"Miss Myrtle"

The obituary in the Clanton Advertiser stated, “Myrtle Mary Littleton, 73, of Clanton died Saturday, July 7, at her residence.”  Hundreds of men, women, boys, and girls knew her as “Miss Myrtle”. She had a heavy British accent even though she lived in Clanton, Alabama most of her life.  She was determined to maintain her accent as she taught English to her pupils at the Clanton Middle School.

She influenced everyone involved in Youth Rallies in Chilton County from the 1970’s to the new millennium.  Dr. Charles Christmas, retired Director of Missions, says of her, ““Miss Myrtle” was truly gifted of God to work with youth. The best evidence of this was that she had this excellent relationship and leadership even into her retirement years. She adjusted to change over the years like the old slogan, “anchored to the Rock but geared to the times.””

She never seemed old because she surrounded herself with youth.  She was timeless and tireless in her efforts to teach children about Jesus.  As Vacation Bible School Director for Chilton Association, I had “Miss Myrtle” on the team.  She hated doing the skits, but the skit was everyone’s favorite and she made it very funny with her British accent.  She petitioned to eliminate the skit each year, but the people wanted it and it was vital for the energy of the clinic so she did it.

When the Associational youth went on mission each summer, she required them to attend the Associational VBS clinics.  She took them to teach VBS to South Dakota, Texas, Wyoming, and Massachusetts and other places in which Alabama Baptist had partnerships each summer.

She sponsored monthly Saturday night youth rallies, summer Sunday nights in the park, area-wide youth revivals, college/career beach ministry, and training events for church youth leaders to learn and improve skills.  Evangelist Scott Dawson preached one of his first sermons at a youth event led by “Miss Myrtle”.  She provided many young preachers the opportunity to get valuable experience.  She also had some well-known speakers.

One night at one of her “Great Days in May” event Coach Tommy Bowden, then assistant at Auburn and later at Clemson as head coach told “Miss Myrtle” that he would be like to speak at one the events.  Now, you have to understand that “Miss Myrtle” did not know the coach.  She taught English, not football.  With that heavy British accent, she asked Coach Bowden, “Who are you and what do you do?”

Everyone standing near the conversation had a look of disbelief and absurdity.  Here is the coach famous for the “Tommy Gun” offense wanting to preach and share his testimony with hundreds of youth, children, and parents free of charge.  Most times people of his stature charge for events.

Coach Bowden replied, “I coach football at Auburn.”  That did not impress “Miss Myrtle.”  She would not allow just anyone to speak to her youth.  She had every event planned in minute detail.

I do not remember the exact words but “Miss Myrtle” asked something like, what do you have to say and what credentials do you have to say it.  It was hilarious and awkward time.  Coach Bowden did speak and everyone enjoyed his testimony and there were those who accepted the Lord.  He signed many autographs that night for those who knew him.

“Miss Myrtle” was very generous with her time, energy, and money.  She attended every event in Baptist life in Chilton Association.  She was a Christian Energizer Bunny.  On mission projects, she would provide motherly love for the homesick, mild, but wise counsel to the discourteous, and money to youth who may have not carried enough money to spend the week.

Her success was that she was always behind the scene.  She was not upfront but always in charge.  She encouraged those with talents to exercise them.  In her passing she passed the Gospel torch to pastors, youth minister, ministers of music, deacons, Sunday School teachers, VBS workers and countless others she discipled as youth.

. . . Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord (Matthew 25:21KJV).

“Miss Myrtle” was not perfect, none of us are.  She was faithful because Jesus made a difference in her life.  She made a difference in the loves of others including yours truly.  Did I forget to mention that she was a volunteer over thirty years?

The Three Monkeys of see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil

Polistes Carolina, Vespula vulgaris, Dolichovespula maculate, Apis mellifera, and Bombus terrestris are terrible little creatures.  Their very presence strikes fear into most people.  Some people face death as these creatures buzz around them.  They are red wasps, yellow jackets, hornets, honey bees, and bumble bees.

The other day I had to rid an eve of a nest of polistes or red wasps.  As I bravely approached the nest with a can of wasp spray, I remembered what my daddy always said when big boys were picking on me.  Yes, I was a runt at one time.  He said, “Son, size don’t matter, a guinea wasp can make a cow run.”  They can make this oversized runt run also.  Anecdotal evidence suggests that Red Wasp stings feel more painful than stings from other Paper Wasp species.  I have had my share of stings.  I know that some people must carry an epinephrine pen because bee stings are fatal for them.  Fortunately, I do not need one.

My mind returned to 1960 at the eve of our house.  My daddy started building our house in the early to mid 1950’s.  Before he completed it, we moved to Illinois for three years and then returned back living with an Aunt until daddy completed the house.  You can imagine how a construction site looks after a three-year absence.  The eves of the house were full of red wasp nests.

Under the eve of the house was a huge red wasp nest.  It was full of red-orange death.  My Grandpaw Chapman used the larvae from the wasp nests to bream fish.  I watched him take a long stick and knock down a nest.  It looked like fun for a seven-year-old.  A short time later, I took a long stick and punched the orange-red covered nest.  It is hard to explain what happened next, but with the speed of a platoon of kamikaze dive-bombers, red wasps confused my sandy blond hair for a rival wasp gang buzzing the eve of the house for territorial rights.  Grandpaw did not have this problem.

I learned that day that red wasps are territorial and sting when provoked.  That evening I understood what it meant to be a knot head.  I had wasp stings all over my head.

Since that morning I have been chased down or either stung by honey bees that do not like being disturbed by a starting diesel John Deer tractor, hornets that do not like their nest being vibrated by an injector killing the their tree house, yellow jackets of the same tree that do not approve of the roots of their tree being jarred, and bumble bees that hate the roar of a bush hog trimming their yard.

I went to a friend’s house and a heinous monster greeted us.  Actually, the heinous monster was my friend whose face honeybees had distorted and his eyes swollen shut.  His dad and brother had been robbing a bee gum.  The younger brother did not like an itty, bitty honeybee buzzing around his nose.  Warned by his dad and brother not to provoke the bee, the bee unnerved the younger brother and he did an uh oh! Yep, he swatted at the bee knocking on his dad’s lip.

Honeybees seek revenge when humans steal their honey and take swats at their workers. The next day, a Sunday, was a humorous day for my friend’s household.  The swatting dad had huge lips, my friend had swollen eyes, and the younger brother, the one that escaped without a sting, had swollen ears for hearing the bee raid over and over.  I could not help but laugh.  My friend, his dad, and younger brother looked like the three monkeys of see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.  The evil was stealing itty, bitty bee honey.

With all those stinging thoughts, I readied my can of spray just like  a gun slinging cowboy flexing his fingers before a gunfight.  With the speed of a darting bee, I brutally executed those red stinging carriers of death.  One by one they dropped.  One last desperado hid behind the nest waiting to get retribution for his fallen comrades.  When he moved, I got him and he too floated harmlessly to the ground.  I blew the nozzle of the can and sang, “Another One Bites the Dust Uh Huh.”

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?  The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.  But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ (I Corinthians 15:55-57 KJV).

Hogs and Hoppers

Discussions while sitting around a dinner table after a funeral can be very interesting.  The funeral was for Raymond, a former minister of music of at the church I pastored in Clanton.  He became a mentor to me for the five years we served together.  It was an honor to participate in his funeral and comfort the family and friends.

Sharing memories together at the table, the conversation quickly turned to the aches and pains of growing old.  We talked of knee pains and replacements.  One nephew-in-law talked of his foot stress and early retirement.  There was talk of all the medicines, which most of us could not pronounce.  A nephew said he had heart trouble and that his doctors wanted to know what medicines his cardiologist prescribed.  He said he did not have a cardiologist and did not take any medicines.

The nephew said that he was born with the defect and had a valve from a pig implanted to replace his defective valve.  I asked since the transplant did he have a craving for corn.  I can be a smart aleck at times.  He joked back and said he had told his son that he craved corn and could no longer eat pork.

Someone asked him if the cardiologist told him not to eat the pork.  The nephew said, “No, now that I had a pig valve, it is hard to eat my fellow pigs’ flesh.”  This was ironic since the church was serving the family pork barbecue.  Yes, he was eating his fellow pigs.

Pork is a main staple in the South, especially during Independence Day activities.  My brother is cooking a whole hog for a community gathering July 1-2.  He said he was starting at midnight and cooking the hog all night.

It is going to be a fun filled weekend.  My brothers and I are the main attraction for the community event.  Originally, it was called the Hopper Brothers Reunion, because all three of us serve outside Chilton County and our home church wanted us to return to share our talents.  We sing, play musical instruments, write songs, and generally have a lot of fun together.

There will be the hog, chicken quarters, and all the fixin’s.  There will be singing, playing, cousins, friends, and games Saturday from three in the afternoon until who knows when.  The pastor there said he had “blowup” slides for the kids.  It is an outside event at a friend’s farm.  Plan B will utilize my home church’s Family Life Center.  With all the rain, Plan B may be a reality.  Sunday, The Hopper Trio will be leading in Worship.  It is a “you all” come event.

When I think about hogs, I am reminded the story of Jesus and the swine.

So the devils besought him (Jesus), saying, If thou cast us out, suffer us to go away into the herd of swine.  And he said unto them, Go. And when they were come out, they went into the herd of swine: and, behold, the whole herd of swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea, and perished in the waters.  And they that kept them fled, and went their ways into the city, and told every thing, and what was befallen to the possessed of the devils. And, behold, the whole city came out to meet Jesus: and when they saw him, they besought him that he would depart out of their coasts (Matthew 8:31-34 KJV).

This was the invention of “deviled ham” and it brings back memories of my days as a contract negotiator.  Businessmen more concerned with profit than with the souls of people, asked Jesus to leave.  I experienced something similar. 

I was involved in a toxic waste issue at the cement plant in Calera.  Our local union supported a community group that was protesting the burning of toxic waste in the cement kilns.  The men in the plant were concerned with the waste being to dangerous to handle and process.  This community group made the Chamber of Commerce for the city of Pelham very uncomfortable.  They we so upset that members of the Chamber and a delegation of business men approached me and tried to convince me to back the union off because it was causing no small stir when trying to bring new businesses into Shelby County.  They had very strong, threating language for me.

I looked this group of professionals dead into the eye and said, “The lives of the men and women in the plant and people and the communities in which they live are more important that making millions of dollars especially when businesses do more to harm than to help.  The lives of people are more important than immoral monies.”

This last time I read the Bible, which is daily; Jesus is more concerned with the souls of people than sales and profit.

As we celebrated Independence Day in days of COVID 19, let us remember that men and women sacrificed and died for our freedom and the establishment of a moral society and government.  Pray for those entities that would misuse freedom to destroy lives for gain.  Pray that our churches to find those that sin has bound and share the freedom of Jesus in His redemptive blood and give hope.

I HAD THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE

From my devotion  I Will Speak Using Stories 

            Have you ever wondered what you will be doing when the Lord returns? Some will be working, some sleeping, some praying, some crying, and some will be doing inappropriate things. Those not ready for His coming will not have time to get ready.

            I know that I have been some places where I've prayed, “Lord, please do not come again while I am here and in this predicament.” I know full well that when the Lord comes, there will be some very embarrassed believers. It is important to be ready and not be caught off-guard when the trumpet sounds.

            I had a taste of not being ready one year during plum-picking time in Alabama. It was a sultry spring afternoon, when by brother-in-law drove into our yard.  The kids, and I were on the back of my old GMC pickup, picking plums.

            Now, if you have ever picked plums, you understand how nasty this job can be. We were covered in sweat and plum juice, making us giant sticky pads for collecting dust, pollen, dirt, and any other particle that might be floating in the air. We were a pretty sticky sight.

            My brother-in-law wanted us to ride down and visit his other brother-in-law. My brother-in-law had the distinction of having two brothers-in-law in the ministry. It was his other brother-in-law’s birthday.

            My brother-in-law could not accept no for an answer. We had to go celebrate, so we all loaded into his pickup and headed out to surprise the birthday boy. Two grown men and five kids were in back of the pickup, when en route the pickup started making a rattling noise. My sister-in-law stopped the truck, and, when I raised the hood, I was subjected to another sticky substance: antifreeze steam.

            My brother-in-law is not mechanically inclined, which meant he had no tools in his truck. We were close to our destination, so we waited for the engine to cool and then continued to the house of my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law.

            When we got there, they were having a party; everyone was dressed for a party except us. Remember, we were in work clothes. I wore shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes—all covered in plum juice, sweat, dust, dirt, and antifreeze. We were all embarrassed.

            The birthday boy’s family did not know we were coming and were as the virgins were with no oil when the bridegroom returned. They did not have any food, cake, or ice cream for guests. We were uncomfortable as we sat around in our sticky attire.

            After the birthday party, we went outside to work on the pickup. My brother-in-law’s brother-in-law is not mechanically inclined either, but he did own some pliers and a screwdriver. I diagnosed the problem as a frozen thermostat. My brother-in-law asked how something frozen could cause the pickup to run hot. I explained that the mechanism that controlled the water flow had not opened, and this had restricted the flow of the water that cooled the engine. Unfortunately, the tools we had were not those we needed, but I did use the screwdriver to remove the hose above the thermostat. It had some pressure and spewed antifreeze on me.

            By this time, I had plum juice, sweat, dirt, dust, more antifreeze, grease, black residue from an old water hose—and a very irritated brother-in-law. I calmed him down by assuring him I could use the screwdriver to remove the hose and to punch a hole in the thermostat, thus allowing the coolant to flow and cool the engine.

            Then, right on cue, a spring shower began in the Alabama twilight. Now, on top of everything else, I was wet and contemplating a twenty-five-mile ride in the back of a pickup with all the kids. Just then, my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law returned with a blue tarp that was covered in dirt, dust, and mildew. Now I had mildew on me.

            My brother-in-law elected to drive the pickup, thinking he could do a better job at keeping it cool than his wife had. We had fun under the tarp, but I feared we would be pulled over by the police suspecting we were illegal refugees. Instead, my brother-in-law pulled over because the pickup was overheating again.

            He was in a panic. It was dark and raining; we had no tools, and we were in a small town, which rolled the streets up after dark. I directed him to a closed filling (gag) station, which had an overhead canopy and some lighting. He was exasperated, so I sent him in search of something to get water. While he was searching, I took the tire tool (some call it jack handle) and used the flattened end as a screwdriver to undo the clamp on the hose. Then I used the tire tool as a punch to destroy the thermostat. I replaced everything and filled the radiator with water, and we started back home.

            My brother-in-law was amazed at what I had done. I just wanted to get home. It had stopped raining and an Alabama fog filled the night. The kids and I, wet, cold, and shivering, sang, “B-I-.N-G-O, and Bingo was his name-o,” as those enjoying the warmth in the cab watched the varmints come alive and scurry along the highway.

            When we pulled into our driveway, I was so happy to see the house and think of the warm shower waiting for me. My brother-in-law, who was on cloud nine, said, “I had the best time of my life.” I could not believe what I was hearing. I could only think, Lord, I know how people with sin in their lives are going feel when you come again. I felt so dirty. Thank God for cleansing through the blood of Jesus.

For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. (I Thessalonians 4:16–17, KJV)

Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us. But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not. Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh. (Matthew 25:11–13, KJV)

For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins. (Matthew 26:28, KJV)

In whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins. (Colossians 1:14, KJV)

But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin. (I John 1:7, KJV)

Describe a time in your life when you felt dirty—physically and spiritually.



What did you do to get clean?



How did you feel when you asked the Lord to cleanse you?





Prayer: Father Incarnate, You provided one way to eternity through the shedding of Your blood, the cleansing power that washes white as snow. Thank You for salvation. Help us remember the cost of Calvary and the power of the Resurrection. Increase our faith as we ask Your forgiveness.

“The Only Color Here is Green”

I had the privilege of working at a cement plant in Calera, Alabama for eighteen years.  Old timers referred to it as Southern Cement, one of the many names given to each with each corporate change.  It was Martin Marietta Cement when I started in 1976 and Blue Circle Inc when I left in 1994.

The cement industry is hot, nasty, dangerous, but paid good money.  I had literally begged to get a job there.  It was one of a handful of companies in my home area that young men sought to have.  I was the last man hired in October of 1976 and would be the junior man for five years.  There were 225 men with no women inside the plant.  The plant manager had a female secretary.

Employees of Southern had status in Central Alabama.  The plant is near the geographical center of the state and provided employment for men from Bibb, Chilton, Dallas, Jefferson, Perry, and Shelby Counties.  These men would become my brothers and the plant our plant.  It was Union and we were Local Union 50537 with one hundred percent membership and held monthly meetings.

Almost like an exclusive club, my brothers at the plant wanted to know how I got hired.  If you were hired, it was not by application, but by knowing and having someone on the inside.  I did know several men there and went to church with some.  I learned early in life that it is “not what you know, but who you know.”

The employee ratio was sixty percent black and forty percent white, but I learned immediately that the only color at the plant was green (MONEY).  Racial problems were non-existent.  I remember one brother yelled, “Hey boy come here.”  My brother responded, “There are only two kinda of boys, White Boys and Cowboys.”  When the table was turned, my brother would reply, “There are only Black Boys and Cowboys.”  Everyone would laugh, hug, and remain brothers.

Around 1988, came the first new hiring in ten years.  Hiring was non-discriminatory and the 60/40 ratio continued.  One of the new hires was a troublemaker.  I worked with him and tried to help him.  He was lazy with an attitude “You owe me.”  He would not work during his probationary time.  I told him that they were monitoring him.  He told me that he did not care.

Serving in the Union as Grievance Chairman, the Human Resource Manager asked me what I thought of the new hire near the end of his probation.  I told him that it would be a mistake because the man was trouble.  The human resource man told me that several supervisors and employees expressed the same concern. 

One of our black supervisors petitioned to hire the man.  I told the human resource man that it was a mistake and that when trouble arose that I would have to represent the new hire.

The new hire wasted no time causing trouble.  He filed a grievance over an issue that he was in the wrong.  I went to him to discuss the grievance and he told me that he did not want a white man representing him.  He told me that I would not fight for him because he was black.  I told him the only color a in the plant was “green” and I did not care if he was purple, pink, or yellow.  I told him that no one else felt the way he did.  I reminded him that union meetings were predominately black and that I had been elected president and for several year been elected as grievance chairman by my brothers.  I told him that should tell him something.

He caused so much disturbance that by black brothers gave him a “belt whipping” in the company showers.  They told him the only color in the plant was green, there was no racial trouble, and that there would not be any trouble.

Our “troubled brother” faked an injury and sued the company.  The human resource man summoned me to his office, told me that they had been building a file against the man, and had evidence that he faked his injury and committed fraud against the insurance company.  He said he should have listened to me in the beginning.  He did not understand the unique relationship between the men in the plant.  We were brother and had unity as evidenced during contract negotiations.

I miss my brothers since retiring. Many have gone to be with Lord.  I see the surviving occasionally, especially at annual picnics.  We will always be brothers even as the world around us becomes racially combative.



Where there is neither Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free: but Christ is all and in all. Colossians 3:11 KJV