Skip to main content

MY NELSON MANDELA STORY

    Some years ago I was in New York, meeting some friends for dinner at a hotel near the United Nations.  I entered the hotel and walked into the elevator.  Inside were 4 very dark, nicely dressed young men.  They all wore bow ties, conservative suits and were very polite.  In broken English they explained the elevator was broken, take another please.

     I stepped out, looked around the lobby and realized everyone was a very black, conservatively dressed young man, wearing a bow tie…except me.  Something was up, so I went to an empty chair in the corner and waited.  This did not sit well with these individuals and they began whispering to one another, while watching me.  A few at a time approached me and asked what I wanted.  I said I was just waiting, smiled and continued to sit.  

     The lobby began to fill with more of these men, all dressed the same.  They would stop, confer with one another, point to me and soon I was drawing a lot of attention.   

     In a few minutes, a big rush of these nicely dressed men came in and in the middle of the group was Nelson Mandela.  He was smiling and taking direction from a couple in his group, who stopped, whispered to him and pointed at me.   

     With a look that can only be described as the pure love and compassion of God, Nelson Mandela smiled at me and said, “Oh, he looks OK to me.”  He winked and was hustled off into the elevator.

     Just as quickly, the lobby was cleared and I was alone.  It felt like I had been in the presence of someone who transcended our mortal world.  Someone who had no fear and was tied into the the spirit and goodness of our heavenly Father.


     I have met a few people like this in my life.   They are tuned into a different frequency and have risen above the fray of day to day irritations.  You look into their eyes and you see their pure, loving soul.  At the same time, they appear to be looking into your soul, to see if there is kindred spirit.  It is a warm, emotional experience…I look forward to it again.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

CAROL ANN COFFEE, YOU PLUCKED OUT MY HEART AND SQUISHED IT LIKE A GRAPE

      Two of my granddaughters are graduating from the second grade this month.   This realization produced a major flashback of my own graduation from second grade at Jefferson Elementary in Sherman, Texas, in May of 1958.      The last day of class we received our graduation certificates in a ceremony, followed by a picnic on the school grounds.   As we gathered our sack lunches, I saw a vacant seat at the table, adjacent to CAROL ANN COFFEE!   I had spent the entire school year worshipping Carol Ann Coffee from afar.   She was always pleasant, but didn’t really give me much thought.   I often sat on a bench during lunch watching her play or jump rope, daydreaming she would ask me to play with her.   Not unlike Charlie Brown from “Peanuts” who imagined the little red-hair girl paying attention to him, I was transfixed with Carol Ann Coffee.   She was taller than me, wore an abundance of petticoats and always ap...

MY BIG, GIANT BALD CHARLIE BROWN HEAD

     A cross I have had to bear since my birth is my  IMMENSE head!  Most men wear a 7 1/2 size hat or something in that neighborhood.  I wear an 8  1/8!   Mine is a big, bowling ball noggin’.          Even as a baby my giant cranium stood out.  When my parents took me home from the hospital the nurses after seeing my feet, hands and head thought I was coming in for my 1 year check up.  It has always been dubbed a “Charlie Brown” head.  I have never had much hair and what little I had has had to be spread over my “Jumbo Dome.”  My parents told me because of its size, I had difficulty lifting my head when I was a baby.  They said when I did, I was pulled side to side as I attempted to keep this boulder balanced.      As a little guy, I followed “Prince Valiant” in the comic strips and my parents got me his outfit for Christmas.  My head was so big, my mother had to spl...

CHRISTMASES IN GRAYSON COUNTY, TEXAS

      As we celebrated Christmas throughout my childhood, I spent a lot of time with kinsmen who grew up poor during the depression.   They “tsk- tsked” the relative orgy of gifts we received, while feeling compelled to tell us how rough they had it growing up.   It became a competition to detail how poor they were and how we should pity their plight when they were my age.      Stories abounded about their meager gifts and how glad they were to receive them.   We were told we should be ashamed of ourselves for asking for specific gifts and we should be grateful for what we received.   “Why, when I was your age, all I received for Christmas was a piece of hard candy and new shoelaces.”        OK, that’s pretty rough…but when it did not receive the proper response after the 20th telling, it changed to, “Why, when I was your age, all I received was a strand of barbed wire to use as shoelaces in my work boots.”...