Life is Precious and Brief

I love visiting the Brierfield Café.  Located in Brierfield, just southwest of Montevallo, the Brierfield Café has the finest pork barbeque and the best, fried, green tomatoes in Alabama.  The café is the dream-come-true work of a former church member and friend, JoAnn.  The finest barbeque, the best fried green tomatoes, and a hug from JoAnn is hard to turn down, especially when she says, “You will always be my pastor.”

Each time I dine there, JoAnn always asks, “Who died?”  It seems that most of the time when I patronized her establishment, I am back home to attend or conduct a funeral.  This particular time, I was there to spend a Friday night and Saturday working on my farm, Sugar Ridge.  As I entered the café, Mary, another old friend, hollered to us.  Mary is the president of a bank in Montevallo and wife of a famous Birmingham radio Deejay.

Mary said she needed me to do her a favor.  “Would you go visit Truman?”  Truman, her ex-husband was dying with cancer.  Mary said that he did not have long to live. 

I worked with Truman for eighteen years.  He was a short, thin man with a beard and mustache.  I will never forget the first time I met him.  He asked me if I had my union jacket.  It was my first day at the cement plant.  I was under a ninety-day probation period and not a member of the Union.  I gave him a puzzled look and he said, “You need to ask the plant manager to give you a union jacket.”

Having worked on union jobs before, I replied, “I may look like a dumb country boy, but I did not fall off a turnip green truck yesterday.” Truman laughed.  That same day while shoveling cement from top a roof, Truman told me to ask the plant manager if he could get us one of those big roof fans to blow the cement dust away from us when we dumped it off the roof.  I have never figured out why little men think big men are stupid.

Truman was a Viet Nam vet.  I would tell him from time to time that I appreciated his service to our country.  Viet Nam Vets were not honored, as were Vets of other wars before or after Viet Nam.  Like most Vets, he did not talk much about the war.  I would tease him, along with several other Viet Nam Vets that one of the reasons we did not win in Nam was because they were all little men like the Viet Cong.  He would remind me that I was too big a target.

I visited Truman the next morning as I promised Mary that I would.  As I entered the room where he lay, he smiled.  I forced a smile seeing a small skeleton with skin stretched over it laying in a fetal position.  I reminisced of all the pranks and fun we had together.  One of the things coworkers and I would do is when Truman started his aggravation, and he was worst than a gnat on a hot sweaty afternoon, was to grab him up and clean the floor with his bottom side.  He would always jump to his feet and yell, “My pants are on fire!”  By the way, the tile floor looked good afterwards.

After becoming a pastor, I convinced Truman to attend church with me at Brierfield Baptist.  It tickled Mary that Truman was in church.  Truman had an addictive personality.  He was addicted to smoking, drinking, pornography, and gambling.  These, especially gambling, led to the divorce of Mary and Truman.  I felt that if Truman accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior, he would be a dynamic believer.

With these memories racing through my mind, Truman and I shared what would be our last moments together.  He tried so hard to talk, but the drugs and pain mumbled his speech.  I had to know if he was ready to meet God.  I leaned close to his mouth trying to hear what he had to say.  I thought he was trying to tell me he wanted me to do his funeral.  His wife said that Truman had accepted the Lord a few months earlier.

On the night before another visit to see Truman, I bumped into another former coworker.  I told him that I was going to visit Truman.  He said, “They buried Truman last Wednesday.”

Don’t live carelessly, unthinking.  Make sure you understand what the Master wants.  Don’t drink too much wine.  That cheapens your life.  Drink the Spirit of God, huge draughts of him.  Sing hymns instead of drinking songs!  Sing songs from the heart to Christ.  Sing praises over everything, any excuse for a song to God the Father in the name of our Master Jesus Christ (Ephesians 5:17-19 The Message)

Thankful Hearts

The Hoppers were never big on holidays because we used them as days to catch up with work around the house.  At other times, we would be cutting, splitting, loading, and unloading firewood.  Daddy always reminded my brother and me that cutting firewood warmed you twice.  When we asked how, daddy would say it warmed you when we cut it and it will warm us when you burn it.  Looking back, I have fond memories of spending a cold day in the woods working with daddy and my brothers.  I really miss it!

I usually grill out steaks for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I remind folks I can get turkey and ham when I visit relatives.  There are not many leftovers when we grill.

When I was growing up we did not cook out, but we did slaughter hogs and roasted some tenderloin on the fire before the pig had time to get cold.  There is nothing any better than homemade sausage and momma’s biscuits.  Part of the fun of slaughtering hogs was grinding the sausage and having momma tweak the seasoning of the sausage trying to get it just right.  We were her guinea pigs having to sample each batch until she got it just right.  If you have never eaten a sausage biscuit outside in the cold with your hands smelling like pigs, your nose running, and your tongue burning from steaming coffee, you ain’t ever lived.

The Hoppers loved eating during the holidays.  Thanksgiving and Christmas were the two holidays that momma cooked special: fried pies, homemade cookies, and cakes.  Every day, when we could afford it, momma cooked a seven-course meal for supper.  Two things always on the table were green purple hull peas and fried Irish potatoes.  I once told momma that if I ever got grown I would never eat peas and taters again.  I hate I told her that and I sure do miss momma’s peas and taters.

On Thanksgiving and Christmas momma “showed out.”  There was something for the most finicky eater.  Momma could fix the best dressing.  Every year she would almost ruin it by cooking it.  We liked it raw and loose.  Sometimes I would sneak some out of the pan and eat it before momma browned it.  I always accused her of burning it.

Momma always insisted that she had to cook it.  Everything she put in it was already cooked.  The broth, the cornbread, the crackers, the bread, and the eggs were cooked so it was not raw, and we did not like it like a cake, but momma had to put it into the oven to brown it.  If mamma was happy, then everybody was happy.

Everyone ate at the table or tables.  It was family time.  Daddy always, even the years as a lost man, called on someone to say grace.  Every time we put our feet under the table, we gave thanks to God for providing us with something to eat regardless, how far down on the hog we got or how bare the cupboard was.  I remember the days when there was no hog, no milk, nothing but bare shelves, so we were thankful when daddy and momma were able to provide a bountiful meal.

Thanksgiving is truly a time for being thankful, yet we live in a very unthankful world.  We live in a time of entitlement.  God blessed and we worked hard to have plenty.  God has blessed us much as a nation, but many do not realize this.  Thankful hearts recognize the blessings of God at all times.  Momma and daddy taught us to be thankful in times of want and in times of plenty.

As believers, we have an obligation to teach unthankful people a lesson.  The Apostle Paul writing to Timothy gives thanks even though the apostle’s future was bleak.  Paul faced death by execution. “I thank God, whom I serve from my forefathers with pure conscience, that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day;  Greatly desiring to see thee, being mindful of thy tears, that I may be filled with joy; When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also.”

Here are some things which he gave thanks.  Paul was thankful to be a believer with a Christian family to have true joy, true devotion, and true prayer.  He was thankful for friends bonded by tears, by happiness, and by yearning.  He was thankful for a faith that came from teaching the Scriptures.  He had a faith that came by being one believer witnessing to many unbelievers.  Paul had a faith rooted in the promise from those of Timothy’s family that would be from generation to generation.

Give thanks with a grateful heart
Give thanks to the Holy One
Give thanks because He's given
Jesus Christ, His Son.

Time With Daddy

I loved spending time with my daddy.  His life experiences were something that I wanted to know and to share.  He grew up during the Great Depression without a dad.  Granddad Hopper committed suicide when daddy was eleven years old in 1935.  Granddad Hopper, gored by a steer and suffering a stroke, was plagued with depression and paralysis. By his early forties, he shot himself in the head with a shotgun. He believed he had no reason to live.

Granny Hopper, dad’s mother, was a sharecropper, widow woman, and a mother of eight during the Great Depression and daddy would tell how the family struggled to survive.  I remember one of the houses that Granny Hopper lived in for many years.  It was high off the ground, had wide crakes in the floor, and had no inside plumbing.  In fact, the kitchen was a separate building adjacent to the house.

I thought it amazing that dad lived there most of his life.  I was glad that it was not the house where granddad killed himself.  I think that is why we lived in our house for many years without many modern amenities that other folks had, such as hot water and a bathroom. Dad was not accustomed to them.

Dad served in the Army during the second Great World War.  He had been to Texas, California, North Africa, and Italy.  He had been wounded by an exploding grenade and ripped open by a machine gun blast.  He was left for dead and had been captured.  He was in the hospital when General Patton became infamous for slapping a soldier.

I thought daddy was intriguing.  He had been to so many exotic and interesting places.  He knew so many different people from all walks of life.  He would tell us some of the most interesting stories.

I loved to lay out in the yard with daddy in the evenings.  He would come home from a hard day of logging.  I have a vivid memory of him coming home all sweaty and dirty from working in the woods.  After supper, daddy loved momma’s cooking, we would get an old blanket and lay in the yard and watch the sunset. 

The hill where we lived provided the most gorgeous sunsets.  In the twilight, we would listen as the crickets and frogs serenaded us.  We would watch the bats dive for bugs as the stars began illuminating the heavens.  Daddy would talk of how the Old Master created all the heavens.

On our backs and looking in to heaven, we watched falling stars, planes traveling to and fro, orbiting satellites, which he called Sputniks, and sometimes far off lightning.  He would thump a cigarette into the grass and tell us that the crickets were having a weenie roast as the smoke swirled upward.

When daddy started to work evening shift (three to eleven p.m.), our times outside in the yard were fewer, but we spent time out there when we could.  I could not wait for daddy to get home when he worked evenings.  I was happy to see that he came home.  I worried that something might happen to him because he worked with heavy equipment at the rock plant in Calera.

Daddy would always have something left over in his lunch bucket.  It was usually a Colonial honey bun which he picked up on the way to work and did not have time to eat it or may he left it to see the scuffle between my brothers, sister, and I to be the first to open it.  It was fun to share the honey bun, but it felt wonderful that daddy was home.  Oh, the joy of seeing daddy come home.  I knew daddy had to leave home to earn a living for the family and I knew he would come back.  It reminds me of Jesus’ promise.

In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also (John 14:2-3 KJV).

The Process

“The higher you go the broader your horizon” come to me one day standing atop a limestone silo at the cement plant.  I had heard a missionary speak those words and they resonated with me.  God gave those words to me in a moment of “egoitis” atop that silo.  Egoitis is my word when you think more on yourself than you should.

I had finished college, pastored my first church, and returned to the cement plant after a five-year layoff.  I was discouraged having resigned that first church.  Called, ordained, graduated, and resigned, I was alone on the silo covered with a massive spill of crushed limestone.  At the moment, it seemed that my supervisors were having fun placing me on the silo with hard labor as their intent and humiliation as their goal.

Semi-depressed, I stood there breathing the sulfur exhaust from the limekilns, dressed in steel-toed boots, hardhat, safety glasses, goggles, leather gloves, and a number two flat shovel.  I peered through the steam from the lime hydrator observing the massive quarry walls.  I wanted to be a pastor of a church.  What was I doing here?  Why could I not get a church?  Why were four years of pastoral preparation through university training regressing to pre-college employment at the plant?

As I studied the quarry, I remembered what I learned in history, geology, and science classes about the limestone. The quarry walls were the result of innumerable tiny sea shells silted and forged together by pressure after the deluge of Noah.  The layers of limestone were slanted rather than being vertical or horizontal towering about 200-300 feet from the quarry floor to the surface.

I questioned God and He reminded me of my calling using the limestone.  For thousands of years the limestone was the resting place of dead sea creatures in tiny shells.  One day someone drilled into those solidified shells and filled the holes with explosives.  After the blast, limestone of all sizes flew separated from the bedrock.

Giant machines recovered the limestone of various sizes and hauled them to a primary crusher.  The primary crusher hammered large limestone into smaller pieces.  Some pieces went through the crusher untouched.  Most all of the limestone went to a secondary crusher by conveyor belt where the stone was hammered smaller. 

Some stone fell by the wayside and some stone was untouched as it continued to climb to a third crusher, which hammered the stone again.  Some stone continued, some fell by the wayside, and some was untouched as it continued up to the silos of the cement and lime kilns.  Limestone headed for the cement kilns would be mixed with iron ore, aluminum, and other materials then pulverized. 

The pulverized material would be cooked in the cement kiln at @2200 degrees forming balls of various sizes which went to another crusher which sized them to travel to another crusher which pulverized the balls and Gipson to make cement.

Limestone that went to the limekilns went to another crusher which sized the stone into small stone called rice, #2 rock, and #3 rock.  These three sizes were cooked converting them into lime.  Lime goes through a small crusher and then to a hydrator, placing the water back into to make hydrated lime.  Hydrated lime is used in thousands of products.  Water purification relies heavily on hydrated lime.  Cement mixed with lime makes mortar mix.

As I studied this process from the quarry to bridges, houses, dams, and everything lime that utilizes cement, crushed rock, and lime I realized God was showing me that each of us is transformed differently.  One day God took my spiritually dead life and transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit.  Dunamis the Greek word for power and is the root word of dynamite.  I was one of those stones that had to be crushed to be useful for the Kingdom.  My egoistis had me looking at other preachers who seemingly were unscathed, who had churches, and who were prospering.  I immediately thought of pouring concrete in a bridge.  There cement, which had pulverized limestone mixed with limestone of various sizes that could have come directly from the quarry, untouched except by the initial explosion, mixed together and solidified make a bridge for travelers to pass.  That was a marvelous revelation.  It is a possess to get where God wants you.

I turned to that massive spill, the neglect and irresponsibility of some cement employee, and started the possess of returning limestone into the silo.  It was not long before other laborers appeared and started their turn in humility.  When they complained, I reminded them that someone had to cleanup the mess of someone’s neglect.  That’s what God did at Calvary.

Being confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ (Philippians 1:6 KJV).

Some Things We Never Forget

Our eyes are recording devices capturing images and storing them for retrieval when remembering or taking time for refection.  The birth of that first child, their first bike ride, first prom, graduation, and wedding are pictures that stay with us.  These “memo graphic” snapshots and “memo recordings” bring smiles or laughs.

Then, there are those pictures recorded in our minds we wish we had never seen.  These images wake us in the night, preoccupy our thoughts in the day, and scare us in the twilight.

Some images trigger forgotten or suppressed images.  Such is the case of Martin.  I met him when I trained as a die setter for Keystone Metal Moulding Corporation.  He was my lead man and die setting mentor.

Martin was frail and pale from a gunshot wound, a 22-caliber bullet pressed against his spine.  He claimed that he tried to commit suicide.  Most of the scuttlebutt around the plant was that Martin’s wife shot him.  As a nineteen-year-old kid, I knew that one does not commit suicide by shooting oneself in the stomach.

Martin’s wife was beautiful, but very unfaithful.  I had never been around very many adulterous people out in the sticks of my youth.  My familiarity with running around was wind sprints at football and chasing pigs.  I did discover that there were some very promiscuous people in my family and other family who “lived across the tracks.”

Keystone Metal Moulding Corporation was a very promiscuous plant.  It was so bad that I would not tell people I worked there.  It was an eye opener for this naïve kid.  The things said and the things I witnessed at the plant would make Corinthian sailors blush.  With this licentious environment, Martin’s exposure to mockery and tease were common as the daily news that another jealous husband was interrogating every male’s exit from the plant.  I could not believe how Martin laughed and cut up when the unfaithfulness of his wife was the topic for the day.

To appease his wife, Martin bought her a new house trailer and a new 1973 Ford Gran Torino.  The Gran Torino was the hit as a muscle car and it was good looking, red with a black vinyl top and mag wheels.  I wondered how these things could corral an unfaithful wife, but I was unfamiliar with hedonist world of infidelity.  I knew good-looking hot rods attracted girls, so why not a wandering wife?

Martin hitchhiked to work and I would carry him home after work.  We worked the evening shift.  One cold winter night it was sleeting.  I have this “memo recording” of my old Plymouth’s wipers pushing the sleet on the windshield.  Vacuum wipers have an unrhymed movement and the sleet rolled against the window.

Martin lived less than two miles from the plant.  As we passed the Friendship Baptist Church parking lot, a church I would pastor years later, I noticed a Red Gran Torino under the security light.  I said, “That’s looks just like your wife’s Torino.”  He joked that she must be running around on him again and said, “That’s not her car.”  I used to pride myself on identifying cars and I knew that it was his wife’s car.

Remember its cold, sleeting, and after midnight when I take Martin home.  I pulled into Blacksnake Trailer Park to Martin’s trailer and there is no Torino there.  I wait for Martin to enter the trailer door and then he motions me to come.  The sight I saw is one of those things you never forget.  There on a doormat on a cold trailer floor were three little girls curled together just like small puppies.  One was wearing a diaper and the other two were wearing panties.  They wore no tops just a diaper and panties.  The oldest was three or four years old and said, “Momma’s out with a man.” 

My heart broke.  The sad thing was that none of the three was Martin’s daughters and all three had different daddies.  I stood there in amazement and disbelief.  Martin was angry, but always defended his wife’s infidelity.  Martin eventually lost all he owned and lived with his in-laws.  The bullet against the spine and his wife’s unfaithfulness eroded his health.  One night I received a phone call saying that Martin placed a 410 shotgun to his heart and committed suicide.  I had never witnessed a man who loved such an unfaithful wife that he could not live without her.  The memory of three little girls curled on a rug is an image I shall never forget and puts a face on Gomer in The Book of Hosea.

The beginning of the word of the Lord by Hosea. And the Lord said to Hosea, Go, take unto thee a wife of whoredoms and children of whoredoms: for the land hath committed great whoredom, departing from the Lord (Hosea 1:2 KJV).

A Country Bumpkin

Brenda was dissatisfied with her church and longed to return to her Baptist roots.  She wanted her young daughter to have the same Biblical foundation of faith that her mother had provided for her.  There was something missing at her current church that the rural provided.

Brenda and her husband were faithful church members, were active in church work, and were practicing pharmacists.  He was persuing a law degree and she was persuing her heart.  They discussed her desire and he encouraged her to find a Baptist church that would help her in her journey.

He did have a criterion for her in choosing a church.  First, the church of her choice needed to be one in town and not out in the country.  Second, wanted her to choose a church were the pastor had an education, preferable college and better if was seminary and not one with a backwoods Baptist preacher.  He had the same concern for their daughter, as did she.

Third, he requested that she visit the church where the local physician, a family friend, attended.  Another friend, a local insurance agent, her baby sitter, and several other friends attended the same church.

Brenda decided to visit the church were their friends attended.  When she arrived, she giggled as the preacher greeted her at the entrance.  She giggled because the church that her husband wanted her to attend had a country preacher.  Shocked by the greeting, Brenda hesitated a moment.  When she saw friends, she darted toward them.  Her thoughts swirled in her head as she thought what kind of mess I have gotten into this morning.  She could not wait to see her husband that afternoon when he returned home from work.

Brenda enjoyed the music during the worship.  She was taken as the preacher took time with the children during what was called pastors’ pals.  The country twang of the preacher had grasped her attention.  Over and over, she thought of her husband’s admonition, “Don’t attend a church that has a backwoods preacher.”  It was his suggestion to attend this church.

Brenda felt a little more at ease with the old familiar Baptist faith hymns, the warm welcome of strangers, and affirmation of friends.  When the preacher announced his text, Brenda thought, “This sure will be interesting.”  The preacher’s text was Revelation 6:5-6, “The Black Horse.”

Brenda had been a student of the Book of Revelation and understood how symbolic and controversial the Book of Revelation is.  The country-bumpkin’ preacher had her attention.  He spoke of demographics, famine, and poverty.  He quoted Dr. Billy Graham’s book, Storm Warning.  He spoke of twenty-six million people are at risk to famine in the Sudan, Ethiopia, Somalia, Malawi, Angola, and Mozambique.  He told how civil war rages and conspires with drought to create famine. He spoke of false religion and apostasy of the white horse, and war of the red horse leading to famine and pestilence. He told how the human sufferings of the black horse are ahead if we fail to keep the commandments of God. He preached of the starving in Africa and Asia contrast the $15 billion dollars spent on diet formulas and $22 billion spent on cosmetics in North America and Europe.  He spoke of the problem is not all shortage, but distribution.  He spoke of the poetry and literary content of Revelation and that resonated with Brenda.

Brenda could not wait to see her husband.  She said, “You are not going to believe what I heard today.  You know the warning you had about the country-bumpkin preacher . . .” 

And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.  And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine (Revelation 6:5-6 KJV).

I see Brenda and Mark from time to time.  They remain faithful servants at the church where they heard the country-bumpkin preacher.  Brenda still giggles when she sees me.

Remembering 911

It is hard to believe that it has been seventeen years since the events of 911.  That day changed America.  I watched a special on television the other night about Flight 93.  The program had the actual recordings of the flight moments prior to our heroes taking back the airplane.  It was sobering as program ended with the pictures of the heroes and their names scrolling in alphabetic order.

Every time I see the planes hitting the Twin Towers I remember where I was and what I was doing.  I remember the following Sunday and how Gallion Baptist Church was packed.  I felt a loss for words. I trusted that the Holy Spirit took what words I said and used them to touch hearts.

From time to time when I think of 911 I think of Joe.  I do not know how to spell Joe’s last name.  I think it was Giano.  We talked only once.  It was September 1994 on the picket line at the entrance to Blue Circle Cement in Calera, Alabama.

Norred Security, under contract with Blue Circle Cement Incorporation, had painted a line across the driveway entrance to plant and placed guards along the line to prevent the employees of Local Union 50537 United Paperworkers’ International Union from entering the plant.  Hourly employees voted to strike on August 4, 1994.

Joe was one of the guards.  He, along with all the other guards, was very intimidating in both looks and actions.  The guards knew everything about every employee.  We knew nothing about them other than their boss who introduced himself to the union president and me.  I was a member of the negotiating team and spokesman for all the union responses.  I dialoged with the boss on several occasions.

After the fourth week, Joe walked to the “line drawn in the proverbial sand” and said, “Bobby, come over here.”

I responded by saying, “I ain’t got time to waste on you.”

It was the first time I had a conversation with him.  He was sincere and continued to ask me to come over to the line.  On several occasions I, along with other picketers, would walk up to the line to see the security guards reactions.  We had several confrontations with them away from the picket line.  Our confrontations were usually verbal.  Sometimes we joked with one another.  We were smart enough not to do anything stupid or threatening.  I would always tell the men not to tell me anything.  I wanted to be honest and not lie when asked about something that happened on or away from the picket line.

I walked up to the line and Joe extended his hand across the line.  I stood there and pondered what he was doing.

Joe said, “My name is Joe Giano.  I am a New York City cop.  I want to shake your hand.  The Union president and you have been gentlemen during this strike.  Norred Security has tried everything to intimidate you and you have been perfect gentlemen.  My grandfather brought the union to New York City from our homeland in Sicily.  I want to wish you guys good luck.  I’m going back to New York.”

I asked him what he was doing in Alabama.  He told me that he took four weeks vacation every year to work strikes.  He said he belonged to the police union in New York City.  He said Norred Security paid big money to help bust unions and stop strikes.

Joe said it was a pleasure to get to know me.  Boy did he know me.  A company friend told me later that they knew everything about my life.  They knew my finances, my debts, my friends, my family, my enemies, everything.  It was daunting knowing a company had that kind of information on you.

On the morning of 911 I wonder where Joe was and what he was doing.  I would like to think that he was one of the heroes that day.  I pray that my witness was such that it gave him a new perspective about God, about his family, and his calling in life and helped him on that tragic day.  I would like to see Joe again, this time under better circumstances.

Young men likewise exhort to be sober minded.  In all things shewing thyself a pattern of good works: in doctrine shewing uncorruptness, gravity, sincerity, Sound speech, that cannot be condemned; that he that is of the contrary part may be ashamed, having no evil thing to say of you (Titus 2:6-8 KJV).

Light Always Drives the Blackest Darkenss Away

One of the oldest chemical known to man is soda ash; Salt and lime are the oldest chemicals.  It dates back 3,500 years to the Egyptians who extracted it from wood ash.  According to an article posted by International Mining: “New technology mines one of the world’s oldest chemicals” July 15, 2009.  Soda ash from trona rock is involved in virtually every aspect of life, through the manufacturing of glass, in chemical manufacturing, fertilizers, soaps and detergents, pulp and paper, flue gas desulphurization, and water treatment.  In the 1938, the presence of trona was found in a core sample while drilling for oil at the John Hay No. 1 Well south of Westvaco, Wyoming. Trona was first deep-mined in 1947 by Westvaco Chlorine. Shortly after that, FMC Corp acquired Westvaco’s chemical business, including the mine, and then added the Granger mines.

The beds in which they all operate began forming 50 million years ago when Lake Gosiute covered deposited volcanic ash later.  The deposits formed in more than 42 beds of trona in the Green River Basin of southwest Wyoming, stretching from the Unitah Mountains of Utah in the south, along the Wyoming Range to the west, the Rock Springs uplift to the east to the Wind River and Gros Ventre Mountains in the north.

Today, more than 90 percent of the soda ash used in America comes from Wyoming trona mines.  Wyoming trona mines employ more than 2,225 people.  About 44 percent of the trona in Wyoming is produced from Federal government lands and some 56 percent from State government and private lands, all of it deep-mined using boring machines with continuous haulage, continuous miners with continuous haulage and shuttle cars, and, at the Solvay and FMC mines, long walls.

Well, that is enough of the boring information on trona.  I had the privilege of seeing this type of mining while on a mission trip to Granger.  It all started when a friend from Kemmerer, Wyoming, from an earlier mission trip, invited the Chilton Baptist Builders to a tour of the trona mines.  Four of us said we would go.  Arriving at the mine site, we saw a large building that housed a conveyer belt and railroad cars.  From the highway, it did not appear to be much of an operation.  We were in for a shock.

The first item of business for the tour was a short course on survival in case of a cave-in.  We were instructed how to operate life support systems until we could locate an air shaft leading to the surface.  At the conclusion of the safety survival course, we had to sign a release form.  I was starting to worry a tad at that point.

In the large building was an open cage enclosed elevator.  This elevator was large enough for two pickups to park side-by-side.  The elevator descended 1300 feet, that’s right 1300 feet, into the Wyoming ground.  That large elevator opening looked like a pinhole in a cardboard box as we reached the bottom.  We them loaded onto a mine car not too much different from the originally runaway mine cars at Six Flags.  We went two mile, that right, two miles in the mineshafts.

It was amazing how the equipment worked.  One neat thing was how they reinforced the mineshafts.  They would drill holes in the trona, place epoxy tubes in the holes, and the screw threaded rods in the epoxy.

Underground were these large pieces equipment.  Someone asked how they got the equipment in the mine.  We were told that it came in pieces assembled in the mobile shop at the bottom of the mines.  There canteens, coke and candy vending machines, offices, and everything underground.  The reason was that the Wyoming winters were so harsh that two weeks a year most people were homebound.  In the mines, the temperature varied very little, around 68 degrees.

I noticed that there was no ground water, so I asked where it was.  Our mines at the cement plant in Calera, Alabama pumped millions of gallons of water from the limestone.  Our guide said that there was no ground water in that part of Wyoming.  Being that the Granger Baptist Church was beside a river, which looked like a creek to me, I asked, “What about the lakes and rivers?”  Our guide said that that was melting snow.  Lakes were constructed as reservoirs catching the snow runoff.  Well, that explained why that river was a crystal-clear 48-50 degrees in July.  One of the heating and air-conditioner guys had measured it with a thermometer.  That also explained why a river in the Unitah Mountains would not pass for a creek or branch in Alabama.  For some odd reason the earth sure did look beautiful when we got back to the top and took a trip to the Unitah Mountains. Those trout were beautiful in that melted snow, the vegetation was lush green, and the mountains were white capped.  The world does look better on top.

Man puts an end to the darkness; he searches the farthest recesses for ore in the blackest darkness.  Far from where people dwell he cuts a shaft, in places forgotten by the foot of man; far from men he dangles and sways (Job 28:3-4 NIV).

Going Into Panic Mode

What sends you into panic mode?  I hate to admit it, but I go into panic mode on occasion.  It is said that confession is good for the soul.  I say that it is bad for the ego.  My coworkers once said that I was Mr. Cool when trouble was raging.  What they did not know was I was just as scared as they were.  I could conceal it by pretending to be in control.  If they only knew the truth!

The other day I went into panic mode and it was not a very big event.  I had driven to the local gas station to fill my new zero turn mower with gas.  As I reached to open the tank, I noticed that the right gas cap was missing.  I had checked the gas before leaving home and that’s when the panic started. 

Where was the gas cap?  A new mower and I have already lost one of the two gas caps.  I can’t believe I lost a brand new cap, will they have a new one at Slayton Brothers, will they have to order it, how long will it take, how will I explain to friends how a lost the cap, where is it, how can I keep the gas from jumping out, did that mischievous looking young man get my cap while I was not looking, can I find it if I back track my path, did it come off when I left the shed. . .  Did I mention I was about to panic?

After filling both tanks, I borrowed a plastic bag and rubber band from the store clerk and temporarily stopped the hole of the missing cap.  Then in a frantic, not panic, I was calming myself with possible answers to folks and the mower sales clerk, for losing a gas cap.  I backtracked the quarter mile journey back to my shed.  With no gas cap, I retraced my trail back to the store.  I could not enjoy the sweet fragrance of kudzu blooms; they seemed more sickening than refreshing or reassuring.  During the retracing, I saw everything a person could imagine but no gas cap.  I turned around at the store and retraced the path back home again.  Three trips and no cap.

I began a journey of panic recovery.  It was silly of me to panic over a plastic gas cap.  Then, I thought of other times I panicked.  There was the time when Aaron, my seven-month-old in a baby car seat locked the car door.  It was December, it was cold, the car was running, and I was trying to get to my college graduation rehearsal.  I imagined the headlines: College graduate so stupid baby dies in locked car from carbon monoxide poisoning.  Yep, I panicked.  I tried to find another key, I picked up a brick to knock out the car window, I googooed and gagaed trying to get Aaron to hit the electric lock again, and I finally decided to break into the car.  I got a clothes hanger, jimmied the car door, and pulled the lock open.

My mind continued race as I returned home and began cutting grass.  I thought about the time I could not find the laptop I had checked out of the Samford Library.  Several of us who were working on our doctorates used laptops to take notes.  I remember having it when I got into the car for the forty-five-minute trip to school.  Where was it, did I put on the top of the car when I loaded my books, did it fall on the driveway, did it fall on the highway, how much will it cost, will it cost me my graduation, will they take a credit card, will I have to work off the payment. . .  All these things raced through my mind as I frantically searched the back seat and the trunk over and over.  When I finally decided to face the music by breaking the bad news to the library, I realized the laptop was in its bag and on my shoulder.  Did you know that laughing at yourself relieves panic?

As I giggled about the laptop, I resolved to bite the bullet and suffer the consequences of losing a cap.  I would tell everyone that I was just a dummy.  It was a trivial and insignificant loss and could happen to anyone over age fifty.  There are more urgent matters, such as adjusting my seat.  The seat belt was hung so I had to step off the mower to make the adjustment.  As I reached between the seat and mower, there was the lost gas cap.  I laughed as I said, “Thank you Jesus.”  I thought that sometimes it is silly what sends us into panic mode.

Just this week Lisa, my new bride, lost a disc that contained our wedding photos, the only one in existence.  She went into panic mode big time.  After an all day search she found them. Tears of panic turned into tears of joy.

An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up (Proverbs 12:25 NIV).

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you (I Peter 5:7 NIV).

Words Create Atmosphere

The other day I heard music that sounded familiar.  It was band camp at the local elementary where drums were pounding, students were marching, and the morning freshness reminded me that football season is here.

I loved playing the game of football.  I did not care too much for practice with the Burma rope, camel caravans, monkey rolls, and wind sprints, but it was worth it on Friday nights.  There is nothing like the thrill of running into a stadium full of screaming fans, band members, girls wanting to date football players, and cheerleaders.

I reserve weekends in the fall to watch football, search the sports page of the newspaper, and flip TV channels during commercial breaks to watch football.

I had this co-worker, and friend, nicknamed Big Ugly, that loved football.  He was a fanatic about football.  At work, we had a game we played to see who the best prognosticator of football was.  We kept a record of who we thought would win games on Saturday.  Usually it was the list of the top twenty teams listed each week in the paper.  There was no money or prizes involved, just bragging rights of who was the best prognosticator.  I must say that I had the best record with a 93% average one year.  I was lucky.

One Sunday morning, I hated rotating shifts at the cement plant, Big Ugly and I relieved the midnight shift.  The topic usually was how well things were running, what things to watch, and what changes were being processed.  During football season, the topic was Saturday’s games and who was the bragging prognosticator for the week.

Big Ugly entered the cement kiln control room with, “How bout them Auburn Tigers?”  The two workers that we were relieving could care less about Auburn because they were transplants from a cement plant in Tampa Florida and both were both Florida Gator fans.  Big Ugly poked out his chest and repeated, “HOW BOUT THEM AUBURN TIGERS?”

The two workers replied, “What about them?”

Big Ugly said, “They beat Florida State.”

The two workers said, “Auburn did not beat Florida State, Bowden (Coach Bobby Bowden) gave the game away with that stupid Rooski Fumble.”  In the Fumblerooski, the quarterback deliberately places the ball on the ground, technically fumbling it. The backs will run to the right, and the right guard will pick up the ball and run to the left.  When Florida State ran it, Tate, an Auburn defensive lineman picked it up.  The play resulted in a Florida State defeat.

Big Ugly got ugly.  He was young and immature and it showed that morning.  He complained that no one gave Auburn credit for being a good football team.  That is when I made a huge mistake.  I said, “Big Ugly grow up.  It’s just a stupid ball game.

We have an expression up home that says, “Cussed to a fly won’t light on you.”  Well, that morning Big Ugly cussed me to a fly would not light on me.  Big Ugly was red haired and of fair completion.  He turned so red I thought he was having a heart attack.  He left the control room very angry.  The two workers and I were shocked.  They said, “What’s up with him?”  They gathered their lunch boxes and went home.

Sundays were relatively quiet and everything normally ran well due to the fact that there were no maintenance men, electricians, or dust collector workers to have the kiln operator, “Stop this, start this, shut this off, turn this on, or take the kiln off coal and put it on gas.”  All these things made for a long day and an upset kiln and kiln operator.  On Sundays, you could sit back read the Sunday Sports page and brag about how good a prognosticator you were.

Big Ugly did not return until the morning break.  When he did return, he stuck his head in the door and shouted, “I have you know that I am fifty thousand dollars in debt, own a house, a new car, a truck, married, and have a baby.”  His face was blood red and he was trembling as he slammed the door.

Big Ugly came into the control at lunch.  He tried to pour a cup of coffee, but could not because he continued to tremble.

I had worried about him for more than five hours.  I knew I had to say something to calm him or he was going to have a heart attack.  I said, “Allen (Big Ugly’s real name), I want to apologize for what I said.  I am sorry that I made you so mad.  I want to give you some big brother advice.  You got to do something about your anger.  If you are going to dish out stuff about football, you had better be willing to take it.  If these men of this plant know that can upset you, they will ‘eat your lunch.’”

Big Ugly said, “The other day I did something stupid and my dad told me I needed to grow up.  A day or two later I messed up again and my mom told me I needed to grow up.  Later my wife and I were arguing and she told me I needed to grow up.  When you told me to grow up I lost it.”

Big Ugly and I grew very close to one another after that.  He would tell people how much he loved and appreciated me helping in life.  Big Ugly and I both learned that words create atmosphere.

Either make the tree good, and his fruit good; or else make the tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by his fruit.  O generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things? for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.  A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things.  But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.  For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned (Matthew 12:33-37 KJV).

What are We Gonna Do, Hopper?

Without counsel plans fail, but with many advisors they succeed. Proverbs 15:22

“What are we gonna do, Hopper?”  My friend Keilan and I were in the middle of a contract negotiation battle that eroded to impasse and resulted in a lockout.

Driving two hours from negotiations in Atlanta back to fellow employees in Calera Alabama was more than enough time to weigh options and prepare our presentation.  The company had its top advisors detailing their position and our local union had its top advisors conveying our desires.

I said, “This contract is bigger than both of us.  We will present our results to our co-employees and make a decision based on what they tell us and what we know.”

Decisions are difficult, but we make them from the moment we open our eyes in the morning until we close them that night.  Our faithfulness in serving the Lord increases or diminishes determining on our decisions.

You may be facing a monumental decision about a change of career, a calling in the ministry, or a life changing commitment.  Seek the Lord in prayer and ask for wisdom from Christian brothers and sisters.  Most decisions are too large to handle without Christian wisdom.

August 15, 2018 Devotion from The Richly Indwelling Word: A 365 Day Devotional Vol. 3

Ain't No Haint Gonna Run Me Home

I love dark nights when you can see billions of stars.  Things look different at night.  Ordinary objects take life and your imagination begins to run while.  I remember jogging one night on an old dirt road.  It was beautiful until I felt the presence of something behind me.  All of a sudden, I began to imagine this hideous green demon with one red eye breathing down my neck.  Thinking about him floating behind me, I picked up my pace a step or two and thought about what my daddy told me one time about darkness in a graveyard.  He said, “Don’t be afraid of the dark.  Ain’t nuthin’gonna hurt you.  People there are dead.”

Granny Hopper said the best thing to do when haints, goblins, and the devils imps are around is shew them away in the name of Jesus.  That is what I did.  I said, “In the name of Jesus I command you to leave demon.”  I must say jogging does get your heart rate up, especially if you jog with a haint.

I have heard of strange things that happen in the night.  One thing is lights that appear and move through the sky.  Where I grew up there were such occurrences until people had security lights.  I never saw these lights up home, but I did see some in Oklahoma.

The Chilton Baptist Builders were working in Baxter Springs, Kansas.  Some of the folks wanted to know if we wanted to see the lights that were just over the state line and since the T.V. program That’s Incredible had been there a few weeks prior to our coming.  It is one of those unexplainable phenomenons with lights bouncing in the sky.

I must say the light reacted much like the ones I heard about in Alabama.  My cousin Floyd said a light came in the house one night while he was asleep.  Grandpaw Chapman followed one down in the woods.

That night the light jumped into the road and headed toward us.  Kansas folks said the light would do all sorts of oddities.  Some there said the light got into their car.  Others said it would come toward them disappear and reappear.  I guess the light was scared of Alabama folks because it never got real close but I did see it and kept some newspaper articles about it as souvenirs from the trip.

I have never seen any unexplainable spooks at night other than those lights, but my Uncle Ellis did.  One afternoon while returning home from school, he saw a haint.  Uncle Ellis was not quite right.  No one has ever been able to explain what was wrong with him other than his mind never developed.  He was a giant six feet, four inch, two hundred fifty pound kid.  He loved to play his Roy Rogers guitar and he loved my mom.  Momma had to get Ellis off dad one time when Uncle Ellis thought dad was hurting mom.  Dad said Uncle Ellis had unbelievable strength.  Uncle Ellis died young. He died before my first birthday.

It seems that Uncle Ellis and Uncle Clifton, who was younger, were walking home from school after the bus dropped them off.  My great-uncle Kelly decided to scare his two nephews.  His scheme was to hide in the ditch and scare them as the autumn sun was setting and shadows were growing long.  It was ideal for haints.  To make it more realistic Uncle Kelly had a sheet over him.

As my two uncles walked by him, great-uncle Kelly jumped from the ditch and yelled Booooo!  Uncle Clifton lit out like a “scalded dawg.”  Daddy said they measured Uncle Clifton’s footprints and they were unbelievably far apart.  All out of breath, Uncle Clifton told the family that a haint had Ellis.  Everyone snickered knowing that it was Kelly in a sheet.  Uncle Clifton was terrified as any little boy would be.  Several family members sitting on the front porch consented to see if the haint got Ellis.

As they got about half way there, they spotted Ellis.  He was walking at a normal pace enjoying the fall colors and the growing darkness as trees blocked the setting sun.  They asked Ellis about the haint.  Ellis said the haint was in the ditch.  They asked what happened.  Ellis said, “Hummm, I pick’d up a rock and hit tha haint in tha head.”

“Where’s the haint,” they asked. 

Ellis said, “Up thar en tha detch.” When the family arrived to the haunted ditch, they found Kelly, the Out Cold Ghost.  Great-uncle Kelly learned that Uncle Ellis wasn’t afraid of haints.

And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.  But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid (Matthew 14:26-27 KJV).

Why Did I Run Away From Home?

As a kid, did you ever think about running away from home?  How many of you reading this actually tried running away from home?  I informed my mom on several occasions that I was running away.  Sometimes she offered to pack my bags, while at other times she threaten to beat me all the way home when she found me,

I never ran far from home.  Usually I ran across the field thinking if momma beat me all the way home it would not be too much of a beating.

My favorite place of refuge was an old oak tree adjacent to where I built my home.  I would leave home crying promising never to return.  Under that tree, I would think of all the injustice of home.  Mom never understood me.  I never ran away from home while daddy was home.  He worked as a mechanic on evening shift at the rock plant.  I think the only time I threatened to leave when daddy was at home that he told me if I left, never to come back.  Mom was more sensitive.  I knew she did not want me to leave.  Dad was a different story.

Under that oak tree, I would look to heaven and gaze at the stars.  I imagined all sorts of things.  Wiping tears from my eyes and snot from my nose, I would host a big pity party.  The only attendees were crickets, tree frogs, and mosquitoes.  After thinking of all the things I could do with my life to make momma sorry she caused me to run away, I would sneak back home.  I would peak in the window to see how much momma and my brothers and sister were mourning about my leaving.  Most of the time it looked as though were having a “glad your gone party.”

Moping for a while, I would go inside.  Momma was so glad to see her prodigal son that she fed the fatted calf and tried to kill the prodigal son.  I guess that it why Jesus’ parable on the Prodigal Son is from the perspective of the father and not the mother.

Several years down the road of life, I wondered why I wanted to run away from home.  I once told daddy that I wished I were a million miles away from home.  When I did leave home, my whole perspective about home changed.  All mom and dad were doing was showing love to their eldest son and preparing him for a long journey called life.

C. Welton Gaddy in his book Geography of the Soul says, “Our perspective of the world comes from our perspective of our home.”  Home was the place I learned to read the Bible and learned how to pray.  Home was the place I learned about life and about death.  Home is the place I learned how to share and how to cooperate.  Home is the place where I learned about pride, integrity, honesty, and commitment.  My spiritual nurture came from home.  Gaddy also says, “Spiritual nurture does not depend on physical structure.”

I understand that.  Our home was a shack structurally, but spiritually it was a magnificent mansion.

In many of my articles, I speak of going back home.  Home is not the same.  If a home does not change, it spells disaster.  Home as I knew it does not exist.  Each time I work around the old home place, I understand the saying that you can never go back home.  I have come to realize that when I go back home that I am not looking for what once was, but I have learned that if home is a place of nurture, where I learned affirmation and criticism, where my thoughts challenged and my spirit lifted, and where my thoughts and love for God developed, I can go back home.  As Gaddy states, “We need to go back home . . . If we cannot return home, we will do well to carry our home with us.”

I realized that the week after the Fourth of July several years ago.  After visiting my aunt and uncle who live across from my Chilton County home, I told my aunt that I needed to head back home.  She asked if I were spending the night.  I told her, “No, I going home to my present assignment.”

She had the most baffling look.  While up home, I refer to our Chilton home as Sugar Ridge and where my assignment home as home.  With that look of concern she said, “You’re not coming back are you?”  I said, “That depends on the Lord.”

When Jesus returned home to Nazareth, instead of recapturing feelings of glad satisfaction, instead of finding a spot He loved to go, a breath of familiar air, or a place to prop His spirits, He discovered heartache.  People who pampered Him and encouraged Him now wanted to kill Him.

For Jesus to return home, it was not to reminisce, but it was to remember His purpose.

And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up: and, as his custom was, he went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and stood up for to read.  And there was delivered unto him the book of the prophet Esaias. And when he had opened the book, he found the place where it was written, the Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord (Luke 4:16-19 KJV).

In January 2018 I did return to Chilton County and my family is deteriorated and home on the story burned in 2012.  I catch myself cooling underneath that old oak tree and wondering "why?"

Preception Is Reality

As Labor Day Weekend approaches I am reminded of the years I spent negotiating contracts and the importance of our economy and industrial relationships of employee and employer.  Relationships are important.   We forget that the Bible is a book of relationships.  It instructs us on our relationship to God and to our neighbor.  If we do not have a good relationship with our neighbor we cannot have a good one with God.

In 1994, I had a personal friend, and co-worker, who police arrested for assault. 

The arrest came while he walked the picket line as Local 50537 United Paper Workers International Union negotiated a contract with Blue Circle Cement.  My friend had no idea what was taking place.  One of the replacement workers identified my friend for Norred Security Systems and the Shelby County police as the man who assaulted him at a Calera filling station.  My friend had no idea what they were talking about and for a moment resisted arrest.  He protested that on the night of the alleged incident that he was at home watching Monday Night Football with his son-in-law. 

With the aid of modern technology and sophisticated surveillance equipment, Norred Security and the replacement worker made a positive identification.  My friend was handcuffed, finger printed, and put into a cell for the first time in his life.  He was embarrassed, humiliated, and devastated.

He called me.  I knew him, worked with him, prayed with him, and witnessed along with him.  He said that he was at home with his son-in-law watching the game.  His concern was as a Christian his testimony was destroyed.  The men of the plant rallied around him with full support.  The objective of Norred was to destroy the credibility of the striking employees. 

It did not take long to find the truth.  Another striking employee had had words with the replacement worker and they exchanged blows.  The common dress for most of us on the picket line was blue jeans, tee shirts, and baseball caps.  My friend and the employee who actually hit the replacement worker had beards, were the same build, and the same height.  In negotiations we tried to get Blue Circle, Norred, and the Shelby County police to admit their error.  They were relentless.  During the hearings, my friend’s key witness, his son in law, was accidentally killed in a car accident. 

Finally, someone revealed to the company who the real culprit was.  The company never apologized; neither did the local police nor Norred.  The company maintained that Norred was at fault.  My friend won the case and a settlement from Norred.  The thing he wanted most he never regained.  His name and reputation were destroyed by the false arrest. 

Several years later I had the opportunity to preach at his deacon ordination.  He mentioned that he still felt the humiliated.

The Book of James has some strong words for gossip.  Speak not evil one of another, brethren. He that speaketh evil of his brother, and judgeth his brother, speaketh evil of the law, and judgeth the law: but if thou judge the law, thou art not a doer of the law, but a judge.  There is one lawgiver, who is able to save and to destroy: who art thou that judgest another? (James 4:11-12 KJV)  

Most of us do not have criminal intentions when we gossip, but it can be very malicious.  Gossip can cause more harm in five minutes than can be repaired in years, not to mention one’s emotional stability. 

Many find delight in spicy gossip.  It is our duty to obey the law of God, not to judge it.  Scripture calls it the worst of sins, because it is a breach of the Royal Law and it is an infringement of the rights of God. The sin of character assassination should not be condoned.  We must learn to improve human relationships and to get along better with people.  This Labor Day, remember we are co-labors together.