Your Grandchildren are Weeping

Photo courtesy @anniespratt

Scarlet Lindsey | Civil Patriot

The year is 2035. 

Your granddaughter is grown and married with a daughter of her own. But today her heart is as heavy as a stone. She quietly longs for the country she once knew as a child, the one where people were free to share their thoughts without fear of incrimination. The one where you could worship God without fear. The one where you could raise your children as you pleased. Those days are long gone, but they linger in her memory, like a tasty meal—one you hope you never forget. 

She longs for privacy, for a place to share her inner-most thoughts, but no privacy can be found. Every word, every action is monitored through the mandated devices in her home. Thought police keep track of all that is said and done, and she has already experienced the repercussions of speaking out against their will. 

Just last week her neighbor turned her in for sharing concerns about the latest health decrees. She has genuine concerns about them—as any thinking person would—but they cannot be voiced aloud, so they tumble around in her overactive imagination. She bites her tongue to keep from expressing them to others. Many of her friends have already lost their jobs for speaking out. It’s not worth the risk, so she does her best to remain silent. 

Oh, but how she longs for a different sort of life for her precious family! She looks into the eyes of her daughter and wishes for frilly dresses and hair bows, but that is not to be. There are no conversations about boys or girls these days. Children are deemed gender-neutral until such age as they are ready to commit. 

She has no say in it. All parental control has been stripped away. She is but a temporary caregiver and could lose that right at any given moment, should the state decide. 

Her little one marches off to school—her education carefully plotted out by the powers that be. There will be no one teaching her right from wrong. Those principles no longer exist in this world she now knows. In this post-progressive existence, up is down and right is left. Wrong is right, and slavery is freedom. Globalism is the answer to any question you might ask. It will bring the world together under one monetary system, one healthcare system, and one sovereign leader. 

She prays, albeit silently, that things will change. And though she still visits the local church from time to time, she finds little to inspire. The message there matches the government song. Worship is fine, as long as you bow the knee to the state-approved god and his narrative. 

She has vague memories of a childhood experience. Her grandmother once took her to a different sort of church. She felt things there. She sensed God’s presence in a way that felt real and tangible. The songs touched her heart. She sang them with freedom in her heart and soul. 

All such feelings are gone now. All that remains is her grief, an ever-present friend. 

She rushes to her closet to weep. It’s the only place she can think of to let out her feelings without consequence. 

“Where did my America go?” she wants to cry out. “And why didn’t someone stop her from slipping into the abyss?” 

If only she could go back and change things! She would fight with reckless abandon to guard the freedoms she once knew! 

Her husband arrives home from his government job and she longs to pour out her heart, but doesn’t dare. She doesn’t have to. It’s clear from the pain in his eyes that he feels the same, though they’ll never be able to voice it to each other. Once upon a time they did voice it—in the quiet of their bedroom. But, even there, they were not safe. He suffered the consequences of their conversation the next day at his job. 

She wonders if the pendulum will ever swing back so that life can return to normal. Or, does normal even exist anymore? 

Perhaps, if she just drifts off to sleep, she will awaken to discover that all of this has just been a dream—a nightmare borne of fear. 

Yes, a good night’s sleep will fix everything. When she wakes up, America will be as it once was—the land of the free and the home of the brave. 



  1. Yes, I am that grandmother with a grown grandson…and yes, the tears do come frequently. I ask myself questions such as, why didn’t I see this coming? What can I do now? Well, fortunately, I am of an age where I do speak out…no job to lose, no family that can stop me. Plus, I pray…and that is definitely the most important thing I can do.

    • Yes, and thank you for speaking up! I heard a good friend (who’s approaching 70) say: “I’m old. I have nothing to lose. I’m speaking the truth!”


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