What's Your Nickname

Men have comradely and when grouped together, give one another nicknames. Elijah P. Brown says that men in mining, military, and lumber give one another names. He notes that primitive people gave one another names such as Buffalo Face, Kill Deer, Eagle Eye, and Sitting Bull. Nicknames tell something about a person’s characteristics, bodily features, or dispositions.

I had a nickname or two in school. In the sixth grade, a classmate saw the Hollywood gossip columnist Hedda Hopper on television. Hedda was the mother of William Hopper who played Paul Drake, Perry Mason’s private detective. Hedda wore large hats. My classmate thought I might be kin to her and it would be neat to call me “Hedda.”  Today when someone calls, “Hey, Hedda,” I know it is a classmate. Others would call me Hippity Hopper, Grasshopper, Clem Kadiddlehopper, Clodhopper, Peewee, and Bubba.

Having spent most of my adult life in the cement industry, I worked with men who had nicknames and I acquired a nickname or two there myself. I worked with Meathead, Big Ugly, Round Head, Danny Mac, Bubba, Slim, Smiley, Smithy, Wild Bill, Big Dave, Red, Cotton, Radio, Reron, Grunt, and Gourd Head. There were supervisors named Buffy, Squirrelly, Snake Doctor, Killer, and Pawpaw. There are many more but some are inappropriate for this devotion.

The assistant plant manager called me Peewee. One friend called me Barbara Ann. Another called me Whopper. After I became a pastor, they called me Preacher. The name that I became the one most remembered is Maytag. It came during the time I negotiated contracts between the company and the union. I got it, not because of the dependability of a washing machine, but because I was a good “agitator.” 

Others called me the “Great Mediator” because of the hundreds of grievances I settled, the dozens of arbitrations I reconciled, and four contracts I bargained. When I hear “Old Maytag,” I know it is from someone that worked at the cement plant or someone that agrees with the nickname.

While at the University of Montevallo I earned the nickname Booby. During the first dad of 
Spanish class Dr. Mercedes Turon called roll and called be Roberto. I replied "here" and told her my name was Bobby, not Robert. She responded, "Roberto is Bobby." I asked if she would call be Bobby. She said, "Booby." The whole class erupted in laughter and the name stuck.

While in Seminary my preacher friends would call me Rabbi. Not many of my preacher friends admitted they had nicknames. They tried to be more professional. Some would call me 
Robert or Bob and I would respond with mamma named me Bobby.

I have been called various names, but I will not repeat them but leave them to your imagination.

Fathers give their children nicknames. My daddy called me “Shag” after the character on Scooby Doo. He said that my shaggy hair and few little whiskers made me look like Shag. He called my one of my brothers “Lard” and my sister “Sister.”  He called my brothers and me “Bocephus” most of the time. Daddy also had some that I have to censor. One brother thought he was oriental because would say to him “Damit son” most of the time.

In my family today Andy is “Andy Pandy,” Angela is “Angel” or “Little Lulu” and Aaron is “Doodle Bug” or “Precious Life,” and I am “Dad” or sometimes “The Big Man.”  Now that I have grandchildren, I am Poppy.

God gave Jesus a nickname or two. Elijah P. Brown says the Bible has 256 names for Jesus. These names reveal something about the life, the work, and the nature of our Lord.

  For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, the everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6 KJV).

 

 

 

When You’re Smiling

“Why are you smiling?” I get asked that often especially if I am sitting alone. I answer, “I had a personal thought that made me smile.” The personal thought could be one in the past, at the moment, or something in the future.

I had a deacon that came to me with a complaint. Usually when a deacon tells the pastor that “we need to talk” it is not good. It means that the pastor has not followed the perceived mold standardized by the powers that control the church. Did I just write that?

He wanted to know if I was ever serious. I responded, “As serious as a heart attack.” He had a complaint from a church member that sad when she discussed the sickness of her mother to me that I smiled. I guess it was the wrong facial expression.

When the deacon finished his grievance with me, I smiled and said, “It takes less muscles to smile than it did to have the grim reapers face.”  I inherited the smile/crooked grin from my mom.

What he did not know was I smiled to keep from crying. I replied to his never serious face tirade by sharing a few moments of my life with him. I said, “In a marriage and family class at the University of Montevallo I took a test to check my well-being. I experienced the death of my dad and mom while attending the university, both passing before I graduated. I experienced the layoff from a company that had never had a layoff in the history of the plant. I was taking fifteen hours of classes, working twenty hours a week part time at minimum wage in the university carpenter shop, married with two children, no insurance, and a pregnant wife. I was a bi-vocational pastor at the time. The test revealed that I was a prime candidate for a heart attack. Yes, I know what it is to be serious. I smile because I am following God’s call on my life.”

The deacon stood before in shock. I told him that I would talk with the complaining parishioner. Most Baptist church members look as though they are made at the world. We have an expression in Chilton County, Alabama for such folks. It goes like this, “The look like a jackass eating saw briars.” More people are attracted to a smiling person than those I described. I’m smiling now and hope you are too.

Another time I was reprimanded for being too humorous when preaching. Some “stick in the mud” said the pulpit was no place for humor. Early in my ministry a lady told me that I would be successful in preaching because I have a great balance between humor and seriousness. She said it was a gift from God.

After the reprimand, I lost my gift of humor for a short period of time. One day in seminary the preaching professor asked this question. “Ladies and gentlemen why is it that you try to imitate such and such preacher when God calls you for who you are and the gifts he has blessed you. Be who you are.” I rebounded and used the gift of humor and regained my smiling.”

I have learned in life that people do not like to see happy people and will do what they can to still the joy out of life. A smile can calm a fear, help a hurt, and encourage healing. I have had plenty of people tell me that they were going to “wipe that grin ff my face.” I still have it especially when time are hard and hurt is great.

Yeah, I have dark and sad moments like we all do. I remember momma and when she was sad. She got her guitar and started singing. She would begin by singing a sad Hank Williams tearjerker and before long she would be singing a Ray Stevens laughter songs.

When my Aunt Annie was in the hospital, Lisa and I paid her a visit. She was my favorite aunt because she could make you laugh and smile. We knew she did not have long, and I wanted to make her smile. I said, “I love you Aunt Annie.” As a nurse turned to her side and I sang Aunt Annie a song that momma and she sang. It goes like this. “I see your hindy so white and shiny, it makes me giggle to see it wiggle.” She gave me a big smile. Those were the last words I said to her.

Jesus had an attractive smile. I say that because children loved Him and He them. He loved His disciples

 “These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.” John 15:11 KJV

Our heavenly Father smiled and encouraged us to smile.

For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. Psalm 30:5

The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.” Numbers 6:25-26 KJV

A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken. Proverbs 13:15 KJV

Louis Armstrong sings:

When you're smilin', when you're smilin'
The whole world smiles with you
When you're laughin', when you're laughin'
The sun comes shinin' through

SMILE

A Helper

Growing up I learned to help daddy. Being poor we did our own work because we could not afford to hire someone. Dad would teach me about tools and repairing broken equipment. He expected me to identify a tool or part when he asked for it.

One night stands out. Dad was working our 1958 Chevy and told me to get a part from the cabinet on our back porch. I was clueless so I asked momma to help me. She was clueless as well. The best I could remember I think it was a part for the distributor. I searched the cabinet and retrieved a part. When I gave it to dad, he was not happy.

He wanted to know what they were teaching me at school. I told him, “Not mechanicing (a Chilton County Alabama term).” School had changed since his time in school. He would not believe the things schools teach today. Granted there are trade schools that teach mechanics.

Through the years I learned from dad and could hand him the proper part or tool before he asked for it. It was fun watching dad react when I would hand the correct tool when he had asked in error. I thank God that dad taught me many things that I never had to hire someone to perform.

When I was twelve, Bill Langston, a carpenter, asked me to help him building houses. I helped him for years as he taught me the principles of construction. It was a wonderful job to watch a house being built from the ground to completion. I still love the smell of cut lumber.

I have spent most of my adulthood being a helper. My first job after graduation was making boxes for Keystone Metal Molding. It was humiliating for an honor student and Beta Club president to be a helper to someone that never graduated but that is life when you start working.

I bid on a die setter position and became another helper. I can honestly say that die setting in giant 150-to-200-ton presses was one of the best jobs I ever had. The transformation of rolled aluminum becoming a shiny chrome part for automobiles was fascinating.

I became a machinist helper and Robert Smitherman taught me operate laths, sharpening drill bits, and how to work using all those algebraic equations that I told Miss Harvey, my algebra teacher, that I would never use. It was amazing to watch metal turning in a lath become a vital piece in machinery.

Working in the cement industry I was a kiln burner helper for A D Gore. A D taught me how to operate, or burn, the cement kilns. A D was the best burner at the plant and was a very good teacher. He became a supervisor and I eventually became a kiln operator.

One of the things that I have done as a helper was to pull pranks on those I helped. When working in the carpenter shop attending school at the University of Montevallo, I helped Bailey Santa Cruz. We became great friends and I would pull tricks like giving him the wrong tool for a certain job. He would give me a sour look and shake his head. He would say. “That’s the wrong tool.” I would have this big grin as I pulled the correct tool from my back pocket and handed it to him.

When I worked in maintenance at the cement plant, I was a helper to “Cotton.” My foreman placed me with Cotton because no one could work with him. I asked, “Why me.” My foreman said, “Because you’re a preacher.”

I found Cotton to be bitter about life. I took time to listen and help him with more than maintenance. It was difficult to help him because he knew more than me. I learned to allow him to make mistakes and become frustrated then I would offer my aid. Most of the time I diagnosed his failure by watching him and figured how to solve his dilemma.

Cotton was a good teacher and after I gained his favor, I was able to help him. Our co-workers could not believe the change in him.

I have learned that is how the Comforter, helper, works in the life of a believer. I have a big grin when I think the Comforter has a sense of humor.

 

“Behold, God is mine helper: the Lord is with them that uphold my soul.” – Psalm 54:4 KJV

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.” – Psalm 121:1-2 KJV

“So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.” – Hebrews 13:6 KJV

“And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.” John 14:16 KJV

Passed By A Yellow Butterfly

Our world today is one of speed. Everyone wants things dome yesterday and having to wait becomes nerve racking. Waiting and taking things slowly has become a lost virtue. Sometimes we need to slow down and take the long way around the world as the recording artist Ronnie Milsap sings:

In the daily rush of things
If we stop to think it seems
We never have time alone
Doin' things we have to do
Not much time for me and you
Before we know it, it will all be gone

Let's take the long way around the world
Sharing each other as we go
Let's take the long way around the world
And let's take it real slow

Lisa and I were returning home to Alabama from Texas when the Interstate traffic slowed from eighty plus miles per hour to a crawl due to an accident. The exits were few and far between. Traveling in our Honda Civic we rolled the windows down and opened the moon roof. We were not in a hurry and were enjoying the open air. Suddenly a yellow butterfly passed us.

As Lisa drove, I laughed saying, “We’re so slow on the Interstate that a butterfly just passed us.” It wasn’t too long until a truck carrying a car passed us in the emergency lane. Traveling about a mile we passed the truck which was stopped by a state trooper and made to wait and receive a ticket.

It is not unusual in Alabama for highway lanes to close down to one lane. A sign precedes the closing stating the lane closes, must turn right. Some of these roads will have a sight stating, “merge left.” It never ceases to amaze me how local people will leave a stop light and try to outrun the car to the left knowing the lane is running out.

If the vehicle is out of state most folks will be considerate and allow the perpetrator to merge left. If the person is local, those on the left will not allow the violator to merge left and the “drag race” ensues.

Things are slow for a reason. One time a friend of mine was running late for work. There had been storms the night before. My friend, frustrated by a slow pickup raced around the pickup. She realized that the pickup was slowing to a stop because a large tree had blown across the road. My friend ended up sideways beside the tree!

Rule of thumb is if you are late it is mathematically impossible to catch most of the time. Just accept that you are late.

Living in the rural Alabama the roads are farm-to-market with a speed limit of forty miles per hour. There is a young man that passes our house on a “cotch rocket,” a racing motorcycle, well over forty miles per hour. Everyone on our road fears that one day he is not going to make it.

This past week Lisa cooked a beef roast in a cast iron pot. She cooked it slowly all day. I will tell you that “she knocked it out of the park.” It was the best one she has ever cooked. It was delicious and the slow cooked meat was tender, the potatoes, carrots, and onions were perfect. You cannot get that in a microwave.

My old black friend Elijah J. Smith cooked the best pork ribs. His secret was he would visit three to five supermarkets to select two to three slabs of ribs. He would marinate them all night in his secret recipe and cook them over a bed of coal for six hours. He told me, “No flame.”

Smitty would bring them to work and we would slowly warm them beneath the cement kilns for supper. They were so delicious. One night Jim Tucker, another co-worker, was gnawing on a rib bone like a dog. Smitty said, “Tucker, you can have another one.” We all laughed. Yes, I gnawed the bone as did all of us. They were and are the best slow cooked ribs that I have ever eaten.

Lisa and I love to dance slowly in the privacy of our living room. It is a time to spend a few moments enjoying songs and each other.

Johnny Rivers has a wonderful song, Slow Dancin (’Swayin’ to the Music):

It's late at night and we're all alone,
just the music on the radio.
No one's comin', no one's gonna telephone.
Just me and you and the lights down low.
[Chorus:]
We're slow dancin', swayin' to the music.
slow dancin', just me and my girl.
Slow dancin', swayin' to the music.
no one else in the whole wide world

The song is a great testimony of spending time together. 

In our fast world it is good to slow down at times. The Bible reminds us that slow is a good attribute, a Godly one. Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath. James 1:19 KJV

But thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious, long suffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth Psalm 86:15

The Lord is slow to anger, and great in power, and will not at all acquit the wicked: the Lord hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet. Nahum 1:3

And rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil. Joel 2:13

Spend time with God and meditate slowly on His Word. Take time to take the long way home and slowly dance with your spouse.

Let That Hornet Alone

 When Andy my eldest son was small he loved insects. I have vivid memories of him catching butterflies while playing in clover while it was blooming. While in the clover he would be on his hands and knees pretending he was a cow. I can see a piece of clover dangling from his mouth. If cell phones had been available I would taken a video of him. It was a precious moment for this proud daddy.

I warned him as he tried to catch honeybees pollinating the clover blooms. Thankfully, he was never fast enough to catch honeybees. The bees were too busy working to be distracted by Andy. I explained to Andy what the bees were doing and how if angered they would retaliate. He would occasionally catch one in a fruit jar and listen to the bee hum.

One time I found Andy chasing a large reddish/orange, black striped ant known in Alabama as a Red Velvet scrambling across the backyard. He was trying to catch the Red Velvet. I had never been stung by one and did not know if it would sting. I did find that its sting is potent and venom not highly toxic, but the sting is painful. But back then, I did not want Andy to test the power of the ant. I convinced him to catch it in a jar.

Before it became unlawful to ride in an automobile unrestricted, Andy would ride in the back of my 1967 Cutlass Supreme. One morning in route to his Granny’s and Papa Andy chased a hornet in the rear window. Watching from the rearview mirror, I warned Andy not to catch the hornet saying, "Let that hornet alone." I knew that hornets were vicious attackers defending nests aggressively. Hornet stings may cause severe pain or allergic reactions including anaphylaxis.

Hornets, like Andy, love honeybees. Hornets destroy honeybee hives. Hornets build large aerial nests that can house up to 6,000 workers. Thank the Lord that Andy was only trying to catch one. He was successful. I knew because it let out a big cry and had a swollen finger as proof. I was glad that Andy did not anger the hornet enough to cause havoc in the Cutlass. 

A refrigerated Swift meat truck turned over not too far from our house because the driver and helper tried to fight a hornet or wasp while driving. Wrecking the truck was bad enough but returning from a half mile walk to a local store to call for help, the two men found that travelers emptied the truck with the exception of a side of beef laying in the door.

One of the funniest stories about hornets happened when I worked for Hiwassee Land Company one summer break from high school. My cousin Larry was hacking on a small tree with an injector used to pump weed killer into trees and became covered in yellowjackets. His pants were yellow.

Not to be distracted, Larry began slapping the yellow jackets from his blue jeans. He was totally unaware that above him was a large hornet nest about the size of a football buzzing with hundreds of kamikaze hornets. His coworkers and I watched this cartoonish episode. Larry swatting yellow jackets was saying, “I think I’m in a yellow jacket nest.” We yelled to Larry trying to warn him of the aerial attack above him.

Larry playing the part of a slow thinking redneck experienced, trying to be funny or something, felt the wrath of a kamikaze as a hornet zeroed in on his back between his shoulders. Larry threw the injector and plunged to the ground in the agony of the sting. Scrambling there for a second, he tried running from the hundreds of chasing hornets escaping through the bushes. I smile at that event every time I think of Hiwassee adventures. 

The Bible speaks of hornets chasing folks. 

I will send the hornet before you, and it shall drive out the Hivites, and the Canaanites, and the Hittites from before you. Exodus 23:28 KJV

I sent the hornet before you, and it drove out the two kings of the Amorites before you; it was not by your sword or bow. Joshua 24:12

Moreover, the Lord your God will send the hornet among them, until even the survivors who hide from you have perished. Deuteronomy 7:20 KJV

Swinging Between Heaven and Earth

Before I got too old to climb, I would climb a tree to gain a new perspective. I loved being up high and looking at nature from aloft. Trees with lots of limbs were my favorite although it was fun climbing on without them.

In discussion the other night I mentioned about “swinging out trees” and the thrill of slowly drifting back to the ground. Someone said that was called skinning a cat. I have said and heard the phrase “there is more than one way to skin a cat.” I always thought it referred to skinning a catfish, not a real cat. I thought it too grotesque to skin a cat. I have had fun with cats but never cruel to them.

It seems that “more ways than one to skin a cat” has origins back to the early 17^th century. In John Florio’s 1611 work Second Fruits, he writes "there is more than one way to kill a cat. I thought that it was a good Chiltonian (Chilton County slang) term.

I found out that the expression was popularized in the 19th century. Seba Smith’s 1840 short story The Money Diggers uses the phrase to illustrate multiple ways of achieving a goal using adaptability and problem-solving. And I thought I was just figuring out how to swing a tree to the ground or skinning a catfish. Well, I guess that was solving a problem.

I did find that Robert Frost wrote this in his poem Birches.

 

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker  trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.

 

When I was in high school working for Hiwassee Land Company, I had plenty of opportunities to swing out hickory trees. Hickories were my favorite swinging tree because they are tough. Weighing about 150 pounds I would find a hickory tree about six inches at the bottom, climb it to the top, then swing it softly to the ground. Most of my friends at Hiwassee could not climb as did I. It is one of the great thrills of life that I miss as an old man.

One time I attempted one that was stronger than I was. I shimmied to the top, bent it out, and started my ascent back to earth only to be caught between sky and earth. I could not ride the tree down nor could I get it to stand back up. After several attempts I used adaptability and problem-solving considering all my options and finally dropping about fifteen feet to the ground. As I hung there I thought of Absalom hanging in a tree by his hair.

My cousins and I were swinging out trees and one of them climbed a pine tree. None of us saw him climb it but we did hear his descent as he plummeted to earth skinning off pine limbs as he fell. The limbs softened his fall. We reminded him that pines were not good trees to swing to the ground.

“More than one way to skin a cat” may be an idiom for options or climbing trees. My fellow Alabamians the musical group ALABAMA wrote “Climb a long tall hick'ry
Bend it over, skinnin' cats” in their song Mountain Music in 1982. All I can say is, “Well done Randy. Ain’t nothing like it.”

My Savior hung on a tree for the sins of the world. The only way for Salvation is Jesus.

 And Absalom met the servants of David. And Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the thick boughs of a great oak, and his head caught hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth; and the mule that was under him went away. II Samuel 18:9 KJV 

And we are witnesses of all things which he did both in the land of the Jews, and in Jerusalem; whom they slew and hanged on a tree. Acts 10:39 KJV

 Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness. 1 Peter 2:24 KJV

 

The Power of A Seed

One day in the Cement Plant cantina I planted a seed in a co-worker’s mind. Grunt was his nickname and he is a very good friend. He resembled Chuck Norris and was a daredevil that would try most anything that was dangerous and exciting. In fact during the days when streaking was popular, Grunt ran through the streets of Montevallo wearing sneakers and a smile.

My friend Keilan Gore and I tried an experiment on Grunt. Looking at him in a sincere and concerning look I told Grunt that he was a Homosapien. His look was one of unbelief and said, “I can’t believe what you called me.”

I told him that he was covered with epidermis and that he had phalanges. By this time, he wanted to know why.

Everyone in the cantina was interested in our conversation. Keilan and I could barely keep from laughing. I said, “Grunt, a Homosapien is another word for man.” Keilan told him that epidermis was the skin that covers your body. I told Grunt that phalanges were his fingers.

Grunt laughed and said, “I thought I must have caught some terrible disease.” The look on his face was priceless. Keilan and I planted a seed creating doubt and confusion on our good-natured friend.

A seed has the potential to produce depending on the soil. Grunt was fertile soil since he did not understand the terms that Keilan and I used in our charade. The law of the harvest is you reap what you sow, you reap more than you sowed, and you reap in due time.

One Spring dad bought some cantaloupe seeds from Murry Glass feed and seed in Jemison, Alabama. Dad prepared the ground in anticipation of a half-acre of delicious cantaloupe. The vines were beautiful and full of blooms. Dad’s bag of cantaloupe seeds produced all the pickles that momma could can. All dad could deduce was that cucumber and cantaloupe seeds look alike and someone placed cucumber seeds in the cantaloupe bind. Dad reaped what he planted.

Life is a process of sowing and reaping. In today’s technologically savvy climate seeds of discord produce an abundance of conflict, division, and mistrust. Seeds planted decades ago are growing chaos and confusion to the extent that evil is the new good and good the new evil. Proverbs 6:16–19 lists “one who sows discord among brothers” as one of the seven things God hates.

The seed of dishonesty can be planted in a person’s life and, over time, grow into more serious issues such as loss of trust, damaged relationships, or personal downfall. In Psychology 101 at the University of Montevallo were studied about “self-fulfilling prophecy.” That what social media does. The principle is that if you tell someone something negative long enough that will believe the lie.

Some of us tried with an experiment. We picked an unsuspecting soul, and we individually asked if the poor soul felt okay. It wasn’t long before she went to a mirror to check if she were okay. There wasn’t anything wrong, but the power of suggestion won out.

I think it ironic that a beautiful lady or handsome man that are news anchors will tell bad and disturbing news for thirty minutes and we wonder why the world is going to hades in a hand basket.

Someone once asked me why they have such violent movies. My answer surprised the person. I said that the movie depicted a real crime. The script was from an official police report. When planting seeds of violence you reap iniquity. Proverbs 22:8 says, “He that soweth iniquity shall reap vanity: and the rod of his anger shall fail.”

It is important to plant seeds that produce good fruit. Planting seeds of hope leads to harvest of encouragement, peace, and joy.

Years ago, my children do not want to attend a Christmas gathering saying, “They are just a bunch of sticks in the mud griping and complaining.” I told them that we could go and make a difference by having a good time and not allowing the negative to control.

One of my favorite stories is of Johnny Chapman September 26, 1774 – March 18, 1845. Known as Johnny Appleseed he planted apple seeds wherever he traveled. He created apple nurseries and promoted the importance of the apple.

 

Sow to yourselves in righteousness, reap in mercy; break up your fallow ground: for it is time to seek the Lord, till he come and rain righteousness upon you. Hosea 10:12 KJV

Well water

I bought a piece of property adjacent to my front yard. The property had county water. One day while working I turned the water vale on to get some water. There is nothing you miss more that when out of water or as we say in Alabama, “the well ran dry.” I checked to see if the water line had burst. Finding no leaks I walked down to the water meter. When I opened the lid, the water had been cut off and a lock placed on the valve.

Growing up it was not unusual for the well to run dry. Our well on the home place was forty-five feet deep and had a rock bottom with five feet of water. If mama did a lot of clothes washing, she lowered the water below the foot valve pump. We did not have inside plumbing for a long time, and I was a senior in high school before dad and I installed a commode and bathtub.

We did not have hot water. Mom had to heat the water on a stove. We had to carry water to the back porch until we did indoor plumbing. It was a “way of life” for most of the residents of the Mars Hill community west of Jemison, Alabama.

Our granny Hopper in Lawley, Alabama had an outside well utilizing a rope and pulley to draw water from her well. I have vivid mental pictures of drawing her water and drinking water from a bucket, using a dipper cup to drink the water. When she washed she carried buckets of water filling a wash pot.

When I realized there was a lock on the valve, I went to the water authority in Thorsby, Alabama. I thought I was entering Fort Knox Gold Reserve. I found inside glass windows separating customers from the snobbish ladies. I thought I must have grown another head by the looks I received. When I asked why there was a lock on my water meter valve, I had to produce documents to prove my identity and that I purchased the property.

I had never experienced such scrutiny. After no satisfaction from the monster enclosed behind the plate glass window a former classmate recognized my frustration and took my case. I told her that I did not sign as many documents when I bought my house and then asked why the security in rural Alabama. She said people can get violent and vicious over water.

After a few minutes of details on the violent and the vicious I understood their dilemma and understood the immediate hostility by walking into the office. After paying a hefty hookup fee they unlocked my meter. With the rapid growth of rural areas and the insufficient planning of new construction, water is vital.

Our world is mostly water. Flesh and pure water is depleted faster. As I draft this article there is a water battle and lawsuit between Alabama, Florida, and Georgia because the city of Atlanta is sucking most of the water and lowering reservoirs and rivers to the Gulf of Mexico.

Called the Tri-State Water War it refer to a decades‑long conflict among Georgia, Alabama, and Florida over water rights in two major river basins, the Apalachicola‑Chattahoochee‑Flint (ACF) and the Alabama‑Coosa‑Tallapoosa (ACT). It is a long‑standing, multi‑state legal and political fight over shared water resources by competing needs for drinking water, industry, agriculture, and environmental protection.

Nothing is more important in the desert than water. Society depends on water. Recent years of drought in Alabama has lowered creeks, ponds, rivers, and underground water levels. If folks had to draw and tote water like in the “good old days” there would be a decrease in water usage. Like the saying goes, “You don’t miss the water until the well runs dry.”

The Bible has many verses on wells and water. Again, there is nothing more important in the desert than water.

 

Jesus answered and said unto her, If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water. The woman saith unto him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water? Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle? Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life. John 4:10-14 KJV

 

 

Stay Focused

 Growing up we were poor in many ways but we had love and each other. We never had vacations or went out to restaurants to eat. Our vacations were time to work. Dad would say that he had to return to work to rest. Our eating was at mom’s table and the food that we raised. Brown gravy, biscuits, tomatoes, field peas, and fried potatoes. Mama fixed fried pork tenderloin after we started raising pigs.

One time during the mid-1960s dad took us to a rodeo in Montgomery, Alabama. This was prior to the construction of Interstate 65, so our trip was on US Highway 31. Travel was slower back then and it would take us over an hour to travel there.

The Hopper had never been to a rodeo especially at the State Capitol. On arriving the parking lot was full of automobiles and Garrett Coliseum was filling also. It was exciting to see all the folk wearing cowboy paraphernalia.

The emcee for the event was Ken Curtis who played Festus on the hit series Gunsmoke. He had sung with the Sons of the Pioneers and was well spoken. He sang a song or two, but when he was Festus he got a standing ovation. It was a big night for that bunch of Hoppers from Mars Hill.

On our way home a fog blanketed the area. The fog was so thick that it looked like a sheet laying on the windshield. The ride home took twice as long. Momma was in a panic, but my sister, two brothers, and I knew that daddy could get us home. It was tense but memorable trip. Daddy could not see very far but he never lost his focus. He knew what he had to do.

While attending New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, a preacher friend and I were headed back home to Alabama after spending a week there and finishing a final test on a Friday morning. We were in a Caravan. No there were no camels, donkeys, or large group of people. Hugh my preacher friend owned a Plymouth Caravan. Before we began our journey, the weather forecast said there was zero visibility across Lake Pontchartrain. Hugh, a seasoned tractor trailer driver, focused on the road or what he thought was I 10. The fog across Caravan windshield was so thick we could not see the Crysler emblem on the hood of the van which was eighteen inches from the windshield.

Automobiles buzzed by us like we were sitting still. Hugh was tense, had both hands on the steering wheel, sweat seeping on his forehead, and was deathly silent. I talked in a calming voice as we traveled 5.5 miles. I knew my friend would get us home.

When we crossed the bridge the fog dissipated, and Hugh relaxed and said I need a cup of coffee. We stopped at Shoney’s Big Boy in Slidell. Hugh smiled and the sweat stopped. It was good to have a normal Hugh that I could aggravate again.

There are plenty of things that cause us to loss our focus. I bought Aaron my youngest son a telescope. We set it up one night to watch the moon. It was a wonderful experience except the moon was moving so fast that we had trouble focusing on it. We had to constantly adjust the telescope.

I realized how focused NASA had to be to land on the moon. The calculations back in 1969 were not easily achieved but the vision to put a man on the moon before the end of the decade was a giant step.

In April 1990, NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope produced blurry images. The goal was far from the sharp, crisp views projected. The cause was a spherical aberration which was a flaw in the telescope’s primary mirror that the impossibility to correct mirror in space. Engineers designed a corrective optics system. Astronauts aboard the space shuttle Endeavour performed a servicing mission in December 1993. It is an understatement to say the results were “pictures out of the world.”

If you are like me I have to have corrective optics performed every six months. “Father time” is causing flaws in my focus. I have perfect sight for far away but up close is a blur. Sometimes when I exit the house the Alabama humidity is so bad that my glasses fog.

I am glad that Jesus did not lose his focus. There were plenty of obstacles that could have prevented Him from saying “It is finished.” He knew what we needed and completed it.

Max Lucado, one my favorite authors, writes, “The heart of Christ was relentlessly focused on one task, The day he left the carpentry shop of Nazareth he had one ultimate aim-the cross of Calvary.”

For even the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many Mark 10:45 KJV

“For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.” Luke 19:10 KJV

I'll Be Somewhere Listening

Long before the sun rose this morning and before I awakened, I heard someone call my name. I quickly opened my eyes and scanned the room to see who called me. It sounded like a female’s voice, like momma’s voice, or like my wife Lisa’s. I listened intently but there was nothing stirring in the predawn hour.

I, like most of you, do not remember the first time I heard someone call my name. I do remember that momma called my name more than anyone. Momma yelled my name several times a day. The first dozen or so times she would holler BOBBY. She would proceed to BOBBY EARL and when she meant business it was my full name BOBBY EARL HOPPER. That was not good. It followed with a physical reprimand and at times “I’m going to tell your daddy when he gets home.”

When my sister came along momma yelled Bobby even more especially when my sister learned to talk and the fine art of tattle telling. When two more brothers entered the family I did not get yelled at as much but still received my fair share. They did not inherit the fine art of tattle telling as did our sister. Interestingly more family members meant more to call my name.

In grammar school, teachers called my name in roll call and sometimes answered questions about the class assignments. I did not enjoy my name being called by the teacher to answer questions. I learned if I raised my hand quickly, the teacher would not call on me.

That little trick worked wonders in the fourth-grade speed reading class. I do not always understand what I read, but raising my hand quickly the teacher thought I understood what I read. This allowed me to be one of the top readers.

In the eighth grade, Mrs. Ekblad called the roll three times. The first time was for attendance. The second time was after a spelling test. We would swap test papers with another student after the test. Two students ahead of me were Charles and Judy Ellison. They always answered their names with, “I did’t miss any.” When Mrs. Ekblad called my name I say, “I didn’t miss many.” The third time she called the roll was for an English test. One again when she called my name I repeated, “I didn’t miss many.”

Playing high school football when the announcer introduced the starting lineup it was good to hear him call my name. It was fun to hear the crowd holler my name especially on defense when I made the tackle.

Having my name called to come to the office was not always good. Having homeroom teacher Mrs. Betty Giles call my name after I retrieved a record player and playing the hit song Why Do You Bill Me Up Buttercup Baby by The Foundations got my right buttock burning. I thought she was playing but when she made bend over and grab my ankles as she pulled my blue jeans tight, the paddling burned and I could not sit on my right buttock the rest of the day. My Life Lisa loves to send me that song via text messaging. My buttock burns ever time I hear it.

When I attended New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, I took Greek. Dr. R. E. Glaze was the professor. I made a C in the first class and a B in the second one. After a test in the third-class Dr. Glaze would say, “There were three F’s” and call out the student's names. I responded to a preacher friend saying I’m one of the F’s. I was not.

Then he said, “There were four D’s.” I told my preacher friend, I made a D. I didn’t but my preacher friend did. Next, she said there were more C’s than any other score. I smiled and told my preacher friend I made a C. I did not. Next were the B’s and my name was not called. Then I panicked and said, “I forgot to sign my stupid test paper.” Yes, I’ve done it before.

Finally, Dr. Glaze said, “There were the A’s.” I was the middle A. My preacher friend said, “Hopper, I hate you for talking me into taking this stupid Greek class.”

 "Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ” Galatians 4:7 KJV

An old hymn, I’ll Be Somewhere Listening has these words:

When my Savior calls I will answer

When He calls for me I will be there

When my Savior calls I will answer

I'll be somewhere listening for my name

 

Rain

The other day I heard thunder, I felt pain relief and I could smell the coming of a summer rain as the sky darkened, the wind blew, and the earth readied for the precious droplets. Swinging on the back porch swing, I bowed my head and thanked the Lord for the gentle rain that made rhythmic music on the metal roof.

I often commune with the Lord on the back porch as the morning ushers a new day. It is my place to pray and listen for God’s voice heard in the sounds of birds, the wind, the chimes, and miscellaneous noises of overhead planes, passing vehicles, and creaking porch.

The serenity of falling rain rejuvenates. I love the rain, especially at night riding around in my old pickup truck listening to the purr of the exhaust, watching the metronomic movement of the windshield wipers, and the comfort and relaxation of the old seat. It is romantic and gratifying.

Several Lord’s days back some folks were complaining about the Sunday morning rain. I was thankful since a few weeks prior the state of Alabama was under a drought warning, no burning, and crops beginning to wilt. Unthankful in God’s house.

Springs, creeks, rivers, ponds, and lakes were low for months. Hay fields, gardens, and yards were scorched. Trees were dying reminding us of times of drought in the Bible. I had rather see rain than watch the earth wither away.

I know that rain for some folks causes depression. In movies rain is a motif that happens at funerals, denotes personal sadness, and creates chaos. It is about perspective. Momma would allow us to play in the rain as long as there was no lightning. Water filled ditches were fun. Playing in the mud was adventurous. It meant no working in the garden nor cutting grass. It was like a holiday.

When I worked at the cement plant there was no such thing as rain halting work. It actually created more work. Coal, lime, and other materials did not flow. Certain areas needed sump pumps to stop flooding. Auxiliary engines had to be started in case of power outages. Rain created chaos.

Working while building bridges was just the opposite. When rain was in the forecast workers would draw a large circle in the dirt. When three drops of rain fell in the circle, someone would yell, “Get the tools up boys.” Mud and water are enemies of construction and robbers of paydays.

I love to write on rainy days. Rain can be inspirational while lack of rain is depressing for me.

Rain in abundance or in lacking is a motif in twenty-seven books of the Bible where God interacts with creation and humanity. The first rain mentioned in the Bible is the deluge in Genesis where it rained for forty days and night. That was a lot of water that surrounded the earth. I am sure that Ms. Noah got depressed with all the rain and cooped up with seven other people and an abundance of animals and such.

In the end, God gave a rainbow. I have seen several rainbows, and a couple of double ones, this year. It is a reminder of God’s promise.

 

Then I will give you rain in due season, and the land shall yield her increase, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit. Leviticus 26:4 KJV

 

Nevertheless he left not himself without witness, in that he did good, and gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness. Acts 14:17 KJV

Leaving the House of Worship on that rainy Lord’s Day I told Lisa that the same people that were upset that it rained will be the same ones upset when it is dry. I am glad God controls the weather.

Thank you for taking time to read God's Front Porch. The articles are weekly and I pray they are inspirational. Please share.

Up On the Roof

Several years ago, I had to replace the roofing shingles on our house. My good friend Keilan Gore said that he and I could do the work. Both of us worked at the Blue Circle Cement Plant and on our off days we torn off the old shingles and replaced them. We carried shovels, hammers, straight hoes, and flat pitch forks on the roof to remove the old shingles.

My oldest son Andy, around seventeen years old, worked on the ground picking up the old shingles since he was afraid of heights. His job was important and greatly appreciated.

My youngest son Aaron was around five years old he begged to get on the roof with Keilan and me. Never giving up with his plea Keilan said, “Hopper let that boy come on the roof.” I took my safety belt wrapped it around him, placed him near the peak of the roof, and nailed the safety line to the roof. His tenacity was unbelievable. I cherish the thought of my boys helping that day.

I have spent a lot of time on roofs. One time the roof over the overhead crane at the cement plant was six inches deep in cement, lime, and coal dust which had hardened over the years. Several of us were deployed with small jack hammers, number two shovels, and wheelbarrows to remove the sediment.

The roof was around seventy-five feet high and had a slight pitch requiring safety belts and ropes which we clamped to a cable running the length of roof. Co-worker Billy Tillery took a small jackhammer and started breaking the sediment. Before he started, he pulled his safety rope to insure he would not fall from the roof. When he tugged it, one of the braces holding the cable broke one the weld that held it to the roof.

We had to wait until a welder did what we call “lick the calf” again. After he rewelded the brace we went back to work. Co-ordinating our efforts we started removing the broken pieces by dumping them over the side of the roof. The updraft beside the building blew the dust back into our faces.

With jackhammers pounding, shovels filling wheelbarrows, and the dumping work went well until Billy stopped his jackhammer and began waving us back to the top of the roof. Removing our ear protection Billy yelled, “Y’all get back.” His jackhammer went through the roof.

Through years of deposit and deterioration caused by the chemicals in the dust, the tin roof was thin as a screen door. Safety personnel removed us from the roof and contractors removed what was left of the roof and replaced it with new metal roofing.

Our Sunday school was: And again he entered into Capernaum after some days; and it was noised that he was in the house. And straightway many were gathered together, insomuch that there was no room to receive them, no, not so much as about the door: and he preached the word unto them. And they come unto him, bringing one sick of the palsy, which was borne of four. And when they could not come nigh unto him for the press, they uncovered the roof where he was: and when they had broken it up, they let down the bed wherein the sick of the palsy lay. When Jesus saw their faith, he said unto the sick of the palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee Mark 2:1-5 KJV

 

The focus of the lesson was that Jesus healed a paralytic (παραλυτικός) man. The Bible included how the four friends uncovered the roof lowering the man where Jesus was healing folks. The home belonged to Peter. The account of uncovering the roof is important, not as significant as the man being healed spiritually and physically but included for a reason.

Some of my classmates felt that the uncovering the roof was irrelevant, but I think is demonstrates the faith of friends of the paralytic.

Having worked on many roofs it took some effort to remove tiles to create a hole large enough to lower a man on a bed, mat, or pallet (κράβαττος means mattress). Their faith was strong enough that they were creative in getting their friend an audience with Jesus. They were cooperative exemplifying teamwork. They were coordinated in getting their friend on the roof, removing the tiles, and lowering him down. They were not concerned with recognition just urgent for their friend to see and experience the power of Jesus.

I learned a long time ago that helping people in need is the ministry of inconvenience. I am sure that the four men replaced Peter’s roof.

Heart and Soul

I will never forget the first time I met Pam Gibbs. I was preaching revival at Providence Baptist Church in Gallion, Alabama. Allen Patterson introduced me to her stating that Pam made the best cakes. Usually Allen bragged when he wanted something. He had “the look” when wanting something for nothing however I found Pam to be a very good cook, especially cakes. She had a secret making very moist cakes.

Later that year Gallion Baptist church called me as pastor. Gallion Baptist was near the Hale/Marengo County line seven miles north of the Providence. Providence was a member of the Bethel Baptist Association in Lindon, Alabama while Gallion was member in the Hale Baptist Association near Moundville. Gallion was closer to the Bethel office.

Since I pastored on the county line, Allen invited me to attend their monthly pastors’ conferences. Hale Association did not have them. Pam was the associational secretary. Director of Missions Gene Walley and Virginia his wife were cooking beignets the first time I attended. Since Pam and I were acquainted, she introduced me to them.

For the next three years I became a regular at the meeting enjoying the southern hospitality and country cooking of Pam. Brother Walley decided to retire, and I asked Pam if she had received many resumes. She said she had a few and asked me if I had thought about summitting one. I prayed and gave her one. I was one of thirty that applied and I was selected to number one.

I fulfilled the search committee’s requirements, and the Association called me as Director of Missions in June 2003. I served with four different associations on several different levels but never as director. I remember asking Pam to help me become a director of missions. For the next fifteen years Pam helped me. She and I made a great team, and we assembled a great team. The Alabama State Board of Missions recognized Bethel as one of its best associations.

Pam was a great hostess for all of our events. She told me she did not want to be in the limelight. I represented the association, but Pam was the heart and soul of the Bethel Baptist. She did all the planning, the work, and I got the recognition. My second year with her Samford University selected me as Director of Missons Town and Country 2005.

Pam and I had a wonderful working relationship. I was her troubleshooter. She had equipment issues that I solved for her. One time the office printer failed to function after a paper reload. Pam asked me to lay my hand on it. She told me what she did. I noticed the door where she reloaded the paper was not shut completely. I closed it laid my hand on it, mumbled something, and told her to try it. It worked. After a laugh I told her what I did.

Another time she had a computer printer that would not print then for no reason it would print. After buying another printer I discovered that the problem was that when she commanded the printer to print she did not designate how she wanted it printed. It was a wireless printer and sometimes when she went wireless the printer had been waiting for long periods of time for the command. She and I wrestled with technological demons for fifteen years.

Pam and I had many talks, lots of laughter, and serious conversations. That is one of the things I miss most. She would tell me that I was like an older brother that she could confide in and say anything. When you spend time with someone you have a special bond.

Pam made Bethel Baptist Association function. She was a wonderful planner, talented decorator, and delicious chef. Her giftedness was her ability to prepare food. She was a culinary wizard. Every event had a theme and menu to match. She continues to cook all kinds of cakes for various occasions. So much of her work and dedication were taken for granted. I knew that the success of the association was she was living her God given calling and I was able to share that time with her. We helped each other.

She did not enjoy being honored and I would surprise her with every chance I had. She deserved it. I wished I could have honored more. She was a great inspiration for me. She produced bi-monthly informational page in The Alabama Baptist. One time she did not have enough information and asked if I could write a paragraph. This started me authoring articles which became a hit for the Association.

When my days were numbered at the Bethel Baptist Association, Pam wanted me to end with dignity and pride. I told her I wanted to “ride off into the sunset.” Pam, along with Virginia Seales and Nell Dunaway, planned a very big retirement party for me. It was tremendous. Pam, it was the best event you had while you and I were together. I will never forget that when things were bad and I needed support you were there. When people were critical and sinical about my tenure, you undergirded me and held me high. Thanks for your support.

There were so many good times. I wish that the Association had held a better retirement for you. I felt as though you were not honored. You deserved better. I know that you and I served during the greatest of times for the Bethel Baptist Association. Jesus says it best: His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord. Matthew 25:21 KJV

Pam and Wayne, you were an important part of my life and ministry. There have been weddings, funerals, anniversaries, birthdays, and many more events that have drawn us together. Though distance separates us, you are always in my thoughts. I know that y’all are enjoying retirement and great-grandchildren keeps enlarging your family. Pam, thanks for the memories my dear friend and co-laborer.

 

There is a River

A fellow Alabamian the late great Hank Williams, sang,

“I went down to the river to watch the fish swim by

But I got to the river so lonesome I wanted to die, oh Lord

And then I jumped in the river, but the doggone river was dry.”

Hank understood being lonesome and the experience of heartbreak. I love the song and think of it each time I visit a river. Rivers are symbols of life and journeys, change and transformation, and renewal and emotional flow.

I went to the Tombigbee River in Demopolis, Alabama earlier this week. I find peace and solitude there. I started vising the river in 2000 when I became the pastor of the Gallion Baptist Church near Demopolis. It became a place to escape the vigorous demands of being a pastor and a place to spend time alone with God and pray as in Alison Krauss’ song Down to the River to Pray:

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the robe and crown
Good Lord, show me the way!

Sitting under a crepe myrtle tree spending time listening to God watching the river flow reminds me of God’s faithfulness. This last visit is one of many that I have visited since moving two hours northeast of Demopolis eight years ago. I continue to journey to Demopolis to visit my chiropractor, ophthalmologist, dentist, and medical doctor and of course the Tombigbee. It is a time of wonderful reflection especially after seeing my medical friends and receiving a good report.

Most of my visits to the Tombigbee are in the morning. Mornings on the river are special as the fog begins to dissipate with the rising sun. It’s symbolic of the clearing of my mind and the ability to see things from a different perspective.

Lights on the river at night are beautiful. Watching a coal loaded barge headed to the Gulf and to possibly China is intriguing. Watching the Demopolis Christmas parade on the water on a cold December night is beautiful. The spender of a midnight ride to the river on a motorcycle and sitting alone is transformational and the emotional renewal is formidable.

Times such as these remind me of gospel songs of the river. One is Robert Lowery’s Shall We Gather at the River.

Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod,
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?

As I enjoy the flowing river I think of the longevity of the Tombigbee. It has been flowing for since the great deluge. Numerous peoples have witnessed its flowing. Many have traveled by canoe, riverboat, and tugs on the river. Scores have swum and played in its flow. It reminds us of the river of God that the Bill Gaither wrote There is a River:

There is a river, and it flows from deep within
There is a fountain, that frees the soul from sin
Come to this water, there is a vast supply
There is a river, that never shall run dry

Monday I gazed at the other shore of the Tombigbee from Demopolis and casted a wishful eye. There is nothing across except woods with the town of Livingston beyond. Samuel Stennett in 1787 penned On Jordan’s Stormy Banks I Stand:

On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.
I am bound for the promised land,
I am bound for the promised land;
Oh, who will come and go with me?
I am bound for the promised land.

I am like the Hebrews in exile. They were longing to return to worship in Jerusalem. The river is a place to reflect on the greatness and faithfulness of God.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. Psalm 137:1 KJV

 

Beautiful Feet and Pig Tales

When I was Director of Missions for the Bethel Baptist Association I had the opportunity to preach at the Linden Baptist Church. My brother and his family having not heard me preach for a long time drove two hours to encourage and to hear me. I was honored to preach at a county seat church in Alabama and my brother’s family to attend that Sunday.

When my brother returned to Chilton County and his home in Jemison, Alabama, people asked him about his visit. My brother said, “Bobby preached at a large church. After having a seminary and doctorate degree he preached about the Hoppers raising pigs. I laughed because Bobby had the audience spellbound. The people sat on the edge of their seats in anticipation as he spoke from God’s Word.”

Growing up we were very poor. We tried to farm and we depended on others to plow our ground because we did not have a tractor. Somewhere along the way dad got us a Welsh pony. The pony was mean spirited, and we could not ride him. The pony was now happy with us and ran from home all the time.

Most of the time he would break into a neighbor’s pasture and spend time with cows. Finally our neighbor told daddy that he would trade two pigs for the pony. Pigs were cheap and our neighbor not able to sell the pigs wanted the pony. So, the Hoppers started raising pigs. I was in the ninth grade.

We discovered that pigs are smart. Undoubtedly they did not like living with us either and they would get out. Pigs are not rabbits, but we found that they multiplied very quickly. Piglets are prettier than puppies. Watching piglets enter into the world was fascinating for my brothers and me. More pigs created more escapes. We had good fencing, but constant repair was mandatory.

We all had pet pigs. I had a black striped landrace sow I named Getrude. Landrace pigs are high quality pork producers. They are long and are known for reproductive efficiency and adaptability.

Getrude continually escaped the pig pen. Momma and I searched but could not find how Getrude escaped. One day mom hid in the wild plum trees and watched Getrude. Gertude sashayed to the hog wire fence and climbed it like a ladder, escaping over the top like convict. She got pregnant escaping like a young lady in trouble. We never saw Getrude again.

Someone commented that they remembered that I was a great defensive football player. They wanted to know how I learned to tackle. I said, “Chasing pigs. If you can catch a pig, an opposing player is nothing.” Every football team needs to spend some practices at a pig parlor. Chasing pigs enhances agility, speed, and tackling techniques.

I been considering drafting a book about our growing up with pigs. I am going to name it Pig Tales.

I believe pigs are mean because of what happened when Jesus put the demons into them in Matthew 2:31-32. So the devils besought him, saying, If thou cast us out, suffer us to go away into the herd of swine. And he said unto them, Go. And when they were come out, they went into the herd of swine: and, behold, the whole herd of swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea, and perished in the waters. I know they are the devil to raise. I always joke saying, “Jesus made the first deviled ham.”

Now the sermon I preached at Linden Baptist Church. I got permission from a preacher friend to use his devotion illustrating his grandchild’s feet and I tweaked it. Using the child’s toes, he taught the Gospel using Romans 10 and the rhyme “This Little Piggy.”

He played with the big toe and said, “This little piggy went to market.”

He wiggled the second toe and said, “This little piggy stayed home.”

He wiggled the third toe and said, “This little piggy had roast beef.”

With the fourth toe he said. “This little piggy had none.”

With the little toe he said, “This little piggy squealed wee, wee, wee all the way home.

 

“This little piggy went to market” – Some believers that preach pay the ultimate sacrifice becoming missionaries, some dying.

“This little piggy stayed home.” – Some believers never leave the local church producing more believers.

“This little piggy had roast beef.” – Some churches and believers have unlimited resources.

“This little piggy had none.” – Some churches and believers have limited resources.

“This little piggy squealed wee, wee, wee all the way home.” – In the end all believers we be home with God.

 

And how shall they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things! Romans 10:15 KJV