AS YOU HAVE DONE IT TO THE LEAST OF THESE

 4288

There is a true story about a bedraggled young homeless man who walked into a church. He was late and the church was full. As a result, he walked down the aisle, and sat down square on the floor. Of course, all the parishioners were glaring at him the entire time. Now, a greeter, who also happened to be a church deacon, began walking from the back towards the unfortunate young man. Most everyone figured that the smelly vagrant would be ushered out of the church. However, this is when the most "strange and wonderful" thing occurred. Mr. Jones kneeled next to "Tommy", whispered something in his ear, and... sat down right next to him on the floor! The pastor had been presenting his sermon at the time, and stopped mid sentence. He was transfixed. He could only shake his head, and remind the congregation of the good Master's statement. "As much as you have done it to the least of my brethren, you have done it to Me."

SINGING WITH THE CIRCUIT RIDER

 4287

My wife was with our daughter in Massachusetts, as she was facing surgery at the time. And shortly after my wife flew out, the State of Florida was confronted with another hurricane.

I had planned to "hang loose" in my home in central Florida, as I had done with the previous six hurricanes in the last quarter century. However, when the television weatherman informed his Tampa Bay area audience that the storm had reached CAT 5 status and 180 mph winds while still a couple hundred miles out in the Gulf of Mexico, it seemed to me the Creator of storms was prompting me to "get outta Dodge."

My God-daughter, one of my former university students, and her husband, an Army chaplain, invited me to drive up to L.A. (Lower Alabama) in order to enjoy their company, and to avoid the effects of Hurricane Milton. I didn't need to be asked twice.

It goes without saying that I enjoyed my visit immensely. I love this couple and their precious children dearly.

While I was there it was decided that we would drive over to a pioneer village which, as you have probably presumed, included a General Store, miscellaneous old homes and buildings, various craftswomen weaving cloth, bottling honey, teaching children to make rudimentary dolls from corn husks, etc.

At one point we made our pilgrimage to what appeared to be some semblance of a church. Upon entering the edifice, we discovered a sixty something year old parson dressed in "Johnny Cash" black. He wore a matching wide-brimmed hat atop his cranium, and a cross around his neck. A guitar was attached to his neck by way of a wide leather strap.

"Parson Roberts" began to share his extensive knowledge of the Christian circuit riders. What they wore. Where they went. To whom they went to. The sort of sermons they preached. And what they sang.

Having reached the end of his, no doubt, memorized monologue, the good preacher asked,

"Does anyone have a favorite selection? I will try to sing it."

To which I responded,

"How about the Old Rugged Cross."

The good preacher seemed to think this was a good thing. And thus, he immediately began singing. And I could just not help myself.

I began singing the first verse in unison with him.

"On a hill faraway stood an old rugged cross

the emblem of suffering and shame..."

And "to put myself out there" just isn't generally my forte. But it just felt right, and it just felt comfortable. And I was not a bit anxious.

"And I love that old cross where the dearest and best

for a world of lost sinners was slain."

Somewhere between the first couple of lines of the song and the next couple of lines, I realized that my God-daughter Jaci was videoing us. And I was glad for it since I 'save' videos of family life, our travels, etc. on a storage device to be passed down to my children.

We proceeded to sing three verses of that old hymn. And as we sang, I found I missed an occasional word, as I hadn't sung that song in church, or otherwise for multiplied years.

As the circuit riding preacher man and I sang the last line of the hymn, and acknowledged one another, I stood from my pew, and we prepared to walk out of the old church.

And as we stepped out into the sunlight, I smiled, and experienced a quiet satisfaction that the same old Gospel message was going forth here in this little pioneer village in Alabama, as it has done in hundreds of thousands of localities throughout the earth over the course of two thousand years.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

THE TREE WHICH STOOD THE TEST OF TIME

 4286

I think I have a complicated relationship with trees.

I remember climbing a nearby mulberry tree when I was around 12, and chowing down on its lucious purple fruit, and coming home with the sticky juice smeared all over my shirt.

In recent years, I noticed a lone oak tree in a pasture; perhaps two miles from my home. It was obviously in distress, as there was an abundance of Spanish moss covering its branches. I actually felt sorry for the lovely little tree, and spent hours one morning pulling excess moss down from its branches with a steel rake. To no avail. The poor little tree eventually succumbed, and all that remains now is a skeleton of its former self.

And then there is a nearby tree, I'm not sure what variety, along a busy four lane highway, and which was, through no fault of its own, involved in a one car accident several years ago. A young lady died in the wee hours of the morning. I actually saw the remains of the car, and the ambulance, and the attendants doing their work, as I pedaled my bike along the other side of the highway. I don't know why, perhaps the result of a personal remembrance and memorial, but I retrieved a small piece of bark that had been shattered in the accident, and I keep it in my desk drawer.

Then, there was what I refer to as the "Posing Tree" in Kissimmee State Park. Around 1985 my parents and all of their grandchildren posed on and around it. Most of the grandchildren sat on this horizontal branch about five feet off the ground. My parents stood beneath. I still have that poignant picture. Daddy and Mama have long since gone on to their reward, along with one of the grandchildren. My wife and I visited this same tree a few years ago; a full third of a century after eleven members of my immediate family posed for that beloved photo. It looked so old and so forlorn. The reason was patently obvious.

However, the tree which I remember best, and think of most often was (and is) a tree which stood (and stands) across the street from my childhood church. You see, I used to walk past it on the way to my elementary Sunday School class. At that time, we met in an old wooden frame white house which was owned by the church. And the tree. It was (and is) one of the largest oak trees I had (and have) ever seen on this (or any other) planet.

Six and a half decades have come and gone, and the old wooden frame white house was demolished years ago. And the church no longer owns the property. As a matter of fact, I also have an affiliation with the building which replaced it. You see, a branch of a national bank, in which I do my financial business, covers about thrice the acreage on which the original Sunday School building once stood.

But, as I have already inferred, that big, beautiful old oak tree still graces the premises, and I can't help but admire it, and reminisce about "the good old days" when I walked past it on the way to my Sunday School class. Speaking of reminiscing, I was in this bank the other day, and began to share my story with one of the tellers. She seems fascinated to learn that this 75 year old man had walked past that same immense green tree, and stared up into its amazing canopy when he was just barely a tenth of the age he is today.

I cannot help but hope that this grand old lovely oak tree, which has graced "the City of Oaks and Azaleas" for over a century, continues to stand the test of time, and outlives me, and my personal memories of it.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

TWO PEOPLE DRIVING ONE CAR

 4285

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

 

MY PEN PAL MRS. OLESON

 4284

Pt. 1

It has been over 15 years since I took it on myself to locate the address of the woman who portrayed the "Little House on the Prairie" character, "Mrs. Harriet Oleson."

I noticed that Alison Arngrim, the young lady who portrayed Katherine MacGregor's TV daughter, had a Facebook page, and so I sent her a private message, and asked for her TV mother's mailing address. She was kind enough to respond and sent me her home/mailing address in California.

l immediately wrote "Mrs. Oleson," (not altogether believing I would receive a response from her). She had always been one of my two favorite supporting character actors, (the other being "Barney Fife," of "The Andy Griffith Show," portrayed by Don Knotts).

Three months elapsed, and I felt sure she wasn't going to reply to my letter, (especially since she was, by this time, 83 years of age). However, as 2007 gave way to 2008, I received a postcard from California with a very familiar name in the upper left hand corner.

Miss MacGregor took more than the usual care in responding to my questions, or at least the content of my letter. I had expressed how much I loved her gossipy, look down her nose, know it all portrayal of the Walnut Grove, Minnesota storekeeper.

Pt. 2

Following is the text of her postcard:

My dear Dr. McDonald (or William)

Finally, I'm getting around to answering some of my fan mail, and re-reading your letter of Nov. 20, 2007. It makes me feel terrific. It still amazes me that our TV show really became a classic. Yes, I do get a fair amount of fan mail - and occasionally I get one like yours - very complimentary but thoughtful - Thank you.

Tell me. What is Wikipedia? I'm not familiar with it. I loved your tribute to me and my character's self-aggrandizement, and then bearing the brunt of the actions chosen. Very good. All of the writers had a good time writing Mrs. Oleson's escapades.

Thanks so much.

Fondly, K.

On the bottom right, Miss MacGregor had drawn an excellent caricature of herself as "Mrs. Oleson" with the words, "Harriet Oleson of Little House on the Prairie" played by Katherine MacGregor

Pt. 3

Of course, I was elated, and having read the postcard several times, I added it to my autograph book which included the likes of John Glenn, Ted Kennedy, and Colonel Paul Tibbits (who piloted the first atomic mission over Japan).

I apparently wrote "Mrs. Oleson" a couple more letters over the next several years, though it is a fading memory. In one response, Katherine (may I call her "Katherine") referred to a book titled "Team of Rivals" which she had recommended to various people, and how that she'd heard Barack Obama mention it on TV. In her written account she told me that, "I puffed up like a Rhode Island Roster! I was so proud to hear him affirm my opinion of the book."

As you might imagine, I thoroughly enjoyed the original postcard, and this subsequent letter. But then... but then it got downright weird!

But allow me to regress a bit. I had previously made "Mrs. Oleson" aware that one of my distant cousins, "Janice Langston", had told me that she had been associated with Katherine in the local little theater production in her community.

Well, the famed self-aggrandized little Walnut Grove storekeeper would have none of it. She proceeded to deny knowing my cousin numerous times over the course of numerous letters over the course of numerous years.

Pt. 4

Katherine even wrote a letter to my cousin Janice, and asked that I forward it to her. Her letters to me on the topic, and the letter she wrote my cousin were laced with sentences such as, "I don't know her (you)" and "She (you) must have me mixed up with someone else" and "I have asked several other members of our production company, and they all deny knowing her (you)!"

Interestingly enough, it seems the members of Katherine's production company were primarily Hindu, many hailing from India. And it seems she was a Hindu convert herself, even during the time she portrayed the church going Mrs. Oleson on "Little House on the Prairie." (As a matter of fact, my pen pal missed the last couple of episodes of the show, as she was on a pilgrimage to India).

One letter really "got OCD." Miss MacGregor had written all sorts of notes on one of my original letters; all of which detailed the impossibility of having ever met my cousin.

I mean the ole girl was obsessed with this one thing, and continued to refer to it over the course of three years. Her last letter seemed almost belligerent in tone, and ended with,

"Please don't send me any more letters or photos. My fans have covered me up with stuff like that" (and) "I'm sending back everything you mailed to me" (and) "I'm just too old" (and) "This will be my final reply."

Post-script

"Mrs. Oleson" passed away seven years later having arrived at the grand old age of 93.

Based on the consistency of and content of her letters, Katherine and her TV character shared some similar traits!

by Bill McDonald, PhD

A BUNCH OF REAL CHARACTERS

 4283

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.

by Bill McDonald, PhD

I COULD RULE THE WORLD EXCEPT...

 4282

There is a story about Napolean in which he calls his subordinates together and pulls out a map of the world. Pointing to one location on the map, he says,

"I could rule the world, except for that one red dot."

Starring intently at the map, Napolean's lieutenants notice that their commander has placed a big red dot on the nation of England.

And in much the same way, I can see our natural enemy, Satan, holding a strategy session with his own subordinates. He, too, pulls out a map, a map of just one city, a city in Israel. Jerusalem. And like Napolean, old Slew Foot suddenly muses,

"I could rule the world, except for that one red dot."

Starring intently at the map of the holy city, Lucifer's lieutenants notice he has placed a large red dot on the site of a mountain, a mountain named Golgotha; the place of the cross.

by William McDonald, PhD