SWITCHING HANDS

Fifteen or twenty years ago I decided to do something which may have been done before, (but I never met anyone who decided to do it).

You see, as a counselor I take notes, lots and lots of notes, especially during the first couple of sessions when I am gathering a great deal of information from my clients. And since it wasn’t unusual, at the time, for me to “sit with” twenty or twenty-five individuals and/or couples a week, you can imagine the wear and tear on my dominant hand.

As a result, I decided that I would deliberately train myself to switch hands during the course of a given session. Of course, initially the results of my efforts were both slow and almost illegible. With a bit of time, the results continued to be rather slow, but more legible. And when I finally mastered the art of writing with my non-dominant hand, my speed had improved slightly, but my legibility was nothing less than superior.

With the passage of time, I noticed three unexpected variables related to my hand writing.

My left-handed writing looked nothing in the world like my right handed writing. Over the years, I have never been all that impressed with my hand writing. I always thought it looked like something a sixth grader would produce. However, as I gained the necessary skill to write with my non-dominant hand, what I saw looking back at me seemed almost like calligraphy.

The second characteristic which I noticed was not as impressive. My dominant right hand trembled now, and the ‘chicken scratches’ I left behind were somewhat difficult to read. 

The third issue which I noticed was my almost total dependence on my left hand. Whereas, I had initially hoped to switch back and forth during the course of a counseling session, the almost spastic tendency of my right hand increased, and in order to assure I could read the results of what I wrote, I went with the non-dominant hand.

As I reflect on my little experiment now, it occurs to me that I literally rewired my brain to use a hand for writing that was never intended for that purpose, and as a result the synapses which governed the use of my right hand for that particular purpose were negatively impacted.

From time to time one of my clients, noticing the posture of my left hand, and the way I held the writing instrument, has exclaimed, “You don’t hold your pen like most lefties do.” And, of course, at that juncture I made them aware that I had purposely chosen to teach myself to use my non-dominant hand.

Well, just another stray bit of information regarding yours truly that I am leaving behind by way of the written word, since I think it is important to share a bit of myself with multiplied generations of my family members who will come after me.

However, much more crucial than whether I wrote with my dominant or non-dominant hand, and the fading scrawl which I left on the crumbling pages of time, is the imprint of my words on the hearts and minds and souls of those whom God loves, and whom He has chosen to set in my pathway.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

AN (ALMOST) IMPOSSIBLE REUNION

Marcel Sternberger was a methodical man of nearly 50, with bushy white hair, guileless brown eyes, and the bouncing enthusiasm of a czardas dancer of his native Hungary. He always took the 9:09 Long Island Railroad train from his suburban home to Woodside, N.Y.., where he caught a subway into the city.

On the morning of January 10, 1948, Sternberger boarded the 9:09 as usual. En route, he suddenly decided to visit Laszlo Victor, a Hungarian friend who lived in Brooklyn and was ill.

Accordingly, at Ozone Park, Sternberger changed to the subway for Brooklyn, went to his friend’s house, and stayed until midafternoon. He then boarded a Manhattan-bound subway for his Fifth Avenue office. Here is Marcel’s incredible story:

The car was crowded, and there seemed to be no chance of a seat. But just as I entered, a man sitting by the door suddenly jumped up to leave, and I slipped into the empty place. I’ve been living in New York long enough not to start conversations with strangers. But being a photographer, I have the peculiar habit of analyzing people’s faces, and I was struck by the features of the passenger on my left. He was probably in his late 30s, and when he glanced up, his eyes seemed to have a hurt expression in them. He was reading a Hungarian-language newspaper, and something prompted me to say in Hungarian, “I hope you don’t mind if I glance at your paper.”

The man seemed surprised to be addressed in his native language. But he answered politely, “You may read it now. I’ll have time later on.”

During the half-hour ride to town, we had quite a conversation. He said his name was Bela Paskin. A law student when World War II started, he had been put into a German labor battalion and sent to the Ukraine. Later he was captured by the Russians and put to work burying the German dead. After the war, he covered hundreds of miles on foot until he reached his home in Debrecen, a large city in eastern Hungary.

I myself knew Debrecen quite well, and we talked about it for a while. Then he told me the rest of his story. When he went to the apartment once occupied by his father, mother, brothers and sisters, he found strangers living there. Then he went upstairs to the apartment that he and his wife once had. It also was occupied by strangers. None of them had ever heard of his family.

As he was leaving, full of sadness, a boy ran after him, calling “Paskin bacsi! Paskin bacsi!” That means “Uncle Paskin.” The child was the son of some old neighbors of his. He went to the boy’s home and talked to his parents. “Your whole family is dead,” they told him. “The Nazis took them and your wife to Auschwitz.”

Auschwitz was one of the worst Nazi concentration camps. Paskin gave up all hope. A few days later, too heartsick to remain any longer in Hungary, he set out again on foot, stealing across border after border until he reached Paris. He managed to immigrate to the United States in October 1947, just three months before I met him.

All the time he had been talking, I kept thinking that somehow his story seemed familiar. A young woman whom I had met recently at the home of friends had also been from Debrecen; she had been sent to Auschwitz; from there she had been transferred to work in a German munitions factory. Her relatives had been killed in the gas chambers. Later she was liberated by the Americans and was brought here in the first boatload of displaced persons in 1946.

Her story had moved me so much that I had written down her address and phone number, intending to invite her to meet my family and thus help relieve the terrible emptiness in her life.

It seemed impossible that there could be any connection between these two people, but as I neared my station, I fumbled anxiously in my address book. I asked in what I hoped was a casual voice, “Was your wife’s name Marya?”

He turned pale. “Yes!” he answered. “How did you know?”

He looked as if he were about to faint.

I said, “Let’s get off the train.” I took him by the arm at the next station and led him to a phone booth. He stood there like a man in a trance while I dialed her phone number.

It seemed hours before Marya Paskin answered. (Later I learned her room was alongside the telephone, but she was in the habit of never answering it because she had so few friends and the calls were always for someone else. This time, however, there was no one else at home and, after letting it ring for a while, she responded.)

When I heard her voice at last, I told her who I was and asked her to describe her husband. She seemed surprised at the question, but gave me a description. Then I asked her where she had lived in Debrecen, and she told me the address.

Asking her to hold the line, I turned to Paskin and said, “Did you and your wife live on such-and-such a street?”

“Yes!” Bela exclaimed. He was white as a sheet and trembling.

“Try to be calm,” I urged him. “Something miraculous is about to happen to you. Here, take this telephone and talk to your wife!”

He nodded his head in mute bewilderment, his eyes bright with tears. He took the receiver, listened a moment to his wife’s voice, then suddenly cried, “This is Bela! This is Bela!” and he began to mumble hysterically. Seeing that the poor fellow was so excited he couldn’t talk coherently, I took the receiver from his shaking hands.

“Stay where you are,” I told Marya, who also sounded hysterical. “I am sending your husband to you. We will be there in a few minutes.”

Bela was crying like a baby and saying over and over again. “It is my wife. I go to my wife!”

At first I thought I had better accompany Paskin, lest the man should faint from excitement, but I decided that this was a moment in which no strangers should intrude. Putting Paskin into a taxicab, I directed the driver to take him to Marya’s address, paid the fare, and said goodbye.

Bela Paskin’s reunion with his wife was a moment so poignant, so electric with suddenly released emotion, that afterward neither he nor Marya could recall much about it.

“I remember only that when I left the phone, I walked to the mirror like in a dream to see if maybe my hair had turned gray,” she said later. “The next thing I know, a taxi stops in front of the house, and it is my husband who comes toward me. Details I cannot remember; only this I know—that I was happy for the first time in many years.....

“Even now it is difficult to believe that it happened. We have both suffered so much; I have almost lost the capability to not be afraid. Each time my husband goes from the house, I say to myself, “Will anything happen to take him from me again?”

Her husband is confident that no horrible misfortune will ever again befall the. “Providence has brought us together,” he says simply. “It was meant to be.”

Skeptical persons will no doubt attribute the events of that memorable afternoon to mere chance. But was it chance that made Marcel Sternberger suddenly decide to visit his sick friend and hence take a subway line that he had never ridden before? Was it chance that caused the man sitting by the door of the car to rush out just as Sternberger came in? Was it chance that caused Bela Paskin to be sitting beside Sternberger, reading a Hungarian newspaper?

Paul Deutschman, Great Stories Remembered, edited and compiled by Joe L. Wheeler

A NEW MINDSET TOWARDS SUFFERING

I was listening to David Jeremiah’s “Turning Point” program today in which he preached a sermon about suffering. Of course, there are any number of scripture passages which refer to suffering. One favorite of mine is:

“My brothers, don’t be surprised at the fiery trials that you are enduring, as though something strange were happening to you.” (1^st Peter 4:12)

Of course, the last thing any believer or non-believer on this earth wishes to encounter are circumstances related to physical, emotional, mental or spiritual suffering. I think the stoutest of us would “go two miles out of our way” to avoid anything associated with the prospect of suffering. To do otherwise would be to purposefully assume the role of a martyr, (and I think any casual reader of Hebrews 11 would prefer to avoid such a distinction).

Obviously, Jesus suffered like no man ever suffered before, physically, spiritually, mentally and emotionally, as He willingly laid down His life on the cross. And prior to that event we see Him in the Garden of Gethsemane communing with His Father, and sweating what appeared to be great drops of blood. Strangely enough, there is a condition in which people literally exude blood through the pores of their skin as they are in the midst of anxiety, despair and untold suffering.

Pt. 2

In Matthew 5:10 Jesus speaks about those who suffer for doing right, and refers to them as “blessed.”

In 2^nd Timothy 2:12 we are reminded that “if we suffer for Him, we will also reign with Him.”

Granted, none of us go out of our way to suffer needlessly, but suffering is part and parcel of every life, and simply can’t be avoided. After all, Jesus said, “In the world you will have tribulation…”John 16:33)

And in John 13:16, Jesus reminds us that “the servant is not better than his Master.”

Each and every one of us will encounter circumstances that are altogether out of our control, and in which there is no escape. There is no going left or right, or over or under. There is only going through.

And I think if we, as believers, could grasp a couple of scriptural principles, I mean really incorporate them into our thinking, it would make all the difference in the way in which we approach suffering.

The first principle is this:

When we suffer, we are granted the unique privilege of identifying with Christ, and He with us. Notice the following scripture.

“Filling up in my own body the unfinished sufferings of Christ.” (Col. 1:24)

“Filling up in my own body…” The notion that we have mysterious ‘something’ to add to Jesus’ sufferings. And that mysterious something, my friends, is simply …our participation.

I inferred earlier that suffering is a privilege. Now that is an amazing thought! This certainly puts a new ‘spin’ on suffering, doesn’t it?

How can I support such a possibility? Allow me to point you to one of the best examples, perhaps the best example of which I am aware.

In the midst of the martyrdom of Stephen, while the religious rulers gnashed their teeth, and picked up stones to stone him, he exclaimed,

“Look! I see the heavens opened, and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” (Acts 7:55-56)

I believe the inference of this scripture is that Jesus, the Supreme Creator of the Universe, the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last, the Lord of lords, and King of kings STOOD UP from His throne to honor the powerful testimony of Stephen, and his fearless example in the midst of his waning moments on earth.

Pt. 3

Yes, I think, as believers, we should think of suffering as a privilege.

The second principle I would like to share with you, and which I think has the power to lessen the pain and confusion of suffering is that… we have a hope in heaven, and what we endure here is only temporary in nature.

If only we can grasp this wonderful truth. In the Book of Romans, Chapter 8, we are encouraged with the words,

“For I reckon the sufferings of this present time aren’t worthy to be compared to the glory that will be revealed in us.” (8:18)

Even in the midst of Christ’ ghastly suffering on the cross, He was already thinking about the next stage in His journey, when He assured the thief,

“Today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:43)

Whatever we endure here, my friends, is only temporary. It will pass, as surely as the darkness of night yields to the dawn’s light.

Another scripture which attests to this truth is:

“But this life, and the lust of it is passing away. But He who does the will of God endures forever.” (1^st John 2:17)

Allow me to encourage you, my friends. As strange as it may seem our participation in the almost unendurable is a privilege, and should be thought of as a privilege. We have been afforded the privilege of participating in His suffering.

And take heart, my dear brothers and sisters in Christ. Nothing you experience and endure here is permanent. There will be an end. And scripture assures us that the suffering of this present world isn’t worthy to be compared to the glory that will be revealed in us.

It will be worth it all when we see Jesus.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

OPENING DOORS

I previously wrote a blog related to “Open Doors” in the life of a believer. The following blog is very similar in nature, but with a slight spin, if you will. The title says it all. Same two words, but the first word is no longer a noun, but a verb.

Opening Doors

The implication is clear. It is the act of trying the door knob to see if it is locked, twisting it to the right, pushing open the door, and walking across the threshold.

And whereas, I think most Christians are fairly comfortable walking into a figurative open door, an opportunity which seems to us to be momentary and circumstantial in nature, and giving our testimony of the saving power of Jesus Christ, opening doors, well, as Forrest Gump might say, “That’s a whole ‘nother country!”

(Yeah, it is).

I expect the possibility of opening doors occurs several times more frequently than does the opportunity to walk through an open door. The former is much more proactive, and involves creating an occasion in which we share the Gospel of our Lord.

As a ‘for instance,’ if you are standing at a checkout counter in the grocery store, and the clerk happens to be a passing acquaintance, and she says something like,

“Hi Joe. I know you knew and loved my dad. Well, he passed away last week,” then it is not a ‘stretch’ to respond with,

“I am so sorry, Marjorie. I have experienced too many deaths in my own family. Thank God for the free gift of salvation in Jesus Christ.”

However, if you are standing in that same line, and the bagboy has left to push a shopping cart out for an old lady, and Marjorie is forced to not only ring up your groceries, but bag them, and she didn’t lose her dad that week, (at least she didn’t say so) then you are faced with the possibility of using that time to engage in small talk, or go out of your way to witness to Marjorie. Like Boom, “let me tell you what Jesus has done for me.” This, my friend, would be an excellent example of opening a door.

Pt. 2

Of course, just as there are many more occasions to engage ourselves in opening a door, rather than an overt opportunity to walk through an obvious open door, there are also more variables involved in the former than the latter of the two occasions.

More times than not opening a door occurs between two people who have already developed some sort of social relationship with one another.

However, speaking of a total lack of relationship, and the principle of opening doors, there is one church on what most Church members consider to be on the fringe of the Christian faith which sends its representatives on weekly ‘door knocking’ campaigns.

This particular group, whereof I speak, visited my neighborhood, and rang my doorbell every Saturday for weeks, and as often as they rang, I failed to go to the door. However, after what might have been 23 failed attempts to harangue me with their version of the Gospel, I finally went to the door, and confronted the inevitable. I considered reminding the three ladies that I had a “No Solicitation” sign next to my doorbell. But I refrained from doing so. But rather than listening to what I will lovingly refer to as their ‘spiel’ I said,

“Ladies, I appreciate your efforts, but I am a believer, and I attend a different denomination (which, by the way, expounds a more authentic version of the Gospel). Would you mind telling your ‘powers that be’ that I would rather not be on your list to have my doorbell rang every Saturday for the rest of my natural life?”

To their credit their spokesperson told me that they would respect my wishes, and I haven’t seen “hide nor hair of them” since that very day.

I, for one, have never participated in a door knocking campaign, not because I am ‘agin’ it, but because I don’t believe the results of that kind of effort support it, and because people tend to be private, and consider their house and homestead a place of safety and seclusion from everything going on in the world at large. Not only this, but this kind of opening doors is totally devoid of having established any sort of previous relationship with another person.

Pt. 3

In regard to opening doors, another variable is (quite obviously) the existence of the ‘fear factor.’ I mean, the fear factor is something even a handsome, gum chewing, fairly self-possessed, 220 pound creature like me contends with.

Twisting that doorknob, pushing the door open, and strolling in like I “own the place” has never been my method of operation. It’s just not comfortable, and certainly not convenient. But as I sometimes remind my clients, students and interns, “Comfort and Convenience aren’t required.”

Another obvious element in opening doors, and the choice to do or not to do so is the presence (or lack thereof) of a message. What, after all, are we to say? The boldest of our number might well say something like,

“Hey Nancy. Do you know there’s a real devil and a real hell, and if you don’t change your ways, and ask Jesus to rid you of your foul mouth and fouler deeds, you are gonna split the Lake of Fire wide open!”

(Probably not the best way to win friends and influence people).

However, if we are to “be ready always to offer a reason for the hope that is within us” (1^st Peter 3:15) it behooves us to prepare ourselves with a message unique to ourselves which will, no doubt, include our personal testimony.

And finally, at least for my purposes here, when we consider opening a door, we absolutely MUST be sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit. Ecclesiastes 3:7 assures us that “…there is a time to keep silence and a time to speak.”

I’m convinced that every conscientious believer has experienced that inner compulsion which prompted him or her to open his or her mouth, and share the Gospel with someone whom God set in his or her pathway.

Afterward

Stepping through doors that open of their own accord, as well as opening doors that appear closed are part and parcel of living out, as Watchman Nee would refer to it, “The Normal Christian Life.”

I think it behooves us to pray (and pray often),

“Lord, don’t let me miss whatever remains of my destiny, and give me the wisdom and wherewithal to walk through the doors, open and closed, which regularly present themselves to me.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

I'M GETTING READY FOR MY MOTHER IN LAW - Lyrics

(from a 1917 Victrola recording)

My dear wife met me at the door, letter in her hand,
Said: mother soon will visit us--now isn't that just grand;
She says she'll stay about six months or longer if she can,
If she don't come I know I'll be a disappointed man:

[chorus]
I'm getting ready for my mother-in-law,
Getting ready for the fun,
When she puts her face inside the place
She'd better take it on the run,
If she should stay for just one day,
I can hear the church bells chime;
Oh! mother, mother, mother, mother mother,
You'll have a dandy time.

[verse 2]
I taught my bulldog how to bite, parrot how to swear,
I sawed the springs and legs and things from our best rocking chair;
sprinkled soap on the kitchen floor and polished it with fat,
If she falls down and breaks her neck, can I be blamed for that?

[repeat chorus]

[verse 3]
I fixed a little room for her
Without one window pane,
Turned on the steam
And fixed it so it won't turn off agin.
No pictures on the wall at all,
It looks just like a cell,
When she gets in bed,
She'll think that she is in hell.

(repeat chorus)

[verse 4]
Somebody wrote a song one time
Which made me awful mad,
The song said, everybody worked
Excepting poor old dad.
If he could see me now a days,
I know he'd change his tune,
I'm working like a truck horse now,
From morning, night till noon.

(repeat chorus)

[verse 5]
I'll take her to the Hippodrome,
Get seats right near the stage,
I want to be real sure that she
Is near the lion's cage.
I've heard of lions breaking loose,
Don't think that I'm a dunce,
But things like that are almost sure,
To happen more than once.

(repeat chorus)

[verse 6]
I'll hire an automobile,
This fact I told my wife,
She said, ain't you afraid something
Might happen mother's life?
Such questions make me sick,
I know that something must happen,
And happen mighty quick.

(repeat chorus)

[verse 7]
She'll want to visit Brooklyn Bridge,
But she'll get such a shock,
I'll fix it so we reach the bridge
Some night near six o'clock;
Each night from six to five,
And she can thank her lucky stars,
If she comes out alive.

(repeat chorus)

THE RICHEST PIECE OF GROUND ON EARTH

  "If I were to ask you to tell me where the richest piece of ground on earth is, you might say, 'It has to be the oil wells of Saudi Arabia,' or you might say, 'No, it must be the gold mines of South Africa.' However, if you answered in this manner, you would be absolutely wrong. For you see, the richest piece of ground on earth is ...your local cemetery. For lying dormant in the bosoms of thousands of people there are thousands of unfulfilled dreams. Dreams that might have changed the world. But they will lie there for a million million years. I want to go to my grave empty having fulfilled my destiny, and every dream God ever instilled within me."

OPEN DOORS

Lately I have been thinking about a two word phrase.

Open Doors

And as I write this, it occurs to me that this two word phrase is present tense, (as if the portal is all ready and waiting to walk through)

As a believer I often pray, “Lord, help me to fulfill whatever remains of my destiny, and give me open doors to walk through.”

I refer to the existence of open doors as “Momentary Ministry.” These are those unforeseen, momentary opportunities we are provided to say or do something to bless another human being. Of course, we are prone to think of such present tense opportunities as circumstantial in nature. However, the omniscient God of the universe knew eons in advance that we would be afforded what to Him was the future tense wherewithal to make a difference in another life.

Speaking of open doors, those ad lib, unexpected, unforeseen opportunities to “exercise Jesus” by our words or actions in another life are my favorite form of witnessing.

Then again, an open door can also refer to the next stage in a believer’s life for some type of formal or informal ministry. I am convinced that God has a series of open doors planned for anyone interested in fulfilling His plan for their lives.

After all, our Lord promised us that,

“Our times are in His hands” (Psalms 31:15)

(and)

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

(and)

“In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy paths” (Prov. 3:6)

(and)

“I know the plans I have for you. Plans for good, and not for evil to give you a future and a hope.” (Jere. 29:11)

 

Father God, Lord of the universe, give us the wherewithal to realize when an open door has been placed in our pathway. And give us the courage to boldly walk through it knowing that you have provided us this singular opportunity to glorify your name, and make a difference in the lives you have set before us.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

I WILL BE THERE - Lyrics

I WILL BE THERE

Where can you go that I can’t see

On the highest of mountains, in the heat of the desert

In the life-consuming deep, and lonely heart of life’s sea

Where can you hurt that I can’t feel

When you feel like you’re dying, need a shoulder for crying

Come to Me I’m waiting here with open arms that can heal

 

I’ll be a Father to the fatherless, a faithful Friend when none are there

My heart of love is fathomless, and it reaches anywhere

I will be there through the long lonely nights never letting you go, I will hold you, I will love you with all my might

I will be there, I will be there, I will be there

I will be there, and I want you to know, I will never leave you alone, I’ll never let you go

I will be there, I will be there, I will be there

 

What can you feel that I can’t stand

Any burden you’re bearing, any sorrow you carry

Any heartache, any loneliness, or despair

What do you see that I can’t see

Even death was defeated, all the work was completed

I’ve prepared a special place in my heart just for you

 

I’ll be a husband to the husbandless, a faithful Friend when none are there

My heart of love is fathomless, and it reaches anywhere

I will be there through the long lonely nights never letting you go, I will hold you, I will love you with all my might

I will be there, I will be there, I will be there

I will be there, and I want you to know, I will never leave you alone, I’ll never let you go

I will be there, I will be there, I will be there

 

I will be there, and I want you to know, I will never leave you alone, I’ll never let you go

I will be there, I will be there, I will be there

Unknown Author

OLD JOE'S THREE LETTER WORD

Today is Inauguration Day in the United States, and President Joe Biden was sworn into office just hours ago.

He took the oath of office approximately fifteen minutes before twelve PM, and began his inaugural address at about 1150am. All that to say, Mr. Biden was still the President Elect when he took the oath, and for the first ten minutes of his first presidential speech.

As the minutes ticked away, and ole (and he is old) Brother Joe continued speaking, I noticed the time in the right hand lower corner of the television screen.

And I thought,

“I’m going to watch that clock, and when it flips to high noon, I’ll notice the first word President Biden speaks, as the current leader of the free world.”

I can’t begin to tell you the words which preceded the “magic word,” nor the ones which came afterwards, but as the digital clock at the bottom of the screen changed from 11:59am to 12:00pm, President Biden said the word, (drum roll)

“and”

I know. It’s not a very impressive word, (at least at ‘first light’). However, as I thought about it, (and, I admit, I lost interest in the speech at this point) it occurred to me that there wasn’t any more fitting first word for the President to utter when the clock struck 12, than “and.”

Pt. 2

For you see, the word “and” is a conjunction. It allows us to join to sentences together and make them one, as in,

“I like hamburgers and I also like hotdogs.”

After all, the existence and continuation of America over the past quarter of a millennium is all about “and.” A more crucial ‘for instance’ than hamburgers and hotdogs is,

“George Washington was the first President and John Adams was the second President.”

If you do the math, we can add forty-five “and’s” after the name of our first president.

and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and, and

(Amazingly, during the course of my own lifetime 14 presidents have served the United States beginning with our 33^rd President Harry Truman and culminating with the 46^th President of the United States, Joe Biden; almost 1/3 of the total presidents who ever presided over this wonderful country).

And during the midst of war and peace (and) a host of national calamities (and) the presence of conservative (and) liberal administrations, this great republic has endured. (And), I think, sometimes in spite of ourselves, God has blessed the grand experiment which is our nation.

When I reflect on the first syllable our current President spoke on Day 1 of his administration, I don’t think he could have chosen a better word than “and.”

God continue to give us a myriad of “and’s” (and) bless, help and keep the United States of America, henceforth and forevermore.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

Appearance, Fragrance, Taste

I was watching what is perhaps my favorite segment on the local FOX 13 channel the other day, a daily broadcast called, “Charley’s World.” During the course of this recurring segment, Charley Belcher visits various and sundry entertainment venues and places of interest, and interviews a representative of said venue or interesting locations.

Yesterday, Charley visited a strawberry farm, and the primary focus, (as you might expect) was (drum roll) strawberries. As he interviewed the farmer, Charley held up two strawberries. One was a deep rich red in color. The other was what might be, in layman’s terms, referred to as an albino; for it was the color of the driven snow.

And as the host of “Charley’s World” interacted with the strawberry farmer, he focused on three criteria of this wonderful fruit: Appearance, Fragrance and Taste.

And as he referred to the beautiful color of the ruby red strawberry, and the smell of the fruit, and its unparalleled taste, I experienced one of those “spiritual ah-ha’s.” For you see, it occurred to me that these three characteristics might well describe the things we should be looking for in the life of a mature believer, and I think in the progressive nature of those three words.

Appearance:

No, I’m not talking about whether he or she is externally handsome or beautiful, but rather whether he or she is known for their good words and works by saint and sinner, alike, and whether they possess a sterling reputation in the environment in which they find themselves.

Fragrance:

No, I’m not talking about whether he or she takes a shower on a daily basis, (though I certainly hope they do). I am, rather, referring to whether they are known for their devotion to God, and their spiritual consistency and dependability among those in their sphere of influence

Taste:

No, I’m not referring to their choice of clothing, or a car, but his or her character. For, after all, character is shaped by the multiplied thousands of small decisions, and resulting actions which a given person makes over the course of a lifetime. Of course, the authenticity of someone’s character is apparent to those whom God sets in their pathway, but even more so to God, Himself. When it all is “said and done,” do we wear the proverbial mask of a hypocrite, or will we stand the test of time?

God give us the wherewithal to, above all things, impress you with the appearance, fragrance and taste of the lives with which you have endowed us, and which we live out on the earth.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

MY FATHER HOLDS THE SWORD

 

Psalms 107:29 He calms the storm, so that its waves are still.

Richard Wurmbrand, the founder of Voice of the Martyrs, was a Romanian Jewish Believer and an amazing man of God.  He spent 14 years in communist prisons where he was tortured brutally for his faith and then lived to tell about it. In his book, The Oracles of God, he writes about acquiring inner peace and tells the following powerful story.

During a tempest at sea when a ship was being tossed to and fro by the angry waves, the wife of a naval officer asked her husband, "How can you be so calm in such a storm?"

The officer drew his sword, pointed it at his wife's breast, and asked, "Why are you calm and unafraid?" Surprised, she protested, "Why should I be afraid? The sword is in the hand of my husband who loves me too much to harm me."

Her husband smiled and said, "This is the source of my calm, too. The wind and the waves are in the hands of my loving Father. Why should I be afraid?"

Friend, the storms may be brewing ... they very well may be upon us. You may be even going through a storm right now. But let's remember that we're in the hands of our loving Father. He's right here with us and He's going to get us through. So do not anxious about anything, and may the peace that passes all understanding guard our hearts and minds these days! For the Lord promises us, that He is with us until the end of the age!

(from a ministry email)

THINGS NOT TO FEEL GUILTY ABOUT

Leaving a job that drains the life out of you

Declining a phone call

Doing what’s best for you despite what others think or say

Saying ‘no’ to others

Sleeping in

Asking for your needs to be met

Your dreams and aspirations

Your spiritual beliefs

Removing someone toxic from your life

Spending money on something you want

Taking a break from social media

Setting boundaries and sticking to them

(from a social media post)

THE SHOT MUST CHOOSE YOU

In the movie, “Bagger Vance,” Will Smith, (Bagger) plays what amounts to a Golf Angel. For you see, he has been sent to assist a character played by Matt Damon, (Ranolph Junah) with his golf game.

But it is not just any game, it is THE game of his life, for this former amateur golfer finds himself in a match with perhaps the most notable and adept golfers of his time.

Captain Junah has just come back from “The War to end all wars,” (WWI) and he has come back a changed man. For during one especially ferocious battle, every man in his unit has been killed or severely wounded, and only he has been left unscathed. And as the result of his heroic actions during the battle, the captain has been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Ranolph’s emotions are raw, and he lacks confidence, and he suffers from what we refer to today as PTSD, but what was referred to in that day and time as “shell shock.” And it was only the result of the pleas of the town’s people, and his former sweetheart, (who is attempting to save the family fortune, and the golf course on which he finds himself) that he has consented to play the game.

Bagger, who has agreed to caddy for the captain, had been giving him pointers throughout the game, but to no avail. But the young man finds himself falling further and further behind the leader.

As Ranolph steps up to take his next shot, Bagger interrupts his swing, and says, “Mr. Junah, there’s only one authentic shot, one that is truly yours, and you can’t choose it.”

The captain is miffed to have had his swing interrupted, and angrily replies, “What do you mean? Of course I can choose my shot. I must choose my shot!”

Bagger smiles a whimsical smile, and responds, “Oh no suh, the shot must choose you.”

Now, in terms of the movie, Bagger’s implication was that for any given hole, on any given course, there is one best club, one best swing, one best solution.

And I think we can learn a valuable lesson from our golf angel’s admonition. The first time I ever viewed the movie, and listened to Bagger’s words, well, it just came to me. There is a valuable spiritual lesson to be gleaned here.

THE SHOT MUST CHOOSE YOU

You see, I am convinced, and scriptures assures us, “My times are in His hands,” (Psalms 31:15) and “The Lord will accomplish that which concerns me,” (Psalms 138:8) and “Before I ever took my first breath, You planned every day of my life.” (Psalms 139:16)

If we believe and embrace the truth of scripture, it is apparent that God knew us by name, and planned all our days, before we were a twinkle, and even before He made the twinkling stars. (And we can be sure that He loves us so much more than those magnificent, astronomical creations.)

Indeed, the shot must choose us. For any given decision, among any set of options which we encounter throughout the course of our lives, there is one best choice, one best action, which has the ultimate capacity to help complete our destiny, and which agrees with our Lord’s perfect plan for us as individuals.

Now, I’m not talking about what loaf of bread we decide to purchase, or whether we check our mail at 1PM or 5AM. No, I’m referring to those crucial, “have to get it right” type of decisions which have the wherewithal to complete our Heavenly Father’s plans for our lives, (or if we are oblivious to the best shot, bring us to ruin.)

Indeed, I believe the shot must choose us, and it is paramount that we get it right. Our very destiny is at stake. I believe it would be pleasing to God that every one of His children pray the following simple prayer, and pray it on a daily basis.

“Oh Father, great Ruler of the universe. You Who knew me before I was formed or ever took my first breath,… let the shot choose me.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

 

 

 

A FROG WALKS INTO A BANK

 A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her nameplate that her name is Patty Whack.

"Miss Whack, I'd like to get a $30,000 loan to take a holiday."

Patty looks at the frog in disbelief and asks his name. The frog says his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger, and that it's okay, he knows the bank manager.

Patty explains that he will need to secure the loan with some collateral.

The frog says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny porcelain elephant, about an inch tall, bright pink and perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patty explains that she'll have to consult with the bank manager and disappears into a back office.

She finds the manager and says, "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000, and he wants to use this as collateral." She holds up the tiny pink elephant. "I mean, what in the world is this?"

(You're gonna love this.)

The bank manager looks back at her and says, "It's a knickknack, Patty Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone."

(You sang it, didn't you? Yeah, I know you did.)

Never take life too seriously.

★♫.•Pass it on!! Give someone else a reason to smile

AN AMERICAN HERO

As I write this blog, this nation is in the very midst of chaos. Having just gotten through the most horrific year in my seven plus decades, riots, fires, storms and disease, for utter pandemonium, the first two weeks of 2021 does not disappoint.

Just a week ago, our nation’s Capitol Building was occupied by citizen-terrorists, the infrastructure was left in disarray, and the members of our senate and house of representatives were terrorized. And while it could have been so much worse, one member of the Capitol Police was murdered by the unruly mob, and four participants in the siege also died. Thankfully, every one of the 535 members of the two bodies survived, forced to flee for their lives, hiding behind locked doors, and congregating together under conference tables.

And, as might be expected, there were heroes to be found there, especially among those who were sworn to serve, protect and defend those who were entrusted to their care. Eugene Goodman is a case in point.

There is an amazing video in which the lone Goodman is being chased by the crowd of ne’er do wells up a stairwell. As he runs up the staircase which connects the first and second floor, he yells at the point man, and swings his baton.

And now, as he reaches the landing of the second floor, we see him looking to his right. And now he makes an immediate decision to lead the crowd to the left. Goodman is all too aware that the doors to the U.S. Senate Chamber, still occupied by members of that prestigious body, are just feet away.

Hoping against hope that the rightwing extremists are unaware of the location of the Senate Chamber, he runs towards the next staircase, and jumps the steps two at a time, the crowd close on his heels.

As our hero manages to reach the fourth floor, at one point pushing and exchanging words with the lead man, several other members of the Capitol Police congregate around him, and they take their stand against the mob. He is the face of courage on this day of days, placing himself in jeopardy, and single handedly daunting the agenda of the occupiers of the People’s House to harm those in whom the citizens of the United States have invested their trust.

We owe Eugene Goodman and people like him who unselfishly and consistently rise to the fore and the foe when hope is so close to being lost.

by William McDonald, PhD

THE WORTH OF A WOMAN

    When God created woman he was working late on the 6th day.

An Angel came by and asked."Why spend so much time on her?"

The lord answered: “Have you seen all the specifications I have to meet to shape her? She must function in all kinds of situations. She must be able to embrace several kids at the same time. Have a hug that can heal anything from a bruised knee to a broken heart. She must do all this with only two hands. She cures herself when sick and can work 18 hours a day.”

The Angel was impressed. “Just two hands?! impossible! And this is the standard model?"

The angel came closer and touched the woman.

"But you have made her so soft, Lord".

"She is soft", said the Lord.

"But I have made her strong. You can't imagine what she can endure and overcome."

"Can she think?" The Angel asked.

The Lord answered: “Not only can she think, she can reason and negotiate."

The Angel touched her cheeks.

"Lord, it seems this creation is leaking! You have put too many burdens on her.”

"She is not leaking...it is a tear" The Lord corrected the Angel.

"What's it for?" Asked the Angel.

The Lord said: “Tears are her way of expressing her grief, her doubts, her love, her loneliness, her suffering and her pride."

This made a big impression on the Angel.

"Lord, you are a genius. You thought of everything. A woman is indeed marvelous.”

Lord said : “Indeed she is. She has strength that other creatures don’t.

She can handle trouble and carry heavy burdens. She holds happiness, love and opinions.

She smiles when she feels like screaming. She sings when she feels like crying, cries when happy, and laughs when afraid.

She fights for what she believes in.

Her love is unconditional. Her heart is broken when a next-of-kin or a friend dies but she finds strength to get on with life"

The Angel asked: "So she is a perfect being?"

The lord replied: "No. She has just one drawback...She often forgets what she is worth."

(Anonymous)

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