PREACHING TO THE STARS

 4250

I will never forget Andy Bos; a 90+ year old man who attended our local church, and who happened to be the great grandfather of the well-known television and movie star, Taylor Lautner; (who has just completed the popular Twilight film series).

Time would fail me to provide you an understanding of the quality and quantity of Andy’s life and spirituality. Suffice it to say that he was a wonderful man who was taken up with Jesus Christ, his Savior, and looked forward to his long-awaited home in heaven. (In the last few days of his life, it was my distinct privilege to stand by his bed, and sing a couple of hymns to him. And as I did what I could to make his final journey easier, Andy raised his frail hands and whispered, “Hallelujah. Hallelujah.”)

A year or two prior to my friend’s death, I was provided the opportunity to teach a couple of Wednesday night series at my church, and Andy was faithful to attend. It happens that all our services are taped, and Mr. Bos made me aware that he always made a point to pick up one of my teaching cd’s at the end of each of my presentations.

More than once as I was chatting with him, Andy would smile and say,

“Brother Royce, you know my grandson is the actor Taylor Lautner. I have been sending him copies of your Wednesday night messages.”

To which I, no doubt, responded,

“Well, I hope he takes time to listen to them.”

(And I truly hope he has taken time to both listen, and reflect on his eternal destiny).

On this side of heaven we will never fully realize the impact which we may, as believers, be afforded.

Only eternity will tell the tale.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

SHIRLEY'S SANDALS

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In the early 90’s, possibly 1995, Dr. Dobson co-sponsored a week-long counseling seminar in Denver, along with The American Association of Christian Counselors. My wife and flew out for the seminar, and while Jean found various things to keep her occupied, especially sight-seeing (she loved Rocky Mountain National Park) I attended various daily subject blocks that were presented. Of course, I was in my early years as a pastoral counselor in Winter Haven at the time.

 

On the last night of the seminar, Dr. Dobson spoke to what was easily a thousand participants. Afterwards, he invited whomever would to speak to him a moment and have their photo made with him. It seemed like hundreds lined up for this howdy doody time with him. Since there were dozens and dozens of people ahead of me, I decided I would head back to the hotel where Jean waited. As I walked out the conference hall door, I rethought that decision, since I really wanted to meet the imminent doctor. I turned around and got in line. By this time I found myself like three people from the end.

 

Oh the patience of this wonderful man. He chatted amicably with each person, like they were long-lost friends, and posed for photos. From time to time, he would encourage friends of the individual he was speaking with to step up and pose with him and them. Time was dragging by, and the line slowly crept forward.

 

Finally, as I approached Dr. Dobson, there was one person in line ahead of me by this time, I looked over to my right, and Shirley Dobson was standing there, looking by impatient by this hour of the night, barefoot and holding her sandals in her hands.

 

I heard her say, “Jim, it’s getting late. We really need to go home.”

 

Well, you can imagine how disappointed I was, thinking “well, there’s one persona ahead of me, and now he’s going to turn on his heels, and walk out.”

 

But I suppose he spoke to her and encouraged his wife that he was almost done, I don’t recall now, and then it was my turn.

 

“And so, do you have a question or comment, my friend?” I had previously thought what I might ask.

“Dr. Dobson, if you were to give a pastoral counselor one suggestion, what would it be.”

 

I realized that was a broad, open-ended inquiry, but I thought Dr. James handled it very well.

 

“Well sir, if I had time to consider your question in the way it deserves, I might come up with something more profound, but my advice to you is to ‘be loyal to your clients, your pastor, your church and your God.’”

 

This bit of advice might not mean a great deal to you, but as a counselor it certainly registered with me.

 

I thanked him, and headed out the door, and walked a couple blocks back to the hotel where my wife was anxiously waiting for me. It was near midnight, and my Jean was frantic that I’d been mugged, and being held for ransom. She had asked a security guard if he would assist her, and he told her that if I didn’t show up soon, he would be glad to scour the streets for me. It was about this time that I appeared… and I won’t go into that, but you can imagine Jean’s relief, as well as her momentary indignation.

 by Bill McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

 

MRS. OLESON & THE KENTUCKY COLONEL

 4248

I have always loved “Little House on the Prairie.” “For my money,” this program is the most interesting and believable of any television series ever produced.

By now I suppose I have viewed every hour of the broadcast, and many more than once. In spite of this, I never grow weary of the program, and will probably be watching it until I take my last breath.

There’s one particular segment which features a unique blend of fantasy and reality, and curiously enough, for me it includes an exceptionally unique experiential quality about it.

Of course, “Mrs. Oleson” and her husband run the general store and restaurant in Walnut Grove, and as this story falls together, “Harriet” has contracted with a restaurant chain, “Mrs. Sullivan’s,” to enhance the profitability of her business. Ultimately, she regrets ever having “hooked up” with that corporation, and “Charles and “Nells” devise a way to get her off the hook.

As the show concludes, an old man drives up in a buggy. He is dressed in a white, plantation-style business suit, and wears the trademark white moustache and beard of a well-known character from the 20^th century.

“Well, hello. Is this your restaurant? I’m new to these parts, but do I have a deal for you! I serve up the best chicken this side of Kentucky. And I cook it in a blend of secret herbs and spices. Perhaps we can make a deal.”

To which Harriet responds,

“Only chicken? You only serve chicken? Why, that will never “fly” in Walnut Grove. Sorry, but I just can’t imagine generating any profit from a hair-brained scheme like that!”

And as the old gent prepares to drive away, he thanks Mrs. Oleson, and sets a course of another town.

As the southern gentleman disappears from sight, Harriet and Nells share a big laugh at the old man’s expense.

Yes, there are some pretty personal implications here for me.

In one way or the other I am not only acquainted with, (in my opinion) the finest supporting actor in television history, and the real-life original of that fried chicken entrepreneur, but also the primary individual upon whom “Little House on the Prairie” is based.

For you see, Mrs. Harriet Oleson is portrayed by Katherine MacGregor; who for a time was my pen pal.

I initially procured her southern California address, and wrote her a fan letter. She returned the favor with a two page letter of her own; along with a hand-drawn caricature of herself. We interacted several more times over the next few months. In spite of the Christian flavor of the television series, I learned that Katherine MacGregor is a Hindu, and that she has made one or more pilgrimages to India. And as you might expect, she seems to bear some resemblance to her television character. There’s just something about the manner in which she “comes across.” At last report, Ms. MacGregor is still alive and  well, and entering her 9^th decade of life. (She has, since I wrote this, passed away).

I am taken up with genealogy, and a few years ago I discovered that Laura Ingalls Wilder, (the circa 19^th century/20^th century variety, not the actress, Melissa Gilbert) was a distant cousin of mine; we both having descended from the well-known Mayflower passenger, Richard Warren.

***

In the late ‘60’s the authentic Colonel Harland Sanders spoke at my alma mater; Southeastern Bible College.

I sat a few rows from the front, and was afforded an excellent view, though his voice was so soft that even with a microphone it was difficult to distinguish all his words. What struck me was his genuineness, humbleness and general likeability. He was a born-again Christian, and even for my inability to hear everything he said, he was just so “there there,” and I left the school chapel genuinely impressed with the man.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

I'LL BE RIGHT BACK

 4247

Several years ago my wife and I attended a Ruth Graham seminar on the west coast of Florida. And as I recall, the multi-hour event included elective segments on any of a number of topics, and with such speakers as Damaris Carbaugh, the mother of Ellen (degenerate) Degeneres’ former girlfriend, (who was decidedly against the gay agenda), and of course, (it goes without saying) Ruth Graham, herself.

Well, for anyone who has known me very long, it should also “go without saying” that I didn’t drive an hour there, and an hour back, not to make Ruth Graham, the daughter of the famous evangelist, Billy Graham, my priority.

Apparently, one segment Jean and I attended finished early, and (also apparently) my wife got involved elsewhere, since I headed over to the main convention hall to get a “good seat.” And (you guessed it) Ruth Graham was scheduled next on the, well, schedule.

It can safely be said that I did, indeed, get a good seat since when I walked into the auditorium I found myself completely

… alone.

And since I had a few hundred seats from which to choose, I walked towards the front of the theater, and took a seat in the 3^rd row, center. (I simply don’t sit on the first row of a theater, church, auditorium, or fill in the blank. Somehow, it seems a bit comforting, if that is the word, to have something in front of me, and not, as it were, to have my legs hanging out in midair).

At any rate, as I sat waiting for Ruth Graham to make her debut, who should appear but, (you guessed it)

… Ruth Graham.

Ruth, (if I may be so bold to call her by her given name) came striding across the floor from right stage towards the left, and had walked perhaps ten feet when she saw yours truly seated in Row 3, Center. Suddenly, the young lady, (younger than me, and definitely younger than she is now) stopped, and said,

“I’ll be right back!”

As I recall, I sheepishly responded with,

“Uh, Okay.”

The well-known daughter of an even better-known father. The never-to-be-well-known, except in his little corner of the world, pastoral counselor.

Interacting at that moment, at least, on the same level. (Well, to be fair she was up on a stage, but you see where I’m going). We momentarily engaged one another as if we were acquainted.

I refer to such scenarios as

“creating memories.”

And though, if you asked her, Ruth may have long since forgotten that momentary exchange,

… I never will.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

TWO PEOPLE DRIVING ONE CAR

 4246

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 I would not be sharing this account.

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 share something equally wonderful and amazing that our Lord has done in your own lives.

 by Bill McDonald, PhD

 

ONE PERSON DRIVING TWO CARS

 4245

I was coming back to Winter Haven from Tampa yesterday on the Leroy Selmon Parkway, and cruising along at about 65 mph. I was in the second to the furthermost left lane, and preparing to move to the lane to my right in order to get on I-4. (I had witnessed drivers doing between 90-100 mph for the past couple of hours).

Suddenly, I looked behind me, and a gray sportscar, (I'm not an expert in brand names), came sailing up behind me. In my rearview mirror, I could see a man behind the wheel, and a woman on the passenger side of the car. In the space of a couple of seconds this particular clown was two feet off my bumper. I immediately followed through with changing lanes, and allowed this nut job to power past me. Much to my discredit, (not the wisest thing to do) I admit I laid on my horn for several seconds.

I simply cannot fathom how careless and uncaring some people are today when they get behind the wheel of a car. If you hope to see tomorrow, you literally have to drive for yourself, AND the character who seems to have a death wish.

One person driving two cars.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

THE HAND ON HER SHOULDER

 4244

The winds howled as Dottie Rambo walked along a Florida beach among the scattered pieces of driftwood. A small fire, built by her husband, Buck, flickered nearby. He was there, sitting a short distance away, as her protector. However, he wanted her to be alone with her thoughts. Dottie wanted to ponder the thoughts that were troubling her soul. An unfaithful friend had caused disappointment. Out of such troubled times, a song usually appeared. One was there, stirring in the heart of this lady who had been writing songs since she was 9 years old.

"There had been a very bad storm the day before," Dottie said, "and driftwood was scattered along the beach. I was going through a time that was a low valley for me. It was sort of a 'storm' in my own life. As the whitecaps broke across the water, and as I walked among the driftwood and the seaweed with my guitar strapped over my shoulder, I pondered the lyrics of several songs that the Lord seemed to be giving to me at the time."

"All of a sudden I thought, 'Lord, this storm is so much like my life, and yet, in the midst of the storms of life, you have been a shelter to me. When I can't take the storm, I run to you for that shelter and, suddenly, I feel secure.'"

"While thinking on those things and watching as the wind kicked up the waters, I began to write a song. The melody was coming as I played my guitar, but I could not find an opening for the song. I could not find a way to interpret the song, something that would give it a springboard.

"As I continued to walk, I pled with the Lord, 'Lord, how am I going to start this song?' And, as I was talking to God, the closeness of the Lord touched me on the shoulder. I felt his presence, so real. I had a very warm feeling and these words came forth: 'Thank you, Lord, I feel the touch of your hand, so kind and tender.' Then I started to weep and I said, 'Lord, that is how I will open the song.'" The words kept coming as the Lord gave to Dottie a message for her own troubled heart.

"I feel the touch of hands so kind and tender.

They're leading me in the paths that I must trod.

I'll have no fear for Jesus walks beside me

For I'm sheltered in the arms of God."

"So let the storm clouds rage high,

The dark clouds rise,

They don't worry me;

For I'm sheltered safe within the arms of God.

He walks with me,

And naught of earth shall harm me,

For I'm sheltered in the arms of God."

Dottie told me, "I asked the Lord to let me, at least once each year, write a song that will speak to the hearts of Christians everywhere." She did just that.