Pocketknives, Swords and Nuclear Bombs

There’s an old movie called, “Con Air.” The movie is all about the transport of prisoners from one state to another, by means of a 747 aircraft, and the unforeseen ramifications of one of those flights.

Well, I can relate to it, (and you will soon understand why).

The other night I was pedaling my bike the standard 10 miles I always pedal in the wee hours, when one of those handful of singular events transpired which have occasionally transpired over the past three years, as I made my nightly trek.

I remember the woman standing in the roadside landscaping of a bank, a small dog on a leash, and singing this weird melody.

And then there was the emaciated dog, tied to a lamppost, which I managed to untie, bring home, and subsequently farmed out to a no-kill shelter.

And how can I forget the young man who approached me on the sidewalk, while I was stopped at an intersection, and about to transect his pathway; only to look away for a moment, and when I looked back… he had disappeared.

So why would I think it strange that I encountered another of those singular events a couple of nights ago?

I was almost home, and in the middle of crossing four lanes of traffic, when I saw this forty-something year old fella in front of CVS, holding a cane, and wearing circular black earrings. 

“Hi man, can you tell me how to get to Havendale Boulevard from here?”

Well, you gotta know that the person writing these lines stopped my bike in its tracks, and as far away from said forty-something year old character, as possible.

“Well, yes… You just keep on keeping on down this street.” And I motioned to my right. “You’re still an hour from there by foot, I expect.”

The stranger looked dejected.

“Uh, okay. I just got released from the county jail in Bartow at 11pm, and I’ve been walking for 5 hours. I don’t know how much longer I can walk before I fall.”

The conversation continued.

“Well, I wish I had a car. I’d run you to your house.” (At least, that seemed to be a convenient thing to say at the time). And then it occurred to me. I did have a car, and even if I pedaled very slowly, I could still be home in six or eight minutes.

“Tell you what. Keep walking, and I’ll retrieve my car, and come back and pick you up.”

The vagabond offered to walk beside me back to the house, but it seemed good to me not to reveal the location of my domicile to him, (if you know what I mean). And so we both set off in opposing directions, and true to my word as soon as I got home I traded my bicycle for a 2015 silver Nissan Altima. 

Retracing my steps, or circular footfalls to be sure, I quickly caught up with the man whose named turned out to be, hmmm, I’ve already forgotten his name. But for the sake of this narrative, we’ll call him, “Johnny.”

It was still dark as pitch outside as I braked the car, Johnny opened the passenger door, and I asked.

“Uh, just to be sure. Are you safe?” (As if he would have told me he was about to stick a 38 revolver to my head, blow my brains out, and make off with my car).

The middle-aged man smiled, and said, 

“Yes, believe me. I’m safe. I’m just glad you came along. I won’t give you any trouble.”

Though I still carried a pocketknife in my pants pocket, I didn’t expect it would do a whole lotta good against handguns, rifles, shotguns; (or nuclear weapons for that matter).

Well, readers, Johnny was true to his word, and he didn’t give me any trouble. As a matter of fact, in between a few choice four letter words about his detainment at the county jail, he referred to me as a Godsend, and thanked me profusely for taking an obvious risk to (my) life and limb. 

It turned out Johnny had spent 21 days in the “caboose” for possession of a marijuana pipe, (and the raw resource which goes in it). And while I thought it odd that he’d asked the whereabouts of a well-known street, when he lived near it, I suppose I’ll go to my grave wondering about that one.

I once coined a phrase. 

“Momentary Ministry.”

You know. Momentary Ministry is that unexpected, momentary circumstance which comes to us virtually on the breeze. 

There’s a scripture which reminds us that,

“Before I ever took my first breath, you planned every day of my life.” (Psalm 139:16)

And true to this promise, I believe we can be sure that there’s no such thing as good luck, (or bad luck for that matter) and that way back in the eons, God, the Father, God, the Son, and God, the Holy Spirit “sat down,” and planned every day of every life which would ever live, and breathe and move upon Planet Earth. (Granted, each and every one of us are guilty of momentarily or altogether missing out on His Providential will).

But to return to our story…

Johnny and I finally rolled up to his house; having crossed Havendale, and driven another couple of miles. And as he paused to thank me again, I shoved a religious tract and a $10 bill in his left hand. 

I had come prepared for either contingency. A pocketknife and a “two-edged sword.”

Somehow I don’t think I will encounter any strange or unusual animal, angel or animated thing tonight. 

For you see, it’s cold out there, and the animals, angels and Johnny’s of this world will have to catch a ride with somebody else. 



By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 26. Copyright pending

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