The Illustrious Iraqi Army

Today’s news reports claim that the City of Ramadi has been retaken from ISIS, and that the Iraqi Army is responsible for their defeat.

And we might all agree, (except the black-masked thugs which previously populated the place) that the elimination of this threat from a decimated city is nothing less than a good thing. 

And I’ll grant you that, “as far as it goes.”

However, what too easily passes as a great and momentous victory is, rather, comparatively small and long overdue. 

For you see, this gang of murderers, bank robbers, child abusers, and destroyers of archaeological sites numbers no more than 80 thousand (80,000); with approximately equal fractions of the whole spread between the nations of Iraq and Syria.

While the Iraqi Army is comprised of

… 2 million 800 thousand (2,800,000) active and reserve troops. 

Now you tell me. What’s wrong with this picture?

Over the past several months, we have witnessed the inestimable “courage” of this vast army; one of the largest armies on the face of the planet.

For you see, each and every time, without fail, representatives of this so-called “Army” has been threatened by members of the “Islamic State” they have

… run away “with their tails between their legs”

leaving their American vehicles and equipment for ISIS to use against them.

I have wondered what it will take for the nation of Iraq, as well as the other nations in the Mideast to mobilize mentally and numerically, and to raise up a joint host of “crusaders” and, (for they surely have the wherewithal) simply “walk all over” these black-masked “n’er do wells” who have troubled them for too long.

Should they fail to summon up whatever they have thus far so sorely lacked, and make better decisions than they have thus far made, there is every reason to believe that the footprints and tire tracks of this would-be caliphate will penetrate the very borders of those lands which they once held so dear.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 21. Copyright pending

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The Colonel

It was almost half a century ago, but it could have just as easily been yesterday.

I was a student at the (then) Southeastern Bible College, (now Southeastern University). As an off-campus, commuting student I was required to attend chapel services 2-3 times a week.

The guest speaker at one of the morning services was none other than Colonel Harland Sanders; founder and CEO of the world famous Kentucky Fried Chicken Corporation.

As might be expected, “The Colonel” was dressed in his equally world famous white suit, and “Southern plantation” tie. As he was introduced by the president of our school, he slowly strode to the podium, and proceeded to share the history of his enterprise, beginning with his adornment of chicken cadavers with various herbs and spices, in an attempt to determine just the right combination, for just the right taste. The man in white went on to detail how a single rural location duplicated itself, and how over the course of several years his brand of fried chicken became the best known, and most loved product of its kind in the world.

Three things about the “Kentucky Colonel” impressed me the most, or at least, have remained with me the longest.

His quiet and peaceful demeanor. (Even with a microphone, and sitting within a few rows of the front of the auditorium, I had to listen carefully to his words).

His “I’m really no different than you are” sort of presentation. He knew his roots, and they were humbler than most any member of the student body.

But more importantly, this man knew who he was, and to Whom he belonged. The Colonel acknowledged his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and gave Him the glory for how far He had brought him.

And though that old Southern gentleman has long since gone on to his reward, and while poor facsimiles of the Colonel have lately appeared on KFC commercials, of all the chapel services I attended at my beloved school, I think I will always remember, and cherish the one to which I have alluded the most.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 6. Copyright Vol.'s 1-15, 2015

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Blowing Off Some Steam

I have reached the conclusion that Americans are among the most ungrateful, non-committed, non-reciprocal people on the face of the planet. And lately I’m convinced that I am among a handful of people in this, or any other universe who care enough to keep their promises

… 100% of the time.

I mean, you send someone a birthday, or graduation or wedding or Christmas gift, and, in return, … not a word of acknowledgement or thanks.

(or)

You give, and give and give, and do, and do and do for other people, (and though not expecting anything in return) when you happen to need the smallest favor, he or she is nowhere to be found, or he or she makes you aware that, (sorry) he or she is a tad too busy to assist you.

(or)

You strike up a conversation with someone, and this or that thing is mentioned in passing, and this or that person gives you their word that he or she will take this or that specific action; only to be disappointed when days, weeks, months and years transpire, 

… and not a darn thing happens.

I mean, what’s wrong with this picture? As scripture puts it,

... "these things ought not to be."

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 21. Copyright pending

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His Providential Care

I worked in the sunlight, off and on, for decades. 

I earned a whopping $1.00 an hour back in the early 60’s, as a part-time nursery worker. After school each day, and on Saturday’s, I would trudge a couple hundred yards to Mr. Picken’s Caladium field, and proceeded to … pull weeds. And over the course of the 1-2 years I worked there, that’s about all I ever did. Not only did I get my fair share of muck on my skin, (which momentarily left me looking like a member of a different race,) but I received plenty of exposure to the sun. Later, I worked other outdoor jobs, including a twenty year stint as a UPS driver; the latter 8 or 10 years of my tenure wearing those “new-fangled” sexy, brown shorts.

At least in terms of the redeemed, I’m convinced that Providence has a way of, as scripture implies, working everything for our good, and the implication is that nothing occurs in our lives which is “independent of itself.” 

The following story illustrates my point well. 

I had set a tall rail ladder up against an old wooden basketball pole; in order to trim some oak branches on the edge of my front yard. Well, my friends, as I soon learned, a “squarish” ladder doesn’t fare well against the curvature of a round post. As I reached the four or five foot mark, the contraption began to wobble, and shift to the right. I had little choice, but to quickly navigate an escape plan of some sort. And since the concrete of my driveway, (and pain) awaited me, I decided that rather than landing on my head, or back or rib cage, I determined to provide fate the least amount of square physical footage upon which to exert its gravitational force.

As a result, I allowed my right foot to take the blow, and with my velocity spent, I dropped down on my hands and knees. I immediately realized that my body was a bit less perfect than it had been only seconds before. 

I had broken my ankle.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I submitted to surgery, and a half-calf cast.

(You recall what I mentioned about ALL things working for good)? 

As I was hobbling around the house on crutches one day, my wife noticed a previously circular mole on the back of my right calf, just above the top of the cast, had darkened, and taken on the shape of, (this is weird) 

… a valentine.

(But if it was a valentine, my dear readers, it was a valentine from hell).

Thus, I scheduled an appointment with my dermatologist, and after performing a biopsy, the test came back positive for a melanoma.

Did I mention that the cast was florescent yellow-green in color? 

(Well, it was). 

Jean and I mused afterwards that due to the contrast between the florescence of the cast and the darkness of the mole, she had easily spotted the thing, and called it to my attention.

Only God.

Not long after the cast was removed the melanoma was cut away, and since the surgeon insisted on excising what he referred to as “clear margins,” I lost approximately a quarter of the tissue on my right calf.

And while I can tell you, it “ain’t” pretty, at this writing I’m alive to tell about it, and have been given the inestimable opportunity and privilege of living, and continuing to care, and encourage and impact my generation.

“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God; to them who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 21. Copyright pending

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