"I Will Never Forget When Dad Passed Away"

Even though I carry the Hopper name, I resemble my mother’s side of the family.  Grandpaw Chapman, momma’s daddy, was a tall lean man and mom had his features, but her brother and four sisters were short as was Grandmoe Chapman.

Grandpaw called my momma “Long Legged Sally” and she was the other son.  Momma could out wrestle, out hit, and outwork her brother and sisters.  She was bonafide “Tom Boy” and Grandpaw chose her as “the pick of the litter.”  It was no secret that momma was his favorite.  Momma also was a Daddy’s girl and loved Grandpaw very much.

I remember when daddy was unemployed.  Grandpaw would drive up to our house and have a load of groceries in his 1950 Plymouth for us.  I have fond memories of riding in the rear seat of his that old Plymouth as he and momma went to the Calera State Bank to sign co-sign a loan for momma.  I still have that old Plymouth.  That car, the property where my home is, my looks, and memories are the only things of Grandpaw Chapman that I have.

Grandpaw Chapman was born in 1892 and died of cancer in 1964.  He served in the Army, but never saw action in World War I due to having the measles.  He worked at a sawmill and farmed.  He never owned a tractor and farmed using a mule.

A family friend, J B Popwell, said that when he was a little boy that he saw Grandpaw Chapman plowing in the field and the mule sulked and refused to plow.  Grandpaw beat the mule and the mule sat down.  J B said Grandpaw grabbed the long ears of that old mule and bit the mule’s nose.  J B said Grandpaw drew blood and had meat from the mule’s nose in his teeth.  J B said the mule rose on his hind legs several times trying to shake Grandpaw from his nose. 

It makes me wonder about Balaam, hired by the Ammonites and Moabites, hitting his donkey while on his way to curse the Israel.  I do not think that Grandpaw was on his way to curse someone, but if I know my Grandpaw, there was a whole lot of cussing directed at the mule.

Grandpaw Chapman did not receive Christ as Savior until he was on his deathbed.  His conversion was the first time I ever heard of “Death Bed Confession.”  Brother Calvin Crocker was faithful to visit Grandpaw and shared the plan of Salvation with him.  Grandpaw did not live long after his conversion.

Grandpaw was the first family member I remember dying.  Momma was very heartbroken at his death.  I had never seen her cry like that before.  Moved by immense emotion, she wrote a song about his dying.  She would sing it many times after his passing.  When momma died, her cousins sang the song at her funeral.  I hope you enjoy it.

I'll never forget when dad pasted away
Not a word from his mouth to us he could say
He knew that we loved him and listened to us cry
but now he is resting way up in the sky
                   (Chorus)
There's a bright star that is shining
it's shining so bright
It went to heaven early one night
The angels are singing with God's Great Band
And I know Dad's resting in the Promise Land

There was a black cloud gathered in the Northwest,
for God was telling us he knew best
He sweep down here and carried him away
And now he is resting with God today
                  (Chorus)
There's a bright star that is shining
it's shining so bright
It went to heaven early one night
The angels are singing with God's Great Band
And I know Dad's resting in the Promise Land

Mother is weeping since Dad went away
She is hoping and praying that she'll meet him someday
She is so lonely and always will mourn
Until she shall meet him around God’s Throne
                  (Chorus)
There's a bright star that is shining
It's shining so bright
It went to heaven early one night
The angel's are singing in God's Great Band
And I know Dad's resting in the Promise Land

Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion: for, lo, I come, and I will dwell in the midst of thee, saith the Lord (Zechariah 2:10 KJV)

Happy Father’s Day

"Don't Miss the Water until the Well Runs Dry"

I’m sure your have heard the old saying, “You don’t miss the water till the well runs dry.”  Water is a precious necessity that we often take for granted.  Back in the winter and early spring, I heard a bunch of complaints about it raining too much.  I for one love the rain a whole lot better than watching things burn in a drought.

Cool water is refreshing and more satisfying than soft drinks or even Gator Aid.  In recent days, hydrating one’s body with water has been imperative.  While cutting grass, I had plastic bottled that I half filled with water and then froze.  It lasts much longer while operating the mower or the tractor.  The sun was scorching, but the cold water was a welcomed relief.

I remember as a kid helping dig our well.  We had a pump down in the spring, but we mostly toted the water up the hill in buckets.  Now for those who think that tote is an improper word, let me give you a quick lesson in the construction of words according to Dr. Dorothy Grimes of the University of Montevallo in her 201 English class.

In olden days, farmers would put their produce in sacks called tote sacks.  Several years back, Le Tote bags were the in thing.  Anyway, the farmers would put the tote sacks on their donkeys and then proceed to carry them to the market.  Instead of going through the whole explanation as I just, they shortened the process to “tote.”  Tote means to carry something and I bet you thought it was another one of those crazy Chiltonian terms from up home.

Well, when daddy tired of toting water, he decided to dig a well near the house.  One day this older gentleman came to the house to help daddy find a place.  Any old place will not do.  The man carried a stick that resembled an enlarged slingshot, only was much thinner and he held it upside down from the way we held them to shoot rocks, chinaberries, and green plumbs.

Walking in the back yard, that skinny, upside down slingshot started shaking and all of a sudden pointed down.  The man told daddy that was where the well would be.  To make sure it was the right place, he turned the slingshot upside down again and started walking from another part of the yard.  One again the thing started shaking and pointed down in almost the exalt same spot.  I asked daddy what kind of stick it was and he said it was a “witching stick”; some call it a “divining rod.” Now, I was familiar with all kind of sticks.  The most familiar was the sticks momma used.  She called them switches and those suckers would find the water in your eyes.

Several days later I helped daddy unload a wooden beam, it looked like a small log, with handles on each end that were opposite from one another and a large pair of wooden X’s.  He called it a well winch.  For me that was a second new term for my vocabulary.  We used the well winch to lower daddy and other men into the hole, which would become our well.  Forty-six feet and several days later, we had water.  Daddy bought a new well pump, build a well house, and we had fresh water from the well.  That was the best tasting water.

Before I bought our trailer, that’s Chiltonian for mobile home, or built our house I hired Rutherford Well Boring and Drilling to bore us a well.  They were high tech, or so I thought.  When Mr. Rutherford arrived at an appointed time, I had the place for my well all picked out.  It was to be behind where our house would eventually be built.  He said that I would have to bore the well wherever there was water.  I asked him how he would locate it.  He went to his truck and pulled out, yep, he pulled out a witching stick or divining rod as he called it.

My forty-six feet, thirty inch bored well is in my front yard.  I built a pump house to look like an old timey well or a wishing well.  Most people think that it is for decoration.  I say, “No it has seven to ten feet of water flowing in at the rate of seven gallons per minute.”  Boy, it is good tasting water and a lot better than the stuff that you buy in plastic bottles

It makes one think, when Jacob dug his well, did he use a witching stick?  Naw, it was probably a divining rod!

Then cometh he to a city of Samaria, which is called Sychar, near to the parcel of ground that Jacob gave to his son Joseph.  Now Jacob's well was there. Jesus therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well: and it was about the sixth hour.  There cometh a woman of Samaria to draw water: Jesus saith unto her, Give me to drink . . . The woman saith unto him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water?  Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?  Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:  But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life(John 4:5-7, 11-14 KJV).

Memorial Day

What was going through the mind of that nineteen-year-old soldier in that foxhole somewhere in Italy?  Among all the carnage, in all the cries, in all the agony, and the all the stench of dying and death, did he cry out to God?  Did he know the two soldiers that were beside him?  Did he know that their sacrifice would be his deliverance?  What made him think of hiding beneath them?  Was he in a panic?  Was it an act desperation?

Such are the casualties of war.  Did he struggle with surviving when so many paid the ultimate sacrifice?  How long did he deal with the guilt?  Is that the reason he never talked much about the war?

I wonder how many of the enemy did he kill?  How did he feel when taking the life of another?  Did it give him any consolation realizing that it was an act of war?  How close was he to the enemy when he took their life?  How did he do it being so young?

How did the war affect his life as a son, a husband, a dad, and a granddad?  Is that the reason he showed little or no emotion?  Is that the reason he debunked war movies and television war episodes as not how it really was?  How was the movie Patton, the only movie he ever watched, significant?  Was it because he served under General Patton that he watched the movie?

What made him decide to risk incarceration if his sons did not want to go war?  Was his view of politics and war polices the root of the decision to protect his sons?  Was it love for his sons or the distain of war that determined his unyielding decision?  What prompted him to give his sons the option of volunteering or rejecting the military draft?

How much of his vulgar life after the war was a direct result of the horrors of war?  Was he happy to be alive or was it eat, drink, and be merry with wine, women, and song?  Why did he take that journey of life and not the one of being thankful for God’s grace?

Did he feel God’s presence during the war?  Was it the prayers of his mother that sustained him and delivered him back home?  Did he realize his survival was God’s plan for his descendants?  Do his descendants realize the magnitude of that event day in that Italian foxhole?

Do citizens of our nation know the high cost of freedom that emanates from thousands of similar foxholes experiences and situations?  Is there the realization in our nation that thousands of unknowns like the two in the foxhole provide the multitude of amenities that we enjoy today?  When they see our flag, Old Glory, are they reminded of the blood spilt over the face of the earth by our soldiers?  Are the blood soaked battlefields the only recognition that many unknowns receive?  Is the tomb of the Unknown Soldier enough acknowledgment or thanks?

Do citizens of the United States understand the cost of the privilege to cast a vote?  Are those participating in the protests and the occupying of Wall Street and other venues aware of those who died that they might have that right? Do those who operate abortion clinics understand the sacrifice of life that babies might have the right to life?  Will there be honor given to the old soldiers that fade away?

How many will celebrate Memorial Day without giving one nanosecond of thought of the cost of freedom?  How many dads, moms, sons, and daughters will shed tears for a fallen soldier that did not return home?  How many will touch names on the Memorial Wall, a tombstone, or a brick?

Dad, who were those two soldiers you pulled over you and took the bayonets for you in that foxhole?  Will anyone, other than me, remember the price they paid over seventy years ago, just as they forget the price of Calvary?

Should not the multitude of words be answered? (Job 11:2 KJV)

How long can our nation exist if we fail to honor those who paid the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom? 

Remembering their sacrifice on Memorial Day.

"Ah. the Years After Graduation"

Forty-eight years ago, I experienced nervous anticipation as I entered the Jemison High School auditorium.  Actually, I had been on edge all day.  It was the climax of weeks of expectancy filled with numerous warnings of a bunch of do’s and don’ts.  Weeks of preparation for a great climatic moment were now happening before me.

I was about to enter uncharted territory for my family and me with a feeling of “can this be real?”  No one in my immediate family had ever been on this journey.  No one in my family had received the honors and recognition that I was about to receive, but I was not sure I would receive them.

Weeks prior to this magic moment, things were not well at home.  Mom and I were not on the best of terms.  Looking back it was a mother’s love and son’s rebellion, a mother’s joy and a son’s fear, and a mother’s tug and a son’s release.

Things were not so good at school.  I, along with other students, had grown tried of school, racial tension, and each other.  There were so many expectations from everyone.  Some were preparing for that big bash.  Some were making plans to get a job, go to college, or go to Viet Nam.  I just wanted to get out of school.

As I walked the hall, I realized that this night would be the last time I would see some of my friends and my classmates.  All of us had the look of eager expectation and tearful eyes of separation.

Someone one asked, “Did you wear your shoes?”  Yes, I wore shoes, but part of my fear for the moment was one of the “don’t” warnings.  Counselors instructed everyone to wear black shoes only.  I protested that mom had bought me a new pair of shoes.  There were black and white dress shoes.  I tried to conceal them from the terrible tyrants who controlled the magnanimous event of the evening.

The closer I got to the auditorium, the more my classmates celebrated.  It was hard to celebrate with them because some of my friends and I were the reason for the buzz and the reason for my anxiety.  Chuck Ellison sent my anxiety to new levels of fear when he proclaimed, “They’re not going to let us graduate tonight.”  Yeah, the big moment for my family and me was my high school graduation.  It was a family first, or at least I hoped it would be.

The night before, under the veil of darkness, several of us delivered a gift to Jemison High School that will be long remembered in the annals of Jemison history.  It was a labor of love and skilled deceit.  Weeks before we planned to do something special to show our appreciation for twelve, some of us thirteen, years of hard work, hundreds of tests, hundreds of facts, questions, and answers, hundreds of hand written papers, and thousands of pages of homework. 

We found an abandoned outside toilet.  Some call it an outhouse or privy.  Up home, we just call it a toilet.  It was a toil to get to it, especially at night.  We painted it with bright colors of white, pink, blue, and yellow.  One of my classmates, Ricky Coles, used his dad’s pickup to carry out the dastardly deed of hauling it to town. Ricky, the Pike brothers, the Ellison brothers, and yours truly loaded the toilet with the intentions of placing it on a small island curb at the main junction and red light of US Highway 31 and Alabama State Highway 191.  We were all Beta club members and we decided that might get us in serious trouble with the police if we put it there. 

We hauled it around town for a long time until we figured out what to do.  We all wanted to do it in honor of our time at Jemison, so that it when we decided to place it in the most inconspicuous part of the school.  We put in under the flagpole in front of the school with a big note declaring it as a gift from the seniors of the class of ’71.  We celebrated our dastardly deed by returning to Ricky’s house and downing a few glasses of ice, cold fresh milk.  It was the Pike brothers’ first drink of fresh milk.

Chuck, to this day, says, “I didn’t think we were going to graduate.”  I assured him that we would and we did.  Life has been a forty-eight year journey thus far.  With that in mind, CONGRATULATIONS SENIORS OF 2019 as you begin a new turn in your journey of life.

Forsake the foolish, and live; and go in the way of understanding (Proverbs 9:6 KJV).

"You Can Count Cain't Yee"

When I imagine Jesus walking from town to town, I see him playing with children.  The God who created everything taking time to play with children is mind-boggling.  That is God.  He is powerful enough to cause fear and trembling in the demonic, insubordinate enough toward Jewish law that the Sadducees and the Pharisees plotted to kill Him, but so full of love that children ran to play and hug on Him.

One of the greatest blessings of a pastor is having children run to play and love on him.  I have always had a special time for children in the worship service.  I called it “Pastor’s Pals.”  It was their time for me to introduce them to the sermon using simple things, which they could relate.  It never surprised me what words would come from the mouths of babes.  Children are so honest and pure in heart.

As a director of missions, I miss my time with the children each Sunday, but I do have an occasion with them from time to time.  The longer I serve the more the children of the churches learn who I am and how much I enjoy their company.

Most Baptist churches in rural Alabama observe fifth Sunday eating and singing.  At one particular meeting, I was sitting with a deacon discussing retirement and the condition of our world.  A grandson of the deacon stood beside me and earnestly pleaded with his granddad to go outside and play.  His granddad answered, “You cannot go outside unless an adult goes with you.”

I thought the reply was kind of unusual being that it was a small church in a very rural community where everyone attended church, especially on fifth Sunday.  Rarely would a car drive by unless it was someone who did not stay at an eating.

Being a little boy, he was relentless in asking his granddad permission to go outside.  Finally, his granddad asked what he wanted to play.  The boy said, “Hide and seek.”  By this time, a small band of boys huddled around the table waiting for the special blessing of the church patriarch to release them into the promise land just as the Israelite army awaited Moses to charge Joshua to spy out the land.

The granddad repeated, “Son you cannot go outside until a grownup can go outside with you.”

Then it happened, the small boy looked me dead in the eyes and asked, “Will you go outside and play with us?” 

It was one of those Kodak camera moments.  He was so eager and so pitiful with his request that you could not say no so I asked him what he wanted to play hoping that I would not have what it took to play with them.  Standing beside me, he was so small that sitting in a chair I was taller than he was.

Without any consideration that I was the Director Missions of the Bethel Baptist Association.  He said, “Hide and seek.”

I thought I could get out of it by saying that I was much too big to play hide and seek.  I did not mean that I was too mature because I really wanted to get outside with them, but that I was too big physically to hide.

He replied with the most adorable and honest answer he could give to a person of my status.  He said, “You can count cain’t yee?” 

Well, I had no excuse.  I could count.  Four little boys and one over fifty, over weight, and over rated gray-haired old man went outside to have the time of our lives playing hide and seek.  I counted the first time and I purposely lost to count again.  After the second time I did hide with two partners in crime at my side and the other little one hid under the church.  This little one would not come out until his mother threaten to leave him there and threaten to beat him within an inch of his life if he did not come from under the church.  I had a great time and made some life-long friends of some small boys.

Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them.  But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 19:13-14 KJV).

Confession is Good for the Soul

It is funny the people you meet that stick in your mind and things that call them to mind.  The other day, while working on the laptop computer, I kept using my cell phone as a mouse.  The laptop has a pad that you use, but I had placed my cell phone beside the laptop and unconsciously I would move the phone while looking at the screen only to realize the cursor was not moving.  “Duh”, I said to myself.  I finally placed the cell phone to another place on the desk. 

Then, I thought of how many times I have tried to open the office, the house, the post office box by mashing my key with my thumb.  Talk about being programmed.  My Honda key unlocks my car, opens the trunk and blows the horn, so naturally I try my others key the same.

There is something else.  Did you know that a cordless phone will not change the channels on the television?  I know I have tried it several times.  I would point the antenna at the TV and push channel 4.  Next, I would bump the phone to remind the batteries to work.  It is funny when you realize just how dumb you are.

I know that you can program the DVD player remote to change TV channels and you can program the TV remote to change the DVD, but I do not think you can program the cordless phone to control the DVD player or TV.

They say confession is good for the soul.  I confess.  There are too many gadgets and too many buttons to push.  We live in a push button world.  What was life like before push button gadgets?

Speaking of gadgets, we were actually able to carry on intelligent and extended conversations, drive at normal speeds on the highways, hear sermons, and attend meetings without interruption before cell phones.  Do you remember dial telephones?

That brings me back to people sticking in you mind.  I remember working with a guy named “Radiator”.  It was an odd name and Radiator was an odd kind of man.  He wore coveralls and his hair was never combed and looked as he had just gotten out of bed.

He did odd things.  Once hearing of a submerged fishing boat, sunk by a floating log, he inquired of its location.  A day or two later he had retrieved the sixteen 16’ fiberglass runabout with a Mercury outboard.  He patched the hull, reworked the outboard and started fishing and skiing.

On another occasion he had a Volkswagen bus that had a nut on the rear axle that would not stay tightened so he welded the nut to the hub and axle.  He had a knack with gadgets.  It was 1971.  The company where Radiator and I worked said employees were making too many outside calls.  Management placed a lock in the first hole of the rotary dial of all the telephones in the plant.  Our foreman was bragging how outside calls had ceased and people were working more.  Radiator said he could make a call without dialing.  The foreman, who thought Radiator a nut, argued that Radiator could not.  It was very interesting for an 18 year old boy to hear two grown men arguing like grade school boys over a dare, but I listened.

Radiator asked the foreman for his home phone number.  The foreman told him then Radiator proceeded to lift the receiver and with his pointer finger push the buttons in the receiver cradle with a Morse code rhythm of the numbers given by the foreman.  Radiator handed the phone to the foreman which heard ringing and then his wife answer the phone.  The know-it-all foreman got a quick lesson from the gadget man on how the dial was a circuit breaker that when dialed broke the circuits in a systematic rhythm determined by the hole dialed.

Radiator was smarter than he appeared.  When I think of it, John the Baptist, being a little odd, was wiser than he appeared.  I guess with my gadget dilemmas, I am dumber than I appear. 

Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves (Matthew 10:16 KJV)

Serpents know the principles of survival and the softness of doves invites all to know them.  In a push button world, God’s truth obligates the disciple to send the message and the seeker to listen.