MY GRANDPAW

My Grandpaw, Joe Thomas Chapman, was born in 1892.  I do not have a memory of him being healthy.  My oldest memory is mom and dad picking him up at the bus station in Jemison, Alabama.  He had been to a hospital for some procedure or operation.  I don’t have anyone to ask about it because they are all gone.  But I think it was Memphis, Tennessee.  It was around 1955 before we moved to Illinois, The procedure was on his legs because I remember getting off the bus, legs bandaged, and using a cane.

After spending several years in Illinois, we moved back to Jemison.  It was there that Grandpaw sat on the front porch of the place he bought and farmed for years. 

He purchased the property from the Augustus Walker family sometime in the 19930’s.  The Walker family received the land as a grant from the United States government on April 1, 1876.  I have the original deed hanging in my library.  I just looked at it.  It was part of the Reconstruction following the War of Northern Aggression.  Black people, as were the Augustus Walker family, were given land grants.  President US Grant issued the grant through the land office in Montgomery, Alabama as part of the Congressional Act of May 20, 1862.  This was thirty years before Grandpaw was born.

My fondest memories are Grandpaw sitting in a rocker on the front porch.  His health was deteriorating due to all the hard work of trying to farm.  On that front porch, I heard tales of yesteryear.  He served in WWI and worked in the ammunition factory in Childersburg, Alabama during WWII.  He worked in a sawmill for one dollar a week.  It was there he developed a crooked right index finger.  The finger was offset and was weird when he pointed it at something.  There was scar between the middle and top joint.  He said the scar is where he cut the finger off, took pine rosin, glued the finger together, and wrapped it in an old rag and continued to work.

Sitting on the porch with him, he taught to take broken glass to scrape hickory sticks and smooth them to make rams for peashooters.  The polished rams worked well when shooting each other.  He taught us to shoot chinaberries in a slingshot.  He taught us a command of Southern vernacular although our parents prohibited us from using them.

One prime example is when my cousin, whom Grandpaw despised, done something to set Grandpaw off.  He used that vulgar Chiltonian vernacular in a way I will never forget.  He ran my cousin under a 1950 Plymouth by throwing rocks in between cussing and damnation.

This same cousin, younger than I, would bully me.  Dad warned that If I came home crying one more time from the bullying that he would give me something to cry.  Well, the next time my cousin bullied me; I took his right arm and put it in his mouth.  Thinking it my arm, he clamped down, drew blood from his arm, and went screaming to Grandmoe.  I never will forget the big laugh Grandpaw did nor the prime things he called my cousin.

When I was twelve, dad had me break a field to plant corn.  Using an International Cub tractor, I broke the ground, disced the ground, planted the corn, and cultivated it.  It was a beautiful field.  Grandpaw used mules his whole life.  He bragged on me and we had a bumper crop.

Using mules, Grandpaw cleared the land of trees, stumps, and rocks.  The WPA helped him develop terrace banks on the property to divert water to the woods.  Every time I build things with rocks I would say, “Grandpaw worked hard taking them out and I’m working hard putting back in.”

I own the 1950 Plymouth Special Deluxe that Grandpaw owned.  He got it from my uncle, a body repairman.  I have precious memories of the old Plymouth coming to our house.  Dad was on layoff and food and money were scarce.  Grandpaw would have sacks of groceries in the old Plymouth.  I was sick at school and Grandpaw and Momma came to get me.  I remember lying in the back seat and going home. 

When Grandpaw got very disabled, dad bought it from him for a work car.  Dad drove it until a rod started knocking in the motor.  Dad asked if I wanted a car.  Being 12 years old, I jumped at the possibility.  He said the old Plymouth is yours.  It was straight shift, three on a tree, and mama taught me how to drive.  I can honestly say that although prohibited from using Grandpaw’s vernacular, momma had learned it perfectly from her dad.  I know she used them when teaching me to drive.

I had the Plymouth restored and will pass it down from uncle, to Grandpaw, to dad, to me, and which child wants it.

Grandpaw worked hard and died poor. Two cousins and I are the only descendants to live on the property.  Looking over the land reminds of the hard work Grandpaw put into life.  A friend that I wrote about a couple of articles back told me that when he was a boy he saw the most extraordinary from Grandpaw.  JB was walking home from the old country school that was adjacent to Grandpaw’s field, the one I would plant corn years later.  Plowing the field with one of his mules, Grandpaw’s patience, if he had any, wore thin with the mule.  JB said the mule balked and sat down.  Grandpaw used that Chiltonian vernacular to no avail.  Since the verbal did not work, Grandpaw used his mouth differently.  He bit the mule on the nose!  JB said the mule lifted Grandpaw into the air several times until the mule stood up and slung Grandpaw off his nose.  Grandpaw had mule nose meat between his teeth.  It is a good thing that the mule did not retain the words of Grandpaw and talk, as did the Balaam’s ass

 

And when the ass saw he angel of the LORD, she fell down under Balaam: and Balaam’s anger was kindled, and he smote the ass with a staff.  And the Lord opened the mouth of the ass, and she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee that thou hast smitten me these three times? Numbers 22:26-28 KJV

 

Grandpaw Chapman became a Christian while on his deathbed.  I wonder if he met Balaam on the streets of gold.

 

PS: Family tradition- Grandpaw’s great, great, great granddaughter was playing with a dog that snapped at her.  Little Jessica grabbed the dog and bit its nose.

If You Don't Write It Down, It Never Happened

 Have you ever had this brilliant thought or idea but did not take the time or have a means to write it down?  Sometimes I will read or hear something that gives me an idea for an article or sermon thinking I will remember only to forget it when I need to recall it.

The great theologian, preacher, and writer Hershel Hobbs grew up in my home county Chilton and was the principal writer of the 1963 Baptist Faith and Message.  He said that he would take time to write himself notes when he heard or thought of something inspiring.  He had a great system writing books.  He wrote his books one thought, or sentence, at a time.  Sometimes he wrote a paragraph a time.  My system is I write at one sitting.

I often get inspiration from reading, from everyday occurrences, from hearing sermons, and from observing people.  Sometimes things happen that I never forget and at other times, I quickly forget them.

Year ago, as I entered the carport, I reminded myself that I needed to purchase some new filters for the air-conditioner system for our home in Jemison.  I stopped and giggled, remembering that the house was no longer there losing it to the fire in July 2012.  I remember minute details of every part of the house.  Now these things are memories of something that no longer exists.

I can close my eyes and see the cement plant and the area where I operated the cement kilns.  I see the handrails, the overhead hoists, the catwalk, and the kilns rotating as a roaring flame blazes within them.  These no longer exist.  Now, they are images of my mind or details of something that I write.

There are multitudes of things I experienced that I wish I had captured them on film, in a recording, or just took the time to write about them. Often, there was no availability of pencil and paper.  Words of inspiration need to be penned or etched in our minds, but also written down.

Failure to pass down words of inspiration deprives society of motivation, stimulation, and encouragement.  Reading this article you may recall the words from people long ago that inspire you today.  Remember, if no one takes the initiative to write down an occurrence, over time it is lost, embellished, becomes legend, or is distorted.  Most nations fail because they do not read history.

Have you ever noticed how you cannot recall an event or a person then suddenly something triggers your memory and all at once your minds floods with total recall of the experience.

Many Sundays ago, I preached homecoming at a former church.  While I was pastor there, the church built a family life center.  The congregation did most of the work.  The church experienced some electrical problems.  A member of the buildings and grounds called me to see if I knew where the schematics for the electricity were located.  I helped do the wiring.  There was no electrical blueprint.  What we had were hand drawn by a member, Richard, of the building committee 29 years ago.  Richard died several years ago, and no one knew where they were.  I told the building grounds member that Richard had folded them and placed them on top of the control panel.  There were unsuccessful in locating them.

The Sunday of my visit, they inquired again as to the schematics whereabouts.  I went to the control panel and over the past 29 years, someone moved them to an adjacent piece of ductwork.  I could see Richard folding the schematics and saying to me, “I’m putting these here so if we have to work on the wiring, we won’t have to look for them.” 

God created us to respond to sight, sound, touch, and smell which trigger or memory.  Every time I smell fresh cut pine timber, I think of cutting and loading pulpwood or helping frame a new house.  When I smell yeast rolls cooking, I think of the lunchroom at Jemison High School or Ms. Ruby Smith’s, a friend from Houston, Texas, cinnamon rolls.  Now that I have written of them, once held captive, these moments are released to create encouragement.

Transferring a thought or an idea to someone or making a hard copy takes a moment.  We live life in magnificent moments.  Those that capture those moments provide us with guidance and tangible snippets enabling us to face the uncertainties of life.  A moment of collecting thoughts can become a way of life or the change of course for those that are inspired by it.

One time I was looking for information for the insurance company in settlement of losing the house.  I found momma's last will and testament.  For a few moments, I revisited some things momma wanted done at her death.  Captured with ink on paper by my sister were some of the last words that momma spoke.

Hand drawn schematics, last will and testaments, notes scribbled on paper assist to jog our memory.  Words of inspiration are diverse in origin.  God’s Word is the greatest source for inspiration.  I am glad that the writers of our Bible took time to scribe God’s Word for us to read.

And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book: But these are written, that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye might have life through his name (John 20:30-31 KJV).

PS:  When I started this article, I could not recall any thing inspiring.

 

America: More Joes than JBs

One morning as I was reading my daily Proverb, I thought of J B.  J B was a good friend, coworker, and brother in Christ.  As a kid, I would watch him fly past our house in a Baggett tractor-trailer truck.  I thought it was the grandest thing to know someone that actually drove a Semi. There were not many big trucks that traveled our country road.  We saw plenty of pickups, produce trucks, and pulpwood and log trucks.  

My brothers and I would run to the road, put our arms up, and pull down trying to get J B to blow his air horn.  J B would just laugh as he blew the horn and we would say, “There goes J B.”

Most everyone up home had side jobs to compensate income.  J B farmed on the side.  We raised pigs and crops.  J B had cattle and hay.  When J B was not in the semi ridge, he was on his Ford tractor fertilizing hay, cutting hay, raking hay, baling hay, and storing hay.  J B continued to do the small square bales instead of the large round rolls.  He contented that the large round rolls had too much waste.

One summer years later, many years later, my brother David and I were helping J B and another friend of ours Calvin haul hay.  We loved helping load and haul hay.  The only problem we were not young any more.  Like the proverb says, “The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the gray head.” (Proverbs 20:29 KJV)  David and I were grey.  In fact, J B had gone to work at the cement plant.  Calvin had been there for years and I was working there.

J B and Calvin loved the longer square bales for their cows.  David and I struggled to throw the hay on the trailer.  Calvin pulled the trailer as J B continued to rake and bale as David and I tired.  David and I both realized that we were bad out of shape.  Calvin commented that we had become soft and weak.  We struggled to lift the bales.

Calvin had mercy on us and volunteered to rest us.  On the first bale, Calvin struggled to lift the bale.  As he reached for a second one, he threw it to the ground and said, “Good gracious boys! Why didn’t you tell me the bales were heavy?”  David and looked at one another and said, we thought we had gotten sorry and weak.  Calvin said, “These bales weigh over 200 lbs.  They are too green!”

Calvin flagged J B down.  J B must have thought he was still driving for Baggett.  He was flying on his tractor raking the cut hay.  Calvin told J B that he did not want to burn down his barns with green hay.  If not dry enough, green hay will go through a heat and catch fire.

I never will forget what J B said.  “Dutton, I like to bale it a little green.  The cows like it better.”  Calvin won the argument and David and I were relieved.  First, we needed rest and second, we were glad we were not as out of shape as we thought.

Most people in our church and community worked hard to make a living.  However, a few in our community did not.

One time J B was raking and baling hay in his fields.  He needed someone to help him so he turned to his neighbor named Joe.  Joe was a tall, slender, and well able to help with the hay.  Watching him growing up I never knew of him holding a job or working.  As J B toiled in the hot summer son, Joe sat on his front porch swing and played his guitar.  J B hired him to help load hay.  Joe helped a short spell and told J B that he had better go home which was across from the hay field.

J B inquired as to his abandonment.  Joe said, “I might be seen by someone and lose my government check.”  J B was furious as he raked, baled, and loaded hay while Joe sat on the front porch and played the guitar.

Every time I see the cartoon movie with Porky Pig as a farmer working had while his neighbor, an old fox, plays a guitar on the front porch of a shack, I think of J B and Joe.  When winter comes, Porky is feasting while the old fox starves.  Porky’s conscience bothers him and invites his neighbor for dinner.  The sorry fox says that come spring he will work hard.  When spring comes, the old sorry fox returned to playing the guitar.

JB was accidently killed while working on a church playground.  Joe died receiving his government check and playing his guitar.  Today we have more Joes than JBs in the workforce.   

 

The sluggard will not plow by reason of the cold; therefore shall he beg in harvest, and have nothing (Proverbs 20:4 KJV).

 

“TURN HIM LOOSE, SON”

 

            Some events are forever etched in your mind. I was ten years old. My family was very poor during my childhood. We did not think much of it, because most people in rural Alabama were poor during the 1950s and 1960s. It was “city folks” that had running hot water, inside bathrooms, and fancy gas space heaters.

            We had an old pot-bellied stove that required wood. One of the joys of winter was being outside in the woods cutting firewood. Daddy always told us that cutting wood would warm you twice—you got hot cutting it, and then you got warm standing beside the stove!

            We did not have a pickup truck, but daddy did have a McCullough chain saw from his logging days. My uncle had an old 1936 Dodge pickup, and together we would cut firewood.

            One firewood-cutting moment is forever etched in my mind. It was one cold fall day, when we were going down an old dirt road in route to the woods. There was not a cloud in the sky. My cousins, brothers, and I were huddled behind the cap of the pickup, staying out of the cold wind. You could see your breath. It was every little boy’s dream to be in the back of a truck headed to the woods. We hoped that we would see a deer, turkey, or some other animal.

            On each side of the dirt road were pastures surrounded by barbed-wire fences. The woods were far across the fields. Suddenly, my uncle and dad started pounding the rear window and pointing to the left side of the truck. We expected to see a cow, bull, or horse running in the pasture, but it was a little gray squirrel. He was coming at us as if a hound dog were hot on his trail.

            The timing was perfect. He crossed the road under the pickup. We heard a thud. The little gray squirrel emerged from under the rear of the truck, spinning round and round. My uncle came to a squeeching halt. My daddy said, “Catch the squirrel and we will get your grandmoe to fix some fried squirrel with dumplings!”

            I jumped out the bed of the pickup and caught that little gray squirrel. Now, remember, I was ten years old, and I forgot that the teeth of a squirrel will crack a very hard hickory nut. A hickory nut is hard to crack with a hammer, but a squirrel has very little trouble cracking one. I also forgot that little gray squirrels run over by old Dodge trucks go crazy.

            When I caught him, the squirrel bit the knuckle of my left index finger. Everyone was so excited, hollering and screaming, and they never heard me yell at the top of my lungs nor did they see the blood flying.

            I pried the squirrel from left finger, and he immediately bit the knuckle of my right index finger! I screamed again, and the blood flew from a second finger. By this time, my cousins, brothers, uncle, and daddy saw the action. My daddy hollered, “Turn him loose, Son.”

            What daddy did not know was that I was trying to turn him loose. I realized that I had not caught the squirrel—he had caught me! That little fellow was excited. Think about it. He had been running from something, he was run over by a truck, he was spinning round and round, and now a ten-year-old boy was trying to catch him for supper. He was in the fight of his life.

            I screamed back to Daddy, trying to convince him that I was trying to let the squirrel go. Daddy wanted to pry him loose, but he had already gone through two fingers, and, if I had let him, he would have gotten the other six fingers and two thumbs.

            Daddy searched the pickup, found a large bolt, and knocked the squirrel on the head. Daddy flung out his pocketknife and performed a major operation on the squirrel, cutting him from my right index finger.

            We loaded back into the truck and went to cut a load of firewood. I wrapped my fingers in old rags until we got back to my grandparents’ house. My fingers began to stiffen. We soaked them in kerosene and later in Epsom salt. We could not afford to see the doctor. I had never cared for fried squirrel and dumplings, and I surely did not after that!

            I learned a valuable lesson that day, and I share it at drug awareness conferences. I learned to be careful what you catch, because it might catch you. Addictions start with that first time. Some drugs you cannot stop taking, and you become hooked. That which controls you shames you.

And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit. (Ephesians 5:18, KJV)

 

Do you have something that controls you and shames your testimony? Explain.

Do you know someone who is controlled by sin? Pray for him or her.

Have you ever caught something that you could not let go?

Prayer: Father, You set all creation in motion. Your work is perfect. You know what will give us joy and peace. Help us to respond to the leading of Your Holy Spirit.

WE CAN’T DO MUCH, BUT WE’RE HERE TO HELP

 

            The men’s ministry at Union Springs Baptist Church in Randolph, Alabama, voted to put new shingles on the roof of the old educational wing. Several of the men were carpenters, and they met on a Saturday morning with others who knew how to help replace shingles.

            As summer days in Alabama are hot and humid, the men and boys decided to start work by seven o’clock. Some roof repairmen will leave the old shingles on for added protection, but the shingles on this old building were too deteriorated. To do the job right, workers remove the old shingles.

            Around six thirty the men and boys started gathering. Two men, Ollie and Cody, came that morning. Ollie was well into his seventies, and Cody was in his early sixties and had glaucoma. Both of them said, “We can’t do much, but we’re here to help.” Both men enjoyed working around the church and always came ready to do something.

            Men and boys started the laborious job of tearing off the old shingles and pushing them off the roof. Torn shingles, nails, and old tarpaper went tumbling over the edge of the roof and onto the ground. The boys got a thrill being destructive.

            When the roof was clean, men and boys carried new rolls of tarpaper, new shingles, and new nails onto the roof. Chalk lines marked the places where new shingles would go, and the noise of hammers pounding against new nails sounded in a methodical rhythm as the shingles were systematically attached to the roof.

            The ladies of the church said that they would bring dinner for the crew. Because of the great turnout of men and boys, the roof was finished before eleven o’clock and before the ladies arrived with dinner!

            Before the workmen started down from the roof to get ready for dinner, they took a break to cool off. The topic of conversation was the cleanup. All the old shingles, tarpaper, nails, paper that had wrapped the new shingles, and scrap pieces from the new shingles were on the ground. The sun was almost straight overhead, and it was hot.

            Every worker got a surprise when he got to the ground. There was not a single piece of refuse there! Ollie and Cody had picked up every piece and hauled it away in a wheelbarrow. They burned what they could and threw the rest in the trash. The two men who “could not do anything” had finished the part that all the men and boys were dreading. It was a wonderful feeling to be doing something for God’s house!

            Everyone complimented each other. Ollie and Cody said the new roof was perfect. The men and the boys thanked Ollie and Cody for their great cleanup. Everyone thanked the ladies for a delicious dinner.

So we rebuilt the wall till all of it reached half its height, for the people worked with all their heart. (Nehemiah 4:6, NIV)

 

Now he that planteth and he that watereth are one: and every man shall receive his own reward according to his own labour. For we are labourers together with God: ye are God's husbandry, ye are God's building. (I Corinthians 3:8–9, King James Version)

 

Think about this: When was the last time you thanked someone who surprised you by doing a task you dreaded to tackle?

Take a moment to write down the names of some people who do the small, but important, things around your church.

What gifts do you have, and how are you using them for the Lord?

Prayer: Father, You give each of us gifts to minister in Your kingdom. In the eyes of men, we may not offer much, but You take our limitations and do miraculous work. Help us to do what we can to be intentional in our ministries and faithful in living the Great Commission. Thank You for using people who think they cannot do much, but who do incredible ministries that inspire more for You. Help us to give a word of encouragement or a note of appreciation to those who labor in Your kingdom and help make Your house and worship so wonderful.