"Bee Stings, Bug Zappers, and Bacteria"

Sitting on an old school bus sit out under the garage at the in-laws, I was moved by the aerial activity of flying wasps.  No, the wasps were not my problem.  It was the husband of my niece and my father-in-law who were trying to kill the flying creatures of pain and death.  With each swat of the broom or the swing of a swatter, the intensity of the angered wasps made me feel uncomfortable.

Wasp stings are not my favorite pass time at the in-laws although I have received some stinging remarks from the in-laws and their extended family over the last forty plus at these family Fourth of July family reunions and picnic outings. I have had numerous stings from bees, fleas, horse flies, sheep flies, yellow jackets, and red wasps.  I worried that someone who is allergic might have been stung.  I read and I heard that bee stings are good for arthritis.  I do not have allergic reactions, but I do have arthritis.

Just the other day I was weed eating a fence row when I thought I was having a severe attack of gout or sharp pain of arthritis in my right ankle.  My thoughts were, “What I have been eating to have the gout?” I thought maybe I lucked out and it would be just pain from a wrong step on the unlevel ground.  After two or three sharp pains, I decided to take a look at my ankle.  Is that a man thing ignoring pain?

I raised my pants leg and discovered a yellow jacket buried deep into my ankle.  To my surprise, I was in a yellow jacket nest and received only one dose of arthritic medicine.  Looking back, I have mixed emotions.  I am glad I had the pain of just one sting, or sad for just a small dose of painkiller?  The ankle did feel better after the swelling subsided.

A week or two before the yellow jacket arthritic treatment, I was attacked by a red wasp.  He flew into my sleeveless shirt and stung my chest in that tender spot between the armpit and the, well you know, the chest.  By the way, I do not have arthritis there.

Getting back to the interruption of my leisure moment and my time of meditation in preparation of spending the Fourth of July with the in-laws, I sat entertained, but concerned, at the mishaps of trying to hit flying wasps.

Moments before the aerial display, my nephew-in-law had spayed a single nest with two wasps with insect killer.  He knocked down the nest and secured our safety by crushing the two dead wasps with his foot.

After quick survey of the ceiling of the garage, the home base of the Kamikaze wasps was located.  As with the concealment of any enemy station, the wasps had planted a nest in the electrical discharge insect control system.  Your know, a “Bug Zapper.”  The device attracts and kills flying insects that are attracted by light.  A light source attracts the insects where they are electrocuted by touching two wires with a high voltage between them.  The name “zapper” come the zap sound produced when an insect is electrocuted.

Research shows that the process of electrocution spreads a mist containing insect parts up to seven feet.  Bacteria and viruses that can be inhaled by contaminated air around the bug zapper, or settle on the food of people eating near the device.  Another drawback is the traps are not effective at killing biting insects.  Many harmless and beneficial insects are electrocuted.  Wikipedia says, “A study over a summer found that 13,789 insects were killed, of which 31 were biting insects.”  It makes me wonder if the red wasps took advantage of the design flaw and build their nest at night during the time harmless and beneficial bugs were zapped.

I think it may have been because there was no power to the bug zapper.  No electricity, no electrocution.  No power because the power source was broken.

I know by now you are wondering where is the spiritual connection.

Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field:  But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way.  But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also (Matthew 13:24-26 KJV).

Lord, have mercy on my son: for he is lunatick, and sore vexed: for ofttimes he falleth into the fire, and oft into the water.  And I brought him to thy disciples, and they could not cure him.  Then Jesus answered and said, O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? how long shall I suffer you? bring him hither to me.  And Jesus rebuked the devil; and he departed out of him: and the child was cured from that very hour.  Then came the disciples to Jesus apart, and said, Why could not we cast him out? And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.  Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting (Matthew 17:15-21 KJV).

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"The More I Attend School the Dumber I Get"

One time my paw-in-law asked me why I attended so much school.  It was a legitimate question.  I started school at Beloit Kindergarten in Beloit, Illinois in 1959.  I have the class picture, which has the event documented with an informational board in front of the class.  This board shows the school, the date, and the teacher’s name.  That’s school number one.  School number two was Beloit Elementary.  I do not remember much about that school.  I played sick, ran away, and missed so much, that I did not have a class picture to prove I was there.   I have haunting memories of this old, I mean old and mean, teacher who made fun of my Southern accent.  She made fun because I could not skip with both feet.  I showed her I could skip.  I skipped plenty of her classes.

I could walk to this school, but dad would take me occasionally.  I remember one particular morning that I beat him, and my uncle Clifton, back home.  I hid in a chair underneath the dining room table.  When they discovered me, they took me back to school.  I know this sounds like an old cliché, but I did walk to school in the snow and it was on a hill.

Along about March of that school year, 1959-60, we moved back to Alabama and to school number three, Jemison Elementary.  Actually, the elementary, middle school, and high school were all together.  I would spend 11 years and three months at Jemison.

Guess what?  My first grade teacher, Mrs. Shirley, at Jemison was the splitting image of the one in Beloit.  Mrs. Shirley made fun of my Yankee accent.  You have heard of the man with no country.  I was the boy with no dialect.  I had a Southern drawl with a Yankee brogue.

I do not have any pictures from the first grade at Jemison.  I want to think the school had already taken them and I got there too late.  I must confess that I took up my old patterns of running away from school, except this school was seven miles from home.

I devised a plan using the school bus.  Mr. Allen Posey drove school bus Number 34 He lived across from Land Mark.  Most of you might recall that store from earlier article.  Mr. Allen started there and made a big loop back to a local store.  I would convince Mr. Allen that I was deathly ill and get his permission to exit the bus and walk back home.  We had only one vehicle, which daddy used to drive to work.  Once home, I was so sick that mom would nurse me and I would have a miraculous healing.

Mom was a miracle worker when it came to healing and a genius at figuring the schemes of little boys.  She told me that I was not sick.  Really, I was.  I was sick of school and mean teachers that made fun of your speech and made you sit on a stool with a pointed fairly hat, a dunce hat, when you could not answer a question the class discussed while I was taking care of business in the outside toilet of Jemison Elementary.

One morning I was really sick, but mom made me go to school anyway.  My throat hurt something awful.  I remember that afternoon after school getting off the bus and walking home.  I usually could beat the bus home by getting off at the store.  I was burning with fever when I got home.  I had the mumps!

I finally got a good teacher in the second grade, Mrs. Nettie Glasscock, had the best one in the third, Mrs. Avis Harthen, and had a great one, Mrs. Gentry, in the fourth grade.  I started making straight E’s (Excellent) in Mrs. Harthen’s class and straight A’s in Mrs. Gentry’s class.

I tell students that if you hate school, they will make straight A’s.  Those that make bad grades love school.  They love repeating classes and staying in school longer.  I graduated Jemison in May 1971.

Several years later while teaching Sunday School I attended the Howard Extension (now Samford Extension), school number four.  When the Lord called me into full time ministry, I returned to school at the University of Montevallo for four years, school number five.  I attended Bessemer Tech for two years while working in maintenance at the cement plant, school number six.  I attended New Orleans Theological Seminary for four years, school number seven.  I graduated from Beeson School of Divinity Samford University in December 2002.

After all those years of gathering wisdom and a few moments of reflecting, I said, “Paw-in-law, the more I go to school the dumber I get.”  All my years of study has taught me that I really do not know anything.  Boy, you miss a lot when you miss most of the first grade.  The same is true when missing reading the Bible, Sunday School, or preaching.

Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth (Second Timothy 2:15 KJV).

And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh (Ecclesiastes 12:12 KJV).

"Daddy's Hands"

One afternoon, thunderstorms surrounded Linden as I started a fire to do some grilling.  I love the sound of rolling thunder and the awesome beauty of lightning.  It is a pungent display of what I imagine as minute exhibition of God’s heavenly power.  I always imagine Moses on Mt Hebron when I see those vigorous clouds churning in the heavens above.  I also think of the Second Coming of our Lord.

As the lightning grew intense, I realized that just about the time that the fire was perfect for grilling,  I might become a lightning rod and I would be grilled.  A grill underneath big oak trees is not the ideal place to be when lightning is imminent.

The ground trembled as lighting created a brilliant streak just beyond Linden Baptist.  It was spectacular.  The next day, my neighbor said he saw the same flash of lightning.  He said the lightning hit with a burst of fire and smoke.

Suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder and the rain started to fall.  I told my son Aaron to get a couple of umbrellas and to bring the meat.  I covered the bed of coals and the meat with a piece of tin as the rain intensified.  Lightning continued to dance around Linden.  I told Aaron that he might need to go inside and out of the lightning.  I told him it would be better if the newspaper read “MAN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING,” rather than “FATHER AND SON STRUCK BY LIGHTNING.”  He worried more about objects falling from the tree on the meat than lightning striking us.

As the lightning subsided, the rain got harder.  I told Aaron that it reminded me of the night my dad and I set a pole for an electrical service for a house I was about to build. 

To have an electrical power source for contractors, the power company required that I have an electrical box with a disconnect switch mounted on plywood on a pole.  My dad told me he would help me put it up when we got in from work.  We did not know when we started that there would be a thunderstorm while we were setting the pole.

We had just tamped the pole into place when the thunderstorm erupted.  Lightning was popping in the area and the rain started to fall.  People who are experts, you know how experts are; remind us if one can hear thunder, one can be hit by lightning.  Well, the thunder was pretty loud and close.  Just about the time daddy started screwing the electrical control box on the plywood, it started to rain harder.  I can still see daddy’s big hands holding the screwdriver and twisting the screws in the back of the box into the plywood.  As usual, I was holding something for daddy.  This usually meant that he would say, “Hold it still son.”  I had to hold it still regardless of how uncomfortable, awkward, cold, or hot the object or I were.  I miss those days with dad, but relive them with Aaron.  Now, Aaron holds for me although sometimes I hold for Aaron.  He is so much like dad, a man whom he has never met.

Bad weather terrified momma, but bad weather did not bother daddy.  Daddy taught us to respect the weather, but never to fear it.  Daddy loved to hear the thunder and see the lightning.  He reminded us that it was a sign of how powerful God is.  He would say when God got ready for you, it did not matter where you were or what you were doing, it was your time.  Momma agreed, but reminded him not to tempt the Lord and that God gave him enough sense to take cover when it stormed.  So, when it stormed, momma went to hide and daddy and the boys went outside to watch.

I think we were all anticipating the Lord wiping back the thunderstorms and opening a beautiful blue sky as He did when the disciples were in one of those violent thunderstorms on the Sea of Galilee.  There is also a calming effect when a child sees courage in his dad.  Dad did know when to make us go inside if he thought we might be injured.  I do not know if momma knew it or not, but dad would say that we were not to tempt the Lord and that the Lord gave us a head to think.

I thank God that He gave me a dad who acknowledged the awesome power of God in thunder and lightning.  Dad also acknowledged the greatest power is the power of salvation.  HAPPY FATHER’S DAY

The voice of thy thunder was in the heaven: the lightnings lightened the world: the earth trembled and shook (Psalm 77:18 KJV).

For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be (Matthew 24:27 KJV)

"I am the Queen of Sheba"

 

Several times in the last few days I ran across the name Sheba.  One of the occurrences was the History Channel.  A program on the Ark of the Covenant told how that King Solomon and Sheba were married, had a son, and Solomon gave the son the Ark and it is in Ethiopia today.  There is a Hebrew word for that, “Baloney”.

Actually, I thought Indiana Jones found it the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark and it is filed deep in the archives of the Smithsonian Institute.  Who knows?

I did have a conversation with the Queen of Sheba in New Orleans.  No, I am not fibbing.  Here is what happened.

One of the requirements for getting a Master of Divinity degree from New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS) while attending its Extension in Birmingham was I had to spend 13 weeks on the New Orleans campus within the four year program.  I accomplished this having earned four years of vacation from the cement plant.  I spent my vacations in New Orleans in class taking tests.  One week was equivalent to a full term.

One of the breaks from this vigorous schedule was a trip to a steak and seafood restaurant named Jack Dempsey’s.  If you go to New Orleans be sure to go and order the steak and red fish platter for two.  It is wonderful and it is more than two can eat.

It was a trip to Jack Dempsey’s that I met the Queen of Sheba.  She was from the Marietta Extension of NOBTS in Georgia and she had been invited by some of the other female students that tagged along with several of us preachers.  New Orleans is not a very safe place for females at night.

Sitting around a large table we enjoyed the food and company of one another.  It was exciting to meet new people and share our experiences.  The Queen appeared older than most of us.  She dressed and acted sophisticated, maybe a tag snobbish.  I was cutting up and having a good time when she asked me, “How did you get into this program?”

Being simple minded, I told her that I had registered.  She then said, “I thought you had to have a college degree to register.”  I responded by telling her that I had a college degree from the University of Montevallo.

She said, “If you have a college degree, I am the Queen of Sheba.”

My preacher friends, the other ladies (wanting to be preachers) that knew me waited for my response.  I had two cards, wallet sized certificates, in my wallet from the Phi Alpha Theta and the Sigma Tau Delta.  Now I know that is Greek.  The Phi Alpha Theta is from the History Honor Society for having an “A” average.  The Sigma Tau Delta is from the English Honor Society, one of the top five in the nation, for having an “A” average in English.

I took the cards from my wallet, gave them to her, and said “Here, read this Queen of Sheba.”

It was a precious moment that I cherish even as I write this article.  My friends around the table erupted in laughter.  The Queen of Sheba was speechless.  She gathered her composure and asked, “Why don’t you talk like you have an education?”

I said, “Mam, I pastor a small rural church in Bibb County Alabama.  The people I serve are good old country people.  If I talk prim and proper I cannot communicate with them.  I know when to act educated and when to be me.  I am country, proud of it, and you will have to accept me for who I am.

I have often wondered what she said when she went back to Georgia.

And when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the Lord, she came to prove him with hard questions . . . And she said to the king, It was a true report that I heard in mine own land of thy acts and of thy wisdom.  Howbeit I believed not the words, until I came, and mine eyes had seen it: and, behold, the half was not told me: thy wisdom and prosperity exceedeth the fame which I heard (I Kings 10:1, 6-7 KJV)