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One Nation Under God: Why this May 17 matters

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Tuesday, 12 May 2026

Written by Bob Laverick

There is a sentence most Americans have spoken out loud. They said it in classrooms as children, hand over heart, eyes on the flag. They said it at ball games and moments of national grief. Many said it without thinking much about what the words actually meant.
One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
America turns 250 this year. And that anniversary feels less like a birthday party and more like a reckoning. We have accomplished extraordinary things. We have also never felt more divided. For believers, the deeper question is this: have we forgotten who we are?
You’re Invited! On Sunday, May 17, as we come together to reaffirm our answer.
The One Nation Under God celebration at Paradise Acres welcomes everyone who believes that our nation’s foundation is rooted in faith in God. It is neighbors standing together to remember who we are. It is an evening of gratitude and rededication as believers from every tradition recommit this nation to the God who established it and Jesus Christ who sustains it.
The founders built this nation on a deep conviction that freedom was not something governments invent. It is something God ordains. They understood what many have forgotten. A nation without God at its center cannot hold.
We have inherited something rare. Most people who have ever lived on this earth did not grow up free. The Americans who came before us bled for those rights. This celebration is a public declaration that we have not forgotten that. That we still believe Jesus Christ is Lord over this nation, and we are asking Him to be.
The evening includes live music, food, family activities, and special speakers. It runs from 4:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. and is open to anyone who loves this country and believes its greatest days are still ahead.
The ancient words of the Psalmist say it simply and say it best.
"Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord." Psalm 33:12
America's 250th birthday only comes once. Come be part of this historic moment. All proceeds go to the Cumberland County GOP.

Voters Likely To Approve Tax Limitation

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Tuesday, 12 May 2026

Written by John Hood

If Speaker Destin Hall and other leaders of the House of Representatives get their way — and I strongly suspect they will — voters will decide this fall whether to amend the state constitution to limit the growth of property-tax burdens across North Carolina.
Here’s how the ballot item would read: “Constitutional amendment requiring limits on property tax increases by local governments.” If most voters say yes — and I strongly suspect they will — the General Assembly will then specify by statute how the limits would function.
Although the details might change, what supportive lawmakers intend to do is cap the growth of local tax collections on assessed property at population growth plus general price inflation. That’s already the rule the General Assembly follows, more or less, when fashioning the state budget. It seems reasonable to most legislators, and to me, to establish a similar speed limit on property taxes.
Now, my choice of words here is far from arbitrary. When I say that the General Assembly “more or less” caps state spending growth at inflation plus population growth, I mean to underline that the cap applies only to the General Fund. Most state spending now occurs outside the General Fund, as it is either financed by federal revenues and user charges or is funded “above the line,” through revenue diversion, rather than formal appropriation. Neither makes the state spending cap worthless. It still imposes necessary fiscal discipline and helps to explain how North Carolina has reduced the state tax burden over time while also funding core services.
Similarly, a constitutional “levy limit” on property-tax growth won’t keep counties and municipalities from funding core local services or making capital investments in infrastructure to accommodate future population growth and economic development. It won’t slam the brakes. Rather, it will act as a governor on the accelerator, keeping the vehicle of government from speeding recklessly.
For example, I believe state lawmakers are likely to apply the growth cap on property-tax revenues to preexisting properties, not new residential, commercial, or industrial development. Tax-policy consultant Jared Walczak calls this option the Brownsville model, after the Texas jurisdiction of that name, and contrasts it with the Boise model (where the levy limit applies to both new and existing property) and the Boston model (where new construction is added to the cap itself).
My John Locke Foundation colleague Joe Harris prefers the Brownsville model, and I tend to agree. A primary motivation for property-tax reform is to keep current owners, be they households or businesses, from experiencing sudden huge spikes in property values and the tax bills that result from them. At the same time, property-tax collections ought to bear some relationship to expansion and development, so that localities can deliver services commensurate with growing demand.
The Boise model is too tight, the Boston model often too loose. The Brownsville approach, Harris argues, “offers the most transparent and accurate constraint on tax growth.”
I know many local officials are upset about the prospect of a constitutional constraint on property-tax burdens. But I would advise them to focus on how it ought to work, not whether to have one. While some policymakers in other states are flirting with the idea of abolishing property taxes altogether — replacing them, wholly or partially, with higher sales taxes — that’s not where North Carolina leaders are going. They seek to retain property taxation as a reliable and relatively efficient means of funding services such as public safety and infrastructure that benefit people in rough proportion to the “stake” they have in the community.
Given how up in arms some homeowners are about dramatic revaluations, however, and the fact that nearly three-quarters of respondents to a recent Carolina Journal Poll favor the House’s proposed constitutional amendment, local leaders should embrace discretion as the better part of valor here.
Statewide levy limits aren’t new or weird. They’ve worked reasonably well in other places for decades. I strongly suspect they’ll work well in North Carolina, too.

Editor’s Note: John Hood is a John Locke Foundation board member. His books Mountain Folk, Forest Folk, and Water Folk combine epic fantasy with American history (FolkloreCycle.com).

Knotty opine: The Hormuz Conundrum

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Tuesday, 12 May 2026

Written by Pitt Dickey

Are you tired of wars and rumors of wars? Does the phrase “Gulf of Hormuz” strike fear in your wallet at the gas station or grocery store? If so, Gentle Reader, kindly read no farther in today’s column. Skip directly to the crossword puzzle. Today’s stain on world literature is going to visit America’s ongoing and seemingly intractable war against Iran.
First, a bit of history. Iran used to be called Persia for millennia, a period of time for which the memory of man runneth not. Europe and Persia were not good neighbors. The Greeks and the Persians got along like Donald Trump and Jimmy Kimmel. If you don’t want to read about history (and if you don’t, why are you reading this second paragraph?), you can watch a movie called 300 Spartans about the battle between 300 Greeks and a zillion Persians at Thermopylae in which the Greeks saved western civilization by holding off an invading Persian army.
Despite being unable to defeat the Greeks, Persia kept its name until 1935. It officially changed its name to Iran when Reza Pahlavi, the Shah of Iran, ordered the switcheroo. When you are Shah, you can change the name of your country by whimsical executive order. Don’t believe me? Check out the Gulf of America, the Gulf formerly known as the Gulf of Mexico. There is no business like Shah business.
Now, back to our story. The good old USA has gotten itself knee deep in the big muddy called the Gulf of Hormuz. Like our wars in the Middle East and Afghanistan, it started out with the slightly shopworn theory called “This Time Will Be Different.”
It was going to be a short war like Venezuela. Knock off a leader we don’t like. The hearts and minds of the people will follow into the wonderful world of democracy. A little Regime Change makes the medicine go down in the most delightful way. Bombs help, too. Four weeks, six weeks tops, and the Iranians will be cowed into embracing democracy as a new and fun way of life.
Unfortunately, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum or in this case the bazaar. It didn’t work out like that. The US and Iran are holding each other and the rest of the world hostage in the Gulf of Hormuz. As the Soup Nazi would say if he was in charge of the Gulf of Hormuz: “No oil for you. Come back, one year!” What to do? What to do? It’s the old immovable object meeting the irresistible force conundrum. Who is gonna blink first? Who will cry, Uncle Sam?
Fortunately, there is a lesson from our old pals the Greeks on how to deal with Iranians. Once upon a time in the Fourth Century, there was a country called Phrygia, which is now called Turkey. The Phrygians did not have a king but needed one. A local Oracle read some chicken guts and announced that the next guy who came into the city riding an ox cart would be king. Soon, a dude named Gordias rode in on his ox cart and was named King. Gordias’ son Midas was so happy, he had the ox cart tied to a post in the royal palace with a bodacious knot that was so tightly tied that no one could untie it. This was known as the Gordian Knot.
Another Oracle declared that anyone who could untie the Gordian Knot would become king of all Asia. Many men tried, and many men failed to untie the knot. One day in 333 BC, Alexander the Great rode into town. Al learned about the prophecy that whosoever untied the knot would rule Asia. Al tried mightily to untie the knot to no avail. Frustrated, but not being a quitter, Al put on his thinking cap and pondered this knotty problem. Like a reformed alcoholic, Al had a moment of clarity. Eureka! He ciphered that it did not matter how the Gordian Knot was untied, just as long as it was done. Results mattered.
Al took his sword and like the killing of the Jabberwocky, “One two! One Two! And through and through. The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.” With mighty blows, he cut the Gordian Knot in two. The ox cart was then free to roam about the country unfettered to a post. Al fulfilled the knotty prophecy and went on to conquer Asia. The rest is history.
How does this story help resolve the Hormuz Conundrum? We have to think outside the knot. Perhaps holding each other hostage will not work. Does anyone have access to the Sword of Damocles? It still seems to be hanging around somewhere overhead.

(Illustration by Pitt Dickey)

Heroes with a Little "h"

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Tuesday, 05 May 2026

Written by Dan DeBruler

Of all the things I ever wanted to be, I think it was always just me I wanted most to be. Hero worship was never really my thing. I can't recall ever wishing I actually was Eddie Van Halen, or John Maxwell, or Billy Graham, or even Batman. I just wanted to be me, doing some of the things those people did.
Whether that's a strength or a weakness, I honestly couldn't tell you. It keeps the ground level enough that I don't trip over myself trying to climb up to anybody's pedestal. But every now and then, in the quieter hours, I catch myself wishing I had someone to look up to. And if I had it to do over again, I think I'd let my dad be my hero.
He was a small man—much smaller than me—and a brilliant what-comes-next artist. I don't even know what you call those drawings he made. Sequential art, maybe. Press a button, a ball rolls down a track, drops onto a lever, flips a spoon into a cup on a scale; the cup sinks, drags a match across sandpaper, lights a candle, and twenty-five steps later, an egg lands cooked on a plate. I was always intrigued. I stopped just short of awe. I wish now I hadn't.
On paper, he was an unlikely hero—but then, what hero isn't, once you get close enough? Adopted into a family of pharmacists who expected him to fall into line, he forged the date on his birth certificate instead and joined the Navy. Even in rebellion, he didn't run far; they made him a Pharmacist's Mate. He sailed off to Hawaii with his bell-bottoms and his ditty bag, a Kansas kid a long way from any wheat field he knew. Then the sky over Pearl Harbor went black with planes, and they handed him to the Marines as a Corpsman, and the war became something he carried home but never set down.
Those were the stories I missed. The war stories. The romance stories. The first marriage, the son lost in Vietnam—none of it spoken aloud. Twenty years I lived near a brilliant man full of buried things. A man who once drove fifty miles with the window down because his mother had promised him a hundred dollars to quit smoking, and he meant to show up smelling like he had.
He died of lung cancer at fifty-seven, shortly after our first son was born. Our last call was mostly gurgling and goodbye. I came to know him best after he was gone—through his Navy buddies, through scraps and stories—and the strangest thing happened. The more I wanted to know my father, the more I wanted to know God.
Heroes have always been hard for me to come by. I'd still rather be me than anyone else. But I'm finally learning that the small "h" heroes—the quiet, complicated, half-told ones—are usually the ones God uses to point us home.