Icy Rain and Falling Tears

 The vacuum wipers of my old 1950 Plymouth slowly swiped the light icy rain peppered on the windshield late one night as took a co-worker home. Clifton and I talked of the cold night and possible snow flurries that would create a panic among the people of Alabama and especially Chilton County.  We were having a light-hearted moment in Clifton’s heartbreaking relationship with his wife.

To pacify his wife, Clifton bought her a new red with white stripes, Ford Grand Torino fastback.  It was a beauty.  It was also a gift to harness his wife’s wandering ways.  As we passed Friendship Baptist Church, one I pastored years later, I spotted Clifton’s Torino underneath the security light of the church parking lot.  Whether he knew it or that he acted dumb, we joked that his wife left it there.  Having an eye for details of automobiles, I knew without a shadow of doubt that it was Clifton’s car.  I had this empty, wishing I was wrong, moment.  It would become a defining moment as I witnessed something that will always be etched in my mine.

Clifton lived just over the hill from the church at the Blacksnake Trailer Park.  Ice collected on the wipers as I pulled to his driveway.  Clifton said, “She’s gone again.  That was her Torino.”  I waited as he opened the mobile home door.  He motioned for me come to the door.  I saw three little girls, all in t-shirts and diapers, cuddled up like puppies on a rug at the front door.  The oldest little girl said, “Momma is gone.”

My heart broke for these precious little girls and for Clifton.  Clifton had an alcoholic brother who appeared from the darkness.  He had tried to open the door, but it was locked.  He waited in shadows and from the cold underneath another mobile home until Clifton arrived.

These three little girls were ages three, two, and one.  They were red-haired, blonde, and brunette.  All three had different dads and Clifton was not one of them, but Clifton loved them as though they were his.

I never will forget the first time I met Clifton.  He had grown up in the same Mars Hill community that I did.  He was older than I was, and we had never met, but since he worked where mom did, and I eventually did, I heard a lot about him.

He was pale as a ghost when I first met him.  He was recovering from a gunshot wound to his stomach and had a 22-caliber bullet lodged against his spine.  Days before, he had escaped, yes escaped, from a Birmingham hospital by hiring a cab to transport him to Clanton.  He was wearing a hospital gown.

Clifton claimed that he had accidentally shot himself while cleaning a rifle.  Truth was that his wife shot him.  Can I tell you that I had lived a rather sheltered life, and I learned a lot about life in the real world?

Clifton’s wife was a very loose woman.  She was a little on the trashy side.  She loved men, but Clifton loved her more.  I had never seen a man that loved a woman as he did her.  As the old saying goes, “He put up with a lot.”

As the energy crisis of 1973 swept the nation, I faced my first layoff, and it would be the last time I saw Clifton alive.  Clifton kept working and his wife kept running around on him.  She was so despicable, that her mother and father disowned her.  In fact, Clifton had moved in with his in-laws who were helping with the three girls.

A friend called me to tell me that Clifton had committed suicide.  The bullet against his spine continued to cause pain and health problems.  Overwhelmed by the heartache of a wayward wife and a bullet she placed in his body, Clifton borrowed his father-in-law’s 410-gauge shotgun to shoot rabbit or squirrel, but placed the barrel against his heart and pulled the trigger.  His in-laws saw him stagger and fall near the clothesline.  Helped came too late.

I attended his wake.  My heart was with the three girls.  I had not been married very long and thought about adopting them.  As for Clifton’s wife, I was told that as Clifton lay at rest, she lay intimate with another man in a Clanton parking lot.

Every year at Christmas, I wonder what happened to the girls.  It was the Christmas season when I saw them cuddled on the rug cold and shivering. If they are alive, they are in their forties now. 

When I think of Clifton and them, I think of God’s love for us and Hosea’s love for his wife Gomer.  Love is a powerful force.  I could understand the love of Hosea and the wandering of Gomer a little better when I read Francine Rivers Christian novel Redeeming Love.  If you have not read it, you are missing a great book.  I could not put it down.

 

The beginning of the word of the Lord by Hosea. And the Lord said to Hosea, Go, take unto thee a wife of whoredoms and children of whoredoms: for the land hath committed great whoredom, departing from the Lord.  So he went and took Gomer (Hosea 1:1-3a KJV).

Can I Say I Am Offended

Well, another year is gone and the world in which we live has changed so much.  I tell folks all the time that this is not our daddy’s Alabama.  It is most definitely not our dad’s nation.

Things from the White House, to the Governor’s house, to the Court House, to the church house, and to our house seems to be in shambles.  With each passing day, yesterday’s shock is today’s commonplace.

I was at a meeting not too long ago where the people leading the music looked as though that had slept in their clothes and got right out of bed without combing their hair and went right to the stage to try to lead me in worship.  I guess I am old fashion, I was taught to bring your best to worship.

A speaker that was not dressed much better then followed these uncouth and shoddy looking leaders of praise.  They say they do this as not to offend anyone.  Can I say that I am offended!  They say they want everyone to feel welcomed.  I did not! 

Here’s where I have the rub.  It is okay to come before the Kings of kings dressed in the ragged, shabby clothes and unruly hair but wear the newest styles of tuxedoes and gowns to a prom or dinner engagement where most will bow down to the god of debauchery and hedonism.  Something is wrong with that picture.

While growing up we were poor and did not have much, however we wore our Sunday best to worship.  I know that there are times where we may not have our best at worship, but is the exception rather than the rule.

Malcolm Gladwell has a great book, The Tipping Point.  The subtitle is “How Little Things Make a Big Difference.”  I recommend it.  One principle came very close to home and it reminds me of this stylish trend, or lack of style in our churches.

If the owner of property does not care for his possession, he gives the okay to vandalize it.  The case in point was the old house behind the Pastorium when I lived in Linden.  When I first moved to Linden, the old house was in good shape.  As the grass and weeds grew, so did the vandalism.  It did not matter how much I tried to watch the abandoned house, windows were broken, doors were torn off, and graffiti appeared.  The owner’s neglect was the perpetrator’s license to deface.

“An epidemic theory of crime can start with a broken window and spread to an entire community.  The tipping point is not with a particular kind of person but physical graffiti. The impetus to engage in a certain kind of behavior is not coming from a certain kind of person but from a feature of the environment.”

Brother Bobby, “What has this to do with church worship?” Glad you asked.  At some point in the property owner’s neglect, the right to trash the place tipped to the perpetrator.  Had the owner given the slightest attention to his property, the destruction would not happen or least delayed it.  There is a point in time when things tip the other way.

At some point and time, church attire tipped from “giving our best to it is okay to be a mess.”  It is true that Jesus takes us, as we are, to which I am eternally thankful.  But, what happened to repentance and change?  Early church converts were given new clothes after baptism to signify a change.  Samford’s Beeson School of Divinity’s Chapel has a painting showing this tradition.

Ron is a modern day example.  Ron visited Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton when I was pastor there.  Ron had long hair, beard, earrings, and dressed like a hippy.  Yes, he wore sandals.  He was welcomed just as he was and no one mentioned his appearance.  We did not have a dress code.  Every thing from three-piece suits to blue jeans and T-shirts was acceptable.  I do not remember anyone looking like they slept in their clothes, although I thought I saw a kid or two and lady or two that did not fix their hair.

Ron continued to come and one Sunday he came forward during the invitation and told me that he wanted to be saved.  I shared the Gospel with him and he prayed the sinner’s prayer.  The following Sunday this handsome, clean-shaven, earring less young man in suit and tie with dress shoes appeared.  Everyone told Ron how nice he looked.  He said God changed him.

What happened to the church setting the trend?  The church has lost its influence in the community.  As a result, lifestyles and moral behavior in society have tipped from Christian principles to secularism and immorality.  There is a war on Christian government and citizenship as I write this article.  Right is wrong and wrong is right nowadays.  Some compare our world to Sodom and Gomorrah.

Can I say that there is nothing new under the sun?  One big difference today is technology allows one to capture events as they happen, rather than hearing about it later.

Solomon says, “Do not say, "Why were the old days better than these?" For it is not wise to ask such questions (Ecclesiastes 7:10 NIV).

THAZ YOU SANTA CLAUS?

 

I found out at an early age that Santa Claus was a mythical person based on a real person and that Jesus Christ was the root of Christmas.  Santa Claus was and remains prominent during the Christmas season.  He is real to many boys and girls around the world.  I saw a Hispanic family in Montevallo on Wednesday.  A little boy scrambled from a SUV.  Dressed in Santa Claus pajamas, I said, “Someone is excited about Santa Claus.”  His mom and dad had smiles as wide as Texas.  I said, “Merry Christmas,” They did not speak English and I should have said, Felez Navidad.”

 

My first year out of high school I worked at a metal molding plant.  I was a big for an eighteen-year-old and they convinced me to play Santa Claus.  As another famous Alabamian, Forrest Gump, would say, “All I got to say about that it was frightening.  The workforce was predominantly female.  While they sat on Santa’s knee, this young Christian boy heard things that would make a Corinthian Sailor blush.  And “that is all I got to say about that.

 

Every year for Christmas Local 50537 and management for the cement plant gave away 300 bicycles to needy families in central Alabama.  I was Santa Claus.  I met with children in a small program, and they would tell what they wanted.  At the end we presented the bicycles to them.  It was all I could do to hold back tears as these children hugged my neck and thanked me for the bicycles.

 

I played Santa Claus for my extended family.  One Christmas when my youngest son was about five or six, he sat in my lap and rubbed my arm.  I wore white gloves, but I think he recognized my arm.  It was fun as my son, nieces, and nephews talked with Santa and quizzed where was dad and uncle Bobby.  Oh, the tales told at Christmas.

 

I was Santa longer when I served as Director of Missions in Linden, Alabama.  At the request of the mayor and Chief of police, they asked if I would be the town, Santa.  It was fun especially riding the Fire Department Engine and waving at the crowds of people during “Chilly Fest” and the Christmas parade.  I would sit in the town Gazebo and the children would take pictures with Santa.

 

One parade, a woman running for a Congressional seat sat on my lap.  I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and she said to win Congressional Seat.  She is now the Honorable Terri Sewell in Washington.  Hundreds of babies sat on my lap as cameras took photographs.

 

I usually wore a beard and mustache that I purchased.  I distained the fake stuff that came with cheap Santa outfits.  I glued the mustache and beard to my face so when mischievous kids would pull Santa’s beard it appeared real.  One year I grew a beard and mustache along growing longer hair.  I was not snowy white so at the advice of the lady that cut my hair I went to Tuscaloosa to procure some dye.  Dressed in red and waiting to checkout, an attractive lady put her arm around me and said, “Santa, I want a keyless entry Lexus for Christmas.

 

Chilly Fest was a huge event with a chili cookoff, parade, fireworks, and such.  On the morning of the event my son Aaron and I were replacing a radiator in his Jeep Wrangler when my cell phone rang.  It was the Chief of police wanting to know if I had seen Santa.  The park for Chilly Fest was a block away.  Santa usually appeared the night of the parade, but folks were wondering where he was for the all-day event.

 

Quickly with the speed of Superman in a telephone booth, Santa appeared.  It was a cool overcast morning that suddenly dissipated, and a bright sun drove the clouds away.  Everyone wanted to see Santa.  I took time with everyone that wanted to talk with me.  It was fun.

Then it happened.  A little back boy sat with me and was convinced I was not the real Santa Claus.  He said I did not look like the real one.  I told him that I was the local Santa and that the “Big Man” could only be everywhere around the world on Christmas Eve.  He used local Santas to help.

 

Not to be undone, he asked me where my reindeer were.  I asked him did he see any snow.  Snow is rare in Alabama.  He said, “No.”  I reminded him that I had reindeer, not rain deer.  Then he was to know where my elves.  I told him they were incognito, which I said they were disguised as children with their Christmas caps pulled down over their pointed ears. 

 

“How did you get here and where is your sleigh?”  He did not let up.  I told him that since there was no snow, I had to use the elf mobile which I had hid.  Then I thought he had me.  He asked, “If you are the real Santa, what did you get me for Christmas last year?  I pondered the question for a moment and said, “toys.”

 

With a beautiful smile from a little boy, he yelled out loud, “YOU ARE THE REAL SANTA.”  He rounded up all his friends, and their friends.  For a few precious moments in time, I was experienced the miracle of Christmas, love, and wonderment. The children asked me some of the amazing questions.  On of my neighbors, a Hispanic girl, when I asked her what she wanted for Christmas said, “A bell from your sleigh.”  One again I had tears in my eyes.  She, her three sisters, and brother were rescued from under a bridge.  They were caught stealing food to eat.  My neighbor was their foster parent.

Merry Christmas everyone and remember Jesus.  But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

 

 

 

 

 

“The Real Christmas Story”

My friend Calvin Miller did devotions and commentary for The Celebrate Jesus Millennium Commemorative Edition Bible.  He autographed my copy with these words, “Bobby- How marvelous that God has made us friends.” Dr. Miller has gone to be with the Lord, and I miss him.  Brother Ed Vines of Forest Hill in Linden gave me a cane with a carving of a bearded man at the top.  I told Ed that I named it Calvin because it looks like Calvin Miller.  When I walk with the cane, it reminds me that I studied under this Baptist Giant and symbolically he walks with me when I use the cane.  Dr. Miller told me that I needed to write.  I remember telling him I struggle to write.  He told me I was good writer and to write.

I love stories and Christmas is a great time for sharing stories such as this one.

On a clear night’s sky, the shepherds were watching over their flocks.  Joseph and Mary were lying comfortably next to Jesus on a bed of straw in the peaceful town of Bethlehem, a suburb of the big city of Jerusalem.  The animals peacefully strolled around, and the world was full of joy... and... that is Christmas stuff.

 

The real Christmas story is:  On a very hectic and troubled night, a miracle happened.  The Messiah entered a world of terrible political unrest.  People hated and did not trust politicians who were quite corrupt.  There were moves to throw them out of Jerusalem.  Overspending by big government created huge taxes.  The average wage earner could not keep a decent standard of living.  Religious institutions were getting more and more involved with politics instead of meeting spiritual needs of people.  Divorce was a common problem, almost at the fifty percent mark.  Abortion was common with babies often seen floating through open sewer lines.  The court system was corrupt; criminals were constantly going free on technicalities.  Nations were constantly redrawing their boundaries; there was a nervous peace around the world.  The educated were denying miracles and the supernatural.  They believed science and technology were the best hopes for mankind and the future.  The disparity between the rich and poor was getting greater and greater all the time.  Even the healthy religious people were losing hope in the Messiah.  For hundreds of years, they had been told that the Messiah would come.  In all this God makes His appearance in human flesh.  The Angel of Lord told the shepherds that the Messiah had come.  They would find him as a baby lying in a manger.

 

For some, merriment, cheer, jing jing jingling and fa la la la la are light years away as they struggle with heaviness in their lives.   Straining under the load of sickness, or keenly felt grief because of death, or trying to escape the fog of depression or the trap of financial deficiency, or the pressure of a chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out kind church members.  Hope comes when God’s people share the Good News, which the Angel conveyed to the shepherds.

Day 355 of Dr. Miller’s devotion begins: “God likes to do some things better than others.  We see him in the punishment business so often; we feel that is what he gets his kicks from.  Punishment is not God’s core business.  God is in the business of saving people.  He showed that when he sent a little baby to Bethlehem and said he would save his people from their sins.”

God is the God of little things, little places, and little children.  Can you imagine the surprise when Herod heard that God picked a little city called Bethlehem, a one camel town to be the place for the birth of a King?

To top that, Herod got the information from people we know today as Iranian or Iraqi.  Most of us are offended when we did not receive an invitation to a Christmas gala.  Imagine Herod’s surprise when he didn’t get the birth announcement for a great king.  Great works of God rarely start in big places.  They start in small places.

A small event in Nazareth came when the world was engulfed in turmoil.

As disturbing and troubling events unfold this Christmas, look for God working in little things.  Christmas is about gifts, but the Gift of eternal life found in Jesus, the King from a one camel town.

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him."   When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him.  When he had called together all the people's chief priests and teachers of the law, he asked them where the Christ was to be born. "In Bethlehem in Judea," they replied, "for this is what the prophet has written: "`But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for out of you will come a ruler who will be the shepherd of my people Israel.' "

(Matthew 2:1-6 KJV)