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)

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

"Puttin' On The Hawg"

I had the opportunity to perform my niece’s wedding several years back.  I always remind couples that the wedding is a magnificent moment for them and their families.  It is a new journey on the road of life.  It is a time of worship, a time of new beginnings, and a time of celebration.

For the Hopper family is a time of “Puttin’on the Hawg.”   You might say “Putting on the Dog.”  We do not do weddings in the tradition of most folks.  Yes, we have all the dainty foods of most weddings, but we take it just a step further.

Here is how we do it.  Once the date is set, I, the preacher of the family do the marital counseling and offer my cache of wedding ceremonies.  I have the spiritual responsibilities of Hopper weddings.  In fact, I had another Hopper wedding in November of same year as the one above for a nephew at the same church. 

My sister, mother of the niece and nephew, usually decorates the church and a fellowship hall and cooks most of the food and the wedding cake.  She sure had a delicious wedding cake this time.  My sister also hired a DJ (disk jockey) to play music.  No, the DJ was not at the church, but at the Jefferson State Performing Arts Hall.

One of my brothers, and his father-in-law grilled one hundred chicken halves and pulled the meat.  He marinates the chicken in a secret sauce.  You do not need any barbeque sauce to moisten the chicken when cooked in this family secret sauce.  As with any true Southern barbeque, the secret is in the sauce. 

If you are wondering about “Puttin’ on the Hawg” and I am writing about chickens, my other brother cooked a 150-pound pig.  Yes, he slow cooked a whole hog.  In the dining hall, there was a whole hog, with an apple in its mouth, on the serving table.  Can you tell it was not a Jewish wedding?  His wife cooked potato salad, baked beans, and slaw.  All other family members help serve and do cleanup.

We have always shared God’s blessings with anyone who attends one of our gatherings.  That’s the way it is when the Hoppers have a wedding or any other kind of get together we invite everyone and anyone.

When I entered my nephew’s wedding celebration that night, I saw an old friend.  We call him “The Comiss” because he is one of Chilton County’s Commissioners.  As I passed him on the way to the DJ to make a special announcement, he called out to me saying, “Hey Hopper, you sure have made a fancy preacher.”  I mingled with the guests.  After a while, I asked “The Comiss” and his wife if I might sit with them and reminisced. 

Heedy, “The Comiss,” was the first person that invited the Hopper family to church.  I will never forget that night.  Heedy had only been a Christian for a short time, but he immediately started sharing his faith.  Looking back, he was very young, less than twenty-five years old.

I was ten or eleven years old when he visited our house.  I was lying on a ragged couch in our old shack of a house.  I remember that I had on an old jacket without having on a shirt.  My brothers, sister, and I always took off our school clothes and put on our ragged clothes when at home. 

What amazed us about his visit was that he was inviting us down to the place all the rich and well-to-do people were going.  We could not understand why he would do something like that.  We were poor, lived in a shack.  Church had better sheds and barns than our shack. I felt embarrassed that night.  I remember looking up at the deteriorating sheetrock ceiling, the worn tar exposing linoleum, and the old propane gas space heater and wondering why he wanted us to come to church and hear more about Jesus.

We did start going and Heedy would become my RA leader.  After I married, he and I would decorate the church for special events.  We would take swimming pool filtering equipment and clean the dirty creek water that we pumped out of the fire truck into the baptism pool.

He and I were elected deacons at the same ordination.  We fished, hunted, worked, played, and most of all, worshiped together.  We sang in the choir, took the RA boys deep-sea fishing and all night camping, and went on church visitation together.

I cannot help but think about all the push on evangelism today.  I am glad folks like Heedy share their faith.  I am leery of more emphasis on evangelism without discipleship.  I thank God for a church and a friend that did more than invite to come to church, they were mentors who discipled me.

During the wedding ceremony I reminded everyone that we in a worship service.  In fact, When Heedy invited the Hopper kids to church; he was introducing us to Jesus, the groom, in anticipation that we would become part of the church, the bride of Christ.

The wedding is ready, but they which were bidden were not worthy.  Go ye therefore into the highways, and as many as ye shall find, bid to the marriage (Matthew 22:8-9 KJV).

Multifaced Ministry

 A few years ago, just moments away from conducting a funeral, I talked with Mel one of the funeral home directors at Martin Funeral home in Clanton.  I have known Mel for a long time.  His dad is the probate judge up home.  Mel, his dad, and uncles run the funeral home in Clanton.  They are very professional, highly respected, and deeply compassionate.

Mel and I go way back to 1982 when I was counselor for the Chilton Baptist Associational Youth Camp at Cook Springs.  The camp is between Birmingham and Pell City.  I had a group of fourth grade boys, Mel being one of them.  I remember that week as if it were last week.  Mel had a deformed lip.  At that time, he was a little shy, a little self-conscious, and somewhat, but not completely, withdrawn because of it.

Mel has transformed into an outgoing young man. Mel and his family do a wonderful job with funerals.

Mel, Rex Kent, the pastor, and I spent a moment reminiscing as members of the Oaks family spent time with people paying last respects to AC.  When I return to Chilton County for funerals, Mel and his uncles say to me, “This must be a big funeral when they have to call the ‘Big Gun’ in to perform the ceremony.”  Friends up home are proud of me, I think.  They always say, “I knew you would be a big preacher someday.”

Rex listened as Mel and I reminisced about camp, funerals, and being from Chilton County.  Mel told the story of funeral he did for a certain family in the Jemison area.  In fact, the family for which I reserve the right of confidentially was one I visited while pastoring my first church.  They were members of the community.

I will never forget my first visit.  I found an elderly woman in a wheelchair in one of the filthiest houses I have ever called on while visiting for the church.  When I visit, most hosts will ask me to forgive them for not having a clean house.  If they only knew how some houses look and smell, they would think their homes were fine.  All they need is to go on church visitation to realize the how bad things can get.

The house was at the end of an old red dirt road.  A flock of geese greeted me, and I had to dodge goose droppings along the way.  The house was surrounded with junk and trash.  A short man in a pair of worn and dirty overalls and sporting an old fedora greeted me.  He introduced himself and directed me inside.

As I entered the house, it reeked of foul odors.  The little man had a peculiar smell, but nothing like what I was about to experience.  In the house was a blend of aromas from gangrene, cat mess, human waste, dog feces, bird excrement, goose droppings, and a blend of urine.  Most of this was evident because it covered the 1960’s green shag carpet. Every piece of furniture had an oil film on it and the smell of Prince Albert tobacco was minute compared to the other aromas.

Now, I have a strong constitution as the old timers say, but as I tried to witness blowflies buzzed, the cats rubbed my leg, the dog panted in the heat, the birds fluttered in their cages, the summer heat sweltered, the geese squawked, and my stomach churned.  The longer I sat there, the more I felt the need to vomit.  I had to excuse myself by saying I needed something from my car and went outside to catch a breath of fresh air and try to keep my dinner down.

Going back outside was a trip of adventure also.  This trek was solo, no little man to hold back the geese.  Dogs don’t bother me, but geese do.  It is a phobia from childhood.  As I tried to get fresh air, the geese honked and squawked as they rushed toward me.  All I will admit is they will not do it again, I guarantee that.

I frequented the home while pastor in the community and it never got any better.  The family did not care or was so accustomed to the filth that it did not affect them.

Mel said that when the woman died, the funeral was unbelievable.  He said that the woman was filthy, the funeral procession hilarious, and funeral ceremony odd.

It seems that the only family for the funeral arrived in a worn out and broken-down motor home like that of Cousin Eddie in the Chevy Chase movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  The family rode in it behind the hearse in the procession.  A large Confederate Flag waved in the wind on the rear of the motor home.

Since they had a preacher to conduct the funeral, they decided that they would kill two birds with one stone, no pun intended, and have a wedding.  That’s right.  They asked the preacher while they had all the family, the church, the license, and him to conduct a wedding.  They left the church in a decorated motor home.  I am not making this up.  There is no way to make up a story like this.

You have to remember; two pastors and a funeral home director discussed this just moments before praying with a family and conducting a funeral.

Ministry is multifaceted.  For most pastors, weddings and funerals are the most stressful. I can only imagine doing them together.

Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me (Matthew 25:34-36 KJV).

I wish there was a line that said, I was filthy, and ye visited me.