MY LITTLE BUDDY AT THE DOOR

 My little pooch had recently passed away, and it had been her tendency to greet me at the door in the evening. Buddy, (her name was Buddy) was on my mind as I pulled into the driveway that night, and I thought, "My little girl won't be there to greet me anymore, and I'm the poorer for it."

And that thought had barely crossed my mind, and as I was getting out of the car, I looked towards the south, and in the night sky a flaming meteorite came sailing through the heavens in an arc that was positioned above my dear little pooch's gravesite in my backyard. This small event was so encouraging to me that God affirmed my loneliness for Buddy, and that He held her in the hollow of His loving hands.

 It was poignant to realize that our Lord was aware, before He made the worlds, that I would be reflecting on my Buddy at just that moment in time, and that He had set that little chunk of meteor on a path which would transect my little bit of sky for such a time as this.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR a.k.a. My Dearly Departed Pooch Returns

I had an unexpected visitor last night.

Oh, not the kind of visitor who rings your doorbell, and says, “Howdy do.” However, this visitor has visited in my home in the past. Matter of fact, she used to live in my home.

But before you jump to conclusions, she wasn’t a human being. (Far from it). She was a girl dog with a boy dog’s name.

BUDDY

Buddy was a beautiful little white and auburn colored Shih Tzu.

Did I mention my Buddy is no longer with us? Yes, I know that revelation is a bit “in your face” since I just made you aware that Buddy was last night’s unexpected visitor. Buddy went on to her reward on March 1, 2006, (and if you “do the math” you’ll realize she has been gone for over twelve years).

Harry Houdini promised his wife, Bess that he if he preceded her in death, he would do his best to contact her from “the great beyond.” As if fell together, Harry died of appendicitis, after having been punched in the stomach by one of his fans; attempting to determine just how tough he was.

Not content to be a passive observer, Bess arranged numerous seances in her quest to contact her dearly departed husband. Unfortunately, old Harry never managed to transcend the confines of death. The man who escaped handcuffs, shackles and a locked water cabinet could not escape the grave. As a result, Beth was bereft of Harry’s soothing voice and comforting presence, and, ultimately, made her own solitary passage to “the other side.”

Pt. 2

The late great actor (and Air Force Reserve Brigadier General) Jimmy Stewart enjoyed writing poems. I recall watching “The Johnny Carson Show” one night decades ago, and Stewart happened to be the Johnny’s main guest. As it fell together, he quoted one of his poems, “My Dog Beau.” (You can view this video segment on YouTube.com)

The jest of the poem is that, at one time, he loved a dog named ‘Beau’ and that at some point his blessed canine passed away. However, near the end of the poem there is the implication that, after he has retired to his bedroom one night, Beau somehow manages to make his ethereal presence known to his beloved master.

I can’t account for why Harry Houdini, great escape artist that he was, failed in his attempt to come back from the dead and visit Bess, no more than I can account for the reason Beau, an humble little dog, somehow managed to do what Houdini could not do, (and no more than I can account for the reason my dear little Buddy managed to visit me last night, and a couple of other nights before that).

(Yeah, she did).

But speaking of a “couple of other nights,” allow me to reminisce a bit.

Buddy had only been gone for a few days, as I remember, and one night I was strolling along my neighborhood streets thinking about my dear little pooch. And as I was nearing my house, I saw it. Or more precisely, I saw her. My beloved little Buddy.

What appeared to be a white Shih Tzu suddenly appeared, perhaps three feet in front of me, walked across my pathway into my neighbor’s yard, …and disappeared.

(I kid you not).

Of course, I was surprised, but not at all afraid.

Pt. 3

It was about this same time, shortly after the passing of my Buddy, that I headed off to bed one night.

And before I drifted off to sleep I sensed something slide up against my right shoulder. I never saw it but I sensed its weight, and then, (not unlike that old Boris Karloff movie in which the main character shouts, “It’s alive, It’s alive”) it was as though the thing was breathing. In and out. In and out. I lay there a while, and the sensation continued for several more minutes.

I knew. I just knew. And, no doubt, the sensation of weight, and the consciousness of respiration was for my benefit, not that of my ethereal little Buddy; (who by this time had neither weight, nor any need or reason to breathe).

A few days later, I suddenly sensed the weight of something against my right foot. I had no doubt whatsoever. Buddy used to sleep in the bed with me, and she would lie on a pillow at the end of the bed. I dared not move. Not because I was anxious or afraid. But I knew. I just knew. Buddy had come to visit me again, and her presence was just so welcome and assuring.

Over a decade passed, and her visitations seemed to be over.

However, as I have previously inferred, I lay down last night, (and while still very much awake) I sensed a presence. This time around there was no physical sensation of weight or respiration; only a innate realization that I was not alone…

In Psalm 36:6, we read,

“You preserve both men and animals, alike.”

Over the past few years, this particular scripture has given me a great deal of comfort, since I am convinced I will see all four of my dearly departed pooches on the other side. Yes, I am convinced that God will preserve the dearly departed pets of all believers, and that we will be reunited with them when this life is past.

Afterward

I have no earthly idea why God has chosen to send Buddy back to me three times over the course of a dozen years, but I am convinced that He did. However, I can tell you that these miraculous experiences have only caused me to be that more convinced of the reality of heaven, and the reality of the God who created the heavens.

And, I have no idea why someone as prestigious and gifted as Harry Houdini failed in this same quest, though he had “staked his life” on the claim, whereas an humble little canine managed the task.

But I’m glad that she did.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 85. Copyright pending

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A WORD TO MY READERS

Hello All

I have noticed that 8 or 10 people regularly read my blogs.

I would love to know who you are, what part of the country you live in, what kind of employment you are involved in, whether you are on Facebook, etc.

Please message me by the message feature on this blog or email me at:

williamteomi@gmail.com

blessings

William McDonald, PhD

MEANINGFUL MOMENTS

“lt is always surprising how small a part of life
is taken up by meaningful moments.
Most often they are over before they start,
although they cast a light on the future,
and make the person
who originated them 

… unforgettable.”

The last passage in the movie, “Anna and the King” which I only just finished watching an hour ago.

Those small, but ever so meaningful moments in life that pass all too quickly, but which leave an indelible mark in one’s memory, and, ultimately, on one’s soul. And I think it has been as true for me, as with any man or woman who ever breathed, and lived, and moved on this planet.

Hearing and heeding the Gospel call. Kneeling at an old altar. Pleading my case before the throne of God. My sins forgiven. Life everlasting.

Marveling as a mother and her teenaged daughter dismounted their vehicle, and engaged one another in an ad-lib race towards the portico of the church. Neck in neck. Neither giving, nor asking an inch. Mounting the front porch and slapping the outer doors; with not so much as a millisecond separating their arrival.

Standing next to my unresponsive father, as he lay on a hospital gurney; a noticeable lump on his forehead; having just fallen and succumbed to a stroke. My mama’s words. 

“Henry, I should have gone before you. Now you can meet the mother whom you never knew.”

And in like manner standing at my mother’s bedside. A moment of grace, as my mother awoke for a brief few minutes, and spoke to her children. Only to return to the status quo, and depart this world shortly thereafter.

A once in a lifetime experience, as an angel manifested before me, lingered a moment, and was gone as quickly as he (or she, or it) appeared.

A waitress named ‘Jamie,’ a waitress in California, three decades hence, who dressed and looked the part of “Anne of Green Gables,” and who, before we left the premises, agreed to pose for a photo. Remembering to pray for her. Wondering where she is today.

An invitation to an unmarried intern and my spiritual daughter to join me in a thirty second waltz; devoid of music. Taking her by the hand and giving her a little spin. A virtual prophecy, for before we departed, I expressed, 

“May you be dancing with someone so much nearer, and dearer than me; this time next year.”

And indeed, in the course of a year her Prince Charming appeared.
(And lest I leave you guessing, reader, they married, and bore a child).

Time and space would fail me to describe the myriad of people and events which combine to cause our lives to be as singular as they are.

“lt is always surprising how small a part of life
is taken up by meaningful moments.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

A PATCH OF WILD VIOLETS

As I was preparing to write this story, (and as I often do) I went to the internet, and brought up a series of articles related to my topic.

In this case wild violets.

And as I googled the subject of my quest, the first item at the top of the list was,

“How to get rid of wild violets in your yard.”

And I thought,

“Why would I want to get rid of them?”

(and)

“I happen to like them.”

(and)

“I happen to like them a lot.”

I mean, I purposely mow around a 2x2 foot clump of the little things in my back yard.

Of course, as you might expect, there’s more to the story, and for anyone who is a fan of my blogs, you may remember my having written about the topic before.

Yesterday, as I stepped outside to survey my woodsy quarter acre, I glanced to my right and noticed a tiny clump of lovely wild violets were in bloom. Twelve or fifteen of the small purple blossoms greeted my eyes; held up by rich green leafy shoots.

And, as always, I paused to reflect on a precious little Shih Tzu named, ‘Buddy’ which I was privileged to know and love for the space of a decade.

And as I have inferred in the past, when she left us, (Yes, ‘Buddy’ was a her) I installed a circular decorative tile on this spot to commemorate her.

For it was here that our precious pooch so often resorted to “take in the rays.”

Pt. 2

Perhaps I have chosen to “read more into it,” but I am convinced that the proximity of the wild violets to the place Buddy loved the best is no coincidence or mistake. I believe it was an “on purpose” sorta thing which has its roots with Providence, and was (drum roll) planned before the earth was breathed into being.

I know that’s “saying a lot” and I realize it’s a lot to take in, but I’m convinced that Buddy was simply worth it, and that our Lord was thinking of her

…before He made the worlds.

I mean, I’ve written about my little Buddy before, and without going into great detail again suffice it to say that I think my precious pooch fulfilled her mission on this earth; whereas many human beings never do.

There was a time when her incessant barking caused a would-be burglar to flee. There was a time when she refused to leave my daughter’s side when she was grieving the loss of a marriage. There was a time when she followed my wife around the house, ‘til she submitted to a physical exam by which a malignant tumor was detected early, and she has been allowed to live out a long and productive life.

Yes, my Buddy was worth it, and I think our Lord agreed with me before I ever knew the bless-ed creature.

There is a particular verse in the Book of Psalms which provides some evidence of the Creator’s love and affirmation for both his human and animal creations, and His promise that I will see my Buddy again one day.

Your righteousness is like the highest mountains, your justice like the great deep. You, LORD, preserve both people and animals. (Psalm 36:6)

Afterward

No, I don’t believe the presence of those lovely wild violets, next to that circular decorative tile in my backyard, is a coincidence or mistake. I will always think of this place as a Providential tribute to one of His wonderful little creations named Buddy.

I like to think of that wild, uncultivated patch of purple blossoms as God’s own memorial for a life well lived, and for a creature He loved more than I ever could.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 45. Copyright pending.

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THEY GAVE THEIR TOMORROWS FOR OUR TODAYS

My wife and I visited Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland in May of this year. It was, to say the least, the trip of a lifetime. The beauty of those countries is remarkable.

While we were in Glasgow, Scotland, and having checked into our hotel there, I stepped onto the lobby elevator. It was a very short ride to the third floor, but in the few moments which transpired between boarding the elevator and getting back off, my one and only "fellow traveler" posed a question. 

The man appeared to be about sixty, spoke with what seemed to be a Polish accent and was very difficult to understand.

"Where are you from?"

To which I responded,

"I'm an American."

The foreigner's eyes seemed to grow moist, and he said,

"Ah, those dear precious young boys from America who came to our assistance, and who died for us. We will never forget them."

Now it was my turn to tear up. I thanked the man, and replied,

"Yes, indeed. They were wonderful men and we owe them everything."

As I reflect on it now, it was not only the most meaningful but the shortest conversation I have ever experienced during my almost seventy years on this planet.

Our vacation over, I had the privilege of returning home, unlike those "dear precious young boys" who laid down their lives in places such as France, Germany and Italy, and who still rest beneath marble crosses there.

Fast forward a few months and one of my French social media friends and I were interacting on the 17th anniversary of 911. We were reminiscing about the human sacrifice of so many policemen, firemen and soldiers that day, and I mentioned my conversation with the fellow in Scotland.

To which she responded,

"France has never forgotten all the American victims during WWI and WWII. 

Each year I remember them. 

Time flies but not our memories. Thanks to them."

Others have never forgotten. We must never forget.

They gave their tomorrows for our todays.


Except from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending.

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A TRIBUTE TO TRACEY

I recently retired after 35 years service with the U.S. Air Force, the Air National Guard, the Army National Guard and the U.S. Army Inactive Reserve.

Perhaps the most memorial experience for me, over the course of decades, was the privilege of memorializing a fellow National Guard member who made the ultimate sacrifice. SGT Tracey Brogdon fulfilled the rather “in your face” motto of every member of our armed services. “We have to go out. We don’t have to come back.”

In the fall of 1990 the elder President Bush responded to Saddam Hussein’s blatant march into Kuwait by pouring thousands of our active duty and reserve forces into Saudi Arabia. The 325^th Maintenance Company of the Florida Army National Guard was one of dozens of reserve units that received the call.

Tracey was a single mother of a toddler when she received her notification. The mission of the 325^th was to repaint hundreds of jungle camo-colored vehicles a drab desert brown. One day blended into another, and each day was much the same as the one that preceded it. The conditions in the desert paint shop were harsh, and many guardsmen experienced permanent respiratory ailments, and were medically retired when they returned to the United States.

There are old video segments of Tracey and her comrades filmed by local television crews. Even in those horrid conditions, her smile is contagious. She was determined to make the most of a difficult assignment… (and she did.)

Operation Desert Storm worked its way to a successful conclusion, and the 325^th was scheduled to return to the United States. Of course, the news was met with smiles and cheers, and the morale of Tracey’s unit rose to the stratosphere.

Just prior to shipping out, SGT Brogdon was traveling in a convoy, and had laid down in the backseat of one of the unit’s maintenance trucks. Suddenly the driver slammed on brakes in an attempt to avoid a collision with a stalled civilian vehicle. Tracey slid violently forward and her head slammed into a military radio mount. She died instantly. SGT Brogdon was the only casualty among Florida Army National Guard units during the Persian Gulf War. She was afforded the standard military funeral, and was interred in Wildwood Cemetery, Bartow, Florida; her beloved hometown.

 

The news of this precious young lady’s death had a significant impact on me. My own National Guard unit, the 2^nd Battalion, 116^th Field Artillery, had avoided the call, but I was determined to do… something. I committed to write a poem about this fine young soldier. And all during that process I felt a peculiar “presence,” as though someone, (perhaps Tracey, herself) wanted it written. Having finished the narrative, I felt compelled to take it a step further. 

I contracted a trophy shop to inscribe the poem onto a metal plaque. In the meantime, I contacted the commanding officer of the 325^th Maintenance Company and requested the opportunity to present the tribute. On such and such a day, the troops were assembled in military formation, and I read the commemorative poem aloud. The plaque was hung in the lobby of Tracey’s beloved unit; a permanent reminder of her sacrifice.

Though I never knew her, I stop by SGT Brogdon’s gravesite from time to time. I clean the cross, mounted just behind her government issued headstone. I gently kneel, and brush debris from off the granite base. And just prior to leaving, I render this fine soldier, mother, and daughter a well-deserved salute.

Thank you, Tracey. You gave your tomorrows for our todays.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

AFTER THE STORM

The call was not totally unexpected, and yet it took him back a little. The voice on the unseen end of the line said, “Prepare to be here about five days.”

In a bit of a daze the guardsman began to pack his duffle bag, first rather slowly and then with increasing speed as the import of the message slapped him squarely in the face.

The guardsman reached out for the last time to take his wife in his arms and to reassure her of his affection. The last kiss would be remembered for a long while to come. He knew in his heart that the separation would be long and difficult.

“Gentlemen,” the captain shouted above the noise of the ceiling fans, “We’re going to be there until power is restored and until civil authorities deem our mission accomplished.”

There was a murmur among the troops which seemed to build to a crescendo. Most of us were thinking, “But I only packed for five days.”

Thousands converged upon the city. Men from every military service, and civilians from a myriad of state and federal agencies. This was the biggest of the big. Never before in our history had so many military members been called to assist civilians in need.

The sight was overwhelming. Miles from the scene the devastation was apparent. Pines and mangroves were broken like proverbial toothpicks. Sugarcane fields lay smashed against the mulch of mother Earth. And yet, this was just the faint outskirts of Ground Zero.

Tears flowed freely down the guardsman’s face. This was nothing less than America’s own Hiroshima. Utter devastation on a full arc. Where ever his gaze fell, destruction greeted his anguished spirit. For long minutes, only darkness spoke. All other voices were shut off, as if by a common valve.

The guardsman glanced up into the surreal and advancing blackness of the midnight sky. What he saw there was like nothing he ever beheld. A lone meteor imposed itself against the barrenness of all else in the city. He understood the message. Even in the complete annihilation surrounding him, his was a mission of hope, of mercy, and of future reconstruction.

The days were innumerable and duplicates of themselves, and yet subtle differences made each day its own day.

The guardsman was new at all this, as were the unfortunate inhabitants of the city. Everything was experienced on a grand scale. Eight days without a shower, 40 days in a tent; rain flowing easily across the dirt floor. Up at 5am, to bed at 9pm, arms and face burned by an unrelenting sun; lips cracked and bleeding.

Devastation greeted him as he attended his daily mission. Giant splinters where mansions once elegantly graced the landscape, staircases leading to nowhere but to an open sky. Small ships tossed unto beaches, thousands of stray animals wondering what might have happened to their Johnny or Susie. Acre after acre of avocados, lemons, limes and nursery stock flattened as if by some unseen ogre’s giant hand. Concrete buildings knocked over like so many dominoes.

The stories were the sort you only dream about. Families saved by a single garage wall. A couple whispering their last goodbyes as they lay together in their bathtub. The house shaking as if on the back of a runaway locomotive. Fathers searching for grown children days after the storm. The guardsman experienced a magnification of reality in a microcosm of existence.

He guarded darkened streets. He distributed food stuffs. He drove the little lanes of once elegant subdivisions. He cleaned the littered yards of the storm’s hapless victims. His rifle over his back. He staunched the flow of gangs and looters.

He met those who now called an automobile their home. There was the lady who apologized for accepting emergency food stamps. “I’ve never needed these in my entire life before,” she said. The guardsman spoke kind words. “Then you are the one who most deserves it.”

There was the woman who shook his hand, and then unexpectedly embraced him, and kissed him on the cheek. . “You don’t know how much we needed you here, and how we appreciate your having answered the call.” She walked away in tears; unable to say more.

The last day arrived and we were all ready to bid ‘adieu’ to the city. Our task was complete, and yet there were tasks and missions plenty for countless volunteers in the months which lie ahead.

As we walked across the parking lot chatting and reminiscing, a bald eagle drifted over our heads, flew the length of our compound, and disappeared on the horizon. Tears again filled our eyes. The tour was done, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.

We were back, but we would never be the same. We could only be the better for that which we had seen, that which we had experienced, and for those brave citizens we had met.

We had returned to our natural environment. The air seemed fresher. The flowers more colorful. The sky a bit bluer. Oh, how thankful we were on the other side of the storm.

And what of those we left behind? Their lives were budding again. Just as surely as the trees of their city began to bud anew after being so rudely stripped of their leaves.

SSG William R. McDonald was a member of HQ, 2^nd Bn, 116^th Field Artillery, Lakeland, Florida, and a resident of Winter Haven, Florida.

This article appeared in The Lakeland Ledger and The Winter Haven News Chief shortly after his mission to south Florida concluded.

Copyright pending

DELTA FLIGHT 15 - A 911 Story

This incredible story is from a flight attendant on Delta Flight 15:

On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, we were about 5 hours out of Frankfurt, flying over the North Atlantic.

All of a sudden the curtains parted and I was told to go to the cockpit, immediately, to see the captain.

As soon as I got there I noticed that the crew had that “All Business” look on their faces. The captain handed me a printed message. It was from Delta’s main office in Atlanta and simply read, “All airways over the Continental United States are closed to commercial air traffic. Land ASAP at the nearest airport. Advise your destination.”

No one said a word about what this could mean. We knew it was a serious situation and we needed to find terra firma quickly. The captain determined that the nearest airport was 400 miles behind us in Gander, Newfoundland.

He requested approval for a route change from the Canadian traffic controller and approval was granted immediately — no questions asked. We found out later, of course, why there was no hesitation in approving our request.

While the flight crew prepared the airplane for landing, another message arrived from Atlanta telling us about some terrorist activity in the New York area. A few minutes later word came in about the hijackings.

We decided to LIE to the passengers while we were still in the air. We told them the plane had a simple instrument problem and that we needed to land at the nearest airport in Gander, Newfoundland, to have it checked out.

We promised to give more information after landing in Gander. There was much grumbling among the passengers, but that’s nothing new! Forty minutes later, we landed in Gander. Local time at Gander was 12:30 PM …. that’s 11:00 AM EST.

There were already about 20 other airplanes on the ground from all over the world that had taken this detour on their way to the US.

After we parked on the ramp, the captain made the following announcement: “Ladies and gentlemen, you must be wondering if all these airplanes around us have the same instrument problem as we have. The reality is that we are here for another reason.”

Then he went on to explain the little bit we knew about the situation in the US. There were loud gasps and stares of disbelief. The captain informed passengers that Ground control in Gander told us to stay put.

The Canadian Government was in charge of our situation and no one was allowed to get off the aircraft. No one on the ground was allowed to come near any of the air crafts. Only airport police would come around periodically, look us over and go on to the next airplane.

In the next hour or so more planes landed and Gander ended up with 53 airplanes from all over the world, 27 of which were US commercial jets.

Meanwhile, bits of news started to come in over the aircraft radio and for the first time we learned that airplanes were flown into the World Trade Center in New York and into the Pentagon in DC.

People were trying to use their cell phones, but were unable to connect due to a different cell system in Canada . Some did get through, but were only able to get to the Canadian operator who would tell them that the lines to the U.S. were either blocked or jammed.

Sometime in the evening the news filtered to us that the World Trade Center buildings had collapsed and that a fourth hijacking had resulted in a crash. By now the passengers were emotionally and physically exhausted, not to mention frightened, but everyone stayed amazingly calm.

We had only to look out the window at the 52 other stranded aircraft to realize that we were not the only ones in this predicament.

We had been told earlier that they would be allowing people off the planes one plane at a time. At 6 PM, Gander airport told us that our turn to deplane would be 11 am the next morning.

Passengers were not happy, but they simply resigned themselves to this news without much noise and started to prepare themselves to spend the night on the airplane.

Gander had promised us medical attention, if needed, water, and lavatory servicing.

And they were true to their word.

Fortunately we had no medical situations to worry about. We did have a young lady who was 33 weeks into her pregnancy. We took REALLY good care of her. The night passed without incident despite the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

About 10:30 on the morning of the 12th a convoy of school buses showed up. We got off the plane and were taken to the terminal where we went through Immigration and Customs and then had to register with the Red Cross.

After that we (the crew) were separated from the passengers and were taken in vans to a small hotel.

We had no idea where our passengers were going. We learned from the Red Cross that the town of Gander has a population of 10,400 people and they had about 10,500 passengers to take care of from all the airplanes that were forced into Gander!

We were told to just relax at the hotel and we would be contacted when the US airports opened again, but not to expect that call for a while.

We found out the total scope of the terror back home only after getting to our hotel and turning on the TV, 24 hours after it all started.

Meanwhile, we had lots of time on our hands and found that the people of Gander were extremely friendly. They started calling us the “plane people.” We enjoyed their hospitality, explored the town of Gander and ended up having a pretty good time.

Two days later, we got that call and were taken back to the Gander airport. Back on the plane, we were reunited with the passengers and found out what they had been doing for the past two days.

What we found out was incredible…..

Gander and all the surrounding communities (within about a 75 Kilometer radius) had closed all high schools, meeting halls, lodges, and any other large gathering places. They converted all these facilities to mass lodging areas for all the stranded travelers.

Some had cots set up, some had mats with sleeping bags and pillows set up.

ALL the high school students were required to volunteer their time to take care of the “guests.”

Our 218 passengers ended up in a town called Lewisporte, about 45 kilometers from Gander where they were put up in a high school. If any women wanted to be in a women-only facility, that was arranged.

Families were kept together. All the elderly passengers were taken to private homes.

Remember that young pregnant lady? She was put up in a private home right across the street from a 24-hour Urgent Care facility. There was a dentist on call and both male and female nurses remained with the crowd for the duration.

Phone calls and e-mails to the U.S. and around the world were available to everyone once a day.

During the day, passengers were offered “Excursion” trips.

Some people went on boat cruises of the lakes and harbors. Some went for hikes in the local forests.

Local bakeries stayed open to make fresh bread for the guests.

Food was prepared by all the residents and brought to the schools. People were driven to restaurants of their choice and offered wonderful meals. Everyone was given tokens for local laundry mats to wash their clothes, since luggage was still on the aircraft.

In other words, every single need was met for those stranded travelers.

Passengers were crying while telling us these stories. Finally, when they were told that U.S. airports had reopened, they were delivered to the airport right on time and without a single passenger missing or late. The local Red Cross had all the information about the whereabouts of each and every passenger and knew which plane they needed to be on and when all the planes were leaving. They coordinated everything beautifully.

It was absolutely incredible.

When passengers came on board, it was like they had been on a cruise. Everyone knew each other by name. They were swapping stories of their stay, impressing each other with who had the better time.

Our flight back to Atlanta looked like a chartered party flight. The crew just stayed out of their way. It was mind-boggling.

Passengers had totally bonded and were calling each other by their first names, exchanging phone numbers, addresses, and email addresses.

And then a very unusual thing happened.

One of our passengers approached me and asked if he could make an announcement over the PA system. We never, ever allow that. But this time was different. I said “of course” and handed him the mike. He picked up the PA and reminded everyone about what they had just gone through in the last few days.

He reminded them of the hospitality they had received at the hands of total strangers.

He continued by saying that he would like to do something in return for the good folks of Lewisporte.

“He said he was going to set up a Trust Fund under the name of DELTA 15 (our flight number). The purpose of the trust fund is to provide college scholarships for the high school students of Lewisporte.

He asked for donations of any amount from his fellow travelers. When the paper with donations got back to us with the amounts, names, phone numbers and addresses, the total was for more than $14,000!

“The gentleman, a MD from Virginia , promised to match the donations and to start the administrative work on the scholarship. He also said that he would forward this proposal to Delta Corporate and ask them to donate as well.

As I write this account, the trust fund is at more than $1.5 million and has assisted 134 students in college education.

“I just wanted to share this story because we need good stories right now. It gives me a little bit of hope to know that some people in a faraway place were kind to some strangers who literally dropped in on them.

It reminds me how much good there is in the world.”

“In spite of all the rotten things we see going on in today’s world this story confirms that there are still a lot of good people in the world and when things get bad, they will come forward. Let’s not forget THIS fact.

(from a current news article)

A 911 REMEMBRANCE

I was watching television tonight and saw a segment related to the items which are left behind after tragic national events, such as 911 and the Oklahoma City Bombing.

In one case a woman's husband died in one of the World Trade Center buildings on September 11, 2001; which also happened to be his wife's birthday. Months later, as the cleanup continued, this man's Jaguar was discovered under the rubble.

The woman was summoned to the site to watch as the trunk of the demolished jaguar was opened. As the trunk lid was raised this precious lady was overwhelmed to see a beautifully wrapped birthday gift lying before her, along with a greeting card, and wilted red rose.

Post Script

Amazingly, another 2,000 men and women have died since 9/11/2001 of various ailments brought on by the filthy environment of the 911 site, as they participated in the recovery and cleanup efforts. And another 7,000 are suffering with lung disorders, cancer, etc. I visited NYC in 1967 prior to the building of the World Trade Center buildings, and applied at the Pentagon for a civil service position about 1975, a quarter century before it was slammed into by the aircraft. Although I was hired for the job, I decided not to take it. I've never thought about it before, but who can say if I had accepted the position whether I might have still been working at the Pentagon in the new century, and however unlikely it is, I might even have died on that memorable day. As it was, I sat in the safety of my own home in central Florida watching the terrible carnage on television that day.

EPHESIANS CHAPTER FOUR from The McDonald Paraphrase of the New Testament

I call on you as God’s prisoner to live your lives in such a way that you are an honor to your noble calling. Exercise humbleness and gentleness, and be patient with one another, thus fulfilling the law of love. Make every effort to cooperate with and exercise peaceful intentions towards your fellow believers, as this is pleasing to the Spirit of God who dwells within you.

There is only one body and only one Spirit, just as you were called to only one hope when you came to a saving knowledge of Christ. There is, (as you are all too aware) one Lord, one faith and one baptism. There is only one God and one Father of all of us; who is and will always be preeminent and living through the lives of all believers.

The Holy Spirit distributes different gifts, and those who minister in the gifts have different roles. And each and every believer has been given grace as God has chosen to apportion that amazing grace. This is why the scripture says,

“After He rose into the heavens

He took many captives

and gave various gifts to mankind.”

What, after all, does the word “ascended” imply, except that He (meaning Christ) also descended from heaven to a base and troubled world? He who descended from the very throne of God is the same One who returned there, and in so doing, He fills up the entire universe.

And the gifts He invests in men and women vary. So, Christ gave us  apostles, prophets, evangelists, and pastors and teachers to equip believers for the work of the ministry, so that the body of Christ might be edified, until we all attain unity in our faith, and the knowledge of Jesus Christ and have reached maturity; obtaining the level of faith, character, and giftedness which He so badly desires for us.

God did not create us, nor did He commission us to behave as infants, tossed about by the winds, and waves of the sea, and negatively influenced by the cunning and teaching of false prophets who stand against our glorious Gospel. We are, however, called to tell the Truth, to pursue it with love, to mature in Him, and emulate the nature of our Savior, Christ Jesus. For through Him the entire body, joined and held together by ligaments and tendons and joints has been built up and functions in love; as each part does it respective work.

Thus, I admonish you in the Lord. Refuse to continue living as the heathen live. For they are darkened in their comprehension, and have been separated from the vision and vitality of the Lord because of the innate ignorance and insensitivity which resides within them. They have surrendered every last bit of sensitivity to the leading of the Spirit, they have embraced a spirit of lust, and they indulge themselves in the most provocative of sins.

But this is not the manner of life which you were taught by Jesus Christ, if by chance you ever heard Him speak, and if you comprehended the meaning of His words. For our Lord instructed you to dispense with your former way of behaving, (which was rotten through and through) to adopt the mind of Christ and to put on a new mindset; for you were created to cooperate with God and to emulate His righteousness and holiness.

Therefore, each of you should renounce any tendency for lying, and you should tell the truth to believers and unbelievers, alike. For, after all, we are members of one body, the Body of Christ (and we represent our beloved Master). Avoid useless displays of anger which result from pride and a biased attitude. Refrain from going to bed without resolving any petty arguments with your spouse; which only causes your natural enemy to take pride in his power over you. If you once earned your living as a thief you must cease and desist, and procure honest work, and, subsequently, contribute to the needs of believers who don’t have quite as much as you.

“Swear off” the kind of abusive language which you used as an unbeliever, and make use the kind of words which will benefit your brothers and sisters. And, by all means, do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom we have been identified and set aside ‘til the Day of Redemption.

Dispense with bitterness, anger and rage, pride, slander and empty accusations. Exercise empathy towards one another, and attempt to understand and compromise with your fellow believers.  And, of course, I want to encourage you to forgive one another, as you have been forgiven by God; through the person of His Son, Jesus Christ.

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