Billboards on Life's Highway

Traveling the highways, we see lots of billboards.  On our last trip to Baytown Texas for my son Aaron’s wedding, there were hundreds of billboards.  Not too far from Aaron’s apartment is the world’s largest gas station named Buc-ee’s.  Of course, it is the largest.  What else would you expect from the state that boasts the largest of everything? 

Buc-ee’s is known for billboards by Texas interstate highways with simple and humorous slogans.  One of my favorites is:  Two reasons to stop at Buc-ee’s, # 1 and #2.  The Baytown Buc-ee’s is 60,000 square feet, sits on 18 acres, has 96 gas pumps, and employs 200.  Buc-ees also has the cleanest bathrooms.  Two employees' sole purpose is cleaning the bathrooms 24 hours a day for #1 and #2.

From three hundred miles from Baytown, we started reading the billboards.  The billboards were better than the GPS.  The ideas behind the billboards: When motorists pull in to use the restroom, they are like to buy.  For me it means how far I was from Aaron.

There is a large billboard on I-110 in Pensacola, Florida advertising the Andrews Institute that says, “The world comes to Gulf Breeze.”  It is true people from over the world come to Gulf Breeze to have surgery.  I know I went there.

As a kid, I remember a barn north of Jemison that had “See Rock City” painted on its tin roof.  For several years traveling with the Bethel Baptist Builders, I have seen dozens of old barns with the “See Rock City slogans.  I have been by Rock City on many occasions, especially with the Builders, but have never been there.  My destination is the Builder work site and I resist the temptation thinking that one day Rock City will be the destination.

Billboards are very tempting.  My friend Michael Mason has a chapter in his book True titled 1-800-2good2Btrue.  He says, “That if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”  As a traveling evangelist, he says that he sees motels with rooms for $19.99 per night.  He writes, “Chances are, many of those people at those motels are not there to sleep.”  He and his wife have stayed in rooms with worn carpets, stained bathrooms, and dirty sheets.  He asks, “Is sleeping on clean sheets really worth over a hundred and fifty dollars a night?  Probably not, but peace of mind is priceless.”

Many years ago, on a building trip with my home Association, we were headed to Granger, Wyoming.  On I-80, we started seeing signs inviting us to visit the Little America truck stop.  The closer we got to Granger, the more inviting the billboard became. 

Little America was an oasis along I-80 before truck stops were common.  At Little America, there is a hotel, restaurant, post office, convenience store, repair shop, and other trucker amenities.  We were expecting something more by reading the billboards.  We were kinda disappointed at first.  Before the trip was over, it was truly an oasis.  Way back, when we were there, that is where we showered after working all day on the Granger church.  There were no facilities or other amenities at the church.  Little America was a welcomed relief after working in skunk dens under the church all day.

Michael Mason believes billboards line the highways because the highways are filled with lonely, empty people trying to find their niche in life. And advertisers know people are desperate to find happiness and will do whatever it takes to find it.

There are signs with: 1-800-divorce, all you can eat buffet, $9.99, ice cold beer, Cracker Barrel 18 miles, World’s Largest Adult Bookstore exit 666, Exit here for Gator City, Visit Silver Springs, and my favorite, Accident/ Injury, Call Alexander Shunnarah 1-800-808-****.  Shunnarah is everywhere.

Long before Ricky Nelson was a traveling man. There was the Apostle Paul. On his missionary journeys, he had a traveling companion named Demas.  Demas had potential, but the world captivated him.  Rather than being in the presence of God, he chose the pleasures of the world.  He read one too many billboards that distracted and tempted Demas and he got off at an exit and never returned.

 

Do thy diligence to come shortly unto me:  For Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world, and is departed unto Thessalonica; Crescens to Galatia, Titus unto Dalmatia (II Timothy 4:9-10 KJV).

 

On a Builder trip to Pikeville, Kentucky, there was a billboard in the mountains advertising a plumbing business.  It was an eye catcher.  “We repair what your husband fixed.”  Ain’t you glad that we serve a God that repaired what you and I try to fix after we fall prey to Satan’s billboards.

 

Dad, Willy, and Me

Dad died on April 27, 1984, around four in the morning.  I had been up all night with him and held his hand as he drew his last breath.  Moments before that final breath, I woke mamma, my sister, and baby brother where they could spend those last precious moments with dad.  They were skeptical at first.  We had several close calls with him that final week.  I finally convinced them that the nurse had assured me that he was dying.  The nurse and I had watched his breathing move from the stomach area to his throat.  She said when it got there death was close.

The week began with Easter on April 22.  Dad was at home.  I do not remember what we did that Sunday, but I am sure we tried to make it a great day knowing that he had lived two years longer than the doctors’ first prognosis with his brain tumors and consequential surgery.

Dad did not care for Easter, especially before and even after his salvation.  Dad had something we don’t see much of now days.  Raised by Christian single mom, his dad committed suicide; dad knew and practiced Christian principles.  Dad always told us that Easter was about Jesus’ Resurrection and not about bunnies, baskets, and bonnets.  It was not about dyed eggs, delicious chocolates, or dumb pagan practices. 

Easter was one of the two holidays that momma or we did not have to beg him to go to church with us.  He was faithful on those two events.  I remind pastors and church folks not to make fun of those, especially dads, that come only at Easter and Christmas.  I know I have seen my mother cry a million tears trying to get dad in church.  I still can see her big, beautiful smile when daddy escorted her into the church at Easter.  We were elated too.  New clothes, dad in church, and momma’s Easter dinner made it wonderful.  We were glad Jesus rose.

Dad understood what many skeptics did not.  Daddy believed that Jesus rose from the dead.  Skeptics are like the characters in television investigation programs.  They have to prove everything scientifically.  One of the problems skeptics find with Christianity is faith.  We trust God, but skeptics want tangible proof.

Several weeks ago, while I was reading, I ran across this line.  There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.  I remembered that I had read that phrase before and did not think much about it.  That was until shortly after I read it again in another book.  I thought about it more.  Then a third time within a month there is was again.  Since all three times were in the context of daily devotions or readings I asked, “God what are you trying to say to me.”  I wrote the phrase down and looked for its original author.  I found it to be a quote from William Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet Act One Scene Five.  Well, back to old Willy Shakespeare.  Being an English minor in college, I have had to read him a lot and analyze the meaning of his plays.

Skeptics take Shakespeare’s phrase out of context.  In the play, Hamlet, Horatio, and a Ghost are in conversation.  Hamlet says, “And therefore as a stranger giver welcome.  There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, that are dreamt in your philosophy.”

Hamlet and Horatio are products of Protestant humanism.  This philosophical thought is a compound of ethics, logic, and natural science.  Logically, for Horatio there were no Ghosts, much less carry on a conversation with one.

The Horatio’s of the world refuse to believe the Resurrection, but Jesus demonstrated the Resurrection before He rose from the dead.  Remember that Jesus was late for Lazarus’ funeral, but right on time for his Resurrection.

Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.

And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth (John 11:39, 43 KJV.)

 

The Horatio’s of the world have doubts about supernatural phenomena or in the case of Southern Baptists, spiritual phenomenon.  One meaning on Shakespeare’s quote is there is more that meets the eye, levels of truth, meaning, and complexity that are not visible to casual observers such as the Resurrection morning.  Angel said, “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay” (Matthew 28:6 KJV).

 

As Southern Baptists, we believe there is more than meets the eye.  In our postmodern culture of growing skepticism, our challenge as believers is continue to live by faith.  Paul reminds believers at the very humanist and carnal Corinth about the unseen.  But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him (First Corinthians 2:9 KJV).

 

As I walked from the hospital the morning daddy died, I reflected on the week.  There was a sense of loss and relief.  On Monday night after Easter, I had my last supper with daddy.  It was just daddy and me.  I fed him while mom took a much-needed break.  Later in the wee hours of the morning, dad had a seizure and the ambulance rushed him to the hospital.  By Friday morning, he was with Jesus.  As I held his hand in death, Jesus took dad’s spiritual hand.

Walking to my car, the morning sky was crystal clear, the air was a vigorous cool, birds were singing, and dad was alive and well with Jesus.  We had dad’s funeral on the Lord’s Day.  Take that skeptics!

Life’s Pesty Hang-ups

This morning was my day to take my clothes to the laundry.  I separated the shirts from the slacks and folded them into a pile to carry.   I always return the clothes hangers.  Now up home some folks say cloak hanger, coat hanger, or plain hanger.  I collected them separating the slack hangers from the shirt hangers.  It never ceases to amaze me how they can get tangled.

When I try to hang our clothes in the washroom, which not big enough to “cuss a cat,” those demon hangers want to join together and hold hands, I mean hooks.  It never fails in my effort to get one hanger that three will fall on the floor.  Did I say that the laundry room was small, just enough room to stand between the wall and the washer and dryer?

This morning these pesky hangers hooked up in the bedroom, just outside the place where they hang out with my clothes.  The hangers have this uncanny way of deciding which shirt and sweater that I am going to wear.  I reached for a white shirt, the hanger for the blue striped shirt got in front of the white shirt hanger.  It was like it was saying, “Take me, take me.”  I want to believe there is a tiny clothes hanger gremlin that mixes up the hangers while I shower.

When I get the clothes ready for the cleaners, I routinely place the hangers between the folded shirts and folded slacks to prevent them for being tangled and sliding everywhere.  I have yet to be successful.  First, the hangers are accustomed to hanging with the clothes, not smothered between them.  It is as though I have trapped them, and they search for the just the right moment to escape.  I want to think that I have them in the wrong order with the shirt hangers against the slacks and they are trying to hang with the right article of clothing.

One time the hangers tried to make a daring escape when I got them out of the truck.  They scattered all over the sidewalk in front of the cleaners.  Another time they escaped when I tried to load them to go to the cleaners.  Their escaping just leads to entanglement.

I wish that the shirt hanger and the slack hanger could be like the plastic hangers from clothing departments.  These have swivel hooks, but the plastic ends are subject to break when under pressure.

Some store-bought plastic hangers are various colors.  Their hooks are hard to remove from the closet rod.  They are independent cusses and are harder to hold together.  They are durable, but unlike the metal hangers, they are limited in practicality.

Metal hangers have a variety of uses.  I have used clothes hangers to hold exhaust pipes in place.  The wire is perfect to use in most redneck situations.  They even make a great tool to unlock car doors.  I have used them for welding.  A good hanger and acetylene torch set to the right flame can weld broken car frames, lawn mower decks, and wrought iron.  I have used clothes hangers as a short set of jumper cables.  When using them as jumper cables, make sure you have a solid connection.  The wire does get hot.

There is another hook that can more tangled than clothes hanger hooks and that is fishing hooks.  They are so jealous of one another.  Every time you try to get one to tie on a line, they hang together.  They are one for all and all for one.

They can be testy also.  When you try to separate them, they have been known to bite.  Their bite can hurt too.  When they do bite, they have a tenacity to hold on tight and must be removed by cutting them out.

Every time I think about fishhooks, I think of red worms.  Trying to put a red worm on a hook can be challenging.  Once you have threaded a worm or two on the hook you must cast with care, or you will have to thread more worms on the hook.  Dad used to tell us not to cast too hard because we were feeding worms to the bass and bream.

When I think of fishhooks, I think of Amos 4:1-2 in the Old Testament.  He calls the uppity women cows, we say heifer up home, and says that because of their sin they will be led to captivity with hooks. 

Hear this word, you cows of Bashan on Mount Samaria, you women who oppress the poor and crush the needy and say to your husbands, "Bring us some drinks!"  The Sovereign LORD has sworn by his holiness: "The time will surely come when you will be taken away with hooks, the last of you with fishhooks.  

One commentary said the hooks would be in their noses. This became very vivid when I had to remove a hook from a nose.  I remember one Saturday we were fishing at my sister’s pond when my niece hooked my son Aaron’s nose with a hook.  Aaron didn’t cry but he encouraged me to hurry.  The red worms were tickling his nostril.  I cut off the barb and slid the hook off his nose.

Amos’ passage illustrates how tangled our lives can get with sin.  Sin, like pesky clothes hangers and fishing hooks, has a way of hooking us and causing all sorts of entanglements.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1 KJV).

 

Brother Arch

I was watching a car show the other night.  These shows do what I would love to do, rebuilding old jalopies.  My love for building cars started when I was in the fifth grade.  I got a model car kit from a classmate for Christmas.  Over the years, I had a pretty good collection that I lost when our home burned.  In that collection I had a ’55 Chevy Nomad, a ’50 Ford, a ’57 Chevy, a ’40 Willis, two ’32 Fords, the Batmobile, ’53 Ford pickup, and a few others.  Some of these date back to my teens.  I built them until the government regulations forced glue makes to change the formula and ruining its sticking power.

My dream car is a ’32 Ford Vicky, yellow convertible or five-window, 350 Chevy engine, saddle colored leather interior, and Crager junkyard mag wheels.  Trouble is, they are out there, but beyond a Director of Missions means.

These car-rebuilding programs have the mission of saving old cars one at a time.  The closest I have come to rebuilding an old vehicle is when Aaron and I rebuilt my ’77 GMC pickup, and I understood the statement, “They don’t build them like that anymore” a little better.  It is an era of American history that is fleeting away.   A friend of mine said that it makes him sick to watch classic cars headed to the scrap metal place.

My ’77 GMC is actually a 2009-13 pickup.  It looks old, but it has experienced a transformation.  No, it is not a Johnny Cash Cadillac.  It is a completely restored truck.  It is a work of love and labor.  I will always cherish the time that Aaron and I, father and son, spend together transforming a ragged, rusty, multicolored hunk of junk into what most call a “sweet ride” or a “clean” classic.

Transformed classics make up the body of the church.  Men, women, boys, and girls that experience the transforming power of God are new creations.  The power that raised Jesus from the dead is the power that transforms all those who trust Jesus as Lord and Savior.

As I thought about restored vehicles and changed lives, I cannot help but to think about Brother Arch Crumpton.  He was a classic when speaking of a man of God.  He was an old classic that you don’t see anymore, a one of a kind.  Brother Arch was a giant pillar in my home church.  Brother Arch, two other deacons, and the pastor were the only men in my home church when I was boy.

I heard stories how Brother Arch would walk four miles to church on Sunday morning to start a fire in the old pot-bellied stove, then walk back home, hitch the mule team to the wagon, and then bring the family to church.

Brother Arch always sat on the second pew on the preachers left.  He wore a dark blue suit, white shirt, a tie, and a fedora every Sunday.  He could pray some of the sweetest prayers.  I never heard anyone say a bad word about Brother Arch.

One of the most interesting stores about him was when he was a young man in his twenties.  I remember as a kid thinking that Brother Arch was ancient, being well into his seventies when I was a teenager.  He was tall and frail, but always sported a smile.  In his twenties, which would have been in the 1920’s, he had an appendix attack.  By the time the doctor arrived, he had gangrene and the doctor said there was little or no hope.

The doctor did something that most would think repulsive.  He opened Brother Arch, took out his intestines, and washed them in warm soapy water.  Once they were clean, the doctor repacked them.  I remember that Brother Arch always had a flat stomach.

Somewhere along that time, Brother Arch accepted the Lord as his Savior and the Lord removed the gangrene of sin from Brother Arch.  He was transformed and became a model for the men in our church and our community.

One of my fondest memories of Brother Arch happened one Sunday afternoon at my Aunt Edna’s.  My cousins and I were playing football in the front yard.  Brother Arch and his wife, Mrs. Blonnie, shuffled their way toward the house.  They walked along our goal line, which was the sidewalk to the house halting the game for a few moments.  Suddenly, Brother Arch called for the football.  One of my cousins tossed it to him and Brother Arch kicked the football.  He laughed and told us to have fun.  We all had a little more respect for him seeing that old man could kick a football.  Brother Arch will never know how much of an impact he had on my early Christian walk.  He has always been an inspiration and an example of what a Christian should be.  He was a Christian Classic.  Our churches would much better with more men like Brother Arch.

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit (Second Corinthians 3:18 NIV).

 

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new (Second Corinthians 5:17 KJV).