Controlled Chaos

I watched a coil of wire as the strap that held it in place snapped. The wire looked like a giant toy Slinkey moving as the wire slowly to uncoil until the whole coil created another pile. I do not know what started the coil moving unless it was the sun heating the steel.

While working as a rural United States Post Officer substitute mail carrier, I was on my maiden voyage when the rubber band holding a cluster of slick magazines broke sending the large bundle all over my mail vehicle. The unique characteristic of rubber bands is they only work when under pressure. I suppose that the bundle of magazines created more pressure than the rubber band could hold.

There was time I was repairing a starter for my John Deere riding lawn mower. I removed a screw that released four springs and ball-bearings hurling them out the garage door and into infinity and beyond. I retrieved all but one spring that remains traveling somewhere out there in space.

Pull cords on small engines recoil due to a spring connected to a pulley. A couple of things can create uncontrolled chaos. One, if the cord breaks, the remaining cord will suddenly disappear into the mower and the recoil spring will unwind. A second thing is the recoil spring can break or disconnect. As the spring unravels, the pull cord will not recoil, or it can become knotted inside the mower.

There are thousands of ways to hold things together. There are all kinds of clips that hold stuff together. There are magnets that hold all those precious grandchildren’s pictures on the refrigerator. One of the greatest inventions is the zip tie. The possibilities are unlimited.

Another priceless invention for holding things together is glue. You have Elmer’s glue, gorilla glue, superglue, flex glue, JB weld, Tite-bond, and Tester’s plastic cement to name a few.

My first experience with glue happened in Beloit, Illinois at kindergarten. We used water and flour to make some paste to hold colored cutouts on paper. We graduated into Elmer’s glue, and it was an item students must have for school.

I was introduced to “airplane” glue after I received an AMT model car as a school Christmas gift. Back in the 1960’s, the Tester’s model car/airplane glue actually glue the parts together. The bonus was it had this wonderful smell. Remember it was the sixties and hippies enjoyed the smell so much that the changed the chemical makeup of the glue making model car assembly difficult. It did not set up as quickly as before and that wonderful smell was gone too.

When I graduated high school, I started work at Keystone Metal Molding in Clanton, Alabama. Keystone fabricated molding for automobiles. I worked in the boxing department making boxes for shipping the parts.

One of the pieces of trim had vinyl glued to it. It was a new glue which became known as “Superglue.” I was young, naïve, and trusting. A co-worker said, “Hopper, give me your pointer finger.” Knowing what I know now, I should have given him my middle finger!

I held out my pointer finger, and he placed a small drop of a clear substance on it. He said, “Hold your thumb on the finger for a little bit.” Like a dumb country redneck, I did. For the next hour I tried to unglue my finger. I used mineral spirits, acetone, and other solvents. I worked it almost loose, but one tiny place held my fingers together. I finally took my pocketknife and cut my fingers loose.

I keep Super glue handy. My wife has me repairing all manners of stuff that gets broken. Since she is decorating for Christmas, I have reattached a “naughty/nice” roll in Santa’s hand back to his arm, attached the head of Wise back to his body, and attached a redbird to a figurine.

Walking down the hall, a nightlight Santa with springy legs and head stuck his nose in the laundry hamper. He was the headless Santa. It took some “redneck ingenuity.” Using a cotton Q-tip, I super glued the cotton tip to Santa’s body sliding the spring over the stem of the Q-tip.

I love working with wood. Tite-bond is my favorite glue for turning scrap wood into beautiful things. When properly prepped, a glued joint is stronger than the wood. I tried it and it worked.

The Apostle Paul reminds believers that Jesus is the glue that holds everything together. All of creation as vast as it is, is held in place by God. Scientist have discovered in the human body there is a cell adhesion molecule called Laminin. Ironically, it looks like a cross.

For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: And he is before all things, and by him all things consist. Colossians 1:16-17 KJV

Over My Head

If you are like me, sometimes things are over my head I remember a colleague calling me about some theological question. I was clueless when he asked me what I thought. I sat for a moment trying to figure out the theological term. Not wanting him to think I was ignorant I asked, “What do you think about it?”

As he told his position on this theological query, I finally understood what theological principle and knew it by a simpler terminology. We conversed for several minutes, and he thanked me for my input. He never realized that he had bumfuzzled me.

I must confess. I have pulled this insane method on many occasions. Years ago before I became a minister, my home church was discussing Communion. I had no clue what Communion was, so I listened trying to decipher what the heck was Communion. My feeble mind thought about the Hippie movement and their communes. Then I thought that it must be something about the community.

Finally, there was talk about break and wine or for Baptist, grape juice. Then something was said about white tablecloths, the table in front of the pulpit, and deacons wearing suits. Walaa, the light bulb in my mind came on. They were talking about the Lord’s Supper. I often wondered why the table in front of the pulpit had engraved, “Do This In Remembrance of me.”

I have had the great honor and privilege of serving on committees and boards. Most of the time discussions were over my head. I lived by the Redneck rule: Be silent and listen and let people think you are stupid and speak to prove you are. The wise person remains silent.

People thought I was intelligent, but they just don’t know. I am smart enough to be quiet until the conversation turns to something I understand before I comment. I have been in conversations with University presidents, Alabama governors, members of congress, and many other venues.

People have told me that I am shallow. That is why I try to stay in shallow water. Last year Lisa and I went mullet fishing in the Lagoon in Gulf Shores, Alabama. The water is shallow and since Lisa cannot swim it made it challenging walking in the Lagoon and casting the net.

I held her hand and consoled her the entire time. We caught more sting rays than mullet, but we Had a great time and grilled some good mullet without getting in over our heads. That was until the second trip out. Lisa did not go. A second time I waded into the Lagoon and occasionally step in a hole submerging me. I went in over my head a couple of times but was able to stand up out of the water. I was glad Lisa was on dry land.

Rather than wading back to the cabin, I rode back in a boat. When we arrived back to the pier, I slid from the bow into the water. I was in way over my head. I can swim but having replaced both knees with titanium makes swimming difficult. As you can tell, I made it.

Like many reading this article, I have been over my head with debts, discussions, and decisions. Some of my decisions have put me in over my head and I needed to repent and change my life. By God’s grace I have survived being over my head.

As was Ezra in the Old Testament I had to realize that I am in over my head and seek God’s forgiveness and mercy.

 And said, O my God, I am ashamed and blush to lift up my face to thee, my God: for our iniquities are increased over our head, and our trespass is grown up unto the heavens. Ezra 9:6 KJV

I know that eventually I will be in over my head again. God knows I will too.

Are You Getting Smart With Me

Thirty-five years ago, I bought a 1986 Firebird Trans Am for my oldest son Andy. He was fifteen at the time and I would not let him drive it until he got a permit. It belonged to a friend’s daughter, and she offered to sell it to me at a wonderful price. She knew that Andy and his sister Angel loved the car.

I told my friend that I could not afford the car, but she had lowered the price for me against her brother’s advice. He was a car salesman. I told he that could possibly buy it but could not afford the insurance for it. I finally caved in and bought it and own it to this day.

The 86 Trans Am was not a hotrod, but it was a sports car of the eighties. Gas shortages and government control had unmuscled the muscle car. It was white with red pinstriping, T-tops, grey and red interior, aluminum alloy mags wheels, and pop-up headlights.

It was fun to drive. Andy was not a hotrodder. When the Honda Accord “grocery getters” became popular, he called the Trans Am a piece of junk. He eventually got him a “grocery getter.” I kept the Trans Am stored in my shed from 2000 until 2016. I would drive it when I would spend the weekends on the Sugar Ridge Farm. I was serving two hours south in Linden, Alabama.

I had replaced the motor and after several years had it rebuilt. It used so much oil that I did not have to change oil, but only a filter. Oil blew from the exhaust onto the rear bumper. My friend and mechanic friend Mack Tucker rebuilt it for me. It took him six years.

After the rebuild I asked my wife Lisa, who I married in 2018 if she wanted a Trans Am. I told her that it was rough. When we drove to Linden, Alabama to retrieve it, she fell in love with it and said it was beautiful. He loves to drive it with the T-tops out making it almost a convertible. Cool, stary nights are her favorite times to take a ride. I drive while she watches the stars.

One night while taking one of our romantic drives, we went to McDonalds for a burger and coke. The young man at the drive-thru window asked me, “Did you take the top out of the car?” He was young, pre-T-top days young.

I said, “I sure did.” He wanted to know how, and I took a few minutes to tell him about the removal T-tops. He thought it was the coolest thing. We get comments all the time about Trans Am. What Andy called “junk” is now a classic ride.

One night Lisa was driving, and I was enjoying the beautiful night lights until suddenly blue lights started flashing. A quarter mile from home, Chilton County’s finest County Police pulled us over. Granted the Trans Am is a police magnet because it looks fast. Thinking they had two hot, partying teenagers on a wild ride they stopped us.

I sure what they found embarrassed them. Two old grey-haired adults puddling home. They asked for driver’s license, registration, and insurance info. Then they asked, “Where you headed” while shining flashlights into the car.

We told them just over the hill less than a quarter mile. The problem was ALFA insurance had failed on several occasions to change the address from Maplesville, Alabama to Jemison, Alabama after we married and moved. They thought we were lying; perhaps they thought we took the car from the teenagers. Finally, after several other comments, they said we pulled you over for driving with only one headlight. I said the headlight must have a bad connection. I started out of the car to the surprise of the officer on my side. He witnesses just how difficult it is for an old man with titanium knees to exit a Trans Am. I bumped the headlight, and it came on. They let us go.

Most of the time when I am pulled over by the police they first thing they ask is where are you going. Now, when I answer I do not know if it is my looks or tone of my voice they ask, “Are getting smart with me?”

The two that pulled Lisa and me over, did not ask me that the of one-eyed Trans Am but I sure they thought my answers were smart-alecky. We answered as sincerely and honestly as we could.

One time I thanked an officer who pulled me over for speeding. He thought I was smart with him when I thanked him for stopping me and reminding me to slow down. And I thanked him because I knew that officers never know what or whom they are confronting. They have a thankless vocation. What makes all this funny was I was a Chaplain for the Linden Police Department until I retired in 2018.

Next time I get pulled over and they ask are you getting smart with me I am going to reply, “No officer I don’t know if I can get down on your level.” Now that would be smart-alecky.

Some words of Jesus may be construed as being smart-alecky.

And Jesus said unto him, Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head. Luke 9:28 KJV

Jesus; addressing Pilot’s question-

Jesus answered him, Sayest thou this thing of thyself, or did others tell it thee of me? John 18:34 KJV

 

 

 

The Man in the Middle Lives

Today as we celebrate Veteran's Day in the United States, I want to pay tribute to our Veterans. My grand paw Chapman was Veteran of WWI. My Uncle James Hopper was Veteran of WWII (Pacific), Dad was (North Africa and Italy), my uncle J.P. Waldrop and Gerald Chapman were Veterans of Korea. My wife Lisa is a Veteran.

WWII veterans are rapidly disappearing. Veterans are what makes America great. Below is a poem I penned in honor of the men that fought alongside of dad. I hope you read it in honor of those that have now passed and pay tribute on this day to those that are celebrating today.

Appearing as a dark fog drifting from hole to hole

Death, devastation, and destruction shrouded

The sacred ground where demonic fiends

Methodically pierced the hearts of the mutilated

 

Silent are loud bombs, rattling guns, exploding grenades as

Aromas of sulfur, blood, and guts saturate the air along with

Coalescing cries of pain, pleas for help, and begging God

Become quiet as the grim reaper surveys the carnage

 

Enthusiastic agents of death with spikes of demise

See three in another death pit to add to their trophies

Two disfigured youth had given the ultimate sacrifice as

Death laughed when his urchins penetrated their silent hearts

 

One urchin twisted his lethal tool deep into victim’s heart

As his partner made a noxious jab in the other victim’s heart

Shielded by the prayers of a mother on her knees and far away

Her son lies motionless beneath two that died to set people free

 

Petrified, the son deciphered enemy idiom concerning his plight

With devious confidence, the urchin replies the third one is ours

Blinded buoyancy does not allow them to see the young man’s verve

Death cannot and will not eradicate a mother’s prayer and true life

 

Anonymous and gone are the two who shielded the man in the middle

Eternal are the praying mother and the son whom she loved

Always present are the agents of evil seeking to kill and destroy

A praying nation will continue to bolster the red, white, and blue

 

The man in the middle left a legacy behind through his children

Teaching them to be responsible citizens for freedom is not free

 

Bobby E. Hopper

 

My daddy was the man in the middle.  Private Mitchell Clark Hopper fought under General Patton in North Africa and Italy.  Somewhere in Italy dad lay beneath two dead soldiers in a foxhole.  German machinegun fire ripped open his chest and abdomen.  He pulled dead soldiers together and two German soldiers pierced the fallen soldiers’ hearts.  With a limited knowledge of the German language, he heard them say, “What about the one in the middle?”  “He’s dead.”

Receiving official word that dad was killed in action, Granny Hopper said, “No.  He is alive. I am praying for him.”

Never Quit

Not too long ago a dilemma got my attention. It was a wad of string. The easy thing would have been to toss it in the burn pile, but not me. I saw a challenge. I decided to unravel it.

For the next few minutes, I unraveled the string. Some knots were tight, some were multiple, and some were downright hard, but I worked until I had an unraveled string that I rolled on a spool to use again. My wife Lisa will challenge, “You ain’t going to quit until you get it are you?” She is right. It is not my nature to quit but I am tempted to often quit.

One of the largest temptations to quit was school. I love to learn and solve problems but hated school. As started in an earlier article, I would run away from school. I tell people that I started school in 1959 and finally graduated in 2002. Schools included Beloit, Illinois kindergarten, elementary, Jemison, Alabama elementary through high school, University of Montevallo, New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, and finally Beeson Divinity School Samford University in Birmingham. If you throw Bessemer Technical, Bessemer, Alabama, and Howard Extension in Birmingham, that is a lot of school for someone that wanted to quit.

Every Monday all four years at the University of Montevallo, four at New Orleans, and three at Beeson I wanted to quit. Each Monday I found myself in class.

In the eighth grade, a football coach encouraged me to play football. He said I had the size to be a good player. I decided to try it. Having missed two weeks of practice, my teammates decided to catch me up. There was no junior high team, so I practiced with the varsity line. They tried to kill me. I was so sore the next morning that my mamma had to dress me, feed me, and force me to attend school. There was no way to practice so I QUIT!

Another coach who worked with the junior high encouraged me to came back. He was aware of what happened. I rejoined the team. I learned a valuable lesson. I promised that I would never quit something that I started. I may stop and sit it down but will pick it up and try again.

While enroute to church, I tried to button the cuff of my dress shirt. Using my left hand to button the right cuff was a little difficult. The laundry starched the shirt and somehow the buttonholes of the cuff were closed tight. My right hand had a very difficult time trying to button the left cuff. Arthritis did not help any either.

While driving Lisa noticed my difficulty and said, “I will button them when we get to church.” I kept trying, stopping for a few minutes, then tackling the tiny buttonhole again. I have a sneaky suspicion that the cuff buttonholes are smaller on the left.

I have found that in life more people encourage me to quit than those that encourage us to continue. When I began the University of Montevallo at age twenty-nine, married with two small children, and no finances, well-meaning family, friends, and folks said I would quit. As I said, I wanted too. God placed people in my journey that said I could.

My Christian faith is one that says, “Never say quit.” That is something that former University of Alabama quarterback Steadman Shealy said in his book Never Say Quit. In the spring of 1978, his football career was thought to be over, but Steadman prayed, sacrificed, worked hard, and demonstrated great faith overcame knee surgery and severe infection to lead the 1978 Alabama football team to a national championship followed by another in 1979.

Another Alabama great, quarterback Jay Barker says, “First of all, I just want to think my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, because I’ve had so many criticisms, and the Lord says in the bible, ‘If you just humble yourself therefore under His mighty hand, he will lift you up In Due Time,’ and this has been due time for me.” Due Time: The struggles and triumphs of Alabama quarterback.

These are two of countless others that have faced life’s struggles and through faith refused to quit. The main person in the Bible that did not quit was Jesus Christ, God in the flesh.

Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath began a good work in you, will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ. Philippians 1:6 KJV

And let us not be weary in well doing for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not. Galatians 6:9 KJV

 

Look Both Ways

When I was a teenager dad had a Farmall Cub tractor that I used. Plows were visible below me. I used the tractor to break ground, disc, plant, and cultivate crops. My greatest achievement was at twelve years old; I planted nine acres of corn.

Daddy worked evening shift, and he supervised me until time to leave for work. Most of the time I was alone. When the field turned green with corn stalks, my grandpa Chapman was proud. I had continued what he had started years before. He told me that I did a great job.

Dad decided to trade the Cub for an 8N Ford tractor. I had a difficult time plowing with the *N plows in the rear of the tractor. Watching the plows beneath was easier than turning and looking back. One time while cultivating corn, I plowed it up because grandpa built the terrace banks to be plowed by a mule. The Cub could do it, but the rear plow 8N were terrible. They were great on straight rows but disastrous on curves of the terraces. I constantly looked forward and backward.

Looking both ways is imperative when crossing the highway or pulling out into the road. When I used to walk across the road to my grandma Chapman, I always looked both ways. Duke, m dog named for Duke of the Beverly Hillbillies television series, would walk with me. I would look both ways before crossing, and I noticed that Duke would too even if he were not with me.

When my son Andy and daughter Angel would walk over to grandma’s, Duke would walk with them. He walked ahead and check both ways before crossing and led the across. Duke would walk with them to catch the school bus and in the afternoon, he would be at the road when the bus delivered them home.

Crossing before looking both ways is extremely dangerous. One I was traveling down the highway on a long straight. There was a yellow line not to pass but an impatient driver decided to pass. Down the road about seven hundred feet, an automobile pulled from a driveway to my left. Stopping he looked to if there was anything to his left. Not seeing anything, the car entered the highway not realizing Mr. Impatient was speeding toward him. I was about to witness and be in a three-car pileup.

Mr. Impatient darted in front of me cutting me off, but I was already in a stopping mode. Ms. Look Only Left panicked and stopped avoiding the crash. It always amazes me when folks pass on double lined highways when they can neither see what’s behind nor in front.

Even looking both ways can be scary. On one occasion, my cousin Mikey and I were hauling a hog to the slaughterhouse. I borrowed a cattle trailer, and we headed to Clanton, Alabama to deliver the hog. Crossing the L&N Railroad track in Thorsby, Alabama, I looked north up the track and south, then north again and Mikey looked south down the track then north then back south. We could see a long distance both ways.

Back then there were no crossing safeguards or flashing lights, just stop and look both ways before crossing. Seeing nothing we crossed the tracks. When I stopped on US Highway 31 the cattle trailer had just cleared the tracks when suddenly a north bound train with lights a whirling and whistle sounding roared past us.

White with fright, Mikey and I looked at one another with our hearts now pounding in our throats. A few years earlier I had a friend that was struck and killed by a train in nearby Montevallo. It was same scenario. No guard rails nor lights. My friend had crossed the train for years and never looked both ways until that morning the train hit the pickup and trailer load of cattle.

In life it is vital to look both ways. Not only in crossings but looking to what is behind and what is forward. In the book of Ezra, the Hebrews upon returning home from exile remembered the glory of the Temple and looked forward to the building and worship in the rebuilt Temple.

And they sang together by course in praising and giving thanks unto the Lord; because he is good, for his mercy endureth for ever toward Israel. And all the people shouted with a great shout, when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house was laid. So that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping of the people for the people shouted with a loud shout, and the noise was heard afar off. Ezra 3:11-13 KJV

 What's behind is gone and the future is coming as you read this and it is full of exciting probabilities.

Be sure to share this article and comment if you like.

Amish Buggy Ride on A Rainy Day

It was a cool rainy day in Bird-In-Hand, Pennsylvania. The morning air was crisp, and rain drizzled as we purchased tickets to ride the horse drawn buggies in Amish country. My wife Lisa has ridden on dozens of these trips, and she was excited to have my brother and sister-in-law along for their maiden ride.

A vehicle from Maryland parked. A father from Hawaii was visiting his son who was in the Air Force stationed in Maryland. It was their maiden voyage also. We waited, along with five others, for the buggy driver’s arrival.

We loaded into the buggy and Ben, the Amish driver, introduced himself and asked if anyone wanted to sit in the front with him. My sister-in-law jumped on it “Quicker than a chicken on a June bug.” That is an Alabama expression for being quick. Then Ben asked where from where we came.

There was a newlywed couple from Israel celebrating their honeymoon. They spoke very good English, but I think they had trouble understanding our Alabama southern drawl. Across from them was the father and son from Hawaii. To their left were three members of a family, grandparents, and grandson, from upstate Pennsylvania. My brother, my wife Lisa, and I sat across from them. I had the pleasure of sitting next to the newlyweds.

As the journey back in time began, Ben began to explain the Amish way of life. It is always fascinating as we slowly passed the large dairy farms, cornfields, alfalfa fields, and apple orchards. The trip was worth the price just to watch the expressions of the first timer travelers.

Each traveler told a little bit about themselves. The newlyweds planned to visit Washington D.C. The Hawaii father and son we amazed with the Amish culture. My brother and sister-in-law are big farmers in South Alabama, and they loved seeing new farms and gaining new ideals.

The grandparents told us that it was their grandson Joey’s twentieth birthday. I lead the travelers in singing happy birthday to Joey. Granddad was retired Airforce and he and the young Airforce officer from Hawaii shared common interests. Granddad said that he and his wife had placed to travel and explore, but they inherited Joey.

Even though he was twenty, Joey was autistic and non-verbal. He was well mannered and obedient. Sitting direct in from of me, Joey seemed fascinated with me. He would touch me from time to time and his granddad would admonish him. I told the grandad that it was okay.

One time he saw a knot on the pull string of my jacket, and he quickly touched it. He would look me in the eye, and I would smile. One of the reasons he watched me was that the week before I had taken a nasty fall and scraped my face from my hairline on my forehead to the tip of my nose. I had an ugly scab and a hole on the bridge of my nose and used a long staff to help me walk. I told Joey that I was wearing my Halloween mask a little early.

After a stop at a farm, Joey returned to the buggy with a large cream cookie. As the tour continued the curiosity of Joey got the best of him. Quick as the proverbial chicken on the June bug, Joey reached over to me and stuck his right index finger on the scabby hole on the bridge of my nose. I admit that it hurt but I tried not to show pain and smiled. His granddad scolded him. I assured him that it was okay. My dad taught me that we were to lookout for those that could not take care of themselves. It was a heavenly moment realizing that Joey felt safe in touching me. I assured his grandparents that children and animals were attracted to me even wearing a scabby face and sporting a walking stick.

That night as Lisa and I talked before retiring for the night we discussed Joey and the hundreds of children being raised by their grandparents. We are thankful for those that will put their lives on hold to care for those that cannot care for themselves.

I am sure that the raining buggy ride of the serendipity of travelers will share Joey’s story around the world. I know it will if you read this article. The Bible commands believers to care for those that cannot take care of themselves.

Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward. Psalm 127:3 KJV

But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Mark 10:14 KJV

It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones Luke 17:2 KJV

Personal Touch

This morning on my way to the optometrist I stopped for gas at a local station. I have been a customer for many years and seen the station change hands many times. I entered the debit card and followed the instructions. I inserted the card, entered my code, and pushed the enter button. The message on the screen said to remove nozzle and select the grade of gasoline I wanted. I followed the instructions to the letter and number only for the screen to display “please wait for a moment.”

After waiting for several moments, I asked the man and the opposite pump if his was working to which he gave me an affirmative. My screen still remained the same, so I decided to step inside the store. The man behind the countered acted as though I did not exit and I finally said, “Excuse me.” He asked what I needed and told him that the pump was not working.

That when he insulted my intelligence. I was pumping gas when he was a child overseas somewhere. I assured him that the pump was ready to pump but had me waiting. He asked if I was sure that I entered the card correctly. I replied, “Yes, I know how the card works and that the pump gave indications of working properly but it scrolled “Please wait.”

As I returned to my car, he followed mumbling something about he would show me how to properly insert the card. I pointed to the pump and said, “See it is ready to pump.” He said, “Insert it again.” I did and it repeated what it did before. He wanted me to try again which I did and this time it said my card was invalid.

He inserted a special card, cleared everything, and instructed me to change pumps. I did but I wanted to greet his arrogance with good old southern redneck hospitality with a punch in the nose. I did not because that was not the Christian thing to do, but I thought it.

I steamed while heading to the optometrist and thought about how the personal touch in our relationships is disappearing. It is a sign of the apocalypse. That is what I have thought ever since the anti-Christ cards started changing us to a cashless society.

I told a female cashier that having to come inside the store made the plastic money irrelevant. I said, “If the world was wanting to usher in the anti-Christ, y’all are gonna have do a better job with the plastic currency.” She looked at me with a bewildered look and said, “You believe in that okie poky junk?” I answered, “Oh yeah and you better.” The strange thing about our conversation was that it predated texting and other forms of communication that have depersonalized society.

For the next hour I fumed trying to let go of the incident. I thought will I need a card to enter the pearly gates. I wondered if I would need a special account number to give St. Peter. Then I thought if I wanted to talk to God would I get Heaven’s answering machine.

I could imagine a call. “Our office numbers have changed, please follow the instructions. Press one if you speak Hebrew, two if you speak Greek, three if speak Arabic, four if you know the extension, press zero to speak with Methusalem.

Then my mind went to how important personal touches are. There was Annie Jean corn drip that even with her recipe cannot be duplicated. Nola and her chicken and dumplings were one of a kind. No one can paint an automobile like Larry and his special touch. Dr. Calvin Miller’s autograph on one of books or artwork adds the personal touch. A personal touch is special.

When I arrived at the optometrist, I left my iPhone in the car. My wife calls the cell phone the devil’s device. The receptionist and I exchanged some pleasantries, and I took a seat. I spoke to everyone; they returned the favor and returned to their cell phones.

I was called back for the exam. Each aide took special care. At one point, one of the ladies touched my eye lids to apply drops for dilation. Her dark hands were so soft, and I told her that her gentle touch was nice. It made it personal, and we shared a wonderful conversation.

The optometrist is a personal friend of mine, and he has always had the personal touch. He has a genuine concern for his patient's wellbeing. With all the modern technology and equipment, his office reminds of good old southern hospitality.

When Jesus, God in the flesh, walked on earth, He had had the personal touch. I imagine when I make that journey to heaven He will say, “Welcome Bobby and say to the multitude there, he’s one of our boys.”

Then the Lord put out his hand and touched my mouth. And the Lord said to me, “Behold, I have put my words in your mouth. Jeremiah 1:9 KJV

“And he took them in his arms and began blessing them, laying his hands on them.” Mark 10:16 KJV

My prayer was that the Lord touch the heart of the one I wanted to touch. His touch is much better than the touch I wanted to give.

Enjoyed It Reverend

Since I experience the call into the ministry, I have never been fond of the term reverend. There have been too many given that title and their ministries questionable. I would rather people call me Brother Bobby, pastor, preacher not reverend.

Most of the men and women where I have worked called me preacher. The black men called me “the man of the cloth.” Most of the churches I pastored they called me Brother Bobby or Bro Bob. A few youth and children called me “the Creature.”

While working on my doctorate, church people would ask me what they should call me. I told that Bobby had worked my whole life. Since that time until now most people call me Brother Bobby. When in formal situations people will call me Dr. Hopper. If folks do not refer to me as Dr. Hopper, I usually do not correct them.

I have a lot of fun when people realize I have a doctorate. I remember speaking at the University of Montevallo Batist Student Union meeting. The host introduced me as Dr. Bobby Hopper. Once behind the podium, I told guests that the D R in front of my name stood for “Documented Redneck.” I said my redneck degree came from BUTTS, Bessie University Technical and Theological School. Bessie was the community where I grew up and live today. Everyone laughed.

I started my doctoral work at Beeson Divinity School Samford while pastor of the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama. Folks there were supportive. I felt is was a great honor to serve alongside of them. God blessed in many wonderful and powerful ways.

One ministry was ministering to alongside of the Clanton Mental Health Clinic. The Clinic allowed residents to attend church with us. Three residents were faithful. Gwen, F D, and Nikki did not miss. Nikki was a high-spirited young woman that laughed and would repeatedly tell me that she did not belong in the clinic. She would say “I’m not crazy.” She constantly corrected Gwen and F D and insisted that teachers should too.

F D was a young man whose mental aptitude was that of a twelve-year-old. His favorite thing was wearing his toy cowboy pistols, cowboy hat, and guitar to church. He loved to sing and to impersonate Elvis. Another thing he loved was talking to his watch and calling KIT of the television program Night Rider.

Gwen was a black lady with a childlike demeanor. She worn ruby red lipstick like that of a little girl playing with makeup. The Clinic informed me that she received her disability from a car accident. She loved to help babysit children. F D and Gwen were constantly in competition for attention. They were polite and courteous most of the time.

One Vacation Bible School Richard and Stanley, F D, Nikki, and Gwen’s VBS teachers, were singing the opening song with the rest of VBS. Richard, an electrical engineer and Stanley, editor of the local newspaper, separated the trio: F D, Richard, Nikki, Stanley, then Gwen. The two men stood as the Rock of Gibraltar and the trio sang. F D singing like Elvis, Gwen correcting him, and Nikki laughing.

One year the VBS was a Cowboy theme. As I made visits to the classes I peeked into Richard’s class. The room was dark, tiny lights like stars scattered on the ceiling, Richard with head resting on a log by a fake fire, Gwen sitting by the fire, and F D playing his guitar. It was a moment that I will always remember.

Each service during the invitation, Gwen would come to the altar where she would ask me to pray for the clinic, her, and F D who was in route to the altar too. Many members of the congregation were uncomfortable with them. What Gwen and F D did was make it easier for others to come to the altar.

During my tenure there Gwen’s mental situation worsened, and the Clinic committed her to a hospital in Birmingham. As her pastor, I visited her there in the psychiatric ward. Once I had permission to visit, a big black orderly, that reminded me of a bouncer, met me and wanted me to state my business. I told him I was Gwen’s pastor. He gave me a look of unbelief seeing I was white, and Gwen was black.

He wanted more information, and I understood his concern. I was about to give up and leave when Gwen happened to walk past us. She yelled, “That’s my Reverend.” She carried a large black Raggedy Ann that had pigtails and freckles. For the next precious and few moments were shared together. The whole time she demanded that I hold Annie.

F D, Gwen, Richard, and Stanley have gone on before us. I enjoyed the moments we spent together. The highlight Sundays together was at the close of the service I would always ask, “Any word from the congregation as we leave?” Gwen would always say. “I enjoyed Reverend!” It was one of constants of worship.

When Gwen could no longer attend Friendship, I asked, “Any word as we leave?” There was an eerie and awkward silence. Suddenly, Regeana, wife of our local physician, said “I enjoyed Reverend.” The congregation tearfully applauded.

I was glad when they said unto me. Let us go into the house of the LORD. Psalm 122:1 KJV

 

Who's Knocking on My Door

God always prepares us to minister for Him. I never dreamed that contract negotiations were progression for pastoral ministries. Each step we take in life’s journey is preparation for the next opportunity headed our way.

Negotiations had been difficult at Blue Circle Cement in Calera, Alabama. The 1980’s were troubled and trying times for the economy. Due to a corporate takeover, in 1982, Martin Marietta Cement sold to Blue Circle.

During the period from April 1982-March 1987, my vocabulary increased. Terms like “corporate purging,” “downsizing”, “eliminating inventory”, and “efficiency focus” created an atmosphere of low morale, drop in productivity, loss of experience and knowledge.

I, as well as several other employees, were laid off from Martin Marietta and called back after months and years later to Blue Circle. Being the last man hired in October 1976, I was the last employee for five years. I learned to despise the corporate terminology that led to five years of transition.

During the five years of struggling, I felt called into full-time ministry and enrolled at the University of Montevallo in the fall of 1983 as a twenty-nine-year-old freshman. The is one of many steps in a long journey. A wise pastor said, “A trip around the world starts with one step and the higher you go, the farther you can see.”

Four years later, Blue Circle called me from layoff. Blue Circle and Local Union 537 were at an impasse on contract negotiations and implemented a contract. My university experience had broadened my horizon. My co-workers discouraged from loss of pay, loss of vacations, and other losses. I found myself in a battle with human resources over insurance and trying to finish my spring term at Montevallo. Trying to turn five years of change in three days was no easy task.

Having been successful with human resources, some union brothers asked me to use my college knowledge to help the union. I reluctantly agreed and was immediately found that I was president by default.

God blessed me and we did negotiate a new contract with wages, vacations, and other fringe benefits restored. After a year as president, I decided to “go out” on top but stayed on the negotiation team.

By 1994 we were in another contract negotiation. Once again Local Union 537 and Blue Circle were at impasse, and the Federal Mediator is involved. Trips to the Federal Building were regular. Lockout would follow. Local Union 537 was outside looking in.

On a federal mediation day, the Local president, Keilan, and I were early and decided to see an old friend that had retired and lived in north Birmingham. We had promised to see him, but he lived in a rough neighborhood, and we did not have his address.

Elijah Smith (Smitty) was our friend’s name. He was black and lived in a black neighborhood. What we did was crazy, but we promised Smitty we would visit. I knew about where he lived because we discussed it when we worked together. I knew he lived near 15^th Street and could see the Hardee’s from his house.

Two white boys rode through the north Birmingham neighborhood looking for his Chevy van. Kelan was scared to death. Round and round we drove with no luck at all. I spotted a senior adult black lady swinging on her front porch swing. I told Keilan that I was going to ask her where Smitty “stayed” as Smitty called it.

I went on the porch and introduced myself to her. I told her that Elijah and I worked together at the cement plant, and we had promised to visit him. I knew he lived on 15^th Street. Keilan watched me from the car.

She told me her name and pointed across the street and said, “Elijah stay at that white house there.”

I thanked her very much and told Keilan that Smitty lives there. We drove to Smitty’s driveway, and I got out to knock on the door. Keilan whines, “Hopper, you going to get us shot!”

I told him that we were welcomed by the front porch lady. I knocked several times but no answer. I told Keilan to write a note that we paid a visit. About that time, I hear the unlocking of the door. There were several locks, and I realized Smitty was cautious.

Our friend opened the door, I think Keilan lay low in the car. There was Smitty smiling big and tears running down his cheeks. He said, “Lords I don’t believes it. Yall said you would come and yous did.”

Keilan and I found a lonely old friend in need of conversation and remembrance. We celebrated a wonderful morning. It would be our last time together. Keilan and Elijah are in the presence of the Lord.

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. Revelation 3:20 KJV

Blue Circle Cement locked out Local 537 for several months eventually allowing only a few employees to return. The plant sold a few years later as result of corporate purging and corporate downsizing philosophies.

 

Communication: Complicated Made Simple

I was out and about one day in Demopolis, Alabama and paid a visit to a church member that had missed church. He owned a windshield business in town. After swapping a few pleasantries I asked why he was not attending church and what his relationship to the Lord.

He hung his head and sheepishly said that my preaching was not deep enough. I asked him to explain. He said that my sermons were too simple. I told him that the art of communication was to take the complicated and make it simple.

I try to get on the same level as my listeners whether they are two or ninety-two, educated or not, blue collar or white collar, skilled or laborer, and professional or not. I always try to reach common ground.

I said so you want more hermeneutic, exegesis, Christology, Eschatology, Apocalyptic, Parousia jargon. He smiled and said that’s what I’m talking about. I looked in the eye and said, “You are clueless to what I just said.” He hung his head again.

I told him that I could go deeper, but much of the congregation would be oblivious to what I was saying. I told him that in the congregation were children, educated and uneducated, farmers, medical doctors, nurses, schoolteachers, lawyers and a wide variety of folks.

I told him that hermeneutics was the theory and method of interpretation of texts. Next, I said that exegesis was the interpretation of text, especially the Bible. I explained that Christology was the study of Christ, the Eschatology was the Second Coming, Apocalyptic was the study of End Times and Parousia was the Rapture.

I reminded him that my Pastor’s Pals was an introduction to the sermon. I was taking the “complicated and making it simple” giving a head’s up to what was coming in the sermon. My preaching was like him installing a new windshield so folks could see better. He never returned. I guess I was too shallow for him. He eventually closed his business.

Back when I worked at the cement plant, I worked with Sam. Sam was an instrument technician. He had the ability to read an electrical schematic and explain it. When I worked with him in the electrical shop it helped me to read the schematics.

He would say, “See the thing-a-jig here connects to the Hickie-me-dodgy over there and controls the what-you-me-call powers the machine. He probably did know the technical jargon, but he knew how it worked.

I have kinfolks and friends that are ignorant of the technical, but have the knowledge to repair equipment, computers, and most anything that runs, twist, or turns. As my father-in-law told me as a young man, “You can do most anything once you understand it.”

When the Creator of the universe came to earth as Jesus, he spoke to people in a way they could understand. He took the complexity of the universe and made it simple enough for children to understand.

Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding. Proverbs 4:7KJV

I will open my mouth in a parable: I will utter dark sayings of old: Psalm 78:2

Therefore I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. Matthew 13:13 KJV.

I Will Speak Using Stories: Thirty-one Day Devotion Bobby E. Hopper 

God Hears the Heart

I read an interesting article the other day and it resonated with my heart. It was about an upcoming wedding. The bride was thrilled that she had lived long enough to marry. At nine years old doctors at University of Alabama Birmingham diagnosed her with cardiomyopathy, a disease of her heart muscle.

An eleven-year-old boy died from an accident was doctors pronounced him brain dead. Doctors asked his family if they would donate his organs. At first his father refused but later said that he felt as though his son was tell him yes.

On Mother’s Day 2011, UAB surgeons transplanted the boy’s heart to the nine-year-old. Their families became friends and on August 9, 2025, the bride invited the boy’s parents to her wedding. The boy’s parents were thrilled that they allowed their son to donate his organs that other may have life.

I have read about the thrill that parents whose children donated organs, especially the heart, hear their child’s heart beating. There is a special bond forged when listening to a heart beating.

The same day that I read the Florence wedding and the heartwarming event, I received a picture of my youngest son riding his son on his back.  It’s a wonderful picture.  My son Aaron and grandson Jack Barrett are in the water.  It was a picture of love, trust, and hope.

When Aaron small, his brother Andy and sister Angel loved the water. Angel could swim before she could walk. They had traumatized Aaron making him terrified of water. I had a very difficult time teaching him to trust me and jump into my arms at the pool. When he did learn, he became a very good swimmer.

Seeing Aaron and Jack Barrett together brought back memories of my love for Aaron. Jack Barrett looks like Aaron.  They have the same smile. Since they live in Texas and I in Alabama, the picture is a sweet reminder of a dad/son relationship. I pray that Aaron will have the same heart and love for Jack Barrett that I had for him.

Aaron did trust me. When he was a baby, he would lay on my stomach with his right ear on my heart listening to my heartbeat. He would continue to sleep listening to my heart until he got so long that he pushed my chin with his bushy hair. He was around four years old when stopped laying on my stomach.

He continued to listen to my heart beat each time he hugs me the lays his right ear on my heart. Oh, what a wonderful feeling that is. In my thirty-one-day devotional, I Will Speak Using Stories, the first devotion is God Hears the Heart. It is about a small boy that when speaking his words were not comprehensible.

He volunteered to pray one Father’s Day. The congregation, with the exception of his parents, did not understand him, but God did. It was one of the best Father’s Day experiences I ever had.

I pray that you will obtain a copy of I Will Speak Using Stories.

Herman’s Hermits had a song with these lyrics:

Every time I see you lookin' my way
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?
In the car or walkin' down the highway
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?

Thank God He hears the heart.

But the LORD said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart. (I Samuel 16:7 KJV)

The Sound of Silence

They say that silence is golden. My experience with silence is that it can be ire. When we went all night fishing on Mahan Creek, there were sounds of all kinds of night creatures. There were the crickets, katydids, the croaking of frogs, toads, the hooting of owls, and the rustling of branches.

There was the noise of boys laughing, the roaring of a fire, and the splashing of water where someone fell into the creek, the screaming of someone being chased or scared half to death. Then the yell an adult or leader heard more than anything else hollering to settle down, be quiet, who fell into the water?

If everyone and everything became quiet, it meant trouble and the silence of a storm was brewing nearby. It could mean that something unusual was lurking near. Silence in the woods at night is not normal.

The falling of a dead and rotten tree can break the silence. Before all the noise generated in the world today, we could hear strange sounds. We lived on a hill. The hollers around us echoed various sounds.

We could be in the backyard and hear a vehicle drive into the front yard. Daddy would say, “One of y’all go see who it is.”  Most of the time there was no vehicle or person. From the backyard we could hear people talking and music playing just as though the sound was in close proximity.

Momma told us stories of sounds that were scary. When mamma and her brother were small their mom, my grandmother, told them to get water from a spring in the holler. This was the late 1930’s and there were no pumps for running water to the house. Momma and my uncle Gerald where dipping water and the heard a loud noise that scared them.

Grandmoe, said that Uncle Gerald out run momma to the house. She said that momma’s hair was standing straight up, and she was white as a ghost. Grandmoe said Uncle Gerald was shaking like a leaf. They told grandmoe what they heard. Grandmoe said she had heard it before, and it sounded like an elephant falling down a tree. No one was able to find the source of the sound, and it continued for years.

When I was young my aunt Annie said the same thing. I never could understand the analogy of an elephant falling out of a tree. I aways wondered how an elephant climbed a tree. Aunt Anni’s house was on the opposite side of the holler from grandmoe. One day my cousins and I were playing in branch where momma and Uncle Gerald had dipped the water. Suddenly, a great sound scared us. All I can say is that it sounded like an elephant crashing through the trees.

It continued to reverberate gigantic and massive sound waves through the years. It was always loud and frightening. We heard the sound until aunt Annie and Uncle JP cleared the shrubs and trees behind their house to make a garden. We never heard the crashing elephant again.

When I pastored Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama I tried an experiment one Sunday morning during worship. I told the congregation that people cannot remain silent very long. Folks enjoy noise. People in today’s culture listen to noise through ear pods, headsets, and ever so popular loud music flowing from audio power amplifiers. It has become prevalent that most town and cities have noise ordinances. Young people do not realize that they we deaf from all the loudness damaging their hearing. They may have a future where they cannot hear.

I challenged the congregation to be silent for one minute. It was amazing. In less than ten seconds people were squirming, fidgeting, looking at their watches (before I phones), staring at me. Again, we must have noise. For some people, the television, stereo, or other devices break the silence. I spend most days without playing noise. I love drive without the radio playing.

We listen when it is silent. I fear that folks do not like the silence because they do not want to listen to God. We pray in silence so we can communicate with God. Unfortunately, we do most of the talking as God listens. We need to spend our “quiet time” listening to Him.

As Director of Missions, I visited several churches where the men of the church gather for pray before worship. There were a few where all the men prayed at once. Very distracted I could not pray. I would stick my fingers in my ears and consecrate quoting Psalm 23.

 And when he had opened the seventh seal. There was silence in heaven for the space of half an hour, Revelation 8:1 KJV

After the tragic event of 911, I sat on the front porch of the pastorium of Gallion Baptist Church and the silence created was frightening. Could it be that when everything stopped on 911, God got the attention of the world. After a while we returned to noise.    

 

 

 

Wild Varden

Fall is my second favorite season. Leaves are turning orange, yellow, brown, and all shades of reddish orange. The more they fall, the closer old man winter approaches. Cooler weather means hunting in Alabama.

When asked do I hunt and fish, I say that I am not a hunter. The are shocked. Most of the time I converse with those that do like I do hunt. Not that I lie. Here is what happens. One time I headed to our farm at Sugar Ridge in Jemison, Alabama from Linden for the purpose of cutting grass and weed eating.

I stopped in the College Town of Marion at the Chinese Restaurant for dinner (noontime in Alabama). I wore a pair of Turkey Federation camouflaged Liberty overalls that had purchased at Wall Mart. They were on sale, left over from the hunting season. They were not thick and heavy like the denim ones, and they were 4X and were comfortable. I loved them and wore them to where my wife Lisa could nor repair. I wore them in the restaurant.

It was turkey season, and some hunters were enjoying Chinese as I was. I asked them if they had good luck that morning. They told they had not. They asked how I did. I replied that I had not seen any turkeys. The said too windy for them. I agreed with them and as they asked questions I answered. My answers were truthful, but I had not hunted. They assumed I had.

Again, when asked if I hunt and fish, I say I’m not a hunter and fisherman, but a killer and catcher. We raised pigs, chickens, and beef cows. At an early age daddy appointed me the task of killing them for slaughter. I tell hunters that want to belittle my hunting that I have killed more meat than they have. That usually ends the conversation.

I did hunt in my youthful years. Dad gave me a 410 shotgun when I was twelve. I hunted quail, doves, squirrels, and rabbits with my trusty 410. I still use it to kill varmints any thing else that needs it.

One cold and sleety day after school I decide to go squirrel hunting where momma could cook squirrel stew and dumplings. I crossed the electric fence that corralled the pigs and headed to the woods. Our bore hog, affectionally named Varden for daddy’s co-worker that sold Varden to us, decided to go with me. Varden was almost a pet, but the older he got the ornerier he got. He was black with white strip and had some very long and sharp tusks.

I waved him back. I heard him again getting closer. He was smacking his lips together and white foam sprayed toward me. This time I broke off the top of a small pine tree and ran him back to spend time with the sows. I took a few more steps and here he came again only faster. I did not to turn my back to him, so I reached behind me to break another pine top.

I stumbled and fell on my back. Varden lunged at me and tried his best to use his long tusks to rip out my guts. His white slobber raked across my jacket. I threw up my feet and 410 and pushed him. When he cleared the barrel, I unloaded the squirrel shot into his left shoulder.

I had one shot, but it was effective. He ran limping back toward the barn. I was scared and the adrenaline was sky high. That was the only this 125-pound boy pushed 300-pound Varden away for the shot. If I missed, I was dead.

I did not go squirrel hunting after that. I called daddy at his work. He was on second shift. I said, “Daddy I had to shoot Varden. He ain’t dead, but he has a shoulder full of squirrel shot.”  Daddy asked me if I was okay and told him I was.

Varden limped for a while. That did not tame him, but we did our first dental work removing Varden’s tusks and removing his manhood he was gentler. Months later I had the pleasure of shooting Varden. We slaughtered him and momma made some great sausage. The left Boston Butt was full of squirrel shot that we surgically removed before processing. Each time I hold my 410, I think of almost being devoured by the beast that we named Varden. I think of it each time I read I Peter 5:8 in the KJV version of the Bible.

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour: