1ST CORINTHIANS CHAPTER 2 - McDonald Paraphrase

And as it was with them, so it is with me, brothers and sisters. When I appeared in your presence, I did not practice eloquence or display great human wisdom, as I proclaimed to you this great Gospel. But rather, as I interacted with you, I resolved to know nothing, except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. I came to you in weakness and was anxious and fearful. The message I shared with you was not seasoned with wise and persuasive words, but, rather, it was salted with the power of the Holy Spirit; that you might not invest your faith in human wisdom, but in the power of Almighty God.

However, we do have spiritual wisdom to offer the truly mature among you, but is not the wisdom of this culture, nor of the kings of this age; who are quickly passing from the earth. No, we declare God’s innate wisdom, a mystery which was once hidden, but that which God destined for us before He spoke the worlds and stars into existence. The rulers of this age are utterly obtuse, and unable to grasp our message. If they had had one iota of insight and discernment, they would not have crucified the King of glory.

However, as it is written:

“What eye has never seen,
what ear has never heard,
what human mind has never conceived
the things God has in mind for them who love Him.”

These are the things God has revealed to us by His Spirit.

The Spirit of God knows all things; the richest precepts of God. For who knows a person’s inmost deliberations, except the spirit of the man? In the same manner no one can perceive the mindset of the Father, except the Spirit of God. 

And wonder of wonders, the Spirit with which we have been gifted is not the spirit which inhabits this world, but, rather, the Spirit which comes down from God. May we comprehend that we have been endowed with the Gift of all gifts.

These are the things we know and about which we speak. We speak not from mere human intellect, but rather, our words are spiritual in nature; and we explain spiritual realities using spiritual words and precepts. 

The person who lacks any measure of the Spirit does not comprehend nor accept the things which flow from the Spirit of God, but regards them as nothing more, or less than abject foolishness. And they will never understand such things because they can only be discerned through the Spirit. However, the man who is led by the Spirit has been afforded insight into the most wondrous of things, and properly judges all things.

“Who, after all, has known the mind of Almighty God
 that he might instruct him?”

But we think the very thoughts of Christ!

Excerpt from The McDonald Paraphrase of the New Testament by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright 2018

ROMANS CHAPTER 8 - McDonald Paraphrase

"There is no condemnation to those who put their trust in the Lord Jesus because the law of the Spirit has set us free from the Law of sin and death. For what the Law was unable to do because it had been weakened by the flesh, God accomplished by sending his Son in the guise of sinful flesh; to be a sin offering for us. And as Christ took upon himself the sins of all men and all time, God was in the process of overcoming man’s sinful nature. As a result, we are able to satisfy the requirements of the Law if we simply avoid the ultimatums of the carnal man, and, rather, cooperate with the bidding of the Spirit.

Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh wants, but those who live according to the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit wants. The mind governed by the flesh results in spiritual poverty and death, but the mind governed by the Spirit results in life and peace. The mind governed by the flesh is nothing less than the enemy of God. It does not submit to God’s Law, nor is it capable of doing so. Those who live according to the desires of the flesh are incapable of pleasing God.

You, however, do not live in and for the flesh, but in the Spirit; if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, they do not belong to Christ, and are none of his.  However, if Christ is in you, though your body is subject to death due to sin, the Spirit will give life because of the righteousness with which he endues you.  And if the Spirit of him who is responsible for Christ’ resurrection is alive and well in you, he will also give life to your mortal bodies as a result of that quickening Spirit.

Therefore, brothers and sisters, we have no obligation for the flesh; to live according to its demands. For if you live according to fleshly desires, you will die. But if you, by the Spirit, put to death the inappropriate thoughts and actions of the body, you will, no doubt, live.

For those among us who voluntarily submit to the Holy Spirit are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you continue in fear. But rather, the Spirit you received has allowed you to be adopted as sons. And by him God has gifted you with the wherewithal to use the words, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit himself agrees with our spirit that we are the children of the living God. Yes, if we are children, then we are benefactors and we will share all that is his. If indeed we share in His sufferings, we cannot help but share in his preeminence!

In my humble estimation, I believe that which we endure now is hardly comparable with the inestimable and everlasting future God has promised us.  For all of creation is waiting for the sons of the Father to inherit all that God has stored up for them in heaven.

For the creation cannot as yet see the reward. Not by its own choice, but by the will of the One who subjected it to this present dispensation. And yet, there is hope which God instills in us. And the expectation is that every known and unknown creature will, one day, be released from its bondage to aging and decomposition, and will inherit the freedom and glory of the children of the Most High God!

 It is obvious that every animate and inanimate thing which currently exists has been groaning as does a woman in childbirth. Not only this, but we, ourselves, who are recipients of the first fruits of the Spirit are groaning within ourselves as we wait eagerly for our heavenly adoption; the redemption of these frail human bodies. For as a result of this hope, we will be saved. During this little season in which we now wait, we should encourage one another that hope requires waiting for something which has not yet transpired, but which is of inestimable and lasting value. If we exercise a spirit of hope, that which is invisible, but more real than what we call “real,” we must also exercise a spirit of patience.

The Spirit always inspires us to believe our redemption is at hand, and helps us when weakness overcomes us. So many times, we find ourselves unsure just how to pray, but the Spirit, himself intercedes for us with inarticulate groanings. And he who searches the compulsions of our souls knows the Spirit’s aspirations for us; because the Spirit intervenes for believers in accordance with the will of the Father.

And we know that in all things, God works for the benefit of those who invest their hopes in him; who were foreordained to achieve his wonderful plans. For those whom God foreknew, he also predestined to emulate the life and actions of his Son; that he might be the first among a myriad of brothers and sisters.

And God foreordained the destinies of many children before he ever made the earth and stars. And having foreordained them, he also appointed them. And having appointed them, he also validated them. And having validated them, we know and we are sure, he will exalt them.

How then will we adequately respond to all of this? If God stands with us, who can ever stand against us? If this inestimably magnificent God of ours refused to intervene for his Son, and allowed him to die a sacrificial death, why would we doubt his willingness to fulfill our every need?

Who would dare bring a false accusation against those whom God has chosen for himself? After all, God is the justifier of men. Who then has any right to denounce us? Only Christ, himself, (and he has no intention of doing so). For it was Christ who surrendered his life for us, more than this, who was raised to life for us, more than this, who sits at the very right hand of his Father, and more than this, he has never failed to intercede for us.  

Who or what can possibly remove us from the never-failing, ever-enduring love of Christ? Will difficulty or hardship or persecution or suffering or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?

As it is written,

“For your sake we encounter death on a daily basis.
 We are like sacrificial sheep ready to be slaughtered.”

In every circumstance with which we contend, we win. We win! And we owe our victory to the One who has fought the good fight with us, and so often proven his love for us!

For I am absolutely convinced that neither this life nor the cessation of life, nor the angels of heaven or angels of hell, nor the status quo, nor that which awaits us in the future, nor rulers, nor mountains, nor valleys, nor anything else God ever created, will be able to separate us from the overwhelming love of the Father which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

McDonald Paraphrase of the New Testament. Romans Chapter 8. Copyright 2018

LIVING IN HANOI

As I was watching a documentary about John McCain tonight, I heard one of the coolest quotations any man has ever uttered. After he and his family had moved to Arizona and he was running for office there, his opponents referred to him as a "Carpet Bagger," since he had moved around a lot, and never was in one place for very long; partly the result of his military career. At any rate, when a particular opponent began to criticize him in a public meeting using the same implication about him having never been anywhere very long, and having just moved to Arizona, he responded. "Well, I'm sorry. The longest I've lived anywhere in my life is in Hanoi." (Referring to his imprisonment as an American P.O.W.) This shut his opponent up very quickly.

LET THEM SEE WHAT THEY ARE FIGHTING AGAINST

Something I saw on television today impacted greatly. The following stories are paraphrased from the Ken Burns "G.I. Jews" series. 

***An 85 year old professor was talking about his experiences during WWII. While beginning very formerly, as he got to the main topic, he broke up, tears sprang to his eyes, he trembled, and he said, "As we came over the ridge, and marched into a Nazi death camp, we realized we had been involved in a kind of crusade." 

***A couple of hundred American soldiers were being held in a German P.O.W. camp, and one day the Nazi commandant ordered the prisoners out of their barracks and then strode up to their commanding officer, and said,

"I want you to identify all your Jewish-American soldiers in your command, and have them step forward, please."

To which the colonel responded,

"Sir, I cannot and will not do this."

With this, the commandant grew angry, and shouted,

"Either you do it, or I will shoot you dead on the spot." (And he took out his Luger revolver).

Unfazed, the Colonel looked the German commandant dead in the eyes, and exclaimed,

"Go ahead and shoot me, Sir. However, the war is almost over, and I guarantee you that 199 men in my command will not forget what you have done, and you will be reported and hunted down as a war criminal."

With this the commandant put the revolver back in its holster and angrily strode away.

This brave American officer saved a large number of American Jewish soldiers from almost certain death that day.

***A particular American Jewish nurse was working in an Army field hospital somewhere in Europe during WWII; along with other American nurses. It seems they got into a discussion about Hitler's vengeance on the Jews, and his having put many to death in concentration camps. Well, some of the other nurses displayed a bit of racism when one or the other among them said,

"I guess Hitler will get rid of all the Jews in Europe." (As if it was almost desirable).

Not knowing that one of their number was a Jew, this particular nurse responded with,

"Well, he didn't get rid of me!"

She said the room got real quiet, the other nurses began shuffling papers and looking for things in their desk drawers. And no more was said about it.

***As WWII concluded and the United States and the other allied powers occupied Germany, a group of American Jewish soldiers decided to 'desecrate' the great stadium at Nuremburg; the place where Adolf Hitler had held large rallies and military parades, and had shared his long and hate-ridden tirades with the crowds.

As a result, the Jewish troops climbed up the concrete steps which lead to the podium, and conducted a Jewish religious service. Later, explosive charges were placed beneath the great iron Nazi swastika mounted above the podium, and this symbol of hatred was summarily blown to smithereens.

***As WWII ended, General Eisenhower was driven into one of the Nazi death camps. Having been exposed to the awful carnage there, the sights and the stench of thousands of dead Jews, he issued an order.

"Some of our men claim they don't know what they are fighting for. I want each and every one of them to visit one of the Nazi death camps. At least they will know what they have been fighting against!"

(Paraphrased by William McDonald, PhD from the Ken Burns television documentary, "G.I. Jews")

OH SO CLOSE TO FALLING ON MY BUTT

We checked into the Highlander Hotel near Newtonmore, Scotland, and feasted on a spread of sliced beef and broiled salmon.

As I stood up to leave the restaurant, I stepped backwards from the table, and realizing there was a ceiling to wall curtain behind me leaned slightly into it; expecting there to be a supporting wall behind it. (I was sadly mistaken). I found myself falling backwards into thin air. Realizing my calamitous predicament, my wife emitted a loud scream.

You’ve seen one of those commercials in which the guy is walking through a bunch of folks who are unmoving, and seem to be frozen in place? I picture the scene in the restaurant very much the same way. Well over a hundred men and women frozen in place, and looking in our direction.

Thankfully, I righted myself. (Perhaps the result of plenty of practice while working at UPS, as well as falling off bicycles). At any rate, the curtain bore the brunt of it, and I managed to tear the hem a bit at the ceiling. The near accident averted, I smiled sheepishly, looked over at a nearby table, at which was seated several of our group members, and I …snapped out a military salute!

Counting the two songs I have been privileged to sing to our group during this overseas tour, I suppose I will be referring to this mishap as my “Third Presentation” a.k.a. “Oh So Close to Falling on my Butt Presentation.” And whereas, my wife made videos of the first two renditions, I would rather have had one of my momentary mishap. I think it would be a hoot.

When it is “all said and done,” I hope no one thought I had partaken of a wee bit too much of the Guinness or Scottish whisky that night; which I had not. At any rate, it isn’t the first time I’ve made a fool of myself in public.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Returning in Their Place." Copyright 2018

RETURNING IN THEIR PLACE. Day 5. My Ireland-Scotland Journal

An additional note related to yesterday’s visit to Blarney Castle. On my way back from having visited the same, I stopped at an outdoor vendor, (as I mentioned previously), purchased a sandwich, and stood in a light and cold sprinkle while I devoured my lunch. Suddenly, a couple of ravens appeared and landed a few feet from me. As I began throwing them bits of bread, several more joined the party. By now ten or twelve of the little critters flapped at my feet. At times they snatched the bread out of midair.

Another facet of yesterday’s daily pilgrimage which I neglected to mention was our stop at Carrauntoohil. At 3406 feet it is Ireland’s tallest mountain. We could see it across a fiord in the distance, and clouds slithered down its side; very much like the effect we once witnessed in San Francisco. Our tour bus made a stop here for a group photo. As we continued to make our way through the County Kerry, the amazing vista of the mountain and fiord were visible at various points along our route. This was one of the most amazingly beautiful places I have ever visited in spite of the fifty degree temperatures, and ongoing rain with which we contended. The grass is greener here than virtually anywhere on earth due to the terrific amount of rain which falls on an annual basis.

Our travel guide is a lovely blonde haired Irish lady of perhaps forty named Deanne. She was raised in Australia, but her roots are Irish and she admittedly possesses a somewhat muddled accent, though I believe she sounds Australian. Deanne is extremely cheerful, and she takes pains to describe everything we will be up to on a given day as we find our way down the road. Our seat assignments change daily to facilitate meeting one another, an equal opportunity to view our environment, and to take photos.

Today we drove what is referred to as The Ring of Kerry. This is a loop along the coast of Killarney and up the west coast of Ireland. As we drove, Deanne mentioned a local drink, and encouraged us to “go get yourselves a Galway Hooker.” Of course, everyone got a good laugh out of her remark. We navigated the road along Dingle Bay, and our guide spoke about a local dolphin named, “Fungie” which has performed colorful antics in the bay for three decades, and has displayed an affinity for the most vulnerable of children, as they swim. There are videos of the creature flipping and flopping behind fishing and tour boats, and it is something to behold. A statue of the dolphin has been erected nearby.

Each year a town named Killorglin hosts a “Puck Fair” in which a designated goat is celebrated as king for three days; which commemorates a goat which is said to have warned the local populace of the advance of Oliver Cromwell’s soldiers, and allowed them to escape.

Now, we passed through an area covered in peat bogs, and a chunk of the stuff was passed through the bus. It almost had the texture and color of coal, and indeed is a preliminary form of this mineral.

In Watertown we stopped along Dingle Bay, and later at a fiord created by glaciers. There was one stop, in particular, which I found to be just about the prettiest spot in my memory. We looked down on a lush, green valley which boasts a river down its middle, houses in the mid ground, and a range of green hills in the background. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant which featured Shepherd’s Pie. The tableside view of Dingle Bay was nothing less than magnificent. I could make out a couple of small boats in the distance.

As we neared our hotel in Killarney, our guide pointed out a couple of famine houses; the stone ruins of which remained from the mid-19^th century. Strangely enough, the narrow mountain road is marked 100 KPH, (just over 60 miles per hour), an impossible speed here. We finally arrived back at our hotel, and prepared for a horse cart ride. The cart seated eight, including our driver, John Cronin. His draft horse is named “Polly.” We drove through a national park in Killarney which is limited to foot travel, bicycle and horse cart traffic. 

The Irish driver was extremely animated, and joked throughout our ride. He is the brother of fourteen siblings. I joked that his parents must not have owned a television. He responded with, “And they didn’t have a heater either which just made it more fun for them!” When I asked if Irish people understand American accents better than we understand them, he said he thought they did, and “I can’t even understand some Irish folks when they talk!”

As we continued down the picturesque road, we saw a broken down 15^th century castle which was situated on an island on a lake. Other than the cold conditions which permeated our bones, it was a pleasant ride, indeed.

Afterwards, my daughter, Kristy and I visited a local restaurant and ran into an elderly American couple situated at a table next to us. Lo and behold they were from Davenport, Florida; just thirty miles from our hometown of Winter Haven. 

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

AN EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK OF ACTS, CHAPTER 17

Paul stayed in Athens several days and waited for Silas and Timothy. And while he waited he grew thoroughly exasperated since, at every turn, he was confronted with the city’s idolatry. 

As a result, he was compelled to address the situation with the Jews and Gentile proselytes in the local synagogue. And he debated people who frequented the marketplace, as well. 

While Paul was preaching and teaching in Athens some Epicurean and Stoic philosophers walked up, and made some cynical remarks, including, 

"What kind of doctrines is this misinformed malcontent shoveling on the people?" 

And others said,


"He plans to deceive the local populace with a myriad of new and different gods!”


But Paul’s sole focus and priority was Jesus and his resurrection. And as the result of his intensive time and efforts, the apostle was arrested, and brought before their council in the Areopagus. And now, a representative of the council asked him, 


"Will you please elaborate on the topic about which you have been teaching? The things you have told us are beyond our comprehension, and we want to know more about them." (The Athenians, and travelers who passed through the city were “taken up” with “strange and wonderful” gods and doctrines and loved to discuss such things).


And since Paul was not only a captive, but had a captive audience, he stood to his feet, and began speaking,


"Gentlemen, no one needs to convince me that you are a profoundly religious group of people. For as I walked through your fair city, and witnessed your shrines, I ran across an altar which bore the inscription, ‘DEDICATED TO THE UNKNOWN GOD.’ 


“This God to whom you have dedicated an altar, I would like to describe for you today! This God who made the world and stars, and every man and beast, Lord of the heavens and the earth, does not inhabit temples manufactured by frail human beings, nor does he need anything you can possibly give him; since he is, after all, the One who breathed the breath of life into every creature which lives, and breathes and moves on our planet.


“From one man and one woman, God has created every race and clan and people. He has foreordained the times and seasons of their existence, and the limits of their dwelling places, so that they may look for God, with the hope and expectation that they may sense his reality and discover the profound love he has for them; (though he never was all that far from us). 


“Indeed, it is in and by this God whom I proclaim to you today that we live, and move, and have our being. Why, some of your poets (whose names you know and respect) have endorsed the things I have shared today with the words, 'For we are indeed his children.’


“If then, we are the living, breathing children of a loving, living God, we should avoid characterizing him as a dead and helpless idol; which is conceived out of imagination and ignorance, and which possesses no wherewithal to come along side us and to intervene in our lives.

"And though God once winked at our ignorance, and futile imaginings, he now expects all men to repent, and to come to the knowledge of the Truth.

"For He has appointed a specific day on which He will render justice to all men in whom he ever breathed life; by this great and glorious man whom he commissioned. And he has guaranteed the authenticity of his lovely Gospel with a single word, by which he called Christ back from the dead.”


When Paul’s audience heard him refer to the resurrection of the dead, some of his listeners mocked him. But others said, "We would like you to speak to us again.”


And having fully expressed himself, Paul was released from the assembly. And some of those who witnessed his defense received the Gospel message with joy, including Dionysius a member of the Areopagus, a woman by the name of Damaris, and others among them.

Excerpt from "The McDonald Paraphrase of the New Testament", Acts Chapter 17. Copyright 2018.

BLARNEY CASTLE & MUCKROSS FARM - A Segment From My European Journal

*An Ireland-Scotland Journal Entry - May 2018

Today our group set out for Blaney Castle. Having driven a couple of hours, we arrived. While Jean chose to shop, Kristen, Noah and I walked to the castle and got a couple of outside photos; a bridge and the castle behind us. However, I was the only one who chose to climb the steps leading to the top of the castle, and the “kissing stone.”

I was ‘struck’ with how narrow the 132 steps were; no doubt due to the smaller feet of people 500-1000 years ago. I found myself turning my feet sideways to negotiate the steps, though my 9 ½ sized shoe is nothing unusual in our day and time. When I arrived on the roof of the castle, I watched as a couple of men prostrated themselves; while a ‘holder’ kept them from falling on their heads. (Wall smoochers are expected to tip the apparently low paid employee of the castle). 

I had little or no interest in following the lead of my compatriots, as there is a rumor that the holders vent their anger (or drunken hilarity) by urinating on the wall after the gates are shut.

Eventually, I took the exit portal which lead down another flight of equally narrow stone stairs, worked my way to the bottom, purchased a sandwich at a concession, bought a couple of gifts and found my way to the bus. From here we traveled to Killarney and checked into the nicest hotel yet. The Plaza. Even the bathroom floor appeared to be constructed of marble.

Tonight, our group visited what I understand to be an active farm; at least a 1930 recreation of one. (Referred to as 'Muckross') We were introduced to two wonderfully large draft horses weighing about a ton each, and standing taller than a man at the ears. Definitely the tallest horse I have every met face to face.

From here we were divided into three dining rooms, and supped on a potato cake pastry, bread and churned butter, Irish stew with lamb, potatoes and carrots, bread pudding and Irish coffee.

As the meal wore on, a young man and woman played the flute, hand held pipes, accordion and hand drum, and sang several selections. I especially enjoyed the young lady’s renditions. She is such an accomplished singer. At this point, they invited anyone who would to provide a musical rendition, and Jean volunteered me to sing. As a result, I sang an acapella version of “Amazing Grace.” (I had prayed that I might be afforded an opportunity to impact the people of Ireland, so I believe God honored my prayer in this regard). 

I received many nice comments, and it seems I surprised a few of my fellow travelers. Having reflected on it, it is very poignant that I was afforded the opportunity to sing the same song I sang at my parents’ memorial services here in the Old Country; from whence so many of our ancestors sprang.

After dinner our entire group assembled in a larger room, and the young man and woman serenaded us again, and we received them with cheers and applause.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL. A Hymn Story

In the 1870s, Horatio Spafford was a very successful lawyer in Chicago and heavily invested in real estate. In 1871, the great Chicago fire destroyed all his downtown investment properties.

In 1873, he and his family planned a vacation trip to Europe. While in Great Britain, he planned to help his good friend Dwight L. Moody and Ira Sankey, whom he had financially supported, with their evangelistic tour. Spafford sent his wife and four girls—ages 11, 9, 7 and 2—ahead while he finished up last-minute business in Chicago. On November 22, the S.S. Ville Du Havre struck another ship and sank within twelve minutes. Mrs. Spafford cabled her husband “Saved alone.” The Spafford's four daughters had died in the midst of the ocean waves.

It is reported that Spafford wrote, “It Is Well with My Soul” later, while sailing over the very place in the ocean where his four daughters perished.

But the tragedy surrounding the hymn didn’t end there. Horatio and Anna returned to Chicago and gave birth to Horatio Goertner Spafford who would die at three years old of scarlet fever. Two years later, the couple gave birth to Bertha, who would write that her parents not only suffered the pain of losing their fortune and five children, but it was compounded by a crisis of faith. Were the children’s deaths a punishment from God? Did He no longer love them? Horatio felt himself in danger of losing his faith.

In 1881, Anna gave birth to a sixth daughter, appropriately named “Grace.” Shortly after, the family of four moved to Jerusalem, with Horatio explaining, “Jerusalem is where my Lord lived, suffered, and conquered, and I wish to learn how to live, suffer, and especially to conquer.”

The family would remain in Jerusalem and set up a children’s home. And like his children, he too would die tragically of malaria.

But the tragedy surrounding the hymn didn’t end there, either. The tune was written by Philip P. Bliss, which he entitled “Ville du Havre,” the name of the ship that took the lives of Spafford’s four daughters. The hymn was first sung by Bliss himself before a large gathering of ministers hosted by Moody on November 24, 1876.

Just one month later, on December 29, 1876, Bliss and wife were traveling to Chicago by train. As the train passed over a trestle near Ashtabula, Ohio, the bridge collapsed and the passenger coaches plunged 75 feet into the icy river. Philip was able to escape through a window, but his wife was pinned in the wreckage. As he went back to free his wife, a fire broke out through the wooden cars and both were burned beyond recognition.

Nine tragic deaths surround the hymn, and yet those affected by them, could say, “It is well with my soul.” 

© Copyright 2008 James N. Watkins. All rights reserved.

Re-edited by William McDonald, PhD

FORMOSA AVENUE ANTICS

Prior to moving to “the country,” my family and I lived on a quiet little street known as “Formosa Avenue,” (apparently named for the island of Formosa, now referred to as “Taiwan").

We were surrounded by working class neighbors with surnames like, “Swofford” and “Petitt” and “Chumney” and “Bragg” and “McCall” and Raiford.” Children were in abundance here, and my siblings and I were never at a loss for juvenile companionship..

A small orange grove was situated behind our house, and it proved to be an excellent place to play. I remember “running the groves” with three or four young neighbors, in particular, including Marianne Swofford, Judy Chumney, and Mike McCall. No doubt, by the time we appeared for dinner, our bare feet were filthy with the dark brown-gray sand of our local grove.

We lived in a small, two bedroom house, and with the birth of my sister, Linda, (twelve years younger than I) we were quickly outgrowing it. Summer found us playing games like “Crack the Whip” and “Hide and Seek.” (No, I never so much as heard of “Kick the Can” until, as an adult, that game was referenced on a  “Twilight Zone” movie I happened to be watching).

Considering all the risks I took, I should have been killed a hundred times. I remember climbing up in a tall mulberry tree which bordered a railroad track, (to which I will allude again later). I had stuffed a paper bag in my pocket, and I greedily stripped the upper limbs of their juicy, black mulberries. For all my efforts I was rewarded with stains on my shirt, (which refused to come out) and the less than satisfying ambiance of a wild “delicacy,” which the birds sometimes left to rot.

And as twilight wrapped its all-encompassing arms around our little corner of the world, and the sounds of nightingales and crickets filled the air

… the mosquito truck appeared, and lumbered down our quiet street. Every boy and girl knew the sound. While the thump of its tires on asphalt, and the roar of its engine were evidence enough, we had acclimated to a different frequency, entirely. At this juncture, almost six decades hence, it is difficult to describe the sound. (Rather like what was referred to as the “Rebel Yell” of Civil War fame. It is said that you would have had to have been there). At any rate, we recognized the sound of the spray, as it forcibly emanated from the tank, and assumed the form of a thick, white mist. Honestly, I don’t know what our parents were thinking, but when “the siren called” eight or ten of us rushed into the street, and ran headlong behind the spray truck.

I think we must have inhaled the majority of what was intended for the neighborhood mosquitoes. (But somehow we survived this weekly ritual, and seemed none the worse for it).

We were blessed with the sort of wildlife that is virtually absent from our local community today. Tiny hummingbirds abounded in our neighborhood, and could be found in various colors and species. I remember my fascination with the little creatures as they fluttered from one blossom to another; their bodies radiant and distinct in the mid-day sun, and wings which were never stilled, and difficult to distinguish for the rapidity of their ceaseless beat. Sadly, the use of various pesticides has reduced the number of hummingbirds in Florida today, (though several years ago my father planted a garden of colorful flowers, and mounted a liquid feeder there, and a few of those delicate creatures installed themselves in that picturesque setting).

I recall a nearby creek, (well perhaps a community drainage ditch) which was populated by minnows and crayfish; the latter of which, as an adult, I have never yet found in similar places. There was a time when I “harvested” a few of these bottom dwellers, and dropped them into a pot of boiling water. Well, my dear reader, I can assure you the resulting taste was, I kid you not, just plain nasty. After that sad state of affairs, I consigned myself to playing with the little critters, rather than consuming them.

A childhood friend and I often walked to the “picture show” on a Friday or Saturday evening at a time when it was safe for ten and twelve year olds to walk the streets at night. The Ritz Theater was a mile from our tranquil little neighborhood, and it took very little time to walk there. But unless we took a much longer route, we were forced to walk past an old

… cemetery

which was situated directly behind my friend’s house.

The sun was low on the horizon as we trudged down that old dirt road which bordered the graveyard. No reason for alarm or thought of our safety. We laughed and talked about a hundred things, and wondered whether “The Angry Red Planet” was worth half our weekly allowance.

As we took our places in line, and as I’d done a couple dozen times or more, I began to analyze the lady behind the ticket counter. (Even then, I was analyzing people). “Doris,” (I only learned her name a couple months ago) might have been 40, but of course she seemed old to me. During that time period, even my teachers seemed old, though their average age was closer to 35. (Their clothing and horn rim glasses contributed to their “mature” appearance). Doris was the most heavily made up woman I had ever met 'til that time, but she was, nonetheless, a beautiful woman.

I only remember one movie title from that era, (and I revealed it to you earlier). As I recall, this particular film was an early 3D “B” variety jobbie, (and the only thing innovative about that “special feature” was the red and blue celluloid glasses). But our enjoyment of the movie was influenced by our temporary independence, and of course if you asked us, we would swear it was the greatest cinematic production since “Gone With The Wind,” or “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

Gene and I always dreaded the walk home. By now, darkness had descended on the land. We found ourselves whistling “Old Susannah” or “I Love You Truly” to boost our confidence, and there was little idle chatter. The most anxious part of our walk home was, (you guessed it) the perimeter of the old cemetery; a distance of several hundred feet. We picked up our pace a bit, and found ourselves walking on the outside edge of the dirt road, (which in hindsight seems a bit strange, since if indeed ghosts do exist, no limestone wall or width of road would have deterred their agenda).

And here was another instance of the rich and almost sacred wildlife which we took for granted then, and which has all but disappeared. Tiny twinkling lights behind every headstone and under every fallen log. Lightning bugs by the bushel. A myriad of the florescent little things, yet somehow in this gloom of darkness, they lent an eerie and unsettling aura to what was already an unpleasant undertaking; (no pun intended).

Nevertheless, other than the luminescent insects, Gene and I never saw anything “strange and wonderful” flying, floating, hovering, (or playing marbles, for that matter) in that fearful place. And, thankfully, we ALWAYS arrived home in one piece.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Snapshots" Copyright Pending

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ELVIS IS ALIVE & WELL IN BENTON, ARKANSAS

Elvis is alive and well in Benton, Arkansas

(Really, he is)!

At least, if you believe a few ‘cheerleaders’ out there, who are leading the effort to inspire his fans to “hope against hope” that he is moving and breathing, and living among us.

It is only in the past couple of months that I came across a website titled, “Evidence Elvis Presley is Alive,” and which purports to show that an (amazing) look-alike, sound-alike guy by the name of Pastor Bob Joyce of the “Household of Faith Church” in Benton, Arkansas is none other than (drum roll) …the King of Rock ‘n Roll.

Well now, hold on there a hip shakin’ moment. I’m just not so sure.

Granted, the body in that 1977 era casket looked mighty suspicious. I mean, the photo I’ve seen of that cadaver looks, for all the world, like a 1950’s era Elvis. (And I guarantee you, when he made his supposed entrance into Rock ‘n Roll heaven, he was neither a young adult, nor did he look like he’d run ten miles a day for the preceding six months prior to his death).

And while I cannot begin to account for the good looking body in the casket, whether it was a mannequin or a look-a-like, I think it is a long walk from Memphis to Benton to believe that Elvis currently rules and reigns, (and manages to retain some measure of anonymity) in a little church in Arkansas.

I have to admit that Pastor Bob is a dead ringer (excuse the pun) for the dearly departed Elvis, not only in relation to his countenance and lovely locks, as I have previously implied, but in terms of his eerily familiar voice.

But I simply can’t ‘buy into’ the persuasion that Elvis is alive and well in Benton, Arkansas.

Pt. 2

My former pastor’s wife has, more than once, accused me of being a dyed in the wool skeptic. Perhaps it’s because as a counselor I’m paid to be skeptical, or to at least pull together sufficient information to make a valued judgment. Perhaps it’s because on experiential level I’ve been exposed to a whole lotta inter-relational baloney.

Speaking of my tendency to gather information, I have interacted several times with the creator of the Evidence Elvis Presley is Alive website, and have left comments on a similar youtube.com page.

My written questions/perspectives on these sites have ranged from,

“Have any members of Elvis’ so-called ‘Memphis Mafia’ met Pastor Joyce?”

(and)

“If so, what have people like the aged George Klein (high school friend and “Elvis Channel” DJ) or Red West (high school friend and actor) said about this claim?”

(and)

“Does Pastor Bob/a.k.a. Elvis II receive any of the financial dividends from ‘Elvis Presley Enterprises?’” (which still markets the King of Rock ‘n Roll to the enth degree).

(and)

“Has it occurred to you to ‘put your money where your mouth is’ and do a comparative voice print using sample Elvis and Pastor Bob audio’s?”

Pt. 3

To which I received the respective answers,

“Yes, so ‘n so has met with Pastor B., but I cannot begin to tell you what they talked about. God bless.” (Very convenient, indeed).

(and)

“That is a private matter between Pastor Bob and the agency which markets his persona. God bless.” (Based on everything I know the good preacher shows no signs of being independently wealthy).

(and)

“He doesn’t have anything to prove. Perhaps you might consider doing your own side by side voice print analysis. God bless.” (As if I had that capability).

(and)

“It isn’t time for Elvis to ‘come out.’ Can you imagine it? In his day and time, he was absolutely mobbed by the crowds who followed him. They tore off his clothes. They scratched his face and arms. Nuff said. God bless.” (Uhmmm, the last time I checked the man made multiplied millions for his trouble).

(and)

“When it’s time, he will know, and the world will know. God bless.” (And I can only wonder what time has to do with it. Whether now, or ten years from now, the result of his ‘second coming’ can only be very much the same).

Pt. 4

The proponents of the ‘Elvis is Alive & Well’ theology have said that he was tired of all the hustle and bustle, and that after two and a half decades, he longed for the kind of anonymity that any one of we ‘commoners’ enjoy on a daily basis. There are internet photos, snapped a few weeks after Elvis passing, which seem to show a white-haired Elvis trimming the Graceland hedges and rose bushes.

Those closest to the ‘king’ always said that if he ever went into a state of seclusion, he would probably turn up somewhere “wearing a backward collar;” since the Gospel was always so near and dear to him.

And to be sure, Elvis cherished his spiritual roots, and the faith of his mother. Perhaps ten or twenty percent of his music was spiritual in nature. Of course, it is no secret that he struggled, (at least emotionally) to overcome the sins of the flesh. Even the most novice among Elvis fans are aware of his recurrent dependence on prescription drugs, and his affinity for beautiful women; (with whom he so often shared his Graceland bedroom).

There are any number of sermons and solo’s on Pastor Joyce’ website, and copies of the latter are available for a fee “to help support the ministry.” (And to be sure, I have no ‘grief’ at all with that notion).

One of Pastor B.’s/the second coming of Elvis’ adherents responded to one of my previous comments. She said,

“The world may not know, but we know who he is, and that’s enough.”

Well, my friend, please don’t lump me in with all those ‘we’s’ since I’m definitely not a member of that prestigious club, (and I don’t think it’s enough; not by a long shot).

At any rate, if by some stretch the sun and moon are on the verge of falling out of the sky, or if I am nigh onto winning second place in the 2017 “Mr. Universe” contest, I wish “Pastor Elvis” well, and I sincerely hope he is happy, and continues to impact those whom God sets in his pathway.

*Note: Only tonight I ran across a video on YouTube featuring Pastor Joyce on which he makes the disclaimer that he is NOT Elvis, wasn't, isn't and never intends to be. That should set the record straight for all his "fall all over themselves, Elvis want him to be" adherents.

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

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