"Sin of Poverty"

One day several years ago I was recovering from an intense workout at rehab after total knee replacement by sitting in the car in the Demopolis, Alabama Wal Mart parking lot.  I told my chauffeur that I would wait while she went in for a few things.  Now all you know that if you go to town, Wal Mart calls you to it like a bug zapper attracts insects.

The parking lot had more cars than normal.  My friend reminded me that it was the fifteenth of month, government checks.  She ought to know, she delivered them for a quarter century with the United States Post Office.

All that I saw intrigued me.  I am a people watcher and I observed people getting out their vehicle and sashaying into the land of bargains.  Folks were in raggedy old trucks, red mud covered Tahoes, nasty rice burners (Hondas, Toyotas, Nissans), BMW’s, and Mercedes.  There were big people, extra-large folks, short people, and tiny folks all coming and going.

I watched a customer gather buggies and return them to the proper place. Other folks, removing junk from their buggies, left them in empty parking spaces, where arriving customers would have to move them to park.  Some folks just have a knack for sorriness

I had the windows and moon roof open enjoying the smell of spring, only to have it ruined with the nasty smell of a cigarette.  I watched as the lady puffed and blew that blue nicotine toxic cloud my way.  She, along with all the other smokers deposited their nasty cigarette butts on the pavement at the Wal Mart entrance.  People can be so inconsiderate.

We experienced the same inconsideration at the monthly distribution of food for low-income folks at the Bethel Baptist Building Annex each month.  Pam, the Associational secretary and I had to make and post signs reminding the folks that it is a no smoking area.  One day I told a man it was no smoking.  He said he did not know it was no smoking.  I asked if he smoked at his church.  He said no.  I asked could he smoke on school property.  He said no.  I reminded him that he was on church owned property and parked his car on school property.  NO SMOKING.

What amazes me is the fact that people receiving this low-income food have money to waste on junk.  My experience living below the poverty level, according to the IRS, for four years while attending the University of Montevallo, my wife, the kids, and I lived on bare essentials.  There were no vacations, no ball games tickets, no new clothes, just what we needed. 

I am reminded of a devotional about the “sin of poverty.”  It is the dialogue between Jesus and the rich young ruler.  Jesus told him to sell all he had and to give the money to the poor.  He lacked faith.  Most of us are aware of the sin of riches, but what about poverty?

Poverty also can block faith.  People use being poor as an excuse.  Most of us find it difficult to give food to a person with a cigarette dangling from their mouth, the smell of liquor on their breath, marijuana in their pocket, a designer purse on the shoulder, and sporting a new Mercedes.

I decided to do a word study on poor.  The Bible is full of references to the poor.  Jesus said that the poor would always be around and to help them, Deuteronomy 15:7-8.  The tricky part is how to help.

What I learned was that being poor is about attitude.  Heck, some the richest people in Marengo County are poor when compared to Donald Trump.  I know growing up we did not think of our family being poor, is just those folks in Jemison were rich because they had a lot of new stuff.

If we are not careful, we can foster an attitude in the poor of expecting handouts.  I remember in economics class at the University of Montevallo the Chinese proverb:  Give a man fish you feed him today, teach a man how to fish and feed him tomorrow.

I also remember the University had a partnership with Guatemala.  During one of the exchanges, a delegation from Guatemala wanted to see the poor of Montevallo.  They took them to a rundown area.  The Guatemalans said, “No, show us you are poor.”  They were carried to a place where there were a few shanties.  Once again, “No, show us you’re poor.”  Finally, they showed them a rundown old shack.  They were amazed and said, “Everyone here is so rich.”

What about the sin of poverty?  I have concluded that people are poor by birth, by choice, and by uncontrollable forces.  Think about it.  One cannot control what family they were born, what conditions they face, and what calamities that will come. 

My late friend Jim Baker said that he went from being wealthy to pauper overnight in the soybean business when President Jimmy Carter imposed the grain embargo on Russia in the late 1970’s.

The sin of poverty must be a choice (Proverbs 10:4, 21:17).  The rich young ruler had to decide to stay rich, or trust God.  The flipside is the poor, to stay poor or trust God (Psalms 69:33; Proverbs 13:7, 19:1; Matthew 5:3; and James 2:5).

Two things stand out in God’s Word about the poor.  God has always been on the side of the poor, not just any poor, but those who were poor with material things, but rich in faith.  The church’s duty is defend the poor and preach the Good News/Gospel to them.

 

Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble (Psalm 41:1 KJV).

 

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor (Luke 4:18a KJV).

 

Lest I forget Calvary, “For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich” (II Corinthians 8:9 KJV).

A Little Encouragement Makes A Big Difference

Some of the most influential people in our lives are schoolteachers and coaches.  I had, and I hope you did, some of the best.  I don’t remember my first grade teacher at South Beloit Elementary in Illinois, but I did not like her.  I disliked her so much that I ran away from school as often as I could get away with it.

In March of the first grade, we moved back to Alabama and my Dixie first grade teacher was the splitting image of the Yankee version, so I continued to run away from school.  I do not know how I advanced to the second grade, but thank God, I got Mrs. Nellie Glasscock.  My cousins recommended her, and I remember reading about Dick, Jane, and Spot running, but not away from school.

As luck would have it, third grade was like first grade in many ways.  The third-grade class had too many students and I was one of the “chosen ones” placed in the extra class with the substitute teacher who must have been a sister to my first-grade teachers.  Gee whiz, was there three of them?

By the third grade, dad and momma had broken me of my running away.  One can only be sick so much and good hiding places are hard to find.  I suffered with Mrs. Oaks until the Christmas break.  I don’t remember what I got for Christmas that year at home, but when school started back, Santa had left this beautiful young teacher in our upstairs classroom.

Mrs. Avis Harthen was so wonderful.  I went from U’s and S’s to E’s and G’s.  Mrs. Harthen would hug me and tell me how proud she was of me.  Years later when I was Beta Club president, Ms. Harthen, who had gone to bigger and higher things, spoke at our annual banquet.  I remember her telling the audience how proud she was of me and how I was her favorite third grade student.

I had real good teachers after Mrs. Harthen.  When you get the reputation that you are a good student, teachers treat you different.

Another person of influence was Coach Lamar Cost.  He and I did not hit it off so well in the beginning.  He was new to the school and had a reputation as being a hard-nosed coach.  He had coached some boys that later played at the University of Alabama.  I will say that he was a very good defensive coach.

I remember my first meeting with Coach Lamar.  Mom did not want me playing football so I had to run away from home, you might say, to play football.  When I did not show up on the school bus, mom knew I had stayed to practice football.  Every day was the same scenario.  The coaches fussed and cussed me at practice and mom fussed and cussed me for practicing.  Did I ever tell you that I loved playing football?

On the first day of practice, I had to dig through piles of discarded football equipment to round up enough stuff for practice.  I had a ragged jersey, and I could not find a set of matching pads.  My helmet was way too big.  The older and veteran players got all the good stuff and the “hamburger squad” got the culls.  In my quest I did get a pair of blue pants, like the veterans, only they were in bad shape, no body wanted them.

I wished you could have seen me when I got to the practice field.  I looked awful and of course just like all football rookies, I had my thigh pads in backwards.

Coach Lamar grabbed me by the facemask and asked me where I got the blue pants.  I wanted to be a big man and thought I would get a little smart with him.  I said, “I stole them.”  Not a good start!

Coach was tough.  One time in practice, I injured my left thigh.  I pinched the nerve.  I was dragging my left leg.  In scrimmage, our halfback run over me, which was unusual.  I thought I would cry.  Did I tell you I love to play football, but I hated practice?

Coach Lamar screamed at me and screamed run it again.  Once again, the halfback ran over me.  This time I felt someone straddle my back and grab my facemask pulling my head around off the dusty ground and telling me, “If I could not do any better than that to go to the house.”  So, I got up and started the long journey home.  Did I say that I loved football enough to walk six miles most every day?  Coach asked, “Where you going?”  I said, “To the house.”

After I showered and started home, Coach Lamar the concerned daddy asked, “What’s wrong?”  I said, “Coach, I pulled something in warm-ups, and it hurts.  I can barely walk”

I played for Coach Lamar for four years and we developed a friendship that existed till his death.  He taught me how to play defense, good enough to get college offers.  One practice during my sophomore year he told the team that I was the most improved player and that I had improved one thousand percent.

Mrs. Harthen and Coach Lamar taught me more than studies and football.  They helped me learn about life.  Thanks Mrs. Harthen and Coach Lamar!

 

When I think of great teachers, Jesus is the greatest:  Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him (John 3:2b KJV)

Safe in Daddy's Arms

I have a picture of my daddy holding me on the hood of an old GMC pickup.  I am not very old, still in a baby blanket, big round head and face, no hair and no teeth.  There is another picture of dad holding me on the back of a gigantic white workhorse named Babe.  This is on our fridge today.   I do not remember the old GMC, but I do remember daddy holding after sitting me on Babe’s back.

I remember dad holding me down in the Mr. Bratton’s barber chair when I was very small.  I remember this red faced, curly blonde-haired, and crying little boy in the mirror.  I was screaming because Mr. Bratton cut my ear and head.  Thinking back, he was probably trying to cut off my head.  I did not know it at the time, but momma was furious for cutting off her baby’s curls.  I hate haircuts to this day!

As a “little feller”, I was puny.  I had pneumonia when I was a couple years old.  I had stomach problems for a few years.  I remember taking some concoction for worms.  I had some issues with my kidneys and had a barrage of tests.  Illinois doctors said that my tonsils were causing some of my sickness.

Mom brought my sister and me back to Alabama where Dr. Joe Moore, the first person to slap me, and family doctor, could perform the surgery.  Mom took advantage of the Christmas Holidays, being home with family, and giving me a memorable sixth birthday.

I remember the scenes of the hospital.  The lights seemed dim and the halls dark.  Nurses had this small thorny bush decorated with different colored gumdrops.  There was a Christmas tree decorated with aluminum icicles and colored lights.  There was the ether-filled mask over my face.  The ceiling had these big chrome globes with bright lights hanging over the operating table.

I remember just like yesterday when they placed that screen meshed mask on my face.  I struggled to breathe.  I remember them holding me down as I felt like I was spiraling downward round and round.  I felt like I died.  I remember seeing a sign in my Aunt’s bedroom that had a saying about lying down to sleep and dying.  I did not know what death was like, but I felt like I was experiencing it.

Momma said when the hospital called a “code blue,” she knew it was for me.  Momma told me years later that they lost me, probably because I panicked.  Momma said she prayed as she never did before and suddenly I vomited and the doctors revived me.

I remember the falling sensation and seeing all kinds of demonic creatures.  I would learn later that the things I saw were things like artists captured on canvas centuries earlier.  The sad part about the whole ordeal was my sister, three years old, woke from her surgery wanting ice cream.  She would look at me and lick the ice cream.  The demons never bothered her.  I think I know why, but I rather not say.

I battled with extremely high fever for years.  My fever would be so high that momma would put ice or alcohol on me to cool the down.  Momma feared that the high fever would affect my brain.  Some will say it did!

On more than one occasion, when I ran a high fever, I would see some of the same demonic creatures from my tonsillectomy.

I remember daddy holding me in his arms one night as I screamed from hallucinations of a high fever as unfinished sheetrock and sheetrock mud over joints and nails transformed into scary creatures.  Monstrous demons reached for me with mouths wide open trying to devour me. 

As momma cried and wringed her hands in a nervous breakdown delirium, daddy would hold me firm and speak comforting words of hope and assurance.  Daddy would shield me from these fiends and ogres from the pits of hell.  As the fever would subside, I would find that indeed daddy had carried through a gigantic struggle.

Such are the fears of a little boy as he faces adversities and who has a daddy that will hold softly, yet firm in his arms and protect him.  I needed his love, tender and formidable.

These events remind me that I have a heavenly Father that holds me and keeps the demonic at bay.  Satan will do anything to destroy my testimony or yours.  I am glad when the Scriptures remind that God who loves you and me will fight for, and carry His children.

 

Then I said to you, "Do not be terrified; do not be afraid of them. The LORD your God, who is going before you, will fight for you, as He did for you in Egypt, before your very eyes, and in the desert. There you saw how the LORD your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went until you reached this place." Deuteronomy 1:29-31

TIME

 The gadgets that humanity has at its disposal have always shaped society and intellectualism.  Overnight luxuries become necessities.  If society is not careful, gadgets become idols determining what and how we worship.

Take the invention of the clock.  Most of us live by the clock.  A clock wakes us from our sleep.  Our sleep time started by looking at a clock to see the time of night to analyze the proper hours of sleep we would need for proper rest.  We needed to rest because we start work by punching a timecard in a time clock.

During that time of work, clocks determine our breaks dividing our work time into strategic intervals of rest and time to refuel our bodies.  We leave work by looking at a clock and once again punching a time clock.

We race home looking at the clock to determine what time to prepare supper.  Once food has been prepped for cooking, we use the clock to determine how long each dish will have to cook.  This determines what time we will enjoy a meal and how much time we have to enjoy the remaining time doing homework, watching TV, and other pertinent things before time to go to bed.  It makes me wonder how humanity, especially Americans, operates without a clock. 

Speaking of a time clock, ABC Rail in Calera, Alabama had an incident where men were in line waiting to clock out, which was against company policy and considered stealing.  As a supervisor approached to give a royal chewing to the time stealing employees, a stealing, quick thinking employee confronted him by saying, “Looks like a company as big as ABC Rail could have two clocks that had the same time.”  The supervisor turned and walked away, outsmarted, at least until the next time.

Another question is what was the necessity that prompted someone to invent a clock?

Well, it was the church so people could look at them during preaching.  It was invented to see how much more time it would take the preacher to finish his sermon after saying, “Now in closing” when he really means I have five more minutes to preach because it is not after twelve yet.  No, I am kidding.  However, the Catholic Church at the Pope insistence initiated the invention.

Reading Clarence P. McClelland’s book, Quotations Marks and Exclamation Points (The Lakeside Press 1935) reminded me of the clock’s origin.  You know necessity is the mother of invention.  McClelland writes, “Lewis Munford in his fascinating book The Technics of Civilization tells us that the first manifestation of the machine age was in the regular measurement of time and that the clock, and not the steam engine, is the key machine of the modern industrial age.  He shows how the new mechanical conception of time arose largely out of the routine of the monasteries, particular the Benedictine monasteries.  It was in the seventh century that the Pope decreed that the bells of the monasteries should ring seven times in twenty-four hours for devotions.  Some means of keeping count of these punctuation marks in the day and ensuring their regular repetition became necessary.  This led ultimately to the invention of the mechanical clock which in the thirteenth century got out of the monasteries into the cities and brought a new regularity into the life of the workman and the merchant.”

Munford says, “Eternity ceased gradually to serve as the measure and focus of human actions.  The clock, moreover, served as a model for many other kinds of mechanical works, and the analysis of the motion that accompanied the perfection of the clock with the various types of gearing and transmission that were elaborated, contributed to the success of quite different kinds of a machine.”

Did you notice some important there?  “Eternity ceased gradually to serve as the measure and focus of human actions.”  Spiritual things gave way to mechanical things.  Humanity slowly moved from God centered thinking to mechanical thinking.

When Dr. McClelland wrote his book, the Great Depression was six years prior.  That great catastrophe came after a period of great inventions and a frame of mind that technology could save humanity.  It is pre-World War II.

There are those that say that new technology (smart phones, smart watches, iPad, etc.) are the new gods that people have to have to survive.  The god of technology will save humanity.  I will say that I have been in some worship services and funerals where a cell phone captured more attention than a sermon point.  I have even heard some folks, not necessarily young people, who say they cannot live without a cell phone, computer, etc.

Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.  For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.  And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever (I John 2:15-17 KJV).

What would Munford think today?  Well, it is time to go!

MY WAFFLE IS BURNING

Recently, while out of town, I had breakfast at one of my favorite places to eat. It is always open, and I arrived early, craving a waffle. I could taste the warm waffle, two eggs over well, and hash browns scattered and smothered.

I usually sit at the serving bar, listen as the waitress calls the order to the cook, and watch the cook display his great culinary feats in less than ten minutes. I take great care to familiarize myself with my surroundings. I have eaten at this particular establishment on many occasions. The waitresses have tattoos, missing teeth, and evidence of fast and hard living. They have an ongoing conversation every time I eat there. They always smile and are very courteous.

This morning was a little different. It was a shift change. There were about ten people there, and a young lady stood at the cash register, ready to pay for a call-in. No one was working the register. There were four waitresses, and I was the only person placing an order. An older lady took my order. She appeared to be the one in charge, and she called for a cook. No cook appeared, so she went in search of one. I could hear her barking out orders for someone to cook. A lady went to the grill and started that wonderful deed of fixing my waffle.

The ongoing conversation recommenced, and the young lady continued to wait to pay for her carryout. The conversation changed direction; the topic was now the missing ticket for the carryout. A waitress who had no front teeth and was wearing very thick glasses explained that she had placed the ticket on the counter beside the carryout, and she repeated that story for ten minutes.

Meanwhile, the lady who had started my delicious waffle checked it—golden brown and smelling so wonderful—closed the waffle iron, and disappeared into the back. A guy entered and finished cooking my order.

I listened to the lost ticket saga, but my thoughts were: my waffle is burning! The lady continued to wait for a ticket, and she told me, “I’m getting a headache.” I thought, my waffle is burning! I thought I was caught up in the Twilight Zone or maybe in an episode of the soap opera As the Waffle Burns.

The cook gave me my two eggs and hash browns—but no waffle! The smell of my waffle was getting stronger and stronger. The cook asked, “Whose waffle?” The head waitress told him it was mine. At last, the girl got her ticket. The waitresses had finally decided just to write a new one, which took about five minutes. My waffle was not burnt, but it was very crunchy!

I knew that it was an unusual day, and I ate there the next evening. I love the food. I enjoy watching the cooks, and the waitresses are always friendly. As I thought about my burning waffle, I thought about going to church to worship. How many people attend churches in our association with the expectation of a blessing—but are disappointed?

Sometimes our ongoing conversations have little to do with preparing worshippers for worship. Many come ready to participate in worship and are ready to serve, but the “ticket,”—or the directive—never comes, or it comes too late. Many people sit with their minds on things of concern, such as burning waffles.

            “I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord.” (Psalm 122:1, KJV)

 

Churches are responsible for serving spiritual food. What is your church doing to spiritually feed you?

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What role do you play in getting yourself and the church ready to worship and serve?

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Imperfect people gather for spiritual food at imperfect churches, because the God we worship, serve, and proclaim is perfect.

 

Prayer: God, You are perfect. Only You could atone for my imperfections, my sin. I confess that from time to time I neglect my spiritual diet with the junk food of the world. Forgive me, and help me to prepare others and myself for worship. Thank You for burning waffles, which remind me of spiritual truths.

* This is Day 13 in my 31 Day Devotional - I Will Speak Using Stories.

Say Again, What, One More Time

 The old rock and roll song by Sam Cook goes like this, “Ooh, aah, ooh, aah

Ooh, aah, ooh, aah (Well, don't you know) that’s the sound of man working on the chain ga-a-ang, that’s sound of man working on the chain gang.”

The number of sounds the brain can distinguish through the human auditory is unlimited.  Sound is amazing and modern technology can take Sam Cook’s song, digitally redo it, and make it better than the original.

Aaron and I had a “surround sound system” that made movie watching marvelous.  With it, we would hear all the sounds as if you were on location.  Guests to our home would jump when hearing a sound from behind them when watching a movie.

Even with all the technological advances in sound, hearing aids cannot duplicate human hearing.  The science of psychoacoustics is the study of sound perception by the human auditory system.  In normal hearing, the eardrum and brain processes sound and eliminates the clutter and background noise.  The most common complaint from hearing aid users is that they hear too much background noise, which is the same problem that those of us with high frequency hearing loss have.  I must watch a person’s lips when in a crowd. 

Hearing is a vital part of living and those of us that cannot hear or are hearing impaired are at a disadvantage.  Aaron will hear high frequency noise and ask, “Do you hear that?”  And I say, “Hear what?”  People think by shouting I can hear them when in reality loudness is not the problem, tone is.

I never will forget the time I took a hearing test for work. The nurse administering the rest said that I had high frequency loss.  This common among men due to guns, saws, engines, etc.  The nurse said that I lost the ability to hear certain female sounds to which my wife Lisa responds, “How convenient!”

Listening to sounds can be frightening.  A sound of a woman or child’s scream can be blood curdling. A siren reminds us that someone has been killed, is dying, or injured.  The sound of thunder sends some people into hiding.  The sound of an explosion will make us jump and cringe.  The sound of strong winds steers our emotions, and we fear a possible storm.  The flutter of a covey of quail can startle an innocent walk in the field.  An angry dog growling signals fear, hearts start pounding.  Horns blowing in traffic initiate's panic.  Tractor trucks jake braking after midnight causes on to sit up in bed with your eyes wide open.

Sounds can be irritating.  The sound of water dripping faucet will keep us awake or it will make us irritable.  The sound of a crying baby (a spoiled cry) draws our attention.  The buzz of a mosquito is aggravating.  The buzz of a fly is annoying.  The sound of fingernails scratching a chalkboard makes a horrible sound.  The sound of a carpenter bee digging in Western cedar deck will ruin a quiet moment.  Sounds of vulgarity booming from car stereos are disturbing and disgusting. 

Sounds of people talking on cell phones in checkout lines are most irritating.  Late at night, the sound of a tick-tocking clock makes the night long.  The ding-donging of a clock at three in the morning can usher in a long day.  The continual crowing rooster can end the most delightful dream.  A barking dog in the middle of night brings out the worst in most of us.  A chirping cricket will ruin most changes of falling asleep.  A woodpecker tapping a tree and get on your nerves.  A tree frog continual chirping, croaking, or whatever sound they make can get old after a while.

Some sounds are pleasant.  Birds singing and chirping on a beautiful morning can be invigorating.  The sound of water running across rocks soothes the wearied mind.  The sound of water bubbling in an aquarium is therapeutic.  The sound of a breeze in the trees brings a breath of fresh air.  The flutter of hummingbird wings is enjoyable.  Dripping rain can be rhythmic.

Some sounds are in the ears of the beholder.  The sound of a Harley –Davison Motorcycle is that of the flutter of angel wings.  The mellow sound of a dual exhaust is hypnotic.  The music of an ice cream/popsicle truck makes your mouth water.  The sound of construction invites anticipation of something new.  The sound of a helicopter or jet makes one search the skies.  The ding of an oven reminds us of something to eat.  The rattling of jar rings can be the sound of kids playing or the sound momma canning, especially if you hear the peacock on the pressure cooker pulsating.

Sounds can be sad.  Daddy said the saddest sound was the playing of Taps on a horn at night. The weeping of a parent over a child or the loss of a child is heartbreaking.  The sobbing of a hurt or lost child ushers tears or a heartfelt moment.  A fiddle or harmonica can create sounds of sadness.  The sound of my dad’s last breath ushered sadness.  The moaning of a dying person or animal saddens the hardest of people.

In high school science class Mr. Delton Lowery asked, “If a giant tree falls in the forest where there is no one, does it make a sound?”  Most students said yes.  The answer is no.  To hear the sound waves created by the fall there must be a receiver of the sound waves.  Hence if no one is in the forest, there is no receiver and the crashing tree makes no sound.

 

 He that hath ears to hear, let him hear Matthew 11:15 KJV

 

 

Alligator Crossing the Nanafalia Bridge and Other Oddities

Weird things are happening in the animal kingdom now a days.  The other day when it was raining so hard, I wondered if I had missed the animals marching toward Noah’s Ark.  I know I have not seen them marching, but I did see and hear of some abnormal zoological events.

One day in route to the office from a delicious meal at the Faunsdale Café, I noticed a group, flock, or whatever you call a bunch of buzzards, sitting on the handrails of the Dayton water tower.  I thought to myself, by the way I do that a lot, why are the buzzards there?  It was too early for them to be on the roost.  There were no dead armadillos on the catwalk, so undoubtedly the water was dead.  It was kind of eerie driving beneath a group of buzzards overlooking deserted County Road 44.

While coming back from Selma on AL State Highway 66, I noticed a big bird sitting on a dead pine stump.  The pine stump was about thirty feet high.  I took a double take and realized that it was a bald eagle.  I turned the car around and went back toward Stafford to check my eyesight.  Sure enough, it was a bald eagle sitting so magnificently about the clear cut.  I slowed the car and gazed upon this symbol of American freedom.  It was not an oddity, but it was a rare sight.

Over around Uniontown, there was a mockingbird chasing a crow which was chasing a hawk.  I have seen many different birds chasing crows, but that was the first time I saw the chased being chased.  The hawk seemed unfazed by the attack of the crow, but the crow was flying like there was no tomorrow as the mockingbird darted flogging the crow.  My first thought was all three must have been Baptists because they were sure not getting along.

In that same general area on a different day, I saw three harks sitting together on the telephone line.  Two appeared to be full grown, and the third much smaller.  I thought it very odd.  I could not determine if they were resting, in dialogue, or too lazy to catch small varmints.  It could have been that it was hawk parents laying down the law about junior’s first road trip to “Catfish Gut Goulash,” “Smelly Cheese Custard,” or if they were lecturing him on flying without a respirator over the “Coal Ash Dump.”

Sitting outdoors for a devotional, I kept hearing this odd sound.  It sounded like a woodpecker tapping on a tin can.  When I finally found it, it was a redheaded woodpecker pecking the electrical transformer.  I thought that he must have a carbide beak or he was addicted to the PCB’s in the transformer and was tapping for a refill.

Speaking of transformers, one morning the office was dark.  Pam and Steve thought the electricity was off which is kind-of-the-norm for Linden.  After a quick survey, we realized that the office was the only building without “juice.” Juice is a Chiltonian term for electricity.  I walked around back to see if a limb was on the line, another common problem in Linden.  I could smell burning hair.  Yep, you guessed it, Rocky the Fried Squirrel was working without an electrical permit.

It is unusual to see fried squirrels in the drive but not unusual to see wildlife carnage on the highways.  I do not know what the problem was, but for some reason, an alligator decided to cross the Nanafalia Bridge from Choctaw County over to Marengo rather than swim the Tombigbee River.  I wish I could have seen the cars trying to dodge the gator.  I bet there was some rubbernecking that day.  Word was that he almost made the trip.  I was told that a log truck got the gator tale; I mean the gator’s tail.  When asked why the gator was crossing the bridge I replied, “To get to the other side and show the armadillos it could be done.”

The other morning Luke 17 was the Scripture for my morning devotion.  When I read it, I thought about the buzzards on the Dayton water tower and all the other weird things I have witnessed in the past few months.

It will be just like this on the day the Son of Man is revealed.  On that day, no one who is on the roof of his house, with his goods inside, should go down to get them. Likewise, no one in the field should go back for anything.  Remember Lot's wife!  Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it.  I tell you, on that night two people will be in one bed; one will be taken and the other left.  Two women will be grinding grain together; one will be taken and the other left.  Where, Lord?  they asked.   He replied, Where there is a dead body, there the vultures will gather (Luke 17:30-37 NIV).

 

Hiwassee, Apollo, an Eagle Landing, and Walking on the Moon

One night I met a couple at Three Amigos Restaurant in Clanton to plan a wedding.  Waiting for their arrival, I noticed a familiar face sitting behind me.  It had been at least forty years since I saw Benny Lee.  He was our crew leader for a summer job I had with Hiwassee Land Company.   For the next few minutes, we caught up on Hiwassee memories.

Hiwassee Land Company had a ninety-nine-year lease from Traveler Insurance for thousands of acres in Chilton and Shelby counties for the express purpose of growing pine timber.

The local representative for Hiwassee, Dollis Ray, talked with our high school football coach to fine some conditioned young men who might be used to initiate a new process to help pine timber grow.  Coach sent several of us to interview for this summer job.

I will never forget the interview.  Mr. Ray said that he needed some good young men who knew how to work and were in great physical shape.  He said the work would be hard.  I asked how hard the work is.  Mr. Ray asked, “Have you ever helped load hay or paper wood?”  I said that I had done both.  Mr. Ray said it was harder than throwing hay or paper wood.

That takes us back to Benny Lee.  Benny Lee was a good crew leader.  He explained the process of what we would be doing.  Our objective was to inject hardwood timber with weed killer.  I think back and it was like Roundup weed poison.  It was powerful.  The poison did not affect maple, and for hickory and dogwood, we had to girdle the bark and pump in the poison.  The rest of the hardwood we had to penetrate the bark every two inches around the tree.  The poison would kill the trees without disturbing the pines. 

On the first day before dinner break, Benny Lee had us girdle a huge hickory.  About three feet above the girdle, he removed a large part of the bark.  Hickory wood is white behind the bark.  After dinner, he took us back to the tree.  It was a hot June day and Benny said the tree would be absorbing a lot of water.  When we got to the tree, there were black streaks running up the tree in the place where the bark was missing.  Benny Lee said that was the poison going up the tree.  In thirty minutes, the leaves of the giant hickory were wilted.

Injecting hardwood was hard work.  Benny Lee bragged that the two summers that we worked killed more trees than any other crew of boys he ever worked did.  We did such a wonderful job that we ran out of work and Benny Lee let us off to watch "Moon Day." It was 1969 and we watched Neil Armstrong Walk on the moon. Benny was easy going and was a very good teacher.

One time he asked me to chew on a root.  I was a little hesitant, but after he chewed on one, I did.  He asked, “What does it taste like?”  I told him that it tastes like Vick’s salve.

Another time, he asked me, “What do you see different about the hillside?”  I said it looked like a road was once here.  He handed me a railroad spike and said that it was a railroad spur from the L&N Railroad to Lay Dam on the Coosa River when building the dam.

Benny Lee was a skinny version of Paul Bunyan.  I can still picture him with a double bitted ax tossed across his shoulder blazing the trees where we to inject.  He allowed a bunch of rough neck boys the opportunity to be boys.

We laughed about the time I brought a pair of boxing gloves to work where we could box during dinner break.  It was fun beating one another up at dinner, swinging out hickory trees, and throwing crab apples, plums, green pinecones, and buckeye balls at one another.  We got to push over dead trees, watch snakes fight, find baby buzzards, and play in creeks.

Every now and then, we would fine abandoned sawdust piles from long gone sawmills.  Benny would let us play king of the mountain.  Benny Lee would laugh at us trying to work the rest of the day with sawdust in our underwear.

Benny Lee said looking back that Hiwassee had destroyed billions of dollars' worth of hardwood timber.  I am not a tree hugger, but I did have a problem destroying so much timber.  When I think of all the beautiful timber we killed, I think what a waste.  Benny Lee told us that it was not cost efficient to try to harvest the hardwood because it would hurt the pines.  In areas dominated by hardwood, helicopters spayed the timber with poison.  Little did anyone know back then that hardwood makes a better computer paper than pine.

The sad thing is history is full of dumb ideas thought to be doing good, only to find out later that it was a mistake or foolish.

The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field:  But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way. But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares? He said unto them, An enemy hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up? But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them.  Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn (Matthew 13:24-30 KJV).

 

The Parable of the Wayside

The other day I was talking to my brother-in-law about picking up Chilton County County roads right-of-ways.  Most of us pick up the right-of-ways to help the county that always complains of lack of funding.  By what we find on the side of the roads there would be plenty of money if the county raised the tax on cigarettes, especially Marlboro Lights in the box.  Also, on pints of whiskey, Bud Lite Beer.  These are the most common items tossed.

The local store seals most of the items tossed.  I always fine an empty whiskey pint bottle with in a hundred feet of each other.  I have deduced that the villain has enough time to "KILL IT" when leaving the store.  He says he has the same problem finding tossed at same place.

Several years ago I traveled to Gadsden to Suzy Trader’s dad’s funeral. Suzy is the wife of Dr. Steve Trader, our Alabama Baptist Children’s Home and Family Ministries counselor for the Bethel Baptist Association.  Along the way, I noticed things on the side of the road.  It is amazing what is on the side of the road.  With each mile, I thought of something funny that The First Lady of FBC Demopolis, Ashleigh Williams, told me the other day.

Ashleigh posed the question, “Why is their always only one tennis shoe on the side of the road?  Shoes come by the pair.”  I took a moment to reflect since that was one of those UMPH moments.

Ashleigh gave me a profound question to ponder, especially when I began to pay attention to the things on the side of Interstate 20/59 on the way to Gadsden.  It was obvious that those who did not do a very good job of securing their cargo placed some things there.  These include the aluminum ladder, the air-conditioner insulated duct, the ice chest lid, the Styrofoam cooler, the weed eater, a bag of clothes, the love seat, and the book shelve.  Among these were the rubber straps with one hook missing, the half of the nylon strap, the frayed rope, and the bright yellow bungee.

It makes you wonder sometimes if people toss things on purpose.  There is the Auburn baseball cap, the Alabama T-shirt, the BF Goodrich tire, the broken Bud Lite beer bottle, the empty Marlboro light cigarette package, the plastic six-pack strap, the plastic safety hat, the pair of sunglasses, and the empty Pepsi 12-ounce aluminum can.

I giggle when I see the one sock, the one boot, and the one glove.  I think about the poor soul that arrived at his destination to find he had one sock, one boot, no T-shirt, one glove, and no hardhat.  Frustrated, he reaches for his bag of clothes to retrieve his dirty work clothes and there is no bag.  He takes a moment to settle his nerves and finds no Styrofoam cooler to retrieve a Pepsi.  There is no cooler, no six-pack of Pepsi.  He looks into his beer ice chest and finds it overturned, no bottles of Bud Light hidden under the ice.  He wonders how did they fall off his pickup. Reaching for a Marlboro light, our poor traveler has no nicotine fix.

Knowing he cannot work, our half-dressed worker gets in his pickup and heads to the nearest Walmart.  As his luck is horrible, he gets a flat tire.  He pulls to the wayside. He jacks his pickup up and finds that he has lost his spare BF Goodrich tire.

He abandons his pickup and begins his journey on foot wearing one boot, one tennis shoe, shirtless, and no cap.  He thinks, "I should have worn shirt and shoes while driving."  Now his only companions on the Interstate are the dead armadillos, possums, cats, dogs, and deer that are being devoured by buzzards and crows.  He thinks it odd, but he notices a possum and three crows dining together on a squished possum.  He realizes that vehicles on the Interstate are passing very fast.

Each time he sticks out his thumb to hitchhike, follow travelers pass by switching lanes as they near him thinking him to be a decrepit drug addict making a living picking up aluminum cans and going through things on the wayside.

It is obvious that I had too much time to think on my drive to Gadsden, but I did think about Jesus’ parable to the disciples about seeds falling on the wayside.

 

And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up (Matthew 13:4 KJV).

CLOUD OF WITNESSES

I had a great time attending the University of Montevallo from 1983-1987.  Life outside the university were good and bad.  Dad and mom both died before I graduated.  A third child was born, I was bi-vocational pastor, took fifteen hours of classes, worked twenty hours a week at minimum wage in the university carpenter shop, and was husband and dad.  While in school, I thought that December 1987 would never arrive.

I had the privilege of making the Dean's List my freshman year, the academic side and one for getting into trouble my senior year.  The trouble is for another time.  October 22, 1996, I became a member of the Pi Alpha Theta Society for English.  On April 9, 1987, I received an invitation and was inducted into the Sigma Tau Delta Society for history.

Most of the good was not the classes I took, even though I learned bunches, but it was the relationships I developed with the Physical Plant workers, professors, staff, and a few students.  I was a returning adult much older than many classmates.

I had the good fortune of hearing of all kinds of stories about the university.  One of the funniest was that if a virgin walked through the gates into Palmer Hall a brick would fall out.  The four years I was there none had fallen out.

There were always bomb threats at the mathematics building during finals.  Art majors always had some artist something or other going.  One time walking to the Physical Plant to work, I passed some of my art classmates.  They were sitting in the parking lot painting pictures of a pine tree.  I asked what they were doing other than painting because they surrounded the tree.  One girl said they were painting the different perspectives of the tree.  All looked good except one which I diagnosed as Abstract.  Thirty plus years later I am still trying to see her work as a tree.

Two of my favorite people were Bailey and Lamar, my co-workers in the carpenter shop.  They knew plenty!  One was when Dr. Kermit Johnson retired as president of the University of Montevallo, the University honored him with a gigantic celebration at the baseball field and pavilions.  There were many tents and tables with tons of celebration food.  Dr. Johnson was a people person, that was anyone, and everyone loved him.  There were dignitaries from various levels of the State of Alabama and the educational system.  

To handle the mass of guests, the baseball stadium was the ideal place to honor this wonderful man.  It was a beautiful day for an outside celebration.  Two close friends of the president were Mike and Enos who drove to the festivities and the food tent in their garbage truck.  As the aromatic drippings of the truck spattered the pavement Mike and Enos in their spoiled clothes, and special blend of personal cologne, shook hands with Kermit and other dignitaries then proceeded to the food line.  Mike and Enos were special friends with Dr. Johnson, but the Physical Plant supervisor was in total shock and embarrassment. 

Mike was an Italian and was a very agile man for his age.  I had the privilege of working with him and my daughter played volleyball for his daughter a Jemison High School.  Enoc was more colorful than Mike.  because of his unique appearance and never marrying, Bailey or Lamar asked him if he was a virgin.  Mike answered, "No I'm Church of Christ.  

Bailey, Lamar, and the smorgasbord quests enjoyed a wonderful sending off of Dr. Johnson.  Before too much aromatic drippings puddled the grounds, Mike and Enos, though enjoying the retirement party, were graciously asked to leave.  They were told they hard garbage waiting on them.

Bailey, Larmar, Mike, Enos, and a great host of others have all passed away leaving this old man with fond memories of a returning adult to the University of Montevallo.  It reminds me of the great cloud of witnesses mentioned in the Bible.  

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us    Hebrews 12:2

HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY DAD

Happy birthday dad.  Had you lived you would be 100 today.  Boy, forty years have flown by since you died.  I sure miss you.  I miss all those wonderful moments we had sharing life together.

You would not believe all the changes that have taken place in this world in forty years.  You would have a hard time.  You told me once that my generation did not have any gumption.  All your generation is about gone.  Things are so screwed up and weird.  No days there is no respect for senior adults.  This present generation cannot wait until all the old grey-haired white men are gone and extinct.  People now days cannot tell if they are male or female.

I remember when you would not allow my and brother and me to have long hair.  You told my brothers they could have long hair but with stipulations.  Every Friday they had to wear a dress, slip, panties or pantyhose, high heels, lipstick, makeup, fingernail and toenail polish, and feminine napkins.  Well dad, now boys and men dress that way and women dress like men and society says it is okay.

I remember how you taught us to standup for those that could not defend themselves.  It is unbelievable how many senior adults are mistreated.  You taught us to listen to the wisdom of the old.  You said experience is a good teacher, but learning form the experiences of the elderly is better wisdom.  The mistreatment of children is mindboggling.  There are demonic perverts that kill babies, rape infants, murder small children, kidnap the young and sell their body parts.

I remember you telling us that if we did stand up to be willing to stand alone.  That is truer today than before.  Most people do not want to get involved.  Standing for what is morally and ethically right is a minority.  When my brothers and I stand what is right, bystanders tell us to mind our own business and treat us as the perpetrator.

I remember you taught us to work hard for and honest day’s pay.  There seems to be more people not working than working.  People want more money for doing nothing.  It is hard to find people that want to work and have gainful employment.  You would not government assistance telling us that the government would control too much.  That government that you warned us about is paying people not to work, allowing people to vote that have not right to do so, even dead folks, and making deals with countries like you fought in WWII.  You took us to register for the draft, to register to vote, and fight for those rights.  You taught us: “Our county right or wrong.  When wrong to might it right and when right to keep it right.”

I remember you taught us to say grace when we ate, thank you when people did something for us, excuse me when needed, yes mam, and no sir.  You taught us to take our hats off when at the table to eat.  You taught us that it we dipped it we better eat it and could leave the table until we did.  You taught us to be generous and to share.  You taught how to kill hogs and smoke the meat.  You taught to shoot.  I can just imagine how you would react if the government which you helped fight Germany tried to take away you .22 Remington rifle.  You taught us how to split wood, plant crops, shell corn, drive tractors, and hundreds of other things that people are ignorant of today.

Thanks for everything you taught me dad!  This is my gift for your 100^th birthday.

“Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” Exodus 20:12

Give Me Flowers While I Am Alive

One Saturday night on my way home from a wedding in Birmingham I stopped by the Union Springs Baptist Church cemetery.  It was dark, but I wanted to stop because I did not know if I would have another opportunity to go by there before Resurrection Sunday.  I try to visit every chance I can.  I promised mom and dad that I would visit their graves.  I place a flower or flowers on momma’s grave.  I always would give her a flower when I would visit her when she was alive.  I would get her daffodils, roses, jonquils, crept myrtle, dogwood blooms, and many other blooms.  Dad would always say, “Don’t put flowers on my grave; give me flowers while I am alive.”  He was really saying spend time with me now.

Since it was after dark, I did not stay very long.  No, I am not scared in the graveyard at night.  Daddy taught never fear the dead; it is the living that will hurt you.  I was afraid the pastor of Union Springs might be alarmed with a car entering the cemetery.  I do not know what my home church was thinking when they built the Pastorium beside the cemetery.  My home church has been fortunate to call pastors with families that did not mind living beside the dead.  It may be that most pastors have served dead churches that have manipulating members, and it was a relief not having the dead causing any trouble.

As I surveyed the cemetery, I thought about all the people I knew that were now resting there.  I have worshipped with them, fished with them, laughed, and cried with them.  Buried there are those who taught me Scripture, taught me about life, and taught me about dying.  Some in the graveyard I was with them when they were dying.  I watched some of them suffer horrible deaths from cancer.  There were those who died violent deaths from car accidents and several died from heart attacks. There is a childhood friend who died from a motorcycle accident, the friend who died from alcohol poisoning, and the friend that died from Aids. 

There is the friend that said she knew God called me to preach long before I knew it.  There is the friend that told me that she would always be praying from me when I stood to preach.  There is the old friend that gave me a London Fog rain jacket when I surrendered to preach.

Scattered all over the cemetery are neighbors, family, and a few unknowns of long ago.  There are infant graves, senior adult graves, teenage graves, and graves of all ages in between.  Some have huge tombstones, some are simple markers, and some are marked by a small metal nametag.

Visiting the graveyard, I remember some of the deceased laughs, some of their funny sayings, and some of their unique smiles or distinctive physical attributes.  The graves there mark those that I have made my journey of life.  I started making my trips to this cemetery when I was in my mother’s womb, the day they buried my great-grandmother Crumpton was the day before my birth.

As I look at the pink granite tombstone of momma and daddy, I took a moment to think about the short time I had with them and how short this life really is.  It is hard to image that this Easter daddy will have been dead for forty years or that momma will be dead thirty-six years.  Daddy died the Friday after Easter Sunday 1984.  Easter had a greater meaning that year. I remember walking out of the hospital when moments earlier, around four o’clock in the morning, the nurse pronounced daddy dead.  The sun was shining brightly, not yet broken the horizon.  Birds chirped and sang beautiful songs.  The aroma of spring, as was the dawning of a new day, was breathtaking.  Suddenly I was overwhelmed with the reality that daddy was in beautiful heaven.  My day was zilch compared to his.  As I walk among the dead in the cemetery at night, dad’s spirit walks with the throngs of the living in heaven where there is no night.

I made the trip to the cemetery that night to say, “Mom, dad, I will see you on Resurrection Day.”  I then journeyed back to Linden where I ministered at the time.

The beauty of Resurrection Sunday is that we, as believers, hold to Jesus’ promise of the Resurrection.  The power that raised Jesus from the grave is the same power that will do it again for all believers one day.

I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live . . . (John 11:25bKJV).

Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen . . . (Luke 24:5b-6a KJV).

PAY BALL FIRST, THEN GOD

 

I looked up on the wall of the office one morning and made a startling discovery.  I have been in the ministry over forty years.  The date on my Certificate of License is dated 27^th day of February 1983.

Moments earlier that day, I read an article in the Cooperative Farming News, From Pastor to Pasture: That Must have Been 20 years Ago!  Glenn Crumpler, author of the article said he heard a family member say of an event, “That must have been 20 years ago.”  He said that when as a kid he could not imagine how someone could remember something that happened twenty years earlier.  Ironically, he said that happened 45 years ago.  Life is short.

Forty years ago, I would hear preachers say that they had been in the ministry 20, 25, 30, and 40 years.  I remember thinking that is a long time and that I wish I could be in ministry that long. Well, I is there!  That’s not correct subject-verb relationship, but it is true.  Time does fly.  Life is only a vapor!

Ministry has made significant changes in forty years.  When I was pastor at Gallion, a person from the community came to church for the first time in twenty-five years.  After the morning service he told me that church had changed some much since his last visit.  He said he thought he had been to a nightclub instead of a church.  I looked puzzled at him.  He said that the music and the humor in my sermon were like that of a comedy club.

I understand his rationale.  The last Christian youth concert I attended I commented that when I was a teenager momma did not allow us to attend rock and roll events at school and now we have them at churches.

Speaking of changes, years ago at an Associational event, someone asked if she might make a suggestion.  We were always open to suggestions because Associational Ministry Directors, Pam, and I always evaluate our events.  This person suggested to us that we not to schedule associational events that interfere with sporting events.  This question happens more often that you might think.  One time before, I was scolded by a member of one of our churches for having an event during Spring Break.  Bethel Baptist Association ministers in six different school districts, which at that time did not observe spring break at the same time.

Back to the sporting conflict or may I say spiritual conflict.  I learned in forty years of ministry as a pastor, that any event the church schedules conflicts with some activity outside the church.  I reassured the questioner that we do our best to dodge as many possible conflicts as we can.  We would never have any ministry events if we tried to dodge conflicts.

My concern here is when did a sporting exercise for a child take precedent over spiritual training?  A majority of student athletes will never use their sporting exercises in the professional arena, yet most parents spend more money and time at the ball field than they do for God.  Just his week every soccer field, softball field, and little league was packed to the limit.

When did our communities become consumed with sports and recreation?  I played football, baseball, basketball, and volleyball while growing up.  My dad loved sports and enjoying watching my brothers and me play ball.  Dad taught us that it was a game and that work and chores around home and school came before sports.  Sports were extracurricular events.  Realistically, how many children will play win athletic scholarships or play professional sports?

I have walked home, around seven miles, after practice to slop pigs and load firewood many times.  I have missed games because dad and mom were at work, and I did not have a way to go.

Coaches, schools, and clubs would never allow practice or games to interfere with church events.  Coaches would always allow players to leave early if there was a revival or church event that an athlete needed to attend.  This is not the case today.

The issue at the associational event was not with the interference with the athlete playing an event, but with priorities.  I am burdened that parents do not see spiritual development as more essential than worldly development.  I want to weep when I see dads taking their boys hunting instead of to worship on Sundays.  My dad was a lost man, but he prohibited us to go hunting or fishing on Sundays.  Dad taught priorities.

Before I became a pastor, I volunteered to attend an associational brotherhood training event.  The event was on a holiday, but because I worked rotation at the cement plant, I was not off and was scheduled midnights.

My midnight shift allowed me to attend the workshop and not miss work.  Before leaving to attend the workshop, I received a call from the plant that the second shift man did not show and I needed to come in four hours early, six o’clock pm.  I told the second shift foreman that I could not come in early.  He wanted an excuse.  I said that I had committed to our church brotherhood director that I would attend the workshop and I was taught to keep my commitments.  He reminded me that that I was turning down double time and half pay because I was being called out on a holiday.  I reminded him that my commitment was greater than the pay.  I am not bragging but speaking of commitment and priorities.

As Associational Ministry Directors, Pam, and I had a yearly planning day where we try to avoid conflict.  We publish this calendar as early as possible where Church Executive Lay Members can share them with their churches.  Conflict is inevitable, commitment is inconvenient, and choice is a matter of priorities.

Once someone inquired of my commitment, I quoted a sportswriter and poet, Grantland Rice, from his poem “Alumnus Football”:

For when the one great Scorer comes

To mark against your name,

He writes -not that you won or lost-

But how you played the game.

For I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day (II Timothy 1:12b KJV).

Ms. Margaret

 This month of love we lost a very dear lady.  Ms. Margaret, mother of my wife's best friend Laura.  Lisa wrote this beautiful poem and I wanted to share it with you.  I hope you enjoy and help us remember this beautiful Christian lady.

One day an angel with a dream softly approached God’s throne

“I’d like to have something to love of my very own.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t love you, Lord – for you know that I do,

It’s just that I believe I could love little humans too.”

 

The Lord sighed deeply, then smiled as He said,

“I want to make sure you understand just what lies ahead.”

 

“You’ll have to become human with all their limitations and strife;

And you will also become a woman if your desire is to give life.

 

Great physical pain will accompany every child which you birth;

As you begin your journey into motherhood on earth.

 

Soon after, there is great joy and a love that you’ve never known;

But there’s so much more to raising little humans of your own.

 

There will be sleepless nights, endless days and sometimes heartache beyond measure;

As well as triumphs, love, hugs and kisses – making each little human your treasure.

 

Then one day you’ll send them out on a journey of their own,

Praying they remember the love & life lessons they learned from you at home.

 

So I will grant you this request,” God said, “because I know you will succeed,

For you will learn the cost of loving little humans is very great indeed.

 

When your time on earth is done, I’ll call you back to me,

And the love you gave will live on in your little humans’ memories.”

 

So when you stop to think of Momma, as you will often do,

You’ll know the love of God that came from an angel He sent to you.

Below is Ms Maragret signing our wedding reception book.