WHY US?

 May 7, 1931, Joe and Ethel chapman welcomed little Roe Leecie Chapman into the family. Two older sisters and brother preceded Leecie and two sisters followed her. She became Joe’s long-legged Sally. She was the tallest of the six inheriting her height from Joe. All the others were short like Ethel.

Leecie would be Joe’s second son wearing overalls and work shoes working alongside of her brother doing chores around the farm. Everyday Leecie would wrestle her brother holding him to the ground until he yelled “calf rope.”  She worked and fought like a man. She could plow a mule, drive a tractor, and split firewood.

Leecie hated school. She went to the seventh grade before quitting to pick cotton and to work as a hired hand doing the chores of maintaining a farm. She worked hard her entire life. Even though she worked long and hard she never had much money, but she married and had four children which she said made her rich.

She married Mitchell Clark Hopper Jr. on February 4, 1950. He was seven years her senior. Folks called him J M for Junior Mitchell. Where Leecie never ventured far from Chilton County Alabama. J M had traveled to North Africa and Italy with the United States Army. J M would take Leecie to live in Illinois when Leecie was in her mid-twenties returning to rural Alabama in March 1960.

In 1969 she went to work outside the home to help support the family. In 1982 doctors diagnosed J M with two brain tumors. Leecie worked and cared from him until his death May 27, 1984. Leecie had a mole on her back that was melanoma cancer. Doctors removed the mole and diseased tissue down to her spine. She never allowed the pain to prevent her from caring for J M.

Losing J M was devastating for Leecie. One to never quit, she seemed give up living. By brothers and sister encouraged, but she grew discouraged and had aliments that doctors could not diagnose.

One Saturday I went to eat Saturday breakfast with her. Sneaking up behind her I squeezed her. She said, “You broke my ribs.” I told her that I did squeeze that hard. Doctors were shocked when they x-rayed her. I had collapsed her right rib cage. Cancer had swept through her body ravishing her rib cages, number four vertebrae, esophagus, right arm between elbow and shoulder. And multiple other parts of her body. Stage four melanoma had riddled her precious body. 

Mom had gone with me to hear me preach in September 1986 just before I “bear hugged” her. When they operated on her right rib cage, they said she had six months to a year to live. She had some issues around Thanksgiving and doctors said she had three to six months to live. At Christmas doctors said she had days.

When mom was bedridden, my sister was a trooper and wonderful taking care of her. My sister spent the week with her while my two brothers and I spent the weekend from Friday evening until Monday morning. Mom spent most of time in a hospital bed in my brothers and my old bedroom.

One Saturday morning I was aggravating momma and told her to get out of bed and “fix” me some biscuits. Hers were the best. Grabbing the triangular bar above he bed she struggled tiring to sit up. She had lost strength on her right arm. It broke my heart to see her try her best and she could not.

She looked in the eye and said, “Bobby I know when you are lying. Tell me how much time I have.” With tears swelling in my eyes I said, “Days.” She said, “I thought so.” She then asked, “Why us?” I asked, “Why not us. If you could give your cancer to someone, who would you give it.” She said, “I wouldn’t give this curse to anyone.” I said, “God allowed you to have it because He knows you.”

For the next few moments momma said that the only thing she wanted in life was to have a Christian family. God blessed me with a pastor son, two deacon sons, and a daughter Sunday School teacher. I am ready to go.

Mom went to be with the Lord on January 28, 1987.

 

Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong. I Corinthians 16:13 KJV

 

Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong. II Corinthians 12:10 KJV

 

Stella -Angel Of Muscoda

 Attending a deacon ordination in Muscoda Baptist Church near Bessemer, Alabama I watched a senior adult lady enter the auditorium. Dressed in an evening gown she was stunning and I thought overdressed but it was a sacred moment for the church.

She was singing for the ordination. As she slowly approached the pulpit I could tell she was older than I thought. Curiosity flooded my mind. I was baffled wondering how this elderly lady would perform.

When she started her performance I sat in total shock at how wonderful this nice lady could sing. She sounded like country music legends Loretta Lynn and Patsy Cline. The voices of most people her would be crackled and not vibrant or clear. This lady was amazingly serenading as an angel. Her smile, her hair, and gown glowed mesmerizing the audience.

I left the service proud of the man ordinated He was a friend and former church member of mine. I left that night astonished at the voice and vitality of a senior adult lady. Most people her age cease to serve. She was a wonderful testimony how the LORD uses His people.

Several years passed and I was invited to speak at a ladies' luncheon. I had worker years earlier with some of the women and they heard that I was preaching and they wanted me to encourage their group. It was a good reunion.

One of the women had invited a friend, Stella Hill, to sing. The lady began to sing, and I realized that I had heard her before. When she and I finished the program I said, “I think we have met before. Did I heard you sing at a deacon ordination at Muscoda Baptist Church in Bessemer several years ago?” She said, “One in the same.” We reminisced for a while. She was wonderful. I asked for her telephone number.

Chilton Baptist Association in Clanton, Alabama hosts a Senior Adult Reunion each year. My sister-in-law Kim was the director of the Associational Senior Adults. Since I was serving in another association, she invited me to return home to preach for the annual event. I asked her who she had invited to do the special music. Still in the planning stage, she said she hadn’t secured anyone. I coerced her to invite Stella. I told Kim she would be perfect for the senior adults. Kim did.

I will never forget the morning of the Senior Adult event. It was good to be back home, and the buzz of excitement was electric. When Stella arrived Kim said, “Bobby Hopper what you got me into?” I smiled and said, “Just wait.”

Kim did a magnificent job with the event. A church full of three hundred plus senior adults singing the old gospel favorites was a blessing. As I write I have fond memories of that day and I am sadden that most in attendance that day are now with the Lord.

When it came time for the special music, Kim had me introduce Stella. I smiled, almost giggling, because I could sense the anxiety of Kim and see the uncertainty of the crowd as Stella stood beside me. I stepped aside and let the angel from Muscoda sing.

The look of unbelief spread through the crowd like an old brush arbor revival as Stella sang. When she sang How Great Thou Art she received a standing ovation. Preaching after her rendition was a joy and honor. Going to the dinner senior adults showered Stella with praise and hugs. Kim looked and me and said, “You were right Stella was amazing.”

While we were eating, a young choir director stopped to share with Stella how beautifully she sang How Great Thou Art. He commented that he had never heard the second verse she sang. Stella said, “I forgot the verse and made it up as I sang.” Everyone laughed. She was amazing.

When I was called to be Director of Missions for Bethel Baptist Association in Linden, Alabama I wanted to have Stella come sing at the Bethel Senior Adult banquet. I called her and she was wonderful as always. She was not able to help me, but she did sing for me and associational secretary Pam Gibbs viva the telephone. That would be the last time we would talk. Stella passed away March 7, 2020, at age 94. I thank God for placing Stella in my life.

Marlon Vines writes in her obituary, “What a wonderful Angel that is now singing in Heaven's Choir. I wonder if she's telling Gabriel what key to play it in? She brought much JOY into our lives with her beautiful singing & quick wit.”

I agree!

In the world today there are those that cannot wait for the older generation to be gone. There is wisdom of the aged if younger generations will listen.

 With the ancient is wisdom; and in length of days understanding. Job 12:12

They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing; Psalm 92:14 KJV

Open Arms

When Max was a lap baby, he was very ill. He was having a difficult weekend breathing and had a fever as his parents sought medical help. Sunday morning in Montgomery, Alabama, a medical team made a diagnosis and decided that he needed to transfer to Children’s Hospital in Birmingham. His condition was serious mandating an airlift to Children’s. Max got to take his first helicopter trip.

His illness was complicated because dad and mom could not ride the helicopter. They were anticipating a two plus hour trip. It would be an anxious and terrifying two hours. Max was in great care, but it was not momma.

Traveling Interstate 65 can be a nightmare and it was for mom and dad. Murphy’s Law grasped the moment shutting down the Interstate. Mom and dad had to travel back road routes to downtown Birmingham as anxiety, fear, and the unknown flooded their hearts and minds.

During this ordeal, Lisa and I were attending a homecoming at one of the churches I served in Hale Baptist Association near Moundville, Alabama. We were able to head to Children’s before Katie (mom) and Brian (dad) left Montgomery. Children’s was about an hour from us, the grandparents Nanna and Poppy.

I will never forget the moment we found Max’s room. Nanna ran to consult with doctors and nurses. I went to the little tent where a frightened little boy was uncontrollably crying. Our eyes met, we smiled at each other, and he reached for me. Unfortunately, we could not touch but we rubbed against each other with the clear tent touching our cheeks.

The doctors and nurse were wonderful trying the best of their abilities and training to comfort a traumatized baby boy. Very sick, separated from mom and dad, rushed into a helicopter, flown high in the sky, and placed in front of strangers wearing all manner of medical equipment to help him. When he smiled at me the nurses, in sweet voices, said, “Awe, someone knows somebody.” They were hesitant to allow Nanna and me into the room, but all that changed with a smile and raised arms.

Max and I have a special bond. I know that he was small, but traumatic events are memorable moments. Each time he sees me he hugs me and when he leaves, he says, “Love you, Poppy.” He loves to tease Nanna by calling her granny.

I had a church member ask me if God hears the prayer of a lost sinner. I told him yes and no to which asked, “What do you mean yes and no.” I asked him if there were children in the yard playing and one is injured and yells “DAD” what happens. He said all the dads looked. I said that is right, but who responds? He said the dad of the injured. A lost sinner does not have God as his father.

I said the prayer that God hears from a lost sinner is God save me. Where do you find that in the Bible?

 My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. John 10:27 KJV

Max recognized me when he saw me. At that point he was too young to know our relationship, but he knew me.

And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them. Mark 10:16 KJV

 

 

Hey Dad

One hundred and two years ago on April 9, 1924, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby boy entered the world in a place named Waycross, Georgia. The second son of Mitchell and Reba Hopper who were logging that an airport could be built. Mitchel from Perry County, Alabama and Reba from Bibb County, Alabama traveled to Georgia with four small children and expecting a fifth. That little boy born on April 9 is my dad, Mitchel Clark Hopper.

There is a photograph of Mitchel and Reba (Granny) standing beside a wagon loaded with one huge log pulled by two long horned steers. Not long after dad’s birth one of the steers that pulled the log wagon gored grandaddy Hopper rippling his stomach. This was the 1920’s and his injury was severe. Their logging endeavor ended and they moved back to Perry County Alabama where grandad spent life as an invalid. Granny and five children became sharecroppers in rural Alabama.

One morning as Uncle James, sixteen years old, and dad, eleven years old, were digging post holes for a fence when they heard a loud explosion inside the house they rented. As Uncle James and dad entered the living room they saw blood, skin, and brain material dripping from the ceiling. I have pictured that scene ever since I first heard dad tell it. That was a horrific and terrifying moment for anyone, especially family.

The struggle of the Hopper family was hard. Granny Hopper sharecropping with nine folks trying to make a living. I written this before- dad said they were so poor that when they slaughtered hogs all they threw away was the squeal. Every part of the hog was used. I know I used to help Granny Hopper sling chitterlings (clean hog intestines).

Hard years passed quickly, Uncle James was drafted and fought in WWII witnessing the horror and gore of combat. When dad turned eighteen on April 9, 1942, the next week he went for basic training and eventually North Africa to serve under General George C. Patton.

As the Allies moved north, dad went to Italy. There he received two Purple Hearts. One was from a machine gun as bullets ripped his stomach under his heart to his groin making a large S which called dad superman. He lay in a foxhole bleeding as German soldiers using bayonets made sure that soldiers were dead. Dad used two dead soldiers in the foxhole to shield him from the bayonets. He felt the bayonet penetrate one soldier as the second penetrated to other one. When the German soldiers queried about dad being dead or not one said he was and they moved to another foxhole. Dad knew enough German to understand God spared him.

The second Purple Heart was for shrapnel from a grenade riddling his body. One piece of shrapnel lodged at the base of his skull near the spinal cord in operatable. You could feel the knot.

While in Italy, the German Army captured dad. Dad and several other men were loaded and carried to hill to be killed. Realizing that they were about to be executed, dad and a few other country boys decided to make break and run. Dad said everyone ran in different directions. He said the bullets buzzed by him like angry bumble bees. Escaping and an old Italian farmer hid him in a hay barn for three months. His was listed as missing in action.

Dad shared many war stories. They were humorous and very few were about the horror and gore. I would ask how many enemy he killed and he would say, “We were following orders and so were they. We just shot at one another.”

On dad’s 102^nd birthday I thought about things he taught me. I was the first born and was training ground and learning curve for dad. I realized from a young age that dad lived his life without a dad. He spoke of grandad often. That was one of my biggest reasons for wanting to spend time with dad.

Every time he went somewhere besides work, I wanted go. One time I was anxious that when he said I could go I slammed the front door of the house on the fingers of my right hand. When I yanked them from the door I pulled the fingernail from my middle finger. It bled and throbbed for hours, but I was with dad. I was worth the pain. As a little boy I wanted to cry. I wanted dad to be proud I was though, stupid but tough.

I wanted to be big and strong like dad. He had large hands that carried many scars. He was respected for his size and strength. Most men feared dad because of his background powerful demeanor. Kids loved the gentle giant, and women were attracted to him.

In nineteen eighty-two doctors diagnosed dad with brain tumors. One, the size of a lemon, was in the frontal of his brain. The other was a pea sized near the pituitary gland near his brain stem. Surgeons were able to remove ninety percent of the lemon sized tumor but could not operate on the pea sized one.

Prognosis was that dad would lose his memory, lose his eyesight, and lose his balance making him unable to walk. As people and churches prayed doctors performed saying that God aided them. After the surgery and during recovery, dad got cold and got out of bed moving it away from the air-conditioner. Nurses panicked. Not too bad for some with no memory, no balance, and no sight. Nurses thought him delirious. He told them he was cold.

Dad was bald before surgery. One day after chemo treatment, my daughter used his head for tic tac do. Dad did well for two years. During that time, he and I would go walking and sharing life. One time at a church cleanup, dad and I headed home. He said, “Son I used to wish I did not have to go to work. Now I wish I could.”

Not long before his passing one morning I went to eat breakfast with mom and dad. Mom said to dad, “Tell Bobby about your dream. He will understand.” Fearing being called stupid or made fun of dad was reluctant to share the dream with me. I said you can share it with me.

Dad said, Last night I dreamed I died and I was going toward a bright light in heaven. As I got closer, I saw Jesus with His arms open. As I got close, He was waving motioning me back tell me it was not time yet. And then I woke up.”

I told him that I believed him and that others had similar testimonies. He smiled and said thanks son.

Dad turned sixty on April 9, 1984, and died eighteen days later on April 27. I held that big old right hand as he took his last breath.

Thank You God for allowing me to spend thirty-one years with dad. I think of him daily. I think of him when I see my brother David who looks like him and my brother Glenn who acts like him. I think of him and how he struggled in life. From age eleven, serving in WWII, and thousands of other things that dad experienced remind me of dad, Mitchel Clark Hopper Jr. known best as JM (Junior Mitchel)

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 KJV

 Here is picture of dad holding me on one of his logging horses. Dad was 6' 3" standing behind "Jabo". Picture taken @ 1954.

 

 

 

  

He Is Not Here

Remember those monstrosities called answering machines? You know the ones that use a cassette tape to record messages. I won one that turned out to be a hunk of junk. I think that is why I won it. I finally got rid of it when the telephone company added it as a service.

My favorite message went as follows: “Now that you have let the phone ring seven times you have awakened my dragon and if you do not leave a message, he will be very angry. I’m not here so leave a message.”

One message was, “Now that I have awakened your dragon, I know you are not home. That is a good way for people to rob you while you are way. Do not say you are not home.”

The whole answering machine evolution has given us cell phones with emails, text messaging, and leave a message. I was opponent of text messaging in the beginning, but I use us more than anything now. It is convenient and prevents one from interrupting. I think it helps with cell phone etiquette.

If you are as I am you made that important call and you reach that infernal answering machine: “To speak English press one. If you know the extension press two. If you want to speak with a representative press three. To repeat the menu, press four. To speak with an operator, press zero.

Years ago, I was representing employees at the cement plant that filed a grievance because they could not reach the plant when returning a callout phone call. This was back before the telephone companies changed to push button phones. It was difficult to press numbers on a dial-up telephone. The all-knowing human resource person gave me a smart aleck response and said he would give me the money to buy a push button phone. I replied, “You dummy the phone lines have not been updated. The lines are still pulsing dialing, and one cannot press one, two, three or four.” I told the smart aleck that “I did not fall off the turnip green truck yesterday.” The grievance was awarded to the employees.

One of the churches I had opportunity to serve had a sophisticated phone system. Churches members from that church complained to me about not being able to speak with the pastor. I admit that it was difficult to get a hearing with the pastor. There were ample people there to answer the phone, but you had to push those aggravating buttons. It remained a problem for years. People stopped trying to call or see the pastor and finally started calling me or visiting my office.

It can be troublesome trying to reach someone and not knowing what button to push or where to find a person. It can be good on occasion. When you could not call or see a person when you are angry. Things went much smoother when you had time to cool off. How about the time you made a decision? Lord changed your position and you were glad the person you were to tell was not there initially.

This past Sunday was Resurrection Sunday. Before the break of day, Mary made her way to the tomb of Jesus. She was expecting the worst. There was no way of communicating with the keepers of the dead. There was no press one to speak Arabic. No press two to speak with the gardener. No press three to speak with the stone movers.

There is a 1958 song The Angels Listened In and another in 1960's song Trouble in Paradise - Calling All Angels by the Crests. Had Mary known who was waiting at the tomb she could have called Angels that were waiting.

What she did find was an Angel waiting at the tomb. No buttons to push just a living being saying:

He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. Matthew 28:6 KJV

LIKE A ROCK

Excitement filled the air as scuttlebutt surfaced at Blue Circle Cement. Chevrolet was going to make a commercial about their Chevy pickups. Chevy was filming the “Built Like A Rock” Commercial the Roberta Plant in Calera, Alabama. The scene of a Chevy pickup racing up the quarry road is still seen in current commercials.

There was one gigantic problem. The filming was closed to the employees. General Motors management did not anticipate the rock hardheaded men of the plant. Good old boy ingenuity found a way. Though the employees were not close to the scenes, high silos conveyor belt towers, and buildings provided amble venues to watch the filming. The long hours of filming were reduced to just a few seconds of commercial time. Those employees that had sneak previews told of things that did not make the film.

The best scene was a lift dropped a one-ton (2000 lbs.) bag of lime into the bed of the new dual-wheel pickup. The first take the tailgate exploded from the pickup and traveled approximately thirty feet through the air leaving the side of the pickup bed warped open. It was so severe that they could not attach the tailgate back. After several tries, the final cut that aired was without the tailgate. I know engineers designed the pickup to haul a one-ton payload but dropped from above the force was more than the tailgate could handle. I can only imagine if they had dropped a one-ton limestone boulder into the pickup truck bed.

Rocks have been in existence for a long time. Some areas of our planet are mostly rock. Rocks have been and remain a main source of building material. I love to collect rocks. My grandpa Chapman removed rocks from the ground where Lisa and I live. He removed the trees, stumps, and rocks to cultivate the ground. He hauled all the rocks into the woods on the back side of the property. I have slowly moved back into the yard for flower beds, and other nice stonework. I suppose that somewhere in the future someone will move them out again.

The largest rock that I have ever seen and been on top is Stone Mountain in Georgia. That is one humongous granitic rock. One has to ride a sky lift to reach the top. Jesus said the wise man builds his house on the rock. I did not see a house on Sone Mountain but there was a building up there. It would take an abundance, deluge to wash it way.

As Jesus fasted, the devil tempted Jesus with a rock. Devil said if Jesus was hungry to turn the rock into bread. David as a shepherd boy slew Goliath with a single rock and had four more to slay Goliath’s four brothers. As the Hebrews crossed the wilderness in route to the Promise Land they ran out of water. Moses struck a rock and it produced water. Had Moses touched it as was the thing to do, God could have produced a lake, and Moses may have gotten to enter the Promise Land. Simon Peter’s faith was compared to a rock.

Rocks have been used to build altars, as foundation, designate line lines, inscribed as tablets for laws, used to cover graves, and block openings. Rocks have been used as weapons since the first person threw one at an animal or person. Stoning folks was common for millennials. When the lady caught in the very act of adultery was thrown in front of Jesus, Jesus instructed those without sin to cast the first stone.

God is the rock when we search the Scriptures. The song “Rock of Ages” is a great Theological song.

Since this is Passover Week in Christendom there is a beautiful passage in Scripture that our pastor read on Palm Sunday about rocks. During the Triumphant Entry of Jesus people were shouting and praising Jesus as the coming Messiah. When forces tried to quieten the people, Jesus said in Luke 19:40 KJV:

And he answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out.

Hope Y’all have a wonderful Resurrection Sunday.

 

 

 

Lightning and Thunder

The power of lightning flashing and roaring thunder fascinate me. One morning while enjoying an early morning sleep a flash of lightning lit up the bedroom. I saw the flash with closed eyes. Suddenly thunder loud and long shook the house rattling the windows. It seemed to roll forever. An awesome way to start the morning.

I was carrying a friend to Montgomery when a large thunderhead cloud covered Interstate 65. I smiled as a beautiful streak of lightning lit up the southern sky. It was a stunning display of raw power. My friend, from Baltimore City, Maryland, shook in fear. She was not used to the violent thunderstorms of Alabama.

One of my history professors from the University of Montevallo explained that the mentality of most Southern gentlemen is like that of a thunderstorm. Long dry and hot days the earth stores the energy of the sun. The energy builds and builds with each passing day. When a cold front approaches, the earth releases the stored energy. The longer the storage the more violent the storm. Dr. Fuller, the professor said that Southern men are easy going until pushed too far, then they explode like a violent thunderstorm.

The morning after the storm passes, the Alabama sky is a clear and beautiful blue. The air is cooler and everything turns green and starts to renew what was dry and almost dead. These things are what makes Spring my favorite time of the year.

Lighting storms cause destruction too. Power outages can last for days, and the impatience of power customers grows exponentially. Winds, hail, and rain can wreak havoc on property. Storms can ruin springtime events, like Resurrection Sunday.

Maudy Thursday and Good Friday remind us of prelude of one of the greatest storms in history. As Jesus celebrated His last supper with his disciples, sin began to manifest Satan’s evil plot. Through the centuries before the Resurrection, evil battled God, and His people. Everything imaginable confronted the men and women of God. The events of Calvary went deeper than a hand full of disciples shaken from their belief. The climax of their last days with Jesus was one of sin. That great moment when God walked among them the disciples allowed sin to dominate their thoughts, their actions, and their ministries. Their dreams and ambitions ended in defeat and just beyond them the unseen world of evil rallied in victory. The lie defeated the truth and Truth lay in a cold dark tomb bound by rags and smothered by perfume and burial spices.

While those who loved the Lord wept with hurt, mourned with regret, and cried in anger, the forces of darkness danced, drank, and celebrated victory. Finally evil could do what they wanted and there would be no accountability, no repercussions, and no judgment. The powers of darkness with every unimaginable display of sinful prejudice, partying, and pure filth celebrated. Satan and his legions of demonic prodigies had slain the Incarnate, Eternal God.

As the storm raged from Friday night through the events at Calvary, believers wept with the heartbreaking events flooding their thoughts and being. Suddenly the Son flashed as lightning and the thunder rolled, darkness scurried away, and evil cleared its throat, as hearts ached, eyes cried, and hands trembled waiting for the break of day, Truth broke the power of evil. Satan, his evil crew, and groupies faced the risen Savior knowing their future was the eternal abyss.

The words of Matthew ring in our hearts and ears.

 “And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.” Matthew 28:6 KJV

Until Resurrection morning, sin and sickness dominated life robbing it of joy. Sin, sickness, and sadness are realities of life until the Lord returns. One day Jesus is coming to take believers out of this heartbreaking world of sin, sickness, and sadness. Until He does, believers have the help of the Holy Spirit. Until He comes, believers have the assurance and the prayers of other believers to help. Our salvation is commitment to Christ and His Church. Because He lives we live in hope.

Resurrection Sunday is a great day for the church. It is the largest day of attendance for most churches, but that is not the reason for its greatness. It is great because it is the day we celebrate the victory over death. For believers it is a reality every day.

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JUST A MOMENT

Beginning at the moment of conception, life is a collection of moments until the moment of death. In reality life is short but we live as though we will live forever on this planet we call Earth. Humanity will live an eternity in one of two places, eternity in the Abyss or eternity with God. Someone once asked me where Heaven was. I told Heaven is where God is. They asked where hell is. I told them where God ain’t.

Many moments ago, my maintenance foreman asked, “Do you know why wars were fought with young men?” I told him that I ready never thought about it. He said, “Because old men won’t. Young men are ten feet tall, bullet proof, and will kill the enemy. Old men know mortality, hurt, and death.”

Precious, few, and temporal are the moments we share together in life. We build houses, families, communities, cities, businesses, and government thinking they will last forever.

Think about the cost of the average home and the thirty plus year mortgage. That house will need repair long before the mortgage is paid. Children will grow and leave home before the last house payment is paid in full. The new vehicle parked in the drive will be in the repair shop before the last payment is due. Children, house, vehicle, and neighborhood will become moments of the past. Everything will be out of date and undergo change due to the deterioration of time.

Someone mentioned in Discipleship class at church Sunday night that the world was nothing like the one we all grew up in. That truism is the same for each generation. Moments fleeing away metamorphizing by capturing the old and newfangled freshness filling the air. After a while contemporary replaces the traditional and eventually the contemporary becomes the traditional creating cycles of momentary accomplishment.

God created us with eternity in our hearts. There was a song we sang when I pastored at Brierfield Baptist Church that reminded me of our temporary time on earth. Some of the words were, “This world is not my home I am just passing through.” We are just passing through, but the WORLD tries to convince people that the here and now is it. The here and now will one day be “somewhere beyond the blue” cause we’re a just passing through.

God is without beginning or end. Special and divine moments fill our being. Momma used to teach us that things will get better. Moments would get worse in life, but the moments of pain and sorrow will one day pass. Looking at scars remind that the hurt that was once severe is now gone. It provides minute reminders that most pain will subside with time. Heartaches though austere are transient, death though cruel is transitory, and sickness though devastating is ephemeral.

The good news is:

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal. II Corinthians 4:17-18 KJV

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Want, I Want

When the children were small one of the privileges of living in this great nation, that we call America was grocery shopping once a month. Living in rural Alabama and having garden each year is that trips to the grocery store were less frequent.

We did our monthly shopping at Food World in Pelham, Alabama, which is thirty miles from Sugar Ridge. Food World was a gigantic store with a diversity of products. I remember riding my eldest son Andy in the grocery buggy when he was a toddler. He was awed by all the stuff the store had to offer.

When my daughter Angela was born, we stopped at Food World in route to taking her home. She was shopping straight from the hospital. When we shopped there, I had Andy and Angela in one buggy and another for stuff. People would ask me what aisle I found such lovely children. Later when they used to argue and fuss, I tried to return them for a refund, but they were past the expiration date. I would not return them, but it was a good tactic to stop the fuss.

Visiting Food World was always interesting. We would shop late at night when store was not as busy. It was always interesting to see the assortment of products and the miscellany of clientele. Back in the late seventies and early eighties, most shoppers were conservative. There were a few odd shoppers, nothing like those in Wal-Mart today. Sometimes there were folks dressed in costumes making a midnight run.

Funny things happen at Food World. One day my pastor and his wife were there. After a morning of eating fried fresh sweet corn, the stomach of my pastor started rumbling and churning signifying “GO TO THE TOILET” in a hurry. They were in the meat aisle which was far from the restroom. My pastor told his wife that he had “to go” and she responded, “You know where the restrooms are. Go.”

Leaving in a rush, he hurried to the restroom which was in the rear of the store. He opened the men’s room door and there were no lights. Feeling his way around the laboratories, urinals, and stalls, he opens a stall door preparing to dispose of the fresh sweet corn. Suddenly as he is about to sit, he hears a voice, “Excuse please.” My pastor left more quickly than he had entered.

Losing the urge the purge, my pastor quickly pulls up his pants and blunders out quickly. By this time, his wife had worked her way toward him. She commented that his trip was quick. Embarrassed, he tells her of his predicament and not having to “go.” She asked, “Who was it?” He said, “I don’t know.” Hiding behind a food aisle they watched as the rear door opened and the store manager exited waving and greeting Food World shoppers with, “Hey, how y’all doing and thanks for shopping at Food World.” He never knew how close he was to catastrophe or who almost bombed him. My pastor and his wife could never look at him again. They always looked the other way.

There is almost ten years between Angela and baby brother Aaron. We continued to shop at Food World. One night as I strolled Aaron in a buggy, he repeatedly said, “I want this, I want that.” Another shopper looked at me and said, “Why don’t you buy that young’un something?” I looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Lady, if I bought him everything he has asked for, I would own Food Word.” We smiled at each other.

A couple of Sundays ago, the Sunday school teacher said that we forget that life is not about us, but God. Dr. Max Lucado, one of my favorite writers has an excellent book, It’s Not About Me Journal. It helped my life’s journey. It not about me, it’s about GOD.

During the morning worship the preacher mentioned in his sermon that many folks view God as a santa claus. Our prayers are, “God I want, I want, I want. Life is worth living when we realize it not about us.

I do not own Food World, but I did buy Aaron something he wanted. God owns everything and knows what I want and what I need.

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

 

 

 

Eucharist Prayer

 

Communion is sacred and can inspire. When I was pastor of Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama I conducted communion and it was very sacred. It was a pivotal moment in the ministry of the church.

Before the communion service I secured a stainless-steel bowl, pencils and slips of paper. I had men distribute pencils and paper to all in attendance. I instructed all in attendance to write on the paper a sin or sins that they may be struggling with, fold the paper for privacy, and place it in the bowl. 

I gave the men specific orders to burn the papers and toss the ashes into the wind. I explained to the congregation that it was a picture of God forgiving confessed sin and removing them as far as the east is from the west.

After a few moments Irby, one of the men opened the door and entered the church. With tears streaming down his cheeks he shouted, “Their gone! Our sins are gone!” It was a magnificent moment of our being when the reality of confessing sin before partaking of the Lord’s Supper became a reality. People wept as the deacons, and I distributed the bread and the juice.

Since I retired from the pastorate Lisa and I joined Union Springs Baptist Church in Randolph, Alabama. It is my home church. They ordained me as a deacon in 1981 and ordained me into full-time ministry in 1993. It is the where I experienced my first Lord’s Supper and after becoming a deacon helped to serve it.

Several weeks ago during Communion the Holy Spirit impressed Lisa to write a prayer.

Eucharist Prayer

To Jesus-

 

In the quiet of the moment

I whisper Your Name

In the silence that surrounds me

I search eagerly for Your Face

In the shadow of Your Cross

I am humbled and bow

In the glory of Your Presence

I stand amazed

In the gentleness of Your Voice

I find comfort

In the answers to my prayers

I know peace

In the shelter of Your Arms

I am protected

In the presence of Your Love

I am loved

 

From Jesus-

 

In the quiet of the moment

I whisper your name

In the silence that surrounds you

I search eagerly for your face

In the shadow of My Cross

You are humbled and bow

In the glory of My Presence

You stand amazed

In the gentleness of My Face

You find comfort

In My answers to your prayers

You know peace

In the shelter of My Arms

You are protected

In the presence of My Love

You are loved

Lisa Marie Hopper March 1, 2026

 And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.  After the same manner also he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, this cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.

 I Corinthians 11:24-25 KJV

Planning Verses Flying by the Seat of Pants

When you rise in the morning do you think about your day? We never know what may happen. In Sunday school this past weekend there was a discussion on planning. My wife Lisa along with most of thew women in class were planners. Lisa looked and me and said, “I love to have a plan unlike someone else I know that ‘flies by the seat of his pants.’”

I asked the ladies what happens when someone or something throws a monkey wrench into their plans. One woman said she went to plan B. I asked what if it fails?

When I became a pastor, the best laid plans of mice and men go the way of the Dodo bird with one phone call. Not only can it change the day but also the week and more. Then when I started “flying by the seat of my pants.” I do plan, I just plan on the way.

When I worked at the cement plant as a cement kiln burner helper, things could change my work schedule quickly. Situations dictated actions. When I became a kiln burner, I had a helper that if a situation altered his schedule and he was discombobulated for the rest of the shift. He tried to follow his plan failing to distinguish the necessary and vital from what could be omitted until his shift ended.

I sent a poem to the publisher last week. I hope you enjoy it.

Lord Is Today The Day

One where You introduce me to an unfamiliar being

To share Your mercy and grace

That will help them journey and run the race

Encouraging all they meet with faces that are beaming

One where confession of sin creates a new beginning

Putting old habits behind and letting them die

For one day we will meet the LORD in the sky

The dead will go first and those alive will be missing

One where I have time broken relationships restore

To pen a note to a friend not seen or spoken in a while

Or receive an encouraging memo that makes me smile

Time spent with loved ones sharing memories and more

One where I enter without ache and pain

Knowing that growing old is not for sissies

Tackling the day as a warrior with the wife’s kisses

The LORD providing strength to stroll in the rain

One where I pass from corruption to the sublime

Walking the streets of gold without a cane

Earth to eternity a great and wonderful change

Indefinite time to create the perfect rhyme

 

A man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps. Proverbs 16:9 KJV

But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare.” 2 Peter 3:10 KJV

 

Bootlegging

Life in rural Alabama has been a wonderful experience. It is authentic. Common sense, practical living, and hard work create an atmosphere that builds character and personifies what is real and what is fake.

Rural life is not a utopia. There is an ample supply of moral deficiencies that are no different than most sin cities around the globe. People are people regardless of ethnicity, social class, location, or education.

Most folks were poor where I grew up in Alabama. There were very few good places of employment with an abundance of people moving out of state to work. Those that chose to live in Alabama either worked in populated areas or eked out a living plowing, planting, hoeing, and picking cotton. Then there was cutting, manually loading, and hauling pulpwood. Small farms with pigs, chickens, and cows utilizing row crops provided for most families. Peas and corn fed most of us.

Another prevalent industry was bootlegging. It was part of living in the hills and hallows of most rural areas across the state that were in “dry” counties. I had bootlegging relatives on both sides of the family. In fact, I had an uncle on my mamma’s side of the family that did prison time. It was not his still. He was visiting a neighbor’s still when revenuers raided. My uncle did time rather than “squeal” on his neighbor.

My uncle used corn for his brew. Corn made the mash and when complete the mash fed the hogs. Most well knew his skill everyone, even the local county sheriff who would send deputies to tell my uncle the revenuers were planning a raid. That was the code of the community.

In 1977 when I was a young man dad bought a book from a childhood friend that authored it. It was titled Moonshine Till Dawn. It was his friend’s autobiography. It is not about the moon shining but moonshine. Dad’s friend reveals his journey in Bibb and Perry counties in central
Alabama from bootlegging to prison and then release.

Names have been changed in the book, but dad pointed out which ones were kinfolk and which pictures of whiskey stills belonged to the Hopper family. It was fascinating with stories dad told us growing up coming to life.

Dad’s brother was driver for bootleggers. My started his Thunder Road experience when he ran away from home when he was sixteen. My uncle eventually settled down in Rockton, Illinois. Visiting him back in 2003, I noticed he had a picture of his old racecar on his refrigerator. As a kid when we lived there, I loved to watch my uncle race.

I asked if the picture was of his old car and he said it was. He said he started racing in Bessemer, Alabama during his moonshine hauling days. He talked about three friends, all three would become Birmingham Internation Racing and NASCAR legends affectionately known as the “Bama Gang.”

I knew that the birth of NASCAR began in Southern rural hills and hallows running from Revenuers with hotrods full of “White Lightning.”  I learned more about the hauling of moonshine in dad’s friend’s second book Bloody Bibb published in 1995. It is most revealing of life in central Alabama.

Bootleggers come in various forms. By definition bootleg means illegally made, copied, or sold. That a lot of stuff.

Jesus did not too much of bootleggers. When he raided a large bootlegging operation in the Temple at Jerusalem, the bootleggers and those profiting from it made plans to have Jesus killed.

 Ye offer polluted bread upon mine altar; and ye say, Wherein have we polluted thee? 

In that ye say, The table of the LORD is contemptible.

And if ye offer the blind for sacrifice, is it not evil? and if ye offer the lame and sick, is it not evil? offer it now unto thy governor; will he be pleased with thee or accept thy person? saith the LORD of hosts. Malachi 1:7-8 KKJV.

And the Jews' passover was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem, And found in the temple those that sold oxen and sheep and doves, and the changers of money sitting: And when he had made a scourge of small cords, he drove them all out of the temple, and the sheep, and the oxen; and poured out the changers' money, and overthrew the tables; And said unto them that sold doves, Take these things hence; make not my Father's house an house of merchandise. John 2:13-16 KJV.

 

 

 

The Great Deception

Several year ago during the Christmas season my brothers and I were in a Birmingham area mall with our dad. We have never been big on shopping. We do research on products and then go purchase the product.

Dad was mesmerized by a man playing with a mouse. This was long before the day before a computer mouse. This mouse was running up the man’s stomach. The man would shift his hands up and down making the mouse jump from hand to hand. The mouse was for sale.

Dad bought the mouse only to realize that he was deceived. The mouse was plastic and attached to a long female hair. The mouse was suspended hanging by a long hair. The mouse never moved. The man manipulated his hands making the mouse appear to be running. We all laughed but learned to watch for deceit.

Today’s technological world has personified deceit. I am afraid that we have reached the societal age where critical thinking has become a lost virtue. Our reasoning ability is such that if it is posted on social media or the world wide web it must be true.

This is not a new phenomenon. Lisa and I watch old movies. The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp is our present favorite. Filmed in the late 1950’s, high-definition television makes the flaws more evident in the black and white photography. Fake mustaches, beards, wigs, and makeup are more pronounced.

Stunt doubles are obvious as are fake rocks, trees, and the fights. Producers use trick photography to transform fake into reality. Fast forward to the present and old movies seem archaic, even comical. What was scary and frightening in the 1905’s appears comical today.

Even episodes IV, V, and VI of Star Wars pales to I, II, and III. Producers adjusted the originals to blend the old to the new. It is amazing how Artificial Intelligence and Green Screen Lighting have made deception more realistic.

Madison Avenue marketing and the Media has used deception for decades. They have desensitized the masses of people to the reality of reality. Credit debt must be paid, possessions do not bring happiness, and bad choices have detrimental consequences.

Until the Lord returns, deception will continue to fool, and true wisdom will be able to distinguish the difference between the real and the fantasy. One day the Antichrist, will be the ultimate deceiver.

Even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders, And with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved.¹ And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: 2 Thessalonians 2:9-12

.

In the Rearview Mirror

Lisa and I were taking a trip in my old Plymouth. As I looked in the rearview mirror, I noticed that the bottom right corner of the mirror was wearing thin. It is seventy-six years old and not as brilliant as it once was.

When I remodeled the 1950 Plymouth, the mechanic that helped me placed the mirror upside down. He wanted to know how I knew it was upside down. I said that the mirror is the same shape as the rear window. He said he did not know that. I reminded him that most rearview mirrors in older vehicles were the shape of the rear windows.

Looking in the mirror I thought, “How many people had looked in, and adjusted, the same mirror over the seventy-six plus years?” I know that my Uncle Gerald Chapman bought the Plymouth in the 1950s. He looked in and adjusted the mirror many times. I wondered how many people had done the same task from the time the mirror was installed until I adjusted it for our drive.

Seventy-six years of looking at what was behind and going away. I imagined the stories the mirror could tell and the places left behind. Did the mirror laugh as people looked into it and made funny faces, fixed their hair, or picked their nose?

The mirror always told the truth as people’s hair turned grey or loose. It patiently watched as women put on makeup or lipstick and as kids looked at one another and made goggle eyes when corrected. It always showed the various activities inside the car and those happenings fleeing behind. The mirror always spelled signs sdrawkcab.

Grandpa Chapman bought the Plymouth from Uncle Gearld. When he looked in the Twentieth Century mirror it reflected the lines and wrinkles of a dying Nineteenth Century, the experiences of WWI, the hardships of the Great Depression, the victorious hope of WWII, the rock and roll of the fifties, and the radical changes of the sixties.

Unable to continue looking in the mirror, dad bought the Plymouth from grandpa as a work car making the Hoppers a two-car family. I remember daddy looking over his glasses and into the mirror that was keeping watch on the Hopper boys. The mirror allowed us to see “the look” that spelled trouble when things in the mirror stopped moving.

That old mirror watched me when I was ten years old learning how to drive. It watched as momma screamed, fussed, and cussed as I tried to shift from first to second and made the gears grind, the car bunny hop, and Bobby cry.

I inherited the Plymouth when I was fourteen years old. The mirror would show me my frustration when I repaired the constant breakdown of parts. The mirror would show me my disappointment every time the car would not start. The mirror gleamed at me when I saw the new interior and paint job for a summer’s wages.

The mirror would wink when I looked in it to see if I looked good enough to pick up my date. It watched as I sneaked a kiss or shyly hugged my girlfriend. It was always faithful to show me where I had been. It was wonderful to look in the mirror and watch my date wave goodbye.

It a good thing that that rearview mirror cannot talk. It has witnessed so many events, been eyewitness to numerous changes, and bystander in time as we are well into the Twenty-first century. There will be more events. Looking in the mirror reminds us to adjust and watch what is behind. It helps us to look forward. That in the mirror is gone, but when we gaze into it we see the present.

On our ride to town, I smiled at Lisa and said, “If this mirror could talk!”

 Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:13-14 KJV

 

Buck's Compass

The story begins one morning back in the 1970's at the Blue Circle Cement plant in Calera, Alabama. “Pawpaw” Hubbard, foreman for the labor crew, quizzed “Coon Dawg” concerning the whereabouts of his coon hunting buddy, “Buck.”

Coon Dawg was disingenuous as to the whereabout of Buck. Pawpaw knew that two of his prime laborers had planned a coon hunting on the previous day. “You and Buck go coon hunting last night?” Coon Dawg, with denying shyness, mumbled a feeble negative.

Most all of us knew that they had been coon hunting. Their passion for coon hunting was notorious. Registered hounds, four-wheel drive pickups, hunting gear, and any accessories they could buy, beg, or trade they owned.

Buck had bragged that he had a new compass for coon hunting. This was before GPS and smart phones. For years coon hunters used knowledge of the woods, sounds of the dogs, and memory to hunt coons. Hunters would train dogs to primarily to hunt coons and reject the scents of deer and other creatures of the nocturnal. Possum hunting was another pastime but coon hunting primary.

One time Buck secured a load to buy his wife a new washer and dryer. Buck bought a coon dog instead. One night the dog, Old Blue was in hot pursuit of a coon. The coon crossed the Southern Norfork train tracks, but Old Blue did not. No washer and dryer, no coon dog, and no coon.

There was a very large tale circulating in the plant about a poor blue tick hound that Southern Railroad paid for hitting. As most coon hunting stories go, it was said that the blue tick owner bought a new washer and dryer for his wife.

Buck did not report to work, and Coon Dawg shuffled around all day as an alcoholic with a hangover. Here’s what happened according to Buck.

Coon Dawg and Buck went hunting in Bibb County Alabama in the Talladega National Forest. Buck was excited to try his new compass. Seven miles from the Talladega National Forest Highway they released their dogs and listened to the dogs bark as the followed the scent of a coon.

As the sounds of the barking changed tunes and grew intense, Buck decided to find the dogs leaving Coon Dawn in the warm pickup truck. Coon Dawg was a little on the skittish side and said he would just wait until the dog treed.

Buck used his compass to locate the dogs and made his way toward them. Coon Dawg’s imagination ran wild as shadows came alive, sounds grew horrific, and stars disappeared. Darkness was not an old friend but a demonic surrounding capturing Coon Dawg who quickly escaped into the woods screaming for Buck.

Hollering back and forth Coon Dawg found Buck. The dogs stopped hunting. Buck used the compass to locate the pickup. Coon Dawg, lost to where he was stayed close to Buck. As they approached the clearing where they left the pickup, Buck noticed that Coon Dawg fled the pickup so quickly that he forgot to turn off the lights. The dynamic salt-pepper duo once again had no dogs, no coons, and now no battery. Their journey to the highway was a long four miles of walking in darkness with flashlights as way to see.

After hours of walking, they made it to US Highway 82. As the sun shined a faint pink, they tried to hitchhike. Two bearded, nasty, muddy, nomads at the breaking of dawn watched as vehicle after vehicle slowed only to speed away when the two mountain men tried to flag a ride.

Buck told Coon Dawg to wait in the ditch in hopes someone would not. That did not work either. It was more horrifying when Coon Dawg jumped from the ditch. They made it home. Coon Dawg reached the plant minutes before worktime. The following day, Buck bragged about using the compass and the foolish scaredy-cat Coon Dawg. Buck and Coon Dawg should have used a moral compass.

A compass is essential for navigating. The world which we live in dynamic. The earth is changing every day. From early explorers that used a technique called “shooting” to find their latitude (north or south position) by measuring how high above the horizon the Polaris (North Star) appeared at nightfall using a sextant.

Today a digital smart phone compass uses magnetometers to measure magnetic fields. By measuring the strength and direction of Earth’s magnetic field, it can determine which way is north.

A moral compass is essential for navigating life’s ethical challenges, helping society make decisions that align with values that contribute positively to community. Without a moral compass there is anarchy and a rapidly decaying society as we are experiencing today. God gave Moses Ten Commandments or a moral compass.

“Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.” Matthew 7:12 KJV

“Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers

that be are ordained of God.” Romans 13:1 KJV

 

Note: In Colbert County Alabama is the Key Underwood Coon Dog Memorial Graveyard. Dedicated to the burial of coonhounds since the 1930’s. You can use a GPS to locate it.