GONE

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone are the trees that shaded the ground,

Now a carpet of grass abounds

Gone are those that lived off the land,

Now new folks live where natives once ran

Gone are the fields of peas and corn,

Now a place where memories are born

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone are the voices of children so tender,

Now just thoughts of their playing linger

Gone are sounds of their big wheels on concrete

Now scarred that sidewalk is silently discreet

Gone are tree houses and swings,

Now grow vines, bushes, and other things

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone is a three-year-old, who learned to ride,

Now an empty hillside is all that resides

Gone, the noise of three children at play,

Now all is silent as when it is time to pray

Gone, gone, gone, gone,

Now an old man sits alone

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone, gone, the passing of time,

Now memories put to rhyme

Gone, gone the sin of the poet of grey,

Now thankful God washed sin away

Gone, gone as far as the east from the west,

Now sinful memories put to rest

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone from porch swing is the old man,

Now realizing before God he will stand

Gone, gone sins his sin washed away,

Now Jesus our sin did pay

Gone, gone in the passing of time,

Now remembered in simple rhyme

Gone are toys, gone are the joys,

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys,

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Gone one day the things of earth,

Now in heaven those of second birth

Gone to the Father one by one,

Now that eternal life has just begun

Gone, gone, gone away

Now with Jesus everyday

Gone are the toys, gone are the joys

Gone is the little girl, gone are the little boys

Now a memory, memories, sweet memories

Bobby E. Hopper

February 19, 2010

(Sitting on the front porch swing at Sugar Ridge)

On July 14, 2012 the front porch swing, as well as the house, completely burned.

"Picking and Grinning"

As I heard the unique sound coming from the steel guitar one Sunday night at a church, memories of Sunday evenings raced through my mind.  During the summer, my family gathered at momma’s for supper and after that some pickin’ and grinnin’.

Momma and my two brothers played guitars.  No, I cannot play guitar or any other musical instrument, but I learned to grin. My sister and I inherited our musical talents of playing from dad who could not play the radio without getting static. 

In fact, in Mrs. Gentry’s fourth-grade rhythm band class I played the triangles.  The triangles looked like a dinner bell.  My part was to hit the triangles, usually twice, during songs the class played.  Notice I said hit, not play the triangles.  Momma tried to raise me right, that is playing the guitar, but she said I did not have rhythm.  You cannot get much rhythm hitting the triangles twice in a fourth grade rhythm band.

At any rate, we gathered every Sunday evening after church to play and sing.  We sang anything we could remember such as church hymns, country/western songs, rock and roll tunes, and folk songs.  There were songs like the Kingsmen Trio’s Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley, Hank Williams’ I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder, and many more.  We actually knew more church songs than other songs.  We even made up a few songs.  My wife Lisa says I still do that when singing hymns at our churches.  I always comment, “They rhyme don’t they?”

We loved to sing together.  The choir director at my home church had my brothers and me learn several songs to sing for the congregation.  My brothers never played their guitars.  We sang either acapella (without music) or sang with what they called canned music. 

My home church considered this canned music as from the devil.  No, we did not make it devilish.  My home church considered anything other than the piano and the organ as evil.  One time a visiting youth group was going to play a trumpet.  The deacons said, “You’re not going to play that horn here.”  The son of one of the deacon’s said, “I wonder what they (the deacons) are going to do when the Trumpet of Lord sounds?”  The deacon consulted with the pastor and decided to let them play the trumpets.

I guess most of our church thought that we were paying the devils his dues by playing the guitars on Sunday evenings.  Momma, like each of us, was a sinner, a saved sinner.  Momma played anything she picked up.  She would play the harmonica, the juice harp, the saxophone, the piano, and the organ.  One time she took a comb, wrapped it with wax paper, and blew the teeth of the comb like a harmonica.

One time daddy traded a steel guitar for a banjo.  Momma played it too.  Not having a steel guitar to play Hank Williams’s heartache songs, momma would take a regular guitar, lay it flat, and use a pocketknife to slide on the strings.  It did not have the exact sound of the steel guitar, but it did the job and she sang she was so lonesome she could cry as she slid the pocketknife up and down the strings.

The only audience we had was dad and ourselves.  That is what we thought.  One Sunday evening we stopped playing after singing several songs.  Down in the holler below us, we lived on the hill, our aunts, uncles, and cousins hollered back, “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”  We had no idea our kin was listening to Mars Hill’s version of American Idol.

Momma often reminded us that we could not afford many luxuries, but we could sing about how good God is.  When momma felt depressed, she would start singing and playing church songs.  We sang with momma until death, time, and different directions separated us.  As I listened to the steel guitar, that night I felt a yearning for home as did the Hebrews did when they were carried away into captivity.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.  We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.  For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, sing us one of the songs of Zion.  How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? (Psalm 137:1-4 KJV)

"Calamity Jane"

As Southern Baptists mission work is in our blood.  It always creates excitement whether it is local or across the world.  It is a time of venturing into the unknown, meeting different people, and experiencing the power of God.

I remember my second trip to Wyoming during the 1980’s Alabama/Wyoming partnership.  The Bridger Valley Baptist Church in Lyman, Wyoming, needed help with a mission in Granger, Wyoming and extended a Macedonian call to come help them.

A log home company donated a building to Christian believers in Granger.  The Chilton Baptist Builders mission was to remodel the log home and make a small church.  Bridger Valley, the sponsoring church said that it would be ready for our team.  The Chilton Baptist Builders were in their second year of mission work.  The first trip we drove to Kemmerer, Wyoming.  On this second trip we decided to fly.  That was the beginning of an eventful mission memory.

I remember it was the first time to fly for several of us.  Somewhere between Birmingham and Memphis, I experienced a holy hush.  It was a wine and cheese sampler flight.  Being from a “dry county” and being “teetoler” Baptists, we confused the flight attendant by our refusal to partake of the different flavors of cheese and wine.  Someone did suggest what we could have the Lord’s Supper since they were serving wine, but since it was our Lord’s last meal, we did not want this to be our last meal due to drinking the communion wine.  What I thought of as a holy hush after that moment was really my ears were stopped up from the altitude change.  I realized this when I could see people talking but could not hear them.  I learned to chew gum to make my ears pop.

Flying into Salt Lake City International Airport, we watched a severe thunderstorm beneath us as we circled the airport.  We noticed a great big flash on the horizon and that the Great Salt Lake resembled an Alabama catfish pond.  It was much bigger when we got on the ground.  We were glad we did not drink the wine and missed being struck by lightning.

Exiting the plane, we went to get our luggage.  One of my bags was the first to come up and around the carousel.  Soon everyone had their luggage and was ready to go as I waited for my second piece.  All of a sudden the airport went black.  The thunderstorm knocked off all the power in northern Utah and southwest Wyoming.  I decided to go down into the luggage carousel.  I saw my piece, retrieved it, and we went to find our ride.  I am glad the electricity did not come back on.

Outside a black man asked if he could take our luggage.  David, one of our team who had never been out of Chilton County, said “Sure.”  He told the man that was neighborly of him to offer.

After he carried our luggage on this cart to the curbside, the black man stood at attention, lowered his left hand by his side, snapped his fingers, and said, “We are porters sir.”  David said, “Glad to meet you, I’m an Easterling and we have some Porters back home in Clanton.”  The porter snapped his fingers again and said, “We are porters sir.”

I said, “David, he wants a tip.”  I was pretty country myself, but I knew tipping porters was different than tipping cows.  David gave him a dollar.  The man snapped his fingers again.  David gave more, and I gave some.  David was not a happy missionary.

The host pastor stood outside with a sign with ALABAMA printed on it.  We loaded in his van for a 135 mile trip to Kemmerer.  We were hungry; remember we had only cheese and water or soft drinks for our only meal of the day.  All of northern Utah was without power, no place to eat and a long ride before we found a place with power.

Finally, we stopped Bingo’s Truck Stop in Evanston, Wyoming.  It was ten at night, Wyoming time.  The cook there looked like the cook on Hee Haw except he did not have fly swatter.  Bingo’s had a 12-ounce T-bone special.  I ordered it medium rare.  When he brought it out it was the largest steak I had ever seen.  The French fries were on another plate.  I could not eat it and I took it back.  With the toothpick rolling in his mouth the cook said, “What’s wrong?”

I said, “You are going to have to “lick that calf again”.”  He said, “You said medium rare.”  I replied to him, I can eat a steak when it is rare, when it is red, when blood is seeping out, but it has to be hot!  The steak had ice crystals around the bone on the side against the platter.  He said, complaints, complaints. . .  I was hungry, but not that hungry. 

We pulled a Willie Nelson and got on the road again.  Arriving at Granger at midnight, we found the log home.  It was sitting on the ground; there was no phone, no power, no water, and no sewage.  We thought as we surveyed the situation, welcome to mission excitement.

And a vision appeared to Paul in the night; There stood a man of Macedonia, and prayed him, saying, Come over into Macedonia, and help us.  And after he had seen the vision, immediately we endeavoured to go into Macedonia, assuredly gathering that the Lord had called us for to preach the gospel unto them (Acts 16:9-10 KJV).

The Chilton Baptist Builders were tired and sleepy that first night at Granger, Wyoming.  Church members from Bridger Valley and Granger provided some travel trailers and a mobile home that had Sunday school rooms, for us to sleep.  I slept on the floor of the children’s class room.  It had carpet.

The host pastor said that seven miles up the road on the Interstate was Little America, a large souvenir shop where there were bathrooms and showers for truckers.  That was a good hike to use the restroom.  Thank goodness the church did provide us with a van.  It was Saturday night, but we could wait to Sunday morning to shower at Little America and dress for morning worship at Bridger Valley.

The next morning we tried to decide what to do first.  The host church was to have the log cabin ready for us to remodel.  It was on the ground.  The grounds had large holes for water and sewage lines.  In Wyoming the frost line is eight feet whereas in Alabama is four to eight inches.  It was a mess and we needed some power and needed to find who was in charge of the utilities.

As we talked we heard a racket and the banging of car doors.  Looking around the corner was an old Toyota pickup.  A lady was hauling barrels of water to water trees in planned community of Granger.  The church was in this small development area near a river.  Other than a Honky-tonk, the log cabin was all that was in the development on the river.

We asked her who the man in charge of the power was.  She said she was.  She said she would get it turned on.  We asked her who we need to see about the water.  She said she was in charge of the water.  Yes, you guessed it.  She was in charge of the sewage.  She chastised us when we asked for the man in charge.  She was very much in charge.

She wore blue jeans, a plaid shirt, cowboy, maybe that was a cowgirl boots.  Her demeanor and the feeble husband caused us to give here the nickname “Calamity Jane.”

She constantly flew in and around the church in that beat up old pickup.  I said flying because the doors would not stay closed and it looked like a bird flopping when she skidded up to the church.

When we tried to unload the water for her she reminded us she was not a Southern Belle but an independent Wild West woman to which we said, “Yes mam!”  She was good to keep us stocked with snacks and drinks.  We were glad she did not tote pistols.

For three days S.O., a slave to alcohol now gloriously saved and nicknamed “Rabbit” and I worked under the log cabin jacking it up.  Underneath were skunk dens.  We did not change clothes because we had skunk hair and skunk feces all over us.  We worked and ate alone.  We did shower and put on clean underwear each day.

On Wednesday Calamity Jane slid in and demanded that all the workers give her their dirty clothes.  Rabbit and I were under the church running electrical and water lines.  Rabbit said, “Be quiet and be still.”

Our guys tried to tell Calamity that it was okay, but that was like spitting in the wind.  They all disappeared and returned with their dirty clothes.  Calamity took them and then shouted, “Where’s your underwear?”  Rabbit and I were quiet as church skunks.  Wayne, our brave spokesman and electrician, tried to convince her that she did not need our dirty undies.  This time it was reminisce of the stand off at the shoot out at the OK corral.  Calamity did not have pistols, but those “wimps” disappeared and reappeared with their dirty BVD’s.  At least they were man enough not to squeal on the two dirty skunks under the church.  Calamity just wanted to minister.  She was not a Lydia, but she did love the Lord and His workers.  She returned every man’s clothes clean and folded.

And on the sabbath we went out of the city by a river side, where prayer was wont to be made; and we sat down, and spake unto the women which resorted thither.  And a certain woman named Lydia, a seller of purple, of the city of Thyatira, which worshipped God, heard us: whose heart the Lord opened, that she attended unto the things which were spoken of Paul.  And when she was baptized, and her household, she besought us, saying, If ye have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come into my house, and abide there. And she constrained us (Acts 16:13-15 KJV).

We were able to winterize the little log cabin.  There was three inches between the window and the logs.  They were worshipping in weather that was below freezing. We put in a new ceiling, new lighting, and electrical outlets.  It is good to do mission work.  It shows us that people are different.  The people of Granger and Bridger Valley were wonderful and I often think of our time there.  I can say that for us “kountry boyz” from Chilton County that porters and Calamity Janes can be a culture shock.  They remind us that people need generous tips and lots of love, understanding and encouragement.  We did have the opportunity to witness, help change lives, and be changed as well as do some remodeling.  Mission work is exciting and eventful.

Everyday Routine

The “Left Behind Series” created a renewed interest in the Lord’s second coming.  The events of 911 heightened the interest and the current events in Jerusalem escalated interest in many.  There have always been two sides of the issue.  Response to Jesus’ coming is either indifference or fanciful schemes.  Few people are very eager or expectant and leave it to God.  One thing is sure.  God always gives plenty of warning.

In May 1984, National Geographic Magazine showed color photos and drawings of the swift and terrible destruction that wiped out the Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum in AD 79. The explosion of Mount Vesuvius was so sudden that the people died in the middle of the routines of life. Common people were in the market, wealthy were in their luxurious baths, and slaves were at their backbreaking work. They died after breathing superheated gases and then volcanic ash buried them. Life was going on as usual, but sudden destruction overtook them on that terrible day. The tragic thing is that the people did not have to die. The article stated that scientists have verified what some of the ancient Roman records indicate: that there were weeks of rumblings and tremors preceding the actual eruption. There were even ominous plumes of smoke visible from the mountain several days before the volcano erupted. If only they had responded to Vesuvius’ warning! God was warning them, but they were not paying attention. They went about their lives as usual instead of paying attention to the warning which God had provided.

Speaking of the second coming of Christ, Paul wrote these words to the Thessalonians: “Now, brothers, about times and dates we do not need to write to you, for you know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, ‘Peace and safety,’ destruction will come on them suddenly, as labor pains on a pregnant woman, and they will not escape” (1 Thessalonians 5:1-3).

God has always warned His people long before judgment falls.  Two days before the cross, the disciples asked Jesus about the end. Jesus discussed with His disciples the destruction of the temple.  Jesus knew that in 70 AD that Titus would march the Roman army into the city and over a million Jews would die.  History records that there was plenty of warning and that there were no Christians in the city then.  They were out ministering.  The disciples realized that Jesus was telling them that people can come to the point of no return. 

Are we approaching that time?  We know that Jesus said no one knows the time.  We know that man will not be the one who destroys the world.  We know that when we distort God’s plan we reap the harvest of sin.  The Bible teaches us that judgment will fall when least expected.  There are definite signs of Jesus’ return.  If there is no flood, there is no judgment nor Noah.  If there is no Noah, there is no Jesus, no cross, no resurrection, nor second coming.  If there is no second coming, there is no judgment, no heaven, nor hell. 

Jesus gives an expose¢on the human heart and the consequences of sin in Matthew 24:37-44.  “Eating and drinking” is a New Testament expression of the subjection to the World.  Eating and drinking are vital functions of life but as such they may be occasions of sin.  “Marrying and giving in marriage” is an expression of immorality.  Without God people have obsession with sin.  Abortion becomes choice, homosexuality becomes alternative lifestyle, spouse becomes significant other, the church becomes a haven for incest, and tampering with Divine order becomes genetic engineering. We are pushing the limits in population, technology, and pride.            

Our hope is involvement by God who always provides salvation.  Jesus provides grace.  Noah found the grace of God who saved the world.  It was not Noah.  Human achievement without God becomes overweening pride.  The world needs a Savior.  We must be ready to share Jesus.  (v. 44)