We had just come off a long hospital stay. My wife was exhausted, in enormous pain, and I was worn thin. Airports do not feel neutral when your life is measured in surgical cycles.

The terminal was under construction. Barriers had shifted. Signage was unclear. I did not know the layout.

A nation cannot remain free if its authority grows more comfortable correcting the harmless than confronting the dangerous.

I made a bad call.

Instead of threading a wheelchair and two carry-ons through a winding set of surprisingly empty nylon lanes, I released one barrier and moved us laterally toward what looked like the correct checkpoint.

No one stood behind us. No one was delayed. No one was endangered.

An agent met us there and, with visible seriousness, told me to return to the beginning and follow the empty maze properly.

At first I thought he was kidding. A beat later, I half expected him to channel the Soup Nazi: “No plane for you!”

Swearing under my breath, I turned the wheelchair around and pushed her back through vacant lanes, struggling to make all the 90-degree turns with her chair, two crutches, and two small carry-ons.

Security did not increase. Compliance did.

On another trip, in a different airport, TSA members approached us and said her shoes had triggered an alarm.

She wore ordinary flats with small bows on the toes. I picked them out myself.

Her feet are carbon fiber, encased in thin rubber shells. The pylons and mechanical joints above them are exposed. No flesh hides anything. Everything is visible. Everything is easily inspected with a glance and a handheld wand.

She dresses nicely to fly, but she wears a skirt for a reason. Years ago, TSA agents made her take her pants off so they could inspect her prosthetic legs.

Yes, that really happened.

So when her “shoes” set off an alarm, I was puzzled.

“What kind of alarm?” I asked.

“We can’t say.”

“What possible alarm can a double-amputee woman with clearly visible prosthetics and nice shoes cause?” I asked, with more than a little exasperation.

“We can’t say.”

They scanned her again — by hand, so thoroughly it might have spared us a doctor’s visit. Then they emptied her purse.

Every husband knows the territory of a purse. You do not rummage through it casually. You do not rearrange it without permission. It is not simply a bag. It is ordered space.

For Gracie, it held carefully packed medication, identification, medical notes, and personal items. It was not decorative. It was survival.

One by one, they removed those items and laid them out on a metal table under fluorescent lights.

She was already nervous. Another extended surgical session awaited her at the other end of that flight. She was in significant pain. Airports amplify vulnerability when your body has endured nearly a hundred operations.

She tried to remain composed.

Then she began to cry — quietly, the way people cry when exhaustion, pain, and exposure arrive at the same moment.

RELATED: Sometimes doing nothing is the hardest challenge of all

Devrimb / Getty Images

People noticed.

A woman nearby said, “This is unnecessary.”

A man shook his head. “C’mon!”

Another muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

Others shifted uncomfortably. They understood something: This might be permitted, but it was morally disproportionate.

The inspection continued without visible alarm or explanation. And no discretion. Only “policy.”

TSA Cares exists, and we have used it. But shifting discharge dates can make advance coordination impossible.

Years earlier, this same woman had sung twice for the president who created the TSA. She performed for wounded warriors at Walter Reed and at high-security inaugural events where real threats were assessed with seriousness and discretion.

None of the agents knew that. They did not need to.

Still … the irony landed.

An institution born in the aftermath of national trauma had become meticulous about procedure and careless about proportion.

Around the time this happened, I watched footage of thousands pouring across the southern border. Officials insisted the border was secure.

Standing there, watching a federal agent apply painstaking pressure to the purse of a woman in severe pain, I could not square the disparity.

The border has since tightened. Enforcement proved immediate — when leadership wanted it.

That raises the harder question: If enforcement can appear instantly when desired, why does it vanish when inconvenient?

Security matters. Borders matter. Authority matters.

Authority also requires judgment. Law-abiding citizens comply. Evildoers do not.

When enforcement concentrates on the people who already follow the rules and hesitates before the people who break them, something has gone very wrong.

RELATED: We don’t have to live this way

Lindsey Nicholson/UCG/Universal Images Group via Getty Images

It reminded me of classrooms where a teacher, unwilling to confront one disruptive student, punishes the entire class instead. Uniform enforcement feels strong, but it often masks administrative convenience. The compliant absorb the penalty. The disruptive test the edges.

Institutions can learn that habit too.

Anyone who remembers the movie “Airplane!” may recall the airport-security scene where officers violently interrogate a harmless elderly woman while an obvious threat walks straight through behind them.

The danger comes when parody starts to resemble policy.

A nation cannot remain free if its authority grows more comfortable correcting the harmless than confronting the dangerous.

When the maze is guarded more fiercely than the gate, trust begins to fracture. When power falls hardest on the obedient and lightest on the defiant, something deeper than inconvenience is at stake.

If we mistake ritual for security and compliance for justice, we will become a nation trained to submit. Maybe we already are.

We don’t have to live this way.

​Tsa, Regulations, Airports, Rules and regulations, Compliance, Opinion & analysis 

When Robert Duvall died earlier this month, Hollywood lost a legend. Christians lost something rarer: a fellow traveler who gave faith dignity on screen and never apologized for it.

That alone deserves a moment of silence.

‘Preaching is one of the great American art forms,’ he once said. ‘The rhythm, the cadence. And nobody knows about it except the preachers themselves.’

Duvall came from solid stock. His father was a Navy rear admiral; his mother practiced a quiet, practical faith — the kind that had her on her knees at 3 a.m. while her husband dodged U-boats. One morning she mentioned a dark feeling at breakfast. Later they learned that a German torpedo had narrowly missed his father’s ship that same night. For the young Duvall, faith was not a Sunday habit. It was the difference between his father walking through the door and a stranger delivering bad news in an envelope.

Crackling with the Spirit

He grew up moving between bases and coastlines, went to New York, and became an actor. He got good at it, then very good, then extraordinary. Boo Radley. Tom Hagen. Bill Kilgore. He built a filmography that made other actors seem industrious rather than indispensable. He disappeared so completely into characters that finding his way back felt beside the point.

Then came a search that changed everything.

In 1962, preparing for an off-Broadway role set in the rural South, Duvall traveled to Hughes, Arkansas. He wandered the streets, drank coffee in diners, listened to how people talked and moved. One Sunday morning, out of curiosity, he followed a crowd into a small white clapboard Pentecostal church.

What he found stopped him cold.

People were on their feet, singing at full volume — faces lit, clapping, shouting. Tambourines. Snare drums. Joy so physical, so unselfconscious, so utterly unashamed. Duvall, the measured craftsman and trained observer, wanted to join in. “The air crackled with the Spirit,” he would later say. He never forgot it.

Churchgoing

He filed the experience away. Career called. Decades passed. He made masterpieces. In 1983 he won an Oscar for “Tender Mercies,” playing a broken country singer stumbling toward grace — a role that resonated because broken men reaching for something better was the only story he ever really seemed drawn to tell.

Through the 1980s and into the 1990s, Duvall kept researching. He visited small churches across the heartland, listened to preachers, filled legal pads with notes. He took his idea to Hollywood and was told — politely at first, then less politely — that no one wanted to watch a movie about religion. The studios passed. Then passed again.

He was frustrated but not defeated.

He used his own money. Seven weeks of filming in Louisiana, casting real preachers and congregants because, as he put it, “true faith is something that’s hard to duplicate.” The result was “The Apostle” (1997), a portrait of a Pentecostal preacher named Sonny — genuinely called by God and genuinely capable of terrible things. A sinner and a servant. Broken and burning. It earned Duvall another Oscar nomination. More importantly, it earned something Hollywood rarely grants religious subjects: respect.

RELATED: James Van Der Beek’s message about finding God resurfaces after death: ‘I am worthy of God’s love’

Photo by Matt Winkelmeyer/Getty Images

Living faith

Duvall held his own faith privately. Christian Science by background, contemplative by temperament, he kept his beliefs close and his explanations brief. That was typical for a man of his generation.

What was not typical was the depth of his hunger for the real thing — his insistence on portraying faith as actual, embodied, dangerous, alive.

“Preaching is one of the great American art forms,” he once said. “The rhythm, the cadence. And nobody knows about it except the preachers themselves.”

He knew. And he made sure the rest of us could see it.

Kin through Jesus

Near the end of his long struggle to get “The Apostle” made, Duvall visited six churches in a single Sunday in New York, finishing at the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem. Standing in that packed sanctuary, surrounded by a vast choir, he sang “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” Something broke open in him.

“We’re all kin through Jesus,” he thought — not a concept to analyze, but the living Christ present in the full-throated roar of a Sunday choir. He called it the greatest discovery he ever made.

Robert Duvall was no saint. Neither was Sonny. Neither are we, most of us. But he understood, with the bone-deep instinct of a great artist, that flawed people reaching toward something holy is not a contradiction but a confession.

He told that story beautifully. We should be grateful he bothered. One of America’s finest actors is gone. For 60 years, he proved that the truth about faith is more compelling than anything Hollywood tried to invent in its place.

​Culture, Hollywood, Robert duvall, Faith, Movies, The apostle, Christianity, Pentecostalism, Robert duvall: 1931-2026 

The Bible isn’t just the sacred source of Christian tradition — it’s also the ultimate baby-name book. While a handful of Old Testament names have stayed in steady rotation, scripture offers many others that are meaningful, dignified, and largely forgotten.

Here are 10 Old Testament names — ranked by modern familiarity — for parents who want something biblical, rooted, and just a little unexpected.

1. Amos

Book of Amos

A shepherd turned prophet, Amos delivered some of the Bible’s most direct warnings against corruption and moral complacency. His words still resonate: “Let justice roll down like waters” (Amos 5:24).

The name means “burden-bearer,” which sounds heavy until you realize that’s exactly the point. Short, serious, and literary, Amos feels timeless rather than trendy.

Famous Amoses: Amos Oz (novelist), Amos Lee (musician), Amos Alonzo Stagg (coach)

2. Asa

1 Kings 15; 2 Chronicles 14–16

Asa was a king of Judah remembered for religious reform and a sincere effort to remove idols. Scripture presents him as faithful, if imperfect.

Often translated as “healer” or “physician,” Asa is ancient, compact, and surprisingly modern to the ear.

Famous Asas: Asa Butterfield (actor), Asa Gray (botanist), Asa Hutchinson (former governor)

3. Boaz

Book of Ruth

Boaz is the upright kinsman-redeemer who marries Ruth and becomes the great-grandfather of King David. He’s portrayed as generous, attentive, and morally grounded.

The name likely means “strength.” Short, rugged, and unmistakably biblical, Boaz feels bold without being archaic.

Famous Boazes: Boaz Yakin (filmmaker), Boaz Mauda (musician)

4. Tamar

Genesis 38; Ruth 4

Tamar plays a complicated but central role in Genesis and becomes part of the lineage of King David. Her story is difficult but ultimately redemptive.

Her name means “palm tree,” a biblical symbol of resilience and endurance. Common globally, rare in the U.S.

Famous Tamars: Tamar Braxton, Tamar Novas

5. Jethro

Exodus 3; 18

Jethro was Moses’ father-in-law, a Midianite priest who famously advised Moses on delegation — saving him from burnout long before the term existed.

The name suggests abundance or overflow and carries undeniable presence. Memorable but not for the timid.

Famous Jethros: Jethro Tull (band), Jethro Burns (musician)

6. Elihu

Book of Job

Elihu is the youngest speaker in Job, stepping in when Job’s friends fall silent. He’s thoughtful, corrective, and framed as preparing the way for God’s response.

The name means “He is my God.” Distinctly biblical and rarely used today.

Famous Elihus: Elihu Root (statesman, Nobel Peace Prize laureate)

7. Obadiah

1 Kings 18; Book of Obadiah

Obadiah was a faithful official who hid prophets from Jezebel and also authored one of the Bible’s shortest prophetic books.

His name means “servant of the Lord.” Formal, weighty, and unapologetically biblical.

Famous Obadiahs: Obadiah Stane (“Iron Man,” fictional but familiar)

8. Jair

Numbers 32; Judges 10

Jair served as a judge of Israel for 22 years and is remembered more for stability than spectacle — a rarity in Judges.

The name means “he enlightens.” Short, strong, and unfamiliar without being difficult.

Famous Jairs: Jair Bolsonaro (political figure)

9. Zerah

Genesis 38; Numbers 26

Zerah was the twin son of Judah and Tamar, remembered for his unusual birth, marked by a scarlet thread. His name endured through Israel’s genealogies.

Meaning “rising” or “dawning,” Zerah is poetic, compact, and ancient.

Famous Zerahs: Zerah Colburn (19th-century mathematical prodigy)

10. Huldah (most uncommon)

2 Kings 22; 2 Chronicles 34

Huldah was a prophetess consulted by King Josiah during a major religious reform — her authority unquestioned.

The name sounds ancient because it is. Deeply biblical, historically important, and virtually unused today.

Famous Huldahs: Huldah Pierce (American folk artist)

Come back tomorrow for our list of 10 underrated New Testament names!

​Baby names, Old testament, Abide, Lifestyle, Bible, Christianity, Faith 

Israeli officials claim that Iranian dictator Ali Khamenei was among those senior-ranking Iranian officials killed in Saturday’s joint U.S.-Israeli military strikes. While Iranian propagandists have suggested that the geriatric dictator is alive and kicking, President Donald Trump backed the Israeli account.

According to Axios, Reuters, and CNN, Israeli officials say that Khamenei — who reports previously indicated had been moved to a secure location outside the national capital of Tehran, where his compound was destroyed — is indeed dead.

‘We feel that that is a correct story.’

Israel’s ambassador to Washington, Yechiel Leiter, reportedly made the same boast to U.S. officials.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has yet to state outright that Khamenei has been eliminated.

Netanyahu did note, however, that attacking forces “destroyed the compound of the tyrant,” that the ayatollah’s plan to destroy Israel “is no more,” and that “there are many signs that the tyrant himself is no more.”

The Israeli prime minister and the heads of Israel’s security establishment were allegedly provided with proof of the successful assassination, namely a photo of the dictator’s body.

RELATED: World leaders respond to regime-change strikes on Iran: ‘Peacekeeper is at it again’

The White House

Trump suggested in a phone interview with NBC News on Saturday that his administration believes the Iranian dictator is dead.

“I’ve spoken to a lot of people beyond, and we feel certain, we feel, we feel that that is a correct story,” said the president, adding that “the people that make all the decisions, most of them are gone.”

The Iranian state-linked Tasnim and Mehr news agencies have reportedly suggested that Khamenei is still alive — “steadfast and firm in commanding the field.”

The U.S. has yet to confirm one way or the other.

Blaze News has reached out to the White House as well as the Departments of State and War for comment.

The 86-year-old Shia radical, who has served as Iran’s supreme leader since 1989, has been antagonistic toward the U.S. and Israel, characterizing America as a “corrupt, oppressive” empire and prematurely insinuating that the American military might not be able to “get up again” after a conflict with Tehran.

Reports indicate that among the Iranian officials also believed dead are Mohammad Pakpour, commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps; Javad Pourhossein, head of Iran’s foreign intelligence unit; Mohammad-Reza Bajestani, head of the security unit; Ali Kheirandish, head of the counterterrorism unit; Saeed Ehya Hamidi, adviser on the war with Israel; and at least three members of Iran’s Basij paramilitary forces.

This is a developing story.

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​Iran, Tehran, Khamanei, Assassination, Foreign entanglements, Iran strikes, Israel, Netanyahu, Regime change, Politics