Something Lost. Something Found. Part 2

(Cont., see previous story)

The year was 1992. The month was August. The date was the 24^th. The day was Monday.

Do the words “Hurricane Andrew” mean anything to you? (Well, my friend, they sure do to me).

Though I spent 35 years among four components of the military, (mostly reserve service) I was fortunate to never see combat. I suppose the closest I ever came to it involved stateside service in Homestead, Florida in the aftermath of the most costly hurricane in American history, up to that time, in terms of the physical destruction of property.

I think the thing which struck me first and most about that 20x20 square mile block of homes, condos, trailer parks and businesses was the lack of color. For you see, every (and I do mean every) building had been somehow impacted by the 200+ mph wind gusts of that Category 5 hurricane, and many had been reduced to rubble. And every (and I do mean every) tree, bush, hedge and shrub had been rudely stripped of their leaves. 

Having passed the perimeter which separated the unaffected parts of south Florida from the pathway of the storm, what greeted the eyes of every soldier in the convoy was sheer devastation. And as I have previously inferred, the absence of but four colors: 

White, Brown, Black and Gray

And so much like those biblical passages which allude to the significance of the number “40,” I was privileged, (yes, privileged) to spend 40 days amidst that devastation (August 24, 1992 – October 3, 1992). Privileged since I took from this experience the satisfaction of a job well done; having served the unfortunate people in the southern area of my state; alongside 34,999 of my brothers and sisters in green.

And so unlike our northern parts, it is altogether odd in Florida to witness the absence of foliage on every formerly green thing, and equally odd to watch it all come back again; at once, and before we took our leave from that place.

When I returned from my own unique expedition, I realized the most severe fatigue I’d ever realized, and a few days elapsed before I understood why. 

That God-awful absence of color

And whereas, Shackleton’s experience was macrocosmic in nature, having been marooned in the Antarctic for two years, my own experience had been relatively microcosmic; having served a scant 40 days, and in a more civilized place. And yet, I think it interesting that a common thread is woven into both our stories.

Shackleton had his whistle

The stimulation of one of five senses which had been denied for far too long. 

I had my color 

A stimulus upon which we all depend, but which was altogether absent in the place from which I had only just returned.

Something Lost

Something Found


By William McDonald, PhD. (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 30. Copyright pending

If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above

Something Lost. Something Found. Part 1

There are few exploits of discovery as compelling as the one of Sir Ernest Shackleton, and his failed attempt to traverse the Antarctic in 1914.

During the early stages of his expedition his ship, “The Endurance” was caught up in an ice flow, and was frozen solid. With no hope of being freed from its icy bondage, the ship began to break up, and sink. Black and white footage still exists of the demise of this once proud sea-going vessel.

As the result of the loss of their ship, Shackleton and his crew were forced to set off towards the northern coast of the Antarctic; while the entire time dragging three lifeboats.

As the 27 men reached the coastline, they mounted the boats and sailed for Elephant Island. And having reached the comparative safety of dry land, Shackleton nominated several of the men for an additional one boat voyage to South Georgia Island; the site of a manned whaling station, and hopes of rescue.

Shackleton’s 800 mile, 16 day journey across frigid and storm-tossed seas, (with waves as high as 60 feet) is still remembered as one of the most miraculous feats of navigation in naval history. At that time there were no GPS or satellite capabilities, and all navigation was done with a hand-held sextant, and the use of sun and stars.

Ultimately, the courageous little crew reached South Georgia, and prepared to cross 26 miles of mountains and crevices which separated them from the whaling station, and a ship capable of rescuing those they’d left behind on Elephant Island. It is enough to say here, (since the outcome is not the focus of this blog) that the men on Elephant Island were rescued, and returned home to Great Britain.

And having given away the ending, it is obvious also that Shackleton and the two other men who accompanied him on the trek across the mountains succeeded in reaching the whaling station; though the journey was cold and perilous.

As the famous explorer and his teammates neared the object of their quest, and just prior to mounting the last rise which separated them from the whaling station,

… they heard it.

A whistle signaling shift change.

And at that moment, it occurred to Sir Ernest that this was the first sound generated by the devices of a man, (outside of those who accompanied him on the expedition) in the two full years he’d been marooned in the Antarctic.

(To be continued)

By William McDonald, PhD. (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 30. Copyright pending

If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above

*Following is an insightful account of Shackleton’s trek across the mountains of South Georgia.

With provisions for just three days, screws in their boots for traction, threadbare clothing and no sleeping bags, the three malnourished, frostbitten, exhausted explorers set out to cross South Georgia at 2 a.m. on May 19, 1916, hiking by the light of the full moon. The terrain was rough, and the interior of the island had never been charted. The three men were roped together, with Shackleton in the lead and Worsley navigating. After several miscalculations, the three had to retrace their steps, finding themselves back where they had been several hours earlier, fatigued and frostbitten.

They faced a dilemma. Night was falling, they were making little progress descending the slopes, and they would freeze to death at their high altitude. With nothing to lose, and the lives of their 25 companions in their hands, they took a risk: they slid down the steep slope. "We seemed to shoot into space... For a moment my hair fairly stood on end," Worsley later wrote.

They proceeded through the night. In the morning, they heard a whistle sound from Stromness, which confirmed that the whaling station was still manned. By mid-afternoon, after 36 hours of travel, they walked into Stromness. Covered in blubber smoke, with long hair and beards, the three men, who'd spent months at Stromness at the beginning of the Endurance expedition, were not recognized when they arrived. After identifying themselves, they were treated to grand hospitality and hot baths, pleasures they had missed since they had left this island 17 months earlier.

(Courtesy Nova Online & PBS – Interviews)

The Mummy

Ghost Yacht Found With Mummified Body Of German Adventurer Still At Desk, After Years Sailing The World

The Huffington Post UK  |  By Steven Hopkins

• Comment 0

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Warning: graphic image

The mummified body of a German adventurer has been discovered on board his yacht, seven years after the vessel was last spotted, leading to speculation the boat and sailor may have been drifting around the world for years. 

Manfred Fritz Bajorat was found by two fishermen at the weekend, 40 miles from the coast of the Philippines, in the Pacific Ocean, in a cabin strewn with photo albums, clothes and tins of food. 

The 59-year-old was found hunched over a desk near the radio telephone of his 40ft yacht, Sayo. 

The mast of the yacht was broken and much of the cabin was underwater, but what killed the skipper is unclear, though experts believe his position at the desk suggests his death was unexpected.
Dry ocean winds, hot temperatures and the salty air helped preserve Bajorat's body. The sailor was identified by paperwork found on the vessel.

Police are trying to retrace Bajorat's last voyages and contact people he may have met or spoken to, to pinpoint when he died.

The mummified body of German adventurer Manfred Fritz Bajorat was found aboard a yacht which had been drifting around the world Bajorat's wife had been travelling with him, but they broke up in 2008. 

In 2009, in Mallorca, Bajorat met another world sailer called Dieter who told Germany's BILD newspaper: "He was a very experienced sailor. I don't believe he would have sailed into a storm.

"I believe the mast broke after Manfred was already dead."

Bajorat, experts believe, probably died unexpectedly 
Bajorat body was taken for an autopsy in Butuan City and his yacht was towed for a police inspection into the port of Barobo.
Police spokeswoman Goldie Lou Siega in the Philippines said: "We have no evidence of a second person aboard and no weapon was found on the yacht."

Dr Mark Benecke, a forensic criminologist in the city of Cologne, told BILD: "The way he is sitting seems to indicate that death was unexpected, perhaps from a heart attack."

The German embassy in Manila is working with local officials to trace Bajorat's family in Germany.

It is believed he has a daughter called Nina who works as the captain of a freight vessel.

My Enemy. My Friend

The war had raged on for four years, and there seemed to be no end in sight. 

German forces were dug into the area of Belleau Wood, France, and their American counterparts dug shallow foxholes, and attempted to prevent the enemy from crossing the Marne River.

During the course of the battle, the Americans managed to make inroads against the German front, and thousands were killed and wounded during what proved to be the final months of WWI.

Sergeant Scott and his American company of troops fired off round after round, and launched dozens of mortars in an easterly direction, as days turned into weeks; giving and losing ground.

As the darkness gave way to light in June of 1918, Scott stepped gingerly from tree to tree, in an especially dark forest. Suddenly, he heard the sound of what seemed to be an injured animal. It was no animal, but rather, a badly wounded German officer. His right arm was mangled, and as he sat next to a small tree, blood flowed easily down his side, and dripped to the ground; forming a large red puddle.

Sergeant Scott spoke,

“Sir, do you speak English?” 

Even in the midst of war, and though he was speaking to an enemy soldier, courtesy prevailed. 

Lieutenant Lister managed a weak smile, and responded.

“Yes. I attended the University of Heidelberg. I speak English quite well.”

(and)

“I’m afraid I’m done for, Sergeant. Will you sit with me awhile?”

Not noticing any small arms on or about his newfound friend, nor any sign of malice, Jim took a seat next to the bloody form, and they proceeded to exchange what passed for pleasantries.

“Sergeant, do you believe there’s something or someone waiting for us on the other side of this darkness we call life?”

The American non-commissioned officer was silent for a moment, as if searching for words.

“Well, yes, yes I do, Lieutenant. While I’m not especially outspoken about it, I came to a saving knowledge of the Savior when I was a child.”

Lister nodded his head, and recalled a time when his mother read to him from the “good book” each evening before he retired to his little bed, and set something in motion within him which culminated in a profound and abiding faith.

With each drop of blood, Erick felt his energy waning away proportionately. 

“Will you, could you… pray for me, Sergeant?”

Scott’s head jerked backwards slightly, as if he’d been slapped. Such an unusual request from an enemy officer; a man whom he was, at least indirectly, responsible for killing. Fraternization with the enemy? And for a moment, his military demeanor won out.

… But only for a moment.

“Well, yes, Lieutenant. I will pray for you, as I would hope you would pray for me if the shoe was on the other foot.”

And with this, the hardened sergeant’s voice broke with emotion.

“Father, I pray for my brother, Erick. Will you send your holy angels now, and usher him safely into your kingdom? And will you give him light for darkness, and steal away all fear during his transition? Amen.”

A tear rolled down Lt. Lister’s bruised and bloody face, and with this he spoke the last words he would ever speak on this side of the veil.

“Thank you, my friend. We were enemies, but now I call you ‘friend.’”

And with this, Erick’s chest heaved, and he drew a long, deep breath, 

… and slowly exhaled.

And then it was over.

My enemy,

… my friend.

By William McDonald, PhD. (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 23. Copyright pending

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Jesus Led Me All the Way

It’s funny how long it takes to get over some of our hurts; (if indeed, we ever do).

During the course of the past year I have struggled with something; something inestimably unfair, and which has no chance, whatsoever, of turning around, but rather, represents a circumstance which will remain intact throughout the remainder of my natural life.

How inestimably sad. How inestimably unfair. And yet, it is what it is.

Rather like a situation in the life of my first pastor; after my having come to a saving knowledge of the Lord.

During the course of his pastorate he was almost literally turned out into the cold; since he was “given the gift” of a vote of no confidence, and asked to go about his merry way.

As a result, I watched my beloved pastor’s mindset and physical health rapidly deteriorate. Bitterness prevailed, and before he went on to his reward, he experienced dementia, and became bedridden. 

And I have mused about the best way to navigate beyond that which currently ails me since I have no wish, whatsoever, to end up like Bro. Dewitt. 

The archival radio broadcast “Night Sounds,” now available on the internet, 

(www.nightsoundsradio.org) has become such an integral part of my life over the past few years. On tonight’s program, the host of the program, the late Bill Pearce, sang one of my two or three favorite songs of all time.

“I’d Rather Have Jesus.”

Oh, how that man could sing!

In an earlier program Bill played one of the others on my list.

“All the Way My Savior Leads Me.”

The wonderful baritone voice of Fred Frank permeated the night air, and brought solace to my anxious spirit; (and so, each time I care to listen to it, for I have “saved” it to my files).

But it occurs to me that in these two songs I possess the key to navigating past my hurt. Oh, it won’t be easy, and those old raw emotions are likely to rise to the surface again, but there is such power in the titles and message of these bless-ed songs.

I can find myself caught up with irreconcilable pain brought on by any of a myriad of unfairnesses of the past, and with which I have no control. 

Or I can say with the saints of the ages,

“I’d Rather Have Jesus.”

For isn’t He “Fairer than lilies of rarest bloom?”

(and)

Isn’t He “Sweeter than honey from out the comb?”

And I can be bound up with the inestimably hurtful memories of yesteryear, and allow them to prevent me from fulfilling God’s best will during the remainder of a lifetime

(or)

I can begin walking past the past, and when this life nears it decidedly certain end exalt in those wonderful words,

… “Jesus Led Me All the Way.”

By William McDonald, PhD. (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 18. Copyright pending

If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
***********
 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the index   

NOTE: **If you are viewing this blog with a Google server/subscription, you may note numerous underlined words in blue. I have no control over this "malady." If you click on the underlined words, you will be redirected to an advertisement sponsored by Google. I would suggest you avoid doing so.