THE KENTUCKY COLONEL

4141

It was almost half a century ago, but it could have just as easily been yesterday.

I was a student at the (then) Southeastern Bible College, (now Southeastern University). As an off-campus, commuting student I was required to attend chapel services 2-3 times a week.

The guest speaker at one of the morning services was none other than Colonel Harland Sanders; founder and CEO of the world famous Kentucky Fried Chicken Corporation.

As might be expected, “The Colonel” was dressed in his equally world famous white suit, and “Southern plantation” tie. As he was introduced by the president of our school, he slowly strode to the podium, and proceeded to share the history of his enterprise, beginning with his adornment of chicken cadavers with various herbs and spices, in an attempt to determine just the right combination, for just the right taste. The man in white went on to detail how a single rural location duplicated itself, and how over the course of several years his brand of fried chicken became the best known, and most loved product of its kind in the world.

Three things about the “Kentucky Colonel” impressed me the most, or at least, have remained with me the longest.

His quiet and peaceful demeanor. (Even with a microphone, and sitting within a few rows of the front of the auditorium, I had to listen carefully to his words).

His “I’m really no different than you are” sort of presentation. He knew his roots, and they were humbler than most any member of the student body.

But more importantly, this man knew who he was, and to Whom he belonged. The Colonel acknowledged his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and gave Him the glory for how far He had brought him.

And though that old Southern gentleman has long since gone on to his reward, and while poor facsimiles of the Colonel have lately appeared on KFC commercials, of all the chapel services I attended at my beloved school, I think I will always remember, and cherish the one to which I have alluded the most.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

DR. STANLEY'S PRAYER CLOSET

 4140

I was watching a video of the legacy service for Dr. Charles Stanley yesterday. The new pastor, Anthony George, had stepped to the pulpit and was sharing a few stories about his and Dr. Stanley's relationship with one another over the course of several decades.

 

It seems Rev. George had been hired as the associate pastor during the 1980's. There was a wide range in their ages, as he was about 40 at the time, and Dr. Stanley had turned 80. Before much time had elapsed, Anthony realized that he was much more a personal assistant to the lead pastor than his actual title conveyed.

 

There were times when the divorced and evidently lonely Dr. Stanley would ask his associate pastor to come over for pizza, and they would settle down with a movie like, "Patton." (You might surmise correctly that this writer was a bit surprised by that particular choice in movies as "Patton" is replete with some pretty strong language).

 

One story stood out from among the rest for its abject humor. Rev. George was still new on the job when Dr. Stanley said,

 

"Anthony, let me introduce you to my prayer closet."

 

The good understudy promptly followed Rev. Stanley to a 10x10 room in a nondescript hallway. Opening the door, the two men stepped in, and the pastor closed the door, and proceeded to turn out the overhead light. Blackness permeated their surroundings, and the younger man wondered what would happen next.

 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness a bit, enough light permeated the threshold beneath the door to provide the assistant a clue, and now he watched closely.

 

"Dr. Stanley dropped to his knees. I followed his lead and dropped to my knees. Now, he got down on all fours. ('Pretty agile for a man of 80,' I thought). And now, now he prostrated himself on the carpet. I did the same."

 

Several hundred men, women and children seemed captivated by his story. I know I was.

 

"I was new at this 'prayer closet' thing, and I figured I would just do and say what Dr. Stanley did and said. Suddenly, my mentor 'let out' with a 'Yes, Lord!' I echoed his words. 'Yes, Lord!'"

 

By now Rev. George's listeners were laughing.

 

"And then silence permeated the dark prayer room. It seems the good pastor thought of prayer as a conversation between him and God; as if they both had something to say. And then, just as suddenly as before Dr. Stanley seemed to muse,

 

'Hmmm!'

 

"I promptly responded with,

 

'Hmmm!'

 

The laughter grew louder.

 

"And then only silence for several minutes 'til the 'Yes, Lord's' and 'Hmmm's' began again. I can tell you that Dr. Stanley was a prayer warrior, and though my prayer room experience with him wasn't the most comfortable thing I'd ever done, I was blessed to have him as my friend and mentor for several decades."

by Bill McDonald, PhD

ARE YOU GOING OUT?

4139

A few days ago, I drove up to the Dollar Tree to buy a couple of greeting cards.

As I stepped through the door, I noticed an elderly lady completing her purchases. The cashier had all but finished loading up four or five grey plastic bags.

And being the polite, gum chewing, good looking old guy that I am, (and thinking I would hold the door open), I asked the customer,

"Are you going out?"

The older woman didn't hear me.

I tried again.

"Are you going out?"

Now, the young female cashier glanced at me with a "What's up with you" look, while the person to whom I directed my question was still totally oblivious of me, and my question.

Not getting her attention, I proceeded towards the greeting card display. Now, the man behind the elderly lady, apparently her husband, belatedly said,

"We're good. But thanks."

And then, it occurred to me. When I walked in, and asked, "Are you going out" the obviously startled cashier may well have thought,

"That old geezer wants to know if I have a boyfriend!"

(and)

"That seventy something year old man is about to ask me for a date!"

Of course, that was not my agenda at all.

As a result, as I laid my two greeting cards on the conveyor belt, I said,

"It occurred to me when I asked the older lady if she was going out, and intended to open the door for her, you might have thought I was directly my question to you."

(and)

"I can assure you I am happily married!"

Both the young cashier and I got a good laugh out of the whole thing.

by William McDonald, PhD

REMINISCENCES OF THE WAR BETWEEN THE STATES

 4138

A BOY IN THE FAR SOUTH AT HOME AND IN

THE RANKS OF THE CONFEDERATE MILITIA

By Joshua Hoyet Frier II

Chapter 3 – Lewis Paine

It was in the early part of the year 1862 that by chance I happened to meet the boy Doc Powell, who afterwards became the man of unenviable fame; Lewis Paine, the attempted assassin of Secretary Seward. I was the bearer of a message to his father who lived at this time in Hamilton County Florida. I had become acquainted with all the family, with the exception of him prior to my visit there. I had heard of him as a very indolent, and worthless boy; the black sheep of the flock, I had fancied him as a boy of my own size.

His brother, Oliver and I walked out to the barn to put away the horse I rode and found him asleep on the barn floor. Oliver aroused him, and when he awakened he leered at us in a manner I shall never forget, and after rubbing his eyes awhile, the boy that was destined to figure so prominently in one of the most remarkable tragedies in this, or any age, looked me square in the face for the first time. I thought him one of the ugliest, and most repulsive looking boys I ever met; great coarse hair and a dull stupid countenance, slow and awkward in movement. Such was my first impression of the boy who as a man became the pliant tool of such a scoundrel as J. Wilkes Booth. 

Later on, in the evening when I got better acquainted I found him remarkable good natured. We wandered around a lake that evening and he pointed out his favorite fisherman stories which showed him to be a sportsman of the first-water. Among them was one that was of peculiar interest to me; he told me he had slipped off one Sunday morning with tackle for some sport and caught the devil. He had a terrible fight to land him and when he finally succeeded, he came near biting off one of his fingers and walked right back into the water. I asked him how he farther identified the “Old Man” when he told me Uncle Green, an old Negro on the place had told him the character of his game. From the description he gave of it I have since been able to make and alligator turtle out of it, one of the most vicious reptiles that was ever created. This one accomplished a reform that the fear of the rod never could; breaking a bad boy from fishing on Sunday. 

Before the evening was over Dock and I were great friends; all his repulsiveness had vanished, and it was with regret next morning that I parted with him. I exacted a promise from him to visit me at my home, and gave him a similar one in return, neither one of which was ever fulfilled. I never met him but once afterwards and that was purely accidental as he shortly afterwards joined Capt. Stewart’s Company of the 2 Fla. Regmt.

 And I never heard from him but once until his father got a letter from him after Lincoln’s assassination. He father endeavored to go see him in Washington, but lack of funds prevented it. The old man was the soul of honor, no stain rested on any of his family with the single exception of this boy, whose full name was Lewis Thornton Powell. The old man died a few years ago in Orange County in this state; full of years and honor. It was circulated some years after Paine was hanged that the Elder Powell said he had yielded up his life in a good cause. This I am satisfied was an untruth; for while the entire family proved loyal to the South, Lewis excepted, (he having joined the United States Army at one time) they were to high toned and honorable to countenance assassination in any form. His brother Oliver before mentioned died or was killed early in the war. While the oldest brother George is still living in this states. 

Such, dear reader, was my acquaintance with the man who for a given price attempted to take the life of Secretary Seward, and thereby coupled his name to one of the most atrocious crimes of modern times. While Paine’s execution was deplored by his family, and their sympathetic friends it was generally acknowledged to be just as such penalties ever is. 

Of one thing, I and everyone is satisfied, that he knew anything of him; it is this; that he was incapable of conceiving or aiding in the origination of such a fiendish plot as this. And in acting his part he was simply clay in the molder’s hands, it was his nature to be easily influenced for either good or evil, and persons who knew him well said, that any move or enterprise that had the element of danger in it, had a fascination for him that he was unable to resist. 

It was said of his family that the fear of man was something they knew nothing of. Still, they were peaceable in manners, and courteous to all, and a more law abiding citizen, or better neighbor than his father never lived.

(Pgs. 13-18)

*Written by my GGG Uncle Joshua Frier about 1890. The original manuscript is in the Florida State Archives.

 

 

 

THE WOMAN AT THE WELL

 4137

One of my favorite Bible stories involves what we have come to call “The Woman at the Well.”

 

The popular video series, “The Chosen” highlights this story, among many others. This segment is my favorite thus far in this series of videos.

 

I can tell you women were not highly esteemed in those days, nor did they have the same rights as their husbands. They lived in a time when the two major roles of women were taking care of the house and making babies. (And to be sure, these ARE extraordinarily important roles)

 

But Jesus came to break down such artificial barriers. He allowed the so-called unclean woman to touch him, to literally wash His feet, when he dined with the Pharisees, and He interacted with this Samaritan woman at the well. Not only was she a Samaritan, a mixed race of Jew and Gentile, but she was obviously a woman.

 

I love the scene in the movie in which Jesus says,

 

“I have not revealed myself to the public as the Messiah. You are the first.”

 

And the woman exclaims,

 

“You picked the wrong person.”

 

And then, and then Jesus responds with what has to be the most loving words anyone had ever said to her.

“I came to Samaria just to meet you!”

 

In our generation there is a popular adage that is more mythological than factual.

 

“We are all children of God.”

 

I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we ARE NOT all children of God. We are all creations of God. It is only after we bow at God’s feet, ask His forgiveness for the sins in our lives, and surrender to His leadership that we become children of God.

 

I think that’s what the Samaritan woman did that day. I can almost hear her as she finishes her conversation with Jesus, and heads back to her home. Listen, can you hear her?

 

“Amazing grace. How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.”

 

Well, to be fair that wonderful hymn of the Church was written almost two Millenia later, but I expect these words express what she was feeling that day.

 

I hope you will make that same decision for Jesus that the Woman at the Well made. My friends, I have no doubt whatsoever that she made that very decision, and that she was irrevocably changed. Her life would never be the same.

 by William McDonald, PhD

 

 

HOW LONG, OH LORD?

 4136

Pt. 1

And I think about all of us walking

 

 

our own Green Mile...

            

 

each in our own time.

 

 

But one thought

 

 

more than any other...

 

     

keeps me awake most nights:

 

           

If I have already outlived all those

 

 

Whom I knew and loved,

 

 

If I have already lived

 

 

so long...

 

        

how much longer do I have?

 

 

Each of us will live out our lives,

 

 

And ultimately… we will die.

 

 

There are no exceptions.

 

 

But, oh, God sometimes

 

 

…the Green Mile seems so long.

                                                                        

(Closing words from “The Green Mile” slightly edited to fit the focus of this blog)

Pt. 2

I can relate to the closing lines of “The Green Mile.”

Speaking of The Green Mile, my wife and I were watching this movie when we received the call that my father had passed from this earth. (Rather coincidental, I think, given the plot, and final lines in the movie).

Speaking of “The Green Mile,” I have often described myself as “The Last Man Standing.” You see, I have lost numerous friends, and yet, (so far), I find myself still living, and breathing, and moving.

I met Sam Jones and Bill Redden when we moved from Tampa to Northern Virginia in the early 70’s; after my stint in the Air Force. Sam was a slightly overweight, middle-aged black man who attended my church. He was incessantly happy, and enjoyed cracking jokes. His smile would light up the world. Bill, hmmm, I don’t recall where I met Bill. It’s possible he attended Christ Chapel also. Bill was slim, much quieter, and a bit pensive, I think. As with another duo I will mention, below, I thought of Sam and Bill and myself as a modern day version of “The Three Musketeers.”

Then there was Rev. Thellon Bryant. Having transferred from my position as Assistant Manager of the leased Woolco Shoe Department in Woodbridge, VA to my new position as Manager of the Woolco Shoe Department in Gadsden, AL, I had the privilege to speaking at a little church in Boaz, AL. (At the time I held ministerial credentials). “Bro.” Bryant apparently liked me, and my message, and subsequently offered me the unpaid position of Associate Pastor at Boaz Assembly. He was a southerner all the way, and had an infectious grin. I never thought I knew him all that well, but we were a very successful ministry team.

Pt. 3

Then there was SFC Bob Hoehne and WO4 Sam Simpson. (If you are a student of all things military, you will recognize the Army rank designations before their names.) Sergeant Hoehne and “Mr.” Simpson were members of my visiting personnel team at HQ, 2^nd Battalion, 116^th Field Artillery, Florida Army National Guard, Lakeland, Florida. Bob was from New Jersey. And I can tell you he was a “real piece of work.” (Unfortunately, he was a smoker, and, no doubt, his tobacco use contributed to his demise). He was “just full” of dry humor. I remember standing behind him in the breakfast chow line once when he told the cook, “Give me one grit.” Sam was almost all business; with an occasional exception to the rule. When asked where he was from, he would often say, “South America.” And when the individual would give him a quizzical look, he would continue. “You know, Alabama. It’s south, and it’s in America.”

SFC Clifford Morton was a permanent member of the Personnel Section at the same National Guard unit to which I previously alluded. He was a professional soldier. I will always remember an adage he quoted, and quoted often. “Know you stuff. (Well, he didn’t exactly use the world ‘stuff.’) “Take care of your people. Be a man.” He had previously served in Viet Nam during that unfortunate war. At the time he was a medic, and he claimed to have opened a body bag once, and discovered a badly wounded, but living infantry man.

Then there was Sam Bennett. I first met Sam at Calvary Assembly in Winter Haven. Sam was awarded the amazing honor of “Florida Teacher of the Year” sometime in the 90’s. He went on to compete for “The National Teacher of the Year” and he and the other finalists visited the president in the White House. Fast forward a few years, and Sam served as Dean of Education at Southeastern University, my alma mater, in Lakeland. In 2006 Sam offered me the position of adjunct professor, and I went on to teach there for seven semesters.

Afterward

All the friends whom I have alluded to in this blog were “larger than life,” and I miss them almost like I might miss my right thumb. And, as you might assume, I have wondered why I continue to be “left behind,” and “the last man standing.” (Of course, I’m not complaining. Life is good).

But, nonetheless, the lines with which I began continue to resonate in my mind.

 

And I think about all of us walking

 

 

our own Green Mile...

            

 

each in our own time.

 

 

But one thought

 

 

more than any other...

 

     

keeps me awake most nights:

 

           

If I have already outlived all those

 

 

Whom I knew and loved,

 

 

If I have already lived

 

 

so long...

 

        

how much longer do I have?

 

 

Each of us will live out our lives,

 

 

And ultimately… we will die.

 

 

There are no exceptions.

 

 

But, oh, God sometimes

 

 

…the Green Mile seems so long.

by Bill McDonald, PhD