Look Both Ways

When I was a teenager dad had a Farmall Cub tractor that I used. Plows were visible below me. I used the tractor to break ground, disc, plant, and cultivate crops. My greatest achievement was at twelve years old; I planted nine acres of corn.

Daddy worked evening shift, and he supervised me until time to leave for work. Most of the time I was alone. When the field turned green with corn stalks, my grandpa Chapman was proud. I had continued what he had started years before. He told me that I did a great job.

Dad decided to trade the Cub for an 8N Ford tractor. I had a difficult time plowing with the *N plows in the rear of the tractor. Watching the plows beneath was easier than turning and looking back. One time while cultivating corn, I plowed it up because grandpa built the terrace banks to be plowed by a mule. The Cub could do it, but the rear plow 8N were terrible. They were great on straight rows but disastrous on curves of the terraces. I constantly looked forward and backward.

Looking both ways is imperative when crossing the highway or pulling out into the road. When I used to walk across the road to my grandma Chapman, I always looked both ways. Duke, m dog named for Duke of the Beverly Hillbillies television series, would walk with me. I would look both ways before crossing, and I noticed that Duke would too even if he were not with me.

When my son Andy and daughter Angel would walk over to grandma’s, Duke would walk with them. He walked ahead and check both ways before crossing and led the across. Duke would walk with them to catch the school bus and in the afternoon, he would be at the road when the bus delivered them home.

Crossing before looking both ways is extremely dangerous. One I was traveling down the highway on a long straight. There was a yellow line not to pass but an impatient driver decided to pass. Down the road about seven hundred feet, an automobile pulled from a driveway to my left. Stopping he looked to if there was anything to his left. Not seeing anything, the car entered the highway not realizing Mr. Impatient was speeding toward him. I was about to witness and be in a three-car pileup.

Mr. Impatient darted in front of me cutting me off, but I was already in a stopping mode. Ms. Look Only Left panicked and stopped avoiding the crash. It always amazes me when folks pass on double lined highways when they can neither see what’s behind nor in front.

Even looking both ways can be scary. On one occasion, my cousin Mikey and I were hauling a hog to the slaughterhouse. I borrowed a cattle trailer, and we headed to Clanton, Alabama to deliver the hog. Crossing the L&N Railroad track in Thorsby, Alabama, I looked north up the track and south, then north again and Mikey looked south down the track then north then back south. We could see a long distance both ways.

Back then there were no crossing safeguards or flashing lights, just stop and look both ways before crossing. Seeing nothing we crossed the tracks. When I stopped on US Highway 31 the cattle trailer had just cleared the tracks when suddenly a north bound train with lights a whirling and whistle sounding roared past us.

White with fright, Mikey and I looked at one another with our hearts now pounding in our throats. A few years earlier I had a friend that was struck and killed by a train in nearby Montevallo. It was same scenario. No guard rails nor lights. My friend had crossed the train for years and never looked both ways until that morning the train hit the pickup and trailer load of cattle.

In life it is vital to look both ways. Not only in crossings but looking to what is behind and what is forward. In the book of Ezra, the Hebrews upon returning home from exile remembered the glory of the Temple and looked forward to the building and worship in the rebuilt Temple.

And they sang together by course in praising and giving thanks unto the Lord; because he is good, for his mercy endureth for ever toward Israel. And all the people shouted with a great shout, when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house was laid. So that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping of the people for the people shouted with a loud shout, and the noise was heard afar off. Ezra 3:11-13 KJV

 What's behind is gone and the future is coming as you read this and it is full of exciting probabilities.

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Amish Buggy Ride on A Rainy Day

It was a cool rainy day in Bird-In-Hand, Pennsylvania. The morning air was crisp, and rain drizzled as we purchased tickets to ride the horse drawn buggies in Amish country. My wife Lisa has ridden on dozens of these trips, and she was excited to have my brother and sister-in-law along for their maiden ride.

A vehicle from Maryland parked. A father from Hawaii was visiting his son who was in the Air Force stationed in Maryland. It was their maiden voyage also. We waited, along with five others, for the buggy driver’s arrival.

We loaded into the buggy and Ben, the Amish driver, introduced himself and asked if anyone wanted to sit in the front with him. My sister-in-law jumped on it “Quicker than a chicken on a June bug.” That is an Alabama expression for being quick. Then Ben asked where from where we came.

There was a newlywed couple from Israel celebrating their honeymoon. They spoke very good English, but I think they had trouble understanding our Alabama southern drawl. Across from them was the father and son from Hawaii. To their left were three members of a family, grandparents, and grandson, from upstate Pennsylvania. My brother, my wife Lisa, and I sat across from them. I had the pleasure of sitting next to the newlyweds.

As the journey back in time began, Ben began to explain the Amish way of life. It is always fascinating as we slowly passed the large dairy farms, cornfields, alfalfa fields, and apple orchards. The trip was worth the price just to watch the expressions of the first timer travelers.

Each traveler told a little bit about themselves. The newlyweds planned to visit Washington D.C. The Hawaii father and son we amazed with the Amish culture. My brother and sister-in-law are big farmers in South Alabama, and they loved seeing new farms and gaining new ideals.

The grandparents told us that it was their grandson Joey’s twentieth birthday. I lead the travelers in singing happy birthday to Joey. Granddad was retired Airforce and he and the young Airforce officer from Hawaii shared common interests. Granddad said that he and his wife had placed to travel and explore, but they inherited Joey.

Even though he was twenty, Joey was autistic and non-verbal. He was well mannered and obedient. Sitting direct in from of me, Joey seemed fascinated with me. He would touch me from time to time and his granddad would admonish him. I told the grandad that it was okay.

One time he saw a knot on the pull string of my jacket, and he quickly touched it. He would look me in the eye, and I would smile. One of the reasons he watched me was that the week before I had taken a nasty fall and scraped my face from my hairline on my forehead to the tip of my nose. I had an ugly scab and a hole on the bridge of my nose and used a long staff to help me walk. I told Joey that I was wearing my Halloween mask a little early.

After a stop at a farm, Joey returned to the buggy with a large cream cookie. As the tour continued the curiosity of Joey got the best of him. Quick as the proverbial chicken on the June bug, Joey reached over to me and stuck his right index finger on the scabby hole on the bridge of my nose. I admit that it hurt but I tried not to show pain and smiled. His granddad scolded him. I assured him that it was okay. My dad taught me that we were to lookout for those that could not take care of themselves. It was a heavenly moment realizing that Joey felt safe in touching me. I assured his grandparents that children and animals were attracted to me even wearing a scabby face and sporting a walking stick.

That night as Lisa and I talked before retiring for the night we discussed Joey and the hundreds of children being raised by their grandparents. We are thankful for those that will put their lives on hold to care for those that cannot care for themselves.

I am sure that the raining buggy ride of the serendipity of travelers will share Joey’s story around the world. I know it will if you read this article. The Bible commands believers to care for those that cannot take care of themselves.

Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward. Psalm 127:3 KJV

But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Mark 10:14 KJV

It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones Luke 17:2 KJV

Personal Touch

This morning on my way to the optometrist I stopped for gas at a local station. I have been a customer for many years and seen the station change hands many times. I entered the debit card and followed the instructions. I inserted the card, entered my code, and pushed the enter button. The message on the screen said to remove nozzle and select the grade of gasoline I wanted. I followed the instructions to the letter and number only for the screen to display “please wait for a moment.”

After waiting for several moments, I asked the man and the opposite pump if his was working to which he gave me an affirmative. My screen still remained the same, so I decided to step inside the store. The man behind the countered acted as though I did not exit and I finally said, “Excuse me.” He asked what I needed and told him that the pump was not working.

That when he insulted my intelligence. I was pumping gas when he was a child overseas somewhere. I assured him that the pump was ready to pump but had me waiting. He asked if I was sure that I entered the card correctly. I replied, “Yes, I know how the card works and that the pump gave indications of working properly but it scrolled “Please wait.”

As I returned to my car, he followed mumbling something about he would show me how to properly insert the card. I pointed to the pump and said, “See it is ready to pump.” He said, “Insert it again.” I did and it repeated what it did before. He wanted me to try again which I did and this time it said my card was invalid.

He inserted a special card, cleared everything, and instructed me to change pumps. I did but I wanted to greet his arrogance with good old southern redneck hospitality with a punch in the nose. I did not because that was not the Christian thing to do, but I thought it.

I steamed while heading to the optometrist and thought about how the personal touch in our relationships is disappearing. It is a sign of the apocalypse. That is what I have thought ever since the anti-Christ cards started changing us to a cashless society.

I told a female cashier that having to come inside the store made the plastic money irrelevant. I said, “If the world was wanting to usher in the anti-Christ, y’all are gonna have do a better job with the plastic currency.” She looked at me with a bewildered look and said, “You believe in that okie poky junk?” I answered, “Oh yeah and you better.” The strange thing about our conversation was that it predated texting and other forms of communication that have depersonalized society.

For the next hour I fumed trying to let go of the incident. I thought will I need a card to enter the pearly gates. I wondered if I would need a special account number to give St. Peter. Then I thought if I wanted to talk to God would I get Heaven’s answering machine.

I could imagine a call. “Our office numbers have changed, please follow the instructions. Press one if you speak Hebrew, two if you speak Greek, three if speak Arabic, four if you know the extension, press zero to speak with Methusalem.

Then my mind went to how important personal touches are. There was Annie Jean corn drip that even with her recipe cannot be duplicated. Nola and her chicken and dumplings were one of a kind. No one can paint an automobile like Larry and his special touch. Dr. Calvin Miller’s autograph on one of books or artwork adds the personal touch. A personal touch is special.

When I arrived at the optometrist, I left my iPhone in the car. My wife calls the cell phone the devil’s device. The receptionist and I exchanged some pleasantries, and I took a seat. I spoke to everyone; they returned the favor and returned to their cell phones.

I was called back for the exam. Each aide took special care. At one point, one of the ladies touched my eye lids to apply drops for dilation. Her dark hands were so soft, and I told her that her gentle touch was nice. It made it personal, and we shared a wonderful conversation.

The optometrist is a personal friend of mine, and he has always had the personal touch. He has a genuine concern for his patient's wellbeing. With all the modern technology and equipment, his office reminds of good old southern hospitality.

When Jesus, God in the flesh, walked on earth, He had had the personal touch. I imagine when I make that journey to heaven He will say, “Welcome Bobby and say to the multitude there, he’s one of our boys.”

Then the Lord put out his hand and touched my mouth. And the Lord said to me, “Behold, I have put my words in your mouth. Jeremiah 1:9 KJV

“And he took them in his arms and began blessing them, laying his hands on them.” Mark 10:16 KJV

My prayer was that the Lord touch the heart of the one I wanted to touch. His touch is much better than the touch I wanted to give.

Enjoyed It Reverend

Since I experience the call into the ministry, I have never been fond of the term reverend. There have been too many given that title and their ministries questionable. I would rather people call me Brother Bobby, pastor, preacher not reverend.

Most of the men and women where I have worked called me preacher. The black men called me “the man of the cloth.” Most of the churches I pastored they called me Brother Bobby or Bro Bob. A few youth and children called me “the Creature.”

While working on my doctorate, church people would ask me what they should call me. I told that Bobby had worked my whole life. Since that time until now most people call me Brother Bobby. When in formal situations people will call me Dr. Hopper. If folks do not refer to me as Dr. Hopper, I usually do not correct them.

I have a lot of fun when people realize I have a doctorate. I remember speaking at the University of Montevallo Batist Student Union meeting. The host introduced me as Dr. Bobby Hopper. Once behind the podium, I told guests that the D R in front of my name stood for “Documented Redneck.” I said my redneck degree came from BUTTS, Bessie University Technical and Theological School. Bessie was the community where I grew up and live today. Everyone laughed.

I started my doctoral work at Beeson Divinity School Samford while pastor of the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton, Alabama. Folks there were supportive. I felt is was a great honor to serve alongside of them. God blessed in many wonderful and powerful ways.

One ministry was ministering to alongside of the Clanton Mental Health Clinic. The Clinic allowed residents to attend church with us. Three residents were faithful. Gwen, F D, and Nikki did not miss. Nikki was a high-spirited young woman that laughed and would repeatedly tell me that she did not belong in the clinic. She would say “I’m not crazy.” She constantly corrected Gwen and F D and insisted that teachers should too.

F D was a young man whose mental aptitude was that of a twelve-year-old. His favorite thing was wearing his toy cowboy pistols, cowboy hat, and guitar to church. He loved to sing and to impersonate Elvis. Another thing he loved was talking to his watch and calling KIT of the television program Night Rider.

Gwen was a black lady with a childlike demeanor. She worn ruby red lipstick like that of a little girl playing with makeup. The Clinic informed me that she received her disability from a car accident. She loved to help babysit children. F D and Gwen were constantly in competition for attention. They were polite and courteous most of the time.

One Vacation Bible School Richard and Stanley, F D, Nikki, and Gwen’s VBS teachers, were singing the opening song with the rest of VBS. Richard, an electrical engineer and Stanley, editor of the local newspaper, separated the trio: F D, Richard, Nikki, Stanley, then Gwen. The two men stood as the Rock of Gibraltar and the trio sang. F D singing like Elvis, Gwen correcting him, and Nikki laughing.

One year the VBS was a Cowboy theme. As I made visits to the classes I peeked into Richard’s class. The room was dark, tiny lights like stars scattered on the ceiling, Richard with head resting on a log by a fake fire, Gwen sitting by the fire, and F D playing his guitar. It was a moment that I will always remember.

Each service during the invitation, Gwen would come to the altar where she would ask me to pray for the clinic, her, and F D who was in route to the altar too. Many members of the congregation were uncomfortable with them. What Gwen and F D did was make it easier for others to come to the altar.

During my tenure there Gwen’s mental situation worsened, and the Clinic committed her to a hospital in Birmingham. As her pastor, I visited her there in the psychiatric ward. Once I had permission to visit, a big black orderly, that reminded me of a bouncer, met me and wanted me to state my business. I told him I was Gwen’s pastor. He gave me a look of unbelief seeing I was white, and Gwen was black.

He wanted more information, and I understood his concern. I was about to give up and leave when Gwen happened to walk past us. She yelled, “That’s my Reverend.” She carried a large black Raggedy Ann that had pigtails and freckles. For the next precious and few moments were shared together. The whole time she demanded that I hold Annie.

F D, Gwen, Richard, and Stanley have gone on before us. I enjoyed the moments we spent together. The highlight Sundays together was at the close of the service I would always ask, “Any word from the congregation as we leave?” Gwen would always say. “I enjoyed Reverend!” It was one of constants of worship.

When Gwen could no longer attend Friendship, I asked, “Any word as we leave?” There was an eerie and awkward silence. Suddenly, Regeana, wife of our local physician, said “I enjoyed Reverend.” The congregation tearfully applauded.

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