When Life Does Not Make Sense

This last week in Facebook I read a story of a mother who is a believer and yet she felt that God had forsaken her. I was also reminded of a conversation with a man I play golf with when he made a statement, “If there is a God how could he allow my daughter to have MS.” Then there is a young couple I know with two children and the mother dies of cancer. How about an older couple I love who served God their whole lives spreading God's word, and the wife gets a crippling disease and then God takes her husband home, and now she is all alone in a care-home. Or how about the man who never wanted to make a vow to God but was led by God to make one. This man did everything that he said he would do and yet God did not answer the man's prayer in the way he thought. 
Life at times seems very confusing and difficult to understand; yet when our life is over, and we stand before God and ask him "why?" He will say that when you were going through these things you were only halfway through your book of life. Just like a mystery novel halfway through never makes sense, it only makes sense when you know the ending.
I wish I could say wise and comforting words to the young couple, the father and his daughter, or the elderly couple, those whose lives seem so useless now.  But as the one who made the vow to God and didn't get what he expected then, I can say: WAIT! Wait to see what God has planned for your life, with all the hurts and losses and even doubts about God. Don't give up your faith in the LORD! Stay in His Word believing what He says. It's in the waiting on God that we come to know Him better and better and how He feels about us and how His plans and ways are so much higher than ours.  God is for us, not against us!
When our life is complete will others who have watched your life be able to say that your life was not useless at all? 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 "Therefore, we do not lose heart. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So, fix your eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
When life gets hard it is very hard see this glory that God is talking about, therefore, we must be patient and soon we will understand it all. For now we only see through a glass dimly, but later we will see Him as He truly is: face to face.  Our life in retrospect will make beautiful sense and give glory to God.

Polluted Fountains – Fighting with God’s Truth

Proverbs 25:26 (NLT) — “If the godly give in to the wicked, it’s like polluting a fountain or muddying a spring.”
“The world suffers not because of the violence of bad people, but because of the silence of good people.”
— Martin Luther King Jr.
The news outlets are glowing with pride over the latest election results in California and New York, celebrating new leadership and progressive victories as if they were signs of moral triumph. Yet beneath the smiles and headlines lies a deeper tragedy — a culture applauding what corrupts its own well. These programs, policies, and ideologies being praised are not the cleansing of a nation’s heart but the spreading of its contamination. It is not fresh water they pour into the fountain, but cow dung into a well — polluting what should bring life, poisoning what once gave hope.
Both California and New York have long been fountains of influence, shaping the thoughts, values, and directions of the nation. What begins in their capitals often flows across America, setting trends in education, entertainment, and politics. But when the source is defiled, the current carries corruption downstream. The water that once refreshed the spirit now clouds the soul.
Proverbs 25:26 warns us what happens when the godly give in to the wicked: the spring itself becomes impure. And that is what we see — not only in government, but in the hearts of those who have traded conviction for convenience. The greatest danger is not simply that the wicked rise, but that the righteous remain silent while they do.
Yet this is not a call to anger — it is a call to arms of a different kind. We fight not with rage, but with righteousness; not with weapons, but with truth that cannot be silenced. Every believer who speaks boldly and lives faithfully becomes a drop of clean water returning to a muddy spring. When truth is spoken in love, when righteousness stands firm, when faith refuses to bow — the waters begin to clear again.
The headlines may cheer what God grieves, but the story is not finished. If the godly will rise, repent, and speak truth with courage, the fountain can be restored. Our task is to guard the well, to keep the waters pure, and to let the truth of God once again flow freely through this land.
Because when the righteous stand firm, no amount of cow dung can poison what God Himself has purified.

Just For Me

I was again thanking the Lord for His eternal salvation this morning; for going the whole distance to the cross. He could’ve turned back fearing the pain and suffering ahead, but He didn’t. In a moment of human weakness, God the Son could’ve regretted saying, “Here I am, send ME Father!” But He didn’t. He finished His holy commitment to love and forgiveness. As I often say, when thanking my ‘first TRUE love,’ “Lord, You would’ve finished Your commitment on that cross even if ‘just for me’ and no one else.” But would He have? When I think about that, it causes me to see Him more personally and intimately. It makes me question how I’m living out my commitment to Him every day. I know I could NEVER pay Him back for all He has done for me, no one could. When I think about how He offered His own life ‘just for me,’ that LOVE of His is overpowering in my life. God’s love come down through His Son changed everything; changed me. I am eager to know Him more and more, depending on His words. I see myself “walking with Him” day to day – open to what He would have for me to do with Him. No fear. No doubts. No pride, because it’s not about me, but HIM and how wonderful He is. Even if it was ‘just for me’ – He would’ve come down! I need to see it that way each and every day.

I believe we have the tendency in seeing His sacrifice as a past event that we celebrate a couple times a year, and maybe think about once in a while for whatever reason. But that’s not why He came down from His Throne. He came to be intimate and eternal with us, and faithful to His promises to those who love Him.

As we enter this season of Thanksgiving and Christmas – I challenge you with this thought: HE CAME JUST FOR ME! What shall I do about it?

Life, Faith, and Going Home

Last night, I watched an episode of a television series that stayed with me long after the screen went dark. It told the story of two elderly men—lifelong friends—who had planned one last fishing trip to their old cabin. Just days before they were to leave, the star of the show received heartbreaking news that his friend had passed away.
Grief-stricken yet determined, he went to the cabin alone. As he cast his line into the still, glassy water, memories came flooding back—laughter echoing across the lake, quiet talks, and the kind of friendship that only time can build. It was a simple story, yet it touched something deep inside me. It reminded me how precious time is, how valuable true friendship can be, and how quickly life passes by.
As I grow older, I am more aware that my time will not last forever. That is not a sad thought, just an honest one. Everyone I love—family, friends, will one day leave this world. Instead of filling me with fear, that truth brings gratitude. It reminds me to slow down, to love more freely, and to prepare my heart for the day I will go home to be with the Lord.
Just last Sunday, Carol and I joined a few close friends for a wine-tasting event. The host, a kind man of eighty-five, welcomed us with warmth and joy. Between sips and smiles, he shared poems he had written and stories about his vineyard—how each grape carried its own story of patience and hope.
Then his tone softened. “Lately,” he said quietly, “I have been preparing to meet Jesus.” He told us he had started going back to church and was bringing some of his family with him. He said he wanted to do the right things so that he would be welcomed into heaven.
Carol and I looked at each other but said nothing. His heart was sincere, but I could hear the weight in his words. He was trying to earn what only grace can give. His preparation, though honest, was misplaced. The truth is none of us can earn our way into heaven. It is not about what we do, but about who we know. It is about opening our hearts to Jesus, who already paid the price for us.
That conversation made me think about my brother Frank. He was twelve years older than me—a man of strong faith and quiet strength. I often called him a world missionary because he truly was one. His love for Jesus carried him across the world, but it was his compassion that carried him into people’s hearts. He noticed those who were hurting and always offered words of hope.
One Tuesday morning, while I was driving to San Jose for work, I felt the urge to call him. His voice sounded weak and slow. Worried, I asked my daughter Dori to check on him. Later that day, we learned he had been rushed to the hospital. Two months later, the doctors told us he would not be coming home.
It was during the height of COVID-19, when most people were not allowed to visit loved ones in the hospital. By God’s grace, I was allowed to go in before his family arrived. Frank was lying quietly, his arms moving restlessly across the bed. He did not respond when I spoke, so I reached out, took his hand, and whispered, “Frank, it is me. I am here. God’s Spirit is with us.” At that moment, his arms grew still. A deep peace filled the room, and I could feel the presence of God surrounding us both.
I knew it would be the last time I saw him on this side of heaven. As I prayed over him, I felt the Lord lifting the burdens from him—the worries about his family, his home, his work. In that quiet moment, I knew Frank was free. His time of struggle was over. He was ready to go home.
The Bible says, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in and dine with him, and he with Me.” (Revelation 3:20)
When we are young, that knock sounds loud and clear. But as we grow older, life becomes noisy. The worries, the routines, and the pain of living can dull our hearing. Sometimes we have heard that knock so many times that we stop noticing it. Yet Jesus never stops knocking. He keeps reaching out—softly, patiently—waiting for us to open the door. I opened that door a long time ago and let Him in. And His presence fills my heart and my life.
Lately, I have thought a lot about life and about my friends. I do not want to spend eternity without them. It is my prayer that they, too, hear the knocking and open the door to Jesus.
I know my time here is getting shorter, and that is all right. Like Frank, I am preparing for the journey home—not through my works, but through faith. Not through worry, but through trust.
And when that day comes, I pray that I will be ready—ready to let go, ready to rest, ready to step into the arms of Jesus. My prayer is 2 Timothy 4:7:
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.”

When Discipline Died

“When King David heard what had happened, he was very angry.” — 2 Samuel 13:21
King David was furious over his son’s sin, but he did nothing. He kept his anger to himself and never brought correction. His silence opened the door to rebellion and tragedy in his family. The same silence is destroying our homes and our nation today.
Years ago, a small number of parents went too far and abused their children. The government stepped in to stop the abuse, and that was right. But instead of holding the guilty few accountable, society changed the rules for everyone. Because of the one percent who could not control their anger, the ninety-nine percent who loved their children lost the right to discipline them. The line between correction and cruelty was erased.
How the Laws Changed
In the 1970s and 1980s, laws were passed to protect children from real abuse. That was needed. But over time, the definition of abuse became so broad that even a firm correction could be questioned. In 1974, the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act gave states power and funding to investigate abuse. In 1977, the Supreme Court allowed corporal punishment in schools in Ingraham v. Wright, yet most states soon banned it. Today, in many places, if you discipline your child too firmly, child protective services could show up at your door — and in some cases, remove your children.
Parents became afraid to discipline. Teachers became afraid to correct. Leaders became afraid to speak the truth. And as discipline disappeared, so did accountability.
Children grew up believing that actions have no consequences. They were rewarded for showing up, praised for effort they never gave, and taught that feelings matter more than facts. Now those children are adults, and they expect reward without work, rights without duty, and freedom without boundaries. They get angry when life tells them “no,” because they grew up in a world that never did.
But actions do have consequences, and every individual must bear them. No law, government, or movement can protect anyone from the results of their own choices. The truth is simple: discipline teaches responsibility, and responsibility builds character. Without either, people stay children no matter their age.
My wife often says, “If it does not hurt, it does not work.” She is right. Growth only comes through correction and hardship. When discipline stops, decay begins.
Billy Graham once said, “When discipline is absent, chaos takes control.” That is exactly what we see today. Our classrooms are chaotic, our families are broken, and our culture celebrates rebellion while mocking authority. King David’s failure to correct his children destroyed his house. Our failure to correct this generation is destroying our nation.
“LORD, do not let evil people have their way, or allow their evil schemes to succeed. Do not let liars prosper here in our land.” — Psalm 140:8, 11
Love is not letting people do whatever they want. Love is teaching them what is right and standing firm when they resist. Discipline is not cruelty — it is care in action. We cannot stay silent any longer. If we keep doing nothing, rebellion will rule, truth will fade, and the next generation will not know that actions have consequences they must bear.
Lord, give us the courage to correct, the strength to stand, and the wisdom to stop this madness.

The Glory Hidden in Suffering

I know so many young people who are suffering through sickness—some facing battles that seem too heavy to bear. I wish I had the power to take that sickness away from them. At times, I even feel guilty for not having to carry the same burden myself. As I prayed for them, I kept asking the Lord, “What can I say? What can I pray that would give them hope?”
But my Lord was silent—except for one verse that echoed again and again in my heart:
“That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever. So, we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen.”
— 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 (NLT)
I struggled with that. “Lord,” I said, “this sickness is no small thing. It could last for years, or it could take their life. How can I call that small?” Yet nothing else came—just this verse. A quiet reminder that even in our greatest pain, God is doing something eternal.
Then last night, I had a dream. I found myself in a home overshadowed by deep trouble. As I prayed, the Lord revealed that a demonic presence was tormenting the household. I stood my ground and commanded it to reveal itself. It obeyed. The refrigerator began to move, trembling under an unseen power. Then I demanded to see its ruler—the head of the demonic host.
When that dark presence appeared, I called upon my guardian angel—the one God told me each of His children has. I felt the strength of heaven beside me.
What happened next stunned even the darkness. I looked at the demonic power and said, “Thank you.”
I thanked it for the suffering it brought—not because I loved the pain, but because I finally saw what it produced: glory.
This confused and enraged the demon. It could not understand gratitude in the face of suffering. It tried to harm me but could not, for the angel of the Lord stood guard. The more I thanked God for the trials that refine us, the more powerless the darkness became, until it fled completely.
When I awoke, I understood. Suffering is not meaningless; it is the furnace where eternal glory is forged. What looks like loss is often heaven’s hidden gain.
As C.S. Lewis once wrote,
“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
I thank the Lord for these young couples and for all who are walking through the fire of affliction. Their pain is not wasted. It is producing a glory that will outshine every sorrow.
Thank You, Lord, for renewing their spirits and giving them a future that will last forever. When Your children begin to see pain and hardship through Your eyes, they will find that suffering itself is the very grace You gave to Paul when he prayed for his sickness to be removed — a grace that says, “My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

The Politics of Dependency

“Republicans are taking food away from children to give tax cuts to billionaires.” Those were the words from former Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office — a soundbite crafted to inflame emotion rather than inform truth. It is the kind of rhetoric that wins headlines but loses honesty. No policy under President Trump, or any recent Republican administration, took food from children or handed it to the rich. That statement is political theater — compassion weaponized to defend waste, dependency, and deception.
The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, or SNAP, began with good intentions. In 2000, about seventeen million Americans were on food stamps, costing the nation roughly seventeen billion dollars. By 2024, those numbers had more than doubled to over forty-one million people, with costs surpassing one hundred billion dollars a year. That is not compassion — that is unsustainable.
SNAP was designed as a safety net, not a lifestyle. It was meant to help children, the elderly, and those who truly could not help themselves. But today, according to the United States Department of Agriculture, about forty-one percent of all SNAP households are single-person homes. In 2023, that meant around 4.1 million single adults living alone and receiving assistance — many of them able-bodied, working-age adults without dependents. These are not the families the program was built for.
That shift represents the real problem. The issue is not whether we feed the hungry — every decent nation must. The issue is whether we create a society that rewards effort or excuses idleness.
President Ronald Reagan once warned, “Welfare’s purpose should be to eliminate, as far as possible, the need for its own existence.” Yet the liberal left has done the opposite. They have fought every attempt to enforce work requirements, broadened eligibility, and sold dependency as compassion. Under their leadership, the number of recipients has soared while the incentive to work has declined.
King Solomon said, “A sluggard’s appetite is never filled, but the desires of the diligent are fully satisfied.” (Proverbs 13:4) That timeless truth exposes the lie. When government replaces diligence with dependency, it robs people of the satisfaction that comes only through work. Dependency is not mercy — it is bondage.
Thomas Jefferson warned, “If we can but prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them, they must become happy.” That warning was prophetic. The more citizens look to government for their survival, the less they look to themselves for strength. And a people who no longer value self-reliance will soon trade freedom for comfort — and call it fairness.
The liberal left twists truth to make accountability look cruel and dependency look kind. But true compassion tells a man he is capable, not helpless. It says, “You can work. You can rise. You can contribute.” False compassion keeps him where he is — dependent, controlled, and politically useful.
SNAP is not just a line item in a budget; it is a reflection of our national character. The question before America is not whether we will feed the poor, but whether we will continue feeding a system that keeps millions from ever leaving poverty behind.
The time has come to pair compassion with courage — to tell the truth, even when it offends the powerful. Because compassion without truth is corruption, and a nation built on deception will eventually collapse under its own good intentions.

The Illusion of Fairness

I recently watched an interview with several college students who were asked a simple question: would you rather live under capitalism or communism? Almost every one of them answered communism. Their reasoning seemed noble enough—they said that under communism everyone would be cared for, and the government would make sure no one was left behind.
The interviewer smiled and followed up with a question that brought those ideals down to a personal level. He asked, “If equality means fairness, would you be willing to give part of your grade point average to students with lower grades so that everyone could be equal?”
The mood changed instantly. Every student said no. One quickly replied, “That is different. I worked hard for my grades.”
And there it was—the truth that exposes the illusion. Equality sounds noble until it costs us something. It is easy to cheer for redistribution when it affects someone else’s wallet, someone else’s effort, someone else’s success. But when the cost becomes personal, conviction turns to self-preservation.
This moment revealed something deeper than political ideology. It exposed human nature. We crave fairness, but only when we are on the receiving end. We admire generosity, but only when it comes from others. We demand equality, but we also cling tightly to the fruits of our own labor.
True compassion is not about forced equality—it is about voluntary generosity. There is a world of difference between taking from someone to make things even and giving of yourself to lift someone higher. One is driven by envy; the other by love. Ronald Reagan once said, “We should measure welfare’s success by how many people leave welfare, not by how many are added to it.” A government that promises to give you everything must first take everything from someone else. Eventually, when it runs out of “someone else’s” resources, it comes for yours.
What those college students revealed was not just hypocrisy—it was honesty. They instinctively knew their grade point average was the result of effort, sacrifice, and personal responsibility. They understood fairness when it applied to their own work. But in that realization lies the deeper moral: everyone believes in sharing until it costs them something valuable.
You could call it the mirror test. Everyone loves equality until they see their own reflection in the equation. True justice does not come from taking what others have earned—it comes from being willing to give what you can, freely and without resentment. Equality that demands no personal cost is not equality at all—it is entitlement disguised as virtue.
King Solomon wrote, “A sluggard’s appetite is never filled, but the desires of the diligent are fully satisfied” (Proverbs 13:4). Those words cut to the heart of it. Laziness always wants the reward without the work. The diligent, however, find satisfaction because their fulfillment comes from effort, discipline, and purpose. God honors hard work, not entitlement.
The Reverend William Boetcker once said, “You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong.” Those words still ring true. Real fairness begins with personal responsibility, not government control. It is born from character, not coercion.
Until we learn that truth, we will continue to live in the illusion of fairness—a world where everyone wants equality, but no one wants to work for it.

A Peaceful and Fruitful Life

There was a time when I thought peace came from progress—from achieving, accumulating, or arriving somewhere better than where I was. But life has a way of teaching you that true peace is not earned or engineered; it is received. It comes from knowing the One who holds your future and trusting that His hands are steady even when yours tremble.
Through the years, I have learned that peace begins with trust. Trust does not erase fear; it simply decides to believe in the midst of it. I have walked through seasons when everything I thought I could depend on fell apart—plans, security, even my own understanding. Yet in those very places, I met the unshakable faithfulness of God. When you have seen Him carry you through what should have broken you, trust becomes more than a word; it becomes a way of life.
As trust deepens, something beautiful happens—the heart begins to delight again. It is difficult to find joy when life feels uncertain, but delight is not about circumstances; it is about presence. I began to see the Lord not only as my protector, but as my portion—the quiet joy behind every sunrise, the whisper of grace in the middle of a storm. Delight comes when you stop trying to use God to fix your life and start loving Him for who He is. The more I delighted in Him, the more my desires began to change—my prayers grew quieter, my heart softer, and my focus clearer.
That joy eventually taught me the art of surrender. I realized that everything I placed in God’s hands flourished, and everything I clung to too tightly slipped away. Committing my ways to Him became less of an obligation and more of a release—a daily act of freedom. From commitment came stillness, and from stillness, patience. I had to learn that waiting is not weakness; waiting is worship. God often does His best work in the unseen, and faith grows strongest when it has no proof but still believes. I spent years trying to rush God’s timing, only to discover that His delays were never denials; they were lessons in trust disguised as silence.
But even with trust and surrender, the mind can still wander into worry. Worry has a way of creeping in quietly, whispering questions that drown out truth. I have spent many nights turning over burdens I could not carry, trying to fix what only God could handle. It took me years to realize that worry changes nothing except my peace. Prayer, however, changes everything. When I finally learned to hand my fears back to God, I found that He did not just take the weight—He replaced it with calm. I do not need to know what tomorrow holds, because I have learned to rest in the One who already stands there.
Anger was another teacher, and one I had to face more than once. I used to think anger made me strong—that it proved conviction—but anger without grace is pride in disguise. It took time for me to understand that holding on to anger only kept me chained to the very things I wanted freedom from. I have watched words spoken in haste destroy peace that took years to build. So I began to ask God not merely to calm my temper, but to change my heart. I learned that true strength is not in conquering others but in mastering yourself. The person who rules his own spirit is stronger than the one who conquers a city. When I chose peace over pride, I found a freedom I had never known before.
Looking back now, I can see the thread that ties it all together. Trust opened the door to delight. Delight taught me surrender. Surrender led to stillness and waiting. Waiting produced patience, and patience gave birth to peace. Worry and anger still knock sometimes, but I no longer answer as quickly. I have learned that peace does not come from perfection; it comes from presence—from knowing that God is near, and that His nearness is enough.
My journey has not been without struggle, but it has been full of grace. I have learned that fruitfulness is not measured by what I have accomplished, but by what God has cultivated within me—love, patience, humility, and peace. The storms have not stopped coming, but I have stopped fearing them. The presence of Christ in the storm is greater than the calm that follows it.
So this I know: peace is not found by chasing it, but by walking with the One who is peace Himself. And when you walk with Him, even through the darkest valleys, your life begins to bear fruit that lasts—not because of what you have done, but because of whom you have trusted.

The Battle for America’s Soul

When the liberal left gains control of every phase of government — the courts, the legislature, and the executive — the balance that protects liberty begins to tilt. Power gathers into one voice, one vision, one ideology. And the greatest danger is not only what they do, but that no one dares to question them.
The first changes never come through law — they come through culture. Conviction gives way to compliance. Words once used for honest debate are branded as hate. Questions are treated as rebellion. Policies born of compassion harden into commands. And beneath the weight of forced virtue, the human spirit grows quiet, afraid to speak.
Dependence deepens as responsibility fades. Government expands — first to help, then to control. Businesses yield to political demands. Churches are pressured to bless what God has called sin. Schools stop teaching how to think and instead dictate what to think. Truth is rewritten to fit the moment, and morality becomes whatever power approves.
In the courts, justice bends toward emotion. Criminals are excused as victims, while true victims are forgotten. Compassion without accountability erases order; mercy without truth destroys peace. When law loses its anchor, chaos rushes in to fill the streets.
As power grows, the citizen shrinks. Rights turn into permissions. Liberty becomes conditional. People trade freedom for comfort, only to discover that once liberty is gone, comfort does not remain. The nation that once prized courage begins to fear truth — and in that fear, freedom fades.
But the real struggle for America’s soul is not waged in Washington — it is waged in the classroom. For decades the foundation has been shifting, lesson by lesson. Faith was quietly replaced by ideology. Our Christian heritage was labeled intolerance. Parents were told their voices no longer mattered. Those who dared to speak were branded extremists. And all the while, the hearts of children — the true future of this nation — were being shaped to forget the God who once blessed it.
Yet there is still hope — a hope no government can contain and no movement can silence. A spiritual awakening is rising. Parents are beginning to fight for their children again. Homes are teaching truth again. And when the light of God’s Word returns to America, lies will lose their power. Families will rebuild their foundations on faith in Jesus Christ, and the next generation will see clearly once more. When truth reigns again, righteousness will restore justice, and peace will follow where God is honored.
Now is the time to stand. To speak when silence feels safe. To defend truth when compromise seems easier. For freedom cannot survive without truth, and truth cannot live without courage.
“When truth falls silent, freedom soon follows.”

Builders vs. Politicians: A Different Way of Thinking

Lately there’s been a lot of talk about Governor Gavin Newsom positioning himself for a national stage. Almost every day, he tells us how bad Donald Trump has been.
As a builder, I see the world differently. Builders and politicians approach problems in completely opposite ways — one focuses on results, the other on rhetoric.
Builders See Problems and Say, “Let’s Fix This — Now.”
When a builder faces an issue, they bring in the people who can solve it. They don’t care about political opinions, race, or ideology. What matters is knowledge, competence, and commitment to a clear timeline. Builders live by deadlines, budgets, and accountability.
President Dwight D. Eisenhower once said:
“Farming looks mighty easy when your plow is a pencil and you’re a thousand miles from the cornfield.”
That same truth applies to building and governing. It’s easy to talk about problems from behind a podium; it’s far harder to pour concrete, meet a deadline, and deliver something that stands. Builders are judged by what gets completed — not by how long they can talk about it.
Politicians See Problems and Say, “Let’s Keep This Front and Center.”
A politician’s instinct is often to keep an issue alive because it keeps them in the spotlight. The problem becomes the platform. Emotion replaces logic; publicity replaces progress.
A builder fixes the problem and moves on.
A politician keeps the problem alive so they can keep talking about it.
The Builder’s Approach
From a builder’s standpoint, President Trump’s actions reflect timelines and measurable goals: Action from Day One: On January 20, 2025, he launched a series of executive actions to “kick off America’s Golden Age.”
Results Over Rhetoric: He emphasized manufacturing revitalization, deregulation, trade reform, and job creation — all tied to deliverables and schedules.
“Made in USA” Focus: Multi-billion-dollar industrial investments designed to bring work back home.
Ending Endless Wars: He pledged to end unnecessary foreign wars and rebuild America’s strength at home.
Accountability on Cost: He called California’s high-speed rail “the worst cost overrun I’ve ever seen,” refusing to fund uncontrolled spending.
You may not agree with every decision, but from a builder’s lens you see momentum, deadlines, and visible results — traits that belong to doers, not talkers.
The Politician’s Playbook
Governor Newsom’s leadership style tells a different story.
Big Promises, Few Completions
He has announced ambitious plans — high-speed rail, zero-emission goals, and statewide transit networks — but without clear deadlines or cost controls. Builders deliver; politicians announce.
Taxes and Regulation
When Newsom took office, California had a $97.5 billion surplus.
Today, the state faces a deficit exceeding $30 billion. In just a few years, California went from overflowing coffers to cutting budgets.
His fiscal plans add nearly $16 billion in new taxes and fees from 2024 to 2029 — the opposite of what any builder would call responsible cost management.
Permits and Red Tape
After the Los Angeles wildfires, Newsom and the Mayor promised to “fast-track” rebuilding permits. Yet little has changed. Bureaucracy still blocks progress. Builders fix problems; politicians preserve them — because the problem itself keeps them relevant.
People and Businesses Leaving
Since 2020, more than 500,000 Californians have moved out. Between 2021 and 2022 alone, about 400,000 left while only 250,000 moved in — a net loss of nearly 150,000 residents.
Over 350 companies have relocated to other states, driven away by taxes, regulation, and cost of living. People and businesses are voting with their feet — and that’s a scoreboard no politician can spin.
The Decline of Great Cities
San Francisco, once a crown jewel, has lost more than 60,000 residents and is plagued by crime and vacancies. Newsom argues that some red states have higher crime rates, than San Francisco but he never mentions that in those red states, it’s the blue cities that inflate the numbers. That’s selective storytelling — something politicians do well.
Winston Churchill once said:
“However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results.”
A builder looks at results. A politician looks for the next press conference.
The Bottom Line
Builders don’t just talk about problems — they set timelines, bring in experts, measure progress, and finish the job. Politicians, by contrast, keep the problem alive, make the struggle part of their identity, and leave the outcome open-ended.
Trump acts like a builder: deadlines, accountability, and visible completion.
Newsom acts like a politician: grand visions, higher taxes, and endless regulation.
A builder’s motto is simple: “Get it done. Settle it. Move on.”
One approach operates on clear costs and deadlines.
The other runs on open checkbooks and shifting excuses.
So, when you hear Gavin Newsom talk about running for president, look at California — and you’ll see what a politician can do to one of the most beautiful states in America.