Several years ago, my wife and I attended a Ruth Graham seminar on the west coast of Florida. And as I recall, the multi-hour event included elective segments on any of a number of topics, and with such speakers as Damaris Carbaugh, the mother of Ellen (degenerate) Degeneres’ former girlfriend, (who was decidedly against the gay agenda), and of course, (it goes without saying) Ruth Graham, herself.
Well, for anyone who has known me very long, it should also “go without saying” that I didn’t drive an hour there, and an hour back, not to make Ruth Graham, the daughter of the famous evangelist, Billy Graham, my priority.
Apparently, one segment Jean and I attended finished early, and (also apparently) my wife got involved elsewhere, since I headed over to the main convention hall to get a “good seat.” And (you guessed it) Ruth Graham was scheduled next on the, well, schedule.
It can safely be said that I did, indeed, get a good seat since when I walked into the auditorium I found myself completely
… alone.
And since I had a few hundred seats from which to choose, I walked towards the front of the theater, and took a seat in the 3rd row, center. (I simply don’t sit on the first row of a theater, church, auditorium, or fill in the blank. Somehow, it seems a bit comforting, if that is the word, to have something in front of me, and not, as it were, to have my legs hanging out in midair).
At any rate, as I sat waiting for Ruth Graham to make her debut, who should appear but, (you guessed it)
… Ruth Graham.
Ruth, (if I may be so bold to call her by her given name) came striding across the floor from right stage towards the left, and had walked perhaps ten feet when she saw yours truly seated in Row 3, Center. Suddenly, the young lady, (younger than me, and definitely younger than she is now) stopped, and said,
“I’ll be right back!”
As I recall, I sheepishly responded with,
“Uh, Okay.”
The well-known daughter of an even better-known father. The never-to-be-well-known, except in his little corner of the world, pastoral counselor.
Interacting at that moment, at least, on the same level. (Well, to be fair she was up on a stage, but you see where I’m going). We momentarily engaged one another as if we were acquainted.
I refer to such scenarios as
“creating memories.”
And though, if you asked her, Ruth may have long since forgotten that momentary exchange,
… I never will.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
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