MY SHORT TERM GIG AS A 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 Bill McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

 

 

OH SO CLOSE TO FALLING ON MY ARSE

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Our tour group members checked into the Highlander Hotel near Newtonmore, Scotland, and feasted on a spread of sliced beef and broiled salmon.

As I stood up to leave the restaurant, I stepped backwards from the table, and realizing there was a ceiling to wall curtain to my left, I leaned slightly into it; expecting there to be a supporting wall behind it. (I was sadly mistaken). I found myself falling sideways into thin air. Realizing my calamitous predicament, my wife emitted a loud scream.

You’ve seen one of those commercials in which the guy is walking through a bunch of folks who are unmoving, and seem to be frozen in place? I picture the scene in the restaurant very much the same way. Well over a hundred men and women frozen in place, and looking in our direction.

Thankfully, I righted myself. (Perhaps the result of plenty of practice while working at UPS, as well as falling off bicycles). At any rate, the curtain bore the brunt of it, and I managed to tear the hem a bit at the ceiling. The near accident averted, I smiled sheepishly, looked over at a nearby table, at which was seated several of our tour group members, and I …snapped out a military salute!

Counting the two songs I have been privileged to sing to our group during this overseas tour, I suppose I will be referring to this mishap as my “Third Presentation” a.k.a. “Oh So Close to Falling on my Arse Presentation.” And whereas, my wife made videos of the first two renditions, I would rather have had one of my momentary mishap. I think it would have been a hoot.

When it is “all said and done,” I hope no one thought I had partaken of a wee bit too much of the Guinness, or Scottish whisky that night; which I had not. I had not had so much as a teaspoon full. 

At any rate, it isn’t the first time I’ve made a fool of myself in public. And I'm sure it won't be the last.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

MARRYING THE WRONG GUY

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As a counselor, I have shared a particular teaching with my believing couples which has been rather enlightening to them, and which has the capacity to provide them the impetus to "keep trying."

"Jane (or Joe, or June), you may feel you married the wrong guy, (or gal). You may think you were never intended to marry that person. And perhaps he, (or she) never was God's first choice for you. However, (and it's a big 'however'), once you uttered those 'I do's' in front of that preacher, (or notary), and swore to love, cherish and keep 'til death do you part, God took you at your word, and something magical happened! That person you stood next to suddenly became God's choice for you. Your new husband (or wife) was, and is God's will for your life."

(and)

"I know things happen. I know there are biblical reasons people divorce. However, divorce should be a very last resort when the will and blessing of God has been bestowed upon two people."

(and)

"Fight for your marriage. Don't let it become 'past tense' without doing everything you possibly can to salvage it."

by Bill McDonald, PhD

TWO PEOPLE DRIVING ONE CAR

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It was mid-afternoon, and Jean and I were on our way home from church, (or some other place long since forgotten.) She was driving our old green 1980 something Oldsmobile; a somewhat larger and heavier vehicle than one generally sees on the road today. We were traveling at 50 MPH, or more, and as we neared an intersecting road on our right, which was marked with a stop sign, a small blue car pulled into our pathway.

I could plainly see a man and woman in the front seat, and a little boy and girl in the back seat. I will never forget those precious little human beings as they sat there, eyes wide open, peering helplessly out the window, as our car swiftly approached them.  Less than 50 feet separated our two vehicles, and Jean proceeded to lock up the brakes. An accident was inevitable. As with so many traumatic events, time seemed to slow down. (Interestingly enough, I have read that this syndrome occurs because the brain is processing more information than usual in a miniscule amount of time.)

It was obvious that my wife had every intention of plowing headlong into the smaller car, (and no doubt, all the occupants of that vehicle would have been seriously injured or killed.) And though we were driving a much larger automobile, we also would not have been spared, since foolishly we weren’t wearing our seatbelts.

Suddenly, I just KNEW what I had to do.

I reached over with my left hand, took the steering wheel from Jean, and began steering it in a direction that would take us around the rear of the small vehicle. Amazingly, we cleared the back bumper of the little car by a foot. Both my wife and I found ourselves leaning hard in the direction of our passenger window. (As a result of that event, I can easily relate to the G-forces astronauts endure as they reach maximum acceleration.)

But our wild ride was only beginning. Our ungainly old car began a 180 degree slide. Suddenly, the back end was where the front end was just seconds before. Now we were sliding backwards. As the car lost momentum, we neared a wooden fence to our left which paralleled the side of a house. We finally slid to a stop in a grassy area, a few feet from the fence, very shaken, but not a scratch on either of us. 

As we ended our unexpected journey, I saw the little car as it turned left into the opposite lane of the four lane highway. The man didn’t even have the courtesy to stop and inquire about our well-being. The decent thing to have done, the only thing to have done, would have been to stop, especially since he had pulled in front of us, and caused a near fatal accident.

However, while this traumatic event was in the process of happening to us, another car pulled up to the stop sign. Having seen the spectacle falling together around him, I have no doubt that the driver watched in awe. The motorist asked if we were okay, and after we assured him we were, he drove away.

Only God. Only God. Nothing less than an abject miracle. The two occupants of our car and the four occupants of the other car might easily have died that day. And the spot which Jean fills in the audience tonight would be vacant, or filled by another, and I would be just as invisible now, and you would not be listening to the sound of my voice, nor been exposed to my obvious charm, or handsome face.

And I have no doubt He gave His angels charge over us that day, and when we needed a miracle, well, He gave us one. And I have no doubt, any one of you could step behind this podium and share something equally wonderful and amazing that our Lord has done in your own lives.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

GONE TOO SOON

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A couple of months ago a lovely young lady named Chelsea D., 27, was driving along a road in central Florida, not more than a quarter mile from my home, when an intoxicated 21 year old semi-truck driver slammed into her vehicle; killing her instantly.

I don't understand such an event. I simply don't. Nor do I understand the loss of several of my high school classmates in vehicular accidents just before, or just after graduation. 

Why are countless young people in our society denied long, successful and fulfilled lives? I didn't know Chelsea. She must have been very special, as family and friends have erected a beautiful make-shift memorial for her at the site of the accident. A couple of hand-crafted sunflowers, a circular wooden cutout with her name and dates. And a solar light.

I didn't know Chelsea, but I knew Beth. Beth was a year behind me in school, was a member of my choral group there, and was a minister's daughter. I don't recall saying a word to her, nor her me, but I realized her potential, and I knew she was surrounded by friends. Beth was taken from us when, after a date, her boyfriend turned into a rain swollen ditch, rather than the entrance to her subdivision. It had apparently been raining, and his vision was obscured.

It is extraordinarily perplexing, disappointing, and devastating. Personally perplexing since I have experienced numerous instances when I was a cat's whisker away from death, only to be saved from what seemed to be a certain fate. Four examples, all involving my personal automobile immediately come to mind. And there were others.

I came across a maxim in the last couple of years which purports to explain such a dynamic.

"When someone dies 'before their time,' it is obvious that God was done with them here. They had completed everything they were designed to do."

Well, while this is as close to a plausible answer as I have heard, it is simply not enough. It leaves us unfulfilled and searching for answers. And it leaves me with only one possible conclusion.

We are going to just have to wait 'til we stand before the Creator, when all the books will be opened, and all the questions will be answered.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

MEETING CORNELIA

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Sometime in the mid to late 80’s, I pulled my UPS truck up to the back door of a sports shop at the Winter Haven Mall in order to make a delivery there. As I exited, and pushed my hand cart up to that rear portal, a late model sedan pulled up beside me, and a middle-aged lady exited the vehicle.

At this point, I don’t recall our conversation, but to be sure the woman informed me that she was none other than Cornelia Ellis Wallace, the ex-wife of the former governor, and presidential candidate, Alabama’s George Wallace. It seems she was well-acquainted with the owner of the store, and had stopped by to see him.

 Cornelia attracted national attention on May 15, 1972 when she threw herself over her husband, George, after his having been shot four times during an assassination attempt in Maryland. At that time, Governor Wallace was promoting his bid for his party’s presidential nomination. Who can forget that poignant video segment which was highlighted on all the national news broadcasts?

Mrs. Wallace ran for governor of the State of Alabama in 1978, but did little active campaigning and finished last among thirteen candidates for the Democratic nomination.

As it fell together, one of my counseling clients attended the same church Ms. Wallace attended, and several years after I first met her, my client procured Ms. Wallace’ autograph for me. She succumbed to cancer in 2009.

My chance meeting and brief conversation with the illustrious Cornelia Wallace, at the back door of a mall sports shop, is among the most memorable of my life.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

 

ATTICUS

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Mary Badham portrayed the ten or twelve year old tom boyish daughter of a southern lawyer, "Atticus Finch," portrayed by Gregory Peck in the movie, "To Kill a Mockingbird."

As the movie falls together, Atticus is called upon to defend "Tom Robinson," (Brock Peters), an innocent black man, who has been accused of raping a young white woman.

Atticus is the single father of two children, "Scout" and "Jem." Among his most outstanding traits are empathy and consistency. He is moral, conscientious, and wise.

I have always loved this movie. Atticus seems to be an ideal father. He is strict when strictness is called for, understanding when understanding is what his children need most, and determined, above all things, to choose the right when choosing the wrong would be so much easier.

Atticus possessed the special wherewithal to stand alone when his standing alone was not only unpopular in his "neck of the woods," but could be downright dangerous, (as Scout was to find in her confrontation with the supposed victim's father).

Mary Badham, who is still with us today, remained in touch with Gregory Peck throughout the remainder of his life. And she did something some might think a bit strange. She continued to call the gifted actor by the name of "Atticus." 

"He was the epitome of his movie character, Atticus. He possessed all the traits of my 'To Kill a Mockingbird' father. I could not help but continue to call him by that name."

As a matter of fact, in one interview Ms. Badham slips, (and apparently doesn't realize it), and actually begins a sentence with, "And Atticus said..." (referring not to the movie character, but to Peck, himself).

What a precious relationship the two shared together. What a wonderfully good man the actor seemed to be.

by Bill McDonald, PhD