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.

Polluted Pulpit

Do you remember the commercial on pollution with Indian Chief as spokesman?  It is the one where a Native American, Iron Eyes Coty, sheds a tear as he looks at a polluted stream.  Every time I saw the commercial, I thought it looked a lot like the roads, streams, and creeks in Chilton County.

When I walk the fence line on my property in Jemison, I have to carry a garbage sack, sometimes two, to pick up behind sorry folks who throw out their trash.  I don’t know about you, but I do not like picking up other people’s trash.

I have identified some characteristics of those people that want us to pick up after them.  One is they like fast food restaurants, especially McDonald’s.  It is bad enough to pick up hamburger wrappers, but it is wrappers, open catsup packets, tissue, and bit and pieces of hamburger, buns, and fries.  These folks try to be helpful bay tossing out the whole bag where a family of four has chowed down on the grub, in their old jalopy, on the way to who knows where.  Undoubtedly, it is a place where there are no trash bins or containers.

Another thing is that these polluters smoke cigarettes, especially Marlboro Lights in the box.  It’s bad enough that they empty their ashtrays in the public parking lots, but they decorate the highways with butts and empty boxes.  Every time I see someone toss a butt on the ground I want to pick it up and toss it on his or her car, but that would make me like him or her.  I need to be careful here, I want to preach a minute on the dreadful odor of nicotine and the awful sight of discarded butts when entering places that are clearly marked, “A Tobacco Free Facility.”  The ones at hospitals are kind of an Oxy Moron.  Oops, I almost got on a soapbox.

Another identifying mark of the polluter is they drink alcohol, especially Bud Light.  They usually prefer the dark long neck bottles that break on impact.  These babies create safety hazards for the unprotected hand and the unsuspecting lawnmower tire.  The long neck bottle provides a nice handle to use the bottle as a projectile to toss at mailboxes, especially the fancy antique aluminum ones or the every elusive metal fence post that gallant holds the barbed wire and retains docile livestock.

Coming in second in alcohol arena is empty pints of whiskey.  These are more durable and are not easily broken, excepting when you run over them with a tractor.  They shatter pretty good when a water filled rear tractor tire sits directly on top of them.

The lowest of polluters is the one that uses plastic soda bottles as temporary holders of urine.  These pee bombs riddle havoc on the unsuspecting lawn care worker who is so diligent to keep his or her area of the county right-of-way Southern Living Magazine perfect and help lower the high cost of county maintenance butchering, I mean bush hogging, of grass and trash.

Pollution is not confined to the streams, creeks, and roadsides.  Radio, television, movies, music and iPhone, and all manner of social media have a lion’s share of pollution.  The other day at Linden Fitness and Tan, some young men tried to play some polluted music from their iPhone.  They would not because a certain man was in the gym.  He told me that he was going to hang around because they will not play it in his presence.  I told him not to worry and that I would handle it.  Sure enough, just as soon as he left, these young men started to play their filthy music.  I calmly walked over and asked if their music contained bad (lewd or suggestive) music.  They said no, but they turned it off because I heard some filthy stuff.  There were some young girls in the gym and reminded these two young men that neither the girls nor I wanted to hear it.

It is sad that filthy language is becoming more prevalent each day.  Madison Avenue advertising tries to but offensive and suggestive language in commercials for hamburgers, credit cards, and most recently Chevy trucks.  Thankfully, people complain, and they remove the offensive language.

O.S. Hawkins in his devotion, The Joshua Principle reminds us that in the last days there will be a polluted pulpit.  One of the sure signs of the Lord’s Second Coming is that pulpits will turn from the truth.  Paul said, Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all longsuffering and doctrine.  For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears; and they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.”  II Timothy 4:2-4

Polluted pulpits create polluted congregations.  Believers are to be in the world, but not of the world.  The Word of God is forever true.  As the Word of God unfolds around us, my we influence culture rather than culture influencing the church.

The picture I see here is not of Iron Eyes Coty shedding a tear, but of our Lord Jesus Christ shedding His blood.

I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. (John 14:6 KJV)