Falling Short

We used to take sweet counsel together, within God’s house we walked in the throng. Psalm 55:14

My friend was dying with raging pneumonia.  There was no hope as his family stood by his side in the last moments of his life.  His nurse said that she could not believe the love that friends and family had shown this young man of thirty-two. 

Most of her patients did not have anyone who would come to visit.  She cared for AIDS victims.  She saw most of her patients abandoned and left to die alone.  Yes, my friend had AIDS.  He was one of the first victims of this worldwide tragedy.  My friend was a Christian who adopted the sinful lifestyle of homosexuality.  Before he died, he repented and returned to the house of God.  He died at peace with God, family, and friends.  Not all of his friends supported him.  At a time when his family needed support, they deserted my friend and his family.  I learned a valuable lesson from that time.  When sin enters our lives, we need trusted Christian friends to support and encourage us.

Many churches have forgotten that all sin and come short of the glory of God.  We need to strengthen our relationships and begin to treat one another as brothers and sisters in Christ. 

Ignorance

But we do not want you to be uninformed brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may grieve as others do who have no hope. First Thessalonians 4:13

Bubba used a crosscut saw to cut pulpwood.  One day a chainsaw salesman asked Bubba if he had interest in a chainsaw that would increase his productivity.  Bubba did not know about productivity, but he did want to cut more pulpwood.  

Bubba said he could cut about a cord.  The salesman convinced Bubba an increase to three, maybe, four cords with the chainsaw.  Bubba borrowed the money from the bank and bought a new chainsaw.  Working as hard as he could work, Bubba could only cut a half cord of wood. 

A week later, Bubba told the salesman.  Thinking it odd, he gave Bubba a new spark plug, but Bubba only managed three-fourths cord.  Not satisfied, the salesman told Bubba to take the saw to the local repair shop because the saw was under warranty.  Bubba told the repairman his dilemma to which the repairman turned on the switch and pulled the cord.  Bubba said, “What is that sound?”

Paul informed the Thessalonians concerning the Lord’s Return and pagan hopelessness of future life.  Bubba had the resources for a better life, but was ignorant about what he had.  Do not be a Thessalonian Bubba. Share the hope of Jesus today. 

"Using a Paint Brush to Catch Men"

Every time I paint or smell fresh paint, I think of my old friend Cecil.  Cecil was a transplant to rural Chilton County from Birmingham.  It was fun watching his family and him adjust to rural living.  His wife, son, and daughter attended my home church, but Cecil did not.

Cecil was one of our frequent stops for church visitation.  He was always cordial and polite.  He enjoyed our visit but would not attend church even though every Sunday he would bring his children to church and drop them off for Sunday school.

Cecil’s vocation as a painter meant that he worked mostly in metro Birmingham.  It was through this work that God used his co-workers as witnesses.  His coworkers were faithful Christian men.  When you spend more hours with coworkers than you do your family, one learns much about a person.  Cecil’s coworkers never intimidated, but just talked about how good God was.

Day in and day out Cecil’s coworkers talked of their churches and the work that the Lord was doing.  They were able to do what our church visitation could not.  This daily witness through their conversations was the Holy Spirit’s way of touching Cecil’s heart.  One Sunday morning Cecil did not drop off his children.  He came with them.  During the morning invitation, Cecil jumped from the pew and ran down the aisle with his hands lifted saying, “Praise God, praise God.”  During his baptism, he told how he wasted many years of serving God.  When he came up out of the water he shouted, “Praise God, praise God.”

Cecil did not miss a service.  You knew when Cecil was there because he would say amen, halleluiah, or praise God.  This was unusual for my home church, which had an old deacon who always frowned upon any kind of Pentecostal jargon, ecclesiastic shenanigans, or heavenly applause. During one Christmas cantata, Cecil cried and shouted during the performance.  Don’t you know it must have been difficult for preachers and evangelists to preach to a non-responsive pre-Cecil congregation?

Cecil became a member of our church visitation program.  He was very active in our jailhouse ministry.  If the church had an activity, he was there.  He never taught but he did paint.  Boy, could he paint.  If you around him when he wore his work clothes, you could smell paint.  He smelled like a freshly painted room, clean and refreshing.

Our church helped remodel the associational office and we volunteered to do the painting.  I am a three-coat painter.  I paint the wall, me, and everything else.  Cecil was a one-coat painter.  He said if you wipe the brush more than once, you were rubbing off the paint.  Cecil could paint window frames without taping.  He was fun to watch.

On one occasion, we helped a sister church do some construction work.  When we arrived, a man named Snuffy was painting the eves of the church.  He had a stepladder, a can of paint, and a brush.  Cecil volunteered to help Snuffy. 

After a few minutes, Cecil asked if he could give Snuffy a break.  Cecil noticed that Snuffy was wiping off more paint than he applied.  Cecil went up the ladder painted and did more painting in a few seconds than Snuffy had in several minutes.  Snuffy was continually moving the ladder because Cecil could paint so fast.  Cecil said that he had a telescoping work plank, we call it a pique board up home, and ladders at home that would speed up the painting.  Cecil borrowed my truck and returned with the painting accessories. 

What would have taken Snuffy weeks, Cecil did in a couple of hours.

What seemed as a short time later, Cecil was diagnosed with cancer and died.  He continued to attend church, sometimes in a wheelchair, until he became bedridden.  In his brief time as a believer, Cecil witnessed to many people.  He had a great testimony.  According to Delos Miles in his book, Introduction to Evangelism, Cecil was an individual soul winner.  After Cecil’s conversion, he lived what Jesus said to Simon, “Apo tou nun anthropous ese zogron.”  That is, “From now on you will be catching men.” Cecil used a paintbrush to catch men just as his coworkers with him.

For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing (Second Corinthians 2:15 NIV).

“Accidents Will Happen”

 Most of us should be recovering from bulging bellies and thunder thighs from too much barbeque, potato salad, baked beans, and peach clobber; from aching pains and soreness from volleyball, pitching horseshoes, playing softball, and swimming which is really arthritic flare-up and gout caused uric acid overload from too much watermelon, cantaloupe, and pork.; and from sunburn from showing too much skin and applying too little sunscreen.

When I think of celebrating a safe Fourth of July, I think of my cousin, Stevie.  My aunt threatened to lock him in a room take away his Independence Day.  Stevie was an accident waiting to happen during pre-teen and teenage years.

One Fourth he aggravated Grandmoe Chapman’s dog one too many times.  Rover was Grandmoe’s mutt and trusted “guard dawg”. On this particular Fourth, Rover got even by biting a hole in Stevie’s lip.  This meant a quit trip to Dr. Joe Moore in Clanton.  Stevie got stitches and a shot. 

Another Fourth Stevie was playing with a step ladder.  The ladder collapsed almost severing fingers from both hands.  It was another quick trip to see Dr. Joe for stitches and another shot.

On another Fourth we were working on an old rear engine Chevy Covair.  It had one fan belt that looped from the top down around the side and the back bottom of the engine through a series of pulleys.

Stevie and my brothers were watching the belt trying to diagnose a squeak.  They told me to bump the engine (that’s a Chilton County turning without starting).  I bumped it and they yelled for me to stop.  Stevie was pointing at a pulley just as I bumped it and his fingers went between the belt and the pulley.

You probably have guessed it by now.  When I went to see the commotion, Stevie had two fingers dangling and one finger with a compound fracture.  I told daddy we needed to carry Stevie to the doctor.  He asked how bad the fingers were.  I said, “Bad.”  I had wrapped them and would not let Stevie see them.  When dad saw them, he said, “Let’s go.”  My dad and I loaded in my hotrod Cutlass Supreme and raced to none other than Dr. Joe.

Dr. Joe shook his head as he filled a shot.  He had a few choice words for Stevie and commenced to set the fractured finger and sew the other two back together and hope Stevie did not lose them.  Stevie never cried through the whole ordeal until Dr. Joe stuck his fingers for the surgery.  My aunt had a few choice words for Stevie when we returned him home.

It gets better.  One Fourth Stevie and my brothers decided they would make their own fireworks.  They found out that if you mixed red-devil lye with aluminum foil and water it created helium.  Their scheme was to put the material in a coke bottle and trap the helium in balloons.  They put balloons on the mouth of the bottles.  For fireworks they would remove the balloons, tie rags on the balloons, and light the rags with a lighter.  Rising high over the Chilton County sky the balloons exploded with brilliant colors.

It was so successful that they expanded their experiment.  More aluminum foil, red-devil lye, and water would make a bigger explosion.  It did.  The coke bottle exploded and melting aluminum went everywhere.  Stevie received the most.  Dancing an Indian rain dance for relief, my brothers and another cousin tried spraying water on Stevie’s brightly glowing legs and shorts.  Water was a no no because water is the catalyst to start the chemical reaction.  It spread the concoction and Stevie made another trip to Dr. Joe.  At least there were no stitches, only gauze and cream for burns.

Stevie had one more bad Fourth.  Two other cousins and he went to the local store for fireworks.  No more concoctions.  The sun was setting as Steve and his cousin left the store on a Yamaha motorcycle.  They stopped to shoot some fireworks.  Stevie, setting on the back heard the other cousin leave the store on his 750 Honda.  He was winding it out.  This cousin wore glasses and had difficulty seeing at night.

Stevie screamed, “He can’t see us!”  They took off trying to get out of the way.  For a cousin that could not see, he hit the motorcycle dead center of the rear tire pushing the rear tire into the engine of the bike and forcing the front tire of the his bike into the 750 engine.  Bikes locked together; the trio slid around seventy-five feet up the highway.  One cousin was bruised, one had bleeding arm, and Stevie had rocks embedded in his buttocks.  He slid on gravel which ate through pants, underwear, and skin.  My aunt had a few more choice words as she used a pair of tweezers to remove the rocks and then a trip to Dr. Joe where he placed Stevie head down and filled his rear end with Ivory soap to remove tar, dirt, and gravel and prep for another shot.  He did not have stitches, but our other cousin had forty-five or more on his arm.

 A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished (Proverbs 22:3 - KJV).

I am glad God watches over us, especially Stevie growing up.

I am your Creator. You were in my care even before you were born (Isaiah 44:2a - CEV).

  

"Widow's Mite"

Mrs. Callie Plier, a widow in my home church and one of my earliest Sunday School teachers, taught me faith by example.  Mrs. Callie lived so far off the main road that the phone company would not provide her service.  I quit and refused to support our volunteer fire department because they refused to provide service for her. 

On top of that, Mrs. Callie lived alone and did not own a car.  She said that her situation provided her time to spend with the Lord.  She was a praying woman and lived by faith.

Mrs. Callie generously supported her church and it’s missions.  I remember visiting her after she invited me to her home.  She wanted to talk to me about my future in the ministry.  After a long affirmation of my call, she gave me ten dollars, a large sum for a small widow lady.  She said that God called me and she wanted to support my ministry.  I used it as seed money for books at the University of Montevallo and the beginning of a long journey in ministry.

I thank God for her encouragement, her teaching, and her demonstration of faith by giving.  When we give to the cause of Christ, we worship, demonstrate faith, and become ensamples for others.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1 KJV)

Now concerning the collection for the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye.  Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come (I Corinthians16:1-2 KJV)

Brethren, be followers together of me, and mark them which walk so as ye have us for an ensample (Philippians 3:17 KJV).

"Come on in Boys the Water is Fine"

My first cousin Floyd was the first person I saw baptized.  The church all went down to Six Mile Creek west of the bridge.  I remember the preacher dressed in a white shirt going down into the water, which was murky, kind of a lucent greenish brown.

The creek was good for camping, fishing, and swimming.  Back before all the cotton poison washed out of the fields and down into the creek, you could catch bream, bass, and catfish.  I spent many nights on Six Mile Creek checking fishing poles baited with “mud puppies,” “water lizards,” or salamanders.  I remember wondering if a fish was going to nibble old Floyd.

Floyd went down into the water and baptized in the same fashion as Delmar from the movie Oh Brother Where Art Thou.  The water in the scene from the movie looks akin to that of Six Mile Creek.

Someone in my home church got the notion that the church needed an inside, store bought, heated, baptism pool.  For some reason the church stopped using the creek and started borrowing the baptism pool at Macedonia, a neighboring church.  That’s where I was baptized a few years after Floyd.  Many years would pass before my home church would have their own inside, store bought, heated baptism pool.

It came with a new auditorium; we tore down the old church and replaced it with the present day auditorium.  As a twenty-three year, I somehow got railroaded into being the work coordinator for the building.  Our church was blessed with carpenters so I coordinated Saturday workdays.  In just a few weeks, we had this big beautiful sanctuary with choir loft, baptism pool, fluorescent lights, padded pews, central heating and cooling, and a modern sound system.

God blessed the church and many souls came to know the Lord.  One was a life-long friend of my momma named Tean.  Tean, now with the Lord, had always had a thyroid problem and was overweight.  I remember as a kid watching her arrive to church with her little car tilted from her weight.

My daughter Angela said when she was little that my momma chewed her out for mocking Tean.  She said she was not mocking, but following Ms. Tean and trying to walk like her.

David Myers, our pastor at the time was a small round man and usually needed assistance during baptisms.  Since the baptism pool was covered with curtains, we didn’t have one of those fancy river scenes on the wall, my job was to open and close the curtains.

My friend Heedy Hayes helped Brother Myers.  Heedy and I were in charge making sure everything was right for baptism.  The church well could not supply enough water for baptisms so we used water from the creek using the volunteer fire department water truck.

Since Heedy and I, along with others from the church, helped create the West Chilton Fire Department, the church we used it.  The water was nasty.  Heedy and I would spend Saturday afternoon using his sister’s swimming pool filter getting the water crystal clear for Sunday baptism.

As the big day, no pun intended, approached for Tean’s baptism, I asked Brother Myers if he had considered whether or not, Tean could get in the baptism pool.  He said he thought it was big enough.  I told him I wasn’t worried about the pool but the door leading down to the baptism pool.  Having been in charge of those things during construction, I knew that the door was a small, like ones on closets.  Suddenly Brother Myers was concerned.  We got the bright idea to hug one another and see if we could get through the door.  We did and we were relieved.

When the moment came, the church was full, along with the baptism pool.  I closed the curtain after a brief word from our beloved pastor about baptism.  Heedy assisted Tean down into the baptism waters.  With each step down, the pristine water of repentance rose higher.  The preacher, Heedy, and I forgot to calculate water displacement.

As Tean reached the bottom, the water that washes sin away crested near the top of the glass.  A Holy gasp ending with “whew” vibrated across that new auditorium.

Brother Myers took Tean, said I baptize you my sister in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.  There with a bird’s eye view to the preacher’s right hand, I saw Tean go down and the waters flow over into the new choir loft in front of me.

This baptism mired the on going debate about washing sins away.  Some did not want the baptism pool, opting for the creek believing running water was better than still water for the washing away of sin.  I always told them when we pulled the plug; it became running water headed back to the creek.

Baptism and the Lord’s Supper are the two ordinances Baptists observe.  Baptisms have been in decline for many years prompting an investigation by the Southern Baptist Convention creating a taskforce on SBC Evangelist Impact and Declining Baptisms.  Dr Timothy George, one of my professors, responded to the taskforce findings with his article “Troubled Waters.” The article states that baptisms are no longer the central part of the act of Christian worship and have been tacked onto a service or are an appendix of the main event. It is no longer promoted as the decisive, life-transforming confession witness.  Baptism is a conscientious act of repentance and faith.

Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand . . . I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance: but he that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear: he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost . . . And Jesus, when he was baptized, went up straightway out of the water: and, lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him: And lo a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased (Matthew 3:1b, 11, 16-17 KJV).

"Bee Stings, Bug Zappers, and Bacteria"

Sitting on an old school bus sit out under the garage at the in-laws, I was moved by the aerial activity of flying wasps.  No, the wasps were not my problem.  It was the husband of my niece and my father-in-law who were trying to kill the flying creatures of pain and death.  With each swat of the broom or the swing of a swatter, the intensity of the angered wasps made me feel uncomfortable.

Wasp stings are not my favorite pass time at the in-laws although I have received some stinging remarks from the in-laws and their extended family over the last forty plus at these family Fourth of July family reunions and picnic outings. I have had numerous stings from bees, fleas, horse flies, sheep flies, yellow jackets, and red wasps.  I worried that someone who is allergic might have been stung.  I read and I heard that bee stings are good for arthritis.  I do not have allergic reactions, but I do have arthritis.

Just the other day I was weed eating a fence row when I thought I was having a severe attack of gout or sharp pain of arthritis in my right ankle.  My thoughts were, “What I have been eating to have the gout?” I thought maybe I lucked out and it would be just pain from a wrong step on the unlevel ground.  After two or three sharp pains, I decided to take a look at my ankle.  Is that a man thing ignoring pain?

I raised my pants leg and discovered a yellow jacket buried deep into my ankle.  To my surprise, I was in a yellow jacket nest and received only one dose of arthritic medicine.  Looking back, I have mixed emotions.  I am glad I had the pain of just one sting, or sad for just a small dose of painkiller?  The ankle did feel better after the swelling subsided.

A week or two before the yellow jacket arthritic treatment, I was attacked by a red wasp.  He flew into my sleeveless shirt and stung my chest in that tender spot between the armpit and the, well you know, the chest.  By the way, I do not have arthritis there.

Getting back to the interruption of my leisure moment and my time of meditation in preparation of spending the Fourth of July with the in-laws, I sat entertained, but concerned, at the mishaps of trying to hit flying wasps.

Moments before the aerial display, my nephew-in-law had spayed a single nest with two wasps with insect killer.  He knocked down the nest and secured our safety by crushing the two dead wasps with his foot.

After quick survey of the ceiling of the garage, the home base of the Kamikaze wasps was located.  As with the concealment of any enemy station, the wasps had planted a nest in the electrical discharge insect control system.  Your know, a “Bug Zapper.”  The device attracts and kills flying insects that are attracted by light.  A light source attracts the insects where they are electrocuted by touching two wires with a high voltage between them.  The name “zapper” come the zap sound produced when an insect is electrocuted.

Research shows that the process of electrocution spreads a mist containing insect parts up to seven feet.  Bacteria and viruses that can be inhaled by contaminated air around the bug zapper, or settle on the food of people eating near the device.  Another drawback is the traps are not effective at killing biting insects.  Many harmless and beneficial insects are electrocuted.  Wikipedia says, “A study over a summer found that 13,789 insects were killed, of which 31 were biting insects.”  It makes me wonder if the red wasps took advantage of the design flaw and build their nest at night during the time harmless and beneficial bugs were zapped.

I think it may have been because there was no power to the bug zapper.  No electricity, no electrocution.  No power because the power source was broken.

I know by now you are wondering where is the spiritual connection.

Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field:  But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way.  But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also (Matthew 13:24-26 KJV).

Lord, have mercy on my son: for he is lunatick, and sore vexed: for ofttimes he falleth into the fire, and oft into the water.  And I brought him to thy disciples, and they could not cure him.  Then Jesus answered and said, O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? how long shall I suffer you? bring him hither to me.  And Jesus rebuked the devil; and he departed out of him: and the child was cured from that very hour.  Then came the disciples to Jesus apart, and said, Why could not we cast him out? And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.  Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting (Matthew 17:15-21 KJV).

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"The More I Attend School the Dumber I Get"

One time my paw-in-law asked me why I attended so much school.  It was a legitimate question.  I started school at Beloit Kindergarten in Beloit, Illinois in 1959.  I have the class picture, which has the event documented with an informational board in front of the class.  This board shows the school, the date, and the teacher’s name.  That’s school number one.  School number two was Beloit Elementary.  I do not remember much about that school.  I played sick, ran away, and missed so much, that I did not have a class picture to prove I was there.   I have haunting memories of this old, I mean old and mean, teacher who made fun of my Southern accent.  She made fun because I could not skip with both feet.  I showed her I could skip.  I skipped plenty of her classes.

I could walk to this school, but dad would take me occasionally.  I remember one particular morning that I beat him, and my uncle Clifton, back home.  I hid in a chair underneath the dining room table.  When they discovered me, they took me back to school.  I know this sounds like an old cliché, but I did walk to school in the snow and it was on a hill.

Along about March of that school year, 1959-60, we moved back to Alabama and to school number three, Jemison Elementary.  Actually, the elementary, middle school, and high school were all together.  I would spend 11 years and three months at Jemison.

Guess what?  My first grade teacher, Mrs. Shirley, at Jemison was the splitting image of the one in Beloit.  Mrs. Shirley made fun of my Yankee accent.  You have heard of the man with no country.  I was the boy with no dialect.  I had a Southern drawl with a Yankee brogue.

I do not have any pictures from the first grade at Jemison.  I want to think the school had already taken them and I got there too late.  I must confess that I took up my old patterns of running away from school, except this school was seven miles from home.

I devised a plan using the school bus.  Mr. Allen Posey drove school bus Number 34 He lived across from Land Mark.  Most of you might recall that store from earlier article.  Mr. Allen started there and made a big loop back to a local store.  I would convince Mr. Allen that I was deathly ill and get his permission to exit the bus and walk back home.  We had only one vehicle, which daddy used to drive to work.  Once home, I was so sick that mom would nurse me and I would have a miraculous healing.

Mom was a miracle worker when it came to healing and a genius at figuring the schemes of little boys.  She told me that I was not sick.  Really, I was.  I was sick of school and mean teachers that made fun of your speech and made you sit on a stool with a pointed fairly hat, a dunce hat, when you could not answer a question the class discussed while I was taking care of business in the outside toilet of Jemison Elementary.

One morning I was really sick, but mom made me go to school anyway.  My throat hurt something awful.  I remember that afternoon after school getting off the bus and walking home.  I usually could beat the bus home by getting off at the store.  I was burning with fever when I got home.  I had the mumps!

I finally got a good teacher in the second grade, Mrs. Nettie Glasscock, had the best one in the third, Mrs. Avis Harthen, and had a great one, Mrs. Gentry, in the fourth grade.  I started making straight E’s (Excellent) in Mrs. Harthen’s class and straight A’s in Mrs. Gentry’s class.

I tell students that if you hate school, they will make straight A’s.  Those that make bad grades love school.  They love repeating classes and staying in school longer.  I graduated Jemison in May 1971.

Several years later while teaching Sunday School I attended the Howard Extension (now Samford Extension), school number four.  When the Lord called me into full time ministry, I returned to school at the University of Montevallo for four years, school number five.  I attended Bessemer Tech for two years while working in maintenance at the cement plant, school number six.  I attended New Orleans Theological Seminary for four years, school number seven.  I graduated from Beeson School of Divinity Samford University in December 2002.

After all those years of gathering wisdom and a few moments of reflecting, I said, “Paw-in-law, the more I go to school the dumber I get.”  All my years of study has taught me that I really do not know anything.  Boy, you miss a lot when you miss most of the first grade.  The same is true when missing reading the Bible, Sunday School, or preaching.

Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth (Second Timothy 2:15 KJV).

And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh (Ecclesiastes 12:12 KJV).

"Daddy's Hands"

One afternoon, thunderstorms surrounded Linden as I started a fire to do some grilling.  I love the sound of rolling thunder and the awesome beauty of lightning.  It is a pungent display of what I imagine as minute exhibition of God’s heavenly power.  I always imagine Moses on Mt Hebron when I see those vigorous clouds churning in the heavens above.  I also think of the Second Coming of our Lord.

As the lightning grew intense, I realized that just about the time that the fire was perfect for grilling,  I might become a lightning rod and I would be grilled.  A grill underneath big oak trees is not the ideal place to be when lightning is imminent.

The ground trembled as lighting created a brilliant streak just beyond Linden Baptist.  It was spectacular.  The next day, my neighbor said he saw the same flash of lightning.  He said the lightning hit with a burst of fire and smoke.

Suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder and the rain started to fall.  I told my son Aaron to get a couple of umbrellas and to bring the meat.  I covered the bed of coals and the meat with a piece of tin as the rain intensified.  Lightning continued to dance around Linden.  I told Aaron that he might need to go inside and out of the lightning.  I told him it would be better if the newspaper read “MAN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING,” rather than “FATHER AND SON STRUCK BY LIGHTNING.”  He worried more about objects falling from the tree on the meat than lightning striking us.

As the lightning subsided, the rain got harder.  I told Aaron that it reminded me of the night my dad and I set a pole for an electrical service for a house I was about to build. 

To have an electrical power source for contractors, the power company required that I have an electrical box with a disconnect switch mounted on plywood on a pole.  My dad told me he would help me put it up when we got in from work.  We did not know when we started that there would be a thunderstorm while we were setting the pole.

We had just tamped the pole into place when the thunderstorm erupted.  Lightning was popping in the area and the rain started to fall.  People who are experts, you know how experts are; remind us if one can hear thunder, one can be hit by lightning.  Well, the thunder was pretty loud and close.  Just about the time daddy started screwing the electrical control box on the plywood, it started to rain harder.  I can still see daddy’s big hands holding the screwdriver and twisting the screws in the back of the box into the plywood.  As usual, I was holding something for daddy.  This usually meant that he would say, “Hold it still son.”  I had to hold it still regardless of how uncomfortable, awkward, cold, or hot the object or I were.  I miss those days with dad, but relive them with Aaron.  Now, Aaron holds for me although sometimes I hold for Aaron.  He is so much like dad, a man whom he has never met.

Bad weather terrified momma, but bad weather did not bother daddy.  Daddy taught us to respect the weather, but never to fear it.  Daddy loved to hear the thunder and see the lightning.  He reminded us that it was a sign of how powerful God is.  He would say when God got ready for you, it did not matter where you were or what you were doing, it was your time.  Momma agreed, but reminded him not to tempt the Lord and that God gave him enough sense to take cover when it stormed.  So, when it stormed, momma went to hide and daddy and the boys went outside to watch.

I think we were all anticipating the Lord wiping back the thunderstorms and opening a beautiful blue sky as He did when the disciples were in one of those violent thunderstorms on the Sea of Galilee.  There is also a calming effect when a child sees courage in his dad.  Dad did know when to make us go inside if he thought we might be injured.  I do not know if momma knew it or not, but dad would say that we were not to tempt the Lord and that the Lord gave us a head to think.

I thank God that He gave me a dad who acknowledged the awesome power of God in thunder and lightning.  Dad also acknowledged the greatest power is the power of salvation.  HAPPY FATHER’S DAY

The voice of thy thunder was in the heaven: the lightnings lightened the world: the earth trembled and shook (Psalm 77:18 KJV).

For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be (Matthew 24:27 KJV)

"I am the Queen of Sheba"

 

Several times in the last few days I ran across the name Sheba.  One of the occurrences was the History Channel.  A program on the Ark of the Covenant told how that King Solomon and Sheba were married, had a son, and Solomon gave the son the Ark and it is in Ethiopia today.  There is a Hebrew word for that, “Baloney”.

Actually, I thought Indiana Jones found it the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark and it is filed deep in the archives of the Smithsonian Institute.  Who knows?

I did have a conversation with the Queen of Sheba in New Orleans.  No, I am not fibbing.  Here is what happened.

One of the requirements for getting a Master of Divinity degree from New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS) while attending its Extension in Birmingham was I had to spend 13 weeks on the New Orleans campus within the four year program.  I accomplished this having earned four years of vacation from the cement plant.  I spent my vacations in New Orleans in class taking tests.  One week was equivalent to a full term.

One of the breaks from this vigorous schedule was a trip to a steak and seafood restaurant named Jack Dempsey’s.  If you go to New Orleans be sure to go and order the steak and red fish platter for two.  It is wonderful and it is more than two can eat.

It was a trip to Jack Dempsey’s that I met the Queen of Sheba.  She was from the Marietta Extension of NOBTS in Georgia and she had been invited by some of the other female students that tagged along with several of us preachers.  New Orleans is not a very safe place for females at night.

Sitting around a large table we enjoyed the food and company of one another.  It was exciting to meet new people and share our experiences.  The Queen appeared older than most of us.  She dressed and acted sophisticated, maybe a tag snobbish.  I was cutting up and having a good time when she asked me, “How did you get into this program?”

Being simple minded, I told her that I had registered.  She then said, “I thought you had to have a college degree to register.”  I responded by telling her that I had a college degree from the University of Montevallo.

She said, “If you have a college degree, I am the Queen of Sheba.”

My preacher friends, the other ladies (wanting to be preachers) that knew me waited for my response.  I had two cards, wallet sized certificates, in my wallet from the Phi Alpha Theta and the Sigma Tau Delta.  Now I know that is Greek.  The Phi Alpha Theta is from the History Honor Society for having an “A” average.  The Sigma Tau Delta is from the English Honor Society, one of the top five in the nation, for having an “A” average in English.

I took the cards from my wallet, gave them to her, and said “Here, read this Queen of Sheba.”

It was a precious moment that I cherish even as I write this article.  My friends around the table erupted in laughter.  The Queen of Sheba was speechless.  She gathered her composure and asked, “Why don’t you talk like you have an education?”

I said, “Mam, I pastor a small rural church in Bibb County Alabama.  The people I serve are good old country people.  If I talk prim and proper I cannot communicate with them.  I know when to act educated and when to be me.  I am country, proud of it, and you will have to accept me for who I am.

I have often wondered what she said when she went back to Georgia.

And when the queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the Lord, she came to prove him with hard questions . . . And she said to the king, It was a true report that I heard in mine own land of thy acts and of thy wisdom.  Howbeit I believed not the words, until I came, and mine eyes had seen it: and, behold, the half was not told me: thy wisdom and prosperity exceedeth the fame which I heard (I Kings 10:1, 6-7 KJV)

"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

"Don't Miss the Water until the Well Runs Dry"

I’m sure your have heard the old saying, “You don’t miss the water till the well runs dry.”  Water is a precious necessity that we often take for granted.  Back in the winter and early spring, I heard a bunch of complaints about it raining too much.  I for one love the rain a whole lot better than watching things burn in a drought.

Cool water is refreshing and more satisfying than soft drinks or even Gator Aid.  In recent days, hydrating one’s body with water has been imperative.  While cutting grass, I had plastic bottled that I half filled with water and then froze.  It lasts much longer while operating the mower or the tractor.  The sun was scorching, but the cold water was a welcomed relief.

I remember as a kid helping dig our well.  We had a pump down in the spring, but we mostly toted the water up the hill in buckets.  Now for those who think that tote is an improper word, let me give you a quick lesson in the construction of words according to Dr. Dorothy Grimes of the University of Montevallo in her 201 English class.

In olden days, farmers would put their produce in sacks called tote sacks.  Several years back, Le Tote bags were the in thing.  Anyway, the farmers would put the tote sacks on their donkeys and then proceed to carry them to the market.  Instead of going through the whole explanation as I just, they shortened the process to “tote.”  Tote means to carry something and I bet you thought it was another one of those crazy Chiltonian terms from up home.

Well, when daddy tired of toting water, he decided to dig a well near the house.  One day this older gentleman came to the house to help daddy find a place.  Any old place will not do.  The man carried a stick that resembled an enlarged slingshot, only was much thinner and he held it upside down from the way we held them to shoot rocks, chinaberries, and green plumbs.

Walking in the back yard, that skinny, upside down slingshot started shaking and all of a sudden pointed down.  The man told daddy that was where the well would be.  To make sure it was the right place, he turned the slingshot upside down again and started walking from another part of the yard.  One again the thing started shaking and pointed down in almost the exalt same spot.  I asked daddy what kind of stick it was and he said it was a “witching stick”; some call it a “divining rod.” Now, I was familiar with all kind of sticks.  The most familiar was the sticks momma used.  She called them switches and those suckers would find the water in your eyes.

Several days later I helped daddy unload a wooden beam, it looked like a small log, with handles on each end that were opposite from one another and a large pair of wooden X’s.  He called it a well winch.  For me that was a second new term for my vocabulary.  We used the well winch to lower daddy and other men into the hole, which would become our well.  Forty-six feet and several days later, we had water.  Daddy bought a new well pump, build a well house, and we had fresh water from the well.  That was the best tasting water.

Before I bought our trailer, that’s Chiltonian for mobile home, or built our house I hired Rutherford Well Boring and Drilling to bore us a well.  They were high tech, or so I thought.  When Mr. Rutherford arrived at an appointed time, I had the place for my well all picked out.  It was to be behind where our house would eventually be built.  He said that I would have to bore the well wherever there was water.  I asked him how he would locate it.  He went to his truck and pulled out, yep, he pulled out a witching stick or divining rod as he called it.

My forty-six feet, thirty inch bored well is in my front yard.  I built a pump house to look like an old timey well or a wishing well.  Most people think that it is for decoration.  I say, “No it has seven to ten feet of water flowing in at the rate of seven gallons per minute.”  Boy, it is good tasting water and a lot better than the stuff that you buy in plastic bottles

It makes one think, when Jacob dug his well, did he use a witching stick?  Naw, it was probably a divining rod!

Then cometh he to a city of Samaria, which is called Sychar, near to the parcel of ground that Jacob gave to his son Joseph.  Now Jacob's well was there. Jesus therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well: and it was about the sixth hour.  There cometh a woman of Samaria to draw water: Jesus saith unto her, Give me to drink . . . The woman saith unto him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence then hast thou that living water?  Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?  Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:  But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life(John 4:5-7, 11-14 KJV).

Memorial Day

What was going through the mind of that nineteen-year-old soldier in that foxhole somewhere in Italy?  Among all the carnage, in all the cries, in all the agony, and the all the stench of dying and death, did he cry out to God?  Did he know the two soldiers that were beside him?  Did he know that their sacrifice would be his deliverance?  What made him think of hiding beneath them?  Was he in a panic?  Was it an act desperation?

Such are the casualties of war.  Did he struggle with surviving when so many paid the ultimate sacrifice?  How long did he deal with the guilt?  Is that the reason he never talked much about the war?

I wonder how many of the enemy did he kill?  How did he feel when taking the life of another?  Did it give him any consolation realizing that it was an act of war?  How close was he to the enemy when he took their life?  How did he do it being so young?

How did the war affect his life as a son, a husband, a dad, and a granddad?  Is that the reason he showed little or no emotion?  Is that the reason he debunked war movies and television war episodes as not how it really was?  How was the movie Patton, the only movie he ever watched, significant?  Was it because he served under General Patton that he watched the movie?

What made him decide to risk incarceration if his sons did not want to go war?  Was his view of politics and war polices the root of the decision to protect his sons?  Was it love for his sons or the distain of war that determined his unyielding decision?  What prompted him to give his sons the option of volunteering or rejecting the military draft?

How much of his vulgar life after the war was a direct result of the horrors of war?  Was he happy to be alive or was it eat, drink, and be merry with wine, women, and song?  Why did he take that journey of life and not the one of being thankful for God’s grace?

Did he feel God’s presence during the war?  Was it the prayers of his mother that sustained him and delivered him back home?  Did he realize his survival was God’s plan for his descendants?  Do his descendants realize the magnitude of that event day in that Italian foxhole?

Do citizens of our nation know the high cost of freedom that emanates from thousands of similar foxholes experiences and situations?  Is there the realization in our nation that thousands of unknowns like the two in the foxhole provide the multitude of amenities that we enjoy today?  When they see our flag, Old Glory, are they reminded of the blood spilt over the face of the earth by our soldiers?  Are the blood soaked battlefields the only recognition that many unknowns receive?  Is the tomb of the Unknown Soldier enough acknowledgment or thanks?

Do citizens of the United States understand the cost of the privilege to cast a vote?  Are those participating in the protests and the occupying of Wall Street and other venues aware of those who died that they might have that right? Do those who operate abortion clinics understand the sacrifice of life that babies might have the right to life?  Will there be honor given to the old soldiers that fade away?

How many will celebrate Memorial Day without giving one nanosecond of thought of the cost of freedom?  How many dads, moms, sons, and daughters will shed tears for a fallen soldier that did not return home?  How many will touch names on the Memorial Wall, a tombstone, or a brick?

Dad, who were those two soldiers you pulled over you and took the bayonets for you in that foxhole?  Will anyone, other than me, remember the price they paid over seventy years ago, just as they forget the price of Calvary?

Should not the multitude of words be answered? (Job 11:2 KJV)

How long can our nation exist if we fail to honor those who paid the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom? 

Remembering their sacrifice on Memorial Day.

"Ah. the Years After Graduation"

Forty-eight years ago, I experienced nervous anticipation as I entered the Jemison High School auditorium.  Actually, I had been on edge all day.  It was the climax of weeks of expectancy filled with numerous warnings of a bunch of do’s and don’ts.  Weeks of preparation for a great climatic moment were now happening before me.

I was about to enter uncharted territory for my family and me with a feeling of “can this be real?”  No one in my immediate family had ever been on this journey.  No one in my family had received the honors and recognition that I was about to receive, but I was not sure I would receive them.

Weeks prior to this magic moment, things were not well at home.  Mom and I were not on the best of terms.  Looking back it was a mother’s love and son’s rebellion, a mother’s joy and a son’s fear, and a mother’s tug and a son’s release.

Things were not so good at school.  I, along with other students, had grown tried of school, racial tension, and each other.  There were so many expectations from everyone.  Some were preparing for that big bash.  Some were making plans to get a job, go to college, or go to Viet Nam.  I just wanted to get out of school.

As I walked the hall, I realized that this night would be the last time I would see some of my friends and my classmates.  All of us had the look of eager expectation and tearful eyes of separation.

Someone one asked, “Did you wear your shoes?”  Yes, I wore shoes, but part of my fear for the moment was one of the “don’t” warnings.  Counselors instructed everyone to wear black shoes only.  I protested that mom had bought me a new pair of shoes.  There were black and white dress shoes.  I tried to conceal them from the terrible tyrants who controlled the magnanimous event of the evening.

The closer I got to the auditorium, the more my classmates celebrated.  It was hard to celebrate with them because some of my friends and I were the reason for the buzz and the reason for my anxiety.  Chuck Ellison sent my anxiety to new levels of fear when he proclaimed, “They’re not going to let us graduate tonight.”  Yeah, the big moment for my family and me was my high school graduation.  It was a family first, or at least I hoped it would be.

The night before, under the veil of darkness, several of us delivered a gift to Jemison High School that will be long remembered in the annals of Jemison history.  It was a labor of love and skilled deceit.  Weeks before we planned to do something special to show our appreciation for twelve, some of us thirteen, years of hard work, hundreds of tests, hundreds of facts, questions, and answers, hundreds of hand written papers, and thousands of pages of homework. 

We found an abandoned outside toilet.  Some call it an outhouse or privy.  Up home, we just call it a toilet.  It was a toil to get to it, especially at night.  We painted it with bright colors of white, pink, blue, and yellow.  One of my classmates, Ricky Coles, used his dad’s pickup to carry out the dastardly deed of hauling it to town. Ricky, the Pike brothers, the Ellison brothers, and yours truly loaded the toilet with the intentions of placing it on a small island curb at the main junction and red light of US Highway 31 and Alabama State Highway 191.  We were all Beta club members and we decided that might get us in serious trouble with the police if we put it there. 

We hauled it around town for a long time until we figured out what to do.  We all wanted to do it in honor of our time at Jemison, so that it when we decided to place it in the most inconspicuous part of the school.  We put in under the flagpole in front of the school with a big note declaring it as a gift from the seniors of the class of ’71.  We celebrated our dastardly deed by returning to Ricky’s house and downing a few glasses of ice, cold fresh milk.  It was the Pike brothers’ first drink of fresh milk.

Chuck, to this day, says, “I didn’t think we were going to graduate.”  I assured him that we would and we did.  Life has been a forty-eight year journey thus far.  With that in mind, CONGRATULATIONS SENIORS OF 2019 as you begin a new turn in your journey of life.

Forsake the foolish, and live; and go in the way of understanding (Proverbs 9:6 KJV).

"You Can Count Cain't Yee"

When I imagine Jesus walking from town to town, I see him playing with children.  The God who created everything taking time to play with children is mind-boggling.  That is God.  He is powerful enough to cause fear and trembling in the demonic, insubordinate enough toward Jewish law that the Sadducees and the Pharisees plotted to kill Him, but so full of love that children ran to play and hug on Him.

One of the greatest blessings of a pastor is having children run to play and love on him.  I have always had a special time for children in the worship service.  I called it “Pastor’s Pals.”  It was their time for me to introduce them to the sermon using simple things, which they could relate.  It never surprised me what words would come from the mouths of babes.  Children are so honest and pure in heart.

As a director of missions, I miss my time with the children each Sunday, but I do have an occasion with them from time to time.  The longer I serve the more the children of the churches learn who I am and how much I enjoy their company.

Most Baptist churches in rural Alabama observe fifth Sunday eating and singing.  At one particular meeting, I was sitting with a deacon discussing retirement and the condition of our world.  A grandson of the deacon stood beside me and earnestly pleaded with his granddad to go outside and play.  His granddad answered, “You cannot go outside unless an adult goes with you.”

I thought the reply was kind of unusual being that it was a small church in a very rural community where everyone attended church, especially on fifth Sunday.  Rarely would a car drive by unless it was someone who did not stay at an eating.

Being a little boy, he was relentless in asking his granddad permission to go outside.  Finally, his granddad asked what he wanted to play.  The boy said, “Hide and seek.”  By this time, a small band of boys huddled around the table waiting for the special blessing of the church patriarch to release them into the promise land just as the Israelite army awaited Moses to charge Joshua to spy out the land.

The granddad repeated, “Son you cannot go outside until a grownup can go outside with you.”

Then it happened, the small boy looked me dead in the eyes and asked, “Will you go outside and play with us?” 

It was one of those Kodak camera moments.  He was so eager and so pitiful with his request that you could not say no so I asked him what he wanted to play hoping that I would not have what it took to play with them.  Standing beside me, he was so small that sitting in a chair I was taller than he was.

Without any consideration that I was the Director Missions of the Bethel Baptist Association.  He said, “Hide and seek.”

I thought I could get out of it by saying that I was much too big to play hide and seek.  I did not mean that I was too mature because I really wanted to get outside with them, but that I was too big physically to hide.

He replied with the most adorable and honest answer he could give to a person of my status.  He said, “You can count cain’t yee?” 

Well, I had no excuse.  I could count.  Four little boys and one over fifty, over weight, and over rated gray-haired old man went outside to have the time of our lives playing hide and seek.  I counted the first time and I purposely lost to count again.  After the second time I did hide with two partners in crime at my side and the other little one hid under the church.  This little one would not come out until his mother threaten to leave him there and threaten to beat him within an inch of his life if he did not come from under the church.  I had a great time and made some life-long friends of some small boys.

Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them.  But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 19:13-14 KJV).