JUST A MOMENT

Beginning at the moment of conception, life is a collection of moments until the moment of death. In reality life is short but we live as though we will live forever on this planet we call Earth. Humanity will live an eternity in one of two places, eternity in the Abyss or eternity with God. Someone once asked me where Heaven was. I told Heaven is where God is. They asked where hell is. I told them where God ain’t.

Many moments ago, my maintenance foreman asked, “Do you know why wars were fought with young men?” I told him that I ready never thought about it. He said, “Because old men won’t. Young men are ten feet tall, bullet proof, and will kill the enemy. Old men know mortality, hurt, and death.”

Precious, few, and temporal are the moments we share together in life. We build houses, families, communities, cities, businesses, and government thinking they will last forever.

Think about the cost of the average home and the thirty plus year mortgage. That house will need repair long before the mortgage is paid. Children will grow and leave home before the last house payment is paid in full. The new vehicle parked in the drive will be in the repair shop before the last payment is due. Children, house, vehicle, and neighborhood will become moments of the past. Everything will be out of date and undergo change due to the deterioration of time.

Someone mentioned in Discipleship class at church Sunday night that the world was nothing like the one we all grew up in. That truism is the same for each generation. Moments fleeing away metamorphizing by capturing the old and newfangled freshness filling the air. After a while contemporary replaces the traditional and eventually the contemporary becomes the traditional creating cycles of momentary accomplishment.

God created us with eternity in our hearts. There was a song we sang when I pastored at Brierfield Baptist Church that reminded me of our temporary time on earth. Some of the words were, “This world is not my home I am just passing through.” We are just passing through, but the WORLD tries to convince people that the here and now is it. The here and now will one day be “somewhere beyond the blue” cause we’re a just passing through.

God is without beginning or end. Special and divine moments fill our being. Momma used to teach us that things will get better. Moments would get worse in life, but the moments of pain and sorrow will one day pass. Looking at scars remind that the hurt that was once severe is now gone. It provides minute reminders that most pain will subside with time. Heartaches though austere are transient, death though cruel is transitory, and sickness though devastating is ephemeral.

The good news is:

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal. II Corinthians 4:17-18 KJV

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Man in the Middle Lives

Today as we celebrate Veteran's Day in the United States, I want to pay tribute to our Veterans. My grand paw Chapman was Veteran of WWI. My Uncle James Hopper was Veteran of WWII (Pacific), Dad was (North Africa and Italy), my uncle J.P. Waldrop and Gerald Chapman were Veterans of Korea. My wife Lisa is a Veteran.

WWII veterans are rapidly disappearing. Veterans are what makes America great. Below is a poem I penned in honor of the men that fought alongside of dad. I hope you read it in honor of those that have now passed and pay tribute on this day to those that are celebrating today.

Appearing as a dark fog drifting from hole to hole

Death, devastation, and destruction shrouded

The sacred ground where demonic fiends

Methodically pierced the hearts of the mutilated

 

Silent are loud bombs, rattling guns, exploding grenades as

Aromas of sulfur, blood, and guts saturate the air along with

Coalescing cries of pain, pleas for help, and begging God

Become quiet as the grim reaper surveys the carnage

 

Enthusiastic agents of death with spikes of demise

See three in another death pit to add to their trophies

Two disfigured youth had given the ultimate sacrifice as

Death laughed when his urchins penetrated their silent hearts

 

One urchin twisted his lethal tool deep into victim’s heart

As his partner made a noxious jab in the other victim’s heart

Shielded by the prayers of a mother on her knees and far away

Her son lies motionless beneath two that died to set people free

 

Petrified, the son deciphered enemy idiom concerning his plight

With devious confidence, the urchin replies the third one is ours

Blinded buoyancy does not allow them to see the young man’s verve

Death cannot and will not eradicate a mother’s prayer and true life

 

Anonymous and gone are the two who shielded the man in the middle

Eternal are the praying mother and the son whom she loved

Always present are the agents of evil seeking to kill and destroy

A praying nation will continue to bolster the red, white, and blue

 

The man in the middle left a legacy behind through his children

Teaching them to be responsible citizens for freedom is not free

 

Bobby E. Hopper

 

My daddy was the man in the middle.  Private Mitchell Clark Hopper fought under General Patton in North Africa and Italy.  Somewhere in Italy dad lay beneath two dead soldiers in a foxhole.  German machinegun fire ripped open his chest and abdomen.  He pulled dead soldiers together and two German soldiers pierced the fallen soldiers’ hearts.  With a limited knowledge of the German language, he heard them say, “What about the one in the middle?”  “He’s dead.”

Receiving official word that dad was killed in action, Granny Hopper said, “No.  He is alive. I am praying for him.”

My Last Supper With Dad

The other day I was sharing with some folks about the intimacy of sharing a meal together.  There is a sacred bond when sharing a meal.  Growing up as we gathered around the breakfast, dinner, and supper table, we shared and learned about life.  Time there was one of mostly laughter and fun. 

Sometimes anger would penetrate our sacred table and the devil would enjoy our confrontations.  The most ungodly were ones when mom and dad would be at odds.  These sad and intense moments rose their satanic goading and the terrible and frightening displays of animosity would side down the walls and splatter the dining room curtains with food that God had given us, momma had prepared, and that we not longer had an appetite.

Thank the Good Lord that these devilish moments were few and far between and our table was one of reconciliation and love.  Times around the table together grew scarce as we all got older.  Dad would work evenings, mom worked days, and my sister, brothers, and I would be involved in extracurricular activities.  For a short time, mom and dad both worked evenings but momma would leave us a great supper on the table.  That is back when you did not have to worry about food spoiling on the table.

When we did gather around the table, there was love.  We all had our places.  Dad sat at the head.  I sat at the other end.  My two brothers sat at daddy’s left and my sister and mom sat to his right, momma being next to him.  Today when I sit at a rectangular table, I always set on the opposite end from the head seat.

Daddy, even though for many years did not know the Lord, requested that someone say grace.  Granny Hopper taught her family to say grace.  As a widow trying to raise nine children, Granny Hopper knew the importance of thanking God for His blessings.  How that Granny cooked in dishpans on a wood-burning stove with no running water amazes me.

One of the special moments of the supper table was dad saying grace for the first time.  We all teared up as He thanked God for the food and our family.  There were some shenanigans at the supper table, some even during grace.  One was my sister would pinch me under the table and stupid me would hit her.  Momma hit me.  Finally, my Uncle Clifton told mama was happening.  Momma hit my sister.

There have been times when pieces of chicken, especially the pulley bone, would mystery be missing off the serving plate and amazedly appearing on our sister’s plate.  After prayer, someone’s lips would be burning only to have his lips burn more.  Cayenne pepper will do that when rubbed on the rim of your drinking glass.

Dad asked momma to turn thanks.  She was standing beside me putting another dish on the table.  Momma seemed to have a difficult time praying.  I think it was because I rubbed her stomach as she prayed.

I remember the last time I sat at the supper table with dad.  It was a Monday night in April.  Dad was dying from a brain tumor.  He could not longer walk or talk.  Mom and I put him in his wheelchair.  I had arranged for her to take the night off.  Caretakers unselfishly sacrifice to care of loved ones.  Mom and my sister were wonderful to care for dad in his illness.  My brothers and I cannot thank them enough for their sacrifice.

I fed dad his last meal.  It was the most moving moment at the supper table.  I sat at dad’s right side.  Mom had prepared a good southern meal of purple hull peas, oiled potatoes, okra, corn, and cornbread.  I fixed dad’s plate and fed him.  I used a fork to feed him and our only mode of communication was the nod of his head.  I was used to that because dad nodded his head when he could talk.  One time I put the fork to his mouth and he nodded no.  I put the fork to every bowl to which he nodded no.  Dummy me. I forgot to give him some sweet tea to drink.  I pointed the fork at the tea and he nodded yes.

Dad was a big eater, never eating between meals.  He did not like diary products, especially butter, and rarely ate sweets of drink soft drinks.  His last meal was a big one.  We were doing fine until daddy choked on cornbread.  I thought he was going to die on me.  Later that night dad would have a seizure and rushed to the hospital.

From early Tuesday morning until Friday morning, around four in the morning, dad had only fluids for substance.  Momma always mourned that dad starved to death.  The nurses bragged on momma saying that dad was the healthiest cancer patient that had.  Dad lost very little weight during his illness.

Last meals are important and those precious moments bring with it a tear of sadness and a smile of joy.  Not long ago I share my last breakfast with Nanny, my sister-in-laws mother.  She sat to my right.  I passed the breakfast dishes to her, helped her jelly a biscuit, and poured her some coffee that Saturday morning at my brother’s home.  It was their Saturday ritual to have breakfast with his in-laws.  Nanny always picked at me.  She loved it, as did I.  The morning of her funeral, I sure missed her.

We all share moments not certain if they are last moment together.  I do not remember the last meal I had with momma before cancer overtook her.

 

I wonder how the Disciples of Jesus felt after their last supper together.  As our Savior girded himself and washed their feet, did they often think of that moment when the God of the universe bathed their nasty feet?  Did they think of the moments they were all concerned with their position in the Kingdom that Jesus’ position would be hanging on a cruel cross in a few hours?  Did the wine they shared remind them of the blood that flowed from Jesus?  Did the ripping and tearing of the bread weigh heavy on their hearts as the body of Christ shredded as the whip thirty-nine times crossed the back?

The moment they were together was a celebration of the watershed belief of Old Testament, the Passover.  It was the last meal that the Hebrews had before leaving Egypt.

 

As they were eating, Jesus took the bread, blessed and broke it, gave it to the disciples . . .

Matthew 26:26a

 

 

 

 

"I Will Never Forget When Dad Passed Away"

Even though I carry the Hopper name, I resemble my mother’s side of the family.  Grandpaw Chapman, momma’s daddy, was a tall lean man and mom had his features, but her brother and four sisters were short as was Grandmoe Chapman.

Grandpaw called my momma “Long Legged Sally” and she was the other son.  Momma could out wrestle, out hit, and outwork her brother and sisters.  She was bonafide “Tom Boy” and Grandpaw chose her as “the pick of the litter.”  It was no secret that momma was his favorite.  Momma also was a Daddy’s girl and loved Grandpaw very much.

I remember when daddy was unemployed.  Grandpaw would drive up to our house and have a load of groceries in his 1950 Plymouth for us.  I have fond memories of riding in the rear seat of his that old Plymouth as he and momma went to the Calera State Bank to sign co-sign a loan for momma.  I still have that old Plymouth.  That car, the property where my home is, my looks, and memories are the only things of Grandpaw Chapman that I have.

Grandpaw Chapman was born in 1892 and died of cancer in 1964.  He served in the Army, but never saw action in World War I due to having the measles.  He worked at a sawmill and farmed.  He never owned a tractor and farmed using a mule.

A family friend, J B Popwell, said that when he was a little boy that he saw Grandpaw Chapman plowing in the field and the mule sulked and refused to plow.  Grandpaw beat the mule and the mule sat down.  J B said Grandpaw grabbed the long ears of that old mule and bit the mule’s nose.  J B said Grandpaw drew blood and had meat from the mule’s nose in his teeth.  J B said the mule rose on his hind legs several times trying to shake Grandpaw from his nose. 

It makes me wonder about Balaam, hired by the Ammonites and Moabites, hitting his donkey while on his way to curse the Israel.  I do not think that Grandpaw was on his way to curse someone, but if I know my Grandpaw, there was a whole lot of cussing directed at the mule.

Grandpaw Chapman did not receive Christ as Savior until he was on his deathbed.  His conversion was the first time I ever heard of “Death Bed Confession.”  Brother Calvin Crocker was faithful to visit Grandpaw and shared the plan of Salvation with him.  Grandpaw did not live long after his conversion.

Grandpaw was the first family member I remember dying.  Momma was very heartbroken at his death.  I had never seen her cry like that before.  Moved by immense emotion, she wrote a song about his dying.  She would sing it many times after his passing.  When momma died, her cousins sang the song at her funeral.  I hope you enjoy it.

I'll never forget when dad pasted away
Not a word from his mouth to us he could say
He knew that we loved him and listened to us cry
but now he is resting way up in the sky
                   (Chorus)
There's a bright star that is shining
it's shining so bright
It went to heaven early one night
The angels are singing with God's Great Band
And I know Dad's resting in the Promise Land

There was a black cloud gathered in the Northwest,
for God was telling us he knew best
He sweep down here and carried him away
And now he is resting with God today
                  (Chorus)
There's a bright star that is shining
it's shining so bright
It went to heaven early one night
The angels are singing with God's Great Band
And I know Dad's resting in the Promise Land

Mother is weeping since Dad went away
She is hoping and praying that she'll meet him someday
She is so lonely and always will mourn
Until she shall meet him around God’s Throne
                  (Chorus)
There's a bright star that is shining
It's shining so bright
It went to heaven early one night
The angel's are singing in God's Great Band
And I know Dad's resting in the Promise Land

Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion: for, lo, I come, and I will dwell in the midst of thee, saith the Lord (Zechariah 2:10 KJV)

Happy Father’s Day

A Picture of Hell and the Hope of the Resurrection

You can tell when spring is near when you hear birds chirping, smell the aroma of trees and vines budding, see the countless colored daffodils, and taste food from the grill.  Spring is my favorite time of the year.  Everything is coming to life.  It makes Easter special.  It reminds us that the dead of winter and its long dark hours are gone.

I am one of the few that enjoys winter.  When serving the Bethel Baptist Associational Disaster Relief Chain Saw team, I enjoyed snow in Missouri after an ice storm.  Well, I enjoyed the cold and the snow.  It reminded me of living in Illinois as a kid.  No, I am not a Yankee.  As the group ALABAMA sings, “My home is Alabama, Southern Born, and Southern Bred.”  Daddy worked up north for three years.  We moved back home to Alabama in the spring of 1960 because Mamma did not like the Yankees, the cold, and the snow.

Spring reminds me of going home, the eternal one.  It is the promise of eternal life found in the resurrection of Jesus.  Daddy died on Friday after Easter April 29, 1984.  I remember the morning I left the hospital.  The birds were singing, the morning sun glistened, and you could smell the aroma of spring.  I thought about what a beautiful day for daddy to go home with Jesus.

Doctors diagnosed momma with stage four-melanoma cancer in the fall of 1986 and she died in the winter in January.  Her last days were difficult.  The demon cancer consumed her beautiful body.  The funeral director said her body was as a piece of wood that looked solid until you picked it up, and then realized that, it was rotten and it crumbled in your hands.

It snowed days before her death.  With her arm eaten into from cancer, she watched me build a snowman from her hospital window.  I knocked on her window and made a face.  Hours later, the Clanton Hospital transferred her to the University of Alabama Birmingham Hospital.  I rode with her in the emergency vehicle.  I remember it snowing as we unloaded in downtown Birmingham.

They placed her in the terminal ward.  If there was a picture of hell it was the night I spent with her.  Seven people, including a young boy, young mother, and elderly man died that night.  Patients throughout the whole ward cried out in agony and pain. 

I had never been around such torment before.  I heard the cries of a young boy as he cried for his mother to hold him and stop the pain.  The lady in the room with momma would speak in a little girl's voice.  She said, “Daddy, please hold me.”  She repeated it over and over.  Momma would say, “Oh God, help me.”  She repeated this over and over.  I lay there with a feeling of hopelessness.  My pain seemed insignificant compared to those who died that night. 

I have thought about that night many times.  I went home, my back in severe pain from the stress, and stared at the ceiling.  I could not sleep, eat, work, study, read, etc.  I was useless and wanting to die.  This is how I pictured hell.  I was glad that this was the only torment that momma would endure.  When she died, my sister, my brothers, and I thanked God that she entered heaven where the flowers bloom forever and she would receive a new beautiful body.

And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom (Luke 16:23).

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand (John 10:27-28)

Resurrection morning Jesus solidified His promise, I am the resurrection, and the life.