What Constitutes a Nation?

by Thom Ernst

Over the past several years there has been a phrase bandied about, mostly by the politically elite. I’m not sure, but I think it began with President Obama. The phrase was used to bolster his view of America: “That’s not who we are”. Obama used that statement 46 times over the course of his presidency. “Obama has deployed the term to convince the country of his rightness on immigration, Obamacare, education, national security and not voting for Mitt Romney, among other important issues to his presidency.” ~freebeacon.com. While Mr. Obama is very quick to trigger the phrase: “That’s not who we are” he never takes the positive note to enumerate who we are. Thus, it would be fitting to ask: Who are we? What defines us? For that matter, what defines any nation? What constitutes a nation?

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Ya Gotta Believe

February 1, 2019                                            Volume 4: Issue 1

Photo by Jason Betz on Unsplash

I have always loved this sign on the side of what is now the Ace Hotel in Los Angeles. The building itself has gone through a varied history. Originally the United Artists building, it later became a church. Hence the sign. Now a hotel, the new owners elected to keep the sign as a reminder of its past and future.

And, the message it carries is still true.

Some things change and others remain the same.

With this issue, we are moving our journal to WordPress.  WordPress allows us to add some features that we did not have before such as comments.  We welcome your feedback to the work presented.

It has taken us a while to make this switch, but we do hope you like the new features.

Let us know what you think.

“Good Grief”

by Thom Ernst

I’m sure that title will give pause to many readers. I’m equally sure that the greater majority of those of us who have experienced grief in any degree would be reluctant to call our personal struggles with grief, “good”. Why even use it as a title then? Because when approached about “grief” being the topic of this Purpled Nail submission, the first thought that popped into my head was the picture of Charlie Brown with rolled-up eyes saying “Good Grief.”

Yes, in Charlie’s case “Good Grief” is an expression of his incredulity or disbelief at something Lucy is doing or saying. However, I want to explore the actual words’ relationship with each other. In other words, “good” as the adjective of “grief”. Can grief ever be good? Grief is a painful experience and process – how can that be good?

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Habbakuk 3:17

Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls,  yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.  God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer’s; he makes me tread on my high places. To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments.

Habbakuk 3:17-19 (ESV)

Genesis

by Darlene Campos

The Book of Genesis says the world was water at the very beginning and this is what Grandpa taught me for the thousandth time on the day before he died. He was the bilingual pastor at The Living Word Church. Genesis was always his lesson of choice.  

“Everyone stand up and hug your neighbor before we begin,” Grandpa said, groggy from morphine. “The good book says the world was water. Then God flushed it.”

The day Grandpa died, I was at home, asleep. It was early in the morning and I had taken the day off from work to spend it with him. At 7 a.m., a nurse called me, her voice low. She begged me to come to the hospital as fast as I could. When I arrived, Grandpa’s eyes were already shut. His mouth was slightly open and fluid drained from his nose.

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Blue Christmas (and a New Year’s Hope)

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by Karen Lynn Woo

Every year as we wish one another Merry Christmas, there are some whose replies come back with glad tidings for us even as tears glisten in their own eyes. For them, the season is not so very merry . . . more blue than green and red. It’s not actually about color but about loss . . . and maybe a touch of fear . . . anger . . . pain . . . as one tries to navigate a season one has always loved, blindfolded and with one’s hands tied behind one’s back, because grief can make you feel like that . . . like you don’t know where you’re going, let alone how to get there.

Some years ago, as I was driving down the freeway, I suddenly found myself turning down an off-ramp and heading to the home of an old friend whose wife had passed away the year before. When I arrived, he said, “If you had come yesterday instead of today you would not have found me here.”

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Little Faith

by Eric Luthi

The guard opened the door and held it open.  The next man, carrying a desert green rucksack, stepped through the door and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.  After a moment’s pause, he moved forward.  A second guard came through the door but did not follow the man with the rucksack.

            “You take care now, Mr. Rood,” said the first guard.

            “Thank you.”

            “You behave yourself,” said the second.

            “I will.”

            Josh walked across the concrete yard and stopped at the metal gate thirty feet wide and fifteen feet high.  On steel wheels and a track, it was set into the wall that surrounded the yard.  Josh waited.  The guards behind him shifted from one foot to the other.

            “I guess they changed their minds,” said one.

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Show us the Sacred in the Ordinary

If you have something to contribute whether it is an essay or a poem or short story or even a sermon, we would like to see it.  Check out our guidelines under the link at the top of the page labeled, ”Submit your work.”

Show us the sacred in the ordinary.



Thanks for Reading.

Look for our next issue April 2019.