THE MAN IN A KILT ON THE BEACH

My wife and I headed to the beach this past weekend. It had been ages since we enjoyed the smell of rolling waves, and left our fading footprints on the seashore.

As a military retiree I have base privileges, and we rented an apartment at Patrick Air Force Base. One day Jean and I drove over to the beach, set up our umbrella and “went in for a dip.”
Though spring had not yet given way to summer, and the water was a bit cold, we braved the chill and dove head first into the surf. While my body emitted an involuntary “brrrr”!!!, the initial shock was soon forgotten, and we frolicked, (as much as an old guy and gal can frolic) in the waves for an hour.
Having finished our swim, we walked back to our beach chairs, and settled in for the duration of a rapidly receding afternoon.
And then it happened.
Had Mr. Neilsen, himself, magically appeared like a Genie, and given me an ad-lib survey, I could never have imagined what came next.
Suddenly, I cast my eyes towards the surf, and “lo, and behold” I noticed the most peculiar figure standing barefoot in three inches of salt water; looking longingly towards the east.
“Isham,” (for lack of a more appropriate identifier) appeared to be thirty years of age, of average build and height, wearing a dark t-shirt, and a tan… kilt.
In my almost 2/3 of a century of life on this planet, and having visited the beaches of Florida multiplied times throughout the years, I have NEVER witnessed a man, for all intents and purposes, wearing a dress. (A male dress to be sure.)
The beach and its age-old familiar flavor lost something of its allure for a while, as Jean and I studied the man in the kilt. Oddly, he never moved, not for the longest time, but continued to stare out over the azure, churning waters which ebbed and flowed around his ankles.
And while his wife, (or girlfriend) seemed to pick up wayward shells, and rambled to and fro, Isham never moved, nor even turned to notice if she was within a hundred miles.
A young man wearing a kilt standing in ankle-deep water on an Atlantic beach; his eyes fixed on some invisible, (at least to me) image which begged to be found out.
And suddenly, my mind, no, my spirit made some sort of ethereal association between the present time, and a time which had long since “gone by the way.”
For you see, there was another young man, (don’t you know) who once stood on a very similar beach, and who so much like our own young man in the kilt, cast his eyes towards the east; remembering a place from whence he came, and to which he would never return.
For you see, this original Isham was my ancient Scottish grandfather, a man who having left his beloved homeland behind, loved and embraced his adopted country, and who served that budding nation throughout the course of the American Revolution.
A momentary, but compelling association. Two men on the beach wearing… kilts. One who has long-since gone on to his reward. 

One who stands in his place, and beckons one such as me to…

Remember.


 By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 25. Copyright pending
 
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FILLING UP IN MY OWN BODY HIS UNFINISHED SUFFERINGS

One of the most poignant and ironic scriptures in the New Testament reads as follows:

“Filling up in my own body the unfinished sufferings of Christ.” (Col. 1:24)

While we cannot add a thimble full to our Lord’s finished work on the cross, the implication of this scripture is that the servant is not greater than his Master, and if the God-man suffered, we ought count it a privilege to follow His lead.

Of course, throughout the two thousand years which separates us from His having walked on this earth countless martyrs have stepped forward, and followed Christ in His suffering.

My pastor included the following stories in today’s church bulletin:

Matthew Henry wrote his Bible commentary some 250 years ago. In it he records being robbed on his way to a preaching engagement. His prayer of tranksgiving is noteworthy. 

First,I want to thank Thee because I was never robbed before. Second, I thank Thee that though they took my wallet, they did not take my life. Third, I thank Thee that though they took all I had, it wasn’t much. Fourth, I thank Thee that it was I who was robbed, and not I who robbed. (And I expect if he’d thought about it, Rev. Henry would have included, ‘Fifth, I thank Thee that it was I who was robbed, and not someone else who was robbed.’)

The Reverend Lindsay and Lucille Croft were prominent Church of God pastors and church leaders in Florida. He served as Florida Evangelism Director. The Croft’s retired near Bushnell. Some ten years ago they were robbed and savagely murdered; so brutalized that it was a closed casket affair. 

I attended their funeral service. The crowds were so large it was held in the gymnasium of the Bushnell High School. It was just before Thanksgiving. 

Their son, Dale Croft said, 

“I am thankful for three things. First, that they did not suffer long, second, that they went together, and third, I know where they are.” (Rev. Elwood Kern)

THE POWER OF WORDS

In the Book of James we find the following admonition.

“If any man appear religious, but cannot control his own tongue, he deceives himself, and his religion is vain.” (1:26)

There is great power in words. Once heard they cannot be unheard. Once delivered they cannot be undelivered. 

Something which occurred tonight made me think about the power of a word. 

My wife was ‘on’ her smart phone, and she happened to have it set on the ‘look up’ screen, and I was lying on the couch; perhaps ten feet away. Well, I was talking about the unedited version of “Rain Man” (the video) which I was watching on ‘The Movie Channel.’ And when, over the course of a few minutes, Tom Cruise spit out a couple of ‘GD’s’ and a couple of ‘F words,’ I exclaimed,

“That movie is just plain raunchy!”

Well, I had no sooner made the statement than my wife’s smart phone kicked into gear, and a disembodied voice filled the air.

“Raunchy. According to Wikipedia the word “Raunchy means vulgar, unfit for human consumption, rotten, spoiled…”

You can imagine my surprise.

The spoken word

Words we would like to take back, but we can’t. Words which will be ingrained in the psyches of those who heard us speak, as long as they draw breath. Words hurt. The old adage, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me” is ‘cow manure in a chef salad.’

Jesus made the statement, “My words are spirit and they are life.” Well, words can also be spirit and… death; depending on the content and the agenda behind those words.

God knows, I’ve sometimes been hurt by words.

Words too casually uttered. Purposefully vindictive words. Words simply misunderstood and not clarified. For that matter, words not spoken which should have been spoken.

People who have never learned to channel their words, or to subtract enough words from their vocabulary. 

The power of the spoken word

Why, only yesterday I was ‘going on’ about the recent presidential election, and given the extended audience who were privy to my monologue, someone ‘shushed’ me. 

Well, I immediately pled my First Amendment rights to free speech, and said something I didn’t mean.

“I don’t care about people!”

Which only substantiates my present premise for I meant to say,

“I don’t care about people’s opinions!”

(And honestly, the older I get the less I care about people’s perspectives of my perspectives).

But upon reflection, I messaged each individual in my ‘inner circle,’ and referencing what I actually said, clarified exactly what I meant to say.

The power, the impact of the spoken word

God grant that my life and words never come across as 

 …‘raunchy.’ But may I glorify Thee in all I do and say.


  By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 46. Copyright pending
 
 If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
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LOOKING FOR THAT ONE

I was watching a movie today about a military doctor who was assigned a patient with severe dental and lip injuries, as the result of an automobile accident.

This surgeon took extraordinary measures to assist his patient, and spent multiplied hours planning the initial and subsequent operations. Never in his surgical career had he felt such empathy for a patient. Never in his life had he devoted such caring effort, or taken his responsibility so much to heart.

And though the young woman was gruesome to behold, and though her injuries were the worst he’d ever witnessed, he painstakingly went about his task. And throughout the months and years to come he assumed a duel role; that of physician and prophet. For he could virtually see the finished work before him. He could see the invisible, as though it were visible. And this energized him during periods of his own disappointment, and his patient’s disbelief.

The young woman often lashed out at him, wavering between despondency, anxiety, discouragement and rage. Sometimes his patient’s immaturity surprised the doctor, and he could only shake his head. But nothing deterred him from his task, and over many months and years, he performed surgery after surgery, and with each operation his dream became increasingly tangible. And with each operation his young client seemed increasingly confident about the ultimate result.

The surgeon was doing the kind of breakthrough, innovative work that had never been attempted, and his associates and friends were often skeptical of the final outcome. More than once someone accused the doctor of ‘playing God.’ And though their remarks were critical by implication, the physician chose to regard them as complimentary.

And what of the young lady, the recipient of all his skill and labor? Her facial deformities became less obvious, less hideous to those who beheld her. And with time the results of her unfortunate accident were almost imperceptible; until all that remained was a slight scar on one edge of her recreated lips.

And her joy, and the corresponding joy of her surgeon overflowed, and seemed to fill up the world around them. She was whole again. Her shame was vanquished. She no longer hid her face from approaching strangers, and her newfound smile seemed to light up the world around her.

 

It occurs to me that the young lady’s surgeon had so thoroughly grasped the fictional ‘Jane Eyre’s’ message in the novel by the same title, and rendered it prophetic.

“Your wounds are sad to behold, but you are not your wounds.”

Ultimately, the woman determined to give back something of what she had received, and she began to impact one here, and bless one there. And, readers, I may have neglected to tell you, before her injury our little heroine had been a nurse. Thus she returned to her duties with more vigor and more enthusiasm than she’d ever felt. For having once been a patient, she could empathize far beyond anything theoretical. Dream had taken on reality. Fog had taken on flesh.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that ‘playing God’ allusion, and at first glance, it’s a repugnant characterization, since there’s One God, (and I’m not Him). But that old adage, “Some people have to have a God with flesh on” rings true. Why, just today, I received a call from an anxious client, an individual who has left her childhood faith behind, and who disavows any further use for God. Nevertheless, I ministered to her. And I like to think that she was comforted, and sensed a bit of God in me.

We have been given a rare opportunity; an opportunity to, as it were, play both prophet and God, and I say this will all due respect, and submission to the only One and True God.

There are those in our midst who will never excel, nor attempt to do so. There are those in our company who will be content to squander their God-given hopes and dreams. 

There are those who will make the cemetery richer; for the local cemetery is among the richest pieces of ground on earth. Since it is filled with all the unexplored, un-attempted and unfulfilled dreams of thousands of God’s creations; lying dormant. Never to find fruition.

My message to you is to look for that one; that one person among many who displays the kind of unexplored, just under the surface potential to be singular, to be great, to be used of our Lord. Look for that man or woman who can be shaped, molded, impacted. Look for that one who, though sick, or sad or selfish has a pliable and contrite spirit, and who is marginally, and increasingly ready to assume their God-given place on the earth.

Inscribed on the Statue of Liberty is a verse:

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teaming short. Send these, the homeless tempest tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” (Emma Lazarus)

Our mission is to people like this. The tired, the poor, the huddled masses, the wretched refuse, the homeless. And we have a lamp to light their pathways. And we offer them a golden door; a door which leads to freedom.

But many will refuse our comfort, and many will drift away. But if we can touch just one at a time. If we can make a difference in one life at a time. We may not be able to change the world, but we may be able to change the world of one person.

Pour your efforts into all; everyone who seeks help, who pleads for deliverance. Do this. Do this.

But look for that one; that one who seems to provoke you to do a little more. That one who not only needs a bit more attention, but who, by words or action, places themselves in your hands, and bids you mold them into something lovely. Look for that one. Give your best efforts to that one.

For you are both a physician and a prophet. So reminiscent of that doctor who bestowed his best labor on the little lady; to whom I have previously alluded. God bids you pour healing suave in their wounds. He will give you dreams in the night on their behalf, and provoke you to see the invisible and impossible. You are truly both a physician and a prophet.

Someone, a very dear someone, once looked intently at me and said, “You must have seen something in me.” To which I responded, “Indeed, I did!” Another precious someone once mused, “You almost sent me away,” and I responded, “I’m so glad I didn’t.”

Who can know how God may choose to multiply our efforts through these precious souls who wait for us to touch, impact, impress and invest in them?

Look for that One, that One who seems to provoke you to do a little more. That One who not only needs a little more attention, but who, by words or action, places themselves in your hands and begs you to mold them into something beautiful. 

Look for that One.


  By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "The Mantle". 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 right margin