Saturday, September 30, 2017

MARTYR CHILDREN. Pt. 1


I have often read one of the most singular chapters in all of the New Testament, and shook my head in abject wonder.

Hebrews Chapter 11

“They lived in caves and dens of the earth. They died by the sword. They were sawn asunder. They were devoured by lions.”

Of course, the most infamous of all such environments was the Roman Coliseum. And in that place, and on a regular basis, the followers of Jesus Christ gave the last full measure of devotion.

In the last few days I have been possessed with a singular thought; a thought which has never before permeated the wrinkled gray matter inside my cranium.

Mentally I have put myself in the place of an onlooker sitting a few rows above the dusty floor of the Coliseum. And as I sit there in rapt attention, I notice a sort of cell-like contraption rising out of the earth. And as accustomed as I am to it, for I have been here before, I immediately recognize it as an open-doored, two-sided elevator; which has delivered its human cargo from the bowels of that massive arena.

And with this, the occupants of the elevator file out into the sunshine, midst the cheering of thousands in the grandstands, very much like themselves; save for the predicament with which they contend.

As suddenly as the first elevator appears, another rises and a whirlwind of dust momentarily obscures whomever, or whatever fills up the space within. And no sooner than the ‘dust devil’ spins its way against the far wall than the assembled throng cheers, yet louder. For out of the cage stumbles several emaciated African lions; purposely starved to encourage predation.

*To be continued

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 70. Copyright pending
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Friday, September 29, 2017

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

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FILM MAKERS FULFILL STEVE MCQUEEN'S DYING WISH IN NEW MOVIE


Pastor Greg Laurie teamed up with popular Christian filmmakers The Erwin Brothers ("Woodlawn," "Mom's Night Out") to share the never before told story of American icon Steve McQueen and his journey to Christian faith.

For one-night only on Sept. 28, American Icon Films LLC and Fathom Events is bringing "Steve McQueen: American Icon" to U.S. theaters everywhere. The Jon and Andy Erwin-directed documentary will give this new generation an inside look into the life of the highest-paid actor in Hollywood in his era — McQueen, known as "The King of Cool."

People may recognize McQueen from his legendary films such as "Bullitt," "The Magnificent Seven" and "The Great Escape" but this film will explore beyond his Hollywood success and provide insight into his troubled childhood, and the spiritual journey he was on that ultimately led to a genuine Christian faith before his death.

"My hope for this film is that people would be entertained," filmmaker Jon Erwin told The Christian Post in a recent interview. "I love telling stories that are entertaining and emotionally available. I feel like if you tell the right story in the right way, we hold this belief that entertainment can be a part of changing someone's life."

Erwin said Jesus told "incredibly relatable stories." So he and his brother, Andy, want to always focus on stories that are relatable as well, along with showcasing the "transformational power" of the Gospel no matter what a person's belief is.

"[It's the] untold story of the biggest movie star in the world, the highest paid movie star in the world and how this guy climbed up from nothing and the worst situations he could be in as a child, to the biggest movie star in the world and then he realized that it didn't make him happy," the director said, running through some of the focal points featured in "Steve McQueen: American Icon."

Erwin noted that many people live under the "lie" that if they are accomplished, successful or rich, they would be happy. However, he said McQueen is a prime example that that is not the case.

"Steve McQueen: American Icon" features an exclusive recorded interview that the entertainer did two weeks before he died, but for some reason the interview never surfaced. McQueen's widow, model Barbara Minty McQueen, shared the interview with The Erwin Brothers, as well as some of her candid photographs from McQueen's last years.

"I'm very grateful that Barbara McQueen agreed to be involved. She was also an executive producer in the film. So a lot of great things came from that relationship," Erwin said.

The exclusive interview tape that somewhat narrates the film was "unbelievably moving," according to Erwin, and featured many great quotes about McQueen's faith.

"Steve talked about his childhood and said, 'When a kid doesn't have love when you're young you think you're not worth anything,'" the movie director shared.

"He was like what Eminem is to music today, he was that, to that era of film," Erwin continued. "You had all these squared-jawed, upper-class actors and then here comes this scrappy rebel street kid that willed himself to the very top of the entertainment industry. It really is this underdog American success story. Yet when he got to the pinnacle of that success, he wasn't happy."

The tape also shows McQueen's heart to share his faith with others which will now be, thanks to the film, evangelism beyond the grave.

"This is the first time in my filmmaking career that I felt like an investigative journalist and I'm almost breaking a story," Erwin gushed. "I do believe that this documentary fulfills one of the dying wishes of Steve McQueen, the biggest movie star in the world of his day."

In the movie, McQueen says, "I want to change people's lives. I want people to know what has happened to me."

When asked if he found the cure to life, he said, "Finding the Lord was the cure" in his life. He even ended his never before heard interview by saying, "My body's gone, it's broken but my spirit isn't broken."

Although McQueen's career plummeted at one point, it was actually not until the height of his success that the bad boy turned superstar actually left Hollywood.

"The things that we chase sometimes just don't satisfy and we realize that our hearts were built for something different and something more," the Erwin brother said.

"The American dream is a bit of a double-edged sword. I love America and patriotism, I love this country. America is more than a country, it's a dream where you can become anything you want to be and you can chase success and happiness as you see it," he went on to say.

However, Erwin believes people ought to be careful of what they chase after because it's not always what it's made out to be. He sourced a study done by Knox University on people trying to attain happiness externally and others trying to attain it intrinsically. The study, which can be seen in the documentary "Happy" on Netflix, revealed that those trying to find fulfillment by success or beauty could never be satisfied.

Erwin said "Steve McQueen: American Icon" shows that firsthand. He accredits Pastor Greg Laurie and his drive and passion for really making the film what it is.

The senior pastor of Harvest Christian Fellowship in Riverside, California, was always a big fan of McQueen and even has a replica of McQueen's famous 1968 Bullitt car. Laurie, who is in the movie, interviewed Mel Gibson, who is also a part of the film.

The Hollywood actor esteems McQueen as well and shared that he has had a similar journey and result of fame as well.

"Mel had submitted the same mountain as McQueen and it was fascinating to get him," Erwin told CP.

The creator's goal with the documentary was to get inside McQueen's head to try and understand why he did some of the things he did and Gibson was very instrumental in helping with that. "The Passion of Christ" filmmaker talked about McQueen's incredible talent on film and how the legendary actor understood the camera, the lens, and how to use a prop in a way that became a main part of any movie.

"Mel did this incredible actor on actor interview, which was incredibly insightful. He's a huge McQueen fan," Erwin added. "Mel was the perfect guy to contribute that perspective and it was very powerful."

"Once you get famous you'll never be anonymous again," Gibson pointed out in the taping. That statement echoed McQueen's quote from his last interview.

"I can't be what people think I am or I'll die," McQueen is heard saying. The photos featured in the cinematic flick were taken later in McQueen's life when he grew out his beard and stayed under the radar, hoping to never be recognized by the public.

Perhaps the most compelling part of the film is the least known part of McQueen's life.

Stunt double extraordinaire Stan Barrett was the first to witness Christ to McQueen throughout his career. Sometime later, stunt pilot Sammie Mason became a father figure to the troubled celebrity and because of his kindness and generosity, McQueen was compelled to ask Mason about his Christian faith, which led McQueen to church. McQueen eventually came to his own faith in Christ but soon after became terminally ill.

"You couldn't make up the things that happen in this story," Erwin stated.

"Steve McQueen's life had been transformed. He really experienced a peace that he wanted and he really wanted the world to know about it and then he found out he had cancer, terminal cancer," the Christian director explained. "One of the people he wanted to meet was Billy Graham."

On McQueen's last flight to Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, where he, unfortunately, passed away, he met with the world-renowned evangelist, Graham. Graham later wrote about that visit and how authentic he believed the actor's faith was.

"[During the visit] McQueen had misplaced his Bible and Billy said, 'Here you can have mine,'" Erwin illustrated.

He added, "I held this Bible and it was Billy Graham's preaching Bible. There's phone numbers in it, sermon outlines in it and it's just this well-worn Bible."

On Nov. 7, 1980, McQueen died of a heart attack just hours after undergoing a successful cancer surgery. The legendary icon passed away while clutching that very Bible that Graham gave him to his chest.

"Billy Graham did have a special relationship with many celebrities and many presidents and Steve McQueen was one of them," Erwin concluded.

The Erwin brother said the movie brings him to tears and he is in awe that God allowed his team to share it with the world. He believes the film is an opportunity for Christians to engage those friends that are chasing "the dream."

Furthermore, Erwin said everyone sometime or another has lain in bed at night and thought "there must be something more in life than this hamster wheel that I'm on." McQueen's story answers that question.

For tickets to "Steve McQueen: American Icon" or for more information, visit SteveMcQueenMovie.com

This article was originally published on ChristianPost.com. Used with permission. For more from CP reporter Jeannie Law, visit her author page on The Christian Post.

Image courtesy: By CBS Television (eBay item photo front photo back) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons


*This movie aired on September 28, 2017. There will be an encore presentation of the movie on October 10th in selected theaters. I missed the first showing, as I was unaware of it. I intend to catch the next showing. Hope you will too.

http://www.stevemcqueenmovie.com/

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

BLUE MOON IN KENTUCKY. Pts. 1-3

6am and I'm sitting in an easy chair in the living room of my daughter's house watching a little Yorkie circle the island in her kitchen.

Around and around she goes, for no apparent reason, and just as she did yesterday. 8, 10, 12 circuits. One of the most curious things I've seen; if not in my lifetime, at least in the first few months of the new year. And now, she's standing by the closed door of Kimberly's bedroom and barking her "little head off." She wants in. Suddenly, the door opens and the little tyke casually strolls in, only to appear again a few moments later; having found her way out of the bedroom through another portal. The circuitous movements around the kitchen island resume.

My son, Steve and I are on the downward slope of our quest to visit two of my daughters who happen to live in the only southern states above the Mason-Dixon line. At least, if you ask the average man on the street, (and I have) West Virginians and Kentuckians will immediately claim allegiance to the Confederate cause. I mean, you can see the Stars and Bars of the old battle flag fluttering in the wind in front of mobile homes, and pasted on the back bumpers of twenty year old pickup trucks here.

I have previously written about my sleep schedule, (or the lack thereof) since my tendency to slumber more than 4-5 hours a day, and divided into multiple segments, at that, can hardly be classified as a schedule. I've been up for a couple of hours having first resorted to my car to listen to the Elvis channel prior to stepping back into the house to watch a confused pooch wander in circles around a kitchen island.

Pt. 2

And speaking of the Elvis channel, even at home I have been known to awake from an hour nap commencing at 2am, folded the footrest of my easy chair to floor level, opened the kitchen door leading to my garage, and backed my 2015 Nissan Altima into the driveway. And having done so, I have immediately punched in Channel 19 and partaken of their primary DJ, George Klein, and interviews with such ancient Elvis periferals as Scotty Moore and Sandy Martindale; not to mention the hit songs of the late great king of rock n' roll.

And as I previously inferred, I just walked in from having done what I have done so many times before. Interesting, that as I sat in the driver's seat of my car and listened to a few of Elvis' musical renditions old George (and he IS old) spun one of the songs which graced Side B of one of the king's early recordings.

"Blue Moon in Kentucky"

Interesting, to me at least, since as I write these words I am visiting one of my daughters in Kentucky. Of course, Elvis was also known for another of my favorites. "Old Kentucky Rain." I admit it. While I have been a fan of Elvis for decades, it has taken me a very long time to appreciate that which has been referred to as "rockabilly" music. And to be sure, I think Elvis is the only medium by which such a metamorphosis, on my part, would have been possible.

But as I sat in the driver's seat of my 2015 Nissan Altima and listened to the strains of "Blue Moon in Kentucky" I reflected on the immediate Kentucky landscape surrounding me, and the events of the past couple of days.

Pt. 3

As I walked out into the front yard of the rural hilltop home of my Kentucky daughter, and absorbed the music of the king of rock n' roll I reflected on our all too short, but all too satisfying visit in the only two 'southern' states in northern segment of our nation.

Southern by tradition and profession, if not by location.

Everybody and his brother were here yesterday. The children. The children's children. And the children's children's children. Well, to be accurate, the children's children's child. My great grandson. (Is such a thing even possible? Where did time go)? But believe me, it went.

I just had to have pictures.

I mean, it's not every day one has the opportunity to be in the same locality as three other generations of one's family. Not the least of which reason is the thousand miles which lies between us.

Then there was my grandsons' ad-lib stage performance on their ad-lib stage. You see, smack-dab against the front wall of my daughter's living room is a rectangular limestone floor which my son-in-law so ingeniously constructed. And up against said wall is an old potbelly stove; (designed more for heat than for its original purpose).

And it is upon this 'stage' that Liam and Isaac so often perform before a couple of easy chairs upon which sit the alternating members of their audience.

This morning I was lucky enough to be included in that limited audience of two as my grandsons mounted the stage.

The ever vivacious Isaac smiles and asks,

"Can anybody tell me what my favorite drink is?"

And with his question comes my immediate response,

"Sprite."

(It helps that the beaming second grader is holding a green and yellow can bearing that label).

And with this, Liam trades places with his younger brother, and the performance continues.

"Do you know what I plan to do when I grow up?"

And before I can answer, he exclaims,

"I'm gonna entertain sad people on the street."

Speaking of 'sad' my son and I are headed home tomorrow. And I am all too aware of the passing of time, and the changes which are inherent with this variable.

No doubt, it will be a Blue Moon in Kentucky before I am presented with the opportunity to once again create such singular memories as these.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 50. Copyright pending

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A PROPHECY IN WEST VIRGINIA


Recently, I replicated a pilgrimage which my wife and I make to West Virginia and Kentucky on a bi-annual basis, as two of my daughters live in this region. However, since it had been quite some time since my son, Steve, had seen his sisters, and with Jean's concurrence, I invited him to accompany me.



While in West Virginia, I always stay in one of the only two hotels in Oak Hill, the Comfort Inn. Though the price definitely isn't right, (and I understand it is about to double) it is nice enough, and they provide a courtesy breakfast, thus I have found little or no reason to pursue another venue.



Speaking of breakfast, one morning while we were at the Comfort Inn, and enjoying our meal, a young family walked in. Father and mother looked to be about 35 years of age, and they were accompanied by a little boy. Having served themselves from the buffet, they sat down at the next table , and began to eat. However, their son seemed more interested in socializing with yours truly.



Stepping up to me, he smiled, lifted his right hand and presented three fingers, while verbalizing the same.



"I'm three!"



Returning "Billy's" smile I responded with,



"I'm sixty-eight!"



And then, so reminiscent of a passage from Luke Chapter Two, in which Simeon encounters Joseph and Mary and the child, Jesus in the Temple, (and for no apparent reason, except Providence), I said,



"You will live a very long life."



(and)



"You will do wonderful things!"



And I can only wonder what the toddler's parents may have thought about my prophetic utterance.



Of this, however, I am sure. Before He breathed the worlds into place, or ever the sun and moon were flung into space, our Lord knew each of us by name, and dreamed some pretty magnificent dreams for each and every one of us.



Yes, I am sure of it.



I don't expect to ever see that precious little tot again, and he will almost assuredly live into the next century, (while I will not). Nonetheless, I think God has some pretty marvelous plans for him, and somehow I'm convinced he will accomplish some pretty wonderful things.


by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 55. Copyright pending 

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Tuesday, September 26, 2017

A LIFE OF EXCELLENCE


**One of my interns asked me to characterize a life of excellence, and how, after all, does one achieve such a lofty status. Following is my response:

I think it is paramount to have a grasp of the plans that God dreamed for you or me before he made the worlds, and to make a decision to set about fulfilling those plans. I believe we need to discover the talents which lie dormant within us, and involve ourselves in a season of preparation which predisposes us to fulfill God's plans. I believe living out a life of excellence involves setting priorities and seldom allowing the good to superimpose itself on the best. I believe excellence involves an ongoing set of decisions and subsequent actions. I believe achieving excellence requires us to die to self and devote ourselves to impacting those whom God has set in our pathway.

"Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." (Philippians 4:8)


RUDY





      I’m taken up with the themes of Dreams and Discipleship. And they just naturally go together like peaches and cream.



      No one I know of exemplifies the verse “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” more than Rudy Ruettiger. You may have seen the depiction of his life in the movie “Rudy.”


      Rudy was a working class young man with a generational predisposition to work in the steel mills, like his father before him. His family was Catholic and had a ardent devotion for The University of Notre Dame and it’s wonderful football team. But that’s as far as it went; looking on from afar and “knowing your place.”


     Even for his average grades in high school and “five foot nothing” frame, Rudy had a Dream; a dream that would not be denied. In the movie we see the young man promising himself, and anyone else who’d listen, that he would not only be accepted into that university, but play footfall for them. And again and again he was laughed at, put down and generally disbelieved.


     But there’s always someone who seems to come along side, and stand with us in the shadows; (At least that’s been my experience). Pete was Rudy’s best friend; just another working class kind of guy; someone destined to work in the mills all his life. But Pete was that sort of guy who stood with his “little buddy.” We see him giving a Notre Dame sweater to Rudy, and we hear him say, “No one ever looked more natural in it.” And Rudy responds, “Pete, you’re only one who ever believed in me.”


     Rudy surprised everyone, (except Pete of course). He enrolled in Holy Cross Junior College, just across the river from Notre Dame. The little man submitted himself to an academic discipline he’d never attempted. He exercised his body and tempered his mind on a daily and unceasing basis.


Rudy applied, again and again to Notre Dame; only to again and again, be refused admission.


     But those at the grand old school had no concept of Rudy’s determination. He must have used a ream of enrollment applications. But one time was different. We see Rudy sitting there, just across the river from that great university. His hands tremble, as they have trembled several times before, and he unseals the envelope. 


And the camera turns from a weeping Rudy to the towering fortress called Notre Dame. He has finally been accepted!


     Now that would have been enough for most of us, but Rudy was not most of us. His determination gained a hundred pounds that day! The little man that couldn’t, did and could!


     Time would fail me to properly tell the story, but now the second half of the vision kicked in. Rudy set his sights on an oblong ball and a stadium “as big as all outdoors.” You would have had to have known Rudy. Nothing seemed to deter him. Oh sure, he’d managed to go to a prestigious school, and make passing grades, but “this little shrimp” had no possibility of playing on a football team which consisted of giants. If you thought this you would be… Wrong.


     He tried out, and impressed the coaches with his stamina and “sheer intestines,” and the lack of any natural ability. The coaches quarreled among themselves before giving Rudy an opportunity to join the scrimmage team. At least he would have a chance to “mix it up” with the best in college football. But that still wasn’t enough for little Rudy.


     Now I can’t tell you that he didn’t make a few enemies, or make the average players look mediocre. He did; not for his ability, but for his gumpshun. For on the practice field, though only occasionally, Rudy would manage to tackle a huge offensive linesman or swift quarterback.


     Rudy longed for the opportunity to play in one year, in one season, if in only one game. You just aren’t listed as an official team member unless you “dress out” for one game.


     It was his senior year, and it didn’t look like he’d have a chance to dress out. The previous coach had promised him the opportunity, but he was gone now, and the years had drifted by. Now the last game of his senior year approached.


     Suddenly, the biggest and baddest of his team members found their hearts changed towards the young whipper snapper who tried so hard, but who lacked so much. The list for the final game was posted… and he wasn’t on it. The players talked among themselves and came up with a plan. One by one, beginning with the team captain, each player walked into the coach’s office and laid their shirts on his desk. One by one their words echoed one another…

“Coach, Rudy deserves my spot in this game. Let him dress out in my place.” The coach was moved to tears. Rudy dressed out!



      The game proceeded, and Rudy warmed the bench. Notre Dame was ahead of Georgia Tech by over twenty points, and the Catholic coach seemed content for his team to hold the ball during the last remaining seconds. His team had other ideas.



      The ball was thrown and the ball was received, and the great old school had earned another touchdown. Rudy might still get a chance to play, as suddenly “Rudy, Rudy, Rudy” resounded throughout the stadium. The little man would not be denied his small moment in history. The coach gave the nod and Rudy ran out into the field of battle.


      The little fella with the magnificent heart ran two plays that day; the last two plays in the game. In the last play of his last game he tackled the offensive receiver before the whistle finalized the game forever. It was thirty years ago, but to this day Rudy is the last player ever carried off that famous field; on the shoulders of his team members.


      Dreams and Discipleship. Rudy had a Dream. He believed when almost no one else did. Rudy is remembered. His friend named Pete is virtually forgotten. But it was Pete who believed in him, when no one else did. Pete had been Rudy’s first, albeit momentary mentor. He believed in him for a little while, and that set the sails of his whole life.


      I love and choose to emulate the qualities of both Rudy and Pete. Like Pete I am raising up disciples; those who would submit themselves to discipline and the encouragement that is mine to give. Like Rudy I dream Dreams; some known to all, and some which remain unknown to any.


     Like Rudy my life has been difficult, and things have been slow “coming to me.” But I follow after, and press towards the mark. Like Pete, I and many like me remain unknown, but that’s entirely okay, if we are to influence a few and win some. It may sound paradoxical and contradictory, but I’m glad for the opportunity to live out Colossians, Chapter One… “Filling up in my own body the unfinished sufferings of Christ.”



     Rudy and Pete have some extraordinary and eternal lessons to teach us.


By William McDonald, PhD. Musings. Copyright 2005

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Monday, September 25, 2017

BE THERE FOR ME DAD



If I would have kept a diary of my life as it has played out thus far, it would have been filled with joys and heartaches that come from being alive. I am also positive that it would reflect the times when my Father had been there for me through it all. For instance, the following would be some true excerpts;

Dear Diary, My Daddy taught me how to ride a bike today. At first, I wanted to learn very badly, then after I fell down a million times, I said I didn’t want to learn. But daddy said “Get on the bike and try again. You can do it kid” I was so mad at him at first for making me try again. But after a few more tries, I did learn and now I can really ride my bike well.

Dear Diary, My teacher in class today told us to learn our times tables for the 8’s and 9’s. I tried to learn by myself, but it was too hard. Daddy came in and found me crying. He said, “I understand how hard they can be. Here let me help you. You can do it kid.” By supper time I knew them all and he even taught me how to do the 10’s.

Dear Diary, We are on vacation today. Diving is great. I just learned today how to drive. After I hit the water a couple of times, I got out, sat down. and pouted. But Dad came over to me and said “You’ll never learn how to dive by just sitting there, so get up and do it again. You can do it kid.” Oh how I did not want to, but I did anyway because Dad said so. I tried again and he was right. I can do it!

Dear Diary, Well, it’s happening again. I started a new school today. I am so tired of moving. We left Florida and now I am going to school in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Dad took me to school today.  I had that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, but Dad prayed, hugged me and said, “Don’t worry. You’ll make friends here. You’ve got a great personality like me!  You can do it kid.” Well, he made me laugh and I feel much better.  Oh, by the way, I made a million friends today.

Dear Diary, Why did those people say those awful, mean things about my father? Don’t they know that he prays every day for them and that he loves them very much.  It’s like they’re slapping him in the face.  But Carlene and I are going to help him by planting bombs in those mean people’s houses. We told Dad but he said. “We must forgive them even though we don’t want to. We can do it kids, can’t we?”

Dear Diary, I wish Dad would leave me alone. He keeps treating me like a kid. I am 16 years old and practically an adult because I’m so mature. So why is he acting like I can’t do anything? Like He makes me come home by 12: 00 am at night. He also wants to meet the guys I go out with, and, listen to this, he wants me to tell him where we are going. Can you believe that? I am too old for this, I think I can do all this by myself, thank you.

Dear Diary, I am going to College today. My father drove me up to Arlington to Aunt Anita’s place and she, Wade, and I will be driving out tomorrow. I am glad Dad came. He must have known I was nervous for he said, “Don’t worry, honey. You’ll do fine out there. Besides, I know you can do it kid.” I know he is right, he always was before.

Dear Diary,I am going to read you this in church today. Hope you don’t mind. I just want the people to know the kind of man that is leading them. He is a very strong man, but forgiving. He also loves the Lord with all his heart mind and soul. But I’m really going to read this because I want to say, “Thanks for being there for me, Dad!”

By Karen K. Qualls – Father’s Day 1983

(Karen Qualls, whom I knew when she was a child, passed away seven years ago, but left some wonderful excerpts from her diary which have been posted here)

Sunday, September 24, 2017

THE LITTLE SPACECRAFT THAT COULD, a.k.a. God's Grandchild


**I presented the following study on a Wednesday night in August 2017 at my church in
Central Florida.


Over the next several weeks I will be sharing a group of studies I refer to as “My Stories. Our Stories.”

My stories - During the course of these studies I will be sharing some extraordinary things which have occurred in my life. You’ve heard the claim that the age of miracles is over. Well, don’t believe it. I plan to share just a few of many miracles to which I have been exposed. Our stories, that is, Mankind’s stories. – During the course of this study I plan to make you aware of some remarkable national and/or international events.

In both cases, my stories and our stories, my purpose is to bolster your faith in God and the hereafter, and take you down the pathway of apologetics, if only a wee bit. Apologetics, by the way, is all about proving the existence of the Supreme Being. For you see, it is not enough to simply have faith. I could have faith in a wooden chair, but a wooden chair has no power to save. I could have faith that the bus I am about to board will take me to Cincinnati, but if the driver forgot to change the placard on the front of the bus, I could end up in Boise, Idaho. My stories. Our stories.

If you’re inclined, you can turn with me to Hebrews Chapter 1

10“In the beginning, Lord, you laid the foundations of the earth,
    and the heavens are the work of your hands.
11 They will perish, but you remain;
    they will all wear out like a garment.
12 You will roll them up like a robe;
    like a garment they will be changed.
But you remain the same,
    and your years will never end.”

Tonight I want to spend some time with what has been commonly known as “The Space Race,” and more specifically with one particular spacecraft which was launched almost twenty years after the advent of the Space Race.

And I might say that by the time I conclude my message tonight, you should be able to grasp why I would talk about such a seemingly secular topic behind this church pulpit.

But let’s step back in time a few decades, and allow me to share some personal and national details which are relevant to our discussion.

I recall sitting in Mr. Ball’s 6th grade class at Bartow Elementary School. The year was 1961. (Interestingly enough, the famous evangelist, Billy Sunday, preached a sermon on what is now the playground of this school; half a century before I attended there). At any rate, on one particular day, Mr. Ball turned on the black & white television in the classroom, pulled up the rabbit ears, and turned the knob to one of the only four channels we had at the time. It was inauguration day. President John F. Kennedy raised his right hand and took the oath of office. Of course, we all remember that fateful day in November of 1963 when an assassin’s bullet took him from us. But some of you may recall something he said during those 1000 days in which he served as the chief executive of the United States.

“During this decade is out, I propose that the United States build a rocket capable to taking man to the moon and bringing him safely back to the earth.”

I can assure you that such stuff fascinated me, and held my attention. No doubt you remember “The Mercury 7” astronauts. The movie, “The Right Stuff” details the competition surrounding and appointment of seven men who would be launched, one by one, into orbit around the earth. My own distant cousin, Alan Shepard, was the first American in space, and John Glenn followed closely behind him.

During my late elementary years and throughout my teen and young adults years, I followed the Space Race very carefully; throughout the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo programs.

As an adolescent, I visited Cape Canaveral a couple of times, and watched from a nearby beach, as an unmanned version of the Saturn moon rocket lifted off, and disappeared into the clouds. Just a couple of years ago I toured the space center again. As a twenty year old, I sat in front of my television set, and like many of you, watched that grainy black and white live video footage, as Neil Armstrong dropped off the lunar landing module ladder onto the dusty gray soil of our nearest neighbor, the moon.

But as I previously inferred, I am more concerned this evening about one spacecraft, in particular, referred to as Voyager 1, which lifted off from the east coast of Florida in 1977. And as you might imagine, the purpose of this unmanned spacecraft was the exploration of the universe, or at least our little portion of the universe which we refer to as the “Milky Way.”

And also, as you might well imagine, the Voyager 1 spacecraft was outfitted with a myriad of instrumentation designed to not only take photographs of the planets in our solar system, but to measure the composition of the rings of Saturn and atmosphere of Jupiter, and to analyze the solar plasma of the sun, and the fading intensity of its light, as its journey took it further from our nearest star, the sun.

And of course, our scientists would have been left completely unawares without the capability to retrieve the information which Voyager 1 generated. As a result, this spacecraft was outfitted with a radio transmitter, and over the next 40 years it has faithfully continued to transmit data to a team of full time researchers who have faithfully analyzed the information they have received. At this stage, the Voyager is 12 billion miles from earth, and its radio signal takes 17 hours to reach our planet. And surprisingly, since the distance is so great, and the signal so tiny, NASA currently uses dozens of radio telescopes to concentrate the signal enough to make it intelligible, and to be able to interpret it.

The “little spacecraft that could” reached an important milestone five years ago. After a 35 year journey, Voyager 1 left our solar system, and journeyed into what is referred to as interstellar space. Take a moment to consider it. Our solar system, though vast, is just a speck in the Milky Way galaxy; one of billions of similar galaxies in our continually expanding universe. Consider it, if our little spacecraft had the capability to move at the speed of light, 186,000 miles per second, (and it doesn’t) it would take four years to travel to the nearest star, Alpha Centauri.

It is estimated that in three years our little Voyager will be too distant for scientists to receive its signal, but its mission will have only begun.

 For you see, on board the one ton robot is a gold record containing sounds and images selected to portray the diversity of life and culture on Earth, and which are intended for any intelligent extraterrestrial life form, who may find them. Interestingly enough, given the vacuum of space, this record is expected to outlast the estimated two million years left in the lifespan of our solar system, and will still be able to be deciphered a billion years from today.

Please turn to John Chapter 1, Verse 1-9

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome[a] it.

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.

The true light that gives light to everyone coming into the world.

He lights every man, woman, boy and girl who has lives on the earth, or who has ever lived on the earth.

I think the implications of this verse are enormous. And while I have never heard this verse preached, at least not in this manner, it occurs to me that this sentence is all about Christ’ entire ministry towards the population of Planet Earth; including his death on the cross, and His resurrection from the grave.

However, the gold record designed to notify someone out there that billions of intelligent individuals exist, or once existed on a little blue marble called Earth will never be retrieved, nor viewed by someone in a distant civilization in this universe. For you see, there’s simply no one else out there. We are it. There are no other intelligent beings in the universe.

For you see, if there were we can be sure that the angelic being referred to as Satan would have tempted them, as he did Adam and Eve. And it would have been necessary for Christ to have also died a substitutionary death for that civilization, as He did for our own. But 1st Peter 3:18 tells us that “Christ suffered once for all sin.”

And if He suffered once, we can be sure that He did not suffer twice or three times, and thus He never visited another intelligent civilization for the purpose of dying for them. You see, Voyager 1 is the single most intelligent creation in interstellar space. It is out there “all by its lonely.” Since the spacecraft was created by man, and man was created by God, that little metal flying robot might, in essence, be referred to as, “God’s Grandchild.”

At least the lack of another intelligent civilization in this universe is my theory. And I believe I just finished adequately supporting it. Christ suffered once, and only once for the only populated planet in this universe.

Sometime ago, it was decided that the Voyager 1 spacecraft would turn its camera towards Planet Earth, and take the longest distance ‘selfie’ ever taken; for the elements of which it was formed originated on this planet. As a matter of fact, each of our eight or nine planets, depending on how you count them, ‘posed’ for a photograph that day.

Recently, I was watching a documentary about Voyager 1, and an image of that photo was flashed onto the screen. There in a band of light and debris, you can just make out a tiny speck of light. And as that photo appeared, the narrator spoke.

“From such a vast distance, you can just make it out. A small, blue marble containing earth and seas, and eight billion souls, and the only home that every man, woman, boy and girl ever given the privilege of life would inhabit.”

And my friends, with this, an involuntary sob rose up on my throat, and tears sprang to my eyes. Perhaps you would have had to have been there. But the tiny point of light that is our earth, and the insightful descriptiveness of the narrator just overwhelmed me at that moment.

My friends, we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and the innate abilities which God gave us to do the most magnificent things is nothing short of remarkable. We have been created by an awesome Creator, and have been made in His likeness. And He has bestowed the most remarkable intelligence and abilities upon us, and will to create within us. The Voyager 1 spacecraft is a prime example.

In Psalm 8, we read,

3When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, The moon and the stars, which You have ordained; 4What is man that You take thought of him, And the son of man that You care for him? 5Yet You have made him a little lower than God (or the angels,), and You crown him with glory and majesty!

In conclusion, let us say, for the sake of argument, that a billion years from now, when our sun and planetary system no longer exist, as we know it, that some alien scientist manages to retrieve that ‘little spacecraft that could,’ and manages to decipher that golden record on board the craft.

And as he or she or it, as the case may be, views photographs depicting the high surf of Hawaii’s Sunset Beach, and the glorious mountain peaks of Scotland’s Isle of Skye, and the ancient Redwood trees of California, and he goes on to listen to the musical strains of Glenn Miller’s orchestra, and the contralto voice of Frances Langford, and he marvels at the architectural wonder which is the new World Trade Center, and he acknowledges the Omnipotence which produced passages such as Genesis 1 and Psalm 23 and John 3:16, perhaps that golden record will serve as a sort of a witness to the glory of the unseen God, and His love for the work of His hands.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from Wednesday Night Teachings #4. Copyright pending

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WHAT WILL EVER BECOME OF YOU? Pts. 1-3


I missed one day of school during my entire 1963-1964 school year.

As the day dawned clear and a bit cool, I wasn’t feeling well, and I asked my mother if she would allow me to stay home. It seemed a shame to ruin my perfect attendance, but my mom realized I wasn’t a slacker, and she nodded her approval.

I happened to be watching television, comfortably situated in our family’s business office, sitting in my mother’s typing chair; and with my feet propped up on her desk.

Suddenly, there was a news break; something which rarely happened in those days. In recent years, we may see two or three so-called ‘news breaks’ a day on networks such as CNN, Fox or MS-NBC, but fifty years ago the old television cameras had to be warmed up; prior to a coming on the air with a live broadcast. Thus, (as I recall) on this particular day a photo of a popular CBS newsman was posted on the screen with live audio feed accompanying it.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Walter Cronkite. I’m coming to you with what appears to have been a shooting in Dallas, Texas. We’re in the process of validating the following information, but it appears President Kennedy has been shot by an unknown assailant in the City of Dallas. There are also reports that Governor Connelly of Texas was also hit, as their vehicle drove past the Texas School Book Depository building. We will be joining you in a live, extended report momentarily.”

After a few minutes, and the cameras were sufficiently warmed live footage of the world famous newsman flickered on the screen. The veteran anchor was obviously anxious, and he stumbled over a few of his words. And every half minute or so, he nervously pulled his glasses off his face and just as quickly replaced them. Cronkite repeated his previous remarks a couple of times with minor variations. It was definite now. The president had been gravely wounded, and his limo had just arrived at Parkland Memorial Hospital.

The minutes ticked by, and sometime after 1PM Eastern Time, old Walter confirmed what, based on the previous news reports, Americans expected to hear.

“It has been substantiated now,” and taking off his glasses, yet again, and looking up at the clock on the wall, “President Kennedy died,” his voice faltered, and tears appeared in his eyes, …“President Kennedy died at approximately 1PM, Central Standard Time.”

The date was November 22, 1963, not unlike an equally traumatic day which transpired two decades earlier, “A Day that will live in Infamy.”

Over the next 72 hours, America witnessed the suspected assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, arrested and charged with the murder of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, we watched fascinated as our beautiful, cultured First Lady stepped off Air Force One, her beloved husband’s blood obscuring the natural color of her legs, we saw the accused assassin gunned down on live television, the funeral of our beloved president was televised, and while millions lingered in a state of shock, his mortal remains were interred on a hillside in Arlington National Cemetery.

*Excerpt from “Snapshots of a Life (Not Always So) Well Lived” Vol. 1


Pt. 2


Clint Hill, a White House Secret Service agent, had been assigned to guard the president’s wife; affectionately known to many, perhaps most, of my parent’s generation as ‘Jackie.’

He was positioned on the front bumper of the Secret Service automobile behind the president’s vehicle that day. Like other members of the White House security detail, he’d been concerned about Pres. Kennedy’s decision to leave the top down on his limosine. But he was all too aware that when ‘Jack’ wanted something done a particular way, he usually got what he wanted. Today would be no exception.

We’ve all watched the Zapruder film again and again, and witnessed the horrendous homicide of the 35th President of the United States. As the presidential limo rounded the curve into Dealey Plaza, several shots echoed across the well-known Dallas landmark. President Kennedy clutched at his throat, and a gasp had hardly escaped his lips when the fatal bullet slammed into the rear right quadrant of his head.

Agent Hill dismounted the Secret Service vehicle and ran to the presidential limosine. By this time Mrs. Kennedy had clamored onto the rear end of the car. (She later claimed she had been attempting to recover a piece of her husband’s skull). Mr. Hill immediately climbed onto the trunk of the automobile, and managed to drag the mortified First Lady into the rear seat; where the president lay mortally wounded. Jackie’s personal agent wasted no time covering the nation’s chief executive and his wife with his own body.

Of course, there was that fateful ride to Parkland Hospital, the death of the president, and the return of Mr. Kennedy’s mortal remains to Air Force One. Who can forget the photograph of the new president, ‘Lady Bird’ Johnson, Jackie and the presiding judge as they stood in the bulkhead of the most famous, (or infamous) aircraft of our time, and the almost indistinct recording of the presidential swearing in ceremony?

Pt. 3


While the foregoing account characterizes the national tragedy which was the Kennedy Assassination, another lesser known, personal scenario played itself out that day.

It was only in recent years, and after the publication of Agent Clint Hill’s book, “Mrs. Kennedy and Me” that the following reminiscence was revealed to the public.

As I have indicated earlier, (and a fact which is well-known to my readers) Jackie refused to change dresses or cleanse the president’s blood from her extremities for hours after the assassination. She made the statement to someone that,

“I want them to see what they have done to my husband.”

(I think the identity of the ‘they’ in the preceding sentence remains a bit nebulous to this day).

Be that as it may, as Mrs. Kennedy sat by her beloved husband’s casket, Agent Hill joined her, and with his usual courtesy asked whether there was anything he might do for her.

Jackie shook her head, but responded in the most incongruous, unexpected manner.

“Oh, Mr. Hill, what will ever become of you?”

I have written about this particular event in the past, and I am constrained to be as articulate, as I like to believe I was at the time. Mrs. Kennedy’s question for a subordinate, at such a time of personal loss and despair, struck me as one of the most compassionate characterizations of caring to which I have been privy in the two thirds of a century I have lived on this planet.

For I think Jacqueline’s ability to transcend her own personal grief for a few seconds on that airplane, and express her concern for the disposition and welfare of her servant at a time, such as this, was nothing less than remarkable. And I think, in this, our dearly departed First Lady set the standard, and acted as a role model for the rest of us.

Suffice it to say that Agent Clint Hill was, subsequently, assigned to Jackie’s security detail for years after she left the White House, and that he performed his duties in an admirable manner.



God give us all both the consciousness and the wherewithal to emulate the character and compassion of our former First Lady.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 52. Copyright pending

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