Sanctity of Human Life

Several years ago a preacher friend and I had the privilege of spending a week at Saddleback Baptist Church.  Yes, this is the one where Rick Warren is the pastor.  Dr. Warren and I have a mutual friend, Danny Daniels, who was on staff at Saddleback at that time.  My friend and I were at Saddleback at Danny’s invitation.

I got to meet Rick’s dad, Jimmy Warren.  My friend commented that while everyone was trying to spend time with Rick, that I was talking with Rick’s dad.  Brother Jimmy, Rick’s dad was a pastor also, saw that I was from Alabama and he initiated the conversation.  I found out that Brother Jimmy had a sister in Alabama and that he lived in Alabama before moving to Texas.  We talked for about forty-five minutes.

My I.D. badge started several conversations.  I was standing in front of the church when a lady noticed I was from Alabama.  She asked me why folks in the south had so many guns and killed little animals and had school shootings.

Taken back by her comment I reminded her that the last school shooting at that time was in Oregon.  I told her I might be from Alabama, but according to our geography books that Oregon was north of California and on the West Coast.  I reminded her that just because we talk slow in Alabama does not mean we are stupid.

I told her that for the amount of guns that there in Alabama that the number of people killed from hunting was very low.  That is not to minimize the life of a shooting victim, but that we teach our children that guns were made to kill and never point it at anything unless you intend to kill it, even if it is unloaded.  Guns do not kill, people do.

I told her that my Aaron, who was small at the time, could shoot a rifle with extreme accuracy.  I pointed to a window in the church and told her he could hit any place I pointed.

She asked me why did we kill deer, turkeys, rabbits, quail, and etc.  I told her that we ate them.  This grossed her out.  I guess these Southern delicacies were not on the LA weight lost diet.  I told her that we also killed varmints.  Then I had to explain varmints.

After I explained to her that “a country boy could survive”, she said that the folks in California just shot.  She said that just a few days before the Saddleback Conference that a young man shot at people traveling on the Interstate.  That’s happening everywhere now days.

She agreed with me that the reasons for school shootings and idiots who randomly shoot from Interstates have no respect for human life.  People see movies where people are shot, bombed, and mutilated.  Movies are make-believe and that actor blown to bits is completely well in the next movie.

Abortion, school shootings, euthanasia, child molestation, and all other manners of evil have no regard for human life.

January is the month that our churches observe Sanctity of Human life.

O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! Who hast set thy glory above the heavens.  Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.  When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet: All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field; The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.  O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! (Psalm 8)

Stuff

 

 

I opened shed door and had to move the garden tiller to get the blower.  Once again, the pine straw and my neighbor’s leaves have hidden the driveway and filled the carport.  It is unbelievable how much stuff collects around the house and in the yard.  Just a few days ago, I trimmed the shrubs, cut the grass, weed-eated the fence, and vacuumed the leaves cleaning the yard.

I need to clean out my shed.  It is full of stuff.  It is all necessary stuff to clean the yards, the house, and vehicles.  There is so much stuff, that I have difficulty finding the right stuff to use.  With the abundance of stuff, I have built storage bins to organize my stuff.

The shed contains other stuff too.  There is an office chair, old office computer, shredder, filing racks, and old laminating machine.  There is there are antiques such as a typewriter, 1950 Plymouth hubcap, an old wash pot we used to stew out cracklings, and an assortment of antique tools.

Speaking tools, I have all kinds of power tools; a router, vibrating sander, belt sander, jigsaw, plane, reciprocating saw, two chainsaws, hacksaw, coping saw, skill-saw, and handsaw.  There are electric and cordless drills.  They require their stuff such as drill bits, extension cords, battery chargers, bit extensions, and a variety of bits.  The chain saw, blower, and weed-eater require oil mixes and gasoline containers.

There is a flat shovel, a pointed shovel, a corn scoop shovel, two garden hoes, two yard rakes, and a pitchfork.  There are two axes and a hatchet.   There several knives, assortment of left-handed gloves, a dozen or more cans of spray paint in a mishmash of colors, several small cans of stain, polyurethane, mineral spirits, cleaners, bottles of glue, carwash, waxes, buffing balls, sand paper, masking tape, paintbrushes, rollers, and paint trays.

There is hanging stuff.  There is an old chandelier from the Pastorium dining room and an old fluorescent light from the office, seasonal bouquets, flowers, bells, and wreaths.  There are tie down straps, ropes, chains, C-clamps, and bungee straps.

There are shelves and shelves of stuff such as oil, filters, transmission fluid, brake fluid, and power steering fluid, and windshield washing fluid.  There is weed killer spray, bug killer spray, and ant poison.

There is free weight bench, rack, a mélange of weights, and two hand weights.  There is a kerosene heater, propane bottle and fish cooker, grilling tools, and two-eye Coleman stove.  There are several fishing rods, tackle boxes, and net.

There are tarps, moving quilts, carpet remnants, and padding.  There are two sets of horseshoes and their pins.  There are two tents and a folding seat.  There is the spare tire for my truck and heavy-duty wheelbarrow. There is a sledgehammer and wedges for splitting wood and several pieces of dry hickory for grilling.

There is a motorcycle jack, floor jack, bumper jack, and an antique jack.  There are toolboxes with spare GMC parts, plumbing parts.  There are several other toolboxes, each with an assortment of tools, sockets, rackets, and pull handles.  Most of these have been Christmas presents, birthday presents, of Father’s Day gifts.  The acetylene bottle, the oxygen bottle, hoses, and cutting torch were Christmas presents.  The golf clubs and bags were a gift from a former church member.  The tennis racket and balls were a Father’s Day gift.

I have a wagon filled with hand tools, hammers, and my electrician tools.  There are the chalk bottle and line.  There are an assortment of clamps, some string, magnets, gloves, earplugs, and safety glasses.

The biggest obstacles in the 12’ X 24’ shed are two John Deere riding mowers, one with an industrial Cyclone Rake hooked behind it, a two-wheel fertilizer distributor, a Father’s Day gift, push mower, and an 8’ Christmas tree next to all them.  They made it difficult to get to the six-disc player and radio and my collection of CD’s, most which were gifts.  I need a bigger shed just to have room enough to use my two workbenches, one which is a Black and Decker folding work bench given as a Christmas present, that are covered with stuff.

 

Jesus talked about a man that had too much stuff and wanted to build more or bigger sheds.  And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.  And he spake a parable unto them, saying, The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully: And he thought within himself, saying, What shall I do, because I have no room where to bestow my fruits?  And he said, This will I do: I will pull down my barns, and build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.  And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.  But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided? (Luke 12:15-20 KJV).

 

Christmas tends to be more about STUFF and less about Jesus.  I am thankful for the gifts people have given me, but the greatest gift this Christmas is the gift of love.

 

"Decisions"

 

Christmas poses many options.  There are places to shop, parties to hop, and resolutions to stop.  There are presents to buy, people to shy, and old friends to send a card to say hi.

Speaking of old friends, the week after Thanksgiving in 2006 the Bethel Baptist Chain Saw Team did some ministry in New Orleans.  It was a very fruitful week making new friends with some of the survivors of Katrina as we ministered to them by cutting dead trees from their yards and driveways.

While there, we worked under the direction of a “Blue Hat” which with the North American Mission Board is the person that supervised our team.  Our “Blue Hat” was an old friend from up home.

I remember back in 1984 a mission trip that he and I ministered together.  We traveled to Baxter Springs, Kansas to help a church build a bigger sanctuary.  It had been an adventurous trip out having taken a couple of wrong turns, mostly before we left the state of Alabama.

Traveling in caravan of a car, new Chevy pickup, and church van, we started home after a good week of work.  The car and church van had CB radios, but the pickup did not.  The car ran lead and the church van pulled up the rear.

Somewhere around Springfield, Missouri, a new route home, we were traveling down the interstate when someone in the lead car yelled over the CB, “Right turn, right turn, right turn” and quickly moved from the left lane to the exit ramp.

I was driving the church van and I did not have time to exit, as did the pickup.  The pickup stopped under the overpass.  I radioed the lead car that the pickup and I missed the turn and told them that I would go to the next exit and would catch them.  The next exit was seven miles.  Those in the car wanted to know where the pickup truck was.  Here is what happened.

Not having any form of communication, the three in the pickup were in a panic.  My friend, the “Blue Hat,” was a college professor and very analytical.  His companions were carpenters who had never been out of Alabama and, in a fluster; they wanted to know what they were going to do.

My friend responded this way.  “We have three options.  We can back up the interstate, go up the off ramp, or we can catch the van.”  At that moment, the 454 cubic inch engine in the new Chevy screamed and roared like a jet plane taking off.

I had communicated to the car that I would wait on the pickup.  At the next exit, I waited.  I heard it before I saw it.  It sounded alike a jet plane.  I stood on the interstate and flagged them down and when they landed, I asked how fast they were going.  The driver said, “Over a hundred.”

The car traveled at a slow pace and we caught them after we got their location and we continued our journey home on a new route.

When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.  And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.  And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.  (Matthew 2:10-12 KJV).

This Christmas will present many options.  Let us seek the one for whom we celebrate Christmas and follow the Lord’s directions for our lives.

Good Old Common Sense

 

For several years I had a segment on Moody Radio with John Rogers and Martin Houston in the morning.  Martin was former running back with the University of Alabama and is a Baptist preacher.

That morning we talked about common sense or the lack thereof.  I really feel that people are losing the ability to have common sense.   For instance, did you hear about the man who visited a psychiatrist?   He told the doctor that he was stressed and could not sleep.  After a few questions, the doctor suggested that the man take a few weeks vacation.  The man said that he and his family had just returned from two weeks in the Bahamas.

The doctor then suggested that the man might need to buy a new automobile or truck.  The man responded by saying he just bought a new sports Mercedes convertible.  The doctor suggested that he might change locations and build a new house.  The man said I just built a million-dollar house at the country club.

The psychiatrist was bewildered because the man had everything a person could have.  The psychiatrist asked, “If you have and do all these things, why are you so stressed?”  The man replied, “I make only $250 dollars a week.”

Common sense says that one cannot spend more than one makes.  Unfortunately, we as a nation do the opposite and are part of an unbelievable national debt.  We are a credit card society that wants it now.

After the radio program, I ventured to an event at Judson College.  The guest was Dr. Timothy George, Dean of the Beeson School of Divinity at Samford University.  I had Dr. George for a class when I attended Beeson.  He asked where I was serving and I told him Bethel Baptist Association.  For several years I was the only Beeson graduate serving as a Director of Missions.  Beeson, or should I say, a few professors were proud of that.

Dr. George asked, where is Bethel saying that the last time we talked he said you were near Calera.  Being we were in the auditorium of Judson College in Marion I thought that telling him about 40 miles southwest of here would do.  He responded, “Is that near Tuscaloosa?”  I said that it was about 75 miles south of Tuscaloosa and a good bit north of Mobile on the US Highway 43 corridor.  I realized that my commonsense approach to the very intellectual Dr. George was not communicating.  It is almost like the old saying, “You can’t get there from here.”  What throws people for a loop is I say Bethel Baptist Association and they automatically try to remember their Alabama history and geography realizing that Bethel is not one of the sixty-seven counties.

I felt like I was playing the “hot or cold” game with him.  Every time he would name a town, he was way off base and I was trying get him closer.  He finally said, “Then, you are near Meridian, MS?”  I said that I was closer to Meridian than Tuscaloosa.

We broke for delicious dinner.  I cannot remember how the table conversation about Nanafalia came up, but a couple of pastors at my table said they did not know how to pronounce Nanafalia.  I said it was an Indian name.  All these men were of my generation so understood that “Injun” was what is the politically correct call Native American and not an owner of a service station or a motel. I told them that Nanafalia means long hill.  One of the preachers asked where it was.  I said on Alabama highway 10 between Sweet Water and Butler.  Most had a puzzled look.  I said Nanafalia is across the Tombigbee River from Ezell’s.  Ezell’s catfish restaurant is famous throughout Alabama.

Someone said, “Then Ezell’s is in Nanafalia?”  I said do not make that mistake because it is in Lavacoa in Choctaw County next to the Nanafalia Bridge.

So, I have had a day of Common Sense, Intellectual Conversation, Political Correctness, and Politics.  The event at Judson was about God, the Church, and Politics.  I realized that politics and common sense go together like oil and water.  The event was good and helped me with my responsibility as Christian citizen.  I left the meeting realizing that Romans Chapter 13 and Acts Chapter 4 are not contrary to each other when dealing with powers ordained by God, but reminds the reader that God owns everything.  Common sense says that there are moral laws that govern society.  These moral laws come from God.  If government breaks moral laws, then we must obey God.

Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God . . . (Romans 13:1ff KJV)

And they called them, and commanded them not to speak at all nor teach in the name of Jesus.  But Peter and John answered and said unto them, Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you more than unto God, judge ye . . . (Acts 4:18-19ff KJV)

Remember When We Used to Shake Hands

 The other day I studied my hands.  Gone were the callouses from hard work.  I remember using fingernail clips and scissors to trim the callouses.  Sometimes the callouses would crack open and become sore.  At times, my hands would be so rough that I could not rub my hands across fine linen without snagging the material.  Loading paperwood, using wrenches, and handing hoes, picks, and shovels make callouses.

Gone are oil and grease stains.  My hands were always in something greasy or in burnt motor oil.  Growing up poor, my daddy, brothers, and I did a lot of repair to worn out and broke down equipment.  Burnt motor oil and dirty grease are two of the hardest things to clean off your hands.  Grease and oil under the fingernails will stain the nails.  An old friend taught me to scrape hand soap under my nails before working in grease and oil prevents stains.  Clean oil and WD 40 will also help clean-burnt oil and nasty grease.

Gone from my hands were the stains and smells of “hawg killin’.”  Pigs love nasty.  Scaldin’ and pullin’ hair on a 300lb nasty pig will stain your hands.  I had to wear off the smell and the stain.

Gone are the splinters, the black fingernails, cuts, and scrapes.  I have had some booger splinters.  I had one go deep under a fingernail.  Momma had to cut the nail deep into the “quick,” almost the whole nail, just to use tweezers to pull it out from under the nail.  I remember pulling the nail off my middle finger when I shut it in the front door.  My hands have been so sore that it hurt to use them.

That’s enough about my hands.  Before COVID -19, I would shake a lot of hands and I take notice of the hands I hold.  Hands reflect the person.  I noticed the calloused hands of a lady the other day.  It had been a long time since I felt a female hand that calloused.  I knew the lady worked hard with her hands.

I notice that many of my colleagues in the full-time ministry have soft hands.  They tend to be very protective, especially now, of their hands and have a flimsy shake.  I think to myself, oooh.  I noticed back then that some of these soft-handed colleagues had small bottled hand sanitizers and cleanse their hands after shaking hands.  I know that today that COVID must be driving them bonkers.  Sometimes I wish that these colleagues would have a clinic on hand sanitation for some of the folks in fast food restaurants business.

Most folks have firm handshakes.  Every once in a while, I get a fellow that wants to show me how strong he is and how weak I am.  You know the one that squeezes your hand where your fingers twist together and if you are wearing a ring, the impression of the ring lingers on the finger for a while.  A doctor friend showed me how to prevent “My hand is a vice, you wimp” technique.

I try not to hurt the hands of people when shaking.  Arthritis has crippled some hands.  Some hands are small and tender.

As I examined my hands I thought of the song, Daddy’s Hands, Holly Dunn recorded.

    

I remember Daddy’s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy’s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I’ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I’ll always remember the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

I remember Daddy’s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I’d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love...
In Daddy’s hands.

 

I think of my daddy’s hands when I hear this song.  His hands were big and strong.  I also think of Jesus’ hands.  I have to believe that his hands were calloused and scared from years of carpentry.  I wonder what the Roman soldier thought as he nailed Jesus’ hands to the cross.  I am sure it was not the same as those that Jesus touched.

Now when the sun was setting, all they that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto him; and he laid his hands on every one of them, and healed them (Luke 4:40 KJV).

Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God. . . (John 13:3 KJV).

Weathering COVID-19 Storms

 

As the football season draws to a close and the football bowl season starts, we know that it is the holiday season.  It is a time of giving thanks, celebrating Christ, ending another year, and making new resolutions.

Family gatherings, festive merriment, and financial exertions will deplete our good nature, drain our energy, and depress our banking accounts.  Each of us will enter the New Year tired.

Take a moment to reflect on the game of football.  It has been said that at a college stadium, there are twenty-two players in need of rest and ninety thousand spectators in need of exercise and that is at the game not counting the hundreds of thousands that are watching on television.

The truth is that the hustle and bustle of the holiday season is everything but a time of Holy day reflection.  Most everyone will start the New Year tired and exhausted.  As my daddy would say about vacations, “Son, I got to go back to work to rest.”

If you are like me, there are times when I have been tired and in need of rest when the unexpected happens.  Suddenly, totally exhausted we must find energy to continue.

While attending the University of Montevallo, I found myself in that situation on several occasions.  One of those times, I was working full time at the cement plant, taking a full course (12 hours) at the University, and pastoring the Brierfield Baptist Church.  I worked rotation shifts at the plant and had to swap my day shifts and evenings for evenings and midnights.  Truman, the co-worker that I swapped, loved the conditions.  I needed to do what I thought would help me live my call in the ministry.

After working a Saturday midnight, I went home, took a nap, got up, showered went to church, preached, ate dinner, took a nap, went to church, went home, and went to work Sunday midnight.  Monday morning I showered at the plant, and went to classes at the University.  My last class was physical education, a course in tennis.  I played tennis with an eighteen-year-old girl who beat me every time we played.  I was thirty-five and running on caffeine having not slept much since starting midnights.

I got home needing to get some rest before working Monday midnight.  Getting ready to sleep I got a call from the cement plant to report to work.  The evening shift man did not report to work and there was an emergency.  I tried my best to convince them that I had no sleep and could not work.  I was an oiler on the cement kilns.

Have you ever noticed how plant safety or any other employee rules go out the window in times of emergency?  The evening supervisor told me that if I needed to sleep, I could sleep in the control room.  Sleeping on the job meant termination on normal days.

I went to work and pulled a double, working the evening shift and the midnight shift.  I was tired on Tuesday morning.  I took a good hot shower at the plant and went to two classes at the University.  When I got home Tuesday afternoon, I died for a few hours.  By the way, I did not sleep on that double shift.  I worked for those sixteen hours.

Life is full of times when trouble comes when needing rest.  We have all been there.

After a very exhausting day of ministry and work, Jesus instructed the disciples to cross the Sea of Galilee.  While in route to the other side, a violent storm arose.  The area in which the disciples were caught in the storm was not an area where storms usually occurred.  It was dark and the boat tossed back and forth causing the disciples to panic.  It is bad when veteran fisherman panic.  Jesus was asleep in the bottom of the boat, but He got up to serve.

There is a lesson for us.  The disciples forgot that hope, Jesus, was in the boat.  They wanted to rest but they had to serve, wanted to rest but had to work, wanted to rest but had to pray, wanted to rest but had to continue, and wanted to rest but had to glorify God.

And the same day, when the even was come, He saith unto them, Let us pass over unto the other side.  And when they had sent away the multitude, they took Him even as He was in the ship. And there were also with Him other little ships.  And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.  And He was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake Him, and say unto Him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?  And He arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.  And He said unto them, why are ye so fearful? How is it that ye have no faith?  And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, what manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him? (Mark 4:35-41 KJV)

 

With the COVID 19 storm robbing people of hope, remember Jesus urges us to go to the other side of the sea.  This COVID 19 storm will pass.

 

Not for Sissies

 November means a time of thanks.  We have Thanksgiving Day and Veteran’s Day remembering the bounty of a great God and nation and the bravery of men and women who have served for the right to celebrate these events.

Veteran’s Day brings many memories to mind.  I remember a Veteran’s Day service at one of the churches I served.  The minister of music and I decided to purchase the music and flags of our Armed Forces.  During the worship service men and women from each of the branches of the military marched into the sanctuary following the flag under which they hade served.  There were those in the church who were active in the Army Reserve, the National Guard, and the Air Force.  Someone represented each of the branches of our Armed Forces.

As I contemplated on these men and women, I thought about all those who served and the ones that paid the ultimate sacrifice.  I mulled over the thoughts their parents may have had when each one of soldiers was a baby.  Did their parents envision that small baby maturing into soldier fighting, or perhaps dying in a foreign land, for our nation?

How does that compare to Christian soldiers?  The Bible teaches Christian maturity is necessary to fight against evil.  Dr. S.O. Hawkins writes, “Perhaps the worst problem in many churches is a host of spiritual infants who have never grown in their faith because they have been fed a diet of pop psychology and seeker sociology instead of New Testament theology. . . It is impossible to grow up as a Christian apart from the Word of God.”  

Biblical illiteracy seems to be growing among church going folks.  I know of a young man that feels a call to be a pastor but does not have a knowledge of Scripture.  God's call to men and women has always been through His Word.  His behavior has been contrary to Christian values.  Where has his call originated?  The Word of God is the standard for God's call.  Christianity is not for sissies or babes in Christ. 

If a baby does not mature, something is wrong.  Babies, as cute as they are and as much as we love them, want their own way.  They want what they want when they want it.  They are lazy, lie around, and they mesh up a lot without cleaning up the mess.  They do not pick up clothes or wash them.

Babies do not take up with personalities, and cannot look beyond their own personality.  A mass murderer can goo-goo and ga-ga and a baby will smile.  Babies can care less about big events happening around them.  Divorces, deaths, heartaches, and any number of things happen as a baby is down on the floor playing with a ball.  Babies are easily upset when do not get what they want.

We see all of these signs in babes (immature believers) in Christ.  They are not interested in what others think, they have no spirit of submission, and they are not active in outreach or other ministries of the church.  Immature believers want to be entertained, they play while big things are happening, and they are more concerned about feeding time at noon than the transformation of people from darkness into the light of salvation.

This Veteran’s Day when you see those aged warriors of freedom and right, remember that they were once babies that had to have every need cared by someone who wanted them to grow from children to adults.  That should be a challenge for believers to mature for spiritual battle.

And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers; For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ:  Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ:  That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ: From whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love (Ephesians 4:11-16 KJV).

 

Hand-Me-Downs

 I remember one night my brothers, sister, and I got one the biggest surprises of our lives.  Our Uncle Everett, Aunt Mildred, and cousins Wayne and Judy came for a visit.  They had a great big cardboard box filled with toys, clothes, and shoes and it wasn’t even Christmas.

Wayne and Judy were older than we were and they decided to clean out their closets and toy boxes.  Uncle Everett and daddy served in the army together.  Coming home with daddy after doing basic training, Everett met Aunt Mildred.  They fell in love and married when WWII was over.

Uncle Everett was a tinkerer.  He had to know how things were made, tearing them apart whether or not they needed repair.

Aunt Mildred was my favorite Aunt on daddy’s side of the family.  The distinct characteristic about her was her feet apparel.  She wore what looked like a pair of orthopedic shoes and white socks.  That is not that unusual, excepting that she wore them with dresses.  Aunt Mildred could make you laugh just listening to her talk.  I remember several years back that I went to spend Thanksgiving with Uncle Everett and her.  Uncle Everett has gone to be with the Lord since that time.  Aunt Mildred and he were wonderful Christians.  What made that more wonderful was there were not many Christians in the Hopper family for along time.

That big old cardboard box had some great gifts for us.  I remember there was a red corduroy jacket in the box.  I was so proud of that dress corduroy jacket that I wore it for my fifth-grade school picture.  You know I found out later that that jacket was called a “hand-me-down.”  When I tell people that I wore “hand-me-downs” they ask, “I thought you were the oldest?”  I was in my immediate family, but way down the list with my cousins.

There was a Mattel toy gun with holster in the box.  It was a snub-nosed 38.  It had spring loaded brass shells with yellow plastic tips.  When you fired the gun, the spring in the shell would release the suppressed yellow bullet tip and it would sail through the air.

There was a remote controlled, battery operated, replica of a police car.  With the controls you could steer it, make the red light on top blink, and sound off the siren.  It was fun.  I could be a robber with a snub-nosed 38 and chase myself with the police car.

I remember that there were other great gifts in the box, but I remember these three most because those are the ones I claimed.  That pistol looked like the real thing.  In fact, Mattel made their toy guns so detailed to the real weapon, that they discontinued their guns because of being associated with violence and began making real weapons.  I never could figure out about that violence thing with toy guns.  I guess that is because I had a daddy that made sure I understood the difference between make believe and reality.  He reminded us over and over do not point a gun at anything unless you intended to kill it.  He helped me understand the meaning of receiving a gift or gifts.

As Uncle Everett, Aunt Mildred, Wayne, and Judy left that night, we realized we were special, and God’s people had blessed us with wonderful gifts.  The best gift they gave was love.

And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work: (As it is written, He hath dispersed abroad; he hath given to the poor: his righteousness remaineth for ever.  Now he that ministereth seed to the sower both minister bread for your food, and multiply your seed sown, and increase the fruits of your righteousness;) Being enriched in every thing to all bountifulness, which causeth through us thanksgiving to God.  For the administration of this service not only supplieth the want of the saints, but is abundant also by many thanksgivings unto God; Whiles by the experiment of this ministration they glorify God for your professed subjection unto the gospel of Christ, and for your liberal distribution unto them, and unto all men; And by their prayer for you, which long after you for the exceeding grace of God in you.  Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift (Second Corinthians 9:15 KJV).

Crumpton Taters

 Fall is here, leaves are turning, the air is changing, and the harvest continues.  Most people think of Halloween when they think of October.  I had a baby brother born the day before Halloween.  He will be sixty this year and I am still trying to figure if he was a trick or treat.

I remember staying with my aunt.  Mamma was in the hospital and I had specific orders from her.  I was in the second grade and I had been elected harvest king by the second grade.  Mamma told me to be sure to take my little suit to have the king and queen pictures taken.

Shoot, I was a second grader know-it-all and stayed with my favorite Aunt Annie.  I convinced my her, you know how second graders are and I was her favorite, that it was not the day to have my picture taken.  Mamma sacrificed to buy the outfit.  I remember it hanging under the plastic by the door as I went to catch the school bus.  I knew I messed up the minute I got on the bus and saw a fifth grader with his suit hanging in the bus. 

Mamma was upset and I look like a little pauper in a shirt and blue jeans standing by my queen.  I should have been smarter and told her that since it was Halloween that I dressed like a little poor boy that did not have a suit.  I sure was glad to see my little brother.  Mamma was so proud of him and did not spend too much time reminding how upset she was with me. I never will forget the look in her eyes for me.  They were not near as happy as they were for my little brother. It did not help when I did not tell her about the pictures the school had for sale of the pauper and queen.

Mamma enjoyed Halloween.  We did not dress in typical costumes.  We dressed in old clothes and went serenading.  One year Mamma dressed up like an old man.  She wore false teeth from age thirty to her death.  Mamma was a tomboy growing up so she could act like a man with a very deep voice.  I drove her from house to house and when we got to her mother’s house, grandmoe ran her away with a double barreled shotgun.  Grandmoe thought she was a cousin who was a drunk.  My great uncle Joe had the best response to mama's shenanigans.  When the "toothless old man tricked and treated Uncle Joe, he and his son and grandson tackled mama to the floor and threaten to amputate a vital organ which mama did not have.  Mama begged her way out and my great uncle and his cohorts were embarrassed.  We had so much fun.

The fondest memory of a Halloween is of Mrs. Blonnie Crumpton.  We went to her house and she had never had anyone trick or treat her.  We looked like a bunch hoodlums or rift raft.  Mrs. Blonnie was the second oldest member of my home church.  Her dad fought in the Civil War.  She was poor and cooked on an old wood stove. 

When momma explained to her the meaning trick or treat, Mrs. Blonnie said, “Come in children.”  She treated us to baked sweet potatoes.  They were in the warmer of that old wood stove.  They were not chocolate or caramel, but they were good.  Every time someone bakes them I think of that great saint of God who my preacher explained as one of the greatest prayer warriors he knew.   Blonnie was kin to my grandmoe through the Crumptons who all loved sweet potatoes.  Dad would refer to the sweet potatoes as "Crumpton Taters."

Today when most people think of Halloween, it is evil.  Evil things happen, but God’s people can do good things just as Mrs. Blonnie did.  Paul admonishes the Romans, “Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” (12:21 ASV)  

We're Porter Sir continued . . . Calamity Jane

 CALAMITY JANE

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 used for Sunday school rooms for us to sleep. I slept on the floor of the children’s classroom. It had carpet.

Pastor Ray told the crew that seven miles up the road on the Interstate we'd find Little America, a large souvenir shop where there were bathrooms and showers for truckers. That was a good hike to use the restroom. We would have used bushes and trees, but there were none. Thank goodness the church did provide us with a van. It was Saturday night, but we could wait until 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 it 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—that’s noise in Alabama—coming toward us, and we heard the banging of car doors. Looking around the corner was an old Toyota pickup. A lady was hauling barrels of water to water small trees in the planned community of Granger. The church was in this small area of development near a river. Other than a honky-tonk, the log cabin was all there 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 needed 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, too. She chastised us when we asked for the man in charge. She was very much in charge.

She wore blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowboy—maybe that should be cowgirl—boots. I want to be politically correct. Her demeanor and her feeble and obedient husband caused us to give her 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 flapping its wings when she skidded up to the log cabin.

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

For three days SO, an old carpenter, and I worked under the log cabin jacking it up. He had been a slave to alcohol but had been gloriously saved and nicknamed Rabbit. Underneath the cabin were skunk dens. Rabbit and I did not change clothes, because we had skunk hair and skunk droppings all over us. We worked and ate alone. We did shower and put on clean underwear each day.

On Wednesday of our week there, 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 plumbing lines.

Rabbit said, “Be quiet and be still.”

Our guys tried to tell Calamity that it was okay; she did not have to launder our clothes, but that was like spitting in the wind or Pecos Bill trying to rope a twister. She demanded that we bring our dirty clothes to her. All of those wimps disappeared and sheepishly 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 reminiscent of the standoff at the shootout at the OK corral. Calamity did not have pistols, but those milksops disappeared and reappeared with their dirty BVDs. 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.

We were able to winterize the little log cabin. Before our arrival, there had been a three-inch gap between the window and the logs. The parishioners had been worshipping in weather that was below freezing. We put in a new ceiling, new lighting, and electrical plugs. It is good to do mission work. It exposes us to people who 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, 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.

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)

 

Who is the Calamity Jane in your life? 

What is the most unusual ministry that you have heard, witnessed, or performed?

How do you respond when things do not go as planned?

Prayer: God, you never change, because You are perfect. Help me change, because I am imperfect. Thank You for life-changing events. Thank You for Calamity Janes, Bertis Rays, “Rabbits,” and porters. Thank You for the changing power of Your Resurrection.

WE’RE PORTERS, SIR

            As Southern Baptists, we have mission work in our blood. Mission work 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 mission trip to Wyoming during the 1980s’ Alabama/Wyoming partnership. The Bridger Valley Baptist Church in Lyman, Wyoming, needed help with a mission in Granger, Wyoming, and Pastor Bertis Ray, an Alabama boy, extended a Macedonian call to come help them.

A log home company donated a building to 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 existence as mission workers. The first trip, we had driven 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 teetotaler 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 because of drinking the communion wine. What I thought of as a holy hush after that moment was really my ears being 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. We saw that the Great Salt Lake resembled an Alabama catfish pond. It was much bigger when we got on the ground. We were glad that we hadn't drunk the wine and that we had 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 his luggage, and we were ready to go, as I waited for my second piece. All of a sudden, the airport went black. The thunderstorm had 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 while I was inside the carousel.

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 it was neighborly of him to offer.

After he had carried our luggage on his 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 from tipping cows. David gave him a dollar. The man snapped his fingers again. David gave more, and I gave some. David was neither a generous giver nor a happy missionary.

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

Finally, we stopped at 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 a flyswatter. Bingo’s had a twelve-ounce T-bone special. I ordered it medium rare. When the cook 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.’” That means you have to do it 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. He heated it thoroughly, and I ate it.

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)

If you have flown, describe how you feel about flying. If you have not, do you desire to fly?

Most believers are stingy when it comes to tipping. What kind of tipper are you?

Have you as an individual, or your church, ever received a Macedonian call?

Prayer: Generous and gracious Father, flying changed my perspective about clouds and the earth. It made me realize how great You are. Meeting new people and ministering in new places gave me a new meaning to the Great Commission. Thank You for Macedonian calls and the ability to respond.

 From Bro Bobby's 31 day Devotional: I Will Speak Using Stories 

To be continued … 

FRUSTRATION

 

Have you ever had a good day suddenly turn into frustration?  Today was one of those days.  It started before my trip to Sam’s in Tuscaloosa, but it was at Sam’s trying to find some apple blossom antibacterial dishwashing detergent that major frustration reared its ugly head.

I don’t think the powers that be for Walmart and Sam’s really know how frustrating their constant changing of product locations is for employees and customers.  Then again, they my get their kicks from doing such things.

I remember trying to find some dried cherries, which are good for arthritis.  One would think that dried cherries would be in the fruit section of Walmart.  Wrong!  They are located next to flour products.

One Christmas on the way to Gulf Shores, I was instructed to stop at the Foley Walmart and buy some cranberry sauce.  I looked high and low to no avail.  I finally asked a lady shopper if she new where they may have hidden it, but she did not know.  I asked a Walmart associate, but she did not know.  I was just about frustrated enough to buy fresh cranberries and crush them myself but another lady over heard my dilemma and told me where I could find the cranberry sauce.  Once again, it was a secret Walmart area.

Webster’s dictionary defines frustrate as “prevent from succeeding, keep from doing, or being a failure.”  The Greek word for frustrate is ekkopto meaning, “to cut off, to cut out.”

I remember being in a “Take Two” safety class where the facilitator asked for the definition of frustration.  I said, “Mill room.”  Everyone in the class agreed.

Gerald, the facilitator asked, “What’s the mill room?”

The mill room housed six finish mills for grinding a mixture of clinkers, limestone, and gypsum to make cement and mortar mix.  Clinkers are limestone, sand, and iron ore ground and then cooked in a kiln.

The mills were large tubular cylinders filled with three-inch steel balls spinning round and round.  The mill room was loud and dusty.  Everyday laborers went into the mill to sweep, pile, shovel, and push wheel barrels of cement waste and dust that leaked or spilled from the mills, discharge chutes, and pipes.  One could never see any progress.  The waste and dust were the same after a few minutes.  Everyday was the same.  Every day was the same!

The mill room was busy work since each employee was guaranteed forty hours each week.  Anytime someone’s job was down, off to the mill room with earplugs, respirators, hardhat, safety glasses, a shop broom, number two flat shovel, and wheel barrel.  Everyday same job, same result.  FRUSTRATION.

Now, back to Sam’s.  My buggy pulled to the right.  I constantly had to push harder on the right side.  I put five gallons of hydraulic fluid on the left side, but it still pulled right.  I put a large container of All liquid detergent on top of the fluid and it still pulled right.  I went up and down aisle after aisle trying to find the Palmolive detergent.  I did some more shopping and returned another time across the store fighting the right determined minded buggy to find the Palmolive detergent.  I could not fine a Sam associate.  I guess someone placed them in an obscure place.

I fought my way to the checkout line.  The cashier said I could keep everything in the buggy.  I gave her my Sam’s card.  Guess what?  She told me that my membership card had not been renewed and that I would have check with Customer Service.

At Customer Service, there were five people ahead of me.  I waited patiently trying to figure out how to find apple blossom Palmolive dishwashing detergent.

Finally, a young girl behind the counter asked if she could help.  I told her that the cashier said I needed to update my membership card.  He checked and told me that the membership fee had not been paid.  I assured her it had she said it had not.  After a frustrating moment with her, I paid the fee only to find that now there were three large carts filled to capacity in my line.

When I got back to the office the secretary gave me the information where the membership had been paid.  I called Sam’s customer service and talked with a representative.  I just thought I was frustrated.  She said that if I would bring back the receipt or a copy of where we paid the bill, that customer service would give me the money.  I informed her that it was not my fault and that she could promptly credit our card so I would not have to make the trip back to Tuscaloosa.

When I think about it, it is the evil one trying to kill my joy and hinder my thoughts before I preach at a revival that night.  This frustration too shall pass.  I get to have my say Monday with the Customer Service manager who was conveniently out of town. 

Monday I could use the Scripture and use ekkopto as found in Matthew 5:30a, but it would not be my right hand.  And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off . . .

So, until Monday, my thoughts will be on Exodus 14:14.

The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.

 

What sends you into panic mode?

I hate to admit it, but I go into panic mode on occasion.  It is said that confession is good for the soul.  I say that it is bad for the ego.  My coworkers once said that I was Mr. Cool when trouble was raging.  What they did not know was I was just as scared as they were.  I could conceal it by pretending to be in control.  If they only knew the truth!

The other day I went into panic mode and it was not a very big event.  I had driven to the local gas station to fill my new zero turn mower with gas.  As I reached to open the tank, I noticed that the right gas cap was missing.  I had checked the gas before leaving home and that’s when the panic started. 

Where was the gas cap?  A new mower and I have already lost one of the two gas caps.  I can’t believe I lost a brand new cap, will they have a new one at Slayton Brothers, will they have to order it, how long will it take, how will I explain to Sharon how a lost the cap, where is it, how can I keep the gas from jumping out, did that mischievous looking young man get my cap while I was not looking, can I find it if I back track my path, did it come off when I left the shed. . .  Did I mention I was about to panic?

After filling both tanks, I borrowed a plastic bag and rubber band from the store clerk and temporarily stopped the hole of the missing cap.  Then in a frantic, not panic, I was calming myself with possible answers to family, friends, the mower salesman, for losing a gas cap.  I backtracked the quarter mile journey back to my shed.  With no gas cap, I retraced my trail back to the store.  I could not enjoy the sweet fragrance of kudzu blooms; they seemed more sickening than refreshing or reassuring.  During the retracing, I saw everything a person could imagine but no gas cap.  I turned around at the store and retraced the path back home again.  Three trips and no cap.

I began a journey of panic recovery.  It was silly of me to panic over a plastic gas cap.  Then, I thought of other times I panicked.  There was the time when my son Aaron, a seven-month-old in a baby car seat locked the car door.  It was December, it was cold, the car was running, and I was trying to get to my college graduation rehearsal.  I imagined the headlines: College graduate so stupid baby dies in locked car from carbon monoxide poisoning.  Yep, I panicked.  I tried to find another key, I picked up a brick to knock out the car window, I googooed and gagaed trying to get Aaron to hit the electric lock again, and I finally decided to break into the car.  I got a clothes hanger, jimmied the car door, and pulled the lock open.

My mind continued race as I returned home and began cutting grass.  I thought about the time I could not find the laptop I had checked out of the Samford Library.  Several of us who were working on our doctorates used laptops to take notes.  I remember having it when I got into the car for the forty-five-minute trip to school.  Where was it, did I put on the top of the car when I loaded my books, did it fall on the driveway, did it fall on the highway, how much will it cost, will it cost me my graduation, will they take a credit card, will I have to work off the payment. . .  All these things raced through my mind as I frantically searched the back seat and the trunk over and over.  When I finally decided to face the music by breaking the bad news to the library, I realized the laptop was in its bag and on my shoulder.  Did you know that laughing at yourself relieves panic?

As I giggled about the laptop, I resolved to bite the bullet and suffer the consequences of losing a cap.  I would tell everyone that I was just a dummy.  It was a trivial and insignificant loss and could happen to anyone over age fifty.  There are more urgent matters, such as adjusting my seat.  The seat belt was hung so I had to step off the mower to make the adjustment.  As I reached between the seat and mower, there was the lost gas cap.  I laughed as I said, “Thank you Jesus.”  I thought that sometimes it is silly what sends us into panic mode.

An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up (Proverbs 12:25 NIV).

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you (I Peter 5:7 NIV).

The Hurt in My Brother's Eye

Several years ago I had compassion for my little brother at a funeral.  It was my little brother’s best friend who had a heart attack at age forty-seven.  All of us were together back in May for a wedding of my nephew, my little brother’s son.  It is sobering remembering that in May we were having a great time singing with the aid of a Deejay with a karaoke machine and in September my brother and I were solemnly singing How Great Thou Are at his best friend’s funeral.

At the funeral I thought about watching my little brother and his friend when they were small.  Sometimes that is how you picture people regardless of their age.  My little brother is six feet four inches tall and weighs @ 250.  He looks like Steve Austin, the professional wrestler.  In fact he has stopped trying to convince people he is not Steve Austin and started signing autographs.  He said it was not worth the trouble.

One of my fondest memories is around the start of school and fall of the year.  My little brother was not old enough to be in school and one day when we got off the school bus he ran to meet us.  We could not wait to get home and pull off our shoes.  Don’t laugh.  We did not wear shoes during the summer so after a long day of new school shoes it was a wonderful to free cramped feet.

We were playing outside and we heard a loud scream.  Momma’s first inclination was kids fighting, but we were all with her except little brother.  Momma ran to find him.  He appeared to be all right so she asked him what was wrong.  He told her that he was okay, but momma told him that he screamed for some reason.

Now, you have to understand our upbringing.  If you got hurt you also got a whuppin’ which is Chiltonian for whipping.  That was life in the hills and hollers of Chilton County.  Don’t tell momma you were hurt.

Momma looked my little brother in the eyes and made a frightening discovery.  His eye was bleeding from four, that’s right, 4 holes in his eyeball.  Blood and other gooey substance were coming from his eye.  Knowing he would get a whuppin’, he refused to say what happened.   After threatening to kill him if he didn’t tell, my little brother “spilled the beans.”

It seems that the day had been cool and momma made him wear some work boots.  When we got home and pulled off our shoes, he wanted to pull off his.  The laces had a knot and somewhere along the way he had learned you could use a fork to pry loose a knot in shoe laces.  Using pressure in an effort to untie the knot, he poked the fork in his eye.  Afraid momma would “whup” him, he pulled it out.

Momma went ballistic.  She called daddy who worked evening shift.  He rushed home and took him to our family doctor, the famous Dr. Joe, my cousin Stevie’s best friend.  Dr. Joe sent daddy to the Eye Foundation Hospital in Birmingham.

This was back before Interstate 65 was complete.  Daddy swung back by the house to tell momma he was headed to Birmingham.  He made the trip of 50 miles in forty-five minutes.  That’s not remarkable now days, but in 1967 on dirt roads, farm to market highways, and old US Highway 31 it is pretty impressive.  Take into consideration that a Montevallo police pulled daddy over, it is pretty extraordinary.

When the officer asked daddy what was the hurry, daddy told my brother to look the policeman in the eye.  The officer told daddy to follow him and escorted our old 1958 Chevrolet Biscayne right to downtown Birmingham.

My little brother’s pupil is oblong and looks like a cat’s eye, but he has perfect vision.  I think often of that fork in his eye.  I noticed him at the funeral as he took a handkerchief and wiped tears.  Once again I saw hurt in my brother’s eye.

And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?  Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?  Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye (Matthew 7:3-5 KJV).