Well, that’s it for me. I’m turning in my political card. I’ve deleted all my news channels, political and otherwise.
Some will say, “Oh, look! You’re just a sore loser.”
No. I’m just sore.
My chest hurts. I’ve had a heart attack before. My health isn’t the best. I’ve battled clinical depression for much of my adult life. And I genuinely weep over what I believe is happening to my beloved country, that last great beacon of freedom.
Yes, it was just a midterm election. Losses were expected. But for me, this is about something much bigger than one election.
I believe a necrotizing supervirus has been unleashed within the body politic, and, tragically, much of the nation’s flesh seems to crave the very thing that is destroying it.
But here’s what I’ve come to realize: My constant monitoring of the disease will not cure it. My documenting the decay will not stop it. And my continual mourning over what is being lost will only rob me of the life I still have to live.
So, instead of spending whatever years God grants me mourning what I fear may be freedom’s demise, I’ve decided to celebrate those years by making a difference where I still can.
I still have talents. I still have abilities. I still have a calling. And there are still people whose lives I might be able to touch for good.
My children and grandchildren will inherit a world I fear will be far different from the one I knew. That saddens me more than I can express. But perhaps they will be better equipped to confront its challenges, their hearts not yet burdened by memories of what has been lost.
I’m not abandoning my convictions. I’m simply stepping away from the endless commentary, the outrage, the arguments, and the exhausting cycle of watching events unfold that I have little power to change.
There are still stories to tell. Children to encourage. Families to strengthen. Hurting people to comfort. Truths to teach. And, most importantly, souls to reach with the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The soul of a nation may be lost, but the souls of men, women, boys, and girls are not.
And God only knows…
One of them might become the antivirus.
But may I add something?
I’m not arguing that Christians should abandon the field of political discourse—where meaningful discourse can still be had. Nor am I suggesting that everyone should follow my example.
I’m simply saying that I’m pushing 60, and I’ve spent 44 of those years standing firm as a Reagan conservative and, more recently, a Trump supporter. From Walter Mondale to “Autopen,” I’ve fought them all.
But the battles facing this generation and the next—those who dare to raise the banner of freedom—will demand more energy than I have left to give. And continuing to fight those battles as I have in the past would come at a cost I can no longer justify: time, strength, and attention diverted from matters of eternal consequence that are too often neglected.
That doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned my convictions, surrendered my principles, or ceased caring about the future of this nation. It simply means I’ve come to recognize that my role in the struggle may need to change.
After all, as Obi-Wan Kenobi might say, there are other ways to fight the Empire.
And perhaps that’s where I find myself at this particular stage of life. Rather than spending my remaining strength fighting every battle on the political front lines, I have an opportunity to invest in those who will stand long after I’m gone.
I can plant the seeds of future courage, cultivate the roots of conviction, and lay the foundation stones upon which the next generation might build citadels of character.
Perhaps my greatest contribution to the future of freedom won’t be another round of scathing political commentary, but investing in the next generation—those who will rise to the fight when today’s victors have grown complacent.
“…Teach the children quietly
For some day sons and daughters
Will rise up and fight while we stood still.” – from the 1985 hit Silent Running by Mike + the Mechanics
