We almost lost America.
On the morning of November 6, 2024, millions of us woke up with tears in our eyes and fire in our souls, because the greatest nation ever conceived had been pulled back from the cliff by the bare, calloused hands of ordinary citizens. Farmers who left the combine running. Truckers who drove through the night. Mothers who stood in line with babies on their hips. Veterans who remember what absolute tyranny looks like—they all rose up and roared, and the sound of that roar still echoes across this land.
That is why this Thanksgiving tastes different this year. It tastes like deliverance.
Above all this week, be thankful to God for everything He's given us. Be grateful for the divine mercy that moved in the hearts of millions, that stayed the hand of destruction when it was already raised against us, that turned the tide when every expert said it was impossible. Without His grace, none of this would have happened. With it, miracles still do.
I am thankful for a country that still belongs to its people, not its parasites.
I am thankful for a Constitution that begins "We the People" and still has the power to humble tyrants.
I am thankful for the right to keep and bear arms—the ultimate insurance policy against the day the government forgets who it serves.
I am thankful for pulpits that can thunder truth without permission slips.
I am thankful for borders that are finally closed, pipelines that are finally flowing, and police who are finally being backed instead of betrayed.
I am thankful that my daughters will never have to compete against boys who decided one day they felt like girls.
I am thankful that the nuclear football is not in the manicured hands of Kamala Harris.
Say it out loud and feel the weight of it: President Kamala Harris was not a hypothetical. It was hours away. Four more years of that administration would have been the end of the America we recognize.
Open borders would have become permanent demographic warfare. Energy independence would have been surrendered to foreign dictators and teenage climate activists. The First Amendment would have been "balanced" into silence by government-corporate censorship boards. The Second Amendment would have been chipped away until only criminals and the praetorian guard carried guns. Iran would have gone nuclear with our blessing and our funding. China would have taken Taiwan while we argued about pronouns. And every institution—from kindergarten to the Joint Chiefs—would have been captured by the cult of woke racial obsessions.
That future was real. It was scheduled. And on November 5, 2024, the American people—moved by the hand of God—canceled the appointment.
But hear me clearly: we did not win the war. We won a battle—one massive, glorious, against-all-odds battle.
The enemy did not surrender; they scattered. They are in the teachers' unions that still poison children's minds. They are in the HR departments that still demand fealty to DEI oaths. They are in the intelligence community that still thinks parents are the threat. They are in newsrooms, tech monopolies, grant-dependent universities, and dark-money nonprofits. They are patient, funded, and furious. They will return in 2026, 2028, and every subsequent election until we complete the job.
This is not the time to rest. This is the time to advance.
MAGA is not a campaign slogan; it is a commission. It is the continuation of 1776 by citizens who refuse to let the flame of freedom die. The midterms are twelve months away. Twelve months to recruit, train, fund, and elect an army of patriots who will take every lever of power still held by the Left. School boards that protect children instead of grooming them.
Sheriffs who answer to the Constitution, not to Washington. State legislatures that ban men from women's sports and sanctuaries for child mutilation. Attorneys general who will prosecute election fraud and sue the federal government when it oversteps its bounds. Governors who will tell the feds, "Come and take it." U.S. Senators who will impeach rogue judges and defund the weaponized agencies.
We need thousands of them. Tens of thousands. From dog-catcher to President, every inch of the ballot must be contested, captured, and held.
Socialism must be made radioactive again. Not debated—destroyed. Not negotiated with—crushed. Communism must remain the moral and intellectual leprosy it proved itself to be in the blood of one hundred million graves. And any ideology that stones women and dreams of planting its flag over the White House must be met with the same resolve our grandparents showed the Nazis and our parents showed the Soviets: total, unapologetic, uncompromising defeat.
This is the long war for the soul of the Republic, and we are the generation on whose watch it will be decided.
I look at my children asleep under the same flag my ancestors carried ashore at Normandy, and I make them this promise: you will grow up in the land of the free because we will remain the home of the brave. You will speak your mind without fear. You will worship Almighty God without apology. You will work and keep what you earn. You will raise your own children with your own values. You will never bow to a bureaucrat, a mullah, or a Marxist.
That is my vow this Thanksgiving.
So eat the turkey. Watch the game. Hug your people. Give thanks to the God who still sheds His grace on this nation, even when we aren't worthy of it—especially when we aren't deserving of it.
Then roll up your sleeves.
Heaven itself has granted the reprieve.
Now the real work begins.
America is not saved yet.
She is only being saved—by us, one ballot, one election, one generation at a time, under the watchful care of the God who made her possible.
Let's get to it.
