Maytag, Dependable Agitators

Several years ago, I confessed to someone that I was a mass murderer.  I got the “look” from her.  Let me explain.  I had carried a bag of trash to the outside trashcan for city pickup.  When I raised the lid, I realized that I had stirred up a supply detachment of “sugar ants.”  I do not know how they got that name; I grew up with daddy calling the by an Old Testament word, which I would rather not write.  They are anything but sweet.  They are a nuisance.  I retrieved my bug killer spray and killed hundreds of the pesky rascals. 

They had taken up residence in my Honda Civic.  They love the dead bugs in the grill.  I had a can of Raid in the Civic.  I think they have built a hive or nest in the car somewhere.  Thank goodness, they do not sting as do those sorry, good for nothing, demons called fire ants, but they do pinch.  The best thing about sugar ants is where they are, fire ants ain’t.  Rarely do you have both species.

My place Sugar Ridge in Chilton County was a haven for fire ants.  They had mounds everywhere.  I admire the work ethics of fire ants, but their battle tactics are swifter than the ancient Philistines.  Both sugar and fire ants have a sophisticated communication system that many modern communications companies envy.  When I kill a sugar ant, I watch as the straight lines of their comrades’ start evasive maneuvers.  If I drop a piece of bread, within minutes ants are forming supply lines.

When I stir up fire ant mounds, they immediately go into attack and rebuilding modes.  I love stirring up fire ants, because they are vicious.  Using a hoe or broom handle, I bore deep into the mound to kill them from the inside. Through the years, I have tried various methods of mass destruction.  Burnt motor oil and gasoline are more effective than most other types ant poison.  Sometimes I feel as though I am a mad scientist or dictator trying to create new weapons of mass destruction.

They always counter attack.  Just when you think you have conquered them, you realize that they replaced the destroyed mount with another nearby and used the moving opportunity to built two or three new subdivisions.

I know when I was cutting the grass in the pasture; I would send ants flying everywhere.  I think that is where my stirring up abilities originated.  I remember cutting my uncle’s pasture and I stirred up some bumblebees.  The tractor was not moving fast enough, so I jumped from the tractor and out run the bumblebees.

Working summers while in high school with Hiwassee Land Company, my coworkers, and I would stir up yellow jackets.  They are very protective of their hives.  On one occasion, Larry, my cousin, was jabbing on a tree.  Suddenly he realized that these yellow and black kamikazes covered his pants.  Now, I admit that it was funny to watch one another running and screaming, “Yellow Jackets,” through the woods.  Larry did not run, but stood swiping yellow jackets from his blue jeans and slowly saying, “I think I’m in a “yellar jackit nest.” 

Unfortunately, the hickey tree he jabbed housed an integrated duplex.  In the basement were the yellow jackets, while in the high rise resided the hornets.  Yellow jackets are small fast and fierce, but hornets are bigger, faster, and carry a big punch.  While Larry swiped yellow jackets, the hornets swirled around their eloquently fashioned papier-mâché, which had more security guards than a New York Art Museum.  Suddenly, a hornet went into a nosedive and hit Larry between the shoulders.  He hit the ground face first as those of us who watched ran screaming through the woods, “hornets!”

Getting back to cutting the pasture, along with bumblebees, yellow jackets, and ant mounds, are cow patties.  Those innocent looking circular mounds, when stirred up, can cause a stink.  Sometimes we played baseball and football in the pasture.  Up home, we call this cow pasture ball.  Sometimes we would use the dried cow patties as bases for baseball.  One Sunday while playing baseball in a neighbor’s cow pasture, one of our teammates slide into second base only to discover it was not completely dry.  He stirred up an oozie stink.

Several of you have read articles where I mentioned my nickname at the Calera Cement Plant.  My co-worker and friend, J.W. Tucker, I think he was my friend, started calling me Maytag.  At first, I thought it was because I was dependable, like the Maytag appliance commercials.  J.W. said it was because I was an “Agitator.”

Through the years, I realized it was not a derogatory nickname.  Those who stir up people can be an agitator, but also one who campaigns or motivates people.  I hear motivational speakers make big money to motivate people.

Churches have been and will continue to be in revival.  Effective revival evangelists and preachers have the gift to stir up the people initiating revival. 

When political chaos reached an all time low, God became man to stir up His people.  Churches can be like ant mounds sitting with all the unseen activity, or crusty dry cow patty, or papier-mâché nest which have negative results. Can it be that the times in which we live need a little motivation? 

 

And they were the more fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place (Luke 23:5 KJV).

 

And the Lord stirred up an adversary unto Solomon, Hadad the Edomite: he was of the king's seed in Edom (I Kings 11:14 KJV).

Those That Wash Our Feet

Great and miraculous events with wonderful and dedicated believers fill my ministry.  God blesses in spite of our inadequacies.  Someone shared with me a divine moment at one of my former pastorates and it happened during our evening services named Discipleship.  Discipleship was that Sunday gathering of the saints that started as BYPU, then Training Union, later Church Training, and finally Discipleship Training.  Most churches do not have Sunday night services or Discipleship Training and we wonder why Good Old Southern Baptists fall for the latest Spiritual Gimmick or “mystical pony show.”

Less I digress, Ms. Faye was a Discipleship leader who was not only a great teacher of God’s Word, but was one of the most compassionate persons I have had the opportunity to serve.

It was unbelievable how sweet, encouraging, and caring she was considering the ferociousness of her two brothers, both who happened to be my high school football coaches.  Their encouragement was, “Hopper give me twenty-five pushups and try and get it right this time.  Faye, and husband Raymond, were mentors in my life. 

The divine moment occurred when Faye entered the all-ladies Discipleship class of Friendship Baptist Church with a towel and bowl.  She commented to the ladies that she was not disrobing as Jesus did but she wanted to wash their feet.

She did not have any water, but she symbolically washed the feet of each of the ladies of her Discipleship class.  Getting down her knees she, spoke of the Scripture from the Gospel of John:  He riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and took a towel, and girded himself.  After that he poureth water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded.  Then cometh he to Simon Peter: and Peter saith unto him, Lord, dost thou wash my feet?  Jesus answered and said unto him, What I do thou knowest not now; but thou shalt know hereafter.  Peter saith unto him, Thou shalt never wash my feet. Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me (13:4-8 KJV).

Faye is a remarkable believer demonstrating love, mercy, and forgiveness.  The ladies of her class understood the sacrifice she made as she humbled herself by the act of getting on her knees.  Faye was a breast cancer survivor. 

The last time I saw her was June 28, 2017 at Brother Raymond’s funeral, which I did his eulogy.  The ravages of time, heartache, and cancer consumed her frail little body.  She tried to hug my neck, but could not raise her arm above her shoulder, a side effect from breast cancer.

The ladies that were the recipient of her love for them will never forget her act of humility and service.  Faye understood that we are all sinners in need of a Savior and friends that will bow in humility to pray for those of us that are struggling with the cares of life and the attacks of the evil one.

Faye, along with several other ladies, went to Shocco Springs Baptist Retreat in Talladega for an Alabama Baptist State Board of Mission ladies’ conference.  Donna Douglas, Elly Mae, of The Beverly Hillbillies, was the main speaker.  Ms. Douglas was a motivational speaker and believer.  Faye asked Ms. Douglas to share her salvation experience.

Faye noticed that Ms. Douglas never talked about admitting she was a sinner and experienced salvation by the blood of Jesus.  Faye was convinced that Ms. Douglas had never experienced salvation and wanted to know for certain.   Faye witnessed to her.  That is the kind and compassionate person that Faye was.

Donna Douglas died from pancreatic cancer on January 1, 2015.  Five years later, July 26, 2020 Ms. Faye joined her in Heaven.  I had the honor and privilege to say final words about my wonderful friend.  One of my favorite stories from her happened at a red light.  Her car stalled and she could not start it.  A man behind her honked his horn.  Faye went to his car and said, "If you will start my car, I will honk your horn."  That was my Faye.

Just as Jesus and Faye washed the feet of those they loved, churches, certain pastors, and cherished members of Bethel Baptist Association washed my feet for fourteen years.  They provided me opportunities to use gifts that I never realized God entrusted me.  These dear saints have been complimentary, generous, and most of all, encouragers to me.  There is no way to say thank them enough for their support and faithfulness.  I am humbled when I think of our precious moments together.  Thank you for “washing my feet.”

 

Philippians 1:6

My Friend Bailey

Have you ever had a “gut feeling”?  You know the one where you got about something and hoped it was not true.  I had one the other day.  I was going up home to check on our place, to cut grass, and do yard work.  On the way there I had a feeling that my friend Bailey was in a bad way. 

Bailey was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about a year ago.  I tried to visit him each time I went home, but for the last several weeks I could not get an answer when I called him.  I figured he was too sick and did not feel like talking and did not want company.  His wife Judy kept me informed through e-mail about each doctor visit Bailey made, so I was able to keep up that way.

I first met Bailey when I attended the University of Montevallo.  I worked in the Physical Plant with the grounds crew cutting grass.  Bailey introduced himself by throwing tennis balls at the grounds pickup as we passed him in the carpenter pickup.  Bailey worked in the carpenter shop.

I made a point to visit the carpenter shop because of my love for the smell of fresh cut wood and the love of building.  I tried to get a job in the carpenter shop, but they did not have any openings.  That changed when the supervisor learned of my cabinet making skills.  This began a long-term friendship with Bailey.

Bailey began at the university on a basketball scholarship from Berry High School.  Berry is now Hoover High School.  Bailey loved to shoot basketball.  He had the built for it at six feet, six inches tall.  We played every chance we got.  He towered over me and Bailey made me feel short and feel more conscious of me being taller than most folks. 

He chose Montevallo over Auburn to play basketball, but quit.  He never got a degree but he did go to work for the University.  He loved working there and I loved working with him.  Bailey was a perfectionist and I like that.  Every job we did, we did to perfection.

I worked flexible hours in the carpenter shop and Bailey would take me to class and pick me up after class.  I got to play volleyball with the carpenter shop as part of the exercise and fitness program of the university.  The carpenter and paint shop would beat the electrical and plumbing shop every time we played because of Bailey’s and my height.

One fond memory is every day Bailey and I would go to the daycare at the Methodist church to pick up his son Keaton then take him to his grandparents who lived near the church.  Bailey loved that little Keaton and a short time later cute little Ashley.  That was more than twenty years ago.  Keaton and Ashley have graduated the university.

Bailey’s surname is Santa Cruz.  I could not understand how this giant, red-haired, fair complexioned man had a Spanish name.  It surprised Bailey knowing I was a history major and did not know.  He said that King Philip of Spain married the Queen of Ireland resulting in Irish people with Spanish names.  People were surprised when they met Bailey thinking he was a short dark complexioned Latino, but seeing this tall Irishman.

I went to see Bailey as soon as I heard that he had cancer.  I wanted to know for sure how he was and what condition he was mentally, physically, and spiritually.  I could tell something was wrong even through his assurance that he was okay.  Each time I visited, you could see the deterioration.

The last time I saw him I called to see if he was up for some company.  He said come over he had just wakened from a nap and wanted me over for a visit.  He was weak and pale, but greeted me with his patented smile.  You know you have a true friend when your conversation picks up where you left it regardless of the time in between tête-à-têtes.  That’s a fancy word for heart-to-heart conversations.

Bailey and I talked about his dream house on Lake Shechi which started as a small block cabin and Bailey transformed into a beautiful home in the almost thirty-one years that Judy and he lived there..  We talked about his meticulous care of the centipede and the quality of fishing on the lake.  We talked of the Lord and His care and steady confidence that he was a winner if he lived or died.

At his funeral I learned that Bailey and a college friend played guitars and sang A Living Prayer as a duet at the Methodist Church.  His friend, Kneeland, sang the song solo at the funeral.  I could hear and see Bailey playing and singing.  Bailey told me once how he learned to play and harmonize with Kneeland and others in dorm bathrooms.  Every time we worked in the one where they practiced he would comment about the great acoustics.

Bailey went to be with the Lord on his birthday.  What a day to start eternity! I told Judy at the funeral that true friends were hard to find and I had lost a good one.  She said, “I know.”

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted (Matthew 5:4 KJV).