SHARING MY BIG GULP WITH ROVER

I drove a big brown UPS delivery truck for twenty years, and was never happier than when I pulled into the local hub for the last time on October 23, 1997. As I coasted into that same old space where I always parked # 59299, along with the great captain of our souls, I might well have uttered,


“It is finished.”


Oddly enough, now two decades into my retirement, I am still delivering packages for “the greatest ship in the shipping business” but only… in my dreams. For at least once a month, in that ethereal nether world we call sleep, I find myself with a few packages whose addresses I don’t recognize; and running desperately late.



Years earlier, as a matter of fact closer to the beginning, than the ending of my tenure, my route included both businesses and residences in one quadrant of a small city, And several times a month my deliveries included street numbers on 5th Street, SE. I can tell you that 5th Street, SE was very much like any other street in "Winter Haven," (the location of the famous "Cypress Gardens,") with one exception.



… a pesky, non-descript dog which chased my truck every time I rolled past the house, (or more succinctly, the yard) in which he resided.


And I can tell you, I wearied of my frequent confrontation with the little mongrel. To my credit, however, I did not run the beast into the ground, as a truck driver once did my own dog. Nevertheless, I formulated a plan of attack.



There just happened to be a 7-11 located near the infamous site of my all-too frequent encounters with “Rover.” And on a particular day when I was scheduled to deliver a couple of packages “on the street where he lived” I pulled into the parking lot of that convenience store, hopped down the steps of my vehicle, walked into the door, stepped up to the beverage machine, pulled a “Big Gulp” cup from the holder, placed it under the ice dispenser, and finally, filled it to the brim with syrupy, brown Coca-Cola.



Returning to my truck, I hopped back up the steps from whence I came, sat down, buckled my seat belt, started the engine, and aimed my truck towards my next destination. I suppose if I’d given my mission a code name, it might well have been



… Destination Dog



As I approached my little friend’s grassy hangout, I saw him rush into the road, and suddenly he was “neck and neck” with the front tire of my truck. However, unlike dozens of those previous animate/inanimate races which had transpired in the past, this time, rather than applying the gas, I applied the brake, turned off the ignition, grabbed the Big Gulp, rushed down the steps, chased down old Rover, and



… poured that nice, brown, syrupy mess all over the poor pooch!



And never so much as looking back, I retraced my path to the truck, hopped up the steps, mounted the driver’s seat, strapped the seat belt around me, turned on the ignition, and drove away; leaving the hapless critter “to his own devices.”



Needless to say, dear readers, old Rover never chased # 59299 again.

(And I think I know why)!



Post-Script - Speaking of dreaming UPS dreams... 



Last night after I finished writing the previous article, I walked into my dark bedroom, reached into a laundry basket which contains several dozen pair of socks of various types and colors, blindly grabbed a pair, and slipped them on. Only to wake up a few minutes ago and discover I was wearing the one remaining pair of UPS monogrammed socks which remain from that era so long ago.

 by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

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A COINCIDENTAL MEETING IN A NON-DESCRIPT CEMETERY

A few weeks ago, I drove out to Mt. Olive Cemetery in Bradley Junction, a community about 25 miles from my home. My 2x great Uncle and Aunt, Leroy & Rhoenia Langford, are buried there, and I thought I would check on their gravesite.

Leroy and Rhoenia have been gone about a century, but before I was a twinkle, or drew my first breath, I understand Rhoenia’s brother, John, my great Grandfather, rode a horse from south Georgia to central Florida to see his older sister.

It so happens that Leroy and Rhoenia were the grandparents of the WWII era movie actress and contralto, Frances Langford. My Grandfather often visited with Frances and her father, though I never knew anything about their kinship ‘til a few years ago.

But to return to my theme.

When I pulled up to the gravesite of my relatives, I noticed that their upright marble headstone was broken in half. While the lower half remained upright, the upper half was lying flat on the ground. One end of each piece was broken at a 45 degree angle.

I immediately wondered what had happened to the stone. Of course, while vandals might have done the deed, I surmised that the marble marker had developed a hairline crack, as the result of four hurricanes which have passed through this county since 2004.

As I stood “at the scene of the crime,” I bent over and attempted to lift the horizontal piece from the ground. And while I was dealing with a 2x2 piece of stone, I found I could only lift it a couple of inches. I immediately estimated that this piece weighed upwards of 150 lbs.

Pt. 2

As it fell together, I enlisted the assistance of my best friend, Dennis and he summarily enlisted the assistance of a young man named, Brian. Last Saturday we met at the cemetery, we managed to epoxy the horizontal piece of the headstone, and lift it back into place. Thankfully, once we set it in place it was, once again, basically intact. All that remained was to apply construction clamps to the left and right sides of the formerly broken pieces. Having repaired the headstone, we “took our leave.”

I calculated that I would need to leave the clamps in place for 3-4 days, and the following Tuesday (today) I returned to remove the clamps, and apply putty to the unsightly hairline fracture. Driving up to the headstone, I unloaded the putty, putty gun, a jug of water and a rag.

I was about to fill the crack, (with what turned out to be the wrong filler) when a truck rolled up next to my car. This guy sat there looking at me for a few seconds, and I finally said, "Can I help you?" The man whose name was, I soon discovered, Dave said he had dozens of relatives buried here, and we began to talk.

Dave was 76 years old, had a full beard, and he raises cattle. He went on to say that his mother was in hospice care and was expected to die this week. We talked about a dozen subjects, he continued to sit in the truck with his door open, and told me he was having some mobility issues, himself.

During our conversation he used some expletives, and he was obviously a bit of a colorful character. As the man was leaving, I asked if I could pray for him and his mother. He acquiesced. I began speaking and I was sure to end my prayer, "In Jesus Name." When I finished the prayer, Dave thanked me, and drove away.

One of those so-called 'circumstances' which God knew about… before He made the worlds.

Pt. 3

And upon what spiritual structure do I base the foregoing theory which I so often espouse?

In Jeremiah 1:5 we read,

“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you were born, I sanctified you.”

The implication is He knew our ways and our days, knew our individual names, and was concerned for us as individuals… before the worlds were breathed into place.

There are any number of similar, insightful scriptures.

“My times are in His hands.” (Psalm 31:15)

(and)

“The Lord will accomplish that which concerns me.” (Psalm 138:8)

(and)

“Before I ever took my first breath, you, Lord, planned every day of my life.”(Psalm 139:16)

Nothing takes the Lord unawares. Every twist and turn along a believer’s pathway, as God gives him or her the wherewithal and insight to follow the footsteps of Jesus, are ordered of the Lord.

I think this is especially true of what I refer to as “Momentary Ministry.” What some might regard as a coincidence, or random circumstance allows two or more people to be in one place at one time, and in which God gives us the opportunity to speak certain words or take certain actions which glorify Him, and edify another human being.

In 1^st Peter 3:15, we read,

“…And be ready always to give an answer to every man who asks a reason for the hope that is within you.”

I believe Momentary Ministry occurred in a little, non-descript cemetery in Bradley Junction, Florida today. And I am grateful God entrusted me with the opportunity to make a small difference in the life of a man named, Dave.

Whereas, I don’t expect to ever meet him again, I like to think for a brief moment in time he knew that someone cared, and took time to share a burden heavier than the weighty stone which had previously concerned me.

(It occurs to me that all the time and effort surrounding the broken headstone was worth it for the sake of the foregoing little intervention into a life. And it is curious to consider that if Leroy and Rhoenia were Christians, they apparently found a way to minister to a needy soul… a full century after they went on to their reward).

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 87. Copyright Pending

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THE DOLLAR BILL - Symbolism of Its Markings

Do your children know this? – Do their teachers? – Do you? I didn’t!
Who Was Haym Solomon?

Read this fascinating history of the $1 bill all the way to the bottom to know about Haym Solomon. You may be in for quite a surprise!

On the rear of the One Dollar bill, you’ll see two circles. Together, they comprise the Great Seal of the United States. The First Continental Congress requested that Benjamin Franklin and a group of men come up with a Seal. It took them four years to accomplish this task and another two years to get it approved.

If you look at the left-hand circle, you’ll see a Pyramid.

Notice the face is lighted, and the western side is dark. This country was just beginning. We hadn’t begun to explore the west or decide what we could do for Western Civilization. The Pyramid is uncapped, again signifying that we weren’t even close to being finished. Inside the Capstone you have the all-seeing eye, an ancient symbol for divinity. It was Franklin's belief that one man couldn't do it alone, but a group of men, with the help of God, could do anything.

“IN GOD WE TRUST” is on this currency.

The Latin above the pyramid, ANNUIT COEPTIS, means, “God has favored our undertaking.”

The Latin below the pyramid, NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM, means, “a new order has begun.”

At the base of the pyramid is the Roman numeral for 1776. (MDCCLXXVI)

If you look at the right-hand circle, and check it carefully, you’ll learn that it’s on every National Cemetery in the United States. It’s also on the Parade of Flags Walkway at the Bushnell, Florida National Cemetery, and is the centerpiece of most heroes' monuments.

Slightly modified, it’s the seal of the President of the United States, and it’s always visible whenever he speaks, yet very few people know what the symbols mean.

The Bald Eagle was selected as a symbol for victory for two reasons:

First, he isn’t afraid of a storm; he’s strong, and he’s smart enough to soar above it.

Secondly, he wears no material crown. We had just broken from the King of England.

Also, notice the shield is unsupported. This country can now stand on its own.

At the top of the shield there’s a white bar signifying congress, a unifying factor. We were coming together as one nation.

In the Eagle's beak you read, “E PLURIBUS UNUM” meaning, “from many – one.”

Above the Eagle, we have the thirteen stars, representing the thirteen original colonies, and any clouds of misunderstanding rolling away. Again, we were coming together as one.

Notice what the Eagle holds in his talons. He holds an olive branch and arrows. This country wants peace, but we will never be afraid to fight to preserve peace. The Eagle always wants to face the olive branch, but in time of war, his gaze turns toward the arrows.

An (untrue) old-fashioned belief says that the number 13 is an unlucky number which is almost a worldwide belief. You’ll almost never see a room numbered 13, or any hotels or motels with a 13th floor. But think about this:
America, which relies on God (not a number) to direct and lead, boldly chose:

13 original colonies,
13 signers of the Declaration of Independence ,
13 stripes on our flag,
13 steps on the pyramid,
13 letters in “Annuit Coeptis,”
13 letters in “E Pluribus Unum,”
13 stars above the eagle,
13 bars on that shield,
13 leaves on the olive branch,
13 fruits,
and if you look closely,
13 arrows.

And finally, notice the arrangement of the 13 stars in the right-hand circle. You’ll see that they are arranged as a Star of David.

This was ordered by George Washington who, when he asked Haym Solomon, a wealthy Philadelphia Jew, what he would like as a personal reward for his services to the Continental Army. Solomon said he wanted nothing for himself, but he would like something for his people. The Star of David was the result. Few people know it was Solomon who saved the Army through his financial contributions ... then died a pauper. Haym Solomon gave $25 million to save the Continental Army, money that was sorely needed to help realize America's and our freedom and independence from England.

Therein lies America's Judeo-Christian beginning.
Most American children do NOT know any of this. They aren’t taught because their history teachers do NOT know this. (They were not taught!)
about America's Freedom:

Too many veterans gave up too much to let the meaning fade.
Many veterans came home to an America that did not care.
Too many veterans never came home at all.
They served, they died for you and for me.

I hope you will share this page with many so they can learn about the UNITED STATES DOLLAR BILL, and what it stands for.

America is at a critical juncture. Let's do whatever we can to save her while never, ever forgetting:

It is God in whom we put our trust!

FORGET THE MESSENGER. REMEMBER THE MESSAGE

I was scrolling through my social media page today, and ran across five of six photographs on one of my favorite sites.

“Bartow First Assembly Royal Ranger Outpost #54”

It would be helpful for my readers to understand that the Royal Ranger movement was originally envisioned and founded by a man named, Johnnie Barnes. It is very much like the Boy Scouts, but with a Christian emphasis. Since the advent of the Royal Ranger movement multiplied hundreds of thousands of little boys and young men have been influenced by this organization, it has spread beyond the Assemblies of God denomination, and is international in scope.

As you might imagine, the photographs (which I previously alluded to) depicted eight or ten elementary age boys, and a couple of Royal Ranger leaders, and were taken sometime in the last few weeks.

I have met one of the Royal Ranger commanders who currently leads Outpost #54. As a matter of fact, I first met this gentleman when he was approximately the same age as the boys which surround him in the pictures. For you see, he was once a member of the outpost which he now leads. I was one of his Royal Ranger commanders. They say, “What goes around comes around.” My little nephew is involved in this group.

It has been more than half a century since a man named John Westerman and I founded Royal Ranger Outpost #54. As you might imagine, I am inestimably pleased and proud that the outpost has continued to impact multiplied hundreds of boys, and their leaders over the course of five decades.

I had previously interacted with the senior commander of a Royal Ranger group which I co-founded in Virginia, Outpost #68, and he sent me several photos of the boys.

Pt. 2

I could not help but attach a photo of both Outpost #54 and Outpost #68 to my social media page.

And then it occurred to me. I would include an additional picture. This photograph depicts yours truly at the age of 18. I am standing in an above the ground pool. On my left and right are aged ministers, a Rev. Asbury and Rev. Skipper. They are preparing to baptize me. And just above this photo I add the caption:

“My baptism. It all started here in 1967.
It occurs to me that the photos of the Royal Rangers groups, below, might not have transpired without this personal life-changing event.”

I expect 99 percent of the boys and men who passed through Outpost #54 and Outpost #68 since they were founded never knew, or even cared who was responsible for their existence.

Under the circa 2018-2019 photos of the Royal Rangers and their leaders, I was careful to write something I share with those whom I mentor:

“It’s okay to forget the messenger. Just don’t forget the message.”

And honestly, this is the mindset I have about it. I am just gratified that these Royal Ranger outposts still exist, and that they are still impacting boys and men decades after they were dreamed into existence.

It occurs to me that all of the dear young boys who attended the two groups over the past fifty years are my spiritual children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I pray for them on a daily basis.

May God continue to bless Bartow Royal Ranger Outpost #54 and Dale City Royal Ranger Outpost #68. May they go right on raising up spiritual grandchildren who will, no doubt, make me very proud.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

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ADOLF HITER: Renowned Artist

Recently, I attended a lecture by a survivor of the Holocaust who, as a child, experienced the most horrific of circumstances. My uncle also experienced the monstrosity visited upon the Jewish race, firsthand, as near the end of WWII his Army unit marched into one of Germany’s concentration camps. Having witnessed the most unspeakable horrors, he never spoke about what he saw there.

Of course, one man was, ultimately, responsible for the advent of the Second World War, the deaths of countless soldiers, sailors and marines, untold civilians, and the murder of six million Jews.

Adolf Hitler

However, before issuing the executive order which led to the deaths of millions of innocent men, women and children, almost single-handedly destroying the Western world as we know it, Adolf Hitler was an “up and coming,” (albeit unsuccessful) artist.

Subsequent to his service in the German Army during WWI, “the little corporal” completed numerous murals which had as their subject buildings, monuments, and landscapes. And while some amateur and professional art critics have, well, criticized his artistic ability, from my perspective some of his paintings were quite good.

Between the two World Wars, and before the artist wannabe gave a moment’s thought to ruling one of the major nations of the world, and subjecting others to his domination, Adolph Hitler had dreamed a different dream.

Pt. 2

And to his credit, the non-descript little man was not only a dreamer, but a doer; since he not only managed to transfer his colorful visions to canvas, but he made application for acceptance to The Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna.

Twice

And was turned down as many times as he applied.

It is ironic that as the unrelenting, demonic dictator of the Third Reich the great architecture and pastoral villages he painted were, ultimately, destroyed by his actions.

Among Adolph’s artworks are some paintings which provide an almost prophetic look into the as yet to be fulfilled future of the most evil and dictatorial individual in the history of the world. For among the colorful landscapes are also images of WWI tanks; littering a barren landscape, and smoke rising from their turrets. 

I have often reflected on that momentous decision which denied Adolf Hitler the opportunity to undertake a course of action which might have, literally, changed the course of human history, and whomever was responsible for that singular decision.

I have wondered whether the man who denied the future dictator, and warlord the opportunity to fulfill his artistic dream, having experienced the abject awfulness which the little despot visited on this planet, regretted having rejected his prospective student. A man who unknowingly, unwittingly exercised more power than Hitler ever realized in his lifetime; who with one stroke of a pen, a few words on a rejection letter, doomed millions of hapless victims to certain death.

Adolf Hitler. Renowned artist.

The saddest words in any language.

…What might have been

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

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JUMPING WITHOUT A PARACHUTE

I was just scrolling through my social media page, and happened on a post by one of my favorite people.

The post included a picture of a man standing on a ledge above the Grand Canyon. The caption? A passage from the Holy Bible.

“For what shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but loses his own soul.” (Mark 8:36)

I immediately wrote a response under the post, and will describe the background behind what I wrote.

A few years ago, a skilled photographer and parachutist boarded a Piper Cub, along with a couple of other parachutists. “Jim” had been hired to film a series of maneuvers which the pair planned to do on their fall to the earth.

Everything seemed to proceed nominally, as the two aeronautical video stars jumped from the plane. Following the pair, the photographer jumped behind them. However, in his haste and excitement,… Jim had forgotten to strap on his parachute!

Needless to say, the fall was nothing less than short and ecstatic, but the landing, well, it was, to say the least, a bit messy.

I have rarely spoken or written about the topic of Hell. After all, they say “you can catch more flies with honey, than with vinegar.” And honestly, verbal allusions to Hellfire and Brimstone “just isn’t my style.”

However, I will make an exception here.

Pt. 2

We live in an age of Political Correctness. The notion of ‘absolutes’ has no place in our society. One cannot be critical of abortion, homosexuality, fornication or adultery, or the inadequacy of every religion but one, even on one’s very own social media page, without being “called out” for it.

Any reference to the absolutes of Jesus, including the absolute nature of sin and Hell is unacceptable in our culture, as if the person who quotes the words, and alludes to the teaching of the Messiah, is intolerant, rather than simply recounting what the King of kings and Lord of lords had to say about the matter.

There is a dynamic in the Christian faith called, “Apologetics.” Apologetics is, simply put, the defense of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And while the root word for this dynamic is “Apology,” those who have been called to defend the Gospel are not apologizing for it.

I once heard a lady preacher speak about the heat, darkness and aloneness of Hell. And while I have been a Christian for a full half century, I can tell you the adjectives with which she surrounded her sermon struck me to the core. When she finished speaking, I can tell you, I knew I didn’t want to go there.

I think the guy who jumped out of the airplane without a parachute is an excellent illusion of the man or woman who leaps into eternity without, as it were, a spiritual parachute.

And what is that spiritual parachute?

Nothing more or less than the shed blood and sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ on the cross. To fail to incorporate Christ’ blood and sacrifice is very much like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

SOMETHING THE LORD MADE

      I came across a wonderful movie titled, “Something The Lord Made.” During the rental period we must have watched it five times; (not to mention we were late turning it back in).

     It is the true story of two contradictory figures who lived during the 20^th century. As different as they were, they were very much the same. You’ll understand by the time I finish the story.

     Alfred Blalock was an eminent white physician who pioneered some pretty impressive breakthroughs in medical science. It so happened he needed a cleanup man for his lab, and a black fella named Vivian (yes, Vivian) Thomas applied for the job.

     He’d hardly begun his new job when Dr. Blalock realized he’d hired a prodigy. For although the young black man had only a high school diploma, he displayed the most intense interest in the doctor’s activities, and was often found reading medical journals in his free time. When Alfred quizzed Vivian, he learned the young man had plans for medical school.

    Though the two men were from different social, academic and economic strata, they found themselves drawn to one another, and ultimately became fast friends, as well as partners. Blalock depended on Thomas and seemed bound and determined to take him where ever fate beckoned them.

     Eventually the physician moved to Baltimore and a position at Johns Hopkins University Hospital. The men left Nashville and the South far behind, in favor of this new challenge.

    This new environment agreed with them, and they were quickly inundated with lab work devoted to discovering the secrets of the heart; (organic, not romantic.) It took very little time for Alfred to understand just how talented and proficient Vivian really was.

    Oh, there was the normal misunderstandings between the two. It was “The Thirties” and black men were still being hung from trees for the “serious offense” of smiling at a white woman. The relationship was colored by the times, but possibly more by the pride that circulated in the veins of the eminent physician. When Dr. Blalock was featured on the cover of Life Magazine, he never considered including Vivian. When he had the opportunity to speak before an audience of his peers, he never mentioned the contribution of his black partner.

     

     Yet there was something special about Vivian Thomas; something that transcended every purposeful or cultural attempt to “keep him down.” And for all their differences and all their misunderstandings, the two loved and respected one another. And they formed an attachment that superceded the physician’s relationship with his own peers.

     Though he was only a lab technician, Vivian attempted some heretofore theoretical techniques in surgery;…with dogs serving as his guinea pigs. And though “The Forties” had arrived, and though American physicians thought of themselves as pioneers, heart surgery was still considered both  impossible, and taboo. Things were about to change.

     The two men developed a treatment for “blue baby syndrome,” and decided it was time to make the leap from animals to humans. Half the staff thought they were crazy, and the other half expected them to fail.

     The initial operation on a very sick baby proceeded, and hours ticked by. As the surgery concluded and the heart stint was opened wide, the child’s bluish color immediately faded and her skin turned a wonderful pink. At that moment childish smiles lit Alfred’s and Vivian’s features. They had done “the impossible” and put all the nay sayers to shame.

    Vivian’s mentors became his students, (which has been known to happen.) For the humble little black man, with a high school diploma, found himself in a position to instruct preeminent physicians. And the fame of that little black man spread quickly throughout the hospital and the world. Respect replaced prejudice.

    Dr. Blalock ultimately left Johns Hopkins in favor of a teaching post, while Vivian remained in his lab. Years flew by and the good doctor died, as Thomas aged in his important position.

    The lab technician never realized his dream of medical school. Money was always the issue. He lived and died a high school graduate. But that is not “the rest of the story.”

    As Vivian neared the end of his marvelous journey, it occurred to “the powers that be” at Johns Hopkins that the humble man merited a singular honor. And on such and such a day the entire staff gathered to congratulate the man who, along with his mentor, had almost single handedly put their institution on the map.

    We have chosen to sit near the back of the auditorium, and we notice Vivian seated on the first row with his family. Suddenly, a female doctor walks to the podium, and calls Mr. Thomas forward, as she begins to read from a large certificate.

    Afterwards, a beautiful painting of Vivian is unveiled. The little man’s eyes light up, and well with tears. A lab technician had stepped onto the stage. A doctor now steps off of it. For our wonderful little hero has been awarded an Honorary Doctorate in Medicine!

    And did I tell you? The painting of Dr. Vivian Thomas can still be seen in the main lobby of Johns Hopkins University Hospital next to the painting of his partner and friend, Dr. Alfred Blalock. And in death their likenesses still reside there; side by side, as they did in life. Vivian died in 1985, outliving his mentor by two decades.

    These two most excellent fellows, Alfred and Vivian, were medical pioneers. They performed the first heart surgeries in the history of the world. All those surgeons who operate on the cardiac muscle today have become the professional grandchildren of these two men. And the millions of patients who ever had their lives extended ought pause a moment, and reflect on the singular lives of Dr. Alfred Blalock and Dr. Vivian Thomas.

    Alfred and Vivian were a gift to mankind. They were, indeed, “Something The Lord Made.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Musings," Copyright 2008

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ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN. (Title from a movie by that name)

Occasionally, I find myself scrolling down the homepage of Facebook, and I come across the most pitiful photograph of a poor, emaciated, badly-mangled dog or cat.

And it absolutely tears me to shreds emotionally.

Perhaps I’m just a sensitive kind of guy, (and that has to be okay), but I can’t quit thinking about that poor creature for hours. And every time I see a photo of one of these creatures, I find myself wishing that whomever posted it had not posted it. And it occurs to me that it is enough that such a travesty as neglect and dog fighting exists, and I am well aware of this unutterable savagery, without it being visited on me without so much as a warning that…

“What you are about to see will absolutely ruin the remainder of your day.”

This last photograph was one of the worst of its kind, and made me question whether I really wanted to remain on Facebook. A poor neglected pit bulldog sitting in the center of a doggie cell. His snout and forehead are missing chunks of hair and flesh, that massive head is bowed, and the most poignant depression fills up his listless eyes.

It seemed obvious to me that the pitiful beast has been used for dog fighting, and either thrown away when he had run his course, or has been rescued by authorities far too late to do him any good. And not unlike a condemned man waiting for his execution date, there is little or no doubt that he will, ultimately, be consigned to this same fate.

Pt. 2

I have seen them out there “in the wild” roaming the highways and byways of this world; animals that have simply been thrown away.

In one case I was walking along a state highway in the wee hours of the morning, as is often my habit, and I came upon a little kitten sitting on the concrete base of a light pole. You’ve heard the old adage that if you find a turtle on a fencepost, it didn’t get there by himself. Well, neither did this kitten; since the base of the pole stood about three feet above the ground. I retrieved the tiny creature and gave it to my sister. The little fella is big, and strong and absolutely thriving today.

Another time I was biking on the same highway at the same time of the morning, and I discovered an emaciated mini-doberman tied to a light post. Once I picked him up, he would not be denied. He held onto me for dear life, ‘til we arrived at my home. Later that day, I placed him in the care of a no-kill shelter.

There is a photo that has been making its way around social media, apparently staged, of a dog tied to a tree, and a car driving away in the distance. Well, I can tell you that real people are, inexplicably, guilty of doing this very thing. And more often, than not, they simply dump the dog or cat in a forest, or in some other secluded place, and drive away. Almost as bad, many people surrender their aged pets to local shelters and drive away; knowing that they will never be re-adopted, but rather, euthanized in short order. These same folks are prone to show up at this same, or a different shelter in short order, and adopt a younger pet.

As scripture puts it,

“There things ought not to be.”

Pt. 3

I am convinced that there is absolutely nothing you or I can do to instruct, inform or enlighten such people, and that all the photographs in the world aren’t going to change their behavior pattern. They are cruel and heartless people; (with the possible exception of my previous example, when circumstances beyond someone’s control forced him or her to do what they would have preferred not to do).

Speaking of that pitiful old, sick, sad and bewildered creature I described which sat in the middle of a shelter cage, I pray for him and other dogs and cats, and what we commonly refer to as ‘pets’ on a daily basis.

There is a rather singular scripture in Psalm 36:6 which reads,

“You (meaning God) preserve man and animals, alike.”

I have taken this scripture to mean that not only has mankind been afforded an eternal soul, but that, at least when it pleases Him, God has the wherewithal to carry the spirit of a deceased animal to heaven.

I have asked my dear Savior to allow me to see my beloved pooches again one day; (three of four which have predeceased me). And it occurs to me that if any animals deserve this privilege, it is those which have been neglected, abused and abandoned by people in whom they had every reason to invest their trust.

I pray that I will see that pitiful old decimated, and depressed dog to which I previously alluded in heaven. (And I think I have every reason to believe that I will).

I can just see him now, sleek and strong, with vibrant eyes, and exuding the kind of joy and confidence he never experienced in this life.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright Pending

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AN UNEXPECTED, MOMENTARY SCENARIO I WILL NEVER FORGET

We visited Ireland and Scotland last May, and while we were in Glasgow and after checking into our hotel, a middle-aged man got on the elevator with me. As the doors closed, he spoke to me in what seemed to be a Polish accent, and he asked where I was from. When I told him I was from Florida, USA, the man grew very serious, and I think I noticed tears in his eyes. A tender expression enveloped his face, and he almost whispered, "Oh, those dear dear American boys who died in the great wars. They came to help us, and we owe them so much." Although the experience was fleeting, I was struck to the core, and will never forget the man or his words.

TWO PEOPLE DRIVING ONE CAR

My wife and I were on our way home from church; (on the same street as my previous illustration). Jean was driving our old green 1980 something Oldsmobile; a somewhat longer vehicle than one generally sees on the road today. We were traveling at 50 MPH, or greater, and as we neared an intersecting road on our right, which was marked with a stop sign, hardly stopping, a small blue car pulled into our pathway.

We could plainly see a man and woman in the front of the car, and a little boy and girl in the back seat. Less than 50 feet separated the two vehicles, as Jean locked up the brakes. An accident seemed inevitable. As with so many traumatic events, time seemed to slow down. (Interestingly enough, I have read that this syndrome is possible because the brain is processing more information than  usual in a brief amount of time).

It was obvious that my wife had every intention of plowing headlong into the smaller car, (and no doubt, all the occupants of that vehicle would have been seriously injured or killed.) Though we were driving a much larger automobile, we also would not have been spared. You see, we weren’t wearing our seatbelts.

Suddenly, I just KNEW what I had to do.

I reached over with my left hand, took the steering wheel from Jean, and began steering it in a direction that would take us around the rear of the small vehicle. Amazingly, we cleared the back bumper of the little car by a foot. Both my wife and I found ourselves leaning hard in the direction of the driver’s window. (As a result of that event, I can relate to the G-forces the astronauts endure, as they reach maximum acceleration.)

But the ride was far from over. Our ungainly old car began a 180 degree slide. Suddenly, the back end was where the front end was just seconds before. Now we were sliding backwards. As the car lost momentum, we neared a wooden fence to our left which bordered a house. We finally slid to a stop in a grassy area, a few feet from the fence, very shaken, but not a scratch on either of us. 

As for the small blue car, it was nowhere to be found. As we had continued our surrealistic journey, I noticed it as it turned left into the opposite lanes of the four lane highway. However, I would have NEVER expected the driver to “keep on keeping on.” The decent thing to have done, the only thing to have done, would have been to stop and check on our status. But that is not what happened.

However, just about this time another car pulled up to the stop sign from whence the former vehicle had come. Having seen the spectacle falling together around him, I have no doubt that he had watched the proceedings with awe. The motorist asked if we were okay, and after we assured him we were, he drove away.

There's an old story Jerry Clower used to tell about the preacher who drove too fast on mountain roads, and ultimately drove his car off a cliff. A friend of his happened to be following, pulled over, and ran down the side of the incline to the wrecked vehicle. As he reached the bottom the preacher was climbing out the shattered window. The friend asked, "Preacher, are you okay?" To which the disheveled minister replied, "Well, yes, thank you, the Lord is riding with me." Billy Bob smiled, and exclaimed, "Well, you better let him ride with me, before you kill Him!"

(Perhaps after our near miss, our angels felt like riding with someone else)! But in all seriousness, I am grateful for God's provision.

Paradoxically Providential.

Momentarily Miraculous.

As I have previously alluded, both my wife and I have experienced multiple episodes such as the foregoing one, while too many of our classmates left us as the result of the first traumatic incident they had ever encountered.

There is a trite, well-used phrase which occurs to me here, one which every one of us have heard quoted more than once in our lives.

“I guess the Lord was finished with him (or her).”

Well, I don’t know about that.

However, as the result of so many near misses, I am assured that God still has a work for me to do, and for my wife to fulfill.

 I suppose we ought to get about finishing that work.

 by Wm. McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

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A MATTER OF LIFE & DEATH

My wife and I could have easily been killed, (or killed someone) last night… three times, and all in the space of ten minutes. (I kid you not).

My wife was behind the wheel, and we were heading to the midweek service at our church. We had driven about half a mile down Spirit Lake Road, and suddenly a car came sailing across the road about thirty feet ahead of us, and drove into a vacant field to our right. (I have no idea what he was thinking). As we passed the now stationary vehicle, it’s lights were still on. Of course, my wife and I commented about what a strange occurrence it had been.

After another half mile, we reached the intersection of a state road, took a right turn, and drove another half mile. Suddenly, an almost invisible bicycle crossed the four lane road, perhaps fifty feet ahead of our vehicle, and I told my wife to slow down. The bicycle was totally devoid of lights, and I commented that the rider was “achin’ for a breakin.’”

Having driven another half a mile, we barely missed the back bumper of a car which had stopped at a stop sign, had driven across two of the four lanes of traffic, and was parked diagonally in the median waiting to turn into an opposing lane of traffic. The hapless driver had left a couple of feet of his rear bumper in the road behind him. We saw the guy seconds before our vehicle would have plowed into him, and Jean just managed to swerve around his car.

I love the verse in the Old Testament which assures believers that,

“Your times are in His hands.” (Psalm 31:15)

And an equally reassuring verse can be found in Psalm 139.

“Before I ever took my first breath, you planned every day of my life.”

No matter what we encounter along life’s pathway, the great “I AM,” the God of the past, present and future, has already been there before us. What a bless-ed realization.

I don’t think we can ask, or expect anything much better than that.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright Pending

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"EVEN IF" (One of the most inspiring songs in today's Gospel genre)

by "MercyMe"

They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now, right now I'm losing bad
I've stood on this stage night after night
Reminding the broken it'll be alright
But right now, oh right now I just can't

It's easy to sing
When there's nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I'm held to the flame
Like I am right now

I know You're able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Well good thing
A little faith is all I have, right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Oh give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know You're able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You'd just say the word
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone

You've been faithful, You've been good
All of my days
Jesus, I will cling to You
Come what may
‘Cause I know You're able
I know You can

I know You're able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, I know the hurt
Would all go away if You'd just say the word
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone

It is well with my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

Songwriters: Bart Millard,Ben Glover,Crystal Lewis,David Garcia,Tim Timmons

© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC,MUSIC SERVICES, INC.