Love Poem

February is the “love month” with the fourteenth the designated day to give cards, chocolates, and flowers.  I wrote a love poem for a special couple and I wanted to share it.

“THEY SAID IT WOULDN’T LAST”

They said it wouldn’t last, but didn’t know our love.

They said it wouldn’t last, but they didn’t know God’s plan from above.

God worked in a wonderful way bringing us together through a friend.

He created our love that would be special and without end.

They said it wouldn’t last, our friends and kin of fifty years ago.

Today they gather in His house to celebrate what you and I know.

A bond started On that day when our eyes first met.

It is a love story that started and continues yet.

Ten days together was so short but our love grew and grew.

Separated while you serving the red, white, and blue.

Could our love last for an acquaintance so brief?

Would it be short and the memory be one of grief?

It seemed as a flash from heaven as a falling star burning so fast.

We were separated and our love seemed to others not to last.

It was a precious moment we spent in late July.

Our separation Seemed like an eternity as August crept by.

We longed for each other until the second of September.

It became our wedding day, what a day to remember.

Many special moments of love have continued since those days.

Three handsome boys God gave to us to raise.

A family and home we had filled with commitment and love.

Our blessings could not have happened without God above.

Today our lives are filled with grandchildren, great-grandchildren, friends, and other kin.

To thank you for celebrating with us, there’s no place to begin.

They said it wouldn’t last our love at first sight.

Love lasts forever when it done right.

Marriage takes commitment and love with help from the Divine.

That’s something everyone must remember when we ask “will you be mine?”

They said it wouldn’t last, but the years have flown by.

Fifty precious years that started on a lovely day in late July.

For: Aubrey and Ruth Randall on their fiftieth wedding anniversary on September 2, 2001.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life John 3:16 (KJV).

Three Rings and a Funeral

I like gadgets.  I can spend hours in hardware stores, automotive shops, and electronic shops looking at all the neat things to have at your disposal.  I guess it is a guy thing, but having the right gadget or tool makes all the difference in the world for doing “honey do” projects.  Wow have some of these electronic wonders changed the way we work and communicate.

Lately though, I have noticed that many electronic gadgets are beginning to be a nuisance.  I have been to several meetings where ultimately; someone’s cell phone will interrupt the meeting with some ridiculous ring tone.  What makes it ridiculous is that the host most often asks each attendee to turn off their phones or if they are expecting that, “all important call” to put their phone on vibrate.

At the last Southern Baptist Convention I attended, I saw the rudeness of many in attendance who were on their cell phones, blackberries, or laptop computers during times of preaching or business.  I am always amazed at how many people attend a conference and the first thing they do is open laptops, now even smaller “notebooks,” and read e-mails and other stuff during meetings.  It makes me want to buy one of those illegal gadgets that jams the frequencies of phones, blackberries, and laptops.

I remember a funeral I attended a couple of years ago.  It was the mother of a former church member.  This former member is a respected medical doctor and a family friend.  My sister and I sat together, unbelievably, without daddy making us.  That was punishment for fighting when growing up.  I leaned over to her and said, “I bet you a supper that a cell phone rings during the funeral.”  She agreed with the deal.  Right on cue, someone’s cell phone started ringing to the tune of “Sanford and Son.”

I smiled at my sister and said, “Double or nothing I bet another rings.”  She agreed again.   Did I mention that my sister is gullible?  A few moments later, another phone rang.  It was in a lady’s purse and she fumbled for what seemed an eternity trying to turn it off.

Feeling kind-a bad about my sister owing me two suppers, I asked her to go double or nothing again.  I was thinking that by now everyone made sure his or her cell phones were off and sister could break even.  By the way, my sister is a very good cook.  Before the end of the funeral, another cell phone rang.  After the funeral, I told my sister all she had to do was fix one supper.

We have heard lately about the security breaches, the train wreaks, auto accidents, and other disturbing effects that cell phones and text messaging are causing.  I know I have preached at a couple of churches were the young people are text messaging during worship.  Now our young people can pass notes electronically.  It makes me want to text the sermon to them or have God text them, “LISTEN TO THE SERMON.”

I hope I do not sound like I am on a soapbox, but I think that we are losing our respect for one another.  The other day this dude was talking, I thought, to me.  I was having this conversation with him when I realized he was talking to his ear and I was talking to myself.  He wore another gadget makes people look like an alien from a “Sci Fi” movie.

In Wal Mart, two ladies were walking side by side pushing their buggies while talking on cell phones.  I saw four girls in a car on the Interstate all four talking on their cell phones.  Has it gotten that bad that we must have cell phones to communicate with one another while with one another?

I know that during the holidays it was hard to carry on a conversation with family and friends because they were constantly talking or text messaging to someone.

As we all know too well, cell phones can be critical in keeping us safe and connected. Technology, its myriad of benefits, and all its gadgets are not the issue, people are.

“Some people have gotten so fed up with rude mobile phone users they have turned to illegal cell phone jammers. These devices knock cell phone users off their lines and prevent a reconnection with the cell tower until the user wanders out of range. The rate at which jammers are selling speaks to the lack of manners among yappers.”

Thinking of cell phone etiquette, we need to remember the words of the Apostle Paul.  And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you (Ephesians 4:32 KJV).  The words of Jesus my express it better.  A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another (John 13:34 KJV).

The next time you are in worship or at a funeral, remember to turn off your cell phone.  It is not likely that God will be using Verizon, ATT, or Southern LINC to contact you and that cute ring tone might not be appropriate.

Polluted Pulpit

Do you remember the commercial on pollution with Indian Chief as spokesman?  It is the one where a Native American, Iron Eyes Coty, sheds a tear as he looks at a polluted stream.  Every time I saw the commercial, I thought it looked a lot like the roads, streams, and creeks in Chilton County.

When I walk the fence line on my property in Jemison, I have to carry a garbage sack, sometimes two, to pick up behind sorry folks who throw out their trash.  I don’t know about you, but I do not like picking up other people’s trash.

I have identified some characteristics of those people that want us to pick up after them.  One is they like fast food restaurants, especially McDonald’s.  It is bad enough to pick up hamburger wrappers, but it is wrappers, open catsup packets, tissue, and bit and pieces of hamburger, buns, and fries.  These folks try to be helpful bay tossing out the whole bag where a family of four has chowed down on the grub, in their old jalopy, on the way to who knows where.  Undoubtedly, it is a place where there are no trash bins or containers.

Another thing is that these polluters smoke cigarettes, especially Marlboro Lights in the box.  It’s bad enough that they empty their ashtrays in the public parking lots, but they decorate the highways with butts and empty boxes.  Every time I see someone toss a butt on the ground I want to pick it up and toss it on his or her car, but that would make me like him or her.  I need to be careful here, I want to preach a minute on the dreadful odor of nicotine and the awful sight of discarded butts when entering places that are clearly marked, “A Tobacco Free Facility.”  The ones at hospitals are kind of an Oxy Moron.  Oops, I almost got on a soapbox.

Another identifying mark of the polluter is they drink alcohol, especially Bud Light.  They usually prefer the dark long neck bottles that break on impact.  These babies create safety hazards for the unprotected hand and the unsuspecting lawnmower tire.  The long neck bottle provides a nice handle to use the bottle as a projectile to toss at mailboxes, especially the fancy antique aluminum ones or the every elusive metal fence post that gallant holds the barbed wire and retains docile livestock.

Coming in second in alcohol arena is empty pints of whiskey.  These are more durable and are not easily broken, excepting when you run over them with a tractor.  They shatter pretty good when a water filled rear tractor tire sits directly on top of them.

The lowest of polluters is the one that uses plastic soda bottles as temporary holders of urine.  These pee bombs riddle havoc on the unsuspecting lawn care worker who is so diligent to keep his or her area of the county right-of-way Southern Living Magazine perfect and help lower the high cost of county maintenance butchering, I mean bush hogging, of grass and trash.

Pollution is not confined to the streams, creeks, and roadsides.  Radio, television, movies, music and iPhone, and all manner of social media have a lion’s share of pollution.  The other day at Linden Fitness and Tan, some young men tried to play some polluted music from their iPhone.  They would not because a certain man was in the gym.  He told me that he was going to hang around because they will not play it in his presence.  I told him not to worry and that I would handle it.  Sure enough, just as soon as he left, these young men started to play their filthy music.  I calmly walked over and asked if their music contained bad (lewd or suggestive) music.  They said no, but they turned it off because I heard some filthy stuff.  There were some young girls in the gym and reminded these two young men that neither the girls nor I wanted to hear it.

It is sad that filthy language is becoming more prevalent each day.  Madison Avenue advertising tries to but offensive and suggestive language in commercials for hamburgers, credit cards, and most recently Chevy trucks.  Thankfully, people complain, and they remove the offensive language.

O.S. Hawkins in his devotion, The Joshua Principle reminds us that in the last days there will be a polluted pulpit.  One of the sure signs of the Lord’s Second Coming is that pulpits will turn from the truth.  Paul said, Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all longsuffering and doctrine.  For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears; and they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.”  II Timothy 4:2-4

Polluted pulpits create polluted congregations.  Believers are to be in the world, but not of the world.  The Word of God is forever true.  As the Word of God unfolds around us, my we influence culture rather than culture influencing the church.

The picture I see here is not of Iron Eyes Coty shedding a tear, but of our Lord Jesus Christ shedding His blood.

I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. (John 14:6 KJV)

No Money, No Motivation, and No Morale

It is funny how things pop back into your mind.  Sometimes it is something you may smell, it is a word, or name spoken, or it is an event unleashing a flood of memories.

The other day a load of pine timber passed.  Suddenly, I was transported back to the pulpwood days of growing up in Chilton County.  Stumbling through the woods, tripping over vines, and falling over stumps with a ten-inch stick of pulpwood on your shoulder is comical now, but frustrating back then.  I did learn to fall gracefully without injury.  It was great off-season training for football.

When a truckload of pine lumber passed me the other day, I thought about all the houses that I helped Brother Bill Langston build.  Building houses was much more fun than loading pulpwood and carpentry paid more too.  Lumber is much cleaner than pulpwood.  Shoulder loading pine timber from woods burned annually results in smutty necks and arms that are very hard to clean, especially when you wash yourself in a washtub or pan.  Pine rosin from pulpwood and fresh sawed lumber is hard to remove.  Usually, you wear it off.

I received a call the other day informing me that a member from the first church I pastored passed away.  The family of AC Oaks wanted me to have a part in the funeral service.  It is important when a member of a church that you pastored thirty years ago wants you to say a few words.  I feel fortunate in that every church I pastored, I left it on good terms and could return.  I know that there are churches that do not want former pastors back and there are pastors that do not want an invitation to return for any reason.  Thirty years in the ministry seems like yesterday.  When I first started, it seemed unattainable.

AC was a true friend and mentor at the beginning of my tenure.  As I met with his wife Peggy and their children I immediately thought of all the good times I shared with them.  I had the privilege to commune with them more time than I could count.  Fellowship, the church we all ministered, was a small church of about fifteen in attendance. 

I remember the first Sunday I met the Oaks family.  I attended school with AC’s children and was attending the University of Montevallo with his daughter-in-law.  I had seen AC on many occasions, but I never had met him personally until that first Sunday I was at Fellowship to supply. 

After supplying for three Sundays, Fellowship extended a call to me to be pastor.  It was a challenge and opportunity to live out my calling.  The church had been in existence for a short time.  Fellowship started the Baptist way, a church split.  Sixty-eight members left a neighboring church and started a new church in an old and outdated Methodist church.

Full of enthusiasm, members of Fellowship dug a basement beside the old church.  It did not take long for the excitement to turn to an exodus.  When the money ran out, it took the motivation and members with it.

I became their third pastor.  There was no money, no motivation, and no morale.  The church was three months behind on the church payment, the butane gas was empty and the gas company would not refill, and the electricity was in the process of disconnection.

AC and family were pioneers.  That is what a member of the Alabama State Board of Missions called the remaining members.  AC was dedicated to Fellowship and was an emotion man.  I think that his frequent bouts with sickness personified his emotions.  I thank God for his wisdom and leadership.  In less than three years, Fellowship Baptist Church paid all delinquent bills, purchased a new piano, waterproofed the abandoned basement, and had two thousand dollars n a building fund.

I remember one Sunday that the old church was so cold that there was frost on the piano.  We had a modified Sunday School and Worship and everyone went to AC and Peggy’s to thaw.  Another time there was a blizzard during an associational brotherhood breakfast and before the men could attend morning worship, we cancelled church.  AC and I went to the church to be there incase someone came that morning.  The church was near Interstate 65 and we thought someone might be stranded and need a place to weather the snow and ice.

There are plenty of stories.  One we celebrated at the wake was the cantata we did.  We had more in the cantata choir than were in the audience.  We laughed about cantata, but we performed it for the Lord and five church members.  AC thought the cantata was great.

One morning a young girl rode a small motor scooter round and round the church.  We played that the scooter stop annoying us.  God honored the prayer and the scooter quit.

AC supported me when I was a novice pastor.  He encouraged me in the ministry and we talked many time through the years.  I thank God for AC and our relationship.

When I think of Fellowship Baptist Church and AC, I remember Paul’s words to the Church at Philippi: I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making request with joy, for your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now; being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ: (Philippians 1:6 KJV)

 

Sweet Home Alabama

With all the hoopla of a new world order and mid-term elections behind us and the uncertainty of the world before us, people are cautious.  The prognosis is bleak for a worldview and thus caution prevails as our economy tumbles.  Cautious people procrastinate and worry of failure. 

Beverly Sills, famed opera singer, observed, “You may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you don’t try.”

That statement reminds me of my uncle Clifton.  He was my favorite uncle on the Hopper side of the family.  He lived with us when we lived in Illinois.  He rode a Harley, raced stock cars, drove in demolition derbies, and flew airplanes.   Now, you know why he was my favorite uncle.

He was the reason we lived in Illinois.  He got daddy a job at Beloit Iron Works.

Uncle Clifton ran away from home when he was sixteen.  He lived in Bessemer for a short time running moonshine and racing cars with the boys from Hueytown, the ones who would later become Alabama Raceway and NASCAR legends.

He left home because Granny Hopper would not let him play sports or participate in any activity that might harm him due to a heart condition.  No one knew where he was for years until one day he appeared at our home in Chilton County, Alabama.  Daddy did not recognize him and he did not know daddy.  He was looking for daddy when he stopped to ask where the Hoppers lived.  After that meeting, we packed and moved up North.

After three years there, we moved back to Sweet Home Alabama.  Uncle Clifton married Aunt Maxine and for several years could not have children.  They adopted Jim, eighteen months later adopted Mike, twenty-one months later birthed Bill, and later Alice.

Somewhere along the way, my adventurous and dashing uncle became over cautious.  Reckon having kids did that to him?

One day years down the road, my cousin Bill approached Uncle Clifton with a great idea about VCR’s.  VCR’s were new and Bill suggested to Uncle Clifton that they buy VCR movies and VCR players and rent them to people.  Uncle Clifton told Bill that that new-fangled invention was a fade and it would be a bad investment.  You know what happened there.  When I think of it, I could have been related to the billionaire who created Bill’s Blockbuster or The Hopper Movie Gallery.

A little later Bill, the persistent entrepreneur, had another scheme.  He told Uncle Clifton about paintball guns.  Bill wanted to open a store that sold paintball guns and accessories.  Uncle Clifton said that it was another fad and that it too would pass.

Like the VCR rental, paintball and accessories were the craze of young people everywhere.  Bill did open a store and had success with the store as a part-time venture.  He had paintball guns that were like something out a science fiction movie.

Bill, the perennial entrepreneur, consulted Uncle Clifton with the idea of buying a tract of land and building a course for hosting paintball competition.  Bill envisioned hundreds of people from all over the state coming and competing in paintball wars, battles, and mêlées.  He dreamed of family events, national competition, and maybe worldwide competition.  Uncle Clifton talked him out of the venture.

Uncle Clifton, on one his spontaneous excursions, visited me at Gallion, Alabama.  It was not unusual for him to make a trek from Illinois to Arizona to Louisiana to Alabama to Illinois visiting kinfolk.  He was not too cautious, just with his children and his money.  On this particular visit, he spoke of Bill’s potential as an entrepreneur.  He said that the next time Bill had an idea that they were going to run with it.  On Uncle Clifton’s next spontaneous excursion, he had a stroke near Joplin, Missouri and died in the hospital. 

Being too cautious prohibits many blessings.  Philip is an example of being too cautious in the Bible.

When Jesus then lifted up his eyes, and saw a great company come unto him, he saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?  And this he said to prove him: for he himself knew what he would do.  Philip answered him, Two hundred pennyworth of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one of them may take a little.  One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, saith unto him,  there is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes: but what are they among so many?(John 6:5-9 KJV)

"Good Old Boys"

Well the Christmas holidays are over and a new year is underway.  Many have already broken their New Year Resolutions.  Personally, the person who devised New Year resolutions needs to be whipped.  Resolutions are too quickly broken.  Resolutions need to remain the devices of government and the legislative process or annual meetings, not New Year vows made after a party.

The best thing about parties is the food, the fun, and the fellowship.  The worse thing is preparation, dealing with uncouth people, and cleaning up the mess.  A very good friend said that having company is like fish, after three days its starts stinking.  Uncouth people ruin parties.

I am reminded of two friends from the University of Montevallo who were uncouth.  Mike and Enos were a couple of “good old boys” never meaning no harm.  Mike was Italian.  He was very short, very athletic, and very industrious for a retired man.  He was climbing and trimming trees well into his seventies.  Enos was your average “Bubba” with his pants low, shirttail out, large belly shining, and ball cap.

Mike and Enos were sanitation specialists.  They had one of the most intriguing jobs at the University.  They ran the garbage truck.  Watching them everyday was like watching a comedy sitcom.  They knew everything going on around campus.  You might say they were the University garbologists.

It was never difficult to locate Mike and Enos.  All one had to do was to use the sense of sight or smell to follow the garbage juice that dripped from the truck.  The trail usually led to the cafeteria or to the baseball field.  They loved cookies and baseball and were friends of the head of the cafeteria and the baseball coach.

People liked to joke with Mike and Enos.  Enos was single, never married.  One day one of the boys from the carpenter shop asked Enos if he was a virgin.  Enos replied, “No, I’m Church of Christ.”  Enos was a tad slow mentally.

The president of the University retired and the University spent a hunk of money on his farewell party.  Dignitaries filled the campus.  The cafeteria prepared a feast fit for kings.  Tents, podiums, and seats filled with people at the baseball stadium.  Everyone loved the president because he treated everyone the same.  He knew every University worker by his or her first name.

Mike and Enos were out making their rounds when they realized that it was time for the big shindig.  In haste, they made their way to the baseball stadium.  They pulled the garbage truck up the big tent were all the dignitaries from all over the state of Alabama had ascended that day.

Mike and Enos hopped out of the truck, walked into the tent, and started giving their farewell condolences to the president.  Suit and ties met jumpsuits and boots.  Those with expensive cologne and perfume mingled with those of sour milk and rotting stench.  The clean-shaven and manicured rubbed elbows with the scraggly bearded and dirty finger nailed as the garbage truck dripped its putrid and malodorous juices just inches from the gourmet spread for kings.

As Mike and Enos helped themselves to the cuisine of the elite, the head of the Grounds department and Deans of College scampered to catch the fainting and rescue the nauseous.  Embarrassment rolled as a loose garbage can blowing in the wind.

Finally, the Head of the Grounds Department asked Mike and Enos to move the truck.  Mike and Enos, as happy as pigs in slop, jumped into the truck and continued their rounds.  The celebration ended more quickly than everyone anticipated.  Gone were Mike and Enos, but in their place flies buzzed over the putrid and malodorous juices left behind for everyone to enjoy.

When thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit not down in the highest room; lest a more honourable man than thou be bidden of him; and he that bade thee and him come and say to thee, Give this man place; and thou begin with shame to take the lowest room. But when thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room; that when he that bade thee cometh, he may say unto thee, Friend, go up higher: then shalt thou have worship in the presence of them that sit at meat with thee (Luke 14:8-10 KJV).

Tempus Fugit

As I was walking down the street one day

A man came up to me ask asked me

What the time was

That was on my watch

Ye~a~h that day

Does anybody really know what time it is

Does anybody really care

If so I can’t imagine why

We’ve all got time enough to cry

These 1969 lyrics by the band Chicago deal with how one faces living in a world under constraints of time.  We live in a “time” where we serve the clock.  Americans live by the clock.

Older clocks have the Latin words Tempus Fugit (time flies) etched on their faces.  Time does fly, especially as we grow older and when we are having fun.  Where did 2018 go?

I own several clocks having collected them for many years.  My oldest is a chiming wall clock presented as a gift.  It operates by using weights.

For some odd reason it stopped chiming for several months.  It kept perfect time. However, did not DING DONG.  I tried, unsuccessfully to “fix” it in-spite-of my family’s protest that I would tear it up.  I assured them that I could not break something that was already broke.  Time, coupled with fear of protest, prohibited me from fixin’ the clock.  Suddenly, one evening the clock started to DING DONG.  The hands did not match the number of chimes, which bought the chorus “I told you so” from family.  Removal and reattachment of the hands synchronized to the chime produced a “fixed” clock good as new.

One night while we were watching Disney’s Pinocchio.  As old Geppetto put the wooden puppet away and he readied for bed the clock on Geppetto’s wall struck nine o’clock.  At the exact same time, our “fixed” clock struck nine o’clock.  The probability of that happening is astronomical.

We have another wall clock named Princess Di, which chimes a few minutes past the hour.  There is no adjustment to the minute hand, but after each rewinding, it will strike correctly once, and then be off again.  Another wind-up clock will not run with its door closed.  Another will keep perfect time but will not chime.  Someone wound it too tight.  I can make it chime, but it will not run.

I have a chiming schoolhouse clock that I gave my mom that I inherited.  It is battery operated.  It stopped running and I tried to “fix” it on several occasions.  After checking for dead batteries and still no life, I did not work on it for several months.  I started to store it but for some odd reason I blew into it and it worked for a long time.  Maybe it runs off a battery and hot air.

It takes time to keep all the clocks wound and regulated.  People ask me how I tolerate all the clocks chiming at the same time.  Well, you get used to it and the sound is hypnotic.

Why clocks?  Remember God’s timing is always perfect, and life is full of adjustments.  Moses, who understood something about time, reminds us of Tempus Fugit in Psalm 90:12.  So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom (KJV).

As we celebrate the Sanctity of Human Life each January, the reality is we start to die the moment of our conception and start to live forever at our second birth.  We must seize the day and live our purpose of our creation.  We must use good sense in preparation for eternity.

Author, preacher, theologian, and poet Dr. Calvin Miller writes:

“Improve Time in time, while the Time doth last,

For all Time is no time, when the Time is past.