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 …