Wonders

You’ve heard of the Seven Wonders of the World? Actually, they fall into two categories: The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World and the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World were: The Great Pyramid of Giza, The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, The Statue of Zeus at Olympia, The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, The Colossus at Rhodes, and The Lighthouse of Alexandria. The earliest lists had the Ishtar Gate as the seventh wonder of the world instead of the Lighthouse of Alexandria. The list known today was compiled in the Middle Ages by which time many of the sites were no longer in existence. Today, the only ancient world wonder that still exists is the Great Pyramid of Giza. Hold that thought.

The Seven Natural Wonders of the Natural World include the Aurora Borealis in Africa, The Grand Canyon in North America, the Paricutin Volcano in North America (Mexico), Victoria Falls in Africa, the Great Barrier Reef in Oceania, Mount Everest in Asia, and the Harbor of Rio de Janeiro. All are truly wonders.

Except for the Great Pyramid at Giza, the Wonders of the Ancient World are now shadows of the past. And the Natural Wonders of the World will only remain as long as this world lasts. All these wonders were, and are, passing away.

There is still a greater wonder found in the Holy Bible in Romans 3:29, “Is He the God of the Jews only? Is He not also of the Gentiles? Yes, of the Gentiles also.”

Speaking of this verse, theologian Charles Hodge said, “We are so familiar with the truth contained in these words that we do not appreciate its importance. Accustomed to the varied beauties of the earth, we behold its manifold wonders without emotion; we seldom even raise our eyes to look at the beauteous canopy of heaven, which every night is spread over our heads. The blind, however, when suddenly restored to sight, behold with ecstasy what we regard with indifference. Thus, the truth that God is not a national God, not the God of any tribe or people, but the God and Father of all mankind, however little it may affect us, filled the apostles with astonishment and delight. They were slow at arriving at the knowledge of this truth; they had no clear conception of it until after the day of Pentecost; the effusion of the spirit which they then received produced a most remarkable change in their views and feelings. Before that event they were Jews: afterwards, they were Christians.”

In his little gem of a book titled, On this Day, author Robert J. Morgan wrote, “Ralph Waldo Emerson observed that if the constellations appeared once only in a thousand years, what an exciting event it would be. Because they’re there every night, we barely look. We should all be challenged to “Never lose a sense of wonder.” God’s mercies are new every morning, and we are surrounded by miracles every day.

Oh, that we might live out our days in childlike wonder of God’s creation and his goodness to the children of men.

Copyright 2025 by Jack McCall

Stress

I’m not quite sure when the word “stress” became so prominent in the modern vocabulary. When I was growing up the word was seldom used. My mother, a father’s wife, and busy homemaker, and mother of five never mentioned the word “stress” in our hearing, and I know she was often times pushed to the limits of her endurance. She certainly never mentioned the possibility of enrolling in a “stress seminar.” That’s because there was no such thing as a stress seminar in the 1950’s and 1960’s. World War II was still fresh in everyone’s memory. Consequently, hardship, difficulty, and sacrifice were considered a part of the human experience.

Our eldest son began to use the word “stress” rather handily when he was attending college. He would call home from time to time and lament, “Mom, Dad, I am so stressed!” I had difficulty understanding his dilemma as I did not remember stress being a part of my college experience. Not that I didn’t have some tense moments and a few close calls and at least one broken heart, but “stress?” I don’t remember feeling “stressed.”

The greatest teacher in human history warned of “perilous times.” The word “perilous” can mean “dangerous”, “risky,” “uncertain” which leads to another phrase, as in, “stressful times.” And these are certainly stressful times – made more stressful by words and phrases like “unsustainable” and “pandemic” and “systemic racism” and “social distancing” and (who would have imagined it), “masking.”

So, here are a few suggestions to help better handle the stress of our times.

Take a walk. Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, author of the multi-million selling book, The Power of Positive Thinking, was a great believer in taking a daily walk. Dr. Peale pastored Marble Collegiate Church in New York City and remained busy on the professional speaking circuit well into his 80’s. He was known to take a one-mile walk each day. He was oft to say, “miss a meal if you must, but don’t miss taking a walk.” My late mother offered many maxims, especially in her later years. One of my favorites was, “Work as long as you can, and keep moving.” The human body was built to move. Take a walk. It is a great stress reliever.

Keep in touch. Masks and social distancing are driving us farther apart, literally. Call up a friend and inquire as to how they are doing. Concentrate on being a good listener. Everyone needs a chance to share their feelings and their point of view.

Hug somebody. I know. I know. We are being conditioned to avoid shaking hands, so hugs are definitely off limits. I saw a sign in a hotel lobby this past weekend which suggested “keeping physical contact to a minimum” by “nodding,” “waving,” “saluting,” “elbow bumping,” “hat tipping,” and “foot shaking?” I’m not for foot shaking. Some one might think you were trying to trip them.

Back to hugging. Under current medical guidelines one should avoid the indiscriminate hugging of the general public. However, may I make a suggestion? Within the safe confines of home and family, for heaven’s sake, hug the people you love. Hug your wife. Hug your husband. Hug your children. Hug your grandchildren. Hug your dog. We human beings (At least most of us.) need to experience physical contact. It’s a great stress beater.

Stay connected to your spiritual roots. Don’t lose sight of the big picture. As my brother use to say about issues which we found stressful, “It won’t matter a hundred years from now.”

Copyright 2026 by Jack McCall 

Alarmists

Webster’s Dictionary defines alarmist as “one disposed to expect or prophesy calamity.”

When I was a student at The University of Tennessee many years ago I took a course in microbiology. The class met on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. My professor was a Dr. Mundt (May he rest in peace.) About every third class day Dr. Mundt would go on a rant concerning the bacteria growing in our refrigerators. He warned of impending sickness and even death coming to my classmates and me due to eating bacteria laden leftovers. I spent most of the quarter (It was before school years were divided into semesters) expecting some of my classmates to die any day. Fortunately, we all made it through. Since that day I have heard of no one dying from eating leftovers.

I am sure Dr. Mundt’s warnings were based on some clinical study in which laboratory mice were fed leftover pizza resulting in sickness and death. Of course, the mice might not have died from bacterial invasion. They could have had an allergic reaction to pepperoni.

I’m sure Dr. Mundt, a scientist, meant well, but I took his warnings with “a grain of salt.” I had learned in health class as a seventh grader that the human body is “fearfully and wonderfully made” and, therefore, equipped with a host of defense mechanisms. Among them are the human skin (a wonder in itself) the mucous membrane, the lymphatic system, and, of course, the body’s immune system. (I’ve always had great respect for white blood cells. They are at work 24/7.)

Since my college days I have eaten a ton of leftovers. So far, I have not died.

Before eating leftovers, I give them a three-way test – the eye test, the smell test and the taste test. If something green is growing on it, I throw it out. If it doesn’t smell right, I will discard it. If it passes the first two tests, I will taste it. If it tastes ok, I eat it. If some bacteria goes undetected, I trust my body’s defenses to take care of me.

I have noticed as of late a proliferation of alarmists. From weather forecasters to climate change advocates, to medical “experts;” you name it, it’s BAD, and it could get worse!

In the early spring of this year I heard a “weather girl” - (Excuse me, please. Let me be politically correct here) – a young, weather person who was female, say, in describing an approaching storm front, “There could be strong winds with the possibility softball sized hail.”

I immediately pictured balls of ice the size of grapefruits falling from the sky having picked up considerable momentum after plummeting for a few miles.

Of course, it didn’t happen. The best the TV station could do the next day to cover its tracks was report a roof had been blown off a mobile home near the Alabama line.

Who is to be believed anymore?

I, for one, choose to go with probabilities rather than possibilities.

There is a possibility that a super-sized meteor could strike the earth, knocking the earth out of its orbit and we would all be toast – possible, but not probable.

There is a possibility I could die in a plane crash the next time I choose to fly commercially - possible, but I like my odds to make the trip safely.

The odds are much higher that I will die in a car crash. I choose to keep driving.

You get where I’m going.

Before you react to the “chicken littles” of the world, best you check the sky for yourself.

Copyright 2026 by Jack McCall 

That's Cold!

My speaking travels have taken some interesting twists and turns over the years. One was particularly interesting.

One winter I received a phone call from a speaker’s bureau with which I had worked for several years. The call came just after noon. The owner of the bureau asked if I was available to do a speaking engagement “in the next few days.” I informed him that I was, indeed, available. He then asked if I would be willing to make a speaking engagement in Grand Forks, ND on the upcoming Wednesday morning.

As it turns out, two speakers were hopelessly snowed in near Chicago, and neither could make it to Grand Forks. Fortunately, we found out, I could fly “over” the snowstorm from Nashville to Minneapolis and “beyond” the snowstorm from Minneapolis to Grand Forks.

In checking with the airline, I found I could take a 6 am flight out of Nashville on Tuesday morning which would get me into Grand Forks by 4 pm on Tuesday afternoon. That was certainly practical, and workable.

In the hour that followed, as he shared specific details of the speaking engagement. Over several phone conversations, it became apparent that the bureau owner preferred that I leave Nashville earlier. In researching airline schedules, he found a Delta flight which departed Nashville at 6 pm, Monday, arriving Grand Forks at 10:55 pm on the same day. He almost insisted I take the earlier flight “to make sure I got there.”

So, after a few frantic hours of reorganizing the coming week, I found myself in the Nashville International Airport awaiting the departure of my 10:55 pm flight. As I sat in the terminal waiting area collecting my thoughts, I received an email from Delta Airlines on my cell phone informing me that my Minneapolis to Grand Forks flight was going to be delayed one hour, making my arrival time approximately midnight. I breathed a deep, long, tired sigh of resignation. I could see a long night ahead.

When I arrived on time in Minneapolis, I found the second leg of my trip had been delayed for another hour.

Now, I have traveled enough over the years to have learned how to make use of down time in an airport, but four hours is a stretch.

Fortunately, a girl’s high school ice hockey team, on its way back home to Winnipeg, was sharing the same flight with me. They were most entertaining. Their antics and the book I were reading seemed to make the time fly. These girls were all over the airport, laughing, listening to their iPod, horsing around, and bantering back and forth.

By the time we boarded the plane, they were worn out. The one-hour flight to Grand Forks was very quiet.

I arrived in Grand Forks, ND at 2:35 am CDT on Tuesday morning. The temperature was minus 20 degrees with a wind chill of minus 35.

When I was a boy growing up and attending public schools, most classrooms had a room called the cloak (or coat) room. Over the years, I have noticed cloak rooms in all kinds of buildings here in the south. They can be found in hotels, theaters, symphony halls, churches, etc. Thing is, they are used very rarely.

Over the course of my professional speaking career, I have been to the Dakotas many times. And here is one thing I have noticed. In that part of the world, they have cloak rooms…and they use them. In the wintertime you see cloak rooms crammed full of coats - coats hanging everywhere! And now, I am sure why.  I thought I had felt cold until I ran into minus 20 degrees. I find you have to be careful how you breathe.

From the first time I met some of the farmers from what former WSMV weatherman, Bill Hall used to call the “upper-Mid-west”, I sensed them to be a hardy kind of people.  They must be to survive the winters up there.

While visiting with some of the farmers who attended the meeting where I spoke, I ran into one older man who shared an observation.

As we talked about the cold of the night before, he said, “I had an old Angus cow deliver a calf out in the open in a minus 35 wind chill last night. She licked him off and got him up; and he got a belly-full of warm milk. He was standing beside her this morning.”

“When you live off the land, you see miracles every day,” he beamed.

The light in his eyes was worth the trip.

 Copyright 2026 by Jack McCall     

Changing Times

In 1973, I found myself, just barely out of college, managing a livestock market in Woodbury, TN. The facility, owned by Mid-State Producers, was managed by Tennessee Livestock Producers, a service company of the Tennessee Farm Bureau Federation. The market eventually became one of the largest feeder pig sales in all of Tennessee. I must admit the success of the market was not due to my management skills. It was simply a matter of being in the right place at the right time.

In those days, many a part-time farmer had a wooded lot or shed where he raised a few feeder pigs. My market drew customers from as far away as Chattanooga. Many would arrive at the market as early as 2:00AM in order to get their pigs unloaded and make it back home in time to go to work at their regular jobs. Fortunately, I had in my employment a crusty, old fox hunter named Ben Davenport, who, fresh off a fox hunt would arrive at the market in the wee hours of the morning to start checking farmers in.

Before the 70’s had passed, Tennessee had become the 5th largest feeder pig producing state in the nation, shipping over 1,000,000 feeder pigs per year.

Remember the adage from the wisdom of the ages: “And it came to pass?” Well, it did.

A few years back, I made speaking presentations on succeeding Tuesdays for The Mascahhaffs, LLC, a family hog operation based in Carlyle, IL. The Maschhaff’s bill their company as “Progressive farming…family style.” Theirs is quite an operation.

I drove up on each Monday and stayed at the Hilton Garden Inn just outside of East St. Louis in O’Fallon, Il. On an interesting note, when I drove over to Carlyle, I passed through Lebanon…Illinois, and when I arrived in Carlyle, I saw a road sign that read, “Nashville 20 miles.” That was Nashville, IL, of course.

When I arrived at the Maschhoff’s central office on the first Tuesday, I was in for a treat. I found that brothers Ken and Dave, fresh out of college in the late 1970’s; borrowed $3500 from an uncle and bought a half interest in their parent’s hog operation to get their start. They quickly expanded from 150 to 700 sows. Today, the Maschhoffs manage 200,000 sows. (That’s not a misprint.) That’s right -200,000! In a given year, they market through their network of producers 5.45 million market hogs. The Maschhoffs are the 5th largest pork producers in the U.S.

And, interestingly, they have managed to maintain a “family feel” in their vast operation. It was most refreshing to spend time with their management team.

In looking further back into their family history, I was amused to find the generation of brothers before Ken and Dave once expanded their operation by purchasing a ton truck which allowed them to haul 23 market hogs at one time.

Today, the Maschhoffs have an entire department which is exclusively devoted to washing and sanitizing the trailers which haul pigs to market.

The Maschhoffs take pride in the fact their operation provides pork for 16,000,000 consumers.

I well remember when our neighbors use to get together at “hog killin’ time.” As I young boy I was fascinated to see knives being sharpened, wash tubs being cleaned, scalding boxes being set, and fires prepared. It seemed like every neighbor who showed up to help brought a special skill to the event. I especially remember my mother grinding and “working up” sausage on the kitchen table. All told, we rarely processed more than a half-dozen hogs. That’s a long way from 5.45 million!

Bob Dylan was right when he sang, “the times, they are a’ changin’.”

Copyright 2026 by Jack McCall     

January 9th and 15th

I suppose January 9 and 15 will come and go without much fanfare this year. Of course, that depends on one’s perspective. January 9th marks the birthday of my late father, Frank Thomas McCall, SR. Born in 1922, my father was the eldest of nine children born to D.T (David Thomas) and Amy Manning McCall.

Dad passed away on Father’s Day, 2003.

On the 9th I will pause to reflect on his life and influence. I will think about his patience, his kindness, and his bashful smile. And I will recall his big, working-man’s hands, his silver hair, and his eyes of soft, sky-blue.

My father loved the land and he had the “gift” of mechanical genius which few possess. It can be said of him, “he never met an internal combustion engine he didn’t like” - (or couldn’t master).

He failed the 1st grade, or as they said back in his day, he was “held back” a grade; which turned out to be of good fortune for him. That landed him in the same class year as my mother. His elementary school years were spent in Carthage. Hers were spent in Riddleton.

They met as freshmen in the fall of 1937 at Carthage High School (Class of 1941.) Four years later, my mother would graduate Valedictorian of her class.

My father struggled during those four years. As a matter of fact, my father failed freshman, sophomore, and junior English. During his senior year he re-took all three along with senior English and any other required courses.

According to my mother, she had warned him if he didn’t graduate, they “were through.”

To this day he holds a record since 1941 at Carthage (now Smith County) High School – he passed four years of English in one year!

It is also to his credit that he bested my mother in one subject – typing. In typing class, he sat two seats behind my mother in the row to her immediate left. In “timing” tests she could hear him “burning up the keys” behind her, and she would lose her concentration resulting in his “beating her badly.”

I am one of those fortunate sons who can say, “My father was the best man I have ever known.” He was a prince of a man who taught by his example. I miss him.

My late mother was born on January 15, 1923. She “went on to her reward” in the fall of 2013. I still catch myself thinking of things I need to ask her.

Her occupation back in her day would have been listed as “housewife” or “homemaker.” She could have been an outstanding professional in any field of endeavor. She was a counselor to many, and possessed wisdom far beyond her education.

As my father taught by example, my mother taught by instruction. She was always teaching. “Every situation can make you or break you” was one of her favorite maxims.

In our formative years, when my brothers, my sister and I went out on dates, her parting words were, “Do as well as you have been taught” or “Do as well as you know.” That left us with little room for erring.

Her favorite scripture can be found in Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your paths.”

And quietly, subtly, as if she were tapping with a velvet covered hammer, she drove deeply into the hearts and minds of her children the great truth, “A good name is rather to be chosen that great riches, and loving favor rather than silver and gold.”

As I enter the autumn of my life I find the influence of the lives of my parents –my father’s example and my mother’s teaching – has greater impact on my own life now than ever before.

So, as this January comes around, I am inspired to live as my father lived, to teach as my mother taught, and honor their memories with thanksgiving.

Copyright 2026 by Jack McCall

Post Christmas and Pre New Year's Thoughts

For me Christmas Day came faster and passed more quickly this year than in years past. I think Thanksgiving Day showing up later on the calendar had something to do with it. I also blame the time change for throwing off my mental clock. Seems I heard more people complaining about traffic this year. The term “Christmas rush” may have to be changed to “Christmas rampage.”  I sensed a weariness in many this Holiday season. With the passing of time, it is becoming more difficult to “rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.”

In spite of the hustle and bustle I found great “comfort and joy” in a variety of Holiday sounds. Every year I rediscover great voices of the past, especially the “crooners.” This year names like Jerry Vale, Vic Demone, Mel Torme, Frankie Avalon, Mario Lanza and Paul Anka reappeared from the past. I especially enjoyed the unique voices of Ella Fitzgerald, Wayne Newton and Kate Smith.

I once heard someone say, “We do not sing because we are happy. We are happy because we sing.” It is the same with listening to great music.

The story was once told of the great actress and singer, Mary Martin. According to the story, she became very nervous one evening right before going on stage. Her director, sensing her dilemma, calmed her with these words:

“Mary,

 ‘A bell is not a bell until you ring it.

 A song is not a song until you sing it.

Love in the heart was not put there to stay.

Love is not love until you give it away.’    

Go out there and love your audience!”

This Christmas just passed I sensed that great singers of yesteryear loved their audiences.

I came across two great Christmas prayers this year. The first was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I think both are appropriate for moving from Christmas into a new year.

“Loving Father, help us remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of angels, the gladness of the shepherds and the wisdom of the Wise Men.

Close the door of hate and open the door of love all over the world.

Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting.

Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings and teach us to be merry with clear hearts.

May the Christmas morning make us happy to be thy children, and the Christmas evening {and the New Year, (words added by this writer)} bring us to our beds with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus’ sake.”

The second is credited to the New York Life Insurance Company, written in a time when great companies and corporations valued their people over profits. 

“Let us pray that strength and courage abundant be given to all who work for a world of reason and understanding * that the good that lies in every man’s heart may day by day be magnified * that men will come to see more clearly not that which divides them, but that which unites them * that each hour may bring us closer to a final victory, not of nation over nation, but of man over his own evils and weaknesses * that the true spirit of this Christmas Season – its joys, its beauty, its hope, and above all its abiding faith – may live among us * that the blessing of peace be ours – the peace to build and grow, to live in harmony and sympathy with others, and to plan for a future with confidence.”  

 Happy New Year!

Copyright 2025 By Jack McCall                                                             

The Greatest Story to Ever Unfold

It is a story of vast extremes…of a star and a stable…of angels and shepherds…of the most expensive gifts and the most inexpensive cloth…of time and eternity…of a holy God and sinful man.

Of Bethlehem, Phillips Brooks would write, “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

And so it was. All came together on that night in a stable in Bethlehem.

Before his birth, the angel of the Lord had instructed Mary to name her son Jesus: “For he shall save his people from their sins.”

Centuries before Mary brought her firstborn into the world, the prophet Isaiah would declare Him “Wonderful Counselor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.”

But the story goes back much further than that. Even before God created the heavens and the earth, the Lamb had been slain.

It seems God never does anything as an afterthought. Ancient wisdom declares, “The wheels of time grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine.” God took His time in letting this story unfold. He used the passing of centuries to reveal many things, not the least of which is the blindness of our stubborn human hearts.

No human being has impacted history like this babe born in a stable and laid in a manger. It is little wonder he is known by so many names: Advocate; Lamb of God; The Resurrection and The Life; Shepherd and Bishop of Souls; Judge; Lord of Lords; Man of Sorrows; Head of the Church; Master; Faithful and True Witness; Rock; High Priest; The Door; Living Water; Bread of Life; Rose of Sharon; Alpha and Omega; True Vine; Messiah; Teacher; Holy One; Mediator; The Beloved; Branch; Carpenter; Good Shepherd; Light of the World; Image of the Invisible God; The Word; Chief Cornerstone; Savior; Servant; Author and Finisher of Our Faith; The Almighty; Everlasting Father; Shiloh; Lion of the Tribe of Judah; I Am; King of Kings; Prince of Peace; Bridegroom; Only Begotten Son; Wonderful Counselor; Immanuel; Son of Man; Dayspring; The Amen; King of the Jews; Prophet; Redeemer; Anchor; Bright Morning Star; The Way, The Truth and The Life.

But he is best known as “Jesus, the Christ, the only begotten Son of God.”

Regardless of what we choose to call him, “there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.”

It seems there was some debate during his life as to whom Jesus really was. One day he asked Simon Peter this penetrating question: “But whom say ye that I am?” Simon Peter’s response was simple and straightforward. “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

Jesus, in so many words, explained to Simon that he hadn’t figured that out on his own, but God had revealed it to him.

And so it is. If we are to have this Jesus revealed to us it must be experientially. God, the Father, must seek us, He must find us, He must draw us by His spirit to himself and He must save us. It is ALL of grace. It is a gift, just like the babe born in a stable and laid in a manger.

Until God reveals Himself to us personally the Christmas story remains just that, a story…a story to be speculated upon and to be believed or disbelieved.

But if we come to know Him, the story takes on a breathtaking dimension… one “joy unspeakable and full of glory.” For God hath revealed Himself unto us in the form of his only begotten Son, “full of grace and truth.”

It is little wonder the angels sang, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men.”

May your Christmas be Merry and Bright!

Copyright 2021 by Jack McCall