CHAIRS

I can’t really account for it, but lately I have been thinking about chairs. Oh, not just inanimate chairs, but the connection they have to the animate beings which have sat in them.

The other day I was feeling a bit tired (given my consistently distorted sleep schedule) and headed to my room to take a nap. As I prepared to lay down in my bed, I gazed towards the far wall and saw the same thing I have seen there for several years.

Two chairs. One was for lack of a better characterization a stage chair. The other was, well, I will get back with you on that one. As you might imagine, given the term I have used for it, the afore-mentioned chair came off a stage. I was the staff counselor at a local church, and since there were three matching chairs on the platform, and only two were ever used during the services, I made a decision to “borrow” one of them for my office; which I summarily did.

Having absconded with the stage chair, it became a counselor’s chair in the space of the 53 seconds it took for me to walk from the front of the church auditorium, into the lobby, up two flights of stairs, and through the door of my second floor counseling office.

The chair was (and continues to be) constructed of heavy blue cloth seat and back cushions, and lightly lacquered wooden arms and legs. While it is fairly non-descript, it is at the same time sturdily built and comfortable.

I cannot begin to tell you how many stories I have heard while seated in that chair. Based on my average work load, I have counseled thousands of men, women, boys and girls as I sat in that chair. Amazing stories. Traumatic stories. Heart-rending stories. Women molested as children. Financial losses. Vocational issues. Mental illness. Abortion. Adultery. Failed marriages. Guilt. Unforgiveness. Child neglect. Imprisonment.

I like to think as I deliberated in and gave guidance from that chair that I have made a difference in countless lives; lives that I believed (and continue to believe) that God dreamed I would impact before He flung the worlds into space.

When I left my position with that particular church, the chair was the only thing which came with me. I could not bear to part with it. I have continued to offer counsel from its confines.

Pt. 2

The second chair? (Well, I’m glad you asked). The second chair is an old (a very old, indeed) rocking chair. Until tonight I have never seen another one like it. However, in the past five minutes I was looking at internet images of rocking chairs, and I found what appears to be a very close match. It was described as an “Antique Solid Quartersawn Oak Barley Twisted Caned Winged Rocking Chair.” What a mouthful! (I had always referred to this chair as a “Cane & Barley Rocking Chair”).

It is a beautiful turn of the 20^th century antique. The sides, arms and rockers are constructed of oak coated with the darkest brown varnish. The uprights and legs are, (as the title implies), uniquely twisted. The back and seat are wicker, and were evidently created from bamboo.

And as rare as this rocking chair seems to be, I can assure you it is even rarer still. Without contradiction, it is one of a kind. For you see a friend of mine handles estate sales, and one day he made me aware of an upcoming auction for which he was preparing.

The daughter of a late centenarian had recently contacted him. She was moving up north, and wished to divest herself of her father’s household goods and furniture. Her father? (Drum roll). General James Van Fleet; an Army officer who served during WWI, WWII and the Korean War, (during which time he was theater commander), and who was recalled by President Kennedy during the Vietnam Conflict; (though he was not assigned there). President Harry Truman called Gen. Van Fleet “the greatest general we ever had.”

My friend Calvin knew I was an amateur historian, and was aware of my three plus decades service in the military. Would I be interested in purchasing the rocking chair prior to the auction? Needless to say, it took me all of seven seconds to give him a resounding “Yes!” And best of all, when it was “all said and done,” I bought the chair at a fair retail (and not celebrity) price.

When I asked my friend about the history of the rocking chair, he was able to provide me a few basics. As a major in the Army, Van Fleet had been assigned somewhere in California, and had rented an apartment there. The rocking chair was, like all the other furniture in the apartment, owned by the landlord. When the then major was reassigned, he had loved and enjoyed the chair so much that he offered to buy it. And buy it he did. And it followed him for the next seven decades of his life on earth.

Since I purchased the chair twelve or fifteen years ago, I have attempted to locate a photo of General Van Fleet seated in it to no avail… until recently when I ran across a poor photocopy of a newspaper clipping on the wall of the county historical museum and library. Did I mention the general lived in this county for years? (Well, he did). In spite of the poor quality of the picture, there is no doubt about it. The general is seated in the rocking chair. Of course, I asked the librarian to make me copy.

I have often mused about the horrendous events of those seventy years, and the kind of thoughts the general must have thought while he was seated in his precious rocking chair. Remembering the First World War. Engaged in the Second World War. Theater Commander during much of the Korean War. His diplomatic service in Greece. What potentially life-altering decisions did he make? What military maneuvers did he conjure up? What edicts did he foment? What battles did he fight?

Pt. 3

But allow me to reflect on a couple of chairs much more near and dear to me than those I have previously described.

Empty chairs   

Two empty chairs

Oh, they have been empty in the past; anytime someone happened not to be sitting in them.

But this time is different.

For you see, they will never be occupied again; at least not by the original two who once filled them.

I can still see my parents, Henry and Erma, seated in those matching recliners. Reading newspapers, or perhaps a National Geographic, or simply starring out onto their mobile home-side pond.

My dad loved that chair, or better put he loved what that chair afforded him.

Rest and relaxation. Information. For as I have implied, he gleaned his latest knowledge of the world here, as the result of television, or a favorite magazine. Discovery. For so often he would lift those ever-present binoculars, and gaze upon one or the other of “his” birds. And the gators which lolled their lives away upon the sandy beach below.

More than once, many times more than once, I showed up, unannounced, and invaded his “inner sanctum;” only to discover my dad in the midst of an ethereal sleep. Which, as with us all, is strangely prophetic of that slumber which one day must overtake each of us.

And always, and without fail, I would exclaim,

“Wake up, Daddy. They’ll be plenty of time for sleeping!”

And he would rouse himself, if only long enough to acknowledge my presence, and e’er too many moments elapsed

…well, you guessed it.

And my mother.

I think she occupied her matching recliner, more often than not, for the sake of a selfish agenda.

To simply dwell in the presence of the one to whom she had pledged herself; some six decades hence. For it was here that she experienced and enjoyed the presence of the man who had, long since, relinquished activity in favor of the sedentary. Oh, mama put up a good show of doing one thing or another, as she occupied her matching chair. But I think it was all about my dad, and the singleness of what took two to complete.

And now. Now the chairs are empty.

My wife has a photograph of her parents. It was taken at the lake home of their son. And in that poignant picture Doc and Ruby may be seen seated on the lakeside porch, facing one another, and engaged in a private conversation; known and meant only for themselves.

I can picture my own parents engaged in a similar exchange. But that one set of chairs have been exchanged for another. What the years stole from them has been restored, and in good measure.

Empty chairs. Not some cheap montage of wood and metal and fabric. But an almost spiritual place.

My father occupied his chair when, after his stroke and my mother’s subsequent inability to care for him, I made him aware it was time to submit himself to the inevitable, and to enter a skilled care facility.

My mother sat in her chair the last time we took her home for lunch, and the final occasion on which she saw her sisters; having been placed in that same facility.

It was in this room, and in these chairs my parents lived the most and best of their waning years. It was here that they did the things people do, as they scratched out what joy still remained to them in their declining years.

It was in these chairs that they entertained family and friends, complained about the weather, boasted of a new great grandchild, worried for the fate of the nation, laughed about a childhood picture, remembered something from their youth, memorialized a lost comrade, and expressed hope for their children’s and grandchildren’s futures.

It was from these chairs that they laughed and lived and loved, and prepared to divest themselves of the mortal and to put on immortality.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

FALSE START

 

I suppose it’s been twenty years since we visited Andersonville National Historic Site in Georgia. And while our trip was very memorable, another what some people might think of a mundane event which preceded our visit is just as memorable to me.

My wife and I were navigating the highways and byways which lead to that infamous Civil War prison camp, (and I can tell you it is out in the boondocks) when I saw him. A small, yellow, non-descript, bedraggled dog walking along the side of the road.

And while many people would have “gone about their merry way,” I am extraordinarily sensitive to the welfare of animals, and I simply couldn’t. I immediately pulled over on the shoulder of the road, opened my driver’s door, walked around the front of the car, and found myself looking at the dirty creature.

The little pooch walked slowly up to me, and now I spoke to him.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere, boy?”

And then I bent over, and scooped him up in my arms. I didn’t feel I could leave him out there. Walking back around to my open door, I got back behind the wheel, and passed the pooch over to my wife.

“Honey, what are you thinking? We are hundreds of miles from home. We haven’t been to Andersonville Prison yet. And we will be staying overnight in a hotel.”

To which I replied,

“I can’t leave him here. I mean, he is all alone without food or water.”

Pt. 2

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to assume someone had dumped the poor pooch on the side of the road, like some people are prone to do. I knew there were dog and cat dump sites in various out of the way locations in our country. (And I can’t tell you how much that infuriated me).

Well, at this point we continued on our journey. We were still six or eight miles from Andersonville. As I pulled out onto the road again Jean continued to reason with me.

“We simply can’t take this dog with us. I know you feel sorry for him, but this isn’t going to work. What do you plan to do with him while we are at Andersonville? What do you plan to do with him at the hotel?”

I had driven all of a mile when I “came to my senses.” I had to admit my wife was right. What would I do with the hapless critter?

It was then that I found myself pulling off the road again. And now Jean placed the little canine in my arms again. Opening the door, and stepping out, I walked around the vehicle, and set the poor creature down in the low grass.

“I’m sorry, fella. Maybe it would have been kinder if I had never picked you up and given you false hope. I have no choice. I’ll have to leave you here.”

And leave him there I did.

Of course, as sensitive as I am about the welfare of the homeless, wandering animals of the world, I tried to rationalize my decision.

“It’s not like I was the person who dumped the little guy. He had already been dumped. I’m just returning him to the same situation in which I found him.”

(and)

“What else am I supposed to do with him.”

(and)

“If we were driving straight home, we could rescue him. But we are hundreds of miles and an overnight stay away from home.”

(and)

“At least maybe we got him closer to his destination and civilization.”

And with that, I got back in the car and left him standing there wondering what just happened.

Afterward

I have often wondered what became of the precious little pooch which I rescued on the side of a Georgia road; only to leave him minutes later in the same condition in which I found him. I don’t know how animals think, and feel, but I presume the poor little critter experienced significant hope and joy when I took him up in my arms, I placed him in my wife’s lap, and we continued our journey down the highway; only to leave him minutes later in the same sorry situation.

I suppose I console myself since I have saved twice as many animals, as I have left stranded by the road. You see, in my hour long early morning bike rides, I have rescued a homeless dog and cat, have brought them both home with me, and farmed each of them out to good homes.

 

It has been years since the foregoing incident occurred, and the hapless creature has long since gone on to his reward. Yet, I can only hope the little guy found a good home and lived out a long and happy life.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

A LITTLE OR A LOT

I was exchanging texts with one of my counseling interns today, and we were ‘talking’ about impact. And in the course of the interaction I typed,

“1^st Peter 1:17 admonishes us, ‘We serve a God who judges men according to their actions.’”

And I went on to write,

“As Christians God entrusts one or ten or a hundred people in our care, and allows us to exercise impact according to His own singular will.”

And shortly after I typed those words I thought,

“You know, it doesn’t much matter if we impact one or ten or a hundred, or a thousand or a million physically, emotionally or spiritually… as long as we make a difference in the lives of those whom He sets in our own individual pathway.”

One of my former counseling interns has gone on to work with the Christ for all Nations organization. She served as an assistant to the late founder of this ministry, Reinhard Bonnke, and continues in this role under the new president, Daniel Kolenda. This ministry has impacted multiplied millions of people, inestimably larger numbers than even the Billy Graham organization. In fact, CfaN has ministered to the largest number of people ever gathered together in one place, as well as collectively as a total of all its meetings, in the history of the world.

I have seen photos and videos of the CfaN African crusades, and the masses of people seem to stretch to the horizon with well over one and a half million people in every meeting. Of course, I am in awe of such numbers, and humbled that God gave me the opportunity to influence the young lady of whom I have alluded. As part and parcel of such an amazingly influential ministry Alyssa has gone on to impact the lives of countless more individuals than I ever have, will or could, and I can only imagine God’s resounding “Well Done” which she and the others in this ministry will hear on that Day.

Pt. 2

However, there are those among us whose impact is limited to one or two, and who will remain all but unknown, except to the God who knows all, sees all, and is incapable of forgetting our ministry to the lost and hurting of this world, be it one or be it multiplied thousands.

The Jewish people have an adage which has been increasingly burnt into the fiber of my being:

“He who saves just one life saves the entire world.”

In Matthew Chapter 25 Jesus speaks of impact using the analogy of a man who goes on a journey, and who lends his three servants’ different amounts of money, to do what they would and could with it, in order to increase the profitability of the principal.

To one He gives 5 talents, to one He gives 2 talents, and to one He gives 1 talent. The first two men invest the money and experience an increase. The third man hides the money, and all he has when the Master returns is the original amount with which he began.

Quite obviously this parable refers to Christ and the believers who have lived throughout the ages since His resurrection. The money with which He entrusted the men in the parable refers to the expectations He invested in us as individuals; before He breathed the worlds into place.

And, of course, the man who returns from His journey refers to the return of Jesus Christ from the heavens to receive believers into His eternal kingdom; at which time He will call on each of us to give an account for what we did with His plans and purposes.

It is interesting to me that each of the three servants were entrusted with varying amounts of money. However, the two who invested their Master’s money, (again, synonymous with the potential impact He affords us) each heard the same “Well done my good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.”

Pt. 3

As I have previously inferred, and as the foregoing parable implies, it is not about the size of the mission, but rather it is about the willingness of the servant to accomplish whatever plans God has entrusted him or her to fulfill; whether large or small.

To return to the example of the amazing impact of the Christ for all Nations organization. Whereas multiplied millions of souls have been ushered into the kingdom as a result of the outreach of this ministry, what are we to do with a man who once ministered on the same continent, but… well, allow me to share the following illustration with you.

Our pastor once told the story of a missionary, (I forget his name), but who was a member of a well-known industrial family. He labored in Africa for decades, and experienced a great deal of discouragement, (and not for no reason). For you see, over the course of forty or fifty years living on the dark continent, he never saw a single soul come to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ! Yet, who can nay-say this devoted minister’s noble efforts?

I am reminded of another of my counseling interns whose mission is, (at least for the time being) devoted to one man. She ministers to a man who suffers with a debilitating illness. She cooks for him. She cleans his house for him. She takes him to doctor appointments. She gives him his medications. He is entirely dependent upon her. Though Judy’s mission is all about one man, her impact is huge!

Afterward

In our culture size has become the primary factor in defining success, even among the Christian community. However, Christ’ parable, and the practical working out of His will among millions of believers assures us that our Lord defines success in an altogether different manner.

Spiritual success was, is and will always be about our willingness to make a difference in the lives of those whom God sets in our pathway; be they many or few.

 

“He who saves just one life saves the entire world.”

by William McDonald, PhD, Copyright pending

 

Father God, I pray for believers around the world who are going about your business on a daily basis. I ask God that you would bless, help and encourage them in their pursuit of your plans for their lives whether they are actively involved in the winning of souls, or the preparation of your people for service and maturity in the Faith. Father, I ask that you would encourage your people that success represents far more than numbers or the size of a ministry, and can quite possibly involve the assistance and encouragement of a single needy soul. Help us, Lord to be an extension of your healing hand and loving heart. In Christ Name. Amen.

 

BUILDING HIS OWN HOME

I was talking to a home builder yesterday, and I shared a story with him that I hadn’t thought about in a very long time. While I don’t recall where I first heard it, the details are, (for some unknown reason), engraved in my mind.

There was at one time a major builder in the southeastern United States which employed hundreds of workers in several cities. And among their twelve or fifteen first line supervisors was a man named “John Cooper.”

Whereas, John was known for efficiency and cost control, and had a good reputation, he had somehow managed to keep a little secret over the course of thirty years with the company. While he had maintained a fine reputation, his character left something to be desired.

And although he never directly profited from his shenanigans, nor was that his motive, he tended to “cut corners” whenever he had the opportunity. He used slightly sub-standard materials, and he pushed his workers to complete subdivisions in record time; (which, of course, led to issues with the quality of the finished work).

The years dropped like grains of sand in an hourglass, and John was finally nearing retirement. With just months left before his three decades’ long vocation became a memory, he received a work order from the president of the company; something which had never occurred in all his years as a first line supervisor.

The house was to be built on a beautiful two acre tract of land in the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina. He was afforded as many men as the job required, and then some, and he was informed that cost was not a consideration.

Pt. 2

However, as was common for him, John pushed his men to complete the home in record time, and insured that slightly sub-standard materials were used in the building of the house.

Finally, with weeks to spare, he notified the president of his company that the house was completed, and ready for occupancy. Having received the word from his subordinate that the work was done “Mr. Hargrave” informed John that he would meet him on a given day to do a “walk through.”

Thus, on Wednesday afternoon of the next week John drove the fifty miles which separated him from the home which he had recently completed. However, when he drove onto the property, he was hardly prepared for the sight which greeted him.

The lower roof and porch were decked out with ribbons, and a banner hung from the lamp post. But what absolutely “floored” him was the one hundred plus people standing in the front yard.

Now, as his car drew nearer to the house, he could read the wording on the banner.

“Congratulations John! Happy Retirement! Welcome to your new home!”

 

And as the unscrupulous contractor parked his car, and stepped out of the vehicle, the company’s president strode over to him, and handed him the keys to his brand new home.

William McDonald, PhD

A WEE CAT IN THE WEE HOURS

I have been on a “guilt trip” today. (Yeah, I have).

I have previously written about a particular experience which occurred a few years ago. My wife and I decided to drive over to Cedar Island, a journey of a couple of hours, and spend the night in one of numerous bungalows on the island.

And since it was my habit to peddle my bicycle ten miles a day, but since I didn’t bring my bike with me, in the wee hours of the next morning, while it was still pitch black outside, I “wenta walkin.”

There is a causeway of sorts which runs the length of the island, and which includes a couple of bridges. And since our bungalow was located on the northern tip of the island, and the small town of Cedar Key was on the southern tip of the island, and there was a mile or two which separated the two ends of the island, it was convenient for me to get some exercise in before the sun peeked above the horizon.

In the space of forty-five minutes, I had journeyed as far as I possibly could, (since I had not then, nor now learned to walk on water). There were a few restaurants, one or two hotels, and a museum on this side of the island. (We had eaten at one of the restaurants the day before, and spent some time in the museum).

After I walked out on a nearby pier, and “taken a gander” at the bay, I decided it was time to turn around and head back to our bungalow.

Pt. 2

I was about halfway back to my destination, as I approached a small bridge. It was then that I saw it. I say “it” since I am unsure whether the animal was a male or a female. (However, for the sake of this story I will refer to the little thing as a “he”).

Twenty feet prior to reaching the bridge a yellow kitten blocked my pathway. (And he didn’t seem in any hurry to escape the threatening feet of a large stranger). As I reached the small cat, I bent over and stroked the non-descript creature.

Suddenly, the little fella laid his head on my right foot. It was more than obvious that the precious critter wanted to go with me, as if he realized that his chances “on the outside” weren’t all that favorable, (but that his chances “on the inside” would be geometrically better).

Now I spoke.

“I’m sorry little one. I can’t take you with me.”

(and)

“I’m a long way from home, and I just can’t do it.”

Having stroked the small creature for a couple of minutes, and having said all there was to say, I stood up and continued my trek back to my bungalow.

And although I have regretted that I could not offer any more comfort than I did to the little feline, I have never experienced any guilt about the incident

… until today.

Did I say I don’t especially like cats? (Well, I don’t). Did I mention that one of the major reasons I don’t want one in my house is the necessity of a litter box? (Well, it is).

However, in spite of my bias towards dogs, (and prejudice against cats) I am sensitive to the needs of all animals, and actually pray for all of the stray animals of the world on a daily basis.

 Afterward

But to return to my original theme. I was feeling guilty yesterday; guilty about not picking that little kitten up, walking her to our bungalow, and driving home with him.

I can’t account for it. I have no idea where those emotions came from. And as a rule, I don’t do anything worth feeling guilty about, and I don’t take those trips on a proverbial time machine.

It helps to reframe the experience. Reframe – to put a different spin, or interpretation or outcome on an old story.

I like to think that someone else came along that morning, or afternoon, or evening, bent down, stroked the kitten, and did what I didn’t do. He or she picked up the small creature and walked away with him.

It helps me to think that way.

by William McDonald, PhD

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Afterward

But to return to my original theme. I was feeling guilty yesterday; guilty about not picking that little kitten up, walking her to our bungalow, and driving home with him.

I can’t account for it. I have no idea where those emotions came from. And as a rule, I don’t do anything worth feeling guilty about, and I don’t take those trips on a proverbial time machine.

It helps to reframe the experience. Reframe – to put a different spin, or interpretation or outcome on an old story.

I like to think that someone else came along that morning, or afternoon, or evening, bent down, stroked the kitten, and did what I didn’t do. He or she picked up the small creature and walked away with him.

It helps me to think that way.

AFTER A WHILE IT STINGS A LITTLE BIT

In my work with my counseling clients, I enjoy using stories, illustrations and adages.

Sometimes I use a story based on a scene from the movie, "Rocky."

Rocky walks into the employment service and speaks to the employment counselor.

"Uh, hey there, I'm Rocky Balboa. I'm wondering if you got a great job for me 'cause like I'm thinking of doing something different. I mean I'm not bragging or anything, but I finished the 7th grade. Whatcha got for me?"

The employment counselor looks closely at Rocky and says,

"I know you! I have seen you fight. You are good! Why would you want to leave boxing? That's where the money is. I mean I can only offer you a menial job at maybe $6.50 an hour. Why in the world would you wanna leave what you're so good at?"

Now a lop-sided grin appears on Rocky's face, and he says,

"Well, uh, after a while it stings a little bit!"

Pt. 2

Relationships can sting a little bit. (And yes, sometimes a whole lot). Ministry can sting a little bit. (And yes, sometimes a whole lot).

Vulnerability often stings a little bit or a whole lot when we have “put it all out there” and someone has used and abused our trust. And more often than not, if and when we get hurt, and it begins to sting, we make a decision to shield ourselves from any further hurt, and our vulnerability melts like ice on hot asphalt.

I think we have all been there. I know I have. I have experienced many of those “stings” in both relationships and ministry. And as a result, I have been able to come along side my clients, and assure them, “I have walked in your shoes” (and) “I understand your pain.”

But I tell them something else, something they are often not prepared to hear.

“If you and I are to be successful, (whether in relationships or ministry or any other area of our lives) after we exercise vulnerability, and after we get hurt, and after we take time to grieve, we need to practice vulnerability all over again.” (Though obviously people don’t have permission to use and abuse us on a repetitive basis, and there are times we need to forgive, but refuse to reconcile).

Relationships can sting a little bit. (Sometimes a whole lot). Ministry can sting a little bit. (Sometimes a whole lot). But whether relationships or ministry, or anything else in life, if we are to be successful, we have to take risks, and we have to be vulnerable.

by William McDonald, PhD

ATTICUS & SCOUT

I watched a rerun of “To Kill a Mockingbird” a couple of weeks ago, and for some reason I have thought of this movie off and on since then. But more than the movie, I have thought of the actors in the movie; most especially Gregory Peck, who portrayed “Atticus Finch” and Mary Badham, who portrayed “Scout Finch,” his daughter.

I would love to see the current Broadway play by the same title. Jeff Bridges plays the “Atticus” character and Celia Keenan-Bolger plays the “Scout” character.

However, if I had my choice, (and had it been possible) I would have chosen to stand on the sidelines during the making of that 1962 movie. I was 13 at the time, whereas the actress who portrayed Scout was 10, (and at this writing is still with us and is 68 years of age).

Mary Badham was nominated for an Academy Award in the category of Best Supporting Actress for “To Kill a Mockingbird,” the first movie role in which she had ever appeared. (However, the 16 year old Patty Duke won the Oscar that year for her portrayal of Helen Keller in “The Miracle Worker”). Badham appeared in a few movies after “TKAM,” but none as memorable and enduring as her first. In 2016 she was invited to a White House screening of that old movie, and “rubbed shoulders” with President Obama and his wife. Today she is an art restorer and college testing coordinator, though she remains open to appearing in what she would characterize as “suitable” acting roles, (as she deplores the language and sexuality rampant in modern movies).

Pt. 2

However, all my previous meanderings are just an entre to what I wish to now share with you.

For you see, something almost magical happened during the course of the making of the movie which led to an irrevocable and ongoing connection between several of the main actors.

“Scout” has maintained a relationship with her movie brother, “Jem,” (Phillip Alford), and with “Tom Robinson,” (Brock Peters) until his death in 2005. However, given the roles they played in the movie, perhaps the tenderest and most abiding connection existed between Mary Badham and Gregory Peck; who passed away four decades after the release of the movie.

For you see, “Scout” continued to call Gregory Peck “Atticus” in their private conversations, as well as when referring to him in interviews and public conversations. Simply put her movie father was and would always be her “Atticus.” From Mary Badham’s perspective a significant symmetry and correlation existed between her movie father and the real man, and the traits of the “Atticus” character spoke volumes about those of the legendary actor.

But I think anyone who has watched “TKAM” would agree that “Atticus Finch” (and by implication Gregory Peck) comes across as a courteous, courageous, and caring man; (the three primary attributes I take away from the primary man of the movie).

Pt. 3

I did a little research before I “put pen to paper,” and what was so compelling to me were several dozen quotations of and about the mythical “Atticus Finch,” and upon which I conveniently assign Badham’s assessment of the man who portrayed him in the movie.

Following are some of “Atticus” words, as well as words people said about him in the movie:

“Sometimes we have to make the best of things, and the way we conduct ourselves when the chips are down—well, all I can say is, when you and Jem are grown, maybe you’ll look back on this with some compassion and some feeling that I didn’t let you down.”

“It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived.”

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.”

“He’s the same in the court-room as he is on the public streets.”

“The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.”

“Atticus had said it was the polite thing to talk to people about what they were interested in, not about what you were interested in.”

Pt. 4

I honestly don’t think it’s for nothing that the child actress continued to call Gregory Peck by his cinematic name of “Atticus” for the four decades which elapsed between the making of the movie and the day he went on to his reward.

And based on the content of the movie quotes, three of the character’s (and the actor’s) key attributes were Courtesy, Courage and the natural wherewithal to Care about people.

Scripture is replete with admonitions related to these attributes.

Speaking of Courtesy, in Gal. 6:10 we read,

“As we therefore have opportunity, let us do good to all men…”

Speaking of Courage, in Deut. 31:6 we read,

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."

And speaking of a Caring spirit, in Matt. 7:12 we read,

“Whatsoever you would that men would do to you, do you even so to them.”

I like to think that Gregory Peck was both righteously proud and humanly humbled when Mary Badham called him “Atticus.” I like to think her characterization of him “kept him on his toes” and caused him to redouble his efforts to emulate the “Atticus” character. I like to think that Mary’s use of the “Atticus” moniker conjured up some of the lines he once learned and spoke in the movie.

I think we all have something we can learn from “Atticus.”

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending