Chief John Lee

I got a call several years ago.  Looking at the caller I D, I recognized it was my old friend and former church member John Lee.

John was the Police Chief at the University of Montevallo.  He became Chief during my sophomore year.  His office was adjacent to the carpentry shop where I worked between classes.  John was a regular for morning coffee.

During our morning coffee, John learned that I was preacher.  He said he studied to be a preacher but realized that the ministry was not his calling and became a police officer. 

During his first year, John called me in his office investigating how, as a student, that I had a faculty college parking decal.  I answered that I got it during the summer break and by virtue of working in the carpentry department.  Boy it made it nice to drive up to the classroom door.

As it is with all good things, somebody complained about my college perk, the faculty decal.  John required me to get a student decal.  He said his hands were tied and that he had enforce campus procedures and policies.  I told him that it was not a problem, and it was good while it lasted.  After that, my friends in the carpentry shop used a university vehicle to transport me to and from class.  Lose one perk, gain another I say.  John smiled each time he saw me riding to class in the carpentry pickup.

John was an interesting Chief.  He was driver for Alabama Governor George C. Wallace for many years.  He had the voice of an old southern colonel or aristocratic landowner.  He could tell some tales about governors George and Laureen.

John was also a gun collector, outdoorsman, and artist.  He painted wildlife, particularly ducks.  He competed for the Alabama State Duck Hunting Stamp annually.  He won the state competition, against national, competitors in 1984 and 2002.  He was in the top ten for the Federal Duck Stamp.

John moved from his campus house to a new home in the community where I pastored.  He attended church one Sunday told me that he would join, but he was hesitant saying some big church was going to snatch me away.  I laughed and responded, “No one wants me.”  I stayed there eight years, five as John’s pastor.

After graduation, I would visit the University physical plant and their workers, especially the boys at the carpentry shop and Chief Lee.

In October before my spring phone call, my son Aaron and I visited with John.  Aaron and John always talked “guns.”  John told us he was about to retire.  A few weeks later, I got an invitation inviting me to his retirement.  The retirement gala was on January 30th.

I accepted the invitation, and we went in anticipation of seeing old friends.  I was shocked when I saw John.  He had deteriorated greatly since my earlier visit a few months earlier.  I received another shock when I looked at the program.  I was on it.  I had the innovation and opening remarks.  Did I ever say that God takes care of fools and ignorant folks like me?  I just happened to be in church dress clothes!

After the retirement ceremony, John presented each program personality with a gift.  He gave me the 1984 Alabama State Duck Stamp print from his office.  I was very surprised.

Picking up the phone, I said, “Good morning, John.”  There was an eerie silence.  I sensed something was wrong.  “Bobby, this is Judy.  John passed last night, and he wanted Dr. McChesney and you to do his funeral.”  Judy is John’s wife and Dr. McChesney is retired President of the University of Montevallo and bird-hunting buddy to John and Judy. 

“Bobby, I want you to be in charge of all the arrangements.  John said you would know what to do.”

I did as asked, remembering what good friends John and Judy were.  Judy gave me John’s 2002 Alabama State Duck Stamp print for doing the funeral service.  Judy said, “Bobby, you know that your Duck Prints are very valuable now that John has passed?  Reflecting on these things, I thought of Luke 14:7-10:

And he put forth a parable to those which were bidden, when he marked how they chose out the chief rooms; saying unto them.  When thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit not down in the highest room; lest a more honourable man than thou be bidden of him; And he that bade thee and him come and say to thee, Give this man place; and thou begin with shame to take the lowest room. But when thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room; that when he that bade thee cometh, he may say unto thee, Friend, go up higher: then shalt thou have worship in the presence of them that sit at meat with thee. then shalt thou have worship in the presence of them that sit at meat with thee.

Both paintings hang in my library.  They are valuable.  To me they are priceless.

Thanks for the memories, Chief 

A Working Man's Hands

One day a while back before I retired, I studied my hands.  Gone were the callouses from hard work.  I remember using fingernail clips and scissors to trim the callouses.  Sometimes the callouses would crack open and become sore.  At times, my hands would be so rough that I could not rub my hands across fine linen without snagging the material.  Loading paper wood, using wrenches, and handing hoes, picks, and shovels make callouses.

Gone are oil and grease stains.  My hands were always in something greasy or in burnt motor oil.  Growing up poor, my daddy, brothers, and I did a lot of repairs to worn out and broke down equipment.  Burnt motor oil and dirty grease are two of the hardest things to clean off your hands.  Grease and oil under the fingernails will stain the nails.  An old friend taught me to scrape hand soap under my nails before working in grease and oil prevents stains.  Clean oil and WD 40 will also help clean-burnt oil and nasty grease.

Gone from my hands were the stains and smells of “hawg killin’.”  Pigs love nasty.  Scaldin’ and pullin’ hair on a 300lb nasty pig will stain your hands.  I had to wear off the smell and the stain.

Gone are the splinters, the black fingernails, cuts, and scrapes.  I have had some booger splinters.  I had one go deep under a fingernail.  Momma had to cut the nail deep into the “quick,” almost the whole nail, just to use tweezers to pull it out from under the nail.  I remember pulling the nail off my middle finger when I shut it in the front door.  My hands have been so sore that it hurt to use them.

That’s enough about my hands.  I shake a lot of hands, and I take notice of the hands I hold.  Hands reflect the person.  I noticed the calloused hands of a lady one day.  It had been a long time since I felt a female hand that calloused.  I knew the lady worked hard with her hands.

I notice that many of my colleagues in the full-time ministry have soft hands.  They tend to be very protective of their hands and have a flimsy handshake.  I think to myself, oooh.  I notice that some of these soft-handed colleagues have small bottles hand sanitizers and cleanse their hands after shaking hands.  Sometimes I wish that these colleagues would have a clinic on hand sanitation for some of the folks in fast food restaurants business.

Most folks have firm handshakes.  Every once in a while, I get a fellow that wants to show me how strong he is and how weak I am.  You know the one that squeezes your hand where your fingers twist together and if you are wearing a ring, the impression of the ring lingers on the finger for a while.  A doctor friend showed me how to prevent “My hand is a vice, you whimp” technique.

I try not to hurt the hands of people when shaking.  Arthritis has crippled some hands.  Some hands are small and tender.

As I examined my hands I thought of the song, Daddy’s Hands, Holly Dunn recorded.

    

I remember Daddy’s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy’s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I’ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I’ll always remember the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

I remember Daddy’s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I’d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love...
In Daddy’s hands.

 

I think of my daddy’s hands when I hear this song.  His hands were big and strong.  I also think of Jesus’ hands.  I have to believe that his hands were calloused and scared from years of carpentry.  I wonder what the Roman soldier thought as he nailed Jesus’ hands to the cross.  I am sure it was not the same as those that Jesus touched.

Now when the sun was setting, all they that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto him; and he laid his hands on every one of them, and healed them (Luke 4:40 KJV).

Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God. . . (John 13:3 KJV).

Life Continues Take Funny Turns

Tuesday morning at the 2011 Alabama Baptist State Convention, my thoughts went back over thirty-eight years to place now gone.  I hope you know by now that I do have an attention deficit disorder, and my mind goes on a tangent.  On this occasion, Dr. David Potts was giving the annual Judson College report.  He had invited two of his students to share how Judson College was changing their lives.  They were part of the team from Judson that serves donuts and coffee to visitors to the Judson College exhibit. No, I know what you are thinking.  I did not eat any of those “hot” Krispy Kreme Donuts.  Shame on you for having those thoughts when I sacrificed by not having any.  See, I suffered a little ADD for a moment.

As Dr. Potts introduced this beautiful student, her last name was Davenport, and I noticed she looked familiar.  He said that she was from Jemison, my hometown, and her was church Mineral Springs, my brother is music director there.  I realized that I did know her.  That is what took me back thirty-eight plus years.

The place was concrete tables, underneath oak trees, behind Union Springs Baptist Church, my home church, which is located between Jemison and Randolph, Alabama.  I was talking to James Earl Davenport.  Up home, a lot of boys and men have Earl for their middle name.  At Jemison High School, there was Dudley Earl Burnette, Rickey Earl Coles, Maston Earl Martin Jr., Ricky Earl Posey, and Bobby Earl Hopper in my senior class.  I do not know for whom we are named, but Earl must have been popular in the early 1950’s.  Oops, I went ADD again.

James Earl was six years older than I was.  He already had a small son and daughter.  We were having a church get together for young married couples.  We were talking hot topics of that time.  James Earl was worried about life and the terrible shape of our nation and world.  “End times” were hot topics of that era and everyone was talking about Hal Lindsey’s book The Late Great Planet Earth.  I had a copy at the time.  We were sure that the Lord would return any day because times were so terrible.  When I think of that time, I never imagined that things would be as they are currently.

That evening, James Earl said that if he had it to do again, he would not have had children.  He feared bringing children into such a horrible environment.  I remember when our older two children were small that I would hear their weeping at night fearing some foreign power would take Andy and Angel from us.  I would remind her that if we taught them God’s Word, they could be another Daniel or Joseph of the Old Testament.

A few years down the road after that cement table conversation, I had the privilege of teaching James Earl’s son.  He was a polite and teachable.  He became a good student and had a scholarship offer to play football at Troy University.  During the summers, he would work with his dad and me at the cement plant.

He married another one of our co-workers' daughters and they had two girls and adopted a couple of children after their daughters were teenagers.  One daughter and I did a wedding together in Springville.  I did the ceremony, and the daughter played the violin.  She also plays violin with a Christian ensemble with my nephew.  That nephew is the son of my music director brother at Mineral Springs.

I did recognize that student from Judson who was devoting her life to ministry.  She is the sister to the violinist, daughter of the young boy I taught in Sunday School, and the granddaughter of the one who had second thoughts about bringing up children in a cruel world.  Life takes funny turns.

I still feel the same about children today.  I wanted our children to make a Christian difference in life.  The Word of God reminds us to be fruitful and replenish the earth.  It is God’s way of having His people be salt and light in a decaying world.

When I had an opportunity, I visited the Judson Exhibit.  There behind the fresh hot crème covered donuts was James Earl and Ann Davenport’s daughter. Now, she is a spokesperson for Judson College at the Alabama Baptist State Convention at Dauphin Way Baptist in Mobile.  Standing before a couple of thousand believers, she encouraged us with how God was using her and how Judson was preparing her for ministry.

Some things are hard to envision.  That evening the two Earls, James and Bobby, never imagined that the horrific world of that time would be so anti-Christian, atrocious, and repulsive today.  God continues to call people into His fields.  The darker the days ahead, the brighter the light of God’s people shines.  I can’t wait to talk to James Earl.

O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him.  O fear the Lord, ye his saints: for there is no want to them that fear him.  Come, ye children, hearken unto me: I will teach you the fear of the Lord (Psalm 34:8-9, 11 KJV).

Tootsie Rolls and A Bitten Snickers

October is a big month for Southern Baptist Churches.  It is the start of a new church year, which translates into new literature, new classes, church letters, annual meetings, and pastor’s appreciation. 

What, did you forget it was pastor’s appreciation?  Some churches have a special day on the pastor’s anniversary date.  That is good too, but who says you cannot do both.  Pastors do not receive enough recognition for all the work they do.  Most weeks for a pastor become emotional roller coasters.  In one day, a pastor can go from a newborn’s home to the nursing, and to the funeral home before actually going home.

Many pastors face burnout prematurely.  The task of ministering seems overwhelming.  The pastor’s office is often a place of stress and strife.  It is often a sad office with tears of frustration, pain, and heartache.

It seems as though the fight against evil is a losing effort.  Pastors need love, affirmation, and encouragement.  It is amazing what nourishment a Sunday dinner will give the pastor.  It is incredible how much power a twenty-dollar bill has placed into the pastor’s shirt pocket.  The amount of energy a pastor has after fishing, or a hunting trip is enormous.

Small things go a long way.  I remember having Evangelist Danny Daniels for an Easter revival at the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama.  Danny preached preliminary revivals for Dr. Billy Graham Crusades and wrote a book, Mortal Midnight, about his conversion during the Viet Nam War.  He was on staff with Dr. Rick Warren, his best friend, at Saddleback Church.  He was a big-time evangelist at a small church.

After the morning offering, one of my ushers said we had an unusual offering.  He showed me four tootsie roll candies that were in the offering plates.  Danny said, “Praise God, I love tootsie rolls.  Someone knew I wanted some.”  Danny confirmed that it was going to be a great revival.  Someone ministered to him in ways they will never understand this side of heaven.

I had a pastor friend whose church gave his wife and him a trip to the Holy Land.  He was elated having always wanted to go.  The church paid for everything.  While they were gone, the church had a special called business meeting and decided to terminate him.  When my pastor friend and his wife returned home, the church informed him that he was fired.  He has been shy of trips to the Holy Land ever since that time.

My pastor, Evie Megginson said the most unusual pastor’s appreciation gift he received was a Snicker’s candy bar.  It had a big bite taken out of it.

Celebrate the ministry of your pastor.

Therefore said he unto them, The harvest truly is great, but the labourers are few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth labourers into his harvest.  Go your ways: behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves.  Carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes: and salute no man by the way.  And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house. And if the son of peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it: if not, it shall turn to you again.  And in the same house remain, eating and drinking such things as they give: for the labourer is worthy of his hire (Luke 10:2-7 KJV)

Too Simple

 Has anyone ever asked you to do something, and you thought, “that’s too simple and it will not work.”  While reading my devotion I came across the word “exponentially.”  What was odd, I heard “growing exponential” in a sermon the day before.  Sometimes when I do not know what a word means, I generally see how it is used in the sentence.  This time, since it crossed my path twice, I looked it up.  The definition did not help so I looked to see a common sense use of “exponentially.”

What I found was an old math equation using a penny.  It goes like this:  Would you work for a day for a penny if I doubled it every day for 30 days?  Most people say no.  In fact, I asked my secretary Pam, and she said no.  I would!

If I work for a penny a day, $0.01, and double it each day on the thirtieth day, I would be paid $10,737,418.24 for that day.  Did I ever tell you that algebra was the easiest subject I ever took?  This exponential function can be represented by the equation: f(x) = 0.01(2^x) where x = the day number. If you plug in 30 for x, you get f(x) = 0.01×2³⁰ = 10,737,418.24.  The problem, no pun intended, is the simplicity of a penny a day.

Take my friend Keilan.  After winter shut down at the cement plant, Keilan and I were in the process of starting up the cement kilns.  The coal hoppers had a slide at the bottom above the coal mills.  Normally it took someone hammering the slide out of the hopper.  It was hard to open when the hoppers were empty and very difficult when tons of coal was on top of the slide.  Knowing how problematical it was, I had greased the slide before pushing it in place when the hopper emptied for shutdown.  The shift supervisor instructed Keilan to make sure the slide was out while the tanks were empty.

Keilan could not find a sledgehammer.  Usually, they were everywhere.  I inquired why he needed a sledgehammer.  Keilan could be easily frustrated; worried coal would be put into the hoppers before he could get the slide out.  He had a few special words for me and again asked if I knew where there was a sledgehammer.  I asked him if he had tried to pull the slide out of the hopper.  I got a few choice words explaining that it was impossible to do that.

Keilan did not know was while he was in search of the hiding sledgehammers I went to see if I could pull out the slide knowing I had greased it while the hopper was empty.  It pulled right out.  I pushed it back in for a little fun with Keilan.

The bamboozled Keilan returned with no sledgehammer.  I asked again if he had tried to pull out the slide.  After a few more inapt words from him and some persuading words from me, Keilan consented to try to pull the slide. 

If I had not caught him, he yanked the slide with the fury of an agitated Hercules; he would have gone over a safety rail and fallen twenty feet onto concrete.  It was funny and Keilan and the slide, which weighed about seventy-five lbs., were heavy.  I think Keilan would have tried to kill me, but he was too indebted since I caught him.  Again, the solution was too simple.

On another occasion, my friend Bailey, a carpenter at the University of Montevallo, had spent several days and several dollars taking his infant daughter Ashleigh to the pediatrician to cure oral thrush, a yeast infection in the mouth caused by an overgrowth of fungus.  I worked four years with Bailey.  A co-worker and I said the old timers called it “thrash” and that he should take Ashleigh to a “thrash doctor.”  That’s where I took my children.  My Grandmoe Chapman was a thrash doctor.

Bailey was a college graduate and was reluctant to believe what he termed voodoo and old wives' tales.  Ashleigh grew worse, Bailey spent more money, and we encouraged him to use a thrash doctor.

One day an officer from the University police department visited the carpenter shop for a cup of coffee.  The morning conversation was the status of Ashleigh’s mouth and Bailey’s checking account.  Hearing our advice to see the thrash doctor, which do not charge for services rendered, Officer Satterwhite advised Bailey to take her to the thrash doctor.  Not believing my co-worker and me, Bailey took Ashleigh to Officer Satterwhite’s mother, a thrash doctor.  One trip healed Ashleigh.  The solution was too simple.

So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, and stood at the door of the house of Elisha.  And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean.  But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought, He will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper.  Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? May I not wash in them, and be clean? So he turned and went away in a rage.  And his servants came near, and spake unto him, and said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? How much rather then, when he saith to thee, Wash, and be clean?  Then went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, according to the saying of the man of God: and his flesh came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was clean (II Kings 5:9-14 KJV).


 

 

Bumps Ahead

One day I was spending some time alone by riding in West Alabama and East Mississippi.  I did not have any particular place to go or to be.  I wanted to meditate as I drove.  Each time I came to an intersection I would think a minute then turn.

I was traveling in places I had never been before.

Most of the traveling was smooth for my little Honda Civic.  I like driving my old truck, but it takes too much expensive gas to joy ride in it, but it is more comfortable.  I drove without the radio or CD playing.  I just wanted to watch, observe, and listen to God.

Not knowing where I was or where I was going was uncannily soothing.  I was not lost because I knew that if I went north, I would intersect at I 59.  If I continued west, I would be in Meridian.  If I traveled south, I would intersect US Hwy 84.  If I went back east, there would be Alabama Highway 17.

Somewhere in East Mississippi, I was reminded of home.  The roads were deplorable just like Chilton County Roads.  They were worse than anything we had up home including red dirt roads and converted pig trails, but it was east Mississippi.  There were no signs to let you know where you were.  I thought I might have changed commissioner districts.  Used to be up home, commissioners responsible for our “red” neck of the woods could care less if we had good roads.  The commissioners claimed lack of money.  When they did get money, they would spray tar and cover it with crushed limestone that was excellent sand blasting material for pulverizing windshields, stripping chrome bumpers, and removing paint.

The poor commissioners did not repair potholes or ditches in the road when putting in drainpipes.   I hit a pothole in the town of Thorsby one time that caused my tire to go flat.  I thought I ruined the tire only to find I ruined a tire and the rim.  This highway was worse than Chilton County.

The landscape was very familiar until I saw something redneck that we do not have up home.  There was a fencerow that baseball caps adorned the top of the fence posts.  I noticed that the caps were Alabama and Auburn caps.  That is not unusual for East Mississippi, but it got me to thinking about the change in the road a couple miles back.  I paid attention to the car tags of the next house and discovered I was in Choctaw County Alabama.  I asked the Lord to forgive me for thinking bad thoughts about the poor poverty, last in everything, State of Mississippi.  I thought about it a moment and realized that the County tag for Chilton is 14 and the one for Choctaw is 15 and suddenly everything in the world made sense even the identical highway connecting Magnolia to Lamison.  I was getting scared to make a church visit to Lamison in my small Honda.  I am afraid if I don’t disappear in a hole, the potholes are going to destroy my front end.  But I get the same sensation when travel State Highway 183 from Union Town to Marion only poor Perry County has paved that highway three or four times in the past twenty years.

I continued on the road, it carried me to South Choctaw Academy in Toxey, then Gilbertown where I crossed the railroad tracks and started back on my journey into uncharted territory in search of peace, meditation, and dinner.

I saw a sign with Welcome to Mississippi. Other signs warned of road closure, lane closure, flagman ahead, slower traffic keep right, and detours, low shoulder, and bump ahead.  I can testify that there was a bump, but it was a long way from the sigh. On my journey to “find myself”, I found that there were very few places that were different from where I have been.  I found myself at a catfish restaurant in Stateline, Mississippi. I found the people nice, the patrons friendly, and the catfish delicious.  In Stateline, I thought about the gecko in the GIECO commercial where he is jumping from Tennessee to Virginia.  When I turned left, the highway changed tunes, and I saw the Sweet Home Alabama sign.

I drove slowly and thought about the things I saw.  I crossed over rivers and creeks that continue their journey endlessly flowing since the Lord created them.  I saw empty towns, houses, and land that were once productive now sitting idle and forgotten.  I saw large homes, small homes, new homes, rundown homes, mobile homes, and nursing homes. 

I saw a wreck or two and people helping.  I saw people in a hurry and some like me that were poking along.  There were the courteous drivers and the road rage maniacs.  There were safe drivers and the idiots that pass on hills and on double yellow lines.  There were new things and plenty of the same. 

In my time alone, God was showing that life is a journey, and the road will have its challenges.  As we journey in life, we can expect the unexpected.   Every year I pray each new journey will be better than the last.

I pray that we travel the road God gives us with confidence, and it will be a great journey regardless of the bumps.  I remind myself to thank God for roads, which remind of life.

Hey Chilton County Commissioners! How about painting the lines on the highways where we can journey and see the road, especially when it is raining.  As my kids say, drive between the mustard and the mayonnaise 

 

The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.  Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain:  And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it (Isaiah 40:3-5 KJV).

Sidetracked

Do you have trouble keeping up with stuff?  I do.  Every time I work on something, I cannot keep up with the tools.  I remember one time when I worked in a machine shop looking for a pair of pliers.  I accused everyone one in the shop of hiding my pliers.  The only reason I did was that my co-workers were notorious for doing such things.  I looked almost the entire day, finding the pliers when I got into my truck to go home.  They were in my back pocket.  I felt a little foolish and had to apologize to my co-workers the next day.

Since that time, I try to put my tools back when I finish with them.  I clean them if they are dirty and repair them when needed.  It is frustrating when trying to find a tool that I know that I out it in a designated place and it is not there.  Usually when I find it, it is where I put it.  I just forgot I placed it there.

If you are like me, most of the time I must spend a day cleaning up my shed.  Things have a way of collecting just inside the door.  It seems they find their resting place there because those that deposited them there claim they do not know where they go or where I want them to go. 

Now I admit there are situations when time runs out and one has to place things in an area out of the way until there is time to place those things in their places.  When quizzed about what I did today, my answer is I cut the grass.  It does not take all day to cut the grass, but if you have to take most of an hour to pick up a variety of tools and other paraphernalia to locate the lawn mower, it slows the process.

Discovering the lawn front tire has a slow leak, I try to decide do I take the hand pump and fill the tire, or do I take a few extra minutes and run an extension cord to the air compressor.  Deciding to use the hand pump, I take a few minutes trying to locate it.  I find it, but the hose has dry-rotted, forcing me to cut it, making it shorter.  I spend enough time that it would have been quicker to run the extension cord and used the compressor. 

Once the lawn mower is outside and inspected, it is discovered that the blades need sharpening and it needs oil.  If the 5/8 wrench needed to remove the blades is not where it is supposed to be and it takes fifteen minutes to locate it, it slows the process.  I hope that the hand grinder and C-clamp are where it is supposed to be and after about fifteen to twenty minutes the sharp blades can help redeem the time lost trying to find tools.

I find the oil, but the funnel I need to put in the oil is not where it is supposed to be and there goes some of the time wasted that I gained from having sharp blades.  Not being able to find the funnel, I have to take time to find a used bottle or card stock material that can double for a funnel.  While looking for those I discover that the funnel is in a bucket that is filled with tools and stuff from another project.

Once the oil is okay, I discover that the mower needs gas.  Picking up the gas can, I realize it is empty.  A trip to the gas station eats up valuable time.  Once back, I need another funnel for the gas.  Gasoline is too expensive to waste!  I am in luck.  The gas funnel is where it is supposed to be.  I fill the mower with gas.  Now, I am ready to cut the grass, but discover that the battery cable is corroded and I must take time clean the cable.  Finally, I cut the grass.

This scenario is not confined to my shed.  I have trouble at the office.  I routinely must take time to clear my desk.  I get a box from Pam the secretary, put everything in the box, and piece by piece I file most of it in file 13.  I try to keep all my books, files, and documents in order where I can put my hands on them quickly if needed.

I have spent many moments trying to locate a book that I know it is where it is supposed to be.  Right now, I have no idea where my Bible, The Message by John Peterson, is.  It is not with the other Bibles.  I think I loaned it to someone, so I may have to buy another.  Guess what?  If I buy another, The Message will reappear.

My personality says that I want things to be in order.  I am not obsessed with it, but it sure makes cutting grass quicker and my office look neater.  I believe that having things in order is what God designed.  Hear what Isaiah 14:12-13 in The Message says,

 

Listen, Jacob. Listen, Israel—
    I’m the One who named you!
I’m the One.
    I got things started and, yes, I’ll wrap them up.
Earth is my work, handmade.
    And the skies—I made them, too, horizon to horizon.
When I speak, they’re on their feet, at attention.

 

I sure am glad that God does a better job of putting things in order than I do.  I cannot image God saying, “Where did I put that rib I borrowed from Adam?”

SNARES

When the winds blow, I pick up sticks, trigs, and limbs.  Mostly they are from the three large oak trees near my grill and barbeque pit. These are very handy to start a fire when grilling with hickory.  The pine limbs are a nuisance, not too tasty to use for cooking.

Before I learned the art of cooking with wood, especially hickory, sticks and limbs had other uses.  Momma would instruct us to get a limb, usually a peach limb, a plum limb, or black cherry limb to whip us.  Folks that know I am from Chilton County always brag on how wonderful the peaches taste.  Well, peach limbs don’t feel too spiffy and create a bad taste in your mouth concerning peach trees.

On occasion or two, pine sticks caused me to have to retrieve peach limbs.  Once when I visited my cousins.  They told me they had found a wonderful place in the woods, and they wanted me to see it.  As I followed them into the forest, I should have been more suspicious and less trusting of them.  After all, they were my flesh and blood.  We studied in Sunday school how brothers and cousins could do deplorable things to one another, but I never suspected that my favorite kin would harm me.

As we walked in the shadows of the large pines, they commented on the birds, squirrels, and other things.  Focusing on the things above, I did not see them deliberately sidestep a place on the ground.  All of a sudden, I felt like Alice in wonderland falling into a large hole.  When I looked up, I felt like Joseph in the pit about to be sold to the Ishmaelites.  There were my four cousins looking and laughing at me in this large stump hole.

They had taken pine sticks, trigs, made a rotten network of limbs and trigs, and covered their handiwork with pine straw.  Like a lamb being led to the slaughter, I fell into their snare.  I couldn’t wait to get out of the stump hole and see how my cousins created such a wonderful snare.

My cousins got me out and I helped them to redo the snare for some other unsuspecting cousin or friend.  In fact, I could not wait to get home to my pine ticket and make me a snare for my sister, brothers, and cousins.

I did not have a deep enough stump hole and had to do a little digging covering the dirt with pine straw.  I carefully weaved me a network of trigs and sticks across the top of my hole.  I fashioned the pine straw to make it look like the area surrounding the hole.  I had to create story to lure my victims into the pine thicket.  When I did, momma taught me another lesson using a peach limb.

Thinking back, we were fortunate that we did not get hurt really bad, but we were pretty tough.  Rolling down hills in old truck tires, sliding down pine straw on old windshields, swinging from muscadine vines, swinging out trees, and other fun stuff made us tuff. 

From time to time, we got caught in our own snares.  Truck tires would hit trees, knocking the wind out of us.  We learned that pines saplings were not the ideal tree to swing out to the ground.  Windshields would break into a jillion pieces when sliding across a rock.  Muscadine vines once cut, died, and turned loose from the tree when you were at the highest point of the swing, making landing on your back uncomfortable.

Ironically, a Friday morning devotion before a Sunday visit to Catherine Baptist Church was about the Scripture in this article.  At Catherine, Joe Harrison told me of another lion hunt he had in Africa.  Joe said that they had to dig a pit and use it as a blind to shoot the lion.  Thanks Joe!  The devotion and your story were the inspiration for this article.

 

A snare is defined as “concealed trap for a victim.”  A snare leads to eventual destruction.  Sometimes people, businesses, and organizations, yes even the church, unintentionally create snares.  A credit card makes buying easy, but the snare is debt.  A church can dedicate a building, piece of church furniture, or a picture and it becomes an immovable object or sacred cow.  A person praying for a good paying job can become so dedicated to that job that he or she forsakes their ministry, and eventually church.  That boat or motor home becomes something that we worship, spending more time with it than with God.  We did not intent to worship it, but we did. 

Take Gideon in the Book of Judges.  He never intended to create a snare, but he did.

 

And Gideon said unto them, I will not rule over you, neither shall my son rule over you: the Lord shall rule over you.  And Gideon said unto them, I would desire a request of you, that ye would give me every man the earrings of his prey. (For they had golden earrings, because they were Ishmaelites.)  And they answered, We will willingly give them. And they spread a garment, and did cast therein every man the earrings of his prey. And the weight of the golden earrings that he requested was a thousand and seven hundred shekels of gold; beside ornaments, and collars, and purple raiment that was on the kings of Midian, and beside the chains that were about their camels' necks.  And Gideon made an ephod thereof, and put it in his city, even in Ophrah: and all Israel went thither a whoring after it: which thing became a snare unto Gideon, and to his house (Judges 8:23-27 KJV).

 

The Hebrew word for snare means “a noose for catching animals or a hook for the nose.”  The ephod, because of its wealth and beauty became an object of worship.  Its original intent was to honor God, but people are prone to idolatry. 

I Noticed You Don't Limp

What keeps you going?  I do not know about you, but I need someone to push me when I won’t start, guide me when I need direction, pump me when I am down, move me when I am stuck, soothe me when I hurt, embrace me when I am lonely, and stand beside me when I struggle. 

I pray that as I face the uncertainties of life that I always have hope.  I have known several people that have given up hope and the result was death.  I want to have a living hope and that is difficult when I realize how fast evil is growing in our world today.  You and I must avoid killers of hope such as betrayal, trials, and death.

I had a yearly checkup with my knee surgeon on August 29, 2016.  After x-raying of both knees, Dr. Steele examined his handiwork bending my knees, straightening them, and swiveling them.  He asked if I had any issues.  Having none, he said, “I will see you in five years.”

That was great news considering that the last year had been a healing year.  Skibo, my knee therapist, saw me the one night at a Quarterly Men’s Meeting at Fairhaven Baptist Church in Demopolis, Alabama.  He said, “I watched you walking at Walmart the other day and noticed you walked without a limp.”  I responded, “I didn’t know I was supposed to having two new knees.”   He continued to tell me how good I did and how I was a poster child for his clinic Genesis Rehab.

Prior to my surgery, I was on the verge of giving up hope.  My greatest fear was losing the use of my legs.  I knew that there were hundreds of people that loss the use of their legs, especially veterans of the Middle East.  The uncertainty of total knee replacement, especially those I knew that were not totally successful, those that walked with a limp, got infections, and had to re-operate and replace replacements, made me doubt.

My knees deteriorated for over eight years after the initial diagnosis of severe arthritis, bone on bone, and a recommendation of total knee replacement.  The harder I tried to aid in the healing of my knees before surgery, the worse they became.  I eventually destroyed the ACLs in both knees and tore ligaments reaching the lowest point in my life physically, but it was beginning to affect me emotionally and spiritually.

Having had both knees replaced, Erma Davis from Dixons Mill Baptist Church, one of the churches I served, encouraged me have the surgery.  A pastor friend of mine told of a member of his family who had the surgery and wished he had done it years earlier.  When I started having fever, could not do steps, could not bend my knees, and could not move laterally, I paid attention to those trying to give me hope.

At our eldest son’s birthday dinner in Birmingham, we and our daughter, Angela went shopping in Brookwood Village.  Not being able to walk, I sat in the car.  It was a beautiful day for January 18.  I watched handicap students from the University of Southern Mississippi exit a van.  They were in town for a handicap tournament.

I noticed a student that had a prosthesis leg.  He wore shorts and tennis shoes.  I watched him move effortlessly in the parking lot.  I made up my mind that day that if I did lose my legs, I could do as this young man did.

During the pre-op for the first knee replacement, the lady in charge of pre-surgical exercises apologized for being late.  She had helped an eighty plus year-old lady into her car.  This little lady had had total knee replacement that morning.  I made up my mind.  If that little old lady could do well, I could.

The morning of my surgery, I had a Biblical, a Godly peace.  I knew that people were praying for me.  I knew that regardless of the outcome, that God would be with me every step, no pun intended, of the way.

I remember that there was no pain in my knee.  Sure, the knee was sore from the cutting of muscles and ligaments, the pulling, hammering, and cutting of bones, and especially the tourniquet, but there was no pain in the joint.  That afternoon after the surgery, I started walking.  Actually, having not bent my right knee in years, I learned how to walk again.  I couldn’t wait to replace the other one and wished I had not waited so long.

Learning to walk again is what we must do when betrayal, trials, and death wounds us, zaps our energy, and consumes our being.  Peter’s hope was obliterated after the betrayal, the trial, and death of Jesus.  But, after the Resurrection, Jesus picked him up from the pits of self-destruction and self-pity and challenged him.  Examine the difference in Peter when he wrote the early Christians when they were being persecuted.    

  

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.  Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations: That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ: Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory: Receiving the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls (I Peter 1:3-9 KJV).

Oh What A Night Back in 1969

Influence is a powerful word.  It was so powerful that momma guarded what influenced us.  When I look at society today, there are more venues of influence than any time in the history of the world.  Some years back, I read that people read more on one page of a daily newspaper than people did before the age of the printing press read in twenty years.  Can you imagine the magnification of that fact today with the media resources available today, especially smart phones and access to the World Wide Web?

When we discuss influence, VCR’s, DVD’s, and CD’s have entertained those that are in their mid to late fifties.  I remember discussing the subject of VCRs with a cousin that operated a video rental store.  These stores, as well as VCR’s, have gone the way of the dodo bird.  They no longer exist.  My cousin told me that VCRs were great babysitters.  Her sons, who now have teenagers of their own, watched VCR’s every day after school until her and her husband got home.  They may have been good babysitters, but the content of the VCR’s has influenced a whole generation.  The verdict of this way of life is pending.  Mama always said, “You will reap what you sow!”

Another one of mom’s favorite sayings was, “Birds of a feather flock together.”  Bad friends result in bad behavior.  If momma or dad said that they did not like a certain friend I had and that I had better stay away from them, I took note of it.  Dad was a very good discerner of people and momma wasn’t too shabby at judging folks either.

Because of a life without many amenities, I did not have many friends.  I was embarrassed to invite them to the shanty where I lived.  Most parents of kids from school had barns and sheds that were better than hour house.  I did not want people to see how poor we were.

In my late teens, I befriended some of my football teammates.  One evening after practice, some of them invited me to spend a few hours with them.  After hanging out at the local hamburger stand across from our football practice field, one of my friends, “Butter Bean,” invited to ride with him.  His dad was a mechanic and auto body technician.  Butter Bean’s dad had restored a 56 Chevy.  It was turquoise and white two-door hardtop with a 327 engine, four-in-the-floor, chrome mag rims, and Tiger Paw tires.  A chance to ride in it was wonderful since I was driving an old wore out junker 1950 Plymouth which have restored and currently drive.

I loaded up with Butter Bean and a couple of very impressionable junior high boys. We took off from the hamburger stand with the sound of cherry bomb mufflers sounding like the fluttering of angel wings with changing of all four gears.  We had not gone very far when I realized I might have made a mistake.  As they broke out the Miller High Life beers, I knew it could not be good.  I did not drink.  When we stopped at the I-65 over pass near Rocky Mount Methodist Church, I got suspicious.  When they opened the trunk and got out the cases of eggs, I had a sick feeling down in my gut.

About this time, I asked, “What are y’all gonna do with them eggs?”  Butter Bean said, “We are going to throw them at cars on the Interstate.”  Well, I was pretty naïve, but I’m not stupid.  I folded my arms, sat down in the open trunk and told them that I was not gonna throw eggs.  I watched as they had their fun and prayed that no one would get killed and that the Jemison police or Alabama State Troopers would not show.  They drank beer, threw eggs, and snickered in demonic timbre.

I was glad to return to the hamburger stand, get in my old Plymouth, and get home.  I told daddy what I had done in hopes that he would be proud that I did not participate in the demonic debauchery and revelry of interstate eggnog.  I hoped that he would believe me, and he did.  But he gave me some advice that I carry with me to this very day.  He asked, “What would you have done if the police showed up that night?”  I told him that I would have told them was not drinking and I was not throwing eggs.  Dad said the police would not know any difference and would have assumed that I had.  He said there would be no way to convince them that you were not drinking and had not thrown eggs, and the best thing would have been to start walking back to Jemison.  In my mind, I did what I thought was right and besides, I wanted to ride in the 56 Chevy again.

Thinking back to that night back in 1969, I am glad that no one was injured or killed.  Since that night, I have read and heard about numerous injuries and deaths due to objects tossed down onto innocent interstate travelers.  That night seems so trivial compared to the things teenagers are doing nowadays.  Today’s society is so much like those in the days of the Book of Judges.  

 

In those days there was no king in Israel: every man did that which was right in his own eyes (Judges 21:25 KJV).

The 141st Celebration of God’s Work

Somewhere between “God Give Us Christian Homes”

And “Holy, Holy, Holy”

The devil and his minions entered the small rural worship

What had been a small gathering of Godly saints

Evil ransacked with yelling, bitter tears, and division

In the interlude, there was a “Golden Anniversary”

It was perfect follow up to God Give us Christian Homes

The Golden Couple bubbled with joy sharing their wisdom

The small congregation honored them with song and smiles

Sunday School was the conversion of Saul

The church motto, “Showing What God Can Do” echoed

Men discussed issues and had prayer oblivious of Evil

Innocence and ignorance reared it two-faced head

Special celebration of the Golden couple was a secret

Evil used the occasion to fuel the sin of jealousy

Calm turned to storm, love turn to scorn, and disunity

Tears of celebration became tears of hurt and shame

The flames of hell lapped and an evil coldness engulfed

The men exited their prayer into frozen animosity

The pastor entered the Holy warfare with partial armor

As he waited and prayed, he sang Holy, Holy, Holy

It’s words and theology rang out as still God reigns

Satan disrupted using the sins of the congregation

Repentance is the key and forgiveness is powerful

God is Merciful and Mighty

Forgive us God for allowing evil to use us

Fun Meeting People

While attending the University of Montevallo I met people from all over the world.  Back then, Montevallo was the first school listed under Alabama colleges.  Alabama is the first state listed.  Many foreign students came because of its listing and its lower tuition.

I developed relationships with Rom from India, Boon Hin from Malaysia, Mercedes from Spain, Vanna from Iran, and Dan from Pittsburg.  Now Pennsylvania is in America, but Dan acted like a “fernier”, that is Chiltonian slang for foreigner.

It was fun meeting new people.  It was enlightening to learn from new cultures and seeing things from new perspectives.  I received four years of education from relationships that cannot come from books and lectures.

One intriguing person did not attend school but worked in the University carpenter shop.  He was native Alabamian, from Chilton County.  He wore long hair to cover a place on the back of his head and neck from a scalding accident as a kid. He talked in a slow southern drawl and walked in a slow, carefree, and plowboy manner.  He appeared to have little education but could spell anything.

Being a horrible speller, he and I discussed spelling on many occasions.  He wanted to know how I was an English minor and could not spell.  I told him I spelled with a very limited vocabulary and used a dictionary.  I had not heard of a thesaurus back then.  Boy does a thesaurus help writing these articles. 

He asked me in that slow southern drawl, “If you don’t know how to spell it, how do you look up a word in a dictionary?”  He did have a good point.  This was before computers had spell check. I use spell check, but sometimes it is wrong, and I look up a word in the dictionary and show it to the computer screen and say, “I told you that you was wrong.”  Spell check corrects the spelling but does not give the correct word at times

My friend had another talent.  He had a green thumb when it came to plants.  Plants filled the carpenter shop.  He collected plants from all over the campus that were in the process of dying.  Rather than throwing them away, he would nurture them back to good health.  I can see him now with his squirt bottle of water spraying his babies as he lovingly called them.  He talked to them as he ministered to them.

Where professors and members of housekeeping neglected the plants, my friend nurtured them back to good health.  The plants provided the carpenter shop with oxygen and beauty.  From time-to-time professors and members of housekeeping visited the carpenter shop.  They were amazed at the healthy plants.  Sometimes they did recognize that the plants were their former plants.

My friend retired from the University.  On a visit to the University, I noticed that my friend’s plants remain healthy.  His former coworkers maintain the plants.  My friend frequents the shop to check the plants and give the plants a pep talk.

If you come by our home at Sugar Ridge, you will see plants.  My friend taught me how to nurture and care for plants.  They remind me of my friend.  They remind me of the importance of nurturing people and churches.

I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.  Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you.  Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.  I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.  If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.  If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.   Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples. (John 15:1-8 KJV).

 

In the Office Again

Do you have back to school blues or are you happy it has started?  For me, I hated school.  I could not wait for graduation May 27, 1971.  It took forever.  I hated homework.  I hated reading.  I hated writing.  I enjoyed history.  I loved math, algebra, electric computation (forerunner of computers) and football.  I wished I had enjoyed dating, but I could not buy a date.  My ex sister-in-law convinced a girl to date me. Did I say I hated school?

With that said, I returned to school in September 1983 at the University of Montevallo.  Having the call of the Lord resonating in my heart, I walked onto the hallow ground and cobbled streets of the Quad, the Tower, and Palmer Hall.  There I encountered Ms. Cobb; her husband was from Demopolis, who asked if she could help me.  I must have looked as a “plowboy” come to town.  I did not know it, but the Lord did because it was orientation.

I was eager to share my exciting call to minister and returning to school to help me be a pastor.  I realized she was one of the liberated people of the eighties and she was not impressed with my call, but she was very helpful.  She taught English and helped me to write when I attended the Harbert Writing Center, a place for those whose English skills were nonexistent.

I was very ignorant about writing and college and Ms. Cobb saw me as a project to teach me the ways of the secular university and launch me into the agnostic twentieth century.  She did enlighten me on Pell Grants.  These grants were money that the government loans to students without having to pay the money back to the government.  Boy, she was nice, liberated woman.

A couple of years later I was going to Palmer Hall to pick up my Pell Grant.  The lines were long with students getting their money.  The line reached from the second floor, down the stairs, through the main lobby, onto the steps, and out into the streets. These were transitional days from punch cards to computers.

It was hot in Palmer Hall.  The temperature was hot, and students were getting hot under the collar due to the slowness of those operating the computers.

I finally reached the top of the stairs and could see the payroll window.  People were angry so I decided to make a joke about computers.  I said in my preaching voice, “Boy ain’t the technological age wonderful in how it speeds things up or we would be here pulling cards all night.”

After that, everyone started telling computer jokes and the line moved quickly.  When I was close to receiving my check, a woman behind the counter said she wanted to talk to me in her office.  She looked upset. How did she know me?  My first thought was, “What I have I done now?”  Trouble follows me as a dirty cloud follows Pigpen.  You know the dirty little follow from the Peanuts cartoon.

With high anxiety, I entered onto “the carpet” of her office.  She closed the door and said, “Thank you for what you did.”  I was clueless as to what I did so I asked her what I did.

She said, “You took what was a very volatile situation and made everyone laugh.  The girl doing the student loans was nervous and the more upset the students became, the more mistakes she made.  Your smile and your humor put everyone at ease.  You took the attention off the computer operators.”

I told the woman that it was better to have a smile and share it than be one to gripe and complain.  It was a joy to get money to follow God’s call upon my life.

Author and Bible teacher Warren Wiersbe writes, Joy takes the burden out of service.  The Joy of the Lord is your strength (Nehemiah 8:10). God loves a cheerful servant as well as a cheerful giver . . . God wants His family to be happy, and this means that each member must contribute to joy.

Leave the Light On and Double Plunkin'

 

It was a Sunday night with six people in attendance at Brierfield Baptist Church.  The six people there were my family of five and Sis Fletcher.  Sunday mornings were a little better but not much.  Instilled in me was the principle:  teach or preach even it there is only one in attendance.  I still hold to that principle, I encourage preachers, and teachers of God’s Word that when there is only one student, then God wants you to have one-on-one time with them.  It is a divine appointment.  It may that God places us there to do some personal ministry.

With that thought, we had a regular service.  During the eight years at Brierfield, there were perhaps six years with no music.  Most people thought we were Church of Christ or a Mennonite congregation, not Southern Baptists because we did a whole lot of a Cappella.

My wife led the music that night, our two older children, Andy, who was twelve, and Angela, who was ten, took up the offering.  I called on Andy to open in prayer and Angela to pray the offertory prayer.  Aaron was a baby that cried AMEN a whole bunch.

People would ask me why bother to have church, why not just go home.  I would reply, we came to worship, and I was teaching the principles of worship to our children.  One particular Sunday, only my five showed for worship.  It was a cold, overcast, rainy morning.  The 1888 building used gas space heaters and I waited to see who would attend that morning before lighting them.  As Baptists do, sometimes there was a mad rush to make it right at ten o’clock.  This particular day it was, as a black friend of mine would say, “It’s just usin’s.” So usins worshiped in the warm car.

We had been at Brierfield for a couple of years, and this was the first of many times that it would be just my five.  The wife looked at me that morning and said, “For the first time, I am discouraged.”

I told her that were less than ten miles from home and in less than thirty minutes we could back in a nice and comfortable home cooking chicken fingers and French fries.  I reminded her that we had thought about becoming missionaries and if we were ten thousand miles away in Timbuktu and no one showed, that would be discouraging.

No one came, we went home, cooked chicken fingers and French fires, she went to bed for beauty rest and I watched kung fu movies and the kids played.

Let me regress back to the Sunday night with Sis Fletcher and my five.  I was finishing a sermon, and about to offer an invitation when a lady entered the church and sat on the back pew.  The Baptist Tradition is for everyone to look behind them when some enters the church.  All of us noticed that the lady was crying.  The Holy Spirit impressed me to preach a short sermon.  I preached a five-minute sermon; a concept that is totally unknown by a whole bunch of preachers and gave the invitation.  I prayed the closing prayer, hoping the lady would come where I could pray for her.  When I finished, the whole church that night, that sounds better than Sis and us, welcomed her.

What she would tell me remains with me until today.  She said, “I was on my way to kill myself and I prayed that if God was listening that He give me a sign.  I prayed to God that the church would be open. I saw the lights of the church, pulled into the parking lot; I sat in the car for a few moments, and then decided to come in.”

We learned that she was from another denomination, and she could play the piano really well and had played for a quartet.  There was only one problem she could not read music.  The way she played for us was we would start singing; she would peck on the piano keys until suddenly she would have the melody.  The walls of Brierfield Baptist became Bapcostal for a few months.  The term Bapcostal comes from the Chiltonian Text and means when a Baptist raises his/her hands and says amen and hallelujah like a Pentecostal, Brierfield is a Southern Bapcostal Church.

She did more than play.  One Sunday morning she had twenty-eight people come to church with her.  Another Sunday there were fifty-four there.  The most I remember was seventy-two.  She would say come to my church were the pastor and the people love you regardless of who you are and what you have done.  She shared Jesus like the woman at the well when Jesus confronted her.

For Christmas that year, we did a cantata.  Now remember, our pianist could not read music, but she utilized every key and petal on the piano.  We did the cantata for a neighboring church.  We got an ovation for it.  I will never forget what a deacon in that church said.  “I think that girl was double plunkin’ that piano like they do in a bar.”   Yeah, it weren’t no bar and she was shining, and it was wonderful.  Because the Brierfield Baptist Church was faithful and had it lights burning, she was letting her light shine by “double plunkin’” and sharing Jesus with her family, neighbors, and strangers.

 

Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did (John 4:29a KJV)

 

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven (Matthew 5:16 KJV).