How the government manipulates your "choice"

I just read a terrifying article in the most recent issue of Voice of the Martyrs. While the magazine often details bloody attacks and gruesome persecution, the unlikely replication in my life ease my fear for my own life and children. But this article described a situation in Laos that hit too close to home.

The Laos government is withholding vital paperwork from Christians.

Without this paperwork, the Christians cannot buy or sell, or register for government services; nor can the children attend school or attain employment.

It took my breath away.

Last week, I found out that a close friend of mine needed to replace a social security card for her youngest child. She had misplaced it in a move. When she took the legal birth certificate and the certificate of live birth to the office of Social Security for a replacement card, they refused to accept it. They said they would require a vaccination record.

Vaccination records aren't standardized. They can be forged from a home computer and a word-processing program. A legal birth certificate, on the other hand, proves the citizenship of a child through a variety of confirmation points. (I struggled to obtain one for my youngest child born at home.)

I'm not arguing for or against vaccines here. The issue of vaccination is just a symptom of a much greater, much scarier problem. The American government is taking away our choice. "Sure, you can choose to not vaccinate your children," they say, "but you cannot register for government services unless you do."

"Sure, you can choose to not have health insurance, but you'll have to pay 6.5% of your gross income if you do." (This will take effect in 2016.)

"Sure, you can home school. But your children won't receive diplomas or be eligible for college scholarships." (This hasn't happened in America.)

"Sure, you can express freedom of speech about guns or homosexuality or terrorists. But we will take your kids away to 'protect' them." (This hasn't happened yet, but I see it on the horizon.)

"Sure, you can worship Jesus. You just can't buy or sell anything if you do." (This hasn't happened. Yet.)

Eerily similar to the situation in Laos.

I fear this is just the tip of the iceberg. I've never been a conspiracy theorist, but I'm not conspiring here. I'm simply observing the facts.

"Virtually Unbreakable" unless the Wilsons use it

You know why raising kids cost so much? Because they break everything they touch. I swear my boys must lie in their bunks at night sharing secret ideas on how to break the most unbreakable items in the house. Yet they still manage to verify all manufacturers claims of "virtually unbreakable" or "chip-proof" or "water resistant."

• The toilet seat. Ripped right off the toilet and shivved through the air like a frisbee, amidst gales of laughter, might I add.
• Into the window. I fought for the new "unbreakable" windows, but only managed to get tempered glass with a lifetime, no-questions-asked, replacement warranty. I wonder how many times they'll replace the same pane of glass without asking questions? 
• The sink. How the heck do you break a pedestal sink? I have no idea. (I'm glad they did, though, because I replaced it with a fancy vanity and charged it to their account.)
• The toilet. "Let's see how many toys we can shove down this aqueous cavern before Mom pulls out that snakey tool and splashes human waste all over herself again!" It's on their calendar. I swear it is. "And when that is done, let's rock it back and forth until the bolts break and the sewage just seeps right out underneath it? Sounds like fun, right?!"
• The fan chain. Handed to me with a quick, backward glance. "Can you put this back on, Mom? We can't swing from it anymore." What? No, I cannot! Stop swinging on the chain, kid!
• Every lamp I've ever bought. No explanation necessary.
• The water hose spigot. I don't know how it happened. But my water bill sank us that month.
• The pool pump. Everything is meant to be jumped and/or climbed upon. Especially incredibly expensive PVC items. 
• The bed. Poorly made. The other bed. An antique. Neither holds up well to wrestling, or jumping, or swinging, or headstands. Use the bed right! Just lie still and quiet, would you? (I unapologetically use the "Don't break it" argument for my sanity in times when I just need a moment of silence.)
• Those awesome Corelle dishes made from vitreous china. "Virtually unbreakable," the sticker reads. I stocked up. Unfortunately, my kids see that label as a challenge. "I'll show you unbreakable!" Their war cry resounds throughout the house as the poor dish (unlike my tempered-glass window) shatters into billions of tiny, sharp shards. "Freeze!" I yell to my interminably barefoot littles. I have them well-trained when it comes to the possibility of cutting their feet on the mess they just made.  "Freeze, while I clean this up." (I think this must be why they go around barefoot all the time.) They all obey, and lazily watch me with a sly smile as I toil over the mess with a broom and dustpan. That's right, a broom. Not a vacuum. I bet you can guess why. 
• The vacuum. You know the Dyson, whose claim to fame is, "The only vacuum that never loses suction!" Not true. If you kick the plastic intake tube so that it cracks, the Dyson will, in fact, lose suction, just like every other piece of junk plastic vacuum I've ever owned. 
• The other vacuum. Can you believe we've taken down two name-brand vacuums? The Oreck fared okay until my husband tried to push it in all his testosterone glory. And just like that, I'm sweeping rugs. Which brings me to...
• The broom. It has a metal handle with a plastic stopper at the top. We broke the plastic plug, which wouldn't be a big deal in a normal family, but in ours, the broomstick all of a sudden became a weapon designed to lance the unsuspecting victim with the sharp, metal, now-exposed tip. Seriously. Seriously?!

So I guess what I'm saying here is, please stop telling my kids that they can't break something. Their rubbish radar goes off, and their testosterone kicks in, along with a good dose of ingenuity, and all of a sudden, your unbreakable is in a neat little pile on my rug... because, being deprived of my broom, I swept it up with my hands, which are, as of this writing, virtually unbreakable! 

(Please don't tell my kids.)

(I found this shattered toy hourglass immediately after I finished typing this post.)