Thanks Ms. Ruby!

It was a beautiful clear blue sky as the plane approached the Birmingham Airport.  In an hour, or so, Angel and I would be home for Thanksgiving dinner 1996.  It was a climax to a very busy and fun filled week.  It was a few moments of solitude to think about the goodness and greatness of God, the fun and frolic of adventure, and the thrill and tranquility of seeing and spending time loved ones.

It all started the previous Saturday with a temporary time of separation.  I jogged three miles that morning, spent the afternoon at home, and that evening I prepared to travel to Miami leaving at 5:00 am Sunday morning to travel to the Birmingham Airport.  Hanceville Junior College, where Angel played volleyball, won the Alabama title and received an invitation to play for the National Championship for Junior College Girls Volleyball.

We arrived at the Miami on Sunday afternoon.  This was the second year to play for the national championship making the second trip a little more familiar.  Our hotel was near Miami International.  Most of the teams in the playoff stayed in this one hotel.  Saturday night was a wonderful gala to kick off the week.  There was great music, delicious food, and special videos of each team represented.  The sad part was it was just Angel and me, but it was also an exciting time in Angel’s and my life.  I wished that the whole family could have attended, but it will always be a magical moment for me.

It was difficult trying to get to the games.  The games were played at University of Miami Dade Campus.  I was at the mercy of those who had driven their vehicles.  I thought there might be transportation for us, but I was wrong.  I did get to see areas of Miami that I otherwise would have never seen.  I remember stopping at a store and everything was in Spanish.  I realized what people meant when they referred to the area as “Little Havana.”  I felt like a pilgrim in a foreign land, but it was south Florida.

One of delights of the stay was an IHOP restaurant in walking distance of the hotel.  They served the best French toast and link sausage.  On Monday night, Angel’s volleyball team met at the Hard Rock Café.  I remember having a very delicious and very expensive hamburger.  I had heard about twenty-dollar burgers and the high cost of things in Miami and found it to be true. 

The Hard Rock Café clientele was fascinating and different.  I was almost afraid to see the cooks because the waitress and servers were covered with tattoos and body piercing, wore ragged clothes, and sported several different colors of hair.  I remember a young man showing some girls at our table his pierced tongue.  Once again, I felt like a pilgrim in a strange land filled with strange customs and exotic foods.

I did participate in one of the indigenous rituals while there.  Periodicity, they would play the song YMCA by the group called the Village People.  If you remember, the group dressed like a construction worker, a Native American, a police officer, and another guy.  Everyone in the restaurant took part when the song played.  I admit that I am uncoordinated but before the night was over, I could do a pretty Y M C A routine.  Sometimes patrons and servers would do the routine on tabletops.  I stuck to the floor!

We had two days of games.  Angel’s team placed ninth in the nation that year.  The championship game was between Miami Dade and Idaho.  Those girls were awesome.  They could spike the volleyball so hard that they could knock down opponents.  I saw the most valuable player, from Miami; spike the ball dislocating the index finger of the star player from Idaho.  It was ugly and the player was in intense pain.

On Thanksgiving morning, we boarded the plane to head home.  The first leg of the journey was a stop in Jacksonville.  The flight was so rough that it was like riding a school bus on a bumpy dirt road.  When the plane hit the runway, the plane titled to left, then to the right, and then to the front.  The pilot interrupted the terror by telling us the landing was performed by a female pilot’s first time landing a passenger plane.  The rough flight and landing made perfect sense, and we applauded her for not crashing.

Some passengers debarked, then new passengers boarded, and we took off for Atlanta.  After a quick stop in Atlanta, the plane left at 2:00 pm and landed in Birmingham at 1:30 pm.  Remember, Atlanta is Eastern Time, Birmingham Central.  The flight was thirty minutes.  We arrived in Birmingham before we left Atlanta.

Angel and I arrived at home and received a warm welcome from the family as well as Ruby, Alice, and Robert.  Mrs. Ruby and family drove in from Houston, Texas to make sure that I had turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving dinner.

Miami was great with French toast, fresh coconuts, and fantastic adventures.  It did not feel like Thanksgiving in that foreign land with funny talking people, swaying palm trees, various exotic plants, and sparkling swimming pools.

It was strange adjusting to the chilling appearance of home after a week of festivities.  There is no place like home with family and friends on Thanksgiving Day, especially those who travel on long journeys to share a few moments of love by gathering around the table eating turkey, dressing, and lots of cranberry sauce.

Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ (Ephesians 5:20 KJV).

Thanks Ruby!

Chief John Lee

I got a call several years ago.  Looking at the caller I D, I recognized it was my old friend and former church member John Lee.

John was the Police Chief at the University of Montevallo.  He became Chief during my sophomore year.  His office was adjacent to the carpentry shop where I worked between classes.  John was a regular for morning coffee.

During our morning coffee, John learned that I was preacher.  He said he studied to be a preacher but realized that the ministry was not his calling and became a police officer. 

During his first year, John called me in his office investigating how, as a student, that I had a faculty college parking decal.  I answered that I got it during the summer break and by virtue of working in the carpentry department.  Boy it made it nice to drive up to the classroom door.

As it is with all good things, somebody complained about my college perk, the faculty decal.  John required me to get a student decal.  He said his hands were tied and that he had enforce campus procedures and policies.  I told him that it was not a problem, and it was good while it lasted.  After that, my friends in the carpentry shop used a university vehicle to transport me to and from class.  Lose one perk, gain another I say.  John smiled each time he saw me riding to class in the carpentry pickup.

John was an interesting Chief.  He was driver for Alabama Governor George C. Wallace for many years.  He had the voice of an old southern colonel or aristocratic landowner.  He could tell some tales about governors George and Laureen.

John was also a gun collector, outdoorsman, and artist.  He painted wildlife, particularly ducks.  He competed for the Alabama State Duck Hunting Stamp annually.  He won the state competition, against national, competitors in 1984 and 2002.  He was in the top ten for the Federal Duck Stamp.

John moved from his campus house to a new home in the community where I pastored.  He attended church one Sunday told me that he would join, but he was hesitant saying some big church was going to snatch me away.  I laughed and responded, “No one wants me.”  I stayed there eight years, five as John’s pastor.

After graduation, I would visit the University physical plant and their workers, especially the boys at the carpentry shop and Chief Lee.

In October before my spring phone call, my son Aaron and I visited with John.  Aaron and John always talked “guns.”  John told us he was about to retire.  A few weeks later, I got an invitation inviting me to his retirement.  The retirement gala was on January 30th.

I accepted the invitation, and we went in anticipation of seeing old friends.  I was shocked when I saw John.  He had deteriorated greatly since my earlier visit a few months earlier.  I received another shock when I looked at the program.  I was on it.  I had the innovation and opening remarks.  Did I ever say that God takes care of fools and ignorant folks like me?  I just happened to be in church dress clothes!

After the retirement ceremony, John presented each program personality with a gift.  He gave me the 1984 Alabama State Duck Stamp print from his office.  I was very surprised.

Picking up the phone, I said, “Good morning, John.”  There was an eerie silence.  I sensed something was wrong.  “Bobby, this is Judy.  John passed last night, and he wanted Dr. McChesney and you to do his funeral.”  Judy is John’s wife and Dr. McChesney is retired President of the University of Montevallo and bird-hunting buddy to John and Judy. 

“Bobby, I want you to be in charge of all the arrangements.  John said you would know what to do.”

I did as asked, remembering what good friends John and Judy were.  Judy gave me John’s 2002 Alabama State Duck Stamp print for doing the funeral service.  Judy said, “Bobby, you know that your Duck Prints are very valuable now that John has passed?  Reflecting on these things, I thought of Luke 14:7-10:

And he put forth a parable to those which were bidden, when he marked how they chose out the chief rooms; saying unto them.  When thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit not down in the highest room; lest a more honourable man than thou be bidden of him; And he that bade thee and him come and say to thee, Give this man place; and thou begin with shame to take the lowest room. But when thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room; that when he that bade thee cometh, he may say unto thee, Friend, go up higher: then shalt thou have worship in the presence of them that sit at meat with thee. then shalt thou have worship in the presence of them that sit at meat with thee.

Both paintings hang in my library.  They are valuable.  To me they are priceless.

Thanks for the memories, Chief 

A Working Man's Hands

One day a while back before I retired, I studied my hands.  Gone were the callouses from hard work.  I remember using fingernail clips and scissors to trim the callouses.  Sometimes the callouses would crack open and become sore.  At times, my hands would be so rough that I could not rub my hands across fine linen without snagging the material.  Loading paper wood, using wrenches, and handing hoes, picks, and shovels make callouses.

Gone are oil and grease stains.  My hands were always in something greasy or in burnt motor oil.  Growing up poor, my daddy, brothers, and I did a lot of repairs to worn out and broke down equipment.  Burnt motor oil and dirty grease are two of the hardest things to clean off your hands.  Grease and oil under the fingernails will stain the nails.  An old friend taught me to scrape hand soap under my nails before working in grease and oil prevents stains.  Clean oil and WD 40 will also help clean-burnt oil and nasty grease.

Gone from my hands were the stains and smells of “hawg killin’.”  Pigs love nasty.  Scaldin’ and pullin’ hair on a 300lb nasty pig will stain your hands.  I had to wear off the smell and the stain.

Gone are the splinters, the black fingernails, cuts, and scrapes.  I have had some booger splinters.  I had one go deep under a fingernail.  Momma had to cut the nail deep into the “quick,” almost the whole nail, just to use tweezers to pull it out from under the nail.  I remember pulling the nail off my middle finger when I shut it in the front door.  My hands have been so sore that it hurt to use them.

That’s enough about my hands.  I shake a lot of hands, and I take notice of the hands I hold.  Hands reflect the person.  I noticed the calloused hands of a lady one day.  It had been a long time since I felt a female hand that calloused.  I knew the lady worked hard with her hands.

I notice that many of my colleagues in the full-time ministry have soft hands.  They tend to be very protective of their hands and have a flimsy handshake.  I think to myself, oooh.  I notice that some of these soft-handed colleagues have small bottles hand sanitizers and cleanse their hands after shaking hands.  Sometimes I wish that these colleagues would have a clinic on hand sanitation for some of the folks in fast food restaurants business.

Most folks have firm handshakes.  Every once in a while, I get a fellow that wants to show me how strong he is and how weak I am.  You know the one that squeezes your hand where your fingers twist together and if you are wearing a ring, the impression of the ring lingers on the finger for a while.  A doctor friend showed me how to prevent “My hand is a vice, you whimp” technique.

I try not to hurt the hands of people when shaking.  Arthritis has crippled some hands.  Some hands are small and tender.

As I examined my hands I thought of the song, Daddy’s Hands, Holly Dunn recorded.

    

I remember Daddy’s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy’s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I’ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I’ll always remember the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

I remember Daddy’s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I’d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love...
In Daddy’s hands.

 

I think of my daddy’s hands when I hear this song.  His hands were big and strong.  I also think of Jesus’ hands.  I have to believe that his hands were calloused and scared from years of carpentry.  I wonder what the Roman soldier thought as he nailed Jesus’ hands to the cross.  I am sure it was not the same as those that Jesus touched.

Now when the sun was setting, all they that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto him; and he laid his hands on every one of them, and healed them (Luke 4:40 KJV).

Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God. . . (John 13:3 KJV).

Life Continues Take Funny Turns

Tuesday morning at the 2011 Alabama Baptist State Convention, my thoughts went back over thirty-eight years to place now gone.  I hope you know by now that I do have an attention deficit disorder, and my mind goes on a tangent.  On this occasion, Dr. David Potts was giving the annual Judson College report.  He had invited two of his students to share how Judson College was changing their lives.  They were part of the team from Judson that serves donuts and coffee to visitors to the Judson College exhibit. No, I know what you are thinking.  I did not eat any of those “hot” Krispy Kreme Donuts.  Shame on you for having those thoughts when I sacrificed by not having any.  See, I suffered a little ADD for a moment.

As Dr. Potts introduced this beautiful student, her last name was Davenport, and I noticed she looked familiar.  He said that she was from Jemison, my hometown, and her was church Mineral Springs, my brother is music director there.  I realized that I did know her.  That is what took me back thirty-eight plus years.

The place was concrete tables, underneath oak trees, behind Union Springs Baptist Church, my home church, which is located between Jemison and Randolph, Alabama.  I was talking to James Earl Davenport.  Up home, a lot of boys and men have Earl for their middle name.  At Jemison High School, there was Dudley Earl Burnette, Rickey Earl Coles, Maston Earl Martin Jr., Ricky Earl Posey, and Bobby Earl Hopper in my senior class.  I do not know for whom we are named, but Earl must have been popular in the early 1950’s.  Oops, I went ADD again.

James Earl was six years older than I was.  He already had a small son and daughter.  We were having a church get together for young married couples.  We were talking hot topics of that time.  James Earl was worried about life and the terrible shape of our nation and world.  “End times” were hot topics of that era and everyone was talking about Hal Lindsey’s book The Late Great Planet Earth.  I had a copy at the time.  We were sure that the Lord would return any day because times were so terrible.  When I think of that time, I never imagined that things would be as they are currently.

That evening, James Earl said that if he had it to do again, he would not have had children.  He feared bringing children into such a horrible environment.  I remember when our older two children were small that I would hear their weeping at night fearing some foreign power would take Andy and Angel from us.  I would remind her that if we taught them God’s Word, they could be another Daniel or Joseph of the Old Testament.

A few years down the road after that cement table conversation, I had the privilege of teaching James Earl’s son.  He was a polite and teachable.  He became a good student and had a scholarship offer to play football at Troy University.  During the summers, he would work with his dad and me at the cement plant.

He married another one of our co-workers' daughters and they had two girls and adopted a couple of children after their daughters were teenagers.  One daughter and I did a wedding together in Springville.  I did the ceremony, and the daughter played the violin.  She also plays violin with a Christian ensemble with my nephew.  That nephew is the son of my music director brother at Mineral Springs.

I did recognize that student from Judson who was devoting her life to ministry.  She is the sister to the violinist, daughter of the young boy I taught in Sunday School, and the granddaughter of the one who had second thoughts about bringing up children in a cruel world.  Life takes funny turns.

I still feel the same about children today.  I wanted our children to make a Christian difference in life.  The Word of God reminds us to be fruitful and replenish the earth.  It is God’s way of having His people be salt and light in a decaying world.

When I had an opportunity, I visited the Judson Exhibit.  There behind the fresh hot crème covered donuts was James Earl and Ann Davenport’s daughter. Now, she is a spokesperson for Judson College at the Alabama Baptist State Convention at Dauphin Way Baptist in Mobile.  Standing before a couple of thousand believers, she encouraged us with how God was using her and how Judson was preparing her for ministry.

Some things are hard to envision.  That evening the two Earls, James and Bobby, never imagined that the horrific world of that time would be so anti-Christian, atrocious, and repulsive today.  God continues to call people into His fields.  The darker the days ahead, the brighter the light of God’s people shines.  I can’t wait to talk to James Earl.

O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him.  O fear the Lord, ye his saints: for there is no want to them that fear him.  Come, ye children, hearken unto me: I will teach you the fear of the Lord (Psalm 34:8-9, 11 KJV).

Tootsie Rolls and A Bitten Snickers

October is a big month for Southern Baptist Churches.  It is the start of a new church year, which translates into new literature, new classes, church letters, annual meetings, and pastor’s appreciation. 

What, did you forget it was pastor’s appreciation?  Some churches have a special day on the pastor’s anniversary date.  That is good too, but who says you cannot do both.  Pastors do not receive enough recognition for all the work they do.  Most weeks for a pastor become emotional roller coasters.  In one day, a pastor can go from a newborn’s home to the nursing, and to the funeral home before actually going home.

Many pastors face burnout prematurely.  The task of ministering seems overwhelming.  The pastor’s office is often a place of stress and strife.  It is often a sad office with tears of frustration, pain, and heartache.

It seems as though the fight against evil is a losing effort.  Pastors need love, affirmation, and encouragement.  It is amazing what nourishment a Sunday dinner will give the pastor.  It is incredible how much power a twenty-dollar bill has placed into the pastor’s shirt pocket.  The amount of energy a pastor has after fishing, or a hunting trip is enormous.

Small things go a long way.  I remember having Evangelist Danny Daniels for an Easter revival at the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama.  Danny preached preliminary revivals for Dr. Billy Graham Crusades and wrote a book, Mortal Midnight, about his conversion during the Viet Nam War.  He was on staff with Dr. Rick Warren, his best friend, at Saddleback Church.  He was a big-time evangelist at a small church.

After the morning offering, one of my ushers said we had an unusual offering.  He showed me four tootsie roll candies that were in the offering plates.  Danny said, “Praise God, I love tootsie rolls.  Someone knew I wanted some.”  Danny confirmed that it was going to be a great revival.  Someone ministered to him in ways they will never understand this side of heaven.

I had a pastor friend whose church gave his wife and him a trip to the Holy Land.  He was elated having always wanted to go.  The church paid for everything.  While they were gone, the church had a special called business meeting and decided to terminate him.  When my pastor friend and his wife returned home, the church informed him that he was fired.  He has been shy of trips to the Holy Land ever since that time.

My pastor, Evie Megginson said the most unusual pastor’s appreciation gift he received was a Snicker’s candy bar.  It had a big bite taken out of it.

Celebrate the ministry of your pastor.

Therefore said he unto them, The harvest truly is great, but the labourers are few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth labourers into his harvest.  Go your ways: behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves.  Carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes: and salute no man by the way.  And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house. And if the son of peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it: if not, it shall turn to you again.  And in the same house remain, eating and drinking such things as they give: for the labourer is worthy of his hire (Luke 10:2-7 KJV)