MORE THAN ONE PERSON USES YOUR NAME

     The year was 1972. I was a personnel clerk with The United States Air Force, stationed at MacDill Air Force Base, Florida. I was proud of myself, my service, and my family. I worked to make a living. But my life was my church.

     God must have a special way of “bringing us down”. I’m convinced that he does this, not on a whim, but deliberately and on purpose.

    One Sunday, much like so many other Sundays, I sat in the morning service with my wife and small children. Things were rolling along. The choir had sang, and visitors were greeted, and structure was having it’s regular way. But what happened next will always be remembered by… Me; (I doubt another living soul remembers at this point.)

     It was time for prayer. The pastor never omitted this very important segment of the worship service. Pastor Matheny stepped to the podium and looked out over the audience. After a slight pause, he spoke, “Brother Mc Donald, will you come and offer prayer for the sick, and those who have just expressed their needs.” Well, this had never occurred before. I had never been asked to pray in the main service at this very large church. God had finally decided to honor me; a young man doing his best to serve Him, as best I knew how.

     I stood up, and as I did I felt a little tug at my coat. I realized later that my wife was putting me on my guard. At the time however, I was totally oblivious to her warning. I found myself walking down that long aisle to the front. (Surely the pastor didn’t mean for me to pray aloud from my seat.)

     I arrived at the front, and realized that pastor had been watching my approach with a good deal of curiosity. Suddenly a voice, like the voice of God echoed throughout the sanctuary. Like God speaking from out the flaming bush, “Yes, Bill, do you need prayer?”

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was not The Brother McDonald being called forward! For at the same time I was making The Long Walk, another kindly old man had stepped to the pulpit. His name? Why, of course… Brother McDonald.

      I still remember that day after thirty years of lesser memories, now consigned to the “inactive files” of my mind. Embarrassed? You better believe it! It’s still a little humbling to remember that day, but I can smile about it now. I certainly couldn’t then.

     God has used such ancient memories like that to keep me humble. Why, only a few months ago He did it again. I was scheduled to speak at a nearby church. The pastor and I had arranged a seminar related to Child Discipline. The youth of the church had passed out hundreds of leaflets throughout town. The seminar had been announced on the radio. And the day dawned upon us.

    The time to begin came and went, and our audience failed to appear. By the time we disbanded the event, two people had seated themselves. We had more stage participants than that. Humble pie! It felt like I’d been punched. It took me two weeks to get over that seeming defeat. Apparently my prospective seminarians were watching Saturday cartoons, or washing clothes.

  

      I’m glad that God has a sense of humor, and a way of humbling us. It makes life interesting.


by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Unconventional Devotions," Copyright 2005

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