God Hears the Heart

I read an interesting article the other day and it resonated with my heart. It was about an upcoming wedding. The bride was thrilled that she had lived long enough to marry. At nine years old doctors at University of Alabama Birmingham diagnosed her with cardiomyopathy, a disease of her heart muscle.

An eleven-year-old boy died from an accident was doctors pronounced him brain dead. Doctors asked his family if they would donate his organs. At first his father refused but later said that he felt as though his son was tell him yes.

On Mother’s Day 2011, UAB surgeons transplanted the boy’s heart to the nine-year-old. Their families became friends and on August 9, 2025, the bride invited the boy’s parents to her wedding. The boy’s parents were thrilled that they allowed their son to donate his organs that other may have life.

I have read about the thrill that parents whose children donated organs, especially the heart, hear their child’s heart beating. There is a special bond forged when listening to a heart beating.

The same day that I read the Florence wedding and the heartwarming event, I received a picture of my youngest son riding his son on his back.  It’s a wonderful picture.  My son Aaron and grandson Jack Barrett are in the water.  It was a picture of love, trust, and hope.

When Aaron small, his brother Andy and sister Angel loved the water. Angel could swim before she could walk. They had traumatized Aaron making him terrified of water. I had a very difficult time teaching him to trust me and jump into my arms at the pool. When he did learn, he became a very good swimmer.

Seeing Aaron and Jack Barrett together brought back memories of my love for Aaron. Jack Barrett looks like Aaron.  They have the same smile. Since they live in Texas and I in Alabama, the picture is a sweet reminder of a dad/son relationship. I pray that Aaron will have the same heart and love for Jack Barrett that I had for him.

Aaron did trust me. When he was a baby, he would lay on my stomach with his right ear on my heart listening to my heartbeat. He would continue to sleep listening to my heart until he got so long that he pushed my chin with his bushy hair. He was around four years old when stopped laying on my stomach.

He continued to listen to my heart beat each time he hugs me the lays his right ear on my heart. Oh, what a wonderful feeling that is. In my thirty-one-day devotional, I Will Speak Using Stories, the first devotion is God Hears the Heart. It is about a small boy that when speaking his words were not comprehensible.

He volunteered to pray one Father’s Day. The congregation, with the exception of his parents, did not understand him, but God did. It was one of the best Father’s Day experiences I ever had.

I pray that you will obtain a copy of I Will Speak Using Stories.

Herman’s Hermits had a song with these lyrics:

Every time I see you lookin' my way
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?
In the car or walkin' down the highway
Baby, baby, can't you hear my heartbeat?

Thank God He hears the heart.

But the LORD said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart. (I Samuel 16:7 KJV)

The Sound of Silence

They say that silence is golden. My experience with silence is that it can be ire. When we went all night fishing on Mahan Creek, there were sounds of all kinds of night creatures. There were the crickets, katydids, the croaking of frogs, toads, the hooting of owls, and the rustling of branches.

There was the noise of boys laughing, the roaring of a fire, and the splashing of water where someone fell into the creek, the screaming of someone being chased or scared half to death. Then the yell an adult or leader heard more than anything else hollering to settle down, be quiet, who fell into the water?

If everyone and everything became quiet, it meant trouble and the silence of a storm was brewing nearby. It could mean that something unusual was lurking near. Silence in the woods at night is not normal.

The falling of a dead and rotten tree can break the silence. Before all the noise generated in the world today, we could hear strange sounds. We lived on a hill. The hollers around us echoed various sounds.

We could be in the backyard and hear a vehicle drive into the front yard. Daddy would say, “One of y’all go see who it is.”  Most of the time there was no vehicle or person. From the backyard we could hear people talking and music playing just as though the sound was in close proximity.

Momma told us stories of sounds that were scary. When mamma and her brother were small their mom, my grandmother, told them to get water from a spring in the holler. This was the late 1930’s and there were no pumps for running water to the house. Momma and my uncle Gerald where dipping water and the heard a loud noise that scared them.

Grandmoe, said that Uncle Gerald out run momma to the house. She said that momma’s hair was standing straight up, and she was white as a ghost. Grandmoe said Uncle Gerald was shaking like a leaf. They told grandmoe what they heard. Grandmoe said she had heard it before, and it sounded like an elephant falling down a tree. No one was able to find the source of the sound, and it continued for years.

When I was young my aunt Annie said the same thing. I never could understand the analogy of an elephant falling out of a tree. I aways wondered how an elephant climbed a tree. Aunt Anni’s house was on the opposite side of the holler from grandmoe. One day my cousins and I were playing in branch where momma and Uncle Gerald had dipped the water. Suddenly, a great sound scared us. All I can say is that it sounded like an elephant crashing through the trees.

It continued to reverberate gigantic and massive sound waves through the years. It was always loud and frightening. We heard the sound until aunt Annie and Uncle JP cleared the shrubs and trees behind their house to make a garden. We never heard the crashing elephant again.

When I pastored Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama I tried an experiment one Sunday morning during worship. I told the congregation that people cannot remain silent very long. Folks enjoy noise. People in today’s culture listen to noise through ear pods, headsets, and ever so popular loud music flowing from audio power amplifiers. It has become prevalent that most town and cities have noise ordinances. Young people do not realize that they we deaf from all the loudness damaging their hearing. They may have a future where they cannot hear.

I challenged the congregation to be silent for one minute. It was amazing. In less than ten seconds people were squirming, fidgeting, looking at their watches (before I phones), staring at me. Again, we must have noise. For some people, the television, stereo, or other devices break the silence. I spend most days without playing noise. I love drive without the radio playing.

We listen when it is silent. I fear that folks do not like the silence because they do not want to listen to God. We pray in silence so we can communicate with God. Unfortunately, we do most of the talking as God listens. We need to spend our “quiet time” listening to Him.

As Director of Missions, I visited several churches where the men of the church gather for pray before worship. There were a few where all the men prayed at once. Very distracted I could not pray. I would stick my fingers in my ears and consecrate quoting Psalm 23.

 And when he had opened the seventh seal. There was silence in heaven for the space of half an hour, Revelation 8:1 KJV

After the tragic event of 911, I sat on the front porch of the pastorium of Gallion Baptist Church and the silence created was frightening. Could it be that when everything stopped on 911, God got the attention of the world. After a while we returned to noise.    

 

 

 

Wild Varden

Fall is my second favorite season. Leaves are turning orange, yellow, brown, and all shades of reddish orange. The more they fall, the closer old man winter approaches. Cooler weather means hunting in Alabama.

When asked do I hunt and fish, I say that I am not a hunter. The are shocked. Most of the time I converse with those that do like I do hunt. Not that I lie. Here is what happens. One time I headed to our farm at Sugar Ridge in Jemison, Alabama from Linden for the purpose of cutting grass and weed eating.

I stopped in the College Town of Marion at the Chinese Restaurant for dinner (noontime in Alabama). I wore a pair of Turkey Federation camouflaged Liberty overalls that had purchased at Wall Mart. They were on sale, left over from the hunting season. They were not thick and heavy like the denim ones, and they were 4X and were comfortable. I loved them and wore them to where my wife Lisa could nor repair. I wore them in the restaurant.

It was turkey season, and some hunters were enjoying Chinese as I was. I asked them if they had good luck that morning. They told they had not. They asked how I did. I replied that I had not seen any turkeys. The said too windy for them. I agreed with them and as they asked questions I answered. My answers were truthful, but I had not hunted. They assumed I had.

Again, when asked if I hunt and fish, I say I’m not a hunter and fisherman, but a killer and catcher. We raised pigs, chickens, and beef cows. At an early age daddy appointed me the task of killing them for slaughter. I tell hunters that want to belittle my hunting that I have killed more meat than they have. That usually ends the conversation.

I did hunt in my youthful years. Dad gave me a 410 shotgun when I was twelve. I hunted quail, doves, squirrels, and rabbits with my trusty 410. I still use it to kill varmints any thing else that needs it.

One cold and sleety day after school I decide to go squirrel hunting where momma could cook squirrel stew and dumplings. I crossed the electric fence that corralled the pigs and headed to the woods. Our bore hog, affectionally named Varden for daddy’s co-worker that sold Varden to us, decided to go with me. Varden was almost a pet, but the older he got the ornerier he got. He was black with white strip and had some very long and sharp tusks.

I waved him back. I heard him again getting closer. He was smacking his lips together and white foam sprayed toward me. This time I broke off the top of a small pine tree and ran him back to spend time with the sows. I took a few more steps and here he came again only faster. I did not to turn my back to him, so I reached behind me to break another pine top.

I stumbled and fell on my back. Varden lunged at me and tried his best to use his long tusks to rip out my guts. His white slobber raked across my jacket. I threw up my feet and 410 and pushed him. When he cleared the barrel, I unloaded the squirrel shot into his left shoulder.

I had one shot, but it was effective. He ran limping back toward the barn. I was scared and the adrenaline was sky high. That was the only this 125-pound boy pushed 300-pound Varden away for the shot. If I missed, I was dead.

I did not go squirrel hunting after that. I called daddy at his work. He was on second shift. I said, “Daddy I had to shoot Varden. He ain’t dead, but he has a shoulder full of squirrel shot.”  Daddy asked me if I was okay and told him I was.

Varden limped for a while. That did not tame him, but we did our first dental work removing Varden’s tusks and removing his manhood he was gentler. Months later I had the pleasure of shooting Varden. We slaughtered him and momma made some great sausage. The left Boston Butt was full of squirrel shot that we surgically removed before processing. Each time I hold my 410, I think of almost being devoured by the beast that we named Varden. I think of it each time I read I Peter 5:8 in the KJV version of the Bible.

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:

 

 

 

Brainstorming, Take Cover

The human mind is remarkable as God designed.  Lisa and I were discussing the other night about how smells, sights, and sounds trigger a memory, even those long forgotten.  For our minds to store infinite bits of information, we utilize very little that we have access to retrieve. 

We marvel at computers and the seemingly unlimited acquisition of info.  A computer’s capability is based on data programmed into it by those with human minds.  The media bombards us with possibilities and potential of computers giving our minds movies, programming, and stories, and to ponder and have vivid imaginations.

The electronic wizards of computer chips can never replace the human mind.  Mankind is the ultimate creation of God.  This three-pound organ is 75% water with approximately one hundred billion neurons with a storage capacity of one quadrillion (1,000 trillion) connections.  Therefore, when our minds start to wander it has a lot of territory to cover.

As Lisa and I talked, my mind started on a journey.  There is so much stored in my brain and the possibilities of where I’m going are endless.  Lisa comments sometimes, “I would love to see into your brain, but it scares me to think what you are thinking.”  Well, my brain is storming and everything is swirling.

That night something she said something that triggered a memory of an old black man that was our neighbor and friend of my grandpa.  They had known each other for decades.  I thought about the influence he had on the community and on me.

Lawrence Atchison was a very dark man.  His mode of travel was his feet and an occasional traveler that might give him a ride.  When I started driving, I gave him a ride home.  He lived about two miles west of us.

Lawrence was kind, gentle and big and tall.  He would travel to Land Mart which was our local store where there was hoop cheese, tubes of baloney, bread, and the entire essential for living in rural Alabama.  After filling grocery sacks, not the thin and flimsy plastic ones but brown paper sacks.

I remember seeing Lawrence walking home with two sacks under his arms and baloney protruding out the top of the sack.  If grandpa was sitting on the front porch rocking, Lawrence would join him.

Two old friends would reminisce about growing up together and living as sharecroppers.  Now both worn out from the hard labor and rugged lifestyle of trying to eek a living in poverty-stricken Alabama rocked, laughed, and talked.

Lawrence lived on a dirt road and lived in an old shack which was kind of standard for most that lived in our community.  Most of the time, Lawrence traveled at night.  He would visit his relatives that lived east of Land Mart.  He was hard to see at night.  If any dogs barked after sunset, depending on the time of the year, we all knew that it was either Lawrence or the old black panther making their journeys.  The black panther came through migrating in the spring or in the fall.  Dogs would hide when the panther was passing, and they walked with Lawrence when he was passing.

Sometimes on dark nights the dogs would have a soft bark and daddy would say, “Old Lawrence must be headed home.”  If it was someone of something passing, the dogs growled and barked angrily.

Lawrence and grandpa have been dead for more than sixty years.  Most people in our have never heard and know of them.  There is no evidence of Lawrence’s old shack, but Grandpa’s front porch is across the road from our home.  Sitting or swinging on my front deck I can still visualize and almost hear Lawrence and Grandpa enjoying the relationship they had.

They had something that computerized society so critically needs today.  They used their minds to reminisce and had a personal relationship with each other as well as with most in the community.

I thank the Lord for Him allowing Lawrence and me to cross paths in life’s short journey.  I remember walking home from football practice after being dropped off at Land Mart.  The night was so dark that I could not see the road.  I walked with one foot on the pavement and the other on the grass for the quarter mile journey.  I wondered how Lawrence was able to make the trip.

In closing, there used to be a commercial that stated, “A mind is a terrible to waste.”  With all the capability of our brain and all the information available, why waste our brain.  There used to be a song that had the lyrics, “Input, output, what goes in is what comes out.”  That’s our brain.  It processes and stores what we experience.

Thanks, Lawrence, for the influence you had on me.

 

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.  (Romans 12:2 KJV)

Smoking Barrels

Back in the late Eighties, Bobby Watts and I went to Macon, Georgia for a gathering of local unions to negotiate a new name for our union.  It was an independent union.  The meeting was most interesting and entertaining.  Discussion was lively and heated from time to time, but we settled on an agreeable name, United Workers of North America.

I enjoyed meeting new people, staying in a new city, and eating at a restaurant where I had never been before. 

The restaurant was very clean, filled with antiques, and an abundance of gifts.  Bobby and I got our menus.  Best I remember Bobby had visited the restaurant before.  I was new as a union officer and “green as a gourd” as country folks say.   I had not been to all the exciting places that Bobby had, and I looked to him as a seasoned union member for his wisdom.  He helped navigate me in the name change forum.

Being a country boy, I was used to good home cooking and wanted to try something new.  The menu had some of the same foods momma and my wife cooked and I knew the restaurant food would not be as good as theirs.  My eyes found the baby back ribs and a “pine rosin” baked potato.  I had never baby back ribs but had eaten plenty “hawgs” boney ribs since we raised hogs.

I had never had a pine rosin baked potato but knew the taste of rosin from wearing it after loading pine pulp wood.  I had always eaten the “tater” peeling, but I found the rosin soaked a little repulsive and distasteful.  The inside was good. 

The restaurant where we ate that night was Cracker Barrel.  I have eaten at Cracker Barrel when traveling with disaster relief teams.  I was a good choice because of variety for our team.  My favorite dish is Mama’s French Toast.  As went ministered to those stricken by disaster, eating at Cracker Barrel allowed us to debrief and have more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

I say that because Cracker Barrel has been headlining news lately.  It started with changing the Cracker Barrel logo.  My vocation and ministry have taught me that change means resistance and sometimes corporate folks are out of touch with reality.  What works on paper sometimes will not work.

Personally, the product is what drives the consumer.  The ambiance helps.  Granny Hopper was a great cook, especially her gumbo.  She was so poor that she scraped the bottom of the barrel to make it.  He décor was not Fifth Avenue acceptable but the wood stoves that warmed the gumbo, cornbread, and biscuits were delicious.

The lady in change of the re-branding and marketing of the Cracker Barrel logo fiasco wound up over a barrel.  She must have forgotten who the clientele was.  I feel that it is part of the culture war that has crept its way into church worship, fashion design and essentially all walks of modern life lock, stock and barrel.

The silent majority that can only take so much purple hair, ripped jeans, and every other anti-culture was ammo let this lady of change let um’ have it with both barrels.  Stock in Cracker Barrel fell faster than corporate lady would have if she had gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

Ms. Corporate forgot Liebig’s barrel which states that growth is controlled not by total resources, but by the scarcest resource.  A barrel is just as strong as its weakest part, usually the staves.  It is not the abundance (or lack) of food that draws customers but the good taste (quality) of home cooked meals. 

Several times I have received my Momma’s French Toast burned or cold after waiting a very long time.  The food is gotten bland, and you have to ask for items such as cornbread and biscuits.  Bad food and bad service reminds me of the old saying, “One rotten apple spoils the barrel.”

The effort to change the Cracker

Barrel logo may or may have been futile effort to move an apple for change but turned over the apple cart.  Stockholders and good old country folks alike found Ms. Corporate and her cronies like shooting fish in a barrel.

The logo change cost millions of dollars and the response cost even more millions.  Free publicity could have the effect of the “Pork Barrel” or the “Bankruptcy Barrel.”   All this change could be politically motivated as was the “Bud Light” beer barrel fiasco trying the culture change to achieve WOKE and broke.

All the news makes one wonder did the board have a small barrel (keg) of beer while sitting in whiskey barrel seats and using a barrel (syringe) administering a synthetic drug before making their decision.

As of this article, Ms. Corporate and the strategy listed to the little old ladies with blue hair and the old timers that wore ragged blue jeans as kids and decided not to change the Cracker Barrel logo.  I remember the barrels of pickles and crackers, hoop cheese, tubes of baloney, and a six once Coke.  There were powder barrels (kegs) and double-barreled shotguns.  There are venders that wore empty barrels draped across shoulders for advertisements. 

Thinking of all that has happened could be a barrel of laughs.  It reminds all of us to listen to those that have experienced life and learn from their mistakes.  Ms. Corporate and the board remind me of my daughter Angel that used to say, “Daddy I want to learn from my own mistakes.”  I told her that she will but life is better if we learn from the mistakes of others.

 

And king Rehoboam consulted with the old men, that stood before Solomon his father while he yet lived, and said, How do ye advise that I may answer this people?  And they spake unto him, saying, If thou wilt be a servant unto this people this day, and wilt serve them, and answer them, and speak good words to them, then they will be thy servants for ever.  But he forsook the counsel of the old men, which they had given him, and consulted with the young men that were grown up with him, and which stood before him:  And he said unto them, What counsel give ye that we may answer this people, who have spoken to me, saying, Make the yoke which thy father did put upon us lighter?  And the young men that were grown up with him spake unto him, saying, Thus shalt thou speak unto this people that spake unto thee, saying, Thy father made our yoke heavy, but make thou it lighter unto us; thus shalt thou say unto them, My little finger shall be thicker than my father's loins.  I Kings 12:6-10 KJV

Got To Get It Out

Growing up can be painful because life has thorns, splinters, briers, and nettles that find their way into us.  We had a black locust tree that had thorns.  Momma said they were poison.  They were very uncomfortable when they penetrated our skin.  The holes would be sore and usually get infected.  Treatment consisted of Epson Salt, turpentine, and other home remedies. 

In Sunday school were studied about Jesus having a crown of thorns shoved onto his head.  The Hopper boys decided to make one from the black locust and being the inquisitive boys we were placed it on our heads.  It hurt!  We couldn’t imagine the pain that Jesus endured from the thorns much less the crucifixion.

Having had thorns stuck into me, it made the Apostle Paul’s thorn in the flesh more understandable.  He must have had some terrible pin to call it a thorn in the flesh.

We have always handled wood whether it be firewood, lumber, used boards, and pulpwood.  When you work with wood there will be splinters.  You get them in your fingers, in your arms, and other various body parts and you ask, “How did I get a splinter there.”

Left alone splinters fester and make you sore.  One on the worst I had was under a fingernail.  It went so deep that I could not pull it out.  Momma was our general practitioner, and she did most of the doctoring.  The deeper the splinter, the deeper momma dug.  She was very effective in surgical removal of most splinters.

The one under my fingernail was no problem for momma.  She took some fingernail clippers and cut the nail until she recovered the splinter.  It was a relief, but fingernails cut down into the quick hurt too.

A large splinter threaded my skin one day and rather than trying to pull it out the way it went in, momma just pulled it all the way through.  That was sore too.

Cancer is a family trait.  One time my brother David had knots on his head.  Naturally he worried and eventually visited a specialist to see if the knots were cancer.  The doctor was puzzled.  As he biopsied the contents of the knots, he realized it was wooden splinters.  David had a knot head.  He received the splinters where he had carried sheets of plywood on his head while building houses.  We laughed and were relieved.  Daddy always called us knot heads.

Briers protect things that are edible and pretty.  If you grow roses, you grow briers.  My wife Lisa saw these beautiful white roses at an old house place.  She wanted some.  Walking through the rose vines I had my share tiny places oozing droplets of blood.  The vines seem to run forever before I found the main roots.  I dug some, planted them in the front yard and made a trellis for them.  Lisa has the most beautiful brier vines.  Every time I prune them, I get more tiny holes oozing blood droplets.

Last week while mowing the lawn near the trellis, long green briers reached out to grab me.  I dodged them but a wild dewberry brier growing from a fig tree grabbed my left arm.  My arm had a trail of tiny holes and briers.

Wild dewberries and blackberries are a staple fruit in Alabama.  Every rural woman had to have them for making jellies.  When I eat homemade blackberry jelly, it reminds me of the sweat, blood, and red bugs bites I got while harvesting them.  I think that maybe the red bug bites are the worst.

Needles from cactus and bull nettle will prick you too.  One week my baby son Aaron spent the week with his granddaddy Moxley.  He had the time of his life with his Pawpaw except he came home with a red place in the bend of his right arm.

I asked him what happened, and he said he walk by a sticker bush.  I thought is must have been a bull nettle.  His redness worsened and I could not see any visible marks.

Finally, I sat him on the bathroom sink where the sun shined bright.  I took his tiny arm as he held it out straight.  He said it was not hurting.  I took my thumb and index finger and pinched his skin.  I noticed there was something in the bend of his arm.  I asked him did he trust me, and he said he did.  He did not like needles.

I sterilized a sewing needle and penetrated his skin at the end of the bulge.  When I opened it up, a needle longer than an inch slowly slid exited his arm.  I pinched the skin again and the second bulged like the first.

Squeezing the bulge, I could see another object trying to exit the place.  I got a second and then a third.  I knew Aaron was a tough little boy and the three nettle needles roved it.  He was tickled and I was glad that Doctor Momma taught me how to remove thorns, splinters, biers, and needles.  All these evil intrusions if not removed will fester and cause pain.

 

    And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.  II Corinthians 12:7 KJV

   And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?  Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?  Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye. Matthew 7: 3-5 KJV

And there shall be no more a pricking brier unto the house of Israel, nor any grieving thorn of all that are round about them, that despised them; and they shall know that I am the Lord GOD. Ezekiel 28:24 KJV

Among the bushes they brayed; under the nettle they were gathered together. Job 30:7 KJV

Suddenly Bobby Felt Very Alone

Thirteen has always been one of my favorite numbers because that was the day I was born in December 1952.  Friday the thirteenth has been my favorite day.  One of my most memorable Fridays the thirteen happened forty-nine years ago this week.  It is one of the anniversaries that I celebrate.

It was 1976 while I was working as an apprentice machinist for Linefast Corporation in Montevallo, Alabama where we produced items used by cargo shipping containers.  I experienced a first that Friday the thirteenth.  I was fired!  There had been some problems and irregularities at Linefast and the men there wanted to have a conference with the owner.  The owner had a partner in New York.

When the meeting took place, I found that I was ushered to the lead.  I had all the wisdom and know-it-all of twenty-three years.  That day I realized that people do a lot of talking but very few will address the issues if they have a rambunctious twenty-three to be the idiot fall guy.

I was the happy dad of our first-born Andy who was born in January of 1976.  One of our issues was insurance.  Linefast paid part of the premium and employees paid the other part.  St. Vincent’s hospital in Birmingham informed me with a monthly bill that the insurance had not paid for the delivery of Andy.

When I questioned Linefast’s corporate office in New York about the delay, they offered excuses and said they would pay.  They never did.  What “broke the camel’s back” was that the owner at Montevallo said there was no insurance that paid for delivering babies.

I produced my policy and showed him that I did have maternity coverage.

When I lead the meeting, things got heated especially when the owner realized that I caught one of the inconsistencies.  Employees were paying one insurance premium to Linefast and we received another policy.

As I aired the grievances, they were said and I realized I was standing alone.  All the men that had encouraged me to speak were gone.  The owner said, “You’re fired.”  It was dinner time and I asked for my pay.  He initially said no, but I reminded him that he paid us every Friday.  He paid me.  I went home, changed clothes, and started the process of job hunting that Friday afternoon.

Having no luck, I returned home and noticed fresh tire tracks in our dirt drive.  I recognized them as the mud grip tires of my former boss’ pickup.  He had come to apologize and offer my job back.

We had a good meeting and I told him it was best that I move on and find another job.  We parted friends and remained friends until Linefast shut down and the owner moved away.  Linefast Corporation paid St. Vincent’s hospital bill.  I did not owe anything.  I did not find another job until October, 13, 1976 when I started at the Cement Plant in Calera.

The time off was difficult.  With no work came no pay.  No pay and job turned to stress.  Everyone blamed me.  Their condemnation, anger, and discouragement got the best of me.  One day after a jobless opportunity, frustration got the best of me.  I pulled into mom and dad’s drive and the weight of the world drove and bowed me into depression.  All alone I lay in the seat of my old Ford pickup when dad drove into the yard.

He walked to my truck and asked me what was wrong.  For the next few moments I poured my heart to him.  I told him that everyone was upset with me, even him.  I told him what happened.  Most family and friends only knew that I had been fired and not the circumstances that transpired. 

He asked, “Did you stand for what was right?”  I told him that I had.  He said, “Then I am with you.  When you are right and know it don’t back down from it.  Just remember son that when your make a stand be prepared to stand alone.”  Since that afternoon, I have made many stands and most of them have been alone.

 

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord. (I Corinthians 15:58 KJV)

 

One of my favorite cartoonist's is Gary Larson creator of The Far Side.  I had one his masterpieces that I kept on our refrigerator for years.  It was a baby dinosaur walking on the road.  Dressed in baseball cap carrying a bat and glove on his shoulder among three caves with extinct signs above their openings the caption said, Suddenly, Bobby felt very alone in the world.”   Yep, been there done that and thought of it a lot.

Can You Hold for a Second

It never ceases to amaze me that with all the technology at our fingertips how much we have to wait, especially at fast-food restaurants.  Sometimes after taking an order, you are asked to pull up.  Sometimes they ask you can you wait for a second which translated is approximately five minutes. The other night Lisa and I made a spontaneous run to Wendy’s in Calera, Alabama.  She wanted a sour cream and butter baked potato covered in chili.

As we crossed I 65 and Wendy’s came into view we knew we were in trouble.  We weren’t dressed to eat inside, not that it would be faster, and noticed that the drive-thru was filled with automobiles all the way into the main street.  It was not a good sign.

As we entered into the caravan of vehicles, one impatient customer got out of the modern-day wagon train and tried to exit.  It took a moment of two but finally got loose.  We took the spot.

We waited a very long time before there was any movement.  I told Lisa to take time and in two minutes we would leave.   There was movement and another car pulled behind us blocking any exit we may have attempted.  I noticed that the SUV in front of us was from Texas.  I thought to myself, “Welcome to Alabama.”

Slowly we circled Wendy’s like Indians.  To be politically correct, Native Americans which I am.  Granny Hopper was part Cherokee or Creek.  Then right there in front of us was the latest in fast food convenience, an AI ready to take our order and expedite our visit.

It was fun talking with artificial intelligence.  There was no muffled sound like someone holding his or her hand over their mouth.  It was very plain.  I told AI that I wanted a sour cream and butter baked potato, number 6 spicy chicken combo and could I swap the fries for a chili.  Of course, AI obliged and kept asking, “What drink?”  She was asking what drink with the baked potato while I was asking for the number 6.  She asked if I wanted to make it a large and I said, “Sure.”

Our long-extended wait continued to grow longer, and we were committed to hang in there as my lovely wife say, “Like a hair hung in a biscuit.”  Finally, we were the fourth car in line from the window of delicious delight.  The poor Texan was not financially poor but unfortunate, arrived at the window of tasty satisfaction.   The Texan handed the window lady plastic money and received a small drink.  After what seemed an eternity, the window lady handed a small bag to the Texan.  I do not know what it was but it took a while for the kitchen to catch it, clean it, and cook it.

Finally, Lisa and I arrived at our destination.  The window with an indignant grin and blinking of eyes said, “We are out of chili.”  I asked, “Would you repeat that?”  She replied with a look of arrogance at an old man, “We are out of chili, and it takes three hours to make.”  It was 9:25 pm and I said I drove twenty miles for some chili.  She looked at me as to say, “So.”  I told her to have a good night and drove off empty handed.

Lisa and I went back across I65 to another fast-food restaurant that had a real person taking the order.  The cashier asked if we needed condiments and was very courteous and helpful.  The fries were cooked just right and were hot and salty.  The roast beef on our sandwiches were very good.  Lisa said, “I’m glad Wendy’s did not have chili!”  I started to tell her we would wait on the chili.  I bet that would have wiped that smug off here face.  I felt like we had been in line for two hours already.  I thought about this article and how the Bible tells us to wait.  I looked it up and immediately the web page responded with 245 times in KJV.

 

Isaiah 40:31: "But those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint." 

Second Anniversary of Being on Earth

 Happy birthday Jack Barrett it’s your number two

Oh, how I wish I could celebrate it with you

I am here and you are far away there

But we can celebrate, and our spirits can share

Your marvelous journey in life has just begun

My journeys are fleeting as I ride into the setting sun

Until that moment I feel your soft face against mine

Your eyes sparkle and your laughter is divine

Feeling your heart racing against my chest

Is precious and I know that you are the best

Granddads and grandsons have a special bond

I remember my grand paw and me fishing on a pond

Holding you close I know I hold the future coming fast

Hugging me you have touched the things that are past

My dear child you will experience such a time

When you hold the future and remember this rhyme

You will have birthdays with family and friends

Time reminds us that birthdays finally reach the end

Happy birthday and the precious moments we share

Time and distance our spirits help us be together there

Kindred spirits attract forming eternal moments

That’s what creates Divine Appointments

Your second birthday makes me smile

Thinking how your terrible two’s will last a while

Hard Work and Hot Fun in the Summer

 The summers of 1969 and 1970 were fantastic and unforgettable.  The spring of 1969 our football coach arranged a meeting with a man name Dollis Ray.  Mr. Ray was recruiting athletic young men to work for Hiwassee Lang Company for the summer.

In the meeting Mr. Ray asked if any of us had ever loaded hale bales or pulpwood.  Most of us had hay experience but only a couple of us had both hay and pulpwood experience.  He talked of the difficulty of the two jobs and stated to us that the job he was recruiting us to do was harder than both the hay and pulpwood.  Our task was injecting hardwood trees with a chemical poison using five feet by two-inch steel pipe filled the chemical using a hand pumped apparatus on the end of the pipe.

Mr. Ray said he was like the Marine Corps.  He needed a few good men.  So began the work of killing hardwood timber to allow the pines to grow.  Areas where the hardwood was dominate; Hiwassee used helicopters to spray (mist blow) the chemical converting lush forest into dead wasteland.  Hiwassee did not mist blow long because the government outlawed the practice.  We were told that the chemical was weed poison.  I believe it was Round Up in its infancy. 

The summer of ’69 we started injecting hardwood along US Highway 31 north of Jemison, Alabama.  Hiwassee had a ninety-nine-year lease of hundreds of acres.  We heard that it was ten thousand acres.

Our foreman was a young man named Benny Lee.  Good old southern boys have a double name.  Benny Lee was an outdoorsman with a unique Southern Drawl.  He instructed us on the injecting technique.

Most of the hardwood we would jab the blade on the end of the pump about two inches apart around the tree.  Hickory trees we girdled making sure to place plenty of chemical.  Benny Lee had us gather around a large hickory in a low area near a branch.  It was about two feet in diameter.  We girdled it and Benny Lee who always carried an axe on his shoulder removed the bark of the hickory about three feet above the girdle.  Then we all went to dinner.

After dinner, Benny Lee carried us back to the tree.  The leaves on this giant hickory had already wilted.   The beautiful white meat of the tree had black streaks rising like a thermometer up the tree.

A little later he called us together to watch a moccasin snake trying to kill a king snake.  The larger moccasin had the smaller king snake in its mouth.  Benny Lee told us that the king snake would kill the moccasin.  We all watched in wonder and awe as the king snake slowly wove its body around the moccasin. 

Slowly, the king began to tighten its body around the moccasin.  We heard bone popping and the moccasin opened it mouth and released the king snake.  Benny Lee said, “The king snake will eat the moccasin.  The jaws of the king snake unhinged, and the king snake devoured the moccasin.

Working for Hiwassee was not as hard a loading and unloading hay.  It was not as tiring as shoulder loading pulpwood.  Working for Hiwassee was fun, exciting, full of surprises, and educational.  We worked hard for Benny Lee.  We worked ourselves out of a job.  What was supposed to last most of the summer we completed in two weeks.  Benny Lee gave us time off to watch the moon landing in “69.  

One day Benny Lee handed me a root and told me to chew it.  I had chewed sassafras roots it taste like root beer.  I chewed it and he asked me how it tasted.  I said, “It tastes like Vicks Salve.”  He said that was what the old timers used before the chemical companies started making it.

Another time he handed me a small railroad spike.  He asked, “What to you see on the side of the hill?”  I told him that it looks like an old road.  He said that it was a railroad bed where there had been a spur when the built Lay Dam on the Coosa River.  All that was visible was spikes along the way.

We had so many adventures that summer.  We pushed down dead trees, found bee gums, played king of the mountain on old sawdust piles from sawmills long forgotten, and run from yellow jacket wasps and hornets.  After work we would drag race our old jalopies. 

It was hard work! It prepared us for two-a-days football practice.  It taught us that it’s not work if you enjoy it.  It was a rite of passage for young boys becoming men.

And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men - Colossians 3:23

Let Freedom Ring: You Zonked Me

Forty-nine years ago today was the bi-centennial Fourth of July.  My how time flies!  Andy, my oldest son, was six months old.  It was an exciting time to be an American.  Two hundred years was not a long time for many nations but the good old United States of America was celebrating a great event in the history of the world.

The Hopper family was celebrating by slaughtering four pigs.  Dad invited his family to have barbecued pork.  “Killin’ hawgs” is a hopper family tradition when the weather is cold, but a July killing was something different.  July in Alabama is hot!

The pigs were not large, but four was also a first for us.  We had to work fast.  Mamma made sausage while we prepared the hams, shoulders, ribs, and pork chops for cooking.  We stewed the lard from the fat and cooked French fries.  There plenty of fries and cracklings.  Dad told me to not eat too many cracklings saying the fresh meat would make me sick.  The fries and cracklings were delicious.  We cooked well into the night and I ate until midnight.

At day break the Bi-centennial was well under way.  I did not want any barbecue pork for the celebration.  I never told day he was right about the fresh pork.  Every time I burped it tasted of grease.  I think daddy knew by the grin on his face when he asked why I wasn’t eating.

There are plenty of memories about Independence Day.  Most of them involve trips to the doctor or to the emergency room.  All I can say about those events were that the Hoppers and our extended families like to have fun and we did it without alcohol and other drugs.  It was just great red neck frolicsome and capersome celebrating.

I often think of the times spent with my in-laws.  It was their family reunion.  The day started early with a hickory fire to make coal for cooking chicken halves.  Lucky’s grocery in Montevallo, Alabama was our chicken half headquarters and was a reliable standby when some family member arrived without his or her bird.  Facing the wrath of Margaret was usually a scolding for being unprepared. 

When there were amble hickory coals for cooking dad Roy and sons Tony and Lane would place the chicken halves on a homemade grill which sat on concrete blocks.  The trio was meticulous when cooking.  Their technique was precise and deliberate basting with a homemade secret sauce.

There were always plenty of onlookers as family began arriving early anticipating a samples hot from the grill.  Usually there would be gizzards and livers as preliminary offerings.

When the time was right, the halves were flipped, basted and the top returned to ensure the halves were cooked according to specifications.  Hickory coals were transferred from the adjacent fire to underneath the halves with critical eyes ensuring proper heat without burning.

As the smoke billowed, the sweat rolled, and the tall tales began, arguments about Auburn and Alabama football prevailed.  The rotation and basting of the halves took precedence.  Roy’s lemonade was usually a big success with gallons consumed by the cooks and onlookers alike.

As the noon, or thereabouts, hour approached Tony’s special barbecue sauce simmered, Kay’s German chocolate cake, moistened, Cathy’s lemon pie grew tart, and Sharon’s peach cobbler cooked, waiting some homemade ice cream.

The yard was beginning to spring for games of volleyball, horseshoes, and croquet.

Bill, Carl, Jabo, and Lee pitched horseshoes, young folk’s volleyball, women folks solved the world’s problems, and babies cried in the heat.  Most of the women folks sat inside under the air-conditioner.

When the dishpans of halves were golden brown and sweating under the tinfoil, grace was said.  Family began to fill plates with bake beans, slaw, and all kinds of fixin’s.  Recipes were swapped, Tony’s barbecue sauce was slopped, and tea, cokes, and water were slurped.  Roy, Tony, and Lane smiled with each compliment on the chicken.  Smiles abounded as the cakes, cobblers, and pies suddenly disappeared.

The biggest event was the croquet game.  It was renamed Zonked.  We spent more time zonking the leader’s ball than trying to win.  Sometimes the leader of the game would be knocked into the woods.  It was great fun.

My best memory of horseshoes was when Tony threw a double ringer.  I was pitching against him and I double ringered him.  Those were the days!  Most of the family are dead and gone.  The laughter and smiles are a wonderful memory. 

Those that fought for our freedom have been gone for almost two-hundred and fifty years.  Lisa, my wife asked this morning, “Do schools teach about the Declaration of Independence?”   I replied, “Probably not.  Most people hate history.”

 

And free and not using your liberty for a cloke of maliciousness, but as the servants of God. I Peter 2:16 KJV

For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.  Galatians 5:13 KJV

You Tricked Me

I cannot remember the first time someone pulled a trick on me.  I’m pretty sure it was my dad.  Tricks are part of the learning process of life.  I come from a family of tricksters.  My extended families: Hopper’s, Chapman’s, Crumpton’s, Dutton’s, Waldrop’s, Smith’s, Barnett’s, and Clark’s are well schooled in the art of trickery.

One memorable time was on a visit to my Dutton cousins.  They were poor as we were and found entertainment with simple things.  They told me that they wanted to show me something in the woods behind their house.  Following cousins Floyd, Wayne, Larry, and Danny in the woods was fun and exciting.  They were more like older brothers than cousins.

As we trekked up the trail, I paid more attention to my surroundings than I did where I was going.  Suddenly I stepped and I disappeared into a gigantic hole.  I found myself looking up at four laughing cousins peering down.  I felt like a trapped animal about to be speared to death.  They retried me from the hole and showed me how they built the trap.

The hole was formed by stump of a large tree that either had rotted or had been removed for the resin it possessed.  They had placed rotten pine sticks over the hole and then covered the sticks with pine straw.  They showed me how they stepped around the hole allowing me to step into hole. I couldn’t wait to get home and build one for some unsuspecting soul.

School was another place where tricks were fun.  My senior year there was a mump epidemic.  I had already had them.  One of my favorite teachers, Ms. Harvey, was an old maid that had never had the mumps.  I had her for advanced math.

The principal and biology teacher enlisted Tony, my friend and future brother-in-law, to pull a prank on Ms. Harvey.  They gave us some bubble gum, which was prohibited in class, and instructed us to hold the bubble gum in our jaws resembling the mumps.

We went to advanced math and did as directed.  I held my face on my desk and got my face hot and red as did Tony.  Ms. Harvey summoned Tony and me to her desk where she felt our faces to check for fever.  With classmates in cahoots with us, when Ms. Harvey asked if I was okay, classmates told Ms. Harvey that my brothers had the mumps.  They were really home with them!

Ms. Harvey ordered us out.  She was terrified she would catch the mumps.  A couple of our friends pretended they were sick, and she told them to go to the office.  Back then there was no school nurse.

When Tony and I arrived at the office and informed the principal and the biology teacher, they laughed and applauded our diabolical deed.  They told us to return to class and tell Ms. Harvey. 

Ms. Harvey did not appreciate out Academy Award acting debut and became livid.  We told about the scheme orchestrated by the principle and biology teacher.  She said they would never do such an evil thing and expelled us from class.

When we told the principle and biology teacher, they realized their blunder and accused us of taking the trick too far.  Tony and I got demerits.  The joke was on us as the principal and biology teacher put the blame on us.

The cement plant was a perfect place for tricks.  When I operated the cement kilns my oiler and I made a deal about losing weight.  We decided that the first one to lose twenty pounds would be treated to a steak supper and all the fixings by the loser.

I told him to bring a set of scales to the burner floor, and we would weigh and record our weight at the end of our work week and the first shift to the new week.  We worked seven midnight shifts from Wednesday through the following Tuesday and were off two days.  Then we worked seven evening shifts from Friday through the following Thursday and were off Friday.  Day shift started Saturday and went to Friday, and we were off to Wednesday midnight.

My oiler got the scales, and we stated our weight loss competition.  What he did not know was that the scales were used to weigh raw materials.  The scales design was conducive for me to put my little finger on a rod that connected the counterbalance weights and slide that determined our weight.  When we weighed before being off, I made him weigh less.  When we returned, I made him weigh more.  His weight was fluctuating twenty pounds, and it was driving him crazy.

He accused me of cheating that is why I had my hands were where he could see them.  He never realized that my little finger was on the rod that controlled the counterweights.  I carried on the deception for several months.  Our coworkers told me I should be ashamed.

Finally, I showed Allen, my oiler, how I controlled him.  He laughed after giving me a big cussing and threatened to kill me.  

Last year, thirty years later, I had the privilege to baptize him.  Thanks, Allen, for your friendship.

 

The Bible has plenty of tricksters. Here is one from the Book of Joshua 9:3-8 KJV

 

And when the inhabitants of Gibeon heard what Joshua had done unto Jericho and to Ai,

They did work wilily, and went and made as if they had been ambassadors, and took old sacks upon their asses, and wine bottles, old, and rent, and bound up;

And old shoes and clouted upon their feet, and old garments upon them; and all the bread of their provision was dry and mouldy.

And they went to Joshua unto the camp at Gilgal, and said unto him, and to the men of Israel, We be come from a far country: now therefore make ye a league with us.

And the men of Israel said unto the Hivites, Peradventure ye dwell among us; and how shall we make a league with you?

And they said unto Joshua, We are thy servants. And Joshua said unto them, Who are ye? and from whence come ye? 

RESPECT - Where did it go?

Several years the Hopper family gathered in Montgomery, Alabama for the wake of my aunt Gertrude.  It was one of the few occasions that the extended Hopper family was together.  It seems that funerals have been the reason for our coming together.  Problem is there are getting fewer of us.

As Hopper kin we were taught respect, especially to women, children, the elderly, and especially toward people that are not able to care for themselves.  Hoppers do not mind stepping in when there is disrespect.

At the funeral home a young boy walked into the chapel wearing a baseball cap.  My uncle Cliff jerked the small boy around and told him to show respect for Aunt Gertrude and yanked the ball cap from his head.  The young boy tried to resist but Uncle Cliff “got his attention” and the embarrassed lad skedaddled.

The young boy was not part of the Hopper family but that did not matter.  Uncle Cliff in a few brief moments explained to the young man to have respect.  Hoppers were taught not to wear hats in church, something that amazes me about today’s culture.  It is amazing how many men and boys wear caps at the table.  That was a big no no at the Hopper table or when we had the honor and privilege to dine at a restaurant.  The legendary Coach “Bear” Bryant would not wear his famous hound’s-tooth hat in the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans.  He said he was taught not to wear a hat inside.

Wearing hats inside has to be the product of a generation that knows not a father.  Shame on a society that dad is absent and the media that glorifies the buffoonery of the stupid dad.  It is the breakdown of family which was ordained in the Garden of Eden.

When I attended the University of Montevallo in the 1980’s, a male student wore a hat into Dr. Morgan’s history class.  Dr. Morgan politely asked the student to remove his hat.  The student was indignant and refused which did not fare well with Dr. Morgan.  Dr. Morgan told the student if he did not remove the hat that he had to remove himself from the classroom.

The student said that the reason for the cap was he did not have time to comb his hair.  Dr. Morgan reminded him that it was his classroom and to remove the hat or get out.  The student removed his hat and would have made Alfalfa of the Little Rascals proud.

As a returning adult to the University, I tried to be kind and courteous toward everyone.  One day I held the door open for another returning adult.  As she approached, she began to use some very ugly language.  She told me that she could open the @#$& door her @#$& self and did not need a @#$& male chauvinist pig to open it for her. 

I said, “You are welcome.  My mamma told me to be a gentleman every chance I got and to hold a door open for a lady.  Undoubtedly, you’re not one.  Have a great day!”

It is amazing at the number of people that smile when you show them respect.  One day a friend said, “I notice that every time you speak to a child you lower yourself.”  I told my friend that I get down looking them in the eye.  I show them respect.

Recently in Wal-Mart, a little boy was checking his blood pressure.  Filling out his info on the machine he asked me how to spell Michael.  I could tell that he had special needs, so I took time to help him.  We enjoyed sharing with each other.  I went over to another aisle and another special needs boy said, “My name is Tommy, what’s yours?  His mother scolded him.  I smiled a big smile and said Bobby.”  His mother smiled a big smile.  Both boys helped make it a great day.  I told my wife if a third special needs child spoke to me it would be a special word from God.

I’m thankful the Hoppers continue to teach and show respect.

Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another Romans 12:10 KJV

 “Stand up in the presence of the elderly, and show respect for the aged. Fear your God. I am the LORD.” Leviticus 19:32

 Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6

Only in Church

Church is the place where we worship, preach, teach, sing praises, pray, and fellowship.  It is a sacred place, a safe place, and a sanctified place.  We experience many exciting and wonderful moments with weddings, baptisms, baby dedications, vacation Bible school, and revivals.

There are experiences of salvation, rededication, and renovation.  Singings and homecomings fill the church with attendance, melody, and nostalgia.  Funerals and times of repentance remind us that death and sin are related. 

These times can prompt salvation and forgiveness.  Grace and mercy are characteristics of God and jog our memory to the greatness of God and eternal life through Jesus.  The Holy Spirit moving among the church presents some marvelous happenings.

Reminiscing about church has some things that need penning.  There are some events that are unbelievable and memorable.  I have titled this article: Only in Church.

 

At the Sweet Water Baptist church, the pastor was very passionate about his preaching.  He was very good.  However, one of the members there would close his eyes during the preaching of the sermon. 

Finally, one Sunday the preacher asked why the member closed his eyes.  The member said, “Pastor, I love to hear you preach but I can’t stand to look at you!”

Brierfield Baptist church was having the baptism of a teenage girl.  The girl had broken her arm, and she had a bubble wrap on it.  It was the preacher’s first time to conduct a baptism.  As former pastor at Brierfield, the teenager asked if I would attend her baptism.

I will never forget it.  As she descended into the baptism waters, the blue bubble wrap on her arm was obvious.  As the newbie pastor cited, “I baptize thee my sister in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” everything went into the water but her arm.

The poor pastor tried several attempts of dunking the teenager, but the blue bubble wrapped arm retained its sin.  The splashing of the waters went everywhere.

An earlier baptism at Brierfield involved sister church Ashby.  Ashby did not have a baptism pool so they barrowed Brierfield’s.  The weather was cold; 14 degrees was the low.  The baptism pool was filled, the heating element was energized, and the water was crystal clear.

Ashby member filled the auditorium, and the baptism candidates lined the passageway to the pool.  As the Ashby pastor entered into the water like John the
Baptist of old he started a tradition.  It was the first polar bear baptism.  The heating element had shorted and failed to heat the water.

The Providence Baptist Church had two men that were notorious for pulling pranks.  One Sunday as the pastor waxed eloquently, one of the pranksters fell asleep.  When the timing was just right, the other prankster nudged the sleeping one and said, “The preacher called on you to say the benediction.”

The poor sleepy man stood up and closed the service.  The preacher pronounced to the church to have a good afternoon since there was an early benediction.

Baby dedications are wonderful occasions.  I had twelve babies to dedicate one Sunday at the Gallion Baptist Church.  Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and everyone else flooded the church in anticipation of the dedication.  Baby dedications are more for the parents and the congregation.  The only way the baby will know of the moment is through the parents and the church.

I took each child and lifted them toward God.  I had individual prayer and words of encouragement for each.  When I lifted Chloe high into the air I started to speak when I noticed a big bubble of baby slobber hanging from her lip.  It was like watching an eye drop dangling before it drops in your eye.

Suddenly the big glob fell into my mouth.  The whole congregation gasped, with a variety of different moans and words.

The only thing I could do was to swallow it which the congregation did another set of phrases.  I said, “Dew drops from heaven from one of God’s little angels.”

I performed a wedding at the Brierfield Historical Park at the Mulberry Baptist Church.  The church had been moved from deep in the Bibb County woods and remodeled making it ideal for weddings and other venues.

As I conducted the ceremony, the little feller that was the ring barrier began to run his hand up the leg of the groom.  The groom tried to motion the little boy back, but he was not deterred and had a big mischievous grin.  I tried not to laugh, the groom focused on the vows, and the bride was scared stiff.

The pastor of Union Springs Baptist Church, my home church was and continues to be a great puppeteer.  He has great movement when preaching.  He has what my professor of preaching, the late Calvin Miller, said is balanced movement.  The pulpit always is the center of his movement.  The pulpit is and always must be the center of preaching the Bible.

The late RG Lee was one of my pastor’s favorites.  He quoted him often.  One Sunday as my pastor moved like a caged lion keeping the pulpit center, he crept closer and closer to the edge of the stage which was about three feet high.  He finally did it.  He stepped off the stage saying, “R G Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

He landed on the floor and never missed a beat.  He slowly returned to the stage and behind the pulpit.

 

I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD.  Psalm 122:1 KJV