Category Archives: Alaska

the last (or first) newsletter of the year…but not the one I expected to write

Posted on by January 22, 2026

Hi friends,

My newsletters have always been private, just for subscribers. But for the first time in seven years, this newsletter is going on my site because it is a message that everyone needs to hear. Not everyone will want to hear it, but after the last 48 hours I don’t care anymore, and those who do far outnumber those who don’t, anyway.

The scales are tipping, and they’ve needed to for a long time.

And I know that God knows what He’s doing even when I don’t know what He’s doing, because just four days ago in my weekly devotional I spoke on when you’re waiting for God to show up: trusting that God is going to move in your situation when you don’t understand what’s going on or why it’s happening.

And then the day before yesterday as I was drafting out this newsletter (which was due yesterday but you’ll understand the delay in a minute if you haven’t already heard) I wrote about going into December with grand expectations, and going into situations or seasons with expectations that often don’t turn out.

I was going to start it by telling you a cute story about our enormous cat Bingley, who hates getting his claws trimmed so much that the process usually takes three of us, a large towel, bandages, and antiseptic. Bingley is learning to not knead my lap with his scimitar claws because I’m learning to confront his expectations by keeping the claw clippers handy. He must be a slow learner, because we do this routine every few days and I’ve trimmed most of his front claws by now…but I’m a slow learner, too, because I also go into things with expectations that often don’t turn out, even though experience has taught me otherwise.

It was funny. It was light-hearted.

And then an hour later, our little Kavanagh, barely three, broke his arm in three places while sledding.

That was 48 hours ago as I type this.

And here’s what happened, as I shared on Gab and Telegram:

We’re on our way to the third hospital, after being seen in urgent care because our little Kav broke his arm sledding.

Got X-rays. Broken humerus. Needs emergency surgery.

They sent us to Anchorage because the peds surgeon on call in the Valley wasn’t super comfortable with it, it’s not his specialty.

So, fine.

Providence Medical Center refused to see us because I have a mask exemption. They don’t care. They’re in the business of drumming up business, not healing, don’t you know. Their ER was packed, too.

So we went to Alaska Regional. They wouldn’t allow my husband in, but begrudgingly acquiesced to my exemption. Waited an hour and a half.

And then a nurse came in to swab my son for covid.

I said no.

She acted like she’d never heard that before. Said she’d have to talk to someone.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, three nurses come in. They must’ve really needed moral support. They said lots of things about “policy” and “mandate” but gave no real info and wouldn’t answer questions. I said I wanted to talk to the surgeon.

Again, same routine with the intake doc.

Then I spoke to the surgeon’s assistant, who was great. Please pray for him because he might need a new job now.

Because a few minutes later the surgeon walked in, loudly said, “You won’t allow a test so I won’t do your surgery. No surgery from me.” And left the room. When I tried to ask him questions he said I was refusing to comply. [That video is here on Gab and here on Telegram.]

Then they just left me there with my just-barely-turned-three toddler, bruise blackening.

I waited a while, figured out how to put the bed down so Kav could sleep, and went to the hallway. Isn’t there someone who can answer questions?

What, you actually expect information or rights? Craziness!

A nurse told me I needed to go back to my room. Seriously.

About ten or fifteen minutes later, the staff supervisor came back with a couple of friends, and another in the hall, and security right behind.

Would not answer questions, give info, show written policy, nothing. No information at all. Just kept saying I refused to comply with policy, even though they wouldn’t explain or show me that policy. I have video. They called APD on me and threatened to trespass me. [The video of that is here on Gab and here on Telegram.]

[ADDED because I forgot about it when I originally posted this: Sending us to Providence would have done nothing for us, because we would have gotten the same on call surgeon there who already refused to treat Kavanagh, and I’m confident the nurse knew it.

That same nurse, as she was trying to get rid of us, also said, “You’ll have to go to Alaska Native Medical Center, then.” When I responded that we’re not Native, she said, “Right, you’re not,” and smirked. This woman was just wasting our time by trying to send us on a wild goose chase while our son was injured and needing care.]

So we left. I would not leave my child unsupervised there to have his toenails trimmed at this point.

So please pray. We just pulled up to hospital number three.

Hospital number three was MatSu Regional, our local hospital. I called ahead while we were driving, told them the situation, and asked if they would admit us without demanding to swab my toddler. They said they would check, put me on hold. After a few minutes they came back and said yes, they would just do surgery as though he were Covid positive. What does that mean? That means they prep the OR differently and wear shields and gowns to protect from contagion and infection. (Um, don’t they try to prevent infection or contamination, regardless? But I digress.)

It was a totally different experience from Alaska Regional in Anchorage, where we were treated like peons who had no right to even ask questions. MatSu Regional told us our rights, gave us the Patient Bill of Rights in writing (and the right to refuse testing is on the first page), and explained everything so we could understand it (which was necessary because there was a lot of miscommunication). Overall, they were kind, respectful, and conscientious over details.

They respected medical exemptions for masks – with the exception of the paper pushers in the lobby who panic when they see a person’s entire face and apparently don’t know what to do with healthy, assertive people who are versed in their rights. Those ladies were shocked and bewildered when I told them I was medically exempt, as though they’d never even heard the term before. (“Uh, um, er, I’m not sure if we do that here.” Oh, I assure you that you do, trust me.)

They’re going to see a lot more of it soon. People are waking up and are going to stop rolling over for the insanity, and it will be much harder for people behind a desk or a badge to live in a bubble, out of touch with reality, checking their brains at the door to just do what they’re told.

We were in the ER at MatSu Regional until about 1 am. They splinted Kav’s arm and sent us home, with surgery scheduled for the afternoon.

As I was getting ready for bed in the wee hours, God confronted me. This is what I shared on social media:

The Lord just asked me, So, will you forgive?

And, yeah…that’s hard. But when you consider how much, how fiercely God loves His children, it’s easy to move out of His way so He can be the one to execute judgement.

Because that’s what forgiveness does — it frees us and makes room for Him to bring justice.

Understanding God’s character and love for us almost makes forgiveness too easy. We use tough-sounding phrases like “May God have mercy on them, because I won’t,” but I’ve been reading the Psalms a lot lately and it doesn’t say much about mercy for those who willfully harm His kids to appease idolatry.

“At the set time that I appoint
    I will judge with equity.
When the earth totters, and all its inhabitants,
    it is I who keep steady its pillars.
I say to the boastful, ‘Do not boast,’
    and to the wicked, ‘Do not lift up your horn;
do not lift up your horn on high,
    or speak with haughty neck.’”

For not from the east or from the west
    and not from the wilderness comes lifting up,
but it is God who executes judgment, putting down one and lifting up another.

– Psalm 75:2-7

I slept two hours that night in fitful dozing, and woke to a voicemail at 7:30 that told us to be back in the ER at 9 to start prepping for surgery.

But even once we were there and scheduled, the hits kept coming. One expectation after another was replaced by something harder:

Kav needed an overnight stay, not outpatient surgery.

The bones were too unstable, so the surgery that was supposed to be about an hour took almost three hours.

It wasn’t one break as we thought from the X-rays, but three breaks.

This surgery usually only requires one or two pins, but they had to use five.

So I’ve been grieving and processing, telling God, This is so hard. I know bad things happen, but this is my son.

It was My son, too, He said.

And that was so much worse. Devastation upon devastation. The headlines in Mark read like this:

Betrayal and arrest of Jesus

Jesus before the council

Peter denies Jesus

Jesus delivered to Pilate

Pilate delivers Jesus to be crucified

Jesus is mocked

The crucifixion

The death of Jesus

Jesus is buried

But it wasn’t over. And He prepares us, because in that devotional video that’s exactly what the He led me to talk about: The Lord lets us see movement before the final breakthrough. He lets us see that He’s still in control, even if it looks like it’s over.

We can pick up on what’s really going on if we have the eyes to see it.

I can’t tell you how many times hospital staff asked me, “How did this happen?” It was odd at first and then I realized what they were doing – checking to see if my answer changed. Which is fine, okay, it’s good to watch for signs of abuse, of course. But there’s this continual sense of professional and persistent suspicion toward all parents.

Last night, the nurse started asking a ton of questions and writing down answers, and they became increasingly irrelevant to Kavanagh’s care and more intrusive of our family: When is his bedtime, what does he drink milk from, does he sleep in his own bed and what kind of bed is it, what are the names and ages of all his siblings? I stopped her and said I decline answering, since they have nothing to do with his care.

Newsflash to hospitals and medical staff: Parents should be as suspicious of you as you are of us.

So it was mutual, and everyone was kind and some were surprisingly honest about it. After I said I would sleep in the hospital bed with Kav, one nurse actually said, “I have to tell you this, even though I personally totally understand and that’s fine, but because it’s my job I have to say the words that ‘cosleeping is dangerous and not recommended.’ But he just had surgery and he needs you, so it’s totally fine.”

“I’ve had eight kids. I don’t really care what the hospital’s recommendation is,” I said. Hospitals that feed their patients fake butter, Jello pudding, and Red #3 as standard fare are not exactly displaying their brilliant command of wellness research or parenting expertise, but thanks anyway.

We are living in a compromised society when even good doctors have to use bad language to protect themselves: In their notes, using slanted phrases like “covid protocol violations” and “refusal for covid protocol compliance” instead of “hospital denied rights to medically exempt parent” or “hospital violated patient bill of rights by denying their right to refuse testing.” Or, just a suggestion: “Hospital refused to treat injured toddler over political polarization.”

This will not get easier until we all stand up. We must stop compromising our values and rolling over for more abuse. They are not going to blunt their claws on their own; we are going to have to keep the clippers handy no matter how much they hate the trimming.

We’re living in a time where people are having to do things they don’t want to do. It goes both ways, though. You can tell you’re doing it the right way if you’re walking in worship toward God rather than walking in fear of man.

So Pilate, wishing to please the crowd, released Barabbas and scourged Jesus and had Him crucified.
– Mark 15:15

Or today’s rendition:

So medical personnel, wishing to please the moneymakers and bureaucracy, denied truth and science by releasing illogical policies, unhealthy mandates, and blatant propaganda—choosing cowardice and lies over their Hippocratic oath, they denied medical ethics and patient rights, and created a culture of perpetual sickness and tyranny.

Or, because I’m feeling pretty punchy after 36 hours of fighting for my boy on two hours of sleep and a breakfast of coffee and ibuprofen, there’s also this:

So fearful people afraid of giving offense, losing their jobs, or leaving their comfort zone, denied logic and critical thinking, continuing to roll over for every new demand, policy, and mandate — and in doing so, chose compromise and cowardice over truth and courage, and delivered their country and children to communism and slavery.

If that offends you, there’s the door. But if it convicts you, praise God – let’s get to work.

It is going to take hard choices and bold risks and big sacrifices to remove ourselves from our compromising partnership with elements in the culture that are destroying our values and liberty. We are entangled in every level, and we often fund and serve the same enemy who is trying to enslave us. We have to choose our battles and do one thing at a time.

I cannot tell you what to do, but I know that if you understand what is at stake, you will do something.

Start your own business. Learn to cook from scratch. Learn to grow food. Quit your job. Fire your boss. Shop somewhere else. Homeschool. Start a co-op. Shut off your TV. Take off the mask. Find a new doctor. Stand up to those who assume you will just roll over and comply. Teach them the word “No.”

You’ll pray and seek the Lord and He will tell you what to do. And then you will pray again, and do another thing – and another, and another, until you are as free from compromising entanglements as you can be.

But if you don’t understand what’s at stake, you won’t.

I’m grateful that when we started to see what was happening in 2020 with the Covid agenda, we already had experience homeschooling our kids, earning our own income, and working from home. We were already actively learning about nutrition, health, wholeness, and healing. We have not arrived by a long shot (such a bummer we can’t perform surgery yet, right?) but it has been one step at a time as the Lord directs us.

It has never for a second been easy. But it has been right. And looking back, I can see how gracious He was to prepare and move us to learn the things we are doing routinely now.

Those of us who understand what is happening are learning to meet the presumptuous bullying of this multifaceted agenda with boundaries and strength. They may have claws like scimitars, but we’re learning to keep the clippers handy, and their threats have less and less power when we do so.

I am confident of one thing in the next year: No matter what we expect, it will blow those expectations out of the water.

If you dread the new year, it will not be what you expect.

If you think the best is yet to come (and I do), it will not be what we expect, either.

But whatever happens, He will show up and bring justice, because He is the God with us.

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

– Romans 8:28

So there’s the December newsletter. I’m sorry you’re getting this in January, and I’m sorry it’s a mile long, but it’s what needed to be said. And it’s still 2021 in Alaska – for a few seconds, anyway.

Happy New Year, friends.

He still moves us,

Shannon

_____

Related:

Not the Same: My response to those who think we should’ve just rolled over for the hospital

What the Day Demands: What came of the investigation into Alaska Regional

And hey, want to sign up for my normal, wholeness-centered, generally non-angsty newsletters? (grin) Here’s where you can do that.

coming and going: what we see up ahead

Posted on by December 22, 2023

Mealtime traffic in our kitchen resembles the streets of New Delhi, with the bonus of weaving through the local wildlife of little boys, teenagers, and cats.

Kavanagh climbs onto a barstool and kicks his legs at the counter in time to the Christmas music. Newly three, the kid eats as though he is an advocate for the neighborhood chickens, leaving out his scraps of bread crust and tortillas to harden, nubs of carrots to darken and shrivel. In frustration over all the wasted food, I designated a container for chicken scraps in the fridge and informed the family about it.

coming and going: what we see up ahead

“It’s for bready stuff, grains, and fruits and veggies.” The blank looks that met these words seemed to beg for more specifics, so I added, “Pretty much anything except potatoes, potato peels, onions…”

Eyebrows raised. Maybe it’s too late in the evening to introduce foreign concepts like the Care and Feeding of Neighborhood Chickens, I thought, but forged ahead anyway.

“…and citrus. You can’t give them citrus –”

Vince laughed outright. “That’s a lot of excepts.”

I ignored him and looked at the mess on the counter. “— and pomegranate rinds.” Maybe it would be easier if our neighbors had pigs instead.

We’re planning to get our own chickens in the spring, but don’t think I haven’t already considered pigs, albeit briefly (very briefly) since we don’t have the space. Our property on a bluff with hills is more situated for, you know…goats…since we’re already talking about wild ideas that make Vince laugh out loud.

Lately I’ve been reading every homesteaderly book I can get my hands on. We make small steps every year – a new perennial here, a new skill there – and this year I’m feeling ready for long strides and bolder endeavors. In the middle of winter, right before Christmas, I see green growing things in the future, and fresh herbs in salad.

Sometimes we talk about it in the evenings as we work on the Christmas puzzle, moving all the gardening and foodie books off the card table where they protect the work in progress from the, ahem, local wildlife. Left uncovered, a puzzle in our house will last less than three seconds before little boys “help” by crushing large sections together, and cats tear through it like tiny tornadoes.

We finished one already and we’re onto the second, called “Coming and Going” by Rockwell. We rake through the box, sorting greens from blues or whites from greys, and searching for the elusive edge pieces we’re missing. A thousand pieces at a time, we solve all the world’s problems at this little card table in theory while thinking about how to steward the acre we live on.

My birthday was last week. I got sick the Sunday before, and blinked, and by Thursday I’d depleted our store of tissue boxes and turned 45.

The timing wasn’t all that bad, because Vin invented something new for the week before Christmas break: Movie School for the big kids. Aside from math, no assignments other than watching a bunch of movies that fall more under the “education” than “entertainment” category for some of us, which is how we got Afton to watch Sense & Sensibility (the good version from 2008), and Iree to watch Glory and Amistad. We had to prioritize, not wanting to miss the best ones because Iree is a senior, and this might be our last Christmas with her here under our roof.

Cue suppressed sobbing, and another box of tissues.

By my birthday we’d watched most of the movies, and my grandma called late that afternoon. She asked the same question she does every year: “How old are you now?” as though I have birthdays as often as bank holidays.

“I’m half your age,” I said, remembering the year she pointed out that our ages mirrored each other.

“Well, how old am I, then? Numbers befuddle me sometimes.” And that surprised me, because her age was a pretty big deal last month.

“You’re ninety, Grandma.” More tissues, egad. “Are you having a good day?”

“Every day is a good day as long as I’m still here,” she said. “Some days I don’t know what day it is, and other days I don’t care what day it is, but every day is a good day.” There’s a Grandma-ism for you. We chatted a little more, exchanged I love yous, and hung up.

I didn’t tell her that a couple hours earlier, my other grandma died. My aunt and I had been texting that afternoon and knew she was probably close. I prayed that God would encounter her in her sleep and draw her near…and I’m confident He answered because it’s something He loves to do. She taught me about sewing and gardening, and introduced me to the biggest poppies I’d ever seen. We just ordered heirloom seeds for next summer, and included three different kinds of them.

My grandpa, her husband, died in October and I wasn’t close to either of them anymore. She didn’t recognize me when she last saw me several years ago, but when Kav was five months old I took him to see Grandpa, and he knew me. It took a few long seconds, and I watched recognition dawn. He held Kav’s tiny hand. I told him they smile the same way. And Grandpa looked away, trying to suppress a smile as he quietly touched his own mouth, the same way Kav still does. As we left, he let me pray for him. And he said thank you, and we exchanged I love yous, too.

And now they are both gone, and Grandma is 90, and I am 45. Little Kavanagh just turned 3.

The world is spinning too fast, so I am going to put these pieces together while the snow falls outside, and read about raised beds and chickens.

But I didn’t get far because a delivery truck pulled into our driveway. I ran down the stairs past kids who were running up them, and opened the door to the driver and his assistant as a gust of snow blew in. He gave me a paper to sign, handed me a pen.

“I think it’s the…16th,” the young guy said, eager to help. I smiled and signed my name. Went upstairs, and went back to reading about compost: these elements that die to bring life, but that only do so once broken down properly.

Ash is a good addition to compost, the book says, and I remember that from having a woodstove in our last house. And that’s encouraging, because we’re installing a woodstove in this house next month, and a few more raised beds in the summer, and we’ll need more compost. I see a new plot of carrots, garlic, and cumin, and the need for a wheelbarrow next year.

That night while Vin put the little boys to bed, I made tea for kombucha – this is a skill I know that no longer intimidates. Into the water goes the tea, a pinch of dried plantain, and a small handful of dried dandelion. Stir with the wooden spoon. Grab a sweater and pull it over the flannel. The water starts to boil, turn off the heat. It will sit overnight, cooling, growing stronger. In the morning, I’ll strain the leaves and toss them in the compost before adding the sugar and scoby.

The kitchen is quiet, the traffic stilled. I can hear Vin reading to the boys upstairs. We’ve been talking about how life will change rapidly in the next few years, with another kid or two graduating right after Iree does. In five years, out of eight kids, only half of them will be living with us, and we probably won’t be reading many bedtime stories anymore. 

In the middle of the mayhem, I see an emptier house and a less busy kitchen in the future, and small boys growing taller than me, like their brothers.

But I also see their older siblings returning with grandkids to visit. I see them playing in the garden, chasing chickens, and tracking dirt into the kitchen as we weave and dodge their busy traffic. I see reunion and life ahead, and poppies blooming in summer.

_________

_________

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nice people: why we won’t cave to medical cowardice

Posted on by November 17, 2021

We got 13 inches of snow last weekend, and shortly afterward our daughter lost a lens outside while sledding. Or maybe it was when they put sleds away. Or maybe it was somewhere in between. She had no idea, so we scoured the yard in ten-degree temps looking for it after she came in and told us. And then that night, in zero degrees, my husband and I looked again with flashlights.

Yeah, no. We didn’t find it.

nice people: why we won't cave to medical cowardice

So we called to get it replaced. But no, you can’t just get it replaced; her prescription was one year and 49 days ago, and those 49 days make a huuuuuge difference because they mean she needs a whole new exam, according to the eye doctor’s office.

I told them we pay out of pocket, and we don’t do recreational medical appointments.

They gave us a little runaround but eventually acquiesced a little, to the point of making an appointment for me (because, Dorothy, we’re not in our 30s anymore) and during my appointment, my daughter could walk in to get the lens in her glasses replaced. So far, so good.

Until the lady said they require masks.

Now, just so you know…I have a medical exemption for at least three reasons. But this isn’t about medical exemptions, just as it isn’t about medical care or science or critical thinking.

This office didn’t care about medical exemptions; they require masks.

“So,” I asked, “your office discriminates against those who cannot wear masks for medical reasons?”

“No, this is a private practice,” the receptionist said. (I’m pretty sure this is the same one that answered the phone earlier with, “Hellocanyoupleaseholdthanks.” It wasn’t a good start.) “It’s Dr. Whatshisname’s policy.”

“Oh! So it’s Dr. Whatshisname who discriminates against people with medical exemptions?” Yeah, I’m that fun at parties, too.

After a few seconds of bluster and stammering, she went for the plandemic talking points about numbers and “safety” that have nothing to do with medical care, science, or critical thinking, as I already mentioned.

“If Dr. Whatshisname believes all that,” I said, “he’s not someone I would trust with any form of medical care for my kids or myself. Please cancel our appointments.”

And that’s when she hung up on me. (I bet she’s real fun at parties, too.)

Now, I know there are a lot of nice people out there just doing their jobs. Just sending their kids to school. Just going to work, just not rocking the boat. But don’t expect me to believe that these people are wearing masks for the health of others, because it is their perpetuation of the myth that prevents people like me who cannot wear a mask from getting medical care.

“I don’t wear it for me, I wear it for you” is a bunch of self-righteous BS and I’m over it.

Next we tried Dr. Whosit, recommended by one of my best friends. Made appointments. It looked good. And then they said to bring a mask.

Whoops.

“I can’t wear a mask, and I won’t make my kids wear them, either,” I said.

“Well, it’s our policy, blah blah, can you bring a medical exemption letter?”

“I don’t need to bring a medical exemption letter,” I said. “My medical history in other areas is none of your office’s concern.” And they know that, as does every other medical office, but they’re hoping you and I don’t know that, of course. (Hellloooo, HIPPA!)

“Let me find Dr. Whosit so you can speak to him.” Great, thanks.

A minute on hold, and Dr. Whosit comes on.

“Hi, can I help you?”

I explain our situation. Dr. Whosit is nice but admits that he just does what the State tells him. I answer that I am not going to the state for my medical care, I am looking for someone who actually practices medical science instead of political science in their patient care.

“Well, it’s only for a little while in a small room. Couldn’t you wear a mask for just that time?”

“No, I am not going to suffocate myself or my kid for just a few minutes. Would you?”

No, he wouldn’t, but he was asking me to.

And this is the (lack of) logic we are encountering at every level of this. These people would call OCS or DFYS in a heartbeat should you intentionally cause lung damage to your child or restrict their oxygen in any non-state-approved way, but they balk when you stand up against them for wanting to do it.

The reason they balk is because so many people have no problem actually allowing other people to restrict their children’s oxygen. How dare we question those from their lofty position on a high horse?

if your medical provider is still requiring masks, they either don't understand basic science or they agree to foolish things that morons instruct them to do. Find a better doctor.

I know, they’re just nice people, refusing to rock the boat while simultaneously making excuses for all the leaks in it. This is okay. It’s fine, we’re all fine…and the water just keeps rising, because nice people keep allowing it to.

King Hezekiah was a nice person, too. In the line of Biblical kings, he was actually a pretty good one.

One day Hezekiah gets sick and is about to die. So he prays, and God not only heals him but also provides a miraculous sign to prove that he’s healed. Pretty good, right?

But then Hezekiah gets an impressive visitor who has heard about his sickness, and sends envoys with letters and gifts to him. Hezekiah responds by showing off everything he has, exposing his assets and weaknesses to this foreign entity.

He makes himself look good while thoughtlessly endangering future generations.

But maybe it was unintentional. Maybe he just wasn’t thinking. Maybe he felt sorry about it later.

Or maybe not. Let’s read:

Then Isaiah said to Hezekiah, “Hear the word of the Lord: Behold, the days are coming, when all that is in your house, and that which your fathers have stored up till this day, shall be carried to Babylon. Nothing shall be left, says the Lord. And some of your own sons, who will come from you, whom you will father, shall be taken away, and they shall be eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.” 

Then Hezekiah said to Isaiah, “The word of the Lord that you have spoken is good.” For he thought, “Why not, if there will be peace and security in my days?”

– 2 Kings 20:16-19

Why not? As long as it doesn’t affect my time, and my life is easy, and I’m not inconvenienced, who cares?

I’m pretty sick of nice people, to tell you the truth. Nice people are giving up our freedoms, rolling over so evil people can abuse our children and convince us that it’s the (self)right(eous) thing to do.

I found some leads and made appointments with a new eye care center who is so popular they are booked out for quite a while. Turns out, supporting freedom is actually pretty good for business.

But friends, this is a serious issue: Where are we capitulating? Where are we giving an inch, and they are taking a mile?

We are dealing with vax mandates this year because so many of us capitulated to mask requirements last year.

It might be inconvenient to find a new doctor or optometrist or dentist or hair stylist. I know it’s not easy. It wasn’t easy for us when we moved our whole family last year to a new medical provider, a different church, and new social media platforms. Hey, I can’t even remember our new PO Box number. Change is hard, I get it.

But we’re not called to do easy. We need to remember that. We’re called to do obedience, and to stand for freedom. And if we don’t do it now, our kids and grandkids won’t have a choice about it later.