"To God be the Glory"

In an effort to stay within budget, I volunteered to build the cabinets for the Family Life Center kitchen at the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton.  The church bought the materials and I furnished the labor.  I made them of oak with raised panel doors.  Along with the cabinets, I had built an island for serving food and fashioned oak underneath the stainless steal sink to hide the plumbing.  It was a big job, as was the entire project.

As I unloaded the cabinets on a Saturday workday, one of my deacons noticed that I had a worried look.  With apprehension, he asked if I was okay.  I think he thought that I was frustrated over the Family Life Center project and my involvement with it.  I had been a subcontractor of sorts for it and saved the church 18-20% of the total construction cost.

I told him that my thoughts were with an old friend.  The night before I received word that my friend JJ had been involved in a terrible accident where he worked.  JJ was severely burned having third degree from his waist down, second degree from his neck down, and first degree on his face.  Prognosis was that he would loss everything from his waist down.

JJ, a wheel inspector for ABC Rail in Calera, stepped on a four-inch gas line in performance of his duties.  The gas line fueled the heat treatment department for the hardening or tempering of train wheels.

As JJ stepped on the gas line, it broke and gas filled JJ’s overalls and then ignited from the flames used in the heat treatment.  Witnesses saw JJ rocket into the air about fifteen feet and then fell about thirty feet onto a concrete floor below.

Had JJ worn pants with a belt, he would have lost every thing from waist down according in ABC Rail Safety officials.  University of Alabama Birmingham hospital doctors said the quick response of the ABC Rail Safety team covering JJ’s burns with shaving cream and the rescue team with the airlift unit saved his life.  The shaving cream sealed and cleansed the burns.

When my deacon friend asked me if I was okay, I did not know much about JJ at that time.  My information was that JJ was in critical condition and he may not live.  I told my deacon friend that I did not know how to pray for JJ.  I did not know whether to pray that JJ live or that Lord take him.  I wanted to install the cabinets and get to UAB hospital burn unit to see my friend.

JJ and I had been friends all our lives.  We were the same age, but were in different classes at school due to our birthdays.  I cannot remember our teenage years with being around one another with baseball, football, and basketball, watching JJ sail off the swing and dive into the Little Cahaba at Bull Dog Bend, or taking a ride in his Dodge Super Bee.  I really think he came to the house to see my sister!

JJ loved playing cow pasture football because his mother would not allow him to play organized football.  I have thrown JJ so many touchdown passes that I am afraid to give you a number.  One Saturday we played football, supposedly light tackle, against some boys from Isabella at their high school football field.  I remember JJ said he was so sore after the game that he could hardly go to work on midnights crawling from his Super Bee to his job on the overhead crane.  We played football well into our thirties.

JJ had his share of troubles.  His wife had been sickly for years and Aetna Insurance had paid the limit for her hospital stays and surgeries.  JJ told me one time that he owed almost eighty-five thousand dollars to Brookwood hospital in Birmingham.  His eldest son got involved in the Gothic culture and became a drug addict.  That son later died in a drug related suicide.

After I installed the cabinets, I visited JJ at UAB.  I will never forget the sight I saw.  JJ did not look human.  Swollen and pumped full with fluids, JJ’s head and body was swollen beyond recognition.  His eyes were as big as a man’s fist and his ears were as large as a man’s cupped hand.  We cried.  I will never forget that deforming image of my friend.

For weeks, I visited JJ at UAB’s burn unit.  JJ suffered excruciating pain from the burns, from shaving good skin for skin grafts, and from the shoulder that sustained damage when he hit the concrete floor.  On one visit, I witnessed JJ break into a sweat as he tried to stretch a rubber hose with the injured shoulder.  He struggled to pull it an inch or two. 

Most people thought JJ would never work again, but he did.  Instead of taking a medical disability, JJ would work at ABC Rail until it closed.  Then he worked at a pipe shop.  He remains an avid sports fan, playing a lot of golf.

JJ has been a deacon in his church for many years.  I had the privilege of doing a marriage renewal for his wife and him.  I was with him at his son’s funeral.  Through all that he has been, JJ has taught me faithfulness and hope.

But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.  Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.  And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God (Romans 8:25-27 KJV).

I remember being in agony as I prayed for JJ.  Do I pray he live, or for the Lord to receive him?  I told the deacon at Friendship that I finally prayed, Lord may Your will be done and You receive glory.

"Thanks Dr. Miller"

When I originally wrote this article, I wrote with sadness.  The person most responsible for my writing, Dr. Calvin Miller, passed away a couple of weeks prior.

I received an e-mail from Dr. Timothy George of Beeson Divinity School a few days prior to Dr. Miller’s death asking me to pray for Dr. Miller having quadruple by-pass surgery.  He was in intensive care.  I sent Dr. Miller a get well note.  The next e-mail stated that he was recovering and requested that he have no visitors.

When I received a third e-mail, I had this sick gut feeling as I opened it.  My intuition was correct.  Dr. Miller passed away while in intensive care.

Baptists lost a great Theologian, a great orator, a great writer, and a dozen other talents of his genius.  Sharon asked him if he was first in line when God handed out gifts.  The man could paint, play the piano, and write poetry.  His home looked like a botanical garden.  When asked about it, he said he designed it and did all the work except for running the heavy equipment.

Baptists lost a great leader, but I lost a friend and mentor.  One evening at a cookout at his home in Trussville, he shared with his students some qualities that each of us possessed and encouraged us to extend those gifts and gain some new ones along the way.

It was an amazing evening with Dr. Miller.  I could not believe that he had invited me to his home.  I do not remember the first time I heard of Dr. Miller, but I remember reading one of his many books.  He also had an article in the SBC Life magazine.   I remember telling an SBC Life representative that fifty percent of the reason I read the magazine was Dr. Miller’s article.  The other fifty percent was Dr. Charles Lowry’s article.  Both do not write any longer and I do not have any reason to read it.

I do not remember the first time I met Dr. Miller in person, but it was a thrill to meet him.  It was a greater thrill to have studied under his teaching.  He taught me so much about the mechanics of preaching and all the spiritual preparation that the art of preaching involves.

In preaching class, he told me that I had great movement in the pulpit.  He said that movement should be an important element of preaching and that God had gifted me with movement.  He said that I had the gift of preaching.  That night at the cookout at his home he surprised me with another statement.

While sitting around a fire, he said Bobby, you are a good writer.  I was shocked.  I struggle with writing.  One reason is I am a terrible speller with a very limited vocabulary.  I sat there in amazement because of the ten students around the fire; I felt the least of writers.  That night he said that I should do more writing.

One of the biggest things I have ever written was my dissertation for my doctorate.  I waited two years after the class work to do the dissertation.  I blocked off two weeks after doing my project to write it.  I had two English teachers, one from the University of Alabama and one from Greensboro High School, from my church in Gallion to grade it before I turn it in to my doctoral committee at Beeson.  My committee was Dr. Robert Smith, chair, Dr. Louis Drummond, and Dr. Calvin Miller.  The English teachers made a few suggestions but found the dissertation to be without error and wanted to know if I wrote it by myself.  I get that response quite often.

When it came time to face my doctoral committee for what is called “Orals” or oral examination, I waited in a cold sweat outside the examination chamber which felt like a torture chamber.  When Dr. Drummond saw me, he said that Dr. Miller had a “bone to pick with me.”  Now I was scared.  I will never forget what Dr. Miller did.  As he approached me, he grabbed me by the lapels on my suit and pulled me toward him.

He said, “Bobby, if that is not the best dissertation that I have ever read, it is the second best that I have ever read.”  I stood there in amazement.  Suddenly, I experienced calmness for the orals.

During the orals, the committee talked of what a great dissertation it was.  I had heard of how committees would chew up the dissertations and the students making them rewrite and resubmit them.  Dr. Drummond said excellent work.  Dr. Smith said it was good, but he wanted one more paragraph on the Holy Spirit knowing that Baptists were a little intimidated by the Holy Spirit.  Dr. Miller was the only one, including the two English teachers, and two computer programs with spelling and grammar checks that found a mistake.  I used “we” instead of “were” in one sentence.  It read okay, but Dr. Miller knew it was the wrong word.

Dr. Miller did say that the dissertation was the most doctrinal and theological sound that he ever read.  I have sticky notes on the original dissertation were Dr. Miller placed them.

I wondered how I could convince Dr. Miller to come speak for me.  One day he called me.  He said,” Bobby, you know that you are the only Beeson graduate to be a Director of Missions?”  I said, “No sir.”  He said I would like to come speak to your pastors and their wives.  He came and I was thrilled.

The last time I spoke with him, he told me to continue to write and that he enjoyed my two books.

Thanks for the encouragement Dr. Miller.  Most of all, thanks Dr. Miller for being a mentor and friend.

WHERE IS SHE THIS MORNING

Where is she this morning and how was her night?

When she was a baby, it was filled with tears and fright.

Where is she this morning and what has she to eat?

When she was a little girl, she would nibble at her food and run on her feet.

Where is she this morning and what is her plan?

When she was a teenager, it was trying to find a man.

Where is she this morning as a new day starts?

As a young woman her family does not know and its breaks their hearts.

Where is she this morning and will she sleep late?

As she grows older, I pray she comes home and not stay away with bitterness and hate.

Where is she this morning is a question that may seem odd.

We do not know the answer, but the one who does is God.

Dedicated to parents that do not know where the children are.  Living in fear that the next phone call, knock at the door, or visit will inform that the wandering child has been found and a parent's worse fears are now reality.  Until that moment there is hope that the prodigal daughter or son will return home.

WHERE ARE YOU LITTLE BOY

 

Time, distance, and things separated my son Aaron and me.  I wrote this poem as a reminder to us that some things will never change.  The moments that he spent with me will always be etched in my heart and mind.  I love my son and thank God for allowing me to be his dad.  I prepared him for twenty-six years to leave home and teach the next generation of Hoppers.  It is, and will always be, a blessing to me to have been part of Aaron's life.

Where are you little boy head butting without warning

Where are you little boy wanting to play early in the morning

Where are you little boy you did not sleep all night

Where are you little boy with hugs so tight

Where are you little boy asleep with your ear to my heart

Where are you little boy time and distance keeps us apart

Where are you little boy when I close my eyes, I see you

Where are you little boy in everything I see and do

Where are you little boy you were always wanting to assist

Where are you little boy your constant questioning I miss

Where are you little boy you grew into a man

Where are you little boy brave enough alone to stand

Where are you little boy I was your idol nimble and strong

Where are you little boy for you I could do no wrong

Where are you little boy no longer am I your hero

Where are you little boy on your own you must go

Where are you little boy your head on my chest

Where are you little boy praying that you always do what’s best

Where are you little boy in each lonely tear

Where are you little boy, son my heart says, right here