GETTING INTO THE WRONG CAR

I was at Walmart the other day, well, the other evening. What I was looking for is not important, (though it happened to be a couple of attachable hard drives). Upon leaving, I remembered the approximate area of the parking lot where I had parked my car, but perhaps not the exact row. But after walking in a southerly direction for a couple of minutes, I found it. My 2015 silver Nissan Altima.

As I recall now, I clicked my key fob and heard the familiar sound of the door unlocking. Swinging open said door, I sat down in the driver’s seat. But not just any driver’s seat…someone else’s driver’s seat! In the split second that I had been sitting behind the steering wheel of what was becoming an increasingly unfamiliar vehicle, I turned my head to the right, and noticed a couple of even more unfamiliar canvass bags on the passenger seat, and a couple plastic bags on the floor.

Well, as you might imagine, no one had to beg me to get out of the car in which I had just spent all of 1.5 seconds! My posterior had hardly had time to say “thank you very much” than I was on my feet again, and walking back to my own car. For I had no sooner dismounted the wrong vehicle than I recognized my own vehicle on the next row over. (Funny thing. Silver colored sedans look very much alike in the dark of night).

As I approached my car, I looked behind me, and to the left and right to see if anyone had noticed my rather glaring error. Thankfully, it appeared only God noticed my little snafu, (and, of course, He ain’t a telling).

Pt. 2

Safely back in my own car, I touched the ignition button, and drove out of the parking lot. And as I pulled into traffic a slowly unfolding blog began, well, unfolding in my mind.

While it seemed altogether inconceivable that my car fob had been capable of unlocking the wrong vehicle, I was convinced that is exactly what it had done. (Of course, it is possible that the stranger’s car had been left unlocked, but why would anyone leave their ‘ride’ unlocked with so much merchandise in the seat and on the floor)?

I was in the wrong car at the right time. And in spite my “accidental like” B&E (legal term) I was suddenly in a position to walk away (or drive away) with not only some potentially valuable merchandise that wasn’t mine, but with the four-wheeled conveyance itself.

And, indeed, I might have done exactly that had my “magical” key fob been capable of starting the stranger’s car, and had I decided I preferred the wrong car more than the right one.

And as strange and foolish as this decision may have been, as a counselor I have encountered far too many clients who have made rashly inconceivable decisions which ended up very badly.

I refer to this sort of behavior as “Short Term Satisfaction vs. Long Term Results.”

But I believe far too many people are prone to emulate such a recurring behavior pattern. For whether “accidental like” or a premeditated action, far too many people walk around with this mindset. Given the unexpected or expected opportunity to “get in the wrong car,” admire the merchandise, and drive away, they will choose short term satisfaction and “drive away” every time.

And, of course, the “wrong car” might easily correspond to involving one’s self in an affair, the use of illegal substances,  taking something which doesn’t belong to us, or simply robbing God by failing to fulfill one’s destiny.

As scripture assures us,

“These things ought not to be.”

Afterward

I love the admonition of Ephesians 4:22,24.

“Take off the old man. Put on the new man.”

An equally valid interpretation of that passage is,

“Take off the old mindset. Put on the new mindset.”

Very much like (purposely) taking off a dirty shirt at the end of your work day, and (purposely) putting on a clean shirt.

As believers I think we have an obligation to do what we do “on purpose.” We are all responsible to embrace an “on purpose” mindset. For if we are prone to recurring bouts of “getting in the wrong car” and driving it away we are likely to wreck our lives and the lives of those whom we love best.

Whatever we do we must do “on purpose.” Only wrecks happen “accidental like.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afterward

I love the admonition of Ephesians 4:22,24.

“Take off the old man. Put on the new man.”

An equally valid interpretation of that passage is,

“Take off the old mindset. Put on the new mindset.”

Very much like (purposely) taking off a dirty shirt at the end of your work day, and (purposely) putting on a clean shirt.

As believers I think we have an obligation to do what we do “on purpose.” We are all responsible to embrace an “on purpose” mindset. For if we are prone to recurring bouts of “getting in the wrong car” and driving it away we are likely to wreck our lives and the lives of those whom we love best.

Whatever we do we must do “on purpose.” Only wrecks happen “accidental like.”

OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD

 

OH YES, I WAS THE GUARD

A Poem dedicated to the memory

of SGT Tracey Darlene Brogdon. National Guardswoman. K.I.A., Saudi Arabia, 1^st Gulf War

SSG William Royce McDonald (Ret.)

 

He trod the snow with Washington,

his feet were numb with pain

He fired the shot heard round the world,

the prize he sought, he gained

 

My brother wore the Union blue,

as he climbed Henry Hill

My comrade word the Rebel gray,

as his heart lay cold and still

 

The Guardsman packed his duffel bag

at Uncle Sam’s request

Through years to come the Fueher’s men

would give him little rest

 

In the skies of Vietnam,

his wings were swept with fog

A missile arced, a pilot died,

and touched the face of God

 

Someone tapped her shoulder

and said, “It is your turn,”

In his hand a worn baton,

“The race is not quite won.”

 

And though she would lose family,

and though she would lose friends

And though she would lose life itself,

her hand she did extend

 

Her teammate was still struggling

to match her faster gait

And as he passed baton to her,

he fell to seal his fate

 

And as she clutched that hallowed prize,

the wood was red and scarred

He whispers as he ends his watch,

“Oh yes, I was the Guard”

 

It was her turn to run the race,

beneath a foreign sun

Her ship had weathered every rack,

the prize she sought, she won

 

It was her turn to set the pace

across the burning sand

What Guard will dare to take her place,

which one extends his hand?

AN ILLUSTROUS MASTER

Matthew 18:4 Whoever, therefore, humbles himself as this little child, the same is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Hudson Taylor was scheduled to speak at a Large Presbyterian church in Melbourne, Australia. The moderator of the service introduced him in the most eloquent and glowing terms. He told the large congregation all that Taylor had accomplished in China, and then presented him as “our illustrious guest.” Taylor stood quietly for a moment, and then opened his message by saying, “Dear friends, I am the little servant of an illustrious Master.”

If we want to do great things for the Lord, it is crucial that we become humble before Him! When we realize that we are but little servants of an illustrious Master -- it is then that God will use us in a mighty way. After all, it is not our agendas, our purposes, our plans that God wants to bless --- it's God's agenda -- God's plan -- God's purpose for our lives that He will bless to overflowing!

Let's humble ourselves, get "little" before the Lord today and get our minds set on His purpose instead of our own.

(from a ministry newsletter)

UNFINISHED DREAMS

A soft breeze stirs the sea grass, and the gulls float listlessly above the azure waters of Normandy. The guns are silent, and the German bunkers collapse under the weight of more than half a century. The breeze freshens a bit, and the short, tended grass above the bluffs mimics the rolling of nearby waves.

Viewed from above, the rolling green grass seems dusted with snow. But Summer is upon the land, and our snowflakes do not melt. Row upon row of white stone crosses stand where the jackboot tread and Rommel smiled. Sentinels ever, they whisper, “Never again, but if so, our sons will yet defy the enemy.”

We gaze into their eyes, their portraits fading now, and yellow about the edges. Their features so young, so sharp, so vibrant. Their lips full of a healthy pride. Their eyes speak volumes. A million unfinished dreams and unspoken destinies.

And like gladiators of old, they steel their spirits and set forth into the unknown. A young private asks his sergeant, “How many will not come back?” The older man responds, “Many, most… I don’t know.” A tear forms in the young man’s eyes, and the lump in his throat betrays his fear. Other men smile, as if to say, “It won’t be me. I’m coming out of this. I’m going home when this is over.”

The waves are large, and the gale is brisk. The sea is spread thick with ships, and boats and landing craft of every description, bobbing like bottles in a bathtub.

And we see them as they make their way to sandy beaches. Beaches with code names like Utah, Omaha, Gold, Sword and Juno. Thirty-five amphibious tanks are dispatched into the cold surf. Thirty-two begin to sink, their desperate crewmen clamoring to get out of the turrets. Many drown. Others, having escaped certain death, flounder in deep waters now, their ammo and packs weighing them down. Calling, crying for help, they beg crewmen in other craft to pick them up. But more often than not, they are ignored. The urgency of the mission is foremost. As they begin to perish anguish breaks within the bosoms of those who watch, those who cannot respond.

A landing craft finds the sandy bottom, and the huge door falls flat forward. Thirty men scramble to reach shallow water, and their objective. And before the sound of gunfire can reach their ears, or any understanding of their fate dawns upon them, they lie dead. For these thirty, mission complete, mission over.

Oh, the glider troops. The sky is full of them. Loosed from mother planes, these frail craft ride the winds, and winds and terrain offer these men different fates. For some crash violently against cities and trees and earth, and all on board are lost. Others display the art of controlled crashes, upright at least, a broken shoulder here, a twisted ankle there.

The Rangers. There can be none like them. For they begin to climb, treacherous enough without added difficulties. They are greeted with all the trouble of a plan gone bad. Hot bullets rain down upon their hapless bodies. Live grenades shower the rocks around them.

And some reach the summit. And some win the prize.

And some come again to walk the beaches. To smell the salt water. To read inscriptions on stark stone crosses. To live that day anew. To weep, unashamed among a thousand other men who are doing the same.

We have come to an anniversary of that day. D-Day. A day that is still living in the hearts and minds of the survivors. They cannot forget. They bid a new generation to remember. To remember that young, shiny-eyed trooper who ran across the beach, only to fall, and to understand in his last mortal moment that Normandy’s sand had become the waning sands of his own hourglass.

To remember the commitment of such a one as this. The paratrooper who might have stayed down after the first bullet grazed his forehead. But such a one as this who stood, and fought and fell again, never more to rise.

The soft breeze stirs the waters of Normandy. The waves wash easily across the clean, white sand. Though the blood, and footprints of just men have been cleansed by the whelming flood of water, their stone crosses stand sentinel, just above the cliffs, just beyond the field of their labor.

They gave their tomorrows for our today.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

BORN IN CHINA

Following is an excerpt from the script of a recent nature documentary titled, “Born in China;” with editing and additional clarification by yours truly.

Call me ‘sensitive,’ but as a rule I just can’t watch those “Crocodile eats zebra as it swims across an African stream” kind of film productions. However, in the scheme of things “Born in China” goes relatively light on gruesome scenes such as the foregoing description would indicate.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t “pull any punches,” and there are a few scenes in which, for instance, a snow leopard grasps a young calf by the neck, or is seen dragging a newly killed mountain goat back to its den. Speaking of snow leopards, there are only 6,000 of these magnificent felines still in existence, and they are being trophy hunted to the tune of one kill per day.

“Born in China” is a magnificent, full-color production, and spins the true tales of several species of wild animals, including pandas, monkeys, mountain goats, and of course, snow leopards; which live in the highlands of China. I never realized such compassion for a predator species ‘til I watched this documentary.

Following is a large excerpt from the script of the movie:

"Under Dawa's nurturing, her cubs are growing into two impressive young cats. And she's just had a successful hunt which comes none too soon. Her cubs are now fully weaned and hungry for some fresh meat. They've been watching and learning the ways of the great hunter, their morn, (but are not yet prepared to hunt on their own).

Suddenly across the valley, the intruder has returned.

(The ‘intruder’ refers to another female snow leopard who vies for the choice animal-rich territory which Dawa calls ‘home’).

This time, she has returned with her three nearly grown sons. Scarcity of prey has brought them into Dawa's territory, and they are more than prepared to take all that is hers. Dawa's old rival is much more emboldened now that she has reinforcements. Her powerful foe, and Dawa both know the latter of the two would never survive a fight against all four of her competitors.

However, Dawa can't bring herself to abandon this precious food. Her cubs must eat, and when it comes to their survival, Dawa would fight almost any foe. The trade-off between life and death is sometimes a very difficult calculation. But then the other leopards move in. (Dawa watches from a distance, and reluctantly decides to “turn tail and run”). Outnumbered and out-fanged, Dawa retreats to guard her cubs. Not satisfied with merely stealing Dawa's kill, the interlopers now pursue her to let her know, they're here to stay. To save her young, Dawa must lead them out of the area. She has experienced overwhelming humiliation. The proud snow leopard and her cubs have been expelled from their own home.

As the temperatures begin to plummet, the once mighty Queen of the Mountain hasn't made a kill in over a week. Now, she's forced to share her unfamiliar new territory with her more successful rivals. She must survey the area constantly to get the lay of the land and reestablish her dominion with scent markings. But now she's been spotted by a male snow leopard. She defends her ground bravely, but is forced to retreat back to her cubs. Suddenly, those playful days of summer are a fading memory.

Dawa's hunting successes have been few and far between. But a flock of sheep, seeking shelter from the weather, have just moved within range. However, now the unexpected occurs. The snow has concealed jagged rocks, and as Dawa leaps from ledge to ledge in pursuit of a choice lamb, she injures her paw. Dawa knows if she and her cubs are to survive, she must be in top physical condition. The ‘hunt’ demands it.

Back up on the high plateau the winter snow lingers well into spring, and Dawa is still fighting to provide for her cubs. The injury to her foot has greatly hampered her hunting ability, and she no longer has the speed to chase down prey, as nimble as these wild sheep. However, an opportunity now arises. In springtime, domesticated yaks are released to graze in the higher elevations. These beasts are ten times as heavy as Dawa, and one blow from their powerful horns could be fatal. Going up against a whole herd is like attacking an army. Yet, her cubs are relying on her. It's now or never.

The limping Dawa pours on her limited speed, and sinks her fangs into the neck of a newborn yak. The calf's mother rallies to save her baby. But Dawa refuses to let go. She understands this is her last chance. However, a yak mother's will to protect her young is just as strong as Dawa's.

The yak strikes Dawa hard with her horns. The desperate feline is injured badly. One mother's brave rescue of her baby is another's tragic failure to feed her own. Dawa stumbles away from “the scene of the crime,” and her last opportunity to save herself and her young cubs from certain death.

(As the documentary reaches its conclusion, a momentary glimpse of the dead Dawa comes into view. Snow is falling hard around her, and we can only surmise that her cubs have also succumbed to hunger and the elements, and lie somewhere nearby.

 

One can only imagine the waning emotions which filled up Dawa’s dying frame. The pride of having, "push come to shove" stood up to a larger foe, the inherent satisfaction with having given her last full measure of devotion, the inestimable sadness of her best not having been good enough; the overwhelming grief which came with her inability to save her children from the same fate as her own. A string of ‘bad luck.’ The survival of the fittest. Providence has once again won out).

 

In Chinese mythology, when a life ends, a crane carries that soul to rejoin the cycle of birth and rebirth. From the end to the beginning. Time pushes this cycle ever forward. The young become adults. The adults grow old. Death is not the end. It is merely a waypoint in a circle that continues endlessly. 

Every creature plays its part in this great cyclical symphony. Each life lived is just one beat in the larger beautiful rhythm. This vast land breeds both love and hardship. But in the hardship, there is hope. This is where they live. This is where they die. This is where they grow. This is where they are born."

from “Born in China” documentary with editing by William McDonald, PhD

HUGS

We had just driven up to the mental facility to which my daughter had been recently committed, and I noticed Mary was standing next to the curb waiting for us. However, there was someone else with her whom I did not know. He was a “big old boy.” This young man, (who was obviously a fellow patient) must have weighed 300 pounds, and hovered at about six foot three inches. As you might imagine my first thought was, "I didn't drive a hundred miles to spend time with this guy."

 

And as my wife and I stepped out of the car, I quickly decided I didn’t much like Mary wasting my time with this fella. Walking up to Mary and 'Bob' (as in "What About Bob") we engaged in a brief initial conversation which included introductions. It was then that the incredible happened. Momentary Ministry.

The young man looked directly into my eyes, and uttered a few words:

 

“No one ever visits me here. Not my parents. Not my friends. WILL YOU HUG ME?”

 

Well! You guessed it. Right before God and everybody, I wrapped him in my arms, and held him for several moments. His arms also embraced me, and I felt his head as it drooped onto my left shoulder. And if for only one moment, he knew someone cared. (Tears come to my eyes even now).

 

You never forget moments like that.

 

My sensitivity to the Vulnerable among us has increased.

by William McDonald, PhD

 

COME BEFORE WINTER

It is dungeon talk. The words are not original with me. They merge from a classic chamber of horrors hidden deeply beneath the streets of century One Rome.

Isolated in that grim and grimy hole, surrounded by stone blocks black with age, with a lonely prisoner whose days were numbered. His name was Paul. His friend was Timothy, the one to whom those three words were addressed. As I drop into his dungeon and identify with the old man, a chill makes me shiver. I am afraid. I feel terribly alone

The rattle of heavy chains only increases my anguish. No gleams of sunlight penetrate the damp and gloom of my Mamertine misery. My needs are several, all of them intense.

I need my cloak. I must have left it at the abode of Carpus in Troas. You’ll have no trouble spotting it, Timothy. It’s an old thing, but it’s been on my back through many a bitter winter. It’s been wet with the brine of the great sea, white with the snows of the rugged peaks of Pamphylia, gritty and brown from the dust of the Egnatian Way, and crimson with my own blood from that awful stoning at Lystra. The cloak is stained and torn, Timothy, but winter is coming and I need the warmth it will bring.

I also need the books. You remember them. The ones I read under candlelight as we rode out the rough waters of the Aegean and endured the rigors of Macedonia together… those scrolls that fed my mind with fresh bursts of hope and stimulating ideas. Bring along those books, my friend.

I especially need the parchments! Those are my most treasured possessions, Timothy. How I need the comfort of King David’s Psalms, the fortitude from the prophets’ pens, the insight and perceptions from Solomon’s proverbs. Yes, the parchments. Surely, they will help keep my heart warm and my hopes high in this desolate place.

But Timothy, I need you. How desperately I need you! Make every effort to come… come before winter. Come before November’s winds strip the leaves from the trees and send them whirling across the fields, and swirling through the busy streets above me. Come, before the snow begins to fall and covers flat carts, and frozen ponds with its icy blankets. Come, my friend… the time of my departure has arrived. Soon the blade will drop and time for me will be no more. I cannot bear the thought of mid-winter without the warmth of your companionship… those eyes of understanding, those words only you can bring to get me through this barren and bitter season. Make every effort to come before winter.

 

(from “Come Before Winter” by Chuck Swindoll. This three word quotation comes from the New Testament, the Book of 2nd Timothy, in which Paul the Apostle requests Timothy bring his cloak and parchments to him as he languishes in the Roman prison).

 

FOR GOD HAS NOT GIVEN US THE SPIRIT OF FEAR

 Romans 8:37 Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.

2 Corinthians 2:14 But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place.

There is an old Indian fable that tells of a mouse who was in constant distress because of its fear of cats. So a magician took pity on it and turned it into a cat so it would have no more fear. Now, as a cat, it was in fear of dogs. So the magician turned it into a dog. Now, as a dog, it was stressed out in fear of tigers. Then the magician turned the dog into a tiger. Now, as a tiger, it was shaking in fear of hunters. The magician finally said to the tiger, "Be a mouse again. You only have the heart of a mouse, and I cannot help you."

There is a lesson here -- if we never deal with the root of our issues, and ultimately the issue of fear ... we'll fail to walk victoriously in all that we do. If we fail to achieve victory, it is not because of a lack of resources or strength ... but rather a failure to confront our fears. Ultimately, the fear to overcome is the fear of death!

As Hebrews describes through Yeshua's (Jesus') death, "He might destroy the one who has power of death, that is the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to a lifetime of slavery." [Hebrews 2:14-15] In Revelation, the description given to those who were victorious ... "conquered by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives unto the death." [Revelation 12:11]

So the key is overcoming the fear of death, and once you have conquered the fear of death ... then it becomes an easy task to live for Him. This is one of the keys to walking victoriously. For the promise is given to us ... for we are more than conquerors and we can walk in triumph over any circumstance revealing Him in the process.

Never allow your problems to define your heart attitude or crush your spirit. Whether you are a mouse, a tiger, or a man, through Messiah your victory is assured as His aroma fragrances the world around us.

(Missionary News Letter)

AND THEN IT IS WINTER

 You know. . . time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years.

It seems just yesterday that I was young, just married and embarking on my new life with my mate. Yet in a way, it seems like eons ago, and I wonder where all the years went. I know that I lived them all. I have glimpses of how it was back then and of all my hopes and dreams. But, here it is... the winter of my life and it catches me by surprise...How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go and where did my youth go?

I remember well seeing older people through the years and thinking that those older people were years away from me and that winter was so far off that I could not fathom it or imagine fully what it would be like. But, here it is...my friends are retired and getting grey...they move slower and I see an older person now. Some are in better and some worse shape than me...but, I see the great change....Not like the ones that I remember who were young and vibrant...but, like me, their age is beginning to show and we are now those older folks that we used to see and never thought we'd be.

Each day now, I find that just getting a shower is a real target for the day! And taking a nap is not a treat anymore... it's mandatory! Cause if I don't on my own free will... I just fall asleep where I sit! And so...now I enter into this new season of my life unprepared for all the aches and pains and the loss of strength and ability to go and do things that I wish I had done but never did!

But, at least I know, that though the winter has come, and I'm not sure how long it will last...this I know, that when it's over on this earth...it's NOT over. For those who have come to a saving knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ, a new adventure will begin!

Yes, I have regrets. There are things I wish I hadn't done...things I should have done, but indeed, there are many things I'm happy to have done. It's all in a lifetime.

So, if you're not in your winter yet...let me remind you, that it will be here faster than you think. So, whatever you would like to accomplish in your life please do it quickly! Don't put things off too long!

Life goes by quickly. So, do what you can today, as you can never be sure whether this is your winter or not! You have no promise that you will see all the seasons of your life...so, live for today and say all the things that you want your loved ones to remember...and hope that they appreciate and love you for all the things that you have done for them in all the years past!

"Life" is a gift to you. The way you live your life is your gift to those who come after. Make it a fantastic one.

LIVE IT WELL! ENJOY TODAY! DO SOMETHING FUN! BE HAPPY! HAVE A GREAT DAY!

(Anonymous)

SHIRLEY'S SANDALS

The counseling association to which I belonged at the time, The American Association of Christian Counselors, was co-sponsoring a week-long conference along with Focus on the Family in Denver, and I was determined to take advantage of the opportunity.

Our hotel was no more than a couple of blocks from the convention hall, and while I attended various workshops during the day, my wife toured the local sites, such as the Denver Mint, and Rocky Mountain National Park.

The week passed quickly, and the event was everything I might have hoped for, or expected. Dr. James Dobson, founder and then president of Focus on the Family, spoke to the audience on the closing night of the conference. Afterwards, he invited anyone who would to chat with him, pose for photos, (and no doubt, he got writer’s cramp with all the autographs he gave out that evening.)

It so happened that I was somewhere near the middle of a line of people which stretched from one end of the auditorium to the other, and I decided to “bail out.” Leaving the line, I walked to an exit door, and prepared to head back to the hotel. But then

… I changed my mind, and walked back from whence I’d come. I was going to talk to this man. After all, I’d traveled 1500 miles to be here, and I doubted the opportunity would ever repeat itself. Well, since I’d walked away, I was now forced to take my place at the end of the line.

Slowly, but surely the line moved forward, (with the emphasis on “slowly.”) Dr. Dobson must have had the patience of Job, since he would pose for photos, and sometimes summon family members to stand with their loved one. As I neared the imminent psychologist, I heard Shirley Dobson utter a quiet complaint.

“Jim, we really need to go home. It’s getting so late.”

I looked over at her, and was surprised to see the “First Lady of Focus on the Family” standing there barefoot, and holding her sandals in one hand.

By this time, I was no more than a few feet from Dr. Dobson, and he was speaking to his last two or three participants of the event. And it was obvious that he planned to attend to everyone in line, whether his wife was tired, hungry, or just plain ready to go home. But to his credit, he did not say, “Well, darn Shirley. Why did you bother to come with me, if you can’t hang loose, and let me do my job?”

But it was finally my turn, and Dr. Dobson smiled, and he looked my way.

“Well, how are you doing? I’m James Dobson.” (But he may have been thinking, “Man, oh man. I’m glad this guy is the ‘Last of the Mohicans’ and I know Shirley is gladder than I ever thought about being. She’s really gonna pound my head!”)

I introduced myself, got his autograph, and asked my question.

“Dr. Dobson, what one recommendation would you suggest to a pastoral counselor?”

He put his imminent demise out of his head, and replied,

“Well, if I had more time, perhaps I’d come up with something wiser, or more interesting, but I’d encourage you to be loyal to your clients, your pastor, your church, and your God.”

I thanked him, and stepped away; content that this was very good advice. It was time to make that five minute walk back to the hotel.

But in the meantime, time had slipped away from me, and it was approaching “the bewitching hour.” My wife had long since begun wondering what had become of me, (since she knew the meeting would have ended two hours ago,) and she had spoken to the hotel security guard.

“Well ma’am, perhaps he’s gone to a bar to get a couple of drinks.”

To which my wife responded,

“No. No way. He’s not like that. You don’t know him. He doesn’t drink.”

And they agreed that he’d go looking for me if I didn’t appear within 5 minutes.

Well, I did.

And my wife was not a “happy camper.”

Of course, I apologized, and told her that time had gotten away from me, and that I’d been talking with Dr. Dobson.

While the psychologist with the initials “J.D.” might have slept on the sofa that night, thankfully my wife was almost as big a fan as I am of “the man,” and the matter was soon forgotten.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

THE SHOT MUST CHOOSE YOU

I love one particular scene in the movie, “Bagger Vance.”

But to back up a bit. In this movie Matt Damon and Will Smith portray an exceptional amateur golfer, and what I refer to as a “golf angel.”

Matt (movie name, “Junah”) finds himself playing in an exhibition match against the two best professional players in the world. Will, (movie name, “Bagger”) has been sent to help him with his game, but more so, to increase his belief in himself, and his own abilities.

After falling 10 or 12 strokes behind the leader, and as Junah steps up to the 12th hole, and his club is on the backswing, Bagger interjects, “Suh, you’re doing this all wrong. The way you’re going about this match won’t never work!”

Junah lowers his club, takes a step backwards, and stares at Bagger in unbelief.

“You stop me in mid-swing to tell me that? I’ve chosen my shot, and you just interfered with me completing it.”

Bagger smiles a whimsical smile, and responds, “You don’t choose your shot… The shot must choose you.”

Junah is incredulous. “What? What? The shot must choose me? Why, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

To which Bagger grew very serious, and appeared to be preparing for some momentous revelation.

“Mr. Junah, in all the world there’s only one true, authentic shot. One shot that’s right for that particular green, for that particular hole on the course. The shot must choose you.”

Junah seemed to pause and reflect, and it was as if suddenly, he gets it. After reflecting an additional moment he steps up to his mark, and asks Bagger for a different golf club. He gazes upon the hilt, the shaft, and the business end of the club, draws back, and strikes the ball.

And it was as if time slows down, and the crowd follows the ball with their gaze. Its arch and velocity sends it hurdling directly towards the flag. And the ball drops within feet of its target. Junah’s audience roars its appreciation, and a smile breaks out on our hero’s face.

“You know, Bagger, don’t let anybody tell you no different. You are one great caddy!”

Bagger smiles, and responds. “Why, thank you, suh. I do what I can.”

I have often reflected on this scene in that much better than average movie. And I think there’s more than a secular principal at work here. I believe a spiritual concept shines through.

For I think, (and scripture infers) that before our Creator breathed the worlds into place, He was thinking of you, and me. Not as some vast, earthly hoard, mind you, but He was thinking of each one of us by name, and He already had some pretty magnificent plans laid out for every one of us.

“Before I ever took my first breath, You (meaning God) planned every day of my life.” (Psalms 139:16) What an inestimably powerful statement!

And if our Lord thought of us before the beginning, and if He already had some pretty awesome plans in store for us, Bagger’s statement can’t help but be true.

THE SHOT MUST CHOOSE YOU

There exists, then, one best, most authentic, singular shot for each of us at any given time, in any given circumstance, one best course of action, one best option, that ought to drive our choices and decisions.

Now I’m not referring to whether you shop at Walmart or K-Mart, or whether you fish in a nearby pond, or not so nearby lake. No, “The Shot Must Choose You” is all about those crucial, “I simply must get it right” kinda decisions that come to all of us, such as the selection of a job, a ministry, or a best friend.

When Junah declared Bagger to be a great caddy, he had it just about right. But Bagger proved to be more than a great caddy. For he had been sent to serve as a great mentor figure to this insecure young man, but a man with the potential for greatness permeating his small frame.

Indeed, the shot must choose us. It must choose you. And it must choose me. For ultimately, this is the only way in which we will ever truly fulfill God’s plans for us on the earth.

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.

LOOK FOR THE HELPERS - A Mr. Rogers Story

His mother had said, “Whenever you are scared. Always look for the helpers. They’ll be there. No matter how bad things are, there are always people willing to help.”

Anthony Breznican, a senior writer at Entertainment Weekly once experienced a lifetime encounter with Fred Rogers that will restore your faith in humanity. Breznican, like Rogers, hails from Pittsburgh. And like most of us, he grew up watching Mr. Rogers. And then he outgrew him. Until he needed his kindness again, when he was in college.

“As I got older, I lost touch with the show, (which ran until 2001). But one day in college, I rediscovered it. I was having a hard time. The future seemed dark. I was struggling. Lonely. Dealing with a lot of broken pieces, and not adjusting well. I went to Pitt and devoted everything I had to a school paper; hoping it would propel me into some kind of worthwhile future.

It was easy to feel hopeless. During one season of my life it was especially bad. Walking out of my dorm, I heard familiar music.

‘Won’t you be my neighbor?’

The TV was playing in the common room. Mr. Rogers was asking me what I do with the mad I feel. I had lots of ‘mad’ stored up. Still do. It feels so silly to say, but I stood mesmerized. His program felt like a cool hand on my head. I left feeling better.”

Then, days later something amazing happened. Breznican went to step into an elevator. The doors opened, and he found himself looking into the face of Mr. Rogers. Breznican kept it together at first. The two just nodded at each other. But when Mr. Rogers began to walk away, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to say something.

“The doors open. He lets me go out first. I step out, but turn around.

‘Mr. Rogers, I don’t mean to bother you. But I just want to say, Thanks.’

He smiles, but this probably happens to him every ten feet all day long.

‘Did you grow up as one of my neighbors?’

I felt like crying.

‘Yeah. I did.’

With this, Mr. Rogers opened his arms, lifting his satchel, for a hug.

‘It’s good to see you again, neighbor.’

I got to hug Mr. Rogers! This is about the time we both began crying.”

But this story is about to get even better.

“We chatted a few minutes. Then Mr. Rogers started to walk away. After he had taken a couple of steps, I said in a kind of rambling rush that I’d stumbled on the show recently when I really needed it. So, I said, ‘Thanks’ for that. Mr. Rogers paused, and motioned towards the window, and sat down on the ledge.

This is what set Mr. Rogers apart. No one else would have done this. He says,

“Do you want to tell me what is upsetting you?”

So, I sat down. I told him my grandfather had just died. He was one of the good things I had. I felt lost. Brokenhearted. I like to think I didn’t go on and on, but pretty soon he was talking to me about his granddad, and a boat the old man had given to him as a kid.

Mr. Rogers asked how long ago my Pap had died. It had been a couple of months. His grandfather was obviously gone for decades. He still wished the old man was here, and wished he still had the boat.

‘You never really stop missing the people you love,’ Mr. Rogers said.

That boat had been a gift from his grandfather for something. Maybe good grades; something important. Rogers didn’t have the boat anymore, but he had given him his ethic for work.

‘Things, really important things that people leave with us are with us always.’

By this time, I’m sure my eyes looked like stewed tomatoes. Finally, I said, ‘thank you,’ and I apologized if I had made him late for an appointment.

‘Sometimes you’re right where you need to be,’ he said.

Mr. Rogers was there for me. So, here’s my story on the 50^th anniversary of his program for anyone who needs him now. I never saw him again. But that quote about people who are there for you when you’re scared? That’s authentic. That’s who he was. For real.”

Mr. Rogers died in 2003. When Breznican heard the news, he sat down at his computer, and cried. Not over the loss of a celebrity, but a neighbor.

Thank you for being one of those helpers, Mr. Rogers. We hope that somewhere, you’re in a boat with your grandpa again.

Allison Carter, USA Today

 

 

WILD VIOLETS FOR BUDDY

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

DON'T QUIT

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit -
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is strange with its twists and turns.
As everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a fellow turns about when he
Might have won had he stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow -
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than it seems
To a faint and faltering man;
Often the struggler has given up when he
Might have captured the victor's cup;
And he learned too late when the night came down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And when you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit -
It's when things seem worst,
You must not quit.