CELEBRATING YOU. Pt. 1

I was listening to The Elvis Radio Channel this morning and George Klein, one of Elvis’ close friends, and the aging chief DJ for the Elvis Channel told a poignant story involving “The King.”

Not long after Elvis began his fledging singing career in the early 50’s, he was invited to perform on “The Grand Old Opry.” Well, having performed on that world famous stage, and having returned to his dressing room at the end of the show, a notable backup singer knocked on the door. And without so much as a ‘how-de-do’ he admonished him,

“Son, you just ain’t got want it takes. You ought to go back to drivin’ that truck.”

Fast forward ten or twelve years, and Elvis had just finished a performance in Las Vegas and there was a knock on his dressing room door. It may be helpful here to mention that Elvis wasn’t the type to forget anyone or anything, and he immediately realized this fella was the same guy who told him he didn’t have what it took to succeed as a singer. 

The familiar man with a familiar voice spoke,

“Hi Elvis. You remember me? I wonder if maybe you have a spot for me on your upcoming tour.”

To which Elvis responded,

“I’ll see what I can do, man. I’ll get back with you on that.”

After the obviously humbled man stepped away, and the door closed, George Klein said Elvis glared at him, and began to curse ‘a blue streak’ slinging words he’d never heard him use before. And after the verbal tirade subsided Elvis exclaimed, (paraphrased)

“Do you know who that man was? There are people out there who tell you ‘you can’t.’ There are folks who put you down, and who wouldn’t think of lifting you up. There are people out there who are in it for themselves, and who wouldn’t lift their little finger to give a new guy a good lead or a red cent. That fella was one of them. He ain’t gettin a d_ _ _ thing from me!”

I’ve met people like that, those who tell you that ‘You can’t’ or ‘You won’t’ or ‘You shouldn’t.’ And I’ve had a few in my own life with whom I have developed a close and seemingly abiding relationship; only to have them turn on me. And without pursuing this thought any further here, suffice it to say I think we all can relate. Dear readers, it ain’t fun. It can be excruciating and it can be demoralizing.

 By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 45. Copyright pending

If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
*************
 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin.

CELEBRATING YOU. Pt. 2

(Continued from Pt. 1)



Then there are the people who ‘hang with us’ through thick and thin. 

In the good times and the bad times. People who support us. People who affirm us. People who love and care for us. People who have our best interests at heart. People who would literally take a bullet for us. 

As a young counselor I took such a person under my wing and devoted a great deal of time and effort to training her to do very much the same thing I was doing. As a result, my impact was multiplied, and Sherri and I ministered together for a full decade.

My understudy proved to be one of the most naturally gifted persons in my chosen ministry whom I had ever met. And long after our paths diverged, she has continued to impact her generation; (and has made me inestimably proud).

Following is the text of a recent message my former co-counselor forwarded to me.

Thank you for all you have passed on to me.  I wasn't expecting the torrent of emotion to come forth as I began to pray for you.  I acknowledge that I am blessed to have you in my life and that you have continued to pour into my life and encourage me.  

It's amazing how few people we have in life that actually cheer us on. You celebrate me and I greatly appreciate it.  I also celebrate you and recognize your gifts and value all that you have to offer.  Sometimes we overlook the treasures that are right before us.  You are a treasure and gift to me from God.  Thank you.

It is impossible to give without also receiving; one of the basic tenants of leadership. 

I love Sherri’s characterization of ‘celebrating’ another individual’s life on the earth. To celebrate one another is a rich descriptiveness of who we are, what we have done, and how we have valued one another through the years; and a characterization to which I think I have never been exposed ‘til now.

In Hebrews 3:13 we find an admonition which reminds us of what we should be about.

“But day by day and as long as today shall last continue to encourage one another.”

I think the word, ‘celebrate’ is easily interchangeable with the third to last word in the foregoing scripture. 

Rather than demeaning, discouraging and destroying those whom God has set in our pathway we ought to, as my friend Sherri has so well said, 

…celebrate one another.


By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 45. Copyright pending

If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
*************
 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin.

PERSONAL PARALYSIS

I have previously reflected on the following experience, but not having ready access to that story among far too many files, and far too little time, I feel inclined to reflect on it again.

A few years ago I decided to trim my neighbor’s tree. Generally, I would not have been quite so altruistic, but the limbs of the tree hung over my driveway, and as spring approached each year a healthy supply of oak pollen showered my car, and the pavement upon which it was parked.
And since there was a basketball post just beneath the offending tree, it seemed good to me to prop my straight ladder against it, and having done so, I set about the task at hand.
Did I mention round posts and straight ladders are altogether incompatible? (Well, they are).
Suddenly, the ladder accomplished a task for which it was never intended. It became mobile. And I became its unintended pilot. Given the choice to ride the thing to the ground, or jump, I chose the latter.
And as I “winged my way to worlds unknown” I chose to land upright, (or something approximating it) and twisted my body just enough in my failed flight to the concrete to land on my right foot.
I knew. I just knew
My ankle was broken
After lying there a moment, and using my car for leverage, I stood upon my left foot, hop-scotched to my front door, opened it, and made my wife aware of my injury.
Fast forward several weeks, and I found myself in a prep room at Tampa General Hospital preparing to have my ankle reconstructed; since it was not only broken, but it was badly shattered.
Just prior to being wheeled into the operating room a nurse administered an injection to my right thigh, and explained that shortly thereafter my leg would develop a state of paralysis, and that when I awoke I would experience this condition for several hours prior to the restoration of feeling.
As she predicted, when I came to I was provided an entre into a state of being to which I had never before been privy.
For a full 65 years I had enjoyed complete use of all four limbs. Suddenly, I was short one. Initially, my paralytic experience was nothing more, nothing less than interesting. The natural scheme of things in which we move, and live and have our being had been interrupted. Perhaps if I expended a little more thought, a little more will power I could lift my leg an inch off the bed. (Well,… no). Perhaps if I focused all my energies on my little toe, I could wiggle that tiny digit. (Nice try).
Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch
By this time I had gone from being an interested observer to a concerned participant.
I imagined the worst. I mean, I could just see myself being discharged in this condition, and having to use a cane the last third of my life; while all the while dragging a useless limb behind me.
Alarmed, I spoke,
“Nurse, uh, you’re probably aware that my leg is paralyzed. Uhmm, does this sorta thing ever go wrong? Is there any chance I’m stuck with this dead leg for the duration?”
“Nurse Simms” assured me that the paralysis would abate, and that I’d regain complete sensation and mobility in the limb within a few hours.”
And true to her word, that is exactly how things fell together.
My nephew, his name was “Wade,” was born with a malady referred to as “Spina Bifida.” While he had some use of his arms and hands, his legs and feet were paralyzed from birth, and he was dependent on a wheelchair throughout his all too brief life. And though Wade endured countless surgeries, and a significant amount of pain and humiliation, he never seemed to complain, and it was if the angels had loaned him a permanent smile.
During the two decades Providence allowed Wade to grace this planet, I sympathized for and with him. However, it was only after his death, and my subsequent injury, surgery and (temporary) paralysis that I could truly empathize; since it was only after my own experience that I had any real hope of understanding what ‘til then was beyond my understanding.
I think this is a major reason Jesus came to the earth. In the eons which preceded God assuming human form, and adding the three letter suffix, “man” to His title, He had never been subject to flesh, frailty, fatigue or the limits of time and space. Suddenly, having purposely limited Himself, He was given personal access to the human condition; in a manner not heretofore possible.
Having experienced momentary paralysis I can empathize with the disabled in a way that I could have never hoped to do before the event.
Having taken on flesh and having lived among us, I am confident that our Lord Jesus Christ was afforded the wherewithal to empathize with mankind in a manner in which He had never before been able.
My favorite passage of scripture speaks to this concept, and my personal experience which I have just recounted causes it to be that much more precious to me.

“We have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with the feelings of our infirmities, but He was in all points tempted as we are; yet without sin.

Let us come boldly to the throne of grace that we may receive mercy for our failures, and grace to help in the time of need.” 
 (Hebrews 4:15-16)

By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 28. Copyright pending

If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
*************
 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin.

EMPTY CHAIRS

Empty chairs

Two empty chairs

Oh, they have been empty in the past. Anytime someone happened not to be sitting in them.

But this time is different.

For you see, they will never be occupied again; at least not by the original two who once filled them up.

I can still see my parents, Henry and Erma, seated in those matching recliners. Reading newspapers, or perhaps a National Geographic, or simply starring out onto their mobile home-side pond.

My dad loved that chair, or better put he loved what that chair afforded him.

Rest and relaxation. Information. For as I have implied, he gleaned his latest knowledge of the world here, as the result of television, or a favorite magazine. Discovery. For so often he would lift those ever-present binoculars, and gaze upon one or the other of “his” birds. And the gators which lolled their lives away upon the sandy beach below. 

More than once, many times more than once, I showed up, unannounced, and  invaded his “inner sanctum;” only to discover him in the midst of an ethereal sleep. Which, as with us all, is prophetic of that slumber which must overtake each of us one day.

And always, and without fail, I would exclaim,

“Wake up, Daddy. They’ll be plenty of time for sleeping!”

And he would rouse himself; if only long enough to acknowledge my presence, and e’er too many moments elapsed 

…well, you guessed it.

And my mother.

I think she occupied her matching recliner, more often than not, for the sake of a selfish agenda.

To simply dwell in the presence of the one to whom she had pledged herself; some six decades hence. For it was here that she experienced and enjoyed the presence of the man who had, long since, relinquished activity in favor of the sedentary. Oh, mama put up a good show of doing one thing or another, as she occupied her matching chair. But I think, I think, it was all about my dad. And the singleness of what took two to complete. 

And now. Now the chairs are empty.

My wife has a photograph of her parents. It was taken at the lake home of their son. And in that poignant picture Doc and Ruby may be seen seated on the lakeside porch, facing one another, and engaged in a private conversation; known and meant only for themselves.

I can picture my own parents engaged in a similar exchange. But that one set of chairs have been exchanged for another. What the years stole from them has been restored, and in good measure. 

Empty chairs. Not some cheap montage of wood and metal and fabric. But an almost spiritual place.

My father occupied his chair when, after his stroke and my mother’s subsequent inability to care for him, I made him aware it was time to submit himself to a nursing facility.

My mother sat in hers the last time we took her home for lunch, and the final occasion on which she saw her sisters; having been placed in that same facility. 

It was in this room, and in these chairs my parents lived the most and best of their waning years. It was here that they did the things people do as they scratched out what joy still remained to them in their declining years. It was here from which they entertained family and friends, complained about the weather, boasted of a new great grandchild, worried for the fate of the nation, laughed about a childhood picture, remembered something from their youth, memorialized a lost comrade; expressed some hope for our futures.

It was from these chairs they spoke and laughed and lived and loved, and gleaned from the gradually shrinking world around them. 

Empty Chairs.

Strange, how rich and full and almost complete an empty chair may seem.

By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 30. Copyright pending

If you wish to copy, share or save this blog, please include the credit line, above
**************
 If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following:  

Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blog titles will come up in the right margin.