During lunch I asked the trophy wife to join me for a mid-afternoon jaunt to Billings. We would hit the landfill first, pick up a couple wine barrels at Yellowstone Winery second and then check out concrete stains at Macon Construction Supply. “I’ll go with you,” she agreed. “I’m not doing anything else and I need to get out of the house.”

Like all veterinary clinics, my afternoon schedule did not run as smooth as I planned, so it was nearly 3:30 when I picked up Druann. I had barely stopped when she burst out the door and shuffled towards the pickup. She was wearing a blue and white frilly sun dress with white, high-heel, flip-flops. It was a perfect opportunity to compliment her shoes, but the white straps of her dress and the silver of her hair contrasting against her tan skin left me speechless. She was stunning. After 42 years, every time I see her it is as if I am seeing her for the first time. “Wow,” I finally spit out. “You clean up real nice.”

“I don’t get out much,” she shot back as she jumped into the cab and slammed the door. I whipped the pickup around and we headed for the dump. Had this been a sordid love affair complete with two blue heelers balancing on the flatbed between the bale spinner and tool box it could have been a perfect country western song. Shortly, we pulled into the half-mile long line at the landfill. Early summer hail storms meant nearly every waiting rig was filled with old shingles and tar paper and in the hot summer sun, we crept along with the air conditioner running full blast. Our pace was brutally boring and with the clock ticking, I wondered if I could pass off a dump run as a date if one of the participants dressed like they were actually on a date. A little before five we crossed the scale and dropped our garbage.

Next we zipped to the winery and loaded our barrels, but looking at the rush-hour traffic I knew we would not be making our third stop at Macon. The trophy wife became quiet as I turned the pickup towards home and I sensed she was disappointed. I was obsessed with spending another evening working on our house so as to get one evening closer to completion. By nightfall, I realized I let a wonderful opportunity slip through my fingers. We passed four steakhouses on the way home and time spent enjoying dinner in a nice restaurant with the woman I love would have been far better than cutting trim on the chop saw. Our time on earth is precious and our dinner date, the one which never happened, may easily have been our last. When you discover an error, immediately correct it because the chance to do so may never come again. This brings me to my point.

Senator Walsh (D-Montana) is involved in a plagiarism scandal. Rallying to his defense, Montana Education Association (MEA) President Eric Fever quoted an unnamed source saying, “I’d rather support a part-time plagiarist than a creationist.” Read that quote again because it describes how cockeyed America has become. When the leader of the union whose sole responsibility is educating children thinks theft is less of a crime than believing God created heaven and earth, your mind should be filled with red flags and sirens. Mr. Fever’s point begs the question: Which reigns supreme, a teacher’s allegiance to their faith or their loyalty to union leadership? Eric Fever needs to resign or be removed from his presidency, but I doubt educators have the backbone to do such. Here is why this matters.

Everywhere throughout the founding of our great republic I see the hand of God. If not for Divine Providence it would have been impossible for a rag-tag army of farmers, merchants and indentured servants to defeat the most powerful military force in the world. Rather than abandon God and dismiss His creation, now is the time to fall on our knees and beg for His guidance. This is the perfect time and maybe our only time, to correct a mistake.