SHIRLEY'S SANDALS

In the early 90’s, possibly 1995, Dr. Dobson co-sponsored a week-long counseling seminar in Denver, along with The American Association of Christian Counselors. My wife and flew out for the seminar, and while Jean found various things to keep her occupied, especially sight-seeing (she loved Rocky Mountain National Park) I attended various daily subject blocks that were presented. Of course, I was in my early years as a pastoral counselor in Winter Haven at the time.

On the last night of the seminar, Dr. Dobson spoke to what was easily a thousand participants. Afterwards, he invited whomever would to speak to him a moment and have their photo made with him. It seemed like hundreds lined up for this howdy doody time with him. Since there were dozens and dozens of people ahead of me, I decided I would head back to the hotel where Jean waited. As I walked out the conference hall door, I rethought that decision, since I really wanted to meet the imminent doctor. I turned around and got in line. By this time I found myself like three people from the end.

Oh the patience of this wonderful man. He chatted amicably with each person, like they were long-lost friends, and posed for photos. From time to time, he would encourage friends of the individual he was speaking with to step up and pose with him and them. Time was dragging by, and the line slowly crept forward. 

Finally, as I approached Dr. Dobson, there was one person in line ahead of me by this time, I looked over to my right, and Shirley Dobson was standing there, looking by impatient by this hour of the night, barefoot and holding her sandals in her hands.

I heard her say, “Jim, it’s getting late. We really need to go home.”
Well, you can imagine how disappointed I was, thinking “well, there’s one person ahead of me, and now he’s going to turn on his heels, and walk out.”

But I suppose he spoke to her and encouraged his wife that he was almost done, I don’t recall now, and then it was my turn. 

“And so, do you have a question or comment, my friend?” I had previously thought what I might ask.

“Dr. Dobson, if you were to give a pastoral counselor one suggestion, what would it be.”

I realized that was a broad, open-ended inquiry, but I thought Dr. James handled it very well.

“Well sir, if I had time to consider your question in the way it deserves, I might come up with something more profound, but my advice to you is to ‘be loyal to your clients, your pastor, your church and your God.’”

This bit of advice might not mean a great deal to you, but as a counselor it certainly registered with me.

I thanked him, and headed out the door, and walked a couple blocks back to the hotel where my wife was anxiously waiting for me. It was near midnight, and my Jean was frantic that I’d been mugged, and being held for ransom. She had asked a security guard if he would assist her, and he told her that if I didn’t show up soon, he would be glad to scour the streets for me. It was about this time that I appeared… and I won’t go into that, but you can imagine Jean’s relief, as well as her momentary indignation.

(Also, see "Trashing Your Trophy", next blog, below)

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 25. Copyright pending

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