A letter from Judge Roy Moore’s personal scheduler. It’s very tender and moving.
Happy Birthday, Judge Roy Moore!
Every man dies, but not every man truly lives.
Few have gone from a rustic house in the backwoods of Alabama to the highest judicial office in the State of Alabama. Few have gone from bagging groceries at Piggly Wiggly to graduating from the United States Military Academy at West Point. Few have served their country in combat and followed up on it with nearly forty years of public service. Few have been involved in more controversy directly surrounding the acknowledgement of God. Few have received as many death threats. Few can say that the liberals and the Republican Establishment spent over 56 million dollars to politically assassinate them. Few can say, “I have stood for the truth. I have no regrets. To God be the glory.”
Sir, you said that. And you can say that, because it’s true.
Rather than bewail our latest defeat, bemoan the flimsy backbone of the Republicans who betrayed us (special thanks to Richard Shelby), or whine over the eleventh hour assassination of your character, I’m writing to tell you thank you for what you’ve taught me.
A lot of women have said a lot of things about you. But on the occasion of your 71st birthday, as a friend, as a girl, and as your scheduler, I’m here to put my word in – unsolicited.
You taught me what true character is. I’ve been with you and Mrs. Kayla for a thousand hours – in the office, in my family’s home, in your home, on the campaign trail, at a hundred events. You’ve been the same man everywhere. The same man that the world sees on stage is who I see in that barn in Gallant, Alabama. The Scripture you quote in churches across the country is the Scripture you quote to us in the office and live out every day. The 10 Commandments you defend are engraved in a huge rock behind your house, hanging on every wall and have changed your life. The definition of marriage you fight for is apparent in your happy life with Kayla. You never said something you didn’t believe. You never asked me to do a job you wouldn’t do. You never pretended to be something you weren’t. And you always said that doing the right thing was more important than winning.
You taught me what real success is: “If you stand for God and do the right thing, you may lose, but you never fail.”
You taught me how to walk with kings, but not act like one. While a lot of politicians puff their feathers, shake their coffers, throw big names, and brag, you don’t. You weren’t too famous to wash the dishes. You weren’t too busy to ask my opinion on your speech. You talked about your friends who died in Vietnam. You stopped at midnight on election day to take care of a homeless man. You spent car rides singing 60’s love songs to your wife. You often abandoned your staff to sit with a normal “Joe” in restaurants all across Alabama. After events, you called your mother before you called your consultants. And when faced with bigwigs or moms and pops, you prioritized the moms and pops. People always mattered more than power to you. And money was a non-issue.
You taught me how to forgive. Few men have as many enemies. Few have been attacked and lied about so incessantly. When the allegations of misconduct came out, you told me you never knew the world was so evil. You told me you didn’t know why anyone would do the things they claimed you’d done. You said you felt sorry for the women, sorry for the reporters, and sorry for people who would believe it. I saw you hold yourself to a high standard of forgiveness. You were never bitter toward those women or the liberals and Republicans who piled on, and you told me: “All I can do is stand on the truth. Before God, I have no option but to say ‘I didn’t do it’ and stay in the race.” When all of D.C. begged you to cave, you didn’t. When they should have been here campaigning for you, but ducked and ran instead, your old war buddies and Etowah County family and friends showed up, joining thousands of people across this state who still believe in your character and trust your leadership. And our campaign finished strong, singing “Amazing Grace” as the Jefferson County results came in.
You taught me how to face triumph and disaster and treat both of them the same. And you personified for me what it means to truly live for what matters – with nothing to fear and nothing to lose.
Chief, happy birthday.
You put God first. You put America first. And whatever the world says, I will never be ashamed to say I worked for you and that you and Mrs. Kayla are my friends and family in Christ Jesus.