Watch a riveting new video by my friend and producer Mike Fair…CLICK HERE TO WATCH VIDEO… Hurricane Ike smashed into the Texas coastline on September the 13th, 2008. 48 days later, We drove down to Clear Lake Shores and Galveston to investigate the damage. People are putting their lives back together, and the cleanup is progressing, but the evidence of mother nature’s fury is everywhere. Some of these scenes are surreal. The mosquitos ate us alive when we were trying to film this!

Source: New York Times; November 6, 2008

Text of Nelson Mandela’s Letter to Senator Obama

5 November 2008
Senator Barack Obama,
Chicago
Dear Senator Obama,
We join people in your country and around the world in congratulating you on becoming the President-Elect of the United States. Your victory has demonstrated that no person anywhere in the world should not dare to dream of wanting to change the world for a better place.
We note and applaud your commitment to supporting the cause of peace and security around the world. We trust that you will also make it the mission of your Presidency to combat the scourge of poverty and disease everywhere.
We wish you strength and fortitude in the challenging days and years that lie ahead. We are sure you will ultimately achieve your dream making the United States of America a full partner in a community of nations committed to peace and prosperity for all.
Sincerely,
N R Mandela

Blogger: Pastor Rudy

Early voting began in Houston, Texas last week, and over the past few days I have received text messages from an assortment of friends and acquaintances who have my cell phone number (about 2,400 folks have that number) with messages celebrating their vote like “I Voted” and many more versions. The one message that struck me the most was the one that came to me via a text message a few days ago saying “I voted…I Cried.” I thought for a moment that I have never in my entire life connected the act of voting with the response of tears. But these are not normal times. I reflected on what must have triggered such an emotional response, I imagined the voting booth and what must have gone through my friend’s mind the moment the ballot was cast but I still thought to my self “what an extreme emotional response for such a routine act.” It was time for my own experience on Sunday afternoon so I stopped at an early voting place in my neighborhood, got in a line of voters about a quarter mile long, inched along for about an hour, walked through the certification process, step up to the new fangled voting booth and scrolled through the long list of candidates and pressed the big red button marked “cast”. I voted… then I cried.
I cried as I reflected on the sacrifices made by countless men and women of all races for the right to vote in America. A right that came to pass in spite of barking dogs, water hoses, nightsticks and armed militias.
I cried as I recalled the murder of voting-rights activists in Philadelphia, Mississippi, and the unprovoked attack on March 7, 1965, by state troopers on peaceful marchers crossing the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama that ultimately led to the Voting Rights Act.
I cried as I remembered my Auntie Mae Mae’s commitment to the right to vote as she and her friends stood on street corners campaigning for their candidate of choice ultimately managing elections at “colored only” polling places under the close scrutiny of poll watchers.
I cried as I thought about the power my mother most have experienced in the old days when the thick heavy curtain of vintage voting booths closed around her, protecting her privacy as she picked me up allowing me to turn the levers for her candidates of choice giving me my first glimpse of what freedom really meant in America.
I cried some more as I reflected on a recent phone call from my two daughters who shared their youthful enthusiasm regarding participating in this years election.
And finally, I cried because my dad loved the political process but died four years ago on the 4th of July before having an opportunity see, discuss, experience, debate, curse, complain, and vote in this years monumental election.
I had an experience with inequality when I was nine years old that left a large scar on my spirit until now. On last Sunday I voted and that scar began to heal. On Tuesday the scar completely healed.

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