheating-sexist-racist-rapist jackass, Hillary Clinton is one of the worst role models for women in this country, Al Gore really did lose the 2000 election by every vote tabulation you attempt, Ronald Reagan ended the Cold War and didn’t create the homeless problem, John McCain is not a typical Republican, and Jimmy Carter is a nice man but has one of the worst presidential records of anyone in history.

Step 12: Be a missionary. Once you have completed the previous steps to overcoming liberalism, it’s time for you to share this awakening with others who are not as fortunate. Go out amongst the liberal sheep and spread the good word of your freedom from the chains of ignorance that once bound you. Congratulations, and welcome to reality.

As an old 12-Step veteran, I can assure you that this is the only way to recuperate. It really is painless. Trust me; would I lie to you??