ANGELS UNAWARES

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"The Great Sinner" was one of three movies in which Gregory Peck appeared opposite Ava Gardner. Over the course of the three movies, the two Hollywood super stars developed an abiding respect for one another, and ultimately became fast friends.

Two years after his dear friend died in 1990, Gregory Peck walked into the Ava Gardner Museum in Smithfield, North Carolina. The aging Peck had long since tired of the being hounded for autographs and photographs whereever he went. And as a result, he had his floppy hat pulled down low over his eyebrows, and peered over a dark pair of sunglasses, 'til he was well into the building.

Business was apparently slow that day, and one of two tour guides offered to show him around the museum, never realizing who the long, bushy haired man was. 

Now, "Marjorie" pointed towards a beautiful gown which Ms. Gardner wore in "The Great Sinner," and began to describe the fabric, and the scene in which the actress wore it.

The stranger smiled now, and replied,

"Oh yes. I remember that gown."

With this, Marjorie felt a little tinkle go up her spine. Stealing a glance to her right, she realized she had been speaking to none other than the illustrious movie star, Mr. Gregory Peck.

He had been there the entire time, and the young tour guide was totally oblivious of who she had been escourting around the museum.

When I heard this story, I immediately thought of that poignant Bible verse.

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for in so doing some have entertained angels unawares." Hebrews 13:2

Several months ago, I found myself doing what I do almost every night, well, every morning if you call “dark city” morning. I jump on my slow, but trusty bike and head off on a 10 mile trek.

On this particular morning, I happened to stop at an intersection, preparing to cross a 4 lane highway, and looked to my right. And strangely enough for 4am, I could just make out the form of a fella walking towards me on the sidewalk; perhaps 30 feet away.

Well, not being overly concerned about the man walking in my direction, I glanced one more time to my left, and prepared to “high tail it” across the highway. Mind you, no more than 2 seconds had elapsed since I had noticed the guy walking towards me on the sidewalk, and as I began peddling, I glanced back to my right.

And where a moment before there was what appeared to be a six foot, 170 pound man,

 … only thin air greeted my gaze.

 And since I peddle this same route every day, it’s a familiar environment for me,

 … (and this is the “wild card,”).

 There is a 6-8 foot high wall that runs along that sidewalk, and which borders a gated community. There had been absolutely nowhere for “my friend” to go. He certainly didn’t vault the wall in record time, and since there are plenty of street lights along that stretch of highway, I would have seen him had he walked across the street.

Over the past year I have experienced a rather difficult season; something relating to rejection, and which kicked me in the figurative rear end. And as I reflect on it now, I think it was after this angelic visitation that the dark emotions with which I had contended began to lift.

I believe in angels, seen and unseen, and I’m thankful for their ministry to God’s people. Some have, indeed, entertained angels unawares. 

by William McDonald, PhD

WHO CHANGED WHO

 I was watching, actually re-watching a segment of the 1985 version of "Anne of Green Gables" last night.

In this particular segment, the "Rachel" character speaks to her friend, "Marilla" about the orphan girl, Anne, that the latter and her brother adopted years before.

"It's to your credit, Marilla, that you changed her so much."

To which Marilla responds,

"Oh, I don't know, Rachel. I don't think she has changed that much... It's us who have changed!"

Of course, the implication is that Anne's presence in their lives has exercised a significant impact upon them.

Nothing speaks louder, at least to me, than a visual such as the scene that I have described. I want to role model a life like this, a life of loving, and acting, and caring for others, and in so doing, perhaps with them hardly realizing it, cause enduring changes in their lives.

Bill McDonald, PhD

A CAT NAMED SPIRIT

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“Yesterday, during one of my daily crying spells, I asked my recently deceased son to send me a sign that he was ok and happy. Just anything that would unmistakably assure me that he is still with me "in spirit". Today, I got that sign. This is "Spirit" who strangely enough, my brother had already named him before he came to me because he found him on Spirit Lake Rd. For me, his name took on a whole new meaning. My son, also being a rescuer, heard my plea and sent me that sign I prayed for. Please read it and you'll know the rest of this story.”♡

(Linda McDonald Osteen)

Simply put, I am an animal lover.

I have previously written of having come across several helpless animals during the course of my ‘wee hours of the morning’ bike and walking treks.

There was the emaciated pooch, a mini-Doberman, tied to a light post which, as I rode my bike on a nearby sidewalk, I retrieved, brought home, and ‘farmed out’ to a no-kill shelter. There was the pitiful little cat, injured and lying next to a local two lane road. All I could do was call the dog pound and ask an animal control person to pick it up. And there was the time I ‘happened up’ on another feral cat, as I walked a two miler during a holiday at Cedar Key. I recall pausing and stroking his fur, and scratching under his chin, and musing aloud, “Sorry, little fella. About all I can do is spend a moment with you and offer you a little comfort.” And with that, I went on my way.

This morning, as I was about halfway through my walking circuit, I noticed a man who was about to transect my path. And as is my custom, rather than walk past someone at ‘O Dark Thirty,’ (and thus ‘take my life in my own hands’) I crossed the highway which bordered the sidewalk.

And having crossed this particular thoroughfare, and then another, in order to begin my trek home, I passed another light pole, (re. my earlier allusion) and lo and behold I noticed a small kitten sitting on the concrete base of the pole; about two feet above ground level.

You remember that old adage about the turtle on the fencepost? Well, (as with the kitten) we can assume he didn’t get there by himself.

But having arrived at this juncture, it may be helpful for you to understand that I ALWAYS include helpless, homeless, hungry feral animals in my daily prayers. Of course, many of these animals were previously abused, and while some have gotten loose, many have been dumped along our highways and byways.

Pt. 2

But to return to my story.

It immediately occurred to me that, as with the other instances, I was being called to ‘put feet to my prayers.’

Prayer or no prayer, I simply could not leave the kitten ‘to its own devices.’ (Though honestly, I prefer dogs to cats any day). But having scanned the general area, and assured myself that there wasn’t a mama cat in the vicinity, I picked up the bony creature, and gently holding it by my side, I quickly walked the remaining half mile home.

And while I had no plan, whatsoever, to keep the kitten, I did something which I have so often done. I mentally assigned a name to the pitiful creature, and I claimed him for the kingdom.

(Yes, I did).

His name? Well, since I discovered the poor little thing on Spirit Lake Road, I decided to call him, ‘Spirit;’ (a name which will have significant import by the time this story reaches its certain conclusion).

And, no doubt, dear readers, by now you are ‘biting at the bit’ for some clarity re. my having claimed the tiny fur ball for the kingdom.

In Psalm 36:6, we read,

“You preserve both men and animals, alike.”

And it is upon this particular implication I base my premise.

Are you familiar with The Rainbow Bridge? The notion that our animals have gone on before us, and will be waiting for us at the pearly gates? Well, I’m convinced that as believers can rest assured that we will see our pet pooches and felines again.

Pt. 3

Having arrived home, I poured some milk into a paper plate, and set it before little Spirit. He ignored it. At this point, I dipped a teaspoon into the milk, and lifted it to his mouth. And with that, Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Spirit had, by this time, crawled under my dining room table, and refused to move from his solitary place.

Having assured myself that ‘Queenie,’ my 15 pound Shih Tzu, was under the supervision of my wife, Jean, I sat down at my computer, and I.M.’ed my sister.

It may be helpful to understand that Linda is a night nurse, and that she sits with chronically ill youngsters in the wee hours of the evening. It might also be helpful to know that my sister is a cat person, par excellence.

As I described the scenario by which I had stumbled upon the cat, (and subsequently, rescued it) she offered something which I had not, ‘til this point,’ considered.

“I think Tony had something to do with it. I think he led you to the cat.”

And while I am characterizing things which may be helpful for you to understand, sadly, Linda’s 35 year old son, Tony, passed away last month.

Tony was, (as is his mother) a cat rescue person. And speaking of my newly named cat, it seems more than fitting that, in respect for Tony, I coincidentally chose the moniker, ‘Spirit’ for the precious little creature. (For it goes without saying that Tony has gone on to his reward).

And as you might imagine, as my sister and I interacted, I was on the threshold of asking Linda if she could ‘see her way clear’ to adopt the furry tyke.

As it fell together, I didn’t have to ask.

Pt. 4

“Would you like me to pick up the precious thing on my way home?”

(Dear Readers, she didn’t have to ask twice).

In a flash, my nimble fingers typed out that oft-used three letter word.

(Yes)

“Why, Yes. Yes, I would. I would like that a great deal.”

And to quote the most bless-ed promise in the Bible,

“And it came to pass.”

After my sister arrived home, she and I exchanged several texts. In the couple of hours which had transpired since she pulled into my driveway, she had visited the vet, had the kitten wormed, and antibiotics were administered.

And as my little text tone chimed again (and again), I opened each subsequent message and initially saw a photo. (Spirit was eating)! And then a brief video. (Spirit was exploring)!

Sullivan Ballou, that late great Union officer, once penned the most eloquent letter ever written in the context of the Civil War. And in it, he alluded to the proposition that those who have gone on before might have some import, input and impact into our daily lives here.

“But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the brightest day and darkest night; always, always. And when the soft breeze fans your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.”

Perhaps, as my sister implied, her dearly departed son had something to do with the circumstances of last night, the stranger crossing the road, and my need to find a different pathway home.

Need I say, I think maybe Tony is still in the cat rescue business!

by William McDonald, PhD

GOING HOME AGAIN

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The other day I drove the 8 or 10 miles which separated me from my hometown of Bartow, Florida to deposit a check. With all the bank closings, it seems we have to drive further and further to do our banking. The bank branch which I usually frequent is across the street from the Methodist church which my parents, my siblings and I attended as a child. And as I put my check into the outside chute, and the teller interacted with me, I said,

"Do you know the history of the land on which this bank was built?"

To which the friendly young woman replied,

"Well, no. No, I don't."

There are days when I feel especially like talking, and other days when I am somewhat quieter; a fact which my wife and children are quick to tell anyone. That particular day was one of those days I felt especially communicative.

I continued.

"Well, when I was a boy, over sixty years ago, I attended Sunday School in an old wooden house at this location; decades before the current bank was built here."

(and)

"You see that huge oak tree? I'm certain it was here when I walked across Broadway, and into that old house every Sunday."

The teller expressed interest in my story, and we parted with her rejoiner.

"Wow. That's interesting. I'll have to do some research on the topic."

After I bid my 'goodbyes,' I turned left on Broadway, and began to "retrace my steps" towards home.

After I had driven about a mile, and was nearing the city limits, I made a momentary decision to pull into KFC, and buy a three piece chicken dinner for my wife and I to share.

After I stopped at the speaker, and placed my order, I pulled up to the window. Opening the window, the young lady passed my iced tea to me, and was about to retrieve my chicken dinner when my conversational mode suddenly 'kicked in' again.

"You know I once heard Colonel Sanders speak. He was a guest at the college I attended back in the 60's, and he spoke about his life and business career in our chapel service. Of course, he wore his trademark white suit and black string tie. He seemed to be such a quiet and kind man; a real Christian gentleman."

And like the bank teller before her, the restaurant attendant expressed interest, and bantered a bit with me about the story I told her.

They say, "you can't go home." Oh, I don't know about that. I came pretty close that day.

by William McDonald, PhD

IN THE GARDEN

                                                                              

3971

Recently, I was thinking how like our ancient parents we all are.

No, I’m not referring to our respective elderly, or late parents, as the case may be. I’m talking about a couple who go much further back than that. Do the names “Adam and Eve” ring a bell?

Of course, virtually everyone, irrespective of country of origin, culture or religion are familiar with them, and their story. And if you believe the Christian tradition, (which I do by the way) Adam and Eve happen to be the father and mother of every human being, approximately 100 billion of us, who have at one time lived, or who are now living on the earth.

According to the Book of Genesis, Adam and Eve were placed in this idyllic garden, and they were “given all things to enjoy,” except this one tree, and this one fruit which grew on the tree. You know, that luscious fruit which would allow them to differentiate between good and evil. (And contrary to popular belief, we have no reason to think it was an apple). Perhaps you recall the Lord warned the hapless couple to refrain from eating the fruit of that tree, lest they die. They were commanded to till the ground, and maintain the garden, but to, as it were, ignore “the gorilla in the room.”

I have sometimes wondered why the Creator decided to plant that tempestuous little tree in the Garden, when our original parents might have lived out their lives perfectly content, and without a care in the world.

But here God, as it were, digs a hole in the middle of a perfectly good garden, and plants this alluring thing in their midst knowing full well His best and brightest (well, best anyway) creation would be tempted to… do the wrong thing. A notable scholar has prognosticated that Jehovah put the tree there in order to give Adam and Eve the opportunity to obey or disobey, as God never intended to create mindless robots.

Pt. 2

Of course, you and I know “the rest of the story.” Their natural enemy (and ours), Lucifer by name, appeared in Eve’s midst, and suggested she pluck one of those little delicacies, and take a big, wet, juicy bite of it. Of course, Eve reminded Satan that God had warned her, and her husband against such a dastardly deed, and that if she ate the fruit, well, she would surely die.

Well, the former archangel would have none of that, and he immediately corrected our great great grandmother with the words, “You will not surely die!” And he presented the strong implication to Eve that God was just a spoil-sport, and that the Creator of the earth, and worlds and stars “didn’t know His head from a hole in the ground.”

Ultimately, we know that Eve succumbed to Satan’s suggestion, and after she ate the tasty “Winesap” (for lack of a better characterization), she brought one to Adam; who proceeded to cram it between his teeth and his tongue.

Of course, as the result of having eaten the fruit, we are told that Adam and Eve recognized they had been trapsing around “in the altogether,” and, as a result, they covered themselves in leaves. Obviously, all of these “going’s on” had not caught the Creator unawares, and He decided to investigate the scene of the crime.

And as God “did a star trek” before there was a Star Trek, and energized Himself onto the most traveled pathway in the Garden, Adam and Eve made almost as hasty an exit. In the briefest and most tempestuous of moments, the noblest of God’s created beings fell from grace, and literally “bit off more than they could chew!”

And, as a result of his sin, and the appearance of his righteous Creator in the Garden, Adam hid himself from the sight of God. Well, the I AM would have none of it, and He could only do what His righteous instincts demanded.

Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden. And as for the dying part of God’s admonition, our original parents, who had been designed to live forever in the beautiful Garden, literally began to die. Their lifespans were cut short. The years would grow heavy upon them, and they would, ultimately, die; as men and women, boys and girls continue to die today.

Pt. 3

As I have previously inferred, I think each and every one of God’s most magnificent creations have in the past, are in the present, and will continue to walk in the footsteps of our ancient parents, Adam and Eve.

I mean, each and every one of us have been placed in a particular ‘garden,’ and called to do a particular thing in the location in which we have been ‘planted.’ And in our own way, and our own time each and every one of us have succumbed to the temptations which surround us, and on a daily basis. None of us are immune, and every one of us have succumbed, in one way or the other, to the temptations which surround us. We have, as the sixth book of the New Testament reminds us, “fallen short of the glory of God.”

I have often reflected on the difference between a mistake and a sin. I think if we could call Adam or Eve back among the land of the living for a Q&A session, and we were to ask them the difference in these two words, we would receive an immediate response.

“Well now, let me see here. You know I’ve ‘been there.’ And from my way of thinking, the difference between a mistake and a sin is that while a mistake is simply a mistake, every sin we ever sin has been premeditated in advance.”

Oh, I have been prone to blame ole Adam, and his wife before him. If only they had simply obeyed, and refrained from eating that piece of fruit, we would all still be living in the Garden, and wiling away our days in the lap of innocence and luxury. Of course, we intuitively know that is not the case. Didn’t A&E’s son, Cain, sin after them, when he killed his brother, Abel? (That’s a rhetorical question). Of course, he did.

Sin is premeditated, and requires a series of actions leading to its culmination. It is based on the location in which we have been planted, the temptations with which we are surrounded, and our willingness to act upon the initial thought which sounds a lot like,

“Well now, wouldn’t that be fun?”

 

Afterward

Like father like son. Like mother like daughter.

We are all products of nature and nurture. And from the time nature and nurture began the process of naturing and nurturing, sin has ruled and reigned on the earth. Adam and Eve “got the ball rolling,” but we have all lined up behind them, and rolled the proverbial ball down the lane.

We have all been planted somewhere, and we have all, at least intuitively, known to do good, and to resist evil. And some of us, as the result of our premeditated choices, have been “banished from the garden” in which we were planted; some as the result of disease, or divorce, or the inability to achieve God’s best plans for our lives.

And others experiencing a more dire result; which I will leave to your imagination. And regrettably, those chronic, irresponsible, premeditated decisions some have made, and a failure to incorporate the only remedy which has the power to restore them to God has led to irreconcilable, permanent banishment from the Creator, and the place where He resides.

 

Somehow, we conveniently make an exception of ourselves among all the billions who ever lived, and moved, and breathed on the earth, and sinned before us, and we mindlessly place the forbidden fruit between our salivating lips.

 

“The ultimate cost of sin is far greater than the wages it initially pays.”

 

By William McDonald, PhD

FAT ELVIS

                                                                             

3970

Pt. 1

Before anyone dumps all sorts of derogatory messages on me re. the title of this blog, please understand that in titling this bit of writing the way I have, I mean no disrespect for the (almost) living legend that is Elvis. However, you will soon understand the reason why I felt compelled to use the two word moniker that I have.

I listen to “Elvis Radio” Channel 19 every time I set my derriere onto the driver’s seat of my automobile, put it in gear, and attempt to fulfill my sundry commitments for that day. This morning, as I drove to a not so distant town to do a safety meeting for my construction crew, I listened to an interview between E.A.P.’s high school friend, George Klein (the primary DJ on Elvis Radio), and Wink Martindale, the 70’s-80’s-90’s gameshow host.

It so happens that Sandy Martindale, (Wink’s wife) dated Elvis ‘way back when’ and she was with him (Wink, not Elvis) in this morning’s interview. Sometime before (or after) the two married, Sandy and Wink developed a close mutual relationship with ‘The King of Rock & Roll,’ and often attended his performances.

And as it fell together, the couple last saw Elvis at a Las Vegas show shortly before his passing. And what they saw left them mortified. Elvis was obviously in poor health, and had gained a great deal of weight. No doubt, they were aware that the greatest male singer of all time had regularly indulged himself with prescription, and possibly other substances. The most disinterested lay person could see it in his eyes. While he seemed to maintain his cognitive abilities, such as his skill with the recall of songs, his countenance and physical condition spoke volumes.

As Wink and Sandy visited in Elvis’ dressing room before the show, they noticed sweat beading on his forehead, and it occurred to both of them that this could well be the last time they would ever lay eyes on the most famous and gifted man on the planet. As the interview neared its conclusion, Wink mentioned that Elvis seemed hesitant to leave them, though his next show was only moments away.

Ultimately, the couple said their ‘adieu’s’ and departed the premises. On their way out, they stopped long enough to write a note for Elvis, and left it with the King’s ‘right hand man;’ (whose name escapes me at the moment).

The note read roughly as follows:

Elvis

We would love for you to come visit with us in our home for a few weeks.

This would give you an opportunity to rest, lose weight, and regain your health. People tell me (Sandy) that I am a good cook, and I don’t think you’d regret staying with us a while and dining at our table. Hope to hear from you soon.

Love & Prayers,

Wink & Sandy

 Pt. 2

One might have thought George Klein would have changed the subject, and prevented the Martindale’s from telling the story. But this was not the case.

I must say I have been pleasantly surprised at how open ‘The Elvis Channel’ and its DJ’s have been with the radio public in regard to ‘the good, bad and the ugly’ which transpired during THE American Idol’s all too brief 42 years on earth.

There’s a poignant passage in the movie, “A River Runs Through It.”

In speaking of his father, the main character, Norman Maclean, reminisces.

 

l remember the last sermon

l heard him give;

not long before his own death…

Each one of us here today will,

at one time in our lives...

look upon a loved one who is in need

and ask the same question.

"We are willing to help, Lord...

but what, if anything, is needed?"

It is true we can seldom help

those closest to us.

Either we don't know what part

of ourselves to give...

or more often than not,

the part we have to give...

is not wanted.

And so it is those we live with

and should know who elude us...

but we can still love them.

We can love completely...

without complete understanding.

At least during this particular interview, Wink and Sandy Martindale never disclosed whether Elvis responded to their offer that he visit with them, lose weight and attempt to regain his former health.

We can be sure, however, that if he responded at all it was not of the affirmative kind; since the well-known gameshow host and his wife

…never saw Elvis again.

 

I think Wink and Sandy were a lot like the kind of people of whom that old preacher alluded in his final sermon, the sort of folks who reach out in love to those near and dear to themselves; though bereft of any understanding.

One can only wonder how history might have been rewritten had Elvis taken them up on their gracious offer. Perhaps the King of Rock & Roll would have given us the gift of a few more years and a few more songs.

by William McDonald, PhD

MY EXPERIENCE AS A SHORT TERM CONTORTIONIST

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Things proceeded quite normally on yesterday’s almost 4,000 mile flight from Edinburgh, Scotland to Chicago, Illinois, until the guy in front of me decided to “do a 45” (degree angle) with the back of his seat; completely oblivious (or completely uncaring) about the comfort of the fella (yours truly) immediately behind him. Talk about personal space, by this point the man was almost lying in my lap. (In any other circumstance the nearness of his physiology to my own would have seemed almost obscene).

By this time my legs were tucked almost under my chin, and I was close to becoming eligible for my Contortionist’s Permit. Try as I might, I could not lay my seat tray out flat against my waist in order to compile an outline for this particular blog, and the results of my writing looked more like Swahili than English.

Bad enough that today’s airlines jam two pounds of human flesh into every conceivable one pound space on the seating floor of their aircraft. But to make things worse, members of the flying public are allowed to, at will, infringe on the personal space of their fellow flying passengers surrounding them.

Since I was on the inside of three seats and next to the aisle, I leaned my head to the right and peered over my abuser’s shoulder. From my vantage point, the little fella had just about as much leg room as the president is afforded on Air Force One.

Now I considered a bit of “pay back” and briefly reflected on the best way to exercise some well-deserved retribution; which led to some interesting options.

1. I could throw my right leg up on his arm rest, and inform him that if he was going to deny me leg room, I would deny him arm room. 2. I could jam my knees hard against the back of his seat, and bore a hole in his spinal column. 3. I could “do a Henry” (my father would have never tolerated this) 4. I could throw my seat back into the lap of the lady behind me, and provide myself some sweet relief, (or) 5. I could suffer in silence for the next seven hours.

Suddenly, my abuser shifted his seat a quarter foot closer, I could no longer see my feet, and I thought I heard my left knee pop. The movie screen was so close now, I could just make out the manufacturer of Queen Victoria’s costume in her neck label.

Dear readers, I neglected to tell you. I chose the most charitable of my options.

I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if by chance the adherents of that religion happen to be right, I want to come back as the president of United Airlines. My first order would ring the death knell of adjustable aircraft seats.

But with my luck I would come back as a low paid contortionist.

 by William McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAVE A BANANA, ANNA

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The other day my wife informed me that she was about to drive down to Publix to pick up a few groceries. As she prepared to leave, a Publix commercial came on TV. Of course, it was one of those "real good, feel good" sort of ads. As you see the various people on the screen sitting around the dinner table, the narrator suggests, "Have a banana, Anna." Well, my wife's name isn't Anna, but our grandson has called her Anna for as long as we remember! And here, "Anna" was getting ready to go to Publix at that moment! At this point, I suggested she pick up some bananas while she was there. The commercial ran again in the short amount of time she was gone. True to my expectations, my "Anna" walked in with a bunch of bananas!

THE TREE I COULDN'T SAVE

                                                                             

3967

For multiplied years I have driven past several acres of pasture land on my way to this or that business or restaurant in my hometown; about eight miles from my current residence.

And for years, I have noticed a large sign in that grassy field which claimed a nearby church would soon be relocating to that particular intersection. (Funny, how many times I have seen similar signs which made the same claim, but which, ultimately, faded out and were removed, or simply fell into disrepair).

And for years, as I made my way past that intersection, I admired a beautiful little oak tree growing about thirty feet from the barbed wire fence which bordered the two roads.

In recent years, I noticed an unusual amount of Spanish Moss hanging from this oak tree, and seemingly more every time I drove by the pasture. It is rare to see a Florida oak tree without moss hanging from its branches, but it is equally rare to see one absolutely overwhelmed with this parasitic growth.

As a result of the ‘assault’ of the Spanish Moss on the pretty little oak tree, I finally decided to do something about it.

As I drove by the spot one day, I jotted down the phone number listed on the sign, and, subsequently, I called the church office, and asked to speak to the pastor.

“Hi, I’m Bill McDonald. This may sound a little strange, but I noticed that lone oak tree in the pasture where you hope to relocate your church is covered up with moss. It’s just such a beautiful tree. I’d like to do something about it. Would you mind if I attempt to get the moss out of it?”

To which “Pastor Franklin” responded,

“Hmmm, I suppose that would be alright.”

And having had a moment to digest my request, he added,

“But I don’t want you to climb up into the tree. You know, there would be a liability issue for the church if you fell.”

I acquiesced, and assured the pastor that I would keep my feet on solid ground.

Pt. 2

A couple days later, I bought one of those extendable poles with a claw on the end, and which was specifically designed to pull moss out of trees. The following Saturday I loaded myself, the pole and very little else into my car, and set a course for the little moss-covered oak tree in the pasture.

Having arrived I parked my car next to the fence, got out, retrieved my claw pole, (for lack of a better moniker), tossed it in the direction of the tree, gingerly lifted the barbed wire, and navigated my way between the offending barbs.

With this, I extended the pole, tightened the locking mechanism, and set to work pulling moss out of the little oak tree. I found myself frustrated with how much moss hung in the branches, and how little of it I was able to pull down with each attempt. Even more frustrating my realization that as long as the pole was, I could only reach halfway up the twenty foot tall tree.

The pile of moss increased, and occasionally I stopped to put the parasitic stuff in plastic bags. As the sun rose higher in the sky, I felt increasingly thirsty. And since I hadn’t brought a thermos, I made my way back towards the fence, reversed my course through the barbed wire fence, walked across the street, and entered a corner convenience store where I bought a fountain drink.

I hadn’t accounted for the lack of hydration which a soft drink affords, and as I set back to work fatigue and thirst overwhelmed me. Ignoring these troublesome symptoms, I continued to drag down moss from the little oak tree.

By the time I finished what I was capable of finishing, I had managed to decrease the overall bulk of Spanish Moss by perhaps a third, perhaps a bit more. As I stacked the twelve or fourteen huge plastic bags by the road, I found myself wishing I had brought a ladder; in spite of the pastor’s admonition, and my promise not to do so.

Pt. 3

Driving home, I felt like I was going to pass out, and when I arrived home all I could do was plop down on the sofa. I felt like I was about 3 minutes from death, when my wife began to pour water down my gullet. I think it would be fair to characterize my condition that day as suffering from a sun stroke. I vowed I would never ever take on a task like this one again without bringing an ample supply of cold water with me.

As the days and weeks and months tick toked along, as they always do, and as I continued to drive past that beautiful little oak tree, it began displaying increasing signs of distress. Not only was the moss regenerating itself in the places I managed to strip it from the limbs, but the leaves of the tree, what leaves you could see, took on a sickly brown hue; until all that was left was a skeleton of its former self.

And with the advance of years, this sad shadow of that beautiful little oak tree continued to stand alone with wisps of Spanish Moss hanging from its skinny branches. And I can barely look at it as I pass by.

It may seem a bit strange, but more than once, as I drove past the tree, I have glanced at it, and said,

“I did what I could. It was simply not enough.”

(and)

“I (literally) almost gave my life for your life.”

Perhaps I’m too sensitive about the welfare of trees and animals in my sphere of influence. Perhaps I’m not always sensitive enough about the welfare of my fellow human beings.

And yet, I have often thought that flora and fauna have very little wherewithal to choose right from wrong, or to protect themselves from anything, whereas people do, and as a result of their bad choices, they sometimes find themselves in a world of hurt.

 

When it is all said and done, I’m glad I did what I could to save that lovely little oak tree in the pasture.

 by William McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MEETING MY ALTER EGO

 3966

I met my alter-ego today. (Yeah, I did).

I was at a funeral for a dear lady who attended my church over half a century ago, and who in recent years attended another church where I was a member.

Well, her daughter told me her mother had requested I sing, “I’d Rather Have Jesus,” the music of which was written by George Beverly Shea; which I was glad to do.

The funeral progressed, it was my turn to sing, I sang, sat down, the pastor preached a short message, and the congregation, (the exact combination of souls who would never be in the same place at the same time again on this side of Glory) began to disperse.

As I walked towards the back of the church a man of approximately my own age stopped me, and said,

“Hi, I’m (also) Royce” (and) “I heard you introduced as ‘Royce’ before you sang today.”

Of course, this peaked my interest.

And with this, we began to converse. And the more we conversed the more “strange and wonderful” his story got since his background so closely mirrored my own in various ways.

“I attended this church when another congregation met here half a century ago.”

To which I responded,

“Well, so did I, but I don’t remember you.”

And “comparing notes” we determined that Royce #2 “came on board” around two years after I left. And with this, my newfound namesake revealed “The ace up his sleeve.”

Pt. 2

“Oh, I know about you.”

Of course, I thought, “He knows about me?”

As our conversation continued, I learned that it was only in the past hour that Royce Nadler, (not his actual last name), began to make complete sense of some congregational interactions from over 50 years ago.

“Back in the early 70’s, when I attended here, people would call me by name, and, subsequently, refer to a person or memory which was totally foreign to me. And I began to realize they thought I was a different Royce, who I didn’t know, and who must have attended here a few years earlier.”

Talk about ironic. But there was more to come.

I went on to tell Royce #2 that I and another man had founded a boy’s group at Bartow Assembly. He responded that he had once been a leader of the same “outpost.”

As we continued to “compare notes” I learned that my newfound friend had once lived in Highland City and currently lived in Bartow; both places in which I had also lived at one time or the other.

“Somewhere along the line” I referred to the pastor who had been at the church when I was there so long ago. My alter-ego assured me that he also knew Bro. Anderson, (not his actual name).

“Oh yes, I spent time with him after he was homebound” (and) “Of course, he had developed dementia by then, and he would often say things like, ‘Who are you?’ and ‘Well, whoever you are, it’s time to begin the church service’ and ‘Please pass out the songbooks and be ready to take up the offering in a few minutes.’”

Our conversation was getting “curioser” and “curiouser.”

No doubt, I gave Royce #2 a crooked smile, and replied,

“Well, it seems we have a lot in common, my friend. We’re both named ‘Royce,’ we were both active in the boy’s group here half a century ago, we have both lived in the same two cities in central Florida, and we both knew and spent time with Bro. Anderson after he was homebound, and had developed dementia. Why, I had the exact same experience as you. I remember the dear man telling his wife to lead singing and would I mind taking up the offering.”

I continued.

“How strange that half a century later, you and I would be in the same place at the same time, and be afforded the opportunity to have this conversation!”

I believe the foregoing opportunity to converse with my alter-ego, and multiplied millions of other momentary circumstances with which you and I are confronted were orchestrated by the Almighty; before He breathed the worlds into place. It definitely makes life richer and more interesting, and I believe our Father enjoys such irony as much as we do.

by William McDonald, PhD

PUT MORE IN. GET MORE OUT

 3965

Pastor Bob was hosting a week long revival in his church, and he had contracted with his good friend, Evangelist Bill, to do the preaching.

On the last night of the revival, and after the last sermon was completed, Pastor Bob rose from his chair, and stepped to the pulpit.

“Well, we certainly have appreciated the good preaching of my friend, Rev. Bill, and we want to take up a love offering now, and send him on his way. So, I want everyone to dig deep, and do what they can to bless this wonderful evangelist.”

With this, two deacons stepped forward, and began to pass the offering plates from pew to pew. Interestingly enough, a little lad named, “Markie” and his mother had faithfully attended every meeting, and the young blond-haired tyke had paid special attention to everything the evangelist had said and done. And, as usual, the small boy was intently watching the flaming revivalist, as the offering plate made its way past him.

And while Rev. Bill realized the offering was meant for him, he could not let the plate pass without putting something in; if only a matter of formality, and potential embarrassment if he hadn’t. And holding the offering plate in one hand, he rummaged through his pockets, dug out five quarters, and dropped them in.

Little Markie, who was sitting on the opposite pew, was ‘all eyes.’

After the pastor concluded the service, and most everyone had gone home, it so happened that little Markie’s mother was talking to the preacher’s wife, and the little boy lingered nearby. Suddenly, Bob walked up to his dear friend Bill, and poured the offering in his waiting hands.

Well, my friends, there wasn’t all that much to pour. For as the money exchanged hands, Markie heard the momentary rush of paper, and tinkle of coins.

…2 one dollar bills & 5 quarters

And I can tell you those 5 quarters looked very familiar to not only the young evangelist, but to Markie, as well. Of course, Evangelist Bill was far from impressed, but he tried his best to hide his disappointment.

Suddenly, the good evangelist felt a tug on his pant leg. Looking down, he recognized the little boy who had paid him so much attention during the course of the revival.

Little Markie looked up at Rev. Bill, and with an innocent smile on his face exclaimed,

“Preacher, if you had put more in, you would have got more out!”

 by William McDonald, PhD

A FRIEND WHO NEEDS ME

 3964

Speaker of the House of Representatives Sam Rayburn, who served during the mid-20th century, was known for his compassion. One day a friend of his lost a daughter, and, as a result, Mr. Rayburn hurried over to his friend's house.

 

When his friend opened the door, he was surprised to see Sam Rayburn standing there. Mr. Rayburn spoke.

 

"My dear friend. I am so sorry to learn of Marjorie's passing. What can I do for you?"

 

To which his grieving friend replied,

 

"Well, we are in the process of making all the arrangements now"

 

Not to be deterred, Sam responded,

 

"But have you had your coffee?"

 

His friend admitted he had not taken time for breakfast, much less coffee.

 

Now Mr. Rayburn did the least likely thing a national political figure such as he might be expected to do. He squeezed past his friend, and went directly to the kitchen, and began making coffee!

 

His friend was incredulous, and joining Sam in the kitchen, he exclaimed,

 

"Sam, don't you have an important meeting scheduled today with the President?"

 

Mr. Rayburn turned towards him and with a sad smile on his face replied,

 

"Yes, I did have a meeting with the President today, but I contacted him, and told him that I could not come because 'I have a friend who needs me.'"

 by William McDonald, PhD

PLAYING A DOCTOR ON TV

 3963

I was on my way to the church where I do counseling, the other day, and I happened to be wearing my "Dr. Bill McDonald, PhD" blue knit shirt, as I am prone to do when I work in the office.

 

On the way to the church, I stopped by the post office to get my mail. After I checked my P.O. box, I turned to walk out the door. Just as I reached the door, a middle-aged Chinese woman walked in, paused a moment, and said in a slightly accented voice.

 

"You're a doctor!"

 

Well, I didn't know whether to hang my head, and apologize for my academic credentials, or smile and exclaim,

 

"Oh yes, I have so many degrees they call me Dr. Fahrenheit."

 

But as a result, I took a well worn alternate approach.

 

"Oh, I just play a doctor on TV!!!"

 

It never occurred to me that she might have taken me seriously, (though it is possible that she did), since she gave me a somewhat crooked grin and walked on past me.

 

Now, an elderly Chinese man walked in behind her, and having apparently heard his daughter's exclamation and my response, he stood with half his body blocking my way out the door... and just stared at me, and continued in the stationary, silent mode another five seconds.

 

To which I finally said,

 

"Uhmmm, excuse me."

 

Now, the older man slowly moved and continued his way into the post office, and I finally managed to get out the door.

 

And it only occurred to me a couple of hours later, but suddenly a thought made its way through my somewhat thick cranium.

 

"Perhaps both daughter and father took me seriously, and thought they were looking at a "As the World Turns" soap opera actor, and figured they'd "get a load full" of this not so famous television star."

 

With this, I chuckled under my breath, and went on with what I had been doing.

 by William McDonald, PhD