LOOKING FOR THAT ONE

  I was watching a movie today about a military doctor who was assigned a patient with severe dental and lip injuries; as a result of an automobile accident.

This surgeon took extraordinary measures to assist his patient, and spent multiplied hours planning the initial, and subsequent operations. Never in his surgical career had he felt such empathy for a patient. Never in his life had he devoted such caring effort, or taken his responsibility so much to heart.

And though the young woman was gruesome to behold, and though her injuries were the worst he’d ever witnessed, he painstakingly went about his task. And for those several months and years he assumed a duel role; that of physician and prophet. For he could see the invisible as though it was visible.

The young woman often lashed out at him, wavering between despondency, anxiety, discouragement and outright rage. But nothing deterred him from his task, and over the course of years he performed surgery after surgery. And with each operation his dream took shape, and his young client seemed more confident about the ultimate result.

More than once someone accused the doctor of playing God. And though their remarks were critical in tone, the physician chose to regard them as compliments.

And what of the young lady, the recipient of all his skill and labor? Her facial deformities became less obvious, less hideous to those who beheld her. And with time the results of her unfortunate accident were almost imperceptible, until all that was left was a slight scar on one edge of her recreated lips. And her joy and the corresponding joy of her surgeon overflowed, and seemed to fill up the world around them. She was whole again. Her shame was vanquished.

And I think I forgot to tell you. Before her injury, our little heroine had been a military nurse. And she returned to her duties with more vigor and more enthusiasm than she had ever felt before. For having once been a patient, she could empathize far better than most.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that “playing God” analogy, and at first glance it’s a repugnant characterization, since there’s One God and I’m not Him. But that old adage, “Some people have to have a God with flesh on” rings true. We have been given a rare opportunity; an opportunity to play both prophet and God, and I say that with all due respect, and submission to the only One and True God.

There are those in our midst who will never excel, nor attempt to do so. There are those in our company who will be content to squander their God-given hopes and dreams. There are those who will make the cemetery richer; for the local cemetery is among the richest pieces of ground on earth. It is filled with all the unexplored and unfulfilled dreams of thousands of God’s creations; lying dormant, never to find fruition.

My message to you tonight is to look for that one; that one person among many who displays the kind of unexplored, just under the surface potential to be singular, to be great, to be used of Our Lord. Look for that man or woman who can be shaped, molded, impacted; for that one who, though sick, or sad, or even selfish has a pliable and contrite spirit, and who is increasingly ready to assume their God-given place on the earth.

Inscribed on the Statue of Liberty is a verse: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teaming shore. Send these, the homeless tempest tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” (Emma Lazarus)

Our mission is to people like that. The tired, the poor, the huddled masses, the wretched refuse, the homeless. And we have a lamp to light their pathway. And we offer them a golden door; a door that leads to freedom.

But many will refuse our comfort, and many will drift away. But if we can touch just one at a time. We may not be able to change the world, but we may be able to change the world of one person. Pour your efforts into all who seek help, who pleads for deliverance. Do this. Do this.

But look for that one; that one who seems to provoke you to do a little more. That one who not only needs a little more attention, but who, by words or action, places themselves in your hands, and bids you mold them into something lovely. Look for that one.

For you are both a physician and a prophet. So reminiscent of that doctor who bestowed his best labor on the little patient, earlier in this story. God calls you to pour healing suave in their wounds. He gives you dreams in the night on their behalf, and provokes you to see the invisible and impossible. You are a both a physician and a prophet.

Look for that One, that One who seems to provoke you to do a little more. That One who not only needs a little more attention, but who, by words or action, places themselves in your hands and bids you mold them into Something lovely. Look for that One.

(William McDonald, PhD)

AN APPOINTMENT IN SAMARRA

There’s a mythological story which speaks to the reality of, and certainty of death.

Years before Gabriel spoke to the Virgin Mary, or Moses rolled back the Red Sea, a powerful king named Zaidan ruled and reigned in a faraway land. The king was proud of his country and his people, and though he fiercely rendered justice to whom justice was due, he was also known as a man of rich compassion.

And as you might expect, the good king’s palace and its adjoining grounds were populated by a multitude of loyal servants. And as you might also well imagine, the ruler of this great land enjoyed the services of a few selected stewards whom had proved their loyalty, and who had ministered to his daily needs over the course of decades.

One servant, in particular, a man named Abdul, had from time immemorial fulfilled a brief, but (at least from the king’s point of view) necessary task. Outside of that singular, daily task, he was “given the run” of the palace, and little else was expected of him.

Oddly enough, when the waning shadows on the sun dial registered the 6^th hour of the afternoon, all activity in the inner sanctum of the palace ceased, the king mounted his throne, and a nearby eunuch slammed a mallet on a great silver cymbal. Three times. And as the last echoes of the great gong ceased to reverberate, a great door in the back of the massive room opened, and Abdul appeared, attired in blue and crimson, and marched down the long aisle which separated him from the ornate throne.

The king’s servants, male and female, lined each side of the aisle; soldiers on his right. Handmaids on his left; as Abdul navigated the fifty feet which separated him from the monarch whom he had grown to love and respect.

Pt. 2

Having reached the foot of the great throne, Abdul stopped, slammed his arms against his side, drew his left foot against his right, silently cleared his throat, and shouted the words,

“Remember, oh king…one day you must die!”

Having uttered those eight fateful words, he executed a military about face movement, and retraced his steps down the aisle, and out the main door of the inner sanctum.

And with this, the king stood and made his way out a side door, and into his adjoining study. As the door closed behind him, the assembled soldiers and handmaidens drifted back from whence they’d come; Abdul’s poignant message having impacted not only their beneficent ruler, but they, themselves.

“Remember, oh king…one day you must die!”

Abdul might as well have shouted,

“Remember, Hakeem, Remember Ayishah…one day you must die.”

The message simply never got old. It was simply too ‘there there.’ And if the king was hyper-sensitive to the message, Abdul the more so. It seemed to keep him and them focused on the gravity of life, and the priorities, good, better and best, which surrounded life.

And, dear readers, as I previously inferred, having completed his dreary daily task, Abdul marched himself out of the ornate throne room, and retreated to the servant’s quarters.

Having fulfilled his appointed daily task for several years, the time came when Abdul began to feel a bit unfulfilled. And one morning, after breakfast, he approached the king’s viceroy, and requested an audience with his beloved master.

Pt. 3

Abdul lost no time in explaining himself, and the viceroy lost no time in approving his request to meet with the king.

And as quickly as his wish was granted, Abdul was escorted into the king’s bedroom; (for he often had breakfast in bed). His monarch smiled, and greeted his favorite servant with,

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company so early in the day, my dear friend?”

Abdul cleared his throat, and spoke.

“Oh king, as important as I count my daily task, I sense the need of something more, an additional role to take my mind away from this dread, and dreary subject with which you have invested me; (but which both you and I believe is so crucial to your life and kingdom”).

To which the king replied,

“Abdul, you have been a faithful servant and a true friend to me. But if you feel you need some added task, I will allow it. You know my aged servant, Mohammed, just recently stepped down as my Steward of Royal Food Stuffs. I had been planning to procure a younger man to assume his place. But since this role only requires two days each week in which he mounted his camel, visited the local market, and ordered the necessary foods and wines, I will allow you to assume this additional role.”

And though any outward change in a solemn countenance in the king’s presence was considered disrespectful, Abdul could not contain himself, and a great smile lit up his face.

But since the king sometimes dispensed with formalities, and since he was alone with his dear friend, he could not help but emit a resounding laugh; which seemed to rise up from the depths of his belly.

Pt. 4

 And while, Abdul continued to march down the aisle of the throne room, and shouted the words he’d shouted so many times before, he assumed the secondary role as the Steward of Royal Food Stuffs, and made his way to the market on a bi-weekly basis.

A few weeks had passed since the faithful Abdul had assumed his added duty, and as he was leisurely strolling through the marketplace, and as he had begun to dicker with a local merchant for three bushels of dates, and ten kilos of olives, he happened to cast his eyes to the left, and what he saw caused an involuntary shudder to run up his spine.

Death Incarnate

What, (or perhaps the word is ‘Who’) greeted his eyes was none other than the Death Angel; (whom, as it fell together, was, apparently invisible to everyone, but Abdul).

The hideous creature was robed in black, (but contrary to our modern caricature, he held no scythe or sickle in his hand). As Abdul looked up at the magnificent being, (for he stood head and shoulders taller than the steward, and he was built like a proverbial bull) his black and threatening eyes caused the hair to rise on his arms.

For all his daily proclamations, Adul had never encountered the subject of his exclamations. Death. He immediately forgot about the dates and olives, and for that matter gave no thought to his mode of transportation; the camel which stood three paces away. But rather, he turned and ran as quickly as his feet could carry him away from the market, and into the desert. A full hour elapsed before he slowed, and began to walk. Another hour passed before he noticed the spire of the king’s palace, and he strode wearily through its main gate.

Pt. 5

Abdul lost no time in approaching the king, nor did he seek permission to do so; another breach in royal etiquette. But there was simply no time for etiquette.

He found the king just outside his royal harem; as he stood interviewing another potential concubine.

Falling down before him, Abdul exclaimed,

“Oh king, forgive my insolence; just this once. But allow me to make my plea. As I was in the marketplace today, and busy with the culinary affairs of my master, I saw something almost unspeakable. I saw the darkest, most evil creature you can possibly imagine. I saw the Death Angel. And dear friend (may I call you, ‘friend’) his gaze was absolutely penetrating, and great fear permeated the recesses of my soul!”

(and)

“Oh king, I gave no thought to the royal camel, but found my way out of the dark Angel’s presence, and crossed the desert on foot. Dear king, if I have pleased you, if I have done those things, and more that has been expected of me, loan me your best camel, and allow me to flee to the City of Samarra!”

As Abdul looked up from his place on the floor, he noticed something he had never seen throughout the multiplied years he’d served the king. A tear ran down the royal cheek, and anger suddenly registered on his countenance.

“My friend, of course you may borrow my prize camel. Lose no time! Make haste! Do not delay!”

And with this, Abdul kissed the king’s feet, rose from the floor, and made good his escape.

Needless to say, the king was incensed, and immediately ordered a garrison of soldiers to accompany him to the city in search of the interloper.

Arriving at the marketplace, the king cast his eyes among the hundred or so booths and stands which greeted him. Suddenly, he spotted the horrible creature; lingering near the place where his faithful servant encountered him.

Accompanied by his soldiers, he approached the dark gruesome beast, and exclaimed,

“Oh Death, my faithful servant, Abdul, was here just six hours hence, and he told me he saw you, as I see you with my own eyes now. And my faithful steward and friend, Abdul, claimed you glared at him, and threatened him with your gruesome countenance! Please give an account of yourself.”

To which the dark Angel of Death bared his yellow fangs, but spoke, it seemed, rather softly.

“Oh good king, I did not threaten your servant. I was only surprised to see him. For you see, I have an appointment with him tonight

…in the City of Samarra.”

Afterward

Over the past couple of weeks, I have experienced an unusual trend the likes of which I have never experienced before.

I was scheduled to see my dermatologist on a particular date next month, and realized that we were heading out of state the day of the appointment. I attempted to call a couple of times to reschedule my appointment, and after being put on hold I left a message, twice. And each time exactly nothing happened. I didn’t receive a return call from the doctor’s office. As a result, after two successive failures to return my calls, I got in my car and drove thirty miles to the dermatologist’ office, told them I had left two messages, that no one had returned my calls, and rescheduled my appointment.

And then we were scheduled to visit a local attorney’s office the end of this week to complete our Last Will and Testament, along with a couple of other forms related to our estate. Yesterday we received a call from the lawyer’s office. They had to cancel our appointment, as the result of a death in the family. However, one of the other attorneys in the office would be happy to meet with us the same day and hour… by phone. We politely declined and told the receptionist that we would reschedule at a later date. I simply am not going to interact about such a life-ending topic as death and disposal of my property by phone.

And then I was scheduled for my six month doctor’s appointment this week. As a result, I reported to the diagnostic company yesterday for my lab testing. After sitting down in the chair, and providing my name and insurance cards, I was informed that the doctor’s office hadn’t sent the order. As a result, I drove home, called the doctor’s office, and made them aware of this omission. I was assured they would contact the lab, and that I should return today. Having driven to the diagnostic center today, and having been escorted into the specimen room, the lab technician checked the computer, and once again the doctor’s office had failed to provide the required documentation. As a result, I called the doctor’s office again today, and informed them of the situation, and I rescheduled my appointment for a later date.

All that to say this. While several of my appointments were confused, delayed and rescheduled, each and every one of us have a scheduled appointment which will not be changed or rescheduled. Like Abdul in the story you just finished reading, our appointment with death is certain, and unchangeable, and the date is engraved in a proverbial stone, as surely as the date will one day be engraved in a literal stone which marks our final resting place. Certainly not the “funnest” subject anyone will bring up today, but it is an eventuality for which we must prepare.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

 

 

AN APPOINTMENT IN SAMARRA

There’s a mythological story which speaks to the reality of, and certainty of death.

Years before Gabriel spoke to the Virgin Mary, or Moses rolled back the Red Sea, a powerful king named Zaidan ruled and reigned in a faraway land. The king was proud of his country and his people, and though he fiercely rendered justice to whom justice was due, he was also known as a man of rich compassion.

And as you might expect, the good king’s palace and its adjoining grounds were populated by a multitude of loyal servants. And as you might also well imagine, the ruler of this great land enjoyed the services of a few selected stewards whom had proved their loyalty, and who had ministered to his daily needs over the course of decades.

One servant, in particular, a man named Abdul, had from time immemorial fulfilled a brief, but (at least from the king’s point of view) necessary task. Outside of that singular, daily task, he was “given the run” of the palace, and little else was expected of him.

Oddly enough, when the waning shadows on the sun dial registered the 6^th hour of the afternoon, all activity in the inner sanctum of the palace ceased, the king mounted his throne, and a nearby eunuch slammed a mallet on a great silver cymbal. Three times. And as the last echoes of the great gong ceased to reverberate, a great door in the back of the massive room opened, and Abdul appeared, attired in blue and crimson, and marched down the long aisle which separated him from the ornate throne.

The king’s servants, male and female, lined each side of the aisle; soldiers on his right. Handmaids on his left; as Abdul navigated the fifty feet which separated him from the monarch whom he had grown to love and respect.

Pt. 2

Having reached the foot of the great throne, Abdul stopped, slammed his arms against his side, drew his left foot against his right, silently cleared his throat, and shouted the words,

“Remember, oh king…one day you must die!”

Having uttered those eight fateful words, he executed a military about face movement, and retraced his steps down the aisle, and out the main door of the inner sanctum.

And with this, the king stood and made his way out a side door, and into his adjoining study. As the door closed behind him, the assembled soldiers and handmaidens drifted back from whence they’d come; Abdul’s poignant message having impacted not only their beneficent ruler, but they, themselves.

“Remember, oh king…one day you must die!”

Abdul might as well have shouted,

“Remember, Hakeem, Remember Ayishah…one day you must die.”

The message simply never got old. It was simply too ‘there there.’ And if the king was hyper-sensitive to the message, Abdul the more so. It seemed to keep him and them focused on the gravity of life, and the priorities, good, better and best, which surrounded life.

And, dear readers, as I previously inferred, having completed his dreary daily task, Abdul marched himself out of the ornate throne room, and retreated to the servant’s quarters.

Having fulfilled his appointed daily task for several years, the time came when Abdul began to feel a bit unfulfilled. And one morning, after breakfast, he approached the king’s viceroy, and requested an audience with his beloved master.

Pt. 3

Abdul lost no time in explaining himself, and the viceroy lost no time in approving his request to meet with the king.

And as quickly as his wish was granted, Abdul was escorted into the king’s bedroom; (for he often had breakfast in bed). His monarch smiled, and greeted his favorite servant with,

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company so early in the day, my dear friend?”

Abdul cleared his throat, and spoke.

“Oh king, as important as I count my daily task, I sense the need of something more, an additional role to take my mind away from this dread, and dreary subject with which you have invested me; (but which both you and I believe is so crucial to your life and kingdom”).

To which the king replied,

“Abdul, you have been a faithful servant and a true friend to me. But if you feel you need some added task, I will allow it. You know my aged servant, Mohammed, just recently stepped down as my Steward of Royal Food Stuffs. I had been planning to procure a younger man to assume his place. But since this role only requires two days each week in which he mounted his camel, visited the local market, and ordered the necessary foods and wines, I will allow you to assume this additional role.”

And though any outward change in a solemn countenance in the king’s presence was considered disrespectful, Abdul could not contain himself, and a great smile lit up his face.

But since the king sometimes dispensed with formalities, and since he was alone with his dear friend, he could not help but emit a resounding laugh; which seemed to rise up from the depths of his belly.

Pt. 4

 And while, Abdul continued to march down the aisle of the throne room, and shouted the words he’d shouted so many times before, he assumed the secondary role as the Steward of Royal Food Stuffs, and made his way to the market on a bi-weekly basis.

A few weeks had passed since the faithful Abdul had assumed his added duty, and as he was leisurely strolling through the marketplace, and as he had begun to dicker with a local merchant for three bushels of dates, and ten kilos of olives, he happened to cast his eyes to the left, and what he saw caused an involuntary shudder to run up his spine.

Death Incarnate

What, (or perhaps the word is ‘Who’) greeted his eyes was none other than the Death Angel; (whom, as it fell together, was, apparently invisible to everyone, but Abdul).

The hideous creature was robed in black, (but contrary to our modern caricature, he held no scythe or sickle in his hand). As Abdul looked up at the magnificent being, (for he stood head and shoulders taller than the steward, and he was built like a proverbial bull) his black and threatening eyes caused the hair to rise on his arms.

For all his daily proclamations, Adul had never encountered the subject of his exclamations. Death. He immediately forgot about the dates and olives, and for that matter gave no thought to his mode of transportation; the camel which stood three paces away. But rather, he turned and ran as quickly as his feet could carry him away from the market, and into the desert. A full hour elapsed before he slowed, and began to walk. Another hour passed before he noticed the spire of the king’s palace, and he strode wearily through its main gate.

Pt. 5

Abdul lost no time in approaching the king, nor did he seek permission to do so; another breach in royal etiquette. But there was simply no time for etiquette.

He found the king just outside his royal harem; as he stood interviewing another potential concubine.

Falling down before him, Abdul exclaimed,

“Oh king, forgive my insolence; just this once. But allow me to make my plea. As I was in the marketplace today, and busy with the culinary affairs of my master, I saw something almost unspeakable. I saw the darkest, most evil creature you can possibly imagine. I saw the Death Angel. And dear friend (may I call you, ‘friend’) his gaze was absolutely penetrating, and great fear permeated the recesses of my soul!”

(and)

“Oh king, I gave no thought to the royal camel, but found my way out of the dark Angel’s presence, and crossed the desert on foot. Dear king, if I have pleased you, if I have done those things, and more that has been expected of me, loan me your best camel, and allow me to flee to the City of Samarra!”

As Abdul looked up from his place on the floor, he noticed something he had never seen throughout the multiplied years he’d served the king. A tear ran down the royal cheek, and anger suddenly registered on his countenance.

“My friend, of course you may borrow my prize camel. Lose no time! Make haste! Do not delay!”

And with this, Abdul kissed the king’s feet, rose from the floor, and made good his escape.

Needless to say, the king was incensed, and immediately ordered a garrison of soldiers to accompany him to the city in search of the interloper.

Arriving at the marketplace, the king cast his eyes among the hundred or so booths and stands which greeted him. Suddenly, he spotted the horrible creature; lingering near the place where his faithful servant encountered him.

Accompanied by his soldiers, he approached the dark gruesome beast, and exclaimed,

“Oh Death, my faithful servant, Abdul, was here just six hours hence, and he told me he saw you, as I see you with my own eyes now. And my faithful steward and friend, Abdul, claimed you glared at him, and threatened him with your gruesome countenance! Please give an account of yourself.”

To which the dark Angel of Death bared his yellow fangs, but spoke, it seemed, rather softly.

“Oh good king, I did not threaten your servant. I was only surprised to see him. For you see, I have an appointment with him tonight

…in the City of Samarra.”

Afterward

Over the past couple of weeks, I have experienced an unusual trend the likes of which I have never experienced before.

I was scheduled to see my dermatologist on a particular date next month, and realized that we were heading out of state the day of the appointment. I attempted to call a couple of times to reschedule my appointment, and after being put on hold I left a message, twice. And each time exactly nothing happened. I didn’t receive a return call from the doctor’s office. As a result, after two successive failures to return my calls, I got in my car and drove thirty miles to the dermatologist’ office, told them I had left two messages, that no one had returned my calls, and rescheduled my appointment.

And then we were scheduled to visit a local attorney’s office the end of this week to complete our Last Will and Testament, along with a couple of other forms related to our estate. Yesterday we received a call from the lawyer’s office. They had to cancel our appointment, as the result of a death in the family. However, one of the other attorneys in the office would be happy to meet with us the same day and hour… by phone. We politely declined and told the receptionist that we would reschedule at a later date. I simply am not going to interact about such a life-ending topic as death and disposal of my property by phone.

And then I was scheduled for my six month doctor’s appointment this week. As a result, I reported to the diagnostic company yesterday for my lab testing. After sitting down in the chair, and providing my name and insurance cards, I was informed that the doctor’s office hadn’t sent the order. As a result, I drove home, called the doctor’s office, and made them aware of this omission. I was assured they would contact the lab, and that I should return today. Having driven to the diagnostic center today, and having been escorted into the specimen room, the lab technician checked the computer, and once again the doctor’s office had failed to provide the required documentation. As a result, I called the doctor’s office again today, and informed them of the situation, and I rescheduled my appointment for a later date.

All that to say this. While several of my appointments were confused, delayed and rescheduled, each and every one of us have a scheduled appointment which will not be changed or rescheduled. Like Abdul in the story you just finished reading, our appointment with death is certain, and unchangeable, and the date is engraved in a proverbial stone, as surely as the date will one day be engraved in a literal stone which marks our final resting place. Certainly not the “funnest” subject anyone will bring up today, but it is an eventuality for which we must be prepared.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

 

 

A BUNCH OF REAL CHARACTERS

 

Unlike some books which purport to be models of spirituality, the Book of all books, the Holy Bible, and He who inspired the Judeo-Christian text had and continues to have little or no interest in “false pretenses” or “putting up a front.”

For you see, the 66 books of holy scripture tell it like it is, and, as a result, the characters described therein are all too human, and their flaws are neither hidden, nor their attributes embellished.

Following are a few very good examples:

Adam was a lawbreaker

Noah was an alcoholic

Joseph was a slave, a suspected rapist, and inmate

Moses was a murderer

Rahab was a Gentile and a prostitute

Ruth was a Gentile and a migrant

David was an adulterer

Amnon had an incestuous relationship with his sister

Solomon was a polygamist

Thomas was a doubter

Peter was a double-minded man and denied the Holy One

Paul was a persecutor

 

I am so glad the Word of God described the foregoing characters with all their flaws, and all their deficits, and never attempted to cover up, nor embellish the traits which they exhibited. (And, interestingly enough, a large number of the characters I have described were direct ancestors of our Lord Jesus Christ).

Pt. 2 

But I think what is most striking, and most relevant about the descriptions of these men and women are the remarkable changes which are revealed to us, as each of their narratives are recounted. And in so doing, God, in essence, says, “Stay tuned. That ain’t all, folks!”

 

Noah built an ark which culminated in the salvation of eight souls; men and women who became the ancestors of every man, woman and child who inhabit the planet Earth.

 

Joseph was appointed to be the prime minister of Egypt, and managed to save the lives of not only his family, but the entire population of that nation.

 

Moses spoke and the ocean parted, and several million people walked across the dry sea bed, and, ultimately, inhabited the promised land we now refer to as “Israel.”

 

Rahab saved the lives of the two spies who had been sent to scout out the land of Canaan, and was, like Ruth, an ancient Grandmother of our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

David killed Goliath, the pride of the Philistines, and became the most loved, and best remembered king of Israel. He wrote much of the Book of Psalms, and was a direct ancestor of our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

Solomon became king of Israel after his father David, is credited with writing three of the books of the Old Testament, was known as the wisest man who ever lived, and was afforded the impressive task of building the first Temple.

 

Thomas, one of the original Twelve, was credited with evangelizing the nation of India, and he, ultimately, laid down his life for the Gospel there.

 

Peter, one of the original Twelve, was the Apostle to the Jewish nation, and he wrote two of the books of the New Testament. Tradition tells us that he died a martyr’s death in Rome, requesting that he be hung upside down on a cross; since he felt unworthy to die the exact same death as his Lord.

 

Paul was the Apostle to the Gentiles, suffered greatly on behalf of our Lord Jesus Christ, wrote half of the books of the New Testament, and after a lengthy imprisonment was beheaded in Rome.

 

I think if the end was so much better than the beginning for such a menagerie of lawbreakers, alcoholics, prisoners, murderers, prostitutes, adulterers, and persecutors, (only a few which I have mentioned here) well, there’s definitely hope for you and me.

Bill McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

 

POST TRAUMATIC STRESS MACHINE

(An excerpt from the autobiography of William McDonald, PhD)

In my previous chapter I alluded to (what was apparently) my first memory. Subsequent to the foregoing memory is another; diametrically opposite, dreadful, one which took up residence in my soul, and has lingered there my entire life.

Well, perhaps the foregoing paragraph is a bit dramatic, (but, as a child, you couldn’t have convinced me otherwise).

No doubt the following story occurred in the Spring or Fall, considering our geographical environment at the time, but I can’t speak authoritatively about this. But as my father might easily have testified in a court of law, Miami’s weather wasn’t for the faint at heart, (especially since he spent his days mopping hot tar on flat roofs, and carrying heavy buckets of the same stuff up tall ladders).

And by way of footnote, there was a time when daddy was climbing a straight ladder up the side of a commercial building, when his foot slipped. He and a five gallon bucket of scalding tar rode the ladder all the way to ground level. Unfortunately for him, his left leg landed in similar bucket of the fiery material, and immersed itself up to the knee. I cannot begin to imagine pain such as this. My father spent several weeks in the hospital. During that time the tar had to be stripped in layers off his lower leg.

Reminiscent of the tattoo on his forearm, he wore some grisly scars on that limb ‘til the day he took his last breath).

I think after my parents’ failed attempt to see a movie, only to discover I was safe and secure, (thank you very much) my mother’s anxiety about leaving me with Mrs. Hisey abated, and she was able to enjoy herself during their occasional attempts at marital recreation.

But not to be deterred, like a political candidate on television, I was “given equal time” and we also did things together as a family.

As I reflect on the story I’m about to share with you, however, I stepped away from the experience with a decidedly negative connotation.

…“if this is all there is to family fun, I need to avoid it at all costs!”

For on a given day, month and year, my dad and mom packed me into the family automobile, (I can’t tell you the make or model this far along) and off we went. Had I any inkling what “lay in wait” for me, I would have definitely avoided the excursion at all costs.

My mother might best comment on my first words, and when those first words were spoken, but I can imagine asking her,

“Mommie, where we be goin? Daddy plomised me a I-creme cone, if I be good.”

To which she may have replied.

“Yes, he told me. We’ll pick it up on our way home, Royce… if you’re good. But if you’re not, then…”

Well, I guess we drove 5-6 miles, and pulled into a busy parking lot. I looked around, and then upward. We were surrounded by tall buildings, and I could smell the salt air. It turns out daddy had laid a roof on one of these massive structures, and had discovered a little known attraction; at least little known in our little corner of the world.

“Royce,” daddy spoke. “We’re gonna do something super fun today. Look up at the top of that building,” (and I followed his finger to the sky).

“Son, watch this.”

I strained to see what my dad was referring to. Suddenly I saw it. A flash of orange and green color moving like a swift caterpillar along the edge of the roof. And then it was gone, but the noisy clatter continued and cut the surrounding air like a razor. Daddy told me to keep watching, and again a speeding flash of color, and as quickly as it appeared, it had vanished again.

My father’s voice was tinged with expectation and a bit of humor.

“Well, my boy. Do I have a surprise for you today!”

Judging from the speed of the whatchamacallit and its proximity to the edge of the roof, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be surprised.

I’m sure I looked at my mother, and no doubt, her face wore an anxious, “I don’t know how smart this is, but I guess we’ll give it a whirl” sort of expression.

As we closed in on the building, I could no longer see IT, but the sound of the machine grew louder with each step. Now we found ourselves in what I later learned was a revolving door, which brought us face to face with the ground floor of a vast department store, filled with everything from blue jeans to light bulbs to pogo sticks. While my attention was diverted, (I may well have been looking at the latter of the three afore mentioned items) my dad navigated his small family up to a set of two massive double doors.

Suddenly, I heard a thump that seemed to shake the floor beneath my feet. I think I felt it more than I heard it, and the vibration startled me. Then the large metal doors parted like Moses and the Red Sea.

I was so transfixed by it all that my mom almost dragged me into the elevator. This was a first for me, but considering my tender age, almost everything was a first for me. And as I soon discovered, the “firsts” for that day were far from over.

I recall a feeling of being suspended in mid-air as the elevator lifted off, and I found myself holding onto my mother’s left knee for dear life. As I glanced up at my dad, it seemed he was a veteran of this little floating room with no furniture. As a matter of fact, a mischievous smile played about his lips, and somehow this comforted me. I turned loose of my mom’s knee, and as much as a four year old can manage it, I tried to act nonchalant. But I could only wonder what terrible surprise awaited me on the roof top.

The buttons on the control panel were labeled 1-14, and when we drew to a stop, I noticed there was a circular pattern of green light around button #14. Mama had been teaching me to count, and I realized there was no #13. I vowed to ask her about the absence of this number later.

The elevator “stopped with a start” and the doors parted again. My parents and I stepped out, and I was surprised to find we seemed to be in the midst of a garden center. Rakes, and sprinklers and work gloves filled bins of all shapes and sizes. And then I noticed the sound, the same sound I’d heard outside the building, but now it was almost overpowering. And if sound can be perceived as a circular motion, these acoustic vibrations had such an impact on me.

Mama allowed daddy to lead the way, since he had first told her about this place. It seems my dad had come home all excited talking about this cool ride on the roof of the Webb City Building. It was only years later that I learned the details.

Daddy led us to an open doorway, and as I stood directly in front of it, I noticed a short flight of stairs. It was about this time that mama leaned over, and considering the decibel level, almost shouted in my ear, (in a tone of voice that was anything but reassuring).

…”Honey, I think you’re really gonna like this.”

I was led like a lamb to the slaughter up that short flight of stairs which seemed to grow progressively longer with each successive step.

And then… we were there.

As I stared in awe at the colorful, but foreboding piece of machinery, I almost mused aloud,

…“You want me to do what?”

Though my childish mind was immature and incapable of formulating such a phrase, with the passing of years I think those six words are as close as any to describing my perception of what greeted me that day.

“Royce, you’ll absolutely love it.”

“What daddy?”

I had been so transfixed with the scene before me that I hadn’t grasped what he said to me.

“Your mother and I will wait. Go ahead and get in line behind those other boys and girls.”

“You mean… all by myself, daddy?”

“Yes son. Of course.”

I hesitated a moment to see if he was joking. Apparently he wasn’t. And so I dutifully obeyed.

Even at this age I could do the math. There were seven children in front of me, and I noticed that the metal ogre was slowing to a stop. It wasn’t enough that the machine emitted creaks and groans and whistles, as it sailed along the circular track, but the boys and girls who rode that iron horse of a thing were even louder.

I watched them as they stepped out of their respective cars. Smiles lit up the faces of a couple of eight or ten year olds. But without exception, the younger kids seemed as pale as ghosts, and a little girl, (she might have been 5 or 6) first stumbled, and then “lost her cookies” on the boarding platform.

The attendant could only shake his head and groan. I felt something welling up inside of me, and I was close to emulating the behavior of the little girl. The seven of us, who had previously formed a perfectly straight line, had by now backed into a cluster. Had Mr. Nielsen been there that day, his rating would, no doubt, have revealed an utter contempt for this mechanical beast, and a very strong desire in all our hearts to simply… go home.

Now the attendant was mopping up the mess with a mop and bucket. I turned around so I didn’t have to watch the least favorite part of his less than

professional vocation. And I noticed my daddy and mama were watching me from the sidelines.

Henry McDonald’s son wasn’t about to chicken out at such a God-awful moment. No way, Jose. I didn’t have to ask. I knew what the answer would be. And as much as everything inside of me screamed for a way out,

… I knew it didn’t exist.

Then I did something that I would soon live to regret. As the young fella was putting away his mop and bucket, I stepped up into the number one boarding position, (but only three of the original seven children stepped up behind me.) I turned to look, and it was then I noticed two girls and one boy walking towards the staircase; hand in hand with their mothers and fathers.

But I had made my choice, if indeed a choice existed, and as the frustrated attendant opened the door of a brightly painted car… I stepped in and sat down. The young man buckled my seat belt and pulled it tight around my waist. I was committed, come hell or high water.

…(At least it was a good theory).

The metal monster picked up some momentum now, and my parents’ faces whizzed past at dizzying speed. I felt that old familiar queasiness in my belly and rising up in my throat. Someone nearby was screaming loudly!

And then I realized that someone

… was me!

I was on the back of a raging tiger. I was riding the crest of a hurricane-driven wave. I was a hapless bowling pin in the hands of a giant juggler.

Somehow I caught the eye of my mother, and she knew what she had to do. She rushed over to the little booth where the attendant sat with his hands on the controls. And as my vehicle completed yet another circle, I added words to my previously unintelligible tirade,

“Mommy. Mommy. Help me. I want off. Now!”

Suddenly, the forward motion of my vehicle slowed, and I dared to believe that I had been granted a reprieve from certain death. My agony abated and it seemed my salvation drew near.

As the car slowed to a stop I remember looking over at my dad. He was still standing in his original spot near the staircase; looking slightly embarrassed. How could a son of his, no matter how young, sacrifice an opportunity to prove his fearlessness, and wrest victory from defeat?

(Well, perhaps the foregoing implication is reading a bit too much into the scenario. But nonetheless, daddy didn’t appear to be a “happy camper").

No one had to beg me to get off the THING. I found myself helping the guy as he fumbled with my seat beat. I couldn’t get back on terra firma fast enough. I must have felt rather like the military veteran returning from combat duty, (though I wasn’t savvy enough at the time to bend over and kiss the ground).

For the moment no one was in line to ride, and the hideous sound of metal against metal had been stilled. Suffice it to say, I made a quick departure from “the scene of the crime.”

I think my dad was smart enough not to verbalize what he might have considered cowardice. After all, I had my mother to defend me. And she had cooperated in

my unexpected pardon from the throes of a fate worse than death; (or so it seemed at the time).

I never returned to that place, with or without my parents. At this juncture in life, the attendant would be my parents’ age, and my fellow patrons would, like me, be living out their early golden years. Amazing, how quickly six decades can fall through the sandy hourglass of time.

But I can assure you those two minutes that I “rode the whirlwind” impacted me far beyond their comparative brevity in terms of the expenditure of time.

For as a rule, I simply do not

… ride ROLLERCOASTERS.

Don’t, Won’t, Can’t, Shan’t, Nada

I am altogether cognizant that the rollercoaster on the rooftop was a pitifully small affair, and in the scheme of things no more than a kiddy ride. But they say everything is relative, and at least to me, I would have sooner climbed Mount Everest than finish the ride that day. And to be fair, that tiny piece of equipment could not have climbed much higher than a man’s head, nor shadowed a piece of ground much larger than half a tennis court.

And I have stood below some rather substantial coasters, and marveled at their width and height and length and breath. And I have wondered whether I could strap myself into one of those contraptions again; if my very life depended on it. (And it is amazing for me to consider how ten and twelve year old children find the wherewithal to ride such awesomely larger versions of the tiny machine I rode so long ago. It is beyond my comprehension).

Well, I am pleased to report that on such and such a day, perhaps six or eight years ago, I summoned up whatever one finds to summon up, and for at least the space of a few moments, I conquered those old, enduring fears which had limited me, and held me back in ways too numerous to count.

My wife and I live near the now defunct Cypress Gardens. There on the grounds of this famous tourist attraction sat two ancient torture devices, (or so it has ALWAYS seemed to me). Jean suggested I conquer my age-old fears, and step into a line of perhaps twenty people waiting to board the smaller of the two “torture chambers.”

But there was nothing remotely small about this one. Oh, of course it was a “David” compared to the “Goliaths” I have seen in some theme parks, but it was still plenty big; easily thirty feet from ground to crest, and covering the space of almost half a football field.

I admit standing there, waiting to board, I sensed a sure and abiding kinship with that small, familiar boy who once stood in a line, not unlike this one, so many years hence. And as my wife, in essence, assumed the role my dad and mom once owned, it was all so fresh, and new, and present again.

And perhaps in some not so explainable way, that little tyke, from a bygone era, stood with me, and once again abject terror filled his tear-filled eyes. And in some mysterious, but not so impossible manner he placed his hand in mine, and we steeled ourselves for a mission that neither of us had the wherewithal to complete

… alone.

Hand in hand we sat down together, and allowed a young attendant, (who looked remarkably like the one who had long since grown old) to buckle us in. And as our personal little “time machine” gained momentum, and we approached the steep incline of its first loop, I think that tiny, mirror-image of myself envisioned an opportunity where he might complete that which he had once begun.

And I think the older, heavier, balder version of that little man cast his thoughts backwards to a time and place when he had summoned up all that was good, and true, and brave about himself, when he took his place at the front of the line.

And as our colorful, little vehicle mounted the first, yet highest crest of that small-gauged track, and proceeded to drop into oblivion, I thought I felt the tender grasp of a tiny hand in mine, and somehow the boy compelled me to join him, and so we lifted our arms in unison.

And as my wife looked on, and as the coaster navigated first one loop and yet another ebb, I closed my eyes and contained a silent scream. And when I thought I heard a muted sound beside me, I turned… and the toddler rewarded me with a smile.

Time elapsing. Slowing now.

… Mission completed.

The friendly, young attendant unbuckles our seatbelt, and allows us to step out. My wife waves, and doubles her hands above her head, as if to say,

“It certainly took you long enough,

… but you did it!”

And for the briefest moment I think I see him again, and his little hand slips from my grasp, and he steps away. And with his fading presence, I think I hear a voice, a familiar voice, but young and vibrant once again.

“I knew it. I knew that I could do it.

… Now, let’s go home.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending