MY MONKEY & ME

I suppose I was 12 or 13 when that I “put in” with my mother to buy a pet monkey. In those days you could purchase squirrel monkeys in pet shops, though to my knowledge one would need a special pet handling license to do so now.

At any rate, the day dawned when mama succumbed to my wishes and drove me to the local pet shop, and we proceeded to browse the “monkey section” of the store. Of course, given that we lived in a lightly inhabited area of the state, you might imagine the selection was a bit thin. I suppose there may have been all of two or three monkeys from which to choose.

To this day I don’t recall what sort of home-going receptacle the store keeper packed the little critter in, nor the name which I ultimately gave him, nor what I fed him, but we someone managed to do the deed, and he was mine.

To say I was ill-prepared to take care of the tiny imp would be an understatement, since when we got home I placed the little guy in a relatively small cage behind the house, and did whatever amateurish things I did to care for him. And I might well have added one more item to the list of variables in the previous paragraph.

How long I had him.

Almost six decades have come and gone since that season in my life, but if memory serves me well, the little tyke “came and went” during the course of a few days.

It soon became apparent that there would be no holding of, nor playing with my newfound “friend,” since to do so would have resulted in a mauling of the hands, shoulders, neck and face I would not soon forget. And I can be quite sure this was the case, since before I “knew better” he gave me a couple of unexpected scratches and bites which put me on my guard for some rare tropical disease.

It may have been the same week I adopted him, or the next that I gingerly opened the door of his cage to feed him a banana or bunch of grapes, when he darted out said door, and scrambled up a nearby oak tree. As I reflect upon it now there can be little doubt that he’d been longingly looking up into the tree above him, and making plans to escape; as surely as you can say, “Shawshank Redemption.”

And as “Mrs. Fairfax” of the book and movie, “Jane Eyre” might have mused,

“What to do? What to do?”

There seemed to be little that I could do. I recall standing beneath that old oak tree, looking up, and he sat among the top branches of the tree, looking down. It was then that I shouted a few choice four letter words, kicked over the cage, and stood there watching the little guy celebrate his escape for an hour or more. No doubt, I enlisted the help of my dad, and no doubt he informed me of the hopelessness of my predicament. Like putting toothpaste back into a tube, no coxing managed to lure the creature back into the cage.

There was little I could do but set a course for my nearby back door, and leave the fate of my fuzzy friend to Providence.

Odd how sometimes we never know the ultimate outcome of this or that momentary occurrence, or sometimes we live out multiplied decades; when things suddenly become as recognizable as a completed thousand piece puzzle. 

It was only last year that I happened to mention that ancient one-monkey zoo, and the occupant thereof, to my brother, Wayne. And it was then that I saw something register in his eyes. For it seems he was endowed with a missing piece of that puzzle, and had “kept it in his pocket” for well over half a century.

“I heard that little critter lived in those trees surrounding Mr. Pickens’ house for years.”

My brother’s informational tidbit caught me off guard, and no doubt I responded with a,

“Say what?”

Mr. Pickens owned a commercial plant nursery which was located a few hundred yards from my house, and I worked part-time for him after school during my teen years. But in spite of this, I’d never heard this story, and I found myself relieved that the tiny ape had managed to survive longer than I might have hoped at the time.

The State of Florida is home to numerous exotic native and non-native species. Black bears, panthers, alligators, crocodiles, boa constrictors, manatees, and monkeys of every breed and variety prowl the swamps, forests and waterways of our peninsula.

On a peripheral note, I vividly remember my 40 day National Guard stint in Homestead after Hurricane Andrew. The 2/116 Field Artillery had “set up shop” on the property of the Metro Zoo; or what was left of it. We were informed that a research facility on the grounds of the zoo had been wiped out during this Category 5 storm, and that dozens of HIV-infected monkeys had escaped; not unlike the previous escapade of my little friend. And we were admonished, should we see one, to shoot the critter on sight. None, however were sighted, and none, however were shot. It has been conjectured that these research animals made their way into the Florida Everglades, and proceeded to practice un-safe sex the past two and a half decades. As a result, there might well be hundreds of HIV-infected monkeys roaming a full third of our state.

I like to think my little friend lived out a full, contented, (though admittedly solitary) life “on the lamb.” No doubt, he was better for having made his escape from his outdoor prison, and from the well-intended, but amateurish likes of me.

Somehow I’m glad he, like all those other exotic creatures which populate my native environment, was given the opportunity to live and to die free, and that in my latter years I was provided with some understanding of his ultimate fate.

I am once again reminded that knowledge is a gift. Not unlike the recognition which comes with the completion of a tedious puzzle.

I can see him now; enjoying those wild, ecstatic moments amongst the branches.


By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 20. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include this credit line.

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If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015 and 2016, 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

Click on 2016 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "Children of a Lesser God" appears, click on the title. All of my 2016 blog titles will come up in the right margin

GOODNIGHT JAMIE, WHEREEVER YOU ARE

My wife and I enjoyed a vacation in California a full thirty years ago. (It is suddenly startling to think three decades have come and gone since that trip). We visited Monterey, San Francisco, Muir Woods, Yosemite National Park, and Sonora.

We passed through Sonora at lunchtime, and as a result, Jean and I decided we’d try the local Shoney’s buffet restaurant. As we walked in we noticed that the waitresses were outfitted in light blue, long-sleeved blouses, and dark green floor-length dresses; so much like the character in, “Anne of Green Gables.”

As we sat down, our waitress stepped up to our table, and it seemed to me that things were getting “curiouser and curioser.” For our twenty-some year old server, whom we quickly learned was named, “Jamie,” (not sure if we ever got a last name) was a close doppelganger for Megan Follows, the actress who portrayed Anne in that popular television series.

Of course, we inquired whether anyone had ever called the similarity to her attention. And she responded with a smile and a polite, “Well, not today,” and proceeded to take our orders. Having finished our meals, we left a generous tip for our momentary friend, walked out the door, got in our car and drove away.

I suppose we had driven a couple of miles when I looked at Jean and said,

“This might seem weird, but I’d like to go back and get a picture of Jamie. She looks so much like that television character, and it would be another nice memory of our trip.”

With this, my wife said she had been thinking much the same thing, and so I turned the car around and we went back to Shoney’s. Having arrived there, we went in, and explained to Jamie that we’d love to have a photo of her as a momento of our trip. She quickly acquiesced, suggested we walk out on the unenclosed front porch, and smiled for the picture. And with that, we thanked her, bid her farewell, and we were off.

In the intervening decades, I can’t begin to tell you how often we have reminisced about our trip, and more often than not referred to the now, almost 50 year old  Jamie, more than any other person or place.

“I wonder how she’s been doing?” (and) “Perhaps she’s married now.” (and) “I wonder how long she worked at that restaurant.” (and) “I wonder if she remembers us the way we remember her?”

While it is doubtful we will ever see our momentary acquaintance again in this life, we never cease to think of her, refer to her as a sort of long lost friend, and even pray for her. Oddly enough, she’s just never all that far from our minds.

Goodnight Jamie. Where ever you are.


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

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include this credit line.

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If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015 and 2016, 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

Click on 2016 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "Children of a Lesser God" appears, click on the title. All of my 2016 blog titles will come up in the right margin

IRREPLACEABLE PEOPLE. Pts. 1-3

I have previously alluded to the late Bill Pearce; my favorite radio broadcaster of all time. Mr. Pearce hosted the earlier program, ‘Night Watch’ and a subsequent broadcast, ‘Night Sounds’ for over 50 years.

During those five plus decades of ministry, Bill touched the lives of literally millions of listeners with his topical messages, rich baritone solos and trombone renditions; as well as a myriad of ‘hip’ and not so ‘hip’ musical selections by numerous 20^th century Christian artists.

As time wore on, as it is prone to do, Mr. Pearce began experiencing slight, and then progressively major difficulty enunciating his words, so much so that he mentioned it ‘on the air.’ Ultimately, Bill made an appointment with a physician, and was diagnosed with,

Parkinson’s Disease

Sometime after the turn of the 21^st century, the great Christian disk jockey, (if he may be referred to in this manner) singer and trombonist was forced to step away from the control booth for the last time, and to submit himself to the care of a nursing facility; in which he lived out the remainder of his days.

A couple of years prior to Bill’s passing, one of his former producers visited him in that Pennsylvania nursing home. Of course, the great radio personality was thrilled to see him. Mr. Pearce’s ability to speak may have been ‘past tense’ at this point in his life, but there was nothing wrong with hearing or mind.

Before he departed, “Mr. Ames” decided he’d make things a bit more interesting, if for no other reason than to provide Bill a break in the routine of the place in which he found himself.

“Bill, you know many things in life aren’t permanent, and aren’t meant to be. I mean, take the 50 years of Christian radio programs that you hosted. There’s a whole lot of good stuff in the vast broadcast archives which you assembled. Still, you and I both know that material is outdated. I’m sorry, some things are meant for a season, and then fade away.”

Well, I would like to have been a fly on the wall that day. History has it that Mr. Pearce’s eyes widened, and his face turned a bit ashen. However, before the tears found the opportunity to well up in the great man’s eyes, Mr. Ames spoke again.

“Bill, I’m just teasing with you. Your broadcasts are still being aired, night after night, and now they’re available on the internet. (www.nightsoundsradio.org) We have made arrangements for your voice and music to go on reaching millions for decades to come.”

And with that, it seemed the little man with a voice as big as all outdoors, and an equally big heart relaxed, and a broad smile enveloped his face. He was a man altogether ‘taken up’ with Legacy, and his personal legacy is safe for years to come.

As I listen to Bill Pearce’s distinct voice today, it is almost impossible to comprehend that he is no longer with us. He seems so present and his monologue and music so ‘there there,’ it is as if he never left us.

May God increase the impact of ‘Night Sounds’ and hold this bless-ed man in the hollow of His loving arms.

Pt. 2

As I write this blog, I am listening to a segment of the radio/internet broadcast, “Night Sounds” with the late Bill Pearce; my favorite broadcast and broadcaster of all time.

Tonight’s broadcast is entitled, “Vessels of Clay” and deals with human frailty and a tendency among ‘all God’s creatures’ to repeatedly fail in their attempt to mirror the image of the Almighty; (even if they’re ‘trying hard’ to do so).

As Bill opened up the program he observed,

“My father was a minister, and I once asked him, ‘How is it that you preach holiness and righteousness, and all that when none of us are perfect and can’t possibly measure up to God’s expectations?’”

To which Bill’s father so wisely responded,

“Well, we’re all preaching something we’re not. But God uses vessels of clay.”

(Indeed, He does).

And one facet of our clay-like vessels is our subjective-ness to disease.

As I was listening to one of the earlier Night Sounds broadcasts this week, Mr. Pearce reflected,

“I was attempting to pronounce a particular word on a broadcast the other day, aurora borealis, and I found myself struggling to pronounce it correctly. I never did manage it.”

And it occurred to me that Bill was, ultimately, diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, was admitted to a skilled nursing facility and eventually succumbed to the dread malady. How strange it seems to have been given an ‘on-air’ entre into an early symptom of his condition; which at the time the radio host would have considered a benign happenstance. 

And if only for a moment partaking of, as it were, an attribute invested only in the Godhead. 

Omniscience

As God instructed Moses to approach Pharaoh, and when Moses, subsequently, asked God who he say sent him, Jehovah responded with,

“Tell him that ‘I AM’ hath sent you.”

God, the ‘I AM’ of the universe. Not ‘I was, I am, I will be,’ but ‘I AM.’ The ever present, living Creator who was present in our pasts, present in our, well, present, and present in our futures. He who has already been there, knows the number of hairs on our head, each whirl and line within our fingerprints, each day of our lives, and the very day and nature of our passing.

And hearkening back to ‘Night Sounds’ and its eloquent host, it is apparent from tonight’s program that time had progressed since the earlier broadcast to which I alluded, as Mr. Peace refers to his progressing inability to exercise adequate diction.

“I am experiencing an increasing inability to pronounce my words due to a particular malady, and I cannot know when my situation will prevent me from speaking to you. It’s all in the hands of our wonderful Creator.”

It is comforting to know that God had already been there, and it was enough at that moment that God knew, and that nothing in this good man’s life had taken Him unawares. And so it is with each and every one of us.

God, the ever-present One, the ‘I AM’ of all our ways and all our days.

Pt. 3

In my earlier stories, I alluded to the late Bill Pearce.

During five plus decades of ministry on the radio broadcasts, “Night Watch” and “Night Sounds” Bill touched the lives of literally millions of listeners with his topical messages, rich baritone solos, and trombone renditions; as well as a myriad of ‘hip’ and not so ‘hip’ musical selections by numerous 20^th century Christian artists.

As time wore on, as it is prone to do, Mr. Pearce began experiencing slight, and then progressively major difficulty enunciating his words, so much so that he mentioned it ‘on the air.’ Ultimately, Bill made an appointment with a physician, and was diagnosed with,

Parkinson’s Disease

But to digress a bit, I was just listening to an undated segment from “Night Sounds,” (but for that matter the internet renditions of the broadcast are all undated) and “the little man with a big voice” became very vulnerable and said,

“I have wondered who will take over for me when I am gone. I mean, I can’t stay here forever. I will pass off the scene, as surely as billions of others have before me. Who will assume my mantle and continue this radio broadcast?

I mentioned the subject in a recent meeting with the members of our board, and one and then another said, ‘Oh, no one could ever replace you, Bill.’ But, if this broadcast is to survive, if it is to go on impacting generations, someone will have to step forward. I have thought, perhaps, one of my sons could take over for me. But they don’t sense the calling, and I suppose that is an unlikely possibility. Nevertheless, no one is irreplaceable; least of all yours truly.”

I was always ‘taken up’ with Paul Harvey’s, “The Rest of the Story” and it would appear there was a rest of the story when it came to Bill Pearce’s concern for the broadcast, and who would step forward to assume his position; when he passed from the scene.

After all, he made the emphatic statement that, “No one is irreplaceable.”

It would appear that between the words, to which I alluded, and the last year of his life on earth, Bill’s mindset on the topic metamorphosed. At least you didn’t have to convinced his board members, and millions of his listeners.

For you see, no one ultimately stepped forward. There would be no replacement. For not unlike other audio classics, such as “The War of the Worlds” and “Command Performance” and video classics, such as “The Dick Van Dyke Show” and “The Johnny Carson Show” it was determined that Bill Pearce’s “Night Sounds” could not, and would not be duplicated.

As I inferred in an earlier blog, one of Bill’s board members shared the following assurance with him as he prepared to meet his Maker.

“My friend, your broadcasts are still being aired, night after night, and now they’re available on the internet. We have made arrangements for your voice and music to go on reaching millions for decades to come.”

And with that assurance, it seemed the little man with a voice as big as all outdoors, (and an equally big heart) relaxed, and a broad smile enveloped his face. He was a man altogether ‘taken up’ with Legacy, and his personal legacy is safe for years to come.

I guess some people are, after all, irreplaceable.


By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 53. Copyright pending

If you wish to share, copy or save, please include this credit line.

***********
If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015 and 2016, 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

Click on 2016 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "Children of a Lesser God" appears, click on the title. All of my 2016 blog titles will come up in the right margin

GIVING & RECEIVING

IF FROM TWO KINDS OF PLEASURE I WOULD CHOOSE

THE ONE BY WHICH I’D WIN, THE OTHER LOSE

THE HAPPINESS I FIND ON THIS OLD EARTH,

THRU DEEDS OF KINDNESS AND OF VIRTUOUS WORTH,

OR PASSING, GIVING JOY TO THOSE I KNOW,

AND TO THE HELPLESS, QUIET ALMS BESTOW,

I KNOW I’D RELISH NOT TEMPORARY GAIN

OR THE MULTITUDE’S APPLAUSE, BUT LIVING AIM

MY WORK BY ACTING IN THOSE PARTS

THAT WOULD ENGRAVE MY NAME IN HUMAN HEARTS

OF VARIOUS FORMS OF INDIGNATION YOU AND I

WILL FIND IN EVERY SOUL THAT PASSES BY,

THERE’S ONE, A LOWLY JEW OF GALILEE

USED, WHEN HE TOOK A WHIP TO FREE

THE TEMPLE FROM THE MONEY CHANGERS THERE.

THAT I LIKE BEST, FOR IT LAYS NAKED, BARE,

THE FRUITLESSNESS OF SELFISH, SORDID AIM,

AND DISAPPOINTMENT FOUND IN WORLDLY GAIN,

AND MAGNIFIES A THOUSAND FOLD

THE RIGHTEOUS WAY TO WORK FOR YOUNG AND OLD.

EACH HOUR, EACH DAY, EACH YEAR WE WIN OR LOSE

HAPPINESS AND PEACE OF MIND THE WAY WE CHOOSE;

EACH FLOWER AND BIRD, ALL CREATURES ON THIS EARTH

THAT HAVE IN THEM THE PRECIOUS JEWEL OF WORTH,

TELL US THAT, FINALLY, OUR REWARD

IS WORTH SO MUCH WE CAN’T AFFORD

WHEN YOUNG, NOT TO TRAIN THE WILL,

SO THAT THRU LIFE WE’LL CHOOSE THE RIGHT THING STILL

AND HAPPINESS THROUGHOUT THE PASSING HOURS

WILL BE WITH THEE AND THINE AND ALL THAT’S OURS

By Wallace H. Holmes

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS (OR THE LACK THEREOF)

“The Pilgrim’s Progress”, John Bunyan’s classic allegory of the Christian faith follows the hero, Christian, from the City of Destruction to his heavenly destination, the Celestial City. Along the way, Christian and a companion approach “a very miry slough that was in the midst of the plain, and they being heedless did both fall suddenly in the bog.”

“The name of the slough was ‘Despond.’ Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time being grieviously besmirched with dirt. Christian, because of the burden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire.”

His traveling companion managed to get out, but rather than giving Christian a hand up, he turns away from the “path of life” and flees home. Christian is then left struggling alone in the boggy, muddy hole, until a man named ‘Help,’ (the Holy Spirit) kindly pulls him free from despondency’s pit and sets him on solid ground.

Christian asks “Help” why this dangerous plot of land has not been “mended” so that poor travelers might go on Heaven’s journey with more security. “Help” tellingly replies, “This miry slough is such a place that cannot be mended.”

How true this is in real life! No matter how hard we try or how spiritually mature we are, miry sloughs are inevitable. Not because we have failed somehow, but because no one is immune to despondency. “It is such a place that cannot be mended.”

Obviously, “The Pilgrim’s Progress” allegory, and the foregoing commentator’s perspectives, are falliable, and the stuff of human perspective. However, in regard to despondency, despair and depression, having practiced as a pastoral counselor for two and a half decades I am convinced, (and have witnessed recurring examples) that such difficult symptoms can be addressed, especially as the result of counseling, medicinal intervention and an emphasis on spiritual things.

Quotations – “The Pilgrim’s Progress”

Commentary – Unknown Author

Final Perspective – William McDonald, PhD

(See previous blog. "Depression - Workshop")

DEPRESSION: WORKSHOP - An Exhaustive Resource

Depression. We’ve all been there. While some experience relatively light and sporadic symptoms of this disorder, others seem to walk around with a permanent cloud affixed to their heads.

Our workshop tonight is designed to provide you information on the disorder we refer to as Depression. In the short time we have together, I cannot hope to give you an exhaustive study, but I expect the following information will be very helpful to you.

What is Depression?

I have often reflected that as many as a third of the thousands of clients I have counseled over the past twelve years exhibited depressive symptoms. And I have often told these clients that the symptoms of the disorder virtually define it.

Let’s look at several potential symptoms and then consider the genesis of this mood disorder.

These symptoms may be divided into a formula represented by the letters A, B, C.

A = Affect – Affect refers to facial characteristics. Discouragement and “The Blues” are often evident in the eyes of the depressed person. There may be a seeming lack of life there,
and the mouth is often set and unsmiling. Seemingly, even the pigment of the skin may be blanched or gray in color.

B=Behavior – The appetite may be reduced or unusually large. The depressive person often “takes to his bed,” and sleeps hours beyond what has been usual. Obversely, he may not be able to sleep or awake early. His energy is often reduced.

C=Cognition – It is not unusual for a depressive person to lose focus or forget easily, and their mental mindset is often negative in nature. An increasingly selfish, reflective or introspective attitude may be evident.

There are any number of factors which contribute to Depression. We will consider these characteristics and factors in language common to lay people.

When I think of “Genesis Events or Stimuli” which contribute to depressive feelings, I immediately think of two broad headings: External and Internal.

In terms of the External Factors that contribute to Depression, - Loss, Traumatic Events, and other difficult circumstances are often present.

Stress or Overload is an equally common stimulus that predisposes the body to depressive emotions.

In relation to Internal Factors there are Hormonal Imbalances and Chemical Imbalances. Women most often suffer the effects of imbalance related to their three major gender hormones: Estrogen, Progesterone and Testosterone. They are twice as likely to suffer with Depression. Both genders may suffer from chemical imbalances such as Bipolar Disorder or Schizophrenia; mental disorders related to chemicals within the brain.

In addition, what I refer to as Faulty Thinking or Dysfunctional Mindsets are internal factors which may translate into feelings of hopelessness and correspondingly negative behaviors. I have prepared an excellent handout for you which details some traditional mindsets.

Feelings of Low Self Esteem and Guilt related to past events may contribute to depressive emotions.

Unforgiveness, without doubt, predisposes people to Depression, Anger, Bitterness, and a host of other physical maladies.

Depression may last an hour, a day, a week or a lifetime. In terms of treatment, two major characteristics signal the need for intensive care:

1. The severity of the symptoms (as evidenced by how the “candidate’s” life is being effected,) and 2. The length of time the symptoms persist.

Depression is a disorder that may significantly reduce one’s ability to function and enjoy life. It may be so pervasive that sleep seems to be the only respite to dreary days and tortured nights. As a handout you will be given implies, it has the potential to close you off from relationships and social interaction and virtually suck air and life from you. I have said that “It is like falling asleep with your feet in a wet gray mixture, only to wake up and find out its concrete.” Depression contributes to something I refer to as “Stuckness,” or the tendency to remain emotionally stuck.

Depression should not necessarily be thought of as a negative or sinful thing. We’ll be reflecting shortly on some very godly men who were familiar with hopelessness and despair. Depression is a normal part of the grieving process. Depression is a normal response to life’s circumstances.

Symptoms like disappointment may be light and fleeting, while discouragement and hopelessness may require medical attention. Depression may be successfully dealt with on our own, or the severity and length of it may require professional attention.

I feel inclined to accent something in the early portion of my lecture. Moderate to Major Depressive symptoms cannot be taken for granted. I have dealt with such emotions among clients, friends and relatives for years. The suggestions you will receive tonight have the potential to make a large difference, but there is no panacea. Sometimes Depression lingers for years, and especially among the chemically imbalanced, treatment may require a great deal of patience, and some trial and error.

I have personally dealt with what has been referred to as Suicidal Ideation which can be a result of Major (or Clinical) Depression. Several of my clients attempted to permanently harm themselves. Thankfully, none succeeded in the attempt.

We will be discussing treatment and intervention in the second portion of my lecture. You will also be given a packet of materials tonight which include my lecture and some additional handouts which have been prepared by my associate counselor and myself.

Let’s return to the predisposing factors which may lead to the symptom we call Depression. Again, they are primarily External and Internal in nature. The catalysts for Depression are either Circumstantial or Reactive in nature or are a result of Physical, Spiritual, Chemical or Emotional maladies within the human body.

It’s interesting, (if that’s the correct word,) that Depression is often generated by both Circumstantial and Internal causes. It is often a mixed bag of sorts.

I’d like us to spend a few moments with some historical examples. Since I administer a Christian counseling agency, I can think of no better source than scripture. Let’s look a several examples from the Old and New Testaments, and let me attempt to analyze these fellows and their conditions.

Elijah knew the pain and disillusionment of Depression. In 1st Kings, Chapter 19 he has just experienced a great victory, and then, confusingly, he runs away in fear. We see him sitting by a brook feeling sorry for himself. He figuratively or literally shakes his finger at God and says, “Take my life from me. Nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen” and “I am the last righteous man in Israel.” Immediately God corrects him, and encourages him that there are many who have not bowed down to Baal. The lingering effects of Depression often follow a great accomplishment. In Elijah’s case we are witnessing Circumstantial Depression since he is in fear for his life, and that sort of Depression brought on by his own internal mindset. Something I call Faulty Thinking.

Then we have Job; Depression Incarnate. Hardly ever a man suffered like this man. The loss of his children, the alienation of his wife, the theft of his possessions, the destruction of his body, the clutter of his mind, the evil intervention of Lucifer, himself. Again we see dualistic factors contributing to the horrendous emotions of a godly man. And we follow Job through 42 chapters of some of the most depressing verbiage ever written. But in all of it he refused to curse God, and said in one place, “Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him!” (Job 13:15)

Then again, we see Jesus, very man and very God, as He enters into a garden, just prior to his crucifixion. Scripture tells us that He was troubled and distressed, and He sweat what appeared to be great drops of blood. His words transfix us. “My soul is very sorrowful, even to the point of death. Please let me avoid this part in Your plan.” (Mark 14) The environmental influences surrounding Him correlated with His emotional responses. He was preparing to take on the physical pain of execution and the emotional pain of our sin.

And who can forget the two unnamed disciples traveling to Emmaus. (Luke 24) Loss beyond losses. Their Lord has been crucified and buried, and all hope seems lost. Their words betray Depression generated by the most negative of circumstances. “But we had hoped…” The past tense word “had” says it all. Again, Faulty Mindsets leading to the most negative of emotions. Sometimes correct information is all that is needed. For their morose attitudes were changed in a moment. For “their eyes were opened,” and they recognized their living Lord.

Finally, at least in terms of these human examples, consider my favorite Apostle; Paul. He who every reason and right to be Depressed, but one who fought it tooth and nail. For even in the Caesar’s prison he is found to say, “You should be glad and you should rejoice even as I do” and “I have suffered the loss of all things and count them all but loss that I may gain Christ.” (Phil. Chap. 2 & 3) Our brother Paul realized that his life was a loss worth losing in the grand scheme of things. He defeated Depression in terms of the comparative mindset that the Eternal awaited him just beyond the prison’s threshold.

TREATMENT AND INTERVENING FOR THE DEPRESSED

Treatment for Depression tends to be singular in nature. Once we begin to pull together pat answers or generic remedies, we discover our limitations. That is, what may benefit one, may seem all but useless to another. Therefore, it is crucial to discover the intervention or combination of interventions that tend to alleviate Depression in a particular individual. One effective possibility is to ask ourselves, “What have I tried in the past?” or “What has worked for me that might work for me again?”

There’s a few phrases which characterize what it takes to leave troubled emotions and moods behind.

“If you want something you’ve never had you may have to do something you’ve never done.”

And

“Why do you keep on doing the same things you’ve always done and expect different results?”

And

“Change is only possible when the pain is perceived as greater than the required action.”

And

“Change becomes possible when the Status Quo seems less acceptable than the Future Unknown.”

I’m convinced that treatment begins with a Decision to get better. I have never known anyone who exhibited chronic Depression who got better ‘til they made a purposeful decision to do so.

I will quickly add… certain physical and emotional maladies challenge the chronically sick on a daily basis, and Depression, Hopelessness and Despair may come and go often. But I think God still holds us accountable to take positive action steps to help alleviate our pain.

At the same time there are those among us who will need plenty of time to move through the stages that lead to emotional healing. I have counseled clients who required weeks of therapy to move through the early stages of the loss of a loved one; whether by divorce or death. The grieving process is just that; a process. Tremendous patience and compassion is required to adequately counsel such persons. At the same time, my skills have been tested by clients who cannot consign a loved one to memory, and resume a functional lifestyle. I think of one woman who continued to “hold out a candle” for her divorced husband years after he remarried another woman.

Let’s consider some potential remedies to the emotion and disorder we refer to as Depression.
Having spent well over a decade in the counseling arena, I have concluded that there are at least four major intervention types which contribute to healing: Counseling, Medication, Spirituality and an Action Orientation on the part of the depressive individual.

The essence of struggle, and relapse. The potential that some will experience Depression throughout life, but that the ability to cope and not sacrifice ourselves to our Depression is paramount.

Beyond the initial requirement that we make that healing Decision, we must move beyond theory into that rarified atmosphere called Action.
(See Philippians 2:13)

In terms of Action Orientation, I often recommend a particular assignment.

“FINERS” – Fun, Intimacy, Nutrition, Exercise, Rest and Spirituality

(Elements which allow us to progress past Stuckness)

An Action Orientation often includes Betraying Your Emotions. We are not required to “feel like it” to take positive action steps.

Such actions may include: Asking someone to forgive you, Rectifying a past wrong, Including scripture and prayer in your daily regimen, Letting go of harmful relationships, Listening to uplifting music, Taking medicine that has proven beneficial to you, Changing negative behavioral patterns, Successfully communicating your needs, Keeping journal entries, Attending Counseling, Quoting scripture aloud, “Thought stopping, Involvement in ministry, Goal-setting, Staying busy, etc.
Let me finalize our time together with the following guidance for caregivers, friends and relatives of those who experience depression.

Encourage the friend or relative to get help.

Don’t attempt to go it alone. Professional helpers may be necessary.

Communicate. Allow the depressed party to express themselves.

Don’t allow yourself to be manipulated by the depressed person.

Don’t take threats for granted. Bring in appropriate authorities if necessary.

Don’t tempt a depressive person.

Offer to participate in their counseling process, if applicable.

Act as an accountability partner.

Participate in the activities a counselor may recommend to your friend or relative. (As an example, offer to take daily walks with your significant loved one.)

Make counselors and physicians aware of any serious changes which occur in the demeanor of the patient.

Encourage the patient. Compliment the loved one for their emotional progress.

Monitor medication, when possible.

Make wise decisions about your capability to maintain a relationship or emotional intervention with the patient.

SUMMARY:

As I considered how to close this workshop, it occurred to me to leave you with this information and admonition:

Recognize the Genesis or Source of Depression as The Beast. Because it is. Granted it is more nebulous and less visible than its Symptoms, but it is the more tangible of the two. It is when we discover The Source that we can whip the Symptom.

When we discover and address The Sources of Depression that we are closest to a miracle. That’s where our major focus should be. We may have to do some emergency intervention in regard to the Symptoms that surround Depression, but I find that when people get relief from its Sources, they most often get the relief for which they have so diligently sought.

William McDonald, PhD.Copyright 2005

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THE MOST MISERABLE MAN ALIVE. (A Short Reminiscence Concerning Abraham Lincoln)

"I am now the most miserable man living" wrote a famous American leader. "If what I feel now were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on earth. To remain as I am is impossible. I must die or be better."

You may be surprised to know that the man who wrote this was Abraham Lincoln.

Years later, in the darkest days of the American Civil War, Lincoln wrestled with the specter of unrelenting depression. It can strike anyone. No one is immune. Not even a nation's president. Here is this marvelous man with his magnificent character feeling absolutely alone. 

Surely the president ought to sleep well because of his protective service, because of his wise counsel, to say nothing of his financial security. Yet, there he was, tossing and turning through the night; haunted by debilitating thoughts.

(to be continued)

By Roy Basler, "The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln"

FOREVER FRIENDS. Pts. 1-2

Shortly after having arrived home from my recent vacation with my son, to visit two of my daughters, my wife and I ‘did lunch’ at Olive Garden.

Having been seated by the waitress, the heavy set, middle-aged woman referred to me as ‘Sir.’

I immediately smiled, as I knew how I was about to respond.

“You call me ‘Sir’ and I look around for my daddy!”

(and)

“I’m a pastoral counselor and I don’t even like my little clients to use that particular term. I will often say, ‘Jimmy (or) Susie, I appreciate your manners, but I would rather you just say, Yes or No, and call me by my first name.’”

(and)

“Of course, I make their parents aware of my preferences in this regard.”

Our server was quick to pick up on the adjective before my vocation.

“A fellow believer. Well, it’s good to meet you!”

(And I thought, “Funny, we never did exchange names”).

But with this, I remarked,

“I noticed how happy you were.”

And the conversation continued.

“Well, sadness just leads to more sadness.”

(And I could only agree).

“Yes, and we know where we’re going, and what we’ll be doing when get there.”

And while the remainder of our interaction that day focused on the quality of the food, and the tab for our bill, (and while I still didn’t know her name) as our initial dialogue ended, she pledged,

“No matter where life takes us, we’ll always  be friends.”

Pt. 2

“No matter where life takes us, we’ll always be friends!”

Indeed.

Which led me to think,

“Who can say such a thing except a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ?”

And to be sure, I realized she might just as well have said,

“No matter where life takes us, we’ll always be brother and sister in the Lord.”

And I admit to possessing an extreme bias, but if those who have professed Christ as Savior really do possess the True Religion, and if we are to believe the political incorrectness of Jesus re. His statement that He is THE Way, THE Truth and THE Life, and that no one will come to the Father, except by Him, well, there is just something special about our relationship with fellow believers.

Whatever their color, whatever their gender, whatever their denominational title, wherever they live, whatever they look like, they are our brothers and sisters; at least, as surely as the relationship we share with our own natural brothers and sisters, and we possess a relationship with them which is like no other relationship which exists on this or any other planet.

Wherever life may take us, we will always be friends. Wherever life may take us, we will always be

… brother and sister.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 53. Copyright Pending. 2017.

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DEATH OF AN INNOCENT. (An Account of a Solitary Death During the Civil War). Pts. 1-3

My late father told the story of one of his ancient McDonald cousins; though this far along, I have long since forgotten his exact identity. However, having compiled a significant amount of family research, and since I feel reasonably sure of my findings, for the sake of this story I will assign him the name of the relative whom I believe to be the individual in question. Concerning the facts surrounding the story, however, nothing is left to doubt.

Benjamin McDonald was the eldest of Isham’s children, and was born in 1790 when his father was 43 years of age; (and who had only a decade earlier served in the Revolutionary War). Isham, a Scottish immigrant, had migrated to America sometime prior to that infamous war.

Benjamin, a resident of Lowndes County, Georgia, was the father of several children of whom David was the youngest; having been born in 1848. And if my readers know anything about American History, they are familiar with another war which began a little more than a decade after the birth of Benjamin’s son.

During the American Civil War it was common for military companies  of the separate southern states, known as the Home Guard, to deploy soldiers in search of young men who had not answered the call of duty, or who in the midst of war had deserted the cause, and returned home.

As several troops of the Georgia Home Guard were passing through the Cat Creek area during the first half of the war, having ‘gotten wind’ of one ‘strangler’ in particular, they drew their tired horses up next to the McDonald homestead, dismounted, and somehow made their presence known by word or deed.

While I cannot speak to the whereabouts of the 70 year old Benjamin, history records that Jane, his wife, was present, as was David, their youngest son; and who just happened to be the object of the Home Guard’s quest.

By this time the South was experiencing a dearth of goods and manpower, and though David had only just reached the tender age of 15, the Confederate officer was determined to locate him, and immediately enlist him in the service of the great State of Georgia.

Pt. 2

Jane, my 3x great aunt, heard them before she saw them, and peering out the kitchen window she intuitively understood why the Home Guard troops were outside her front door. And she had long since decided that she would have nothing to do with it.

She commanded her young son.

“David, go out the back door! Run to the barn and hide in the hay loft!”

His mother had raised the subject with him several times over the course of the past two years, and had known that they would eventually come looking for him. It scared her to death to think her teenage son would be conscripted into the army, and possibly be deprived of a long and fruitful life.

David ran ‘for all he was worth,’ being careful to hide behind first one tree and then another, as he made his way to the rear door of the barn. He correctly surmised that since he wasn’t able to see the soldiers that they, in turn, wouldn’t be able to see him.

Jane’s son hadn’t been gone more than ten seconds when she swung open the front door and was rudely confronted by Captain Matthews.

“We know who you are, Mrs. McDonald, and we know you have a son by the name of David. We also know that he just turned 15. And by G_ _ that’s plenty old to shoot a rifle, and to catch a bullet for his country.”

Jane sensed a wave of nausea creep upwards from her belly to her throat, but she found a way to control her nerves, and responded.

“My boy ain’t here. He’s been helping my father in Waycross harvest his tobacco the past couple of weeks.”

The captain had heard that sort of rehearsed monologue before. He knew the little lady was trying to protect her son, and that he was almost certainly hiding somewhere on the property.

Pt. 3

Captain Matthews smirked, and spat out a mouthful of the stuff Mrs. McDonald claimed her son had been harvesting.

“Well, Jane. May I call you, ‘Jane?’ I simply don’t believe you. He’s here. We can be sure of that. Let me see now. Where would young David be hiding? We played this game when I was a boy. Private Jensen, Private Smith, search the barn. Now!”

Mrs. McDonald screamed.

“My son is too young for your war! Leave him alone!”

The ‘good’ captain ignored her protestation, and a big grin spread across his face.

A century and a half later it is impossible to piece together the details of the event, but as David’s mother and the captain stood outside her front door a shot rang out, and then another.

Jane let out a blood-curdling shriek and fainted dead away at the Confederate officer’s feet. The surly man summarily grabbed her under both arms and propped her up against the wall of the house.

As her youngest son lay dying on the straw-covered floor, the two soldiers proceeded to toss him out of the second story loft door into the hay wagon below.

Captain Matthews let out a string of expletives the likes of which his troops had never heard in their young lives.

“What the bloody h_ _ _ were you thinking, Jim? I give you a simple task to do, and instead of bringing me back a fresh body, you give me a corpse!”

(and)

“Well, no matter. The boy was a coward, and I expect he would have come running back to mama in the space of a week. Pack up your rifles, and let’s get outta here.”

As the three men mounted their trusty steeds, Jane managed to stand, and tore out towards the hay wagon. Having reached her dear son’s side she could see the bloody holes in his chest and right arm.

And suddenly, the poor boy inhaled sharply, opened one eye, and recognizing his mother attempted to speak. Taking renewed courage that she might somehow extend his life, Jane climbed up in the hay wagon next to him, pulled his upper body into her lap, and stroked his hair.

“Hang on son. I’ll ride into town and get the doctor.”

David shook his head and whispered.

“No, mother. I’m done for. I cannot hope to live long enough for you to saddle Old Tom. Abide with me a while.”

And with that, young David gasped, and ‘gave up the ghost.’

Afterward

Something short of a million men died as the result of gunshot, grapeshot and disease during the Civil War. And this figure fails to take into account young men such as my cousin David. Children of the southern cause who were never properly registered, and whom their parents attempted to preserve from falling prey to a war which could not be won.

When I consider the untold multitude of young fellows such as my ancient cousin, I cannot help but reflect on the brevity of their lives, and the generations who would have sprung up, (some of whom would have been with us today) had they been allowed to go about their business, marry, fulfill whatever plan God planted in their hearts, and rear children.

Perhaps the ‘bean counters’ would respond with some trite excuse about these poor boys not having died under what might be regarded as ‘official circumstances.’ Perhaps they would respond with the worn out old phrase, “You understand, it’s not personal.”

Well, I can tell you it was personal to David’s mother, and a myriad of other mothers like her. And, though we are far removed from the circumstances of that day, I can tell you

… it’s personal to me.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 35. Copyright Pending. 2017.

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THE TALE OF THREE MEN

My father founded an exterminating company in the small town of Bartow, Florida in the second half of this past century, and by the time he retired in the early 90’s I think he’d terminated every ant, roach, termite and rat for 500 square miles. And in so doing became fast friends with their intolerant caretakers.

My dad was one of those characters you never forget, and whose name lives on in the community which he loved and in which he served. More times than I care to recount strangers have told me,

“Your last name is familiar. Are you Henry McDonald’s son?”

(or)

“I knew a fella once with that name. He was my exterminator for years. We wouldn’t have used anyone else to kill our bugs.”

(or)

“Your dad was always fair and square with me. And he was quite a guy all around.”

To which I have often simply responded,

“You know he’s gone now. He was a good father. And we miss him.”

Speaking of those who have gone on to their reward, I attended a memorial service today for a man named Roger whom I never had the pleasure of knowing. And if it seems strange that I would attend a service for someone I didn’t know, it may be important to mention that I know his brother.

I suppose Bob worked for my dad for “a good” twenty years, and to say he performed his job adequately would have been an understatement. And thus with anyone who procures a position in a private company, and gives as good as they get, and more, with time Bob gained my father’s comradery and respect, and yes, even

… the love of a father.

And so you might not think it strange that during the course of his employment Bob made it clear that when my father was ready to retire, he would very much like to purchase, “McDonald Exterminators.” Upon which, they’d shared a handshake, (and perhaps a frosty mug, as well).

Of course, any of my father’s four children might well have carried on in his name, (as did the daughter of his own sister; who was his closest competitor in the trade). But each of us had our own plans, and it seems none of those plans included insecticide, and the myriad of dead six legged creatures which are the result of a liberal application of such stuff. (The closest I ever came to any mild interest in the business was in my unique ability to sketch the American Cockroach. I recall it with a smile now, but I once entered one of my realistic drawings in a local art contest and won a blue ribbon).

But as the years increased like sand in the proverbial hour glass, and my dad set a date to “do the deed,” he fulfilled his promise to Bob to tender the business to him at, (as I recall) a less than fair market price. And given the good he’d done my dad, the value his name and work ethic had lent to the business, and the relationship they’d established, it was only well and proper for my father to do so.

And my own love and respect for Bob is such that as I was writing a condolence card for him, and his wife, Joanna, the other day it occurred to me to add a bit of cursive to the all-too formal pre-printed acknowledgments;

(which went something like…)

“Bob, while none of my father’s own children saw fit to carry on where he left off, I’m glad you have taken up the mantle, and made my dad’s legacy your heritage. I am appreciative of this, and the great love and friendship you shared with him.” (Reminiscent of an earlier written tribute to that relationship when I included Bob in the text of my father’s obituary, listing him as a God-son; for a son he definitely was).

As I walked into the funeral home yesterday to help celebrate the life of a man whom I never had the privilege of meeting, Bob greeted me at the door, and we exchanged a bit of small talk. 

Introducing me to another brother, he made him aware I was Henry’s son; the man from whom he’d purchased his business; (which by the way continues to thrive, and is lauded for the same excellent service for which my father was first known and respected).

And I responded to the introduction with,

“I’m the oldest and best looking of Henry’s three sons.”

To which Bob replied with that same wit, which I also value and emulate in my own life.

“That’s not saying much for your other brothers!”

And before I found my way into the auditorium I expressed my regrets to Bob, and reflected that,

“I always hate to see anyone leave this old world without having had the chance for a full life.” (Did I mention Roger was in his early 60’s when he left us)?

To which my friend responded,

“Oh, he definitely had a full life.” (At which point I mused that he was, at least, denied a long one).

I’d rarely seen so many people at a funeral or remembrance service. The chapel was full, and a couple dozen more were ushered into an overflow room. And as remarkable as the occasion was for its attendance, it proved just as memorable for its humor.

Did I mention the event was humorous? (Well, it was).

Just as I, at length, spoke at my own father’s memorial, Roger’s son, Blake, also memorialized him. And from my way of thinking he was nothing less than expert in the weaving of poignancy and hilarity. His first sentence was as full of comic relief and measured richness as his last.

“My dad was known for his gift of gab, and using as many words to share something brief as possible. I think by the time I finish you may accuse me of doing the same.”

(Without contradiction I can say that the young man was true to his word).

But I think his audience might have sat for another twenty minutes and more, and never complained. For he had us laughing ‘til tears rolled down our cheeks; while all the while extolling the virtues of his father.

It seems Roger, like his brother, Bob, gave as good as he got, and then some.

He was a good husband and father. He was never afraid of work. He coached Little League. He loved and supported his community. He was apt to work five days, and perform a favor or service for this or that friend or acquaintance on the weekend.

As Blake continued his diatribe, he repeated what was to become a well-worn phrase in the Edwards household; (and one which he may have occasionally wearied of hearing his father verbalize).

“You have to do the right thing simply because… it’s the right thing.”

And you might imagine that well-worn phrase caught my attention, since it is the same well-worn phrase of which I am guilty of using in my own personal and professional life.

I love that old song which words accent the virtue of loving people and lending a hand in the time of need.

If I can help somebody as I travel along.

If I can help somebody with a word or a song.

If I can help somebody from doing wrong

… then my living will not be in vain.

(Roger’s life was not lived in vain).

An afterglow of sorts was scheduled at a nearby university in which this good man’s life was to have been celebrated further, and in which friends and relatives were scheduled to share their remembrances of, and love for this fine man. I regret that other obligations prevented me from attending. I expect that event was just as poignant, and filled with as much rich hilarity as was the earlier service.

In the New Testament Book of Philippians the Apostle Paul utters a poignant two word phrase…

“Copy me.”

And any conscientious bearer of those two words does so at his own peril. For I have little doubt Providence will hold us all accountable for our words, (and subsequent actions, or the lack thereof).

Three men whose lives have not been lived in vain. Three men who have tried to do right as God gave them to see the light.

And that is not to say that any of them, (two gone on to their reward, and one remaining) were or are perfect. Far from it. But good men. Men concerned with perhaps the two greatest attributes for which they can possibly be remembered.

Their name and their word.

The tale of three men

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 40. Copyright Pending. 2017.

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