"I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"

Well, it happened last week.  It is an annual event and I knew that unless the Lord came back or He carried me home, that I would become 67 Classic.  That’s right.  I turned 67 on December 13.  I out lived my mom by twelve years.

Speaking of mom, annually she asked if I wanted a birthday present or a Christmas present.  She could not afford both.  It puzzled me for a long time how she could afford birthday and Christmas presents for by sister and two brothers, but not me.

It made me wonder how she afforded to have me in the first place.  I never thought to ask if she got a Christmas present twelve days after my birth.  I must have been her Christmas present in December 1952.

You know there have been plenty of changes in the world since 1952.  “In 1952 despite the war in Korea Americans considered themselves to be prospering with average worker earning $3,400 per year, a college teacher could expect to earn $5,100 per year. Three out of 5 families owned a car, 2 out of 3 families now had a telephone, and 1 in 3 homes had a television. The average woman in America would be married by 20 years of age looking forward to raising a family but few continued with a career after children were born. Fast Food restaurants were growing in popularity, but the scourge of Polio hit many thousands of families (@50,000). Many more cars in America were now fitted with automatic gearboxes and gas cost 25 cents per gallon. The worlds first passenger jet The Comet is produced in UK signaling the start of faster and cheaper air travel in later years.”

In 1952, Dwight D. Eisenhower (Republican) defeated Adlai Stevenson (Democratic) for President of the United States. The first roll on deodorant is introduced under the brand name Ban-Roll-On.  The first Holiday Inn opens in Tennessee.  There is the world’s first successful use of a mechanical heart in the US. MAD Magazine publishes its first issue. The Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC) fried chicken franchise opened. The "Today" Program debuts on NBC, the first of it's kind hosted by Dave Garroway. The Big Bang Theory of the creation of the Universe first propounded.  Gary Cooper won Best Actor for High Noon.  Norman Vincent Peale publishes his most popular book, The Power of Positive Thinking, and it sells more than 20 million copies in 41 languages.  Mrs. Paul's introduces frozen fish sticks. TV first acknowledges pregnancy on I Love Lucy. Considering that TV will not portray married people sleeping it the same bed.  Sony, a brand new Japanese company, introduces the first pocket-sized transistor radio.  There were 37,794 motor vehicle related deaths. While in the air, there were 5 accidents resulting in 140 fatalities.  Mr. Potato Head arrives!  Boy, I love French fries.  Kelloggs introduced Sugar Frosted Flakes, 29 percent sugar. Unemployment was 3.1%.

Favorite songs in 1952 were Frankie Lane’s High Noon(Do Not Forsake Me), Nat King Cole’s Unforgettable, The Mills Brother’s Worm Glow, and one of my favorites, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus by Jimmy Boyd.

This hit is most remembered for, a cute novelty given him by Mitch Miller at Columbia about a kid who can't understand why Mommy is cheating on Daddy with Santa! It seems innocuous now, but the Catholic Church actually managed to get this one banned in several major markets (including that old standby, Boston), claiming that the implication -- however mistaken -- was all wrong for a religious holiday. It took a special conference between the 13-year-old Boyd and the Council of Churches to clear the song in those markets, where it finally enjoyed success year after year.

I wonder what mama thought when I was born.  When I think about my birthday and all the change, I am reminded of Mary at Jesus’ birth and the ban execution Herod placed on baby boys in an effort to kill Jesus.

While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. . . But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart (Luke 26-7, 19 NIV).

Stressed Spelled Backwards Is Desserts

Why is it that Thanksgiving and Christmas Holiday eating causes weight gain?  It is hard to understand how an ounce of cake turns into a pound of fat over night and that same pound of fat takes two weeks of hard work in the gym to remove.  Five Christmas parties equal ten New Year Resolutions that are broken by the time Valentine’s Day arrives.

Things like this make the holidays depressing.  I do not know about most people, but when I get depressed, I eat.  A super-sized order of Big Mac, fries, and diet Dr. Pepper help my depression.  If I cannot get the Big Mac, desserts will help drive depression away.  You do know that stressed spelled backwards is desserts.

Preaching is a stressful job.  Just think of all the eating invitations that preachers receive.  I know I do not look like it, but I am a picky eater.  I always try to please cooks and people who prepare meals for me.  One can never afford to make the cook angry.  I get stressed thinking about what be in my Big Mac if the cook is angry.  I have heard horror stories about foreign object allowances in our food during processing.  It is depressing and Big Mac time.

I have had a few occasions where I have worried.  One time Mama Green invited our family over for Sunday dinner.  Before being a pastor I was supply preaching at Mama Green’s church.  Mama Green was a short, bent, lady.  She had a contagious laugh and infectious love for the Lord.  As she readied the table, my family, along with another couple from the church, looked at all of Mama Green’s earthly goods.  She had some neat stuff in a slightly unkempt house. 

She filled her table with large bowls of good old country cooking.  It was a table right out of Miss Manners or Dear Heloise.  Gathered around the table, Mama Green asked the husband of the other couple to say grace.  We started the feast.  Did you know that kids could embarrass you? M daughter Angela tried that day.  She spotted a large roach crawling among the victual bowls.  She said, “Daddy, there is a big roach on my plate.”  Boy, I’m glad Mama Green was hard of hearing.  When Mama Green asked what the dear little girl wanted, I think I patched it by saying that she wanted some pig roast or a big piece of roast.  I motioned and whispered to Angela that it was okay.  It made the meal a little more difficult to eat.

That’s almost as bad as the time we were eating green beans and my son Aaron found a worm.  I told him that the worm was full of green beans and the worm added a little more meat flavor.  Angela removed it from his plate and Aaron does not eat green beans.

One Sunday afternoon  we were frying some French fries.  We kept smelling this foul order and could not find the source.  That was until we dumped the fries along with a French fried green lizard.  Aaron responded, “I wondered where my little lizard was hiding.”

I have always had the fear of being on a mission trip to a foreign country and having an exotic meal.  I have heard of missionaries who have been served camel eyeballs, goose intestines, and fish heads.  I rather have roaches and worms.

Stuff like that reminds me of a cousin returning home from a hard day’s work, entered his kitchen, and found this delicious aroma.  He removed a lid from a boiling pot and discovered the contents and source of the aroma was a beautiful pink meat.  He used a fork to get some of the tender meat.  It was delicious.  As his wife entered the kitchen, he quizzed her about the meat.  As my cousin chewed a large mouthful, his wife said, “Hog lights (lungs).”  My cousin spit them out, but his wife loved them.

On another invite to a home after church, we gather around a beautiful arrayed table.  It had all the amenities of fine dining.  The silverware, utensil, and napkins were an etiquette masterpiece for American dining.  I worried how to act, but my worries quickly subsided.  There on the placemat was cat hair.  While we were at church, Old Tom decided he would take a nap on the elegant place mats and napkins.  I glad I did not get a hairball.

 As you can tell, these things have only slowed me, not stopped me from eating.  If you are depressed from reading this, go get a Big Mac or some desserts.  Remember when invited to a home for dinner; do as Paul told the Corinthians about meat offered to idols.  Do not ask, just eat it.

But fortunately God doesn’t grade us on our diet.  We’re neither commended when we clean our plate nor reprimanded when we just can’t stomach it.  But God does care when you use your freedom carelessly in a way that leads a Christian still vulnerable to those old associations to be thrown off track (I Corinthians 8:8-9 The Message).

But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do. Be careful, however, that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak (I Corinthians 8:8-9 NIV).

"You Need This More Than I Do"

God calls men into the pastorate to build and make disciples.  Unfortunately, many pastors are guilty of using people and the platform God gives them for self-promotion and self-ministry.  God divinely assigns people to His pastors to whom the pastors are spiritually responsible before God.  The wise pastor is a good steward edifying believers entrusted to him.  He cares for them as a “shepherd” cares for his sheep.

The same is true for the church.  Churches are sometimes guilty of not caring for God’s man.  The Holy Spirit sends a man into ministry.  The church recognizes this and releases him to do the work God calls him to perform in the framework of the Lord’s local church.  The pastor does more than work a couple of hours a week.  When people ask me how can they get a job where they work only two, maybe three, hours a week, I say, “Get right with God and you can.”

The pastor’s job is not simply to preach, to administer the ordinances, perform funerals and weddings, or simply lead the staff and administer the affairs of the church.  It is the pastor’s solemn and signal duty to care for his people, to “shepherd the church of God which He purchased with His own blood.”

Part of the pastor’s appreciation is furnishing him with generous resources to shepherd.  There are those who have the philosophy, “Lord you keep the preacher humble, and we will keep him poor.”  There is a difference between modest living and poverty. 

I had affiliation with a church that was guilty of holding back a love offering for a visiting preacher.  The church announced that a pastor would be coming to preach for a week of revival.  The host church’s pastor and members of budget and finance committee agreed to pay a certain amount for each service and to take a love offering for the visiting pastor.

The revival came.  It was a wonderful revival and the love offering was very generous demonstrating true revival.  The member of the budget and finance who wrote the checks informed the pastor that the visiting pastor did not get the love offering.  When asked why, the member said that budget and finance chairperson told her not to do so.

The host pastor investigated.  The chairperson told the pastor that the love offering was more than the visiting pastor deserved.  The pastor reminded the chairperson that the church voted to designate the love offering to the visiting pastor and that that was where it was going.  The chairperson refused until the pastor explained the legality of the situation.   The pastor said one call to the State Board of Missions, the Internal Revenue Service, or to the legal counsel of Samford law school could make the chairperson rethink the situation.

The chairperson asked if the visiting pastor had a church and if that church paid him while in revival.  The pastor said yes to both questions, but reminded the chairperson that was immaterial.  The pastor told the chairperson that the amount of the love offering was irrelevant.  The pastor said that there was a man in the congregation known to place a $1,000 check in the love offering designated to the visiting preacher.  If the love offering was $1.00 or $10,000, it was going to the visiting preacher.

Had the visiting preacher been aware of the conversation of the pastor and the chairperson, he would have refused it.  Knowing the visiting preacher as I do, he would have authorized the check and given it back to the church.  The visiting preacher would have said, “Here you need it more than I do.”  I know this because the visiting preacher had a pastor friend who did just that.

Most pastors trust that the church will do the “right thing” in the matter of compensation.  Many pastors live frugal lives to afford some of the good things of life.  Some churches act as though the pastor is to be a “hireling” of the church.  A God-called pastor does not work for the church.  He has a higher calling than that.

“But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.  The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep.” (John 10:12-13)

Be generous to those called to shepherd you.

What was your first reaction to the finance chairperson’s response?

How much time do you think a pastor should spend time in preparation to preach?

What can you do to help educate your church concerning care for the Shepherd?

Prayer: Father, help me in my calling as a pastor to be a good steward of the time, monies, resources, and people who have entrusted me.  Help me to be generous with my time, money, and talents.  Father please open the eyes of those who, like the finance chairperson, do not understand the Biblical principles or the legal ramifications of donations when providing for your servants.  Grant us the wisdom to educate those who lack understanding.

"Oh Worship the King"

“I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord God that cost me nothing.”  2 Samuel 24:24a

David would not give an offering to the Lord that did not cost him.  Worship without sacrifice is not worship. Lack of preparation, prayer, or planning limits the possibility of worship.  Sunday school without study is boring.  Music without practice suffers.  Sermons without preparation are repetitive.  When we do not give anything to worship, we do not get anything in return.  King David of the Old Testament knew how to worship.

If you want worthwhile worship, it is not by attending a church with a professional team of worship leaders and performers.  Worship is taking up the cross that God has given you, and sacrificing yourself in the service of worship. Those whose worship costs them nothing are to be pitied.  From Jesus’ lips come the standard for all sacrifice:  “For even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

We do many things to hinder worship.  Crying babies, fidgety children, talking teenagers, and snoring men are not hindering worship.  They may be distractions, but they do not hinder worship.  They are symptoms, but the source has deeper roots that King David understood.

"Sharecropper Theology"

Everett did not have time for God.  He spent Sundays working on his work car.  The pleas of his wife and mother-in-law to attend church with them were answered with “I have to work on my car so I can make a living.”

Everett was about to get a startling revelation from his mother-in-law, whom he, and everyone else, called Granny.  Granny was a God-fearing widow and sharecropper who raised nine children during the Great Depression.  She had lived by faith.  Her revelation for Everett: working on the old car was reward for not spending time with God.  She was not a name it and claim it person, but through her hardships, she learned to depend on God.

Her challenge to Everett:  Trust God and serve Him.  Granny was using Jesus’ words from Matthew 6:3-34; “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.  Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

Frustrated with the endless task of car repair, motivated by the prayers and loving compassion of wife and mother-in-law, and drawn by the Holy Spirit, Everett decided to put his faith in the Lord.  He accepted the salvation found in accepting Jesus Christ as Lord and savior.  He made a public confession of his sins and committed his life to serving Jesus.

Everett committed to reading the Bible, joining and attending the local church, and tithing.  Granny challenged Everett to stop spending money on the old car and giving to God. 

Everett never looked back.  Serving the Lord for the rest of his life, he never missed an opportunity to share his testimony.  He wanted people to know God, His promise to care for His children, and the love of a God-fearing mother-in-law and wife. 

Everett admitted that when he spent more time with God he spent less time working on his old car.  God did not give a new car or more money.  Everett became a better steward of what God gave him.

That is what knowing God is.  It is seeking the kingdom of God and His righteousness and believing God will meet you need.  

"Like Watching Anna and Baby Jesus"

One night at prayer meeting I watched as an elderly church member reached for a newborn baby.  The baby’s mother slowly and tenderly handed the newborn to the woman.  In that single moment I thought, God what are you teaching me? The oldest member of church was holding the newest addition to the church family and the profundity of it has intrigued me since that moment. 

An elderly woman holding a baby boy does not sound profound, but the significance of the moment is.  Ninety plus years of wisdom was holding innocence.  The experience of that woman who witnessed many innovations caressed an immature babe who would see advancements that the woman could never imagine.  A mind full of memories was staring at one who would not remember it.  One dear woman nearing the end of her journey was blessing a little boy just beginning his.  One with a lifetime of decisions gazed into the eyes of one who could not even focus into his beholder’s eyes.

I pondered the love that Miss Martha gave to little Mac that night.  It was a special flash to see how wonderful God is, how He speaks in simple, yet very philosophical ways.  Was Miss Martha passing the Christian baton to Mac?  Was she praying for Mac’s health, his journey in life, or his salvation?  How many newborns had she held and blessed in her lifetime?  Did she ponder the thoughts that Nicodemus mulled over when Jesus said, “Marvel not that I said unto thee, ye must be born again?” (John 3:7)  She had been born again many years before and now walked physically feeble toward the end of one journey, yet spiritually ran boldly toward the beginning of eternity.

Was Martha rejoicing over the Apostle Paul’s saying, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new” as she held a new baby? (2 Corinthians 5:17)

I do not know Martha’s thoughts or Mac’s mother’s feelings, but I know I felt a sense of awe when God’s saint held a newborn in the House of the Lord.  I felt as though I saw Anna when she saw baby Jesus.  “And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Aser: she was of a great age . . . And she coming in that instant gave thanks likewise unto the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.” (Luke 2:36a, 38)

"Brother Calvin, a Hero of Mine"

Who is your favorite pastor?  I get that question from time to time.  I have had the privilege of flying with Dr. Adrian Rogers, sharing a dinner with Dr. James Draper, studying under Dr. Timothy George, Dr. Calvin Miller, Dr. Louis Drummond, and Dr. Robert Smith.  I have had many conversations with Dr. Chuck Kelly and Dr. Steve Gains.

I had the honor of spending time with Dr. Johnny Hunt, Dr. Ted Traylor, Dr. Bobby Welch, and Dr. Rick Warren.  I stayed in the same Atlanta hotel with Dr. Jerry Falwell.  He had too many bodyguards to approach, but we did exchange pleasantries.

I spent a wonderful moment under a canopy, in the rain, in Salt Lake City with Dr. Stephen Olford.  We talked as old friends would talk.  He was even more intriguing in person than on television or radio.  I loved his South African accent.

I had a memorable conversation with Dr. Herschel Hobbs at Alabama Baptists retreat for senior adults at Shocco Springs a couple of months before his death.  He had lived in Chilton County as a boy.  We had some mutual friends.

I thank God for Dr. Billy Graham.  I love to hear Dr. Chuck Swindoll preach and read his, Dr. Calvin Miller, Dr. Warren Wiersbe, and Dr. Max Lucado’s books.  When I wrote this article, I was reading a yearly devotion by Dr. Charles Stanley each morning.  Sounds like I am bragging does it not.  If you are a Southern Baptist, all these men are giants in ministry, but one of my favorite preachers is not well known.  He never pastored a large church and never had a formal education degree, but he did take some extension classes.  His name is Calvin Crocker.

Calvin, and his wife Ida Mae, are special to me.  He pastored my home church.  He grew up with my dad.  He was my first pastor.  He is one of the most humble and loving people that I have ever known.  I loved to hear him preach.  He was “ole timey” preaching in quick, short, spurts, and grasping for air.

He visited our home on several occasions.  He had a passion for lost souls and he knew my dad was lost and that mama, my brothers, sister, and I were not faithful.  In the last days of my Grandpaw Chapman’s life, Brother Calvin won him to the Lord. Brother Calvin preached Grandpaw’s funeral.

One time daddy and I were in the pea patch working on an old Farmall Cub tractor.  Brother Calving drove up in his old four-door 1957 Chevy.  Daddy did not like preachers.  Daddy said, “Watch this.”  I will never forget what he did.  It is one of those defining moments in my life.

Daddy placed his right hand in the grease and dust that collects on the side of a tractor engine.  Brother Calvin had on a white shirt and tie.  Remember, this is back with preachers never wore a golf shirt.  Instead of playing golf, they were praying to God and paying visits to lost daddies who were trying to impress young sons to be mean and disrespectful to God’s man.  It was too high of a calling for Brother Calvin to wear a golf shirt. 

Brother Calvin stretched forth his right hand to shake daddy’s hand.  Daddy rubbed that grease all into Brother Calvin’s hand.  Brother Calvin never blinked an eye.  He quietly took out his handkerchief and wiped the grease from his hand.  He told daddy how much he loved him, how much he wanted daddy to be saved, and how he did not him to spend an eternity in hell.

I was ashamed of what daddy did, but I learned that day both sides of the spiritual war in which we live.  I realized how a preacher should love and a Christian should respond.  You know for some reason Brother Calvin’s sermons took on a new revelation for me.  Brother Cocker accepted the call to another church, but he never stopped praying and talking with daddy.

Brother Calvin rejoiced when daddy accepted Christ.  Brother Crocker visited daddy and when daddy tried to apologize for all the things he had done, Brother Crocker just told daddy how proud he was of daddy’s salvation.

Daddy developed cancer and Brother Crocker would visit him.  When daddy died, Brother Calvin preached his funeral.  He shared how much he respected daddy and preached God’s Word. 

I saw Brother Calvin and Ms. Ida Mae at the 2006 Alabama Baptist State Convention in Birmingham.  I told them how much I love them and appreciate them.  They have been close friends for many years.

I just wanted to say how much I love and appreciate preachers.  You do the same.

“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 4:19 KJV)

“And how shall they preach, except they be sent? As it is written, how beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things.” (Roman 10:13 KJV)

Who is your favorite preacher and tell why he is?

Have you ever treated a man of God with disrespect?  What did you do?

Take time to write a note to you favorite preacher or your pastor.  What would you say?

Prayer: Father, thank you for placing Brother Calvin in my life.  It was by divine appointment that he has been a mentor to me.  He taught me so much about humility and Christian response when sharing the Gospel.  Thank you for the opportunity to be one of his colleagues and co-laborers in the ministry.

"Sin Too Great?"

J M’s eldest son asked, “Dad, why don’t you give your heart and life to Christ?”  J M answered, “Son you don’t know what all I have done.”

J M had an intriguing past.  As a five year-old he, along with eight siblings, felt the impact The Great Depression.   Six years later, he witnessed his dad’s suicide.   At eighteen, he left for WWII.

While serving in North Africa and Italy, he had a machine gun and a grenade wound.  He was left for dead in a foxhole, taken prisoner, eventually escaping, and missing in action for a short time.  J M’s mom received word that he had been killed in action.  She responded, “No, he is not because I am praying for him.”  Yes, J M had a praying mother.  Her last plea before her death was that all her children be saved.

Somewhere in J M’s past, he learned his sins were so bad that he could not be saved.  He attended church on Christmas, Easter, and funerals without any persuasion, but had to be begged on other occasions.  He wanted his children to be Christians, but he knew there was no hope for him.  J M always made sure that someone offered the blessing before a meal.  J M acknowledged that God was in control, but could not accept the fact that God could forgive him.

His eldest son could not bear the thought of eternal separation from his dad.  He would say, “Dad, if you ask God to forgive you, Psalm 103:12 says, ‘As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.’”

J M was confident that his sin was too great.  He understood Romans 3:23, for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God, but did not understand Ephesians 3:20, now unto him (Jesus) that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.  The Holy Spirit was working in J M.

Finally, J M could not resist the prayers and pleas of those who loved him.  At fifty-eight, J M asked Jesus to forgive him.  Dying two years later, J M had lived an abundant life as promised in John 10:10b, I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.

"Dog Days and Old Testament Diease"

Sunday afternoon I spotted an animal on the side of the road.  I had a few moments to kill, so I decided I would venture into uncharted area of the southwest corner of Marengo County Alabama.  After a few miles of beautiful scenery and no houses, I saw this creature trying to hide on the right-of-way of the county road.  When I got close enough to see the animal, it was a mangy dog.  The dog looked as though, “I have the mange, do not look at me, I’m unclean.”

As a kid, I saw several dogs that had the mange.  When we had one, daddy usually poured burnt motor oil on it.  Sometimes it cured it, but most times it did not.  You might ask why we didn’t take them to the vet.  Well, daddy could not afford to take us to the doctor little on take a mangy dog.

My only experience with a mangy dog was with a Dalmatian named Pierce.  Pierce was officially Midnight Caller Pierce according his registration papers.  My kids acquired Pierce from a family that lived in the town of Jemison.  They gave us Pierce because they did not want him to stay penned.

Pierce could not stand to be in a pen.  His owners had to keep Pierce on a lease.  He developed a fungus in his throat from choking himself in an effort to escape.  Since we lived in the country, we turned Pierce loose and gave him free range.  It was not long that Pierce’s throat healed.

Pierce was a beautiful dog.  As with the whole Hopper family, Pierce gained weight.  He had a shiny coat and a big chest.  He loved the kids and was very playful.  The only bad habit he had was that he would chase cows.  He did not hurt them.  He liked to torture them with his barking and nipping at their heels.

One day I noticed that Pierce’s coat looked strange.  I realized that he had the mange.  It did not take long before he looked horrible.  I decided to talk with some friends who were coon hunters

I finally ran into “Buck” who was an avid coon hunter and had owned several expensive coon dogs.  When I told him about Pierce, Buck said that he had several dogs with the mange and that his home remedy would cure it.  When he told me the remedy, it almost sounded like something out of Biblical times.

He said that I needed to buy a pound of sulfur, get a gallon of cooking oil used to fry fish, and find a piece of rope.  Buck said tie Pierce to a light or electrical pole and make a paste using the sulfur and fishy smelling and tasting cooking oil.  He said coat Pierce all over with the paste.  He said be sure not to tie him close to anything where he could rub off the paste.  Pierce was to eat the sulfur.

I was curious about the procedure because it seemed odd.  I asked Buck why.  Buck told me that fleas caused the mange and that the fungus and fever they created was on the inside of Pierce.  The sulfur would kill the fungus.  The fish flavored cooking oil gave the sulfur a taste that Pierce would lick.  It sounded strange, but I tried it anyway.  Pierce looked funny with his yellow paste coat.  After a couple of days, I could see improvement to Pierce’s coat.  In no time, Pierce had a healthy shiny coat.

After seeing the mangy dog in the Nicholsville-Putnam area, I thought about the folks in the Old Testament who were covered with something like the mange, called scall, or what is known as scabies.  Those folks would see the priest who would give the “Buck like” instructions for a remedy.

The book of Leviticus describes scabies-like symptoms, which sounds like the mange.  Paintings from ancient Egypt also depict the scabies mite. Aristotle (384 to 322 B.C.) also spoke of scabies.

Scabies are tiny eight-legged mites that burrow in the skin of their hosts. The mites live for 24 to 36 hours spreading through skin-to-skin contact and deposit eggs in your skin.

In recent years, there has been an increase in scabies and bedbugs.  One statistic said 93% of households have bedbugs.  The cure was isolation in Biblical times.

If a man or woman have a plague upon the head or the beard; Then the priest shall see the plague: and, behold, if it be in sight deeper than the skin; and there be in it a yellow thin hair; then the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is a dry scall, even a leprosy upon the head or beard. And if the priest look on the plague of the scall, and, behold, it be not in sight deeper than the skin, and that there is no black hair in it; then the priest shall shut up him that hath the plague of the scall seven days: And in the seventh day the priest shall look on the plague: and, behold, if the scall spread not, and there be in it no yellow hair, and the scall be not in sight deeper than the skin; he shall be shaven, but the scall shall he not shave; and the priest shall shut up him that hath the scall seven days more: And in the seventh day the priest shall look on the scall: and, behold, if the scall be not spread in the skin, nor be in sight deeper than the skin; then the priest shall pronounce him clean: and he shall wash his clothes, and be clean. But if the scall spread much in the skin after his cleansing; then the priest shall look on him: and, behold, if the scall be spread in the skin, the priest shall not seek for yellow hair; he is unclean. But if the scall be in his sight at a stay, and that there is black hair grown up therein; the scall is healed, he is clean: and the priest shall pronounce him clean (Leviticus 13:29-37 KJV).  

"To God be the Glory"

In an effort to stay within budget, I volunteered to build the cabinets for the Family Life Center kitchen at the Friendship Baptist Church in Clanton.  The church bought the materials and I furnished the labor.  I made them of oak with raised panel doors.  Along with the cabinets, I had built an island for serving food and fashioned oak underneath the stainless steal sink to hide the plumbing.  It was a big job, as was the entire project.

As I unloaded the cabinets on a Saturday workday, one of my deacons noticed that I had a worried look.  With apprehension, he asked if I was okay.  I think he thought that I was frustrated over the Family Life Center project and my involvement with it.  I had been a subcontractor of sorts for it and saved the church 18-20% of the total construction cost.

I told him that my thoughts were with an old friend.  The night before I received word that my friend JJ had been involved in a terrible accident where he worked.  JJ was severely burned having third degree from his waist down, second degree from his neck down, and first degree on his face.  Prognosis was that he would loss everything from his waist down.

JJ, a wheel inspector for ABC Rail in Calera, stepped on a four-inch gas line in performance of his duties.  The gas line fueled the heat treatment department for the hardening or tempering of train wheels.

As JJ stepped on the gas line, it broke and gas filled JJ’s overalls and then ignited from the flames used in the heat treatment.  Witnesses saw JJ rocket into the air about fifteen feet and then fell about thirty feet onto a concrete floor below.

Had JJ worn pants with a belt, he would have lost every thing from waist down according in ABC Rail Safety officials.  University of Alabama Birmingham hospital doctors said the quick response of the ABC Rail Safety team covering JJ’s burns with shaving cream and the rescue team with the airlift unit saved his life.  The shaving cream sealed and cleansed the burns.

When my deacon friend asked me if I was okay, I did not know much about JJ at that time.  My information was that JJ was in critical condition and he may not live.  I told my deacon friend that I did not know how to pray for JJ.  I did not know whether to pray that JJ live or that Lord take him.  I wanted to install the cabinets and get to UAB hospital burn unit to see my friend.

JJ and I had been friends all our lives.  We were the same age, but were in different classes at school due to our birthdays.  I cannot remember our teenage years with being around one another with baseball, football, and basketball, watching JJ sail off the swing and dive into the Little Cahaba at Bull Dog Bend, or taking a ride in his Dodge Super Bee.  I really think he came to the house to see my sister!

JJ loved playing cow pasture football because his mother would not allow him to play organized football.  I have thrown JJ so many touchdown passes that I am afraid to give you a number.  One Saturday we played football, supposedly light tackle, against some boys from Isabella at their high school football field.  I remember JJ said he was so sore after the game that he could hardly go to work on midnights crawling from his Super Bee to his job on the overhead crane.  We played football well into our thirties.

JJ had his share of troubles.  His wife had been sickly for years and Aetna Insurance had paid the limit for her hospital stays and surgeries.  JJ told me one time that he owed almost eighty-five thousand dollars to Brookwood hospital in Birmingham.  His eldest son got involved in the Gothic culture and became a drug addict.  That son later died in a drug related suicide.

After I installed the cabinets, I visited JJ at UAB.  I will never forget the sight I saw.  JJ did not look human.  Swollen and pumped full with fluids, JJ’s head and body was swollen beyond recognition.  His eyes were as big as a man’s fist and his ears were as large as a man’s cupped hand.  We cried.  I will never forget that deforming image of my friend.

For weeks, I visited JJ at UAB’s burn unit.  JJ suffered excruciating pain from the burns, from shaving good skin for skin grafts, and from the shoulder that sustained damage when he hit the concrete floor.  On one visit, I witnessed JJ break into a sweat as he tried to stretch a rubber hose with the injured shoulder.  He struggled to pull it an inch or two. 

Most people thought JJ would never work again, but he did.  Instead of taking a medical disability, JJ would work at ABC Rail until it closed.  Then he worked at a pipe shop.  He remains an avid sports fan, playing a lot of golf.

JJ has been a deacon in his church for many years.  I had the privilege of doing a marriage renewal for his wife and him.  I was with him at his son’s funeral.  Through all that he has been, JJ has taught me faithfulness and hope.

But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.  Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.  And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God (Romans 8:25-27 KJV).

I remember being in agony as I prayed for JJ.  Do I pray he live, or for the Lord to receive him?  I told the deacon at Friendship that I finally prayed, Lord may Your will be done and You receive glory.

"Thanks Dr. Miller"

When I originally wrote this article, I wrote with sadness.  The person most responsible for my writing, Dr. Calvin Miller, passed away a couple of weeks prior.

I received an e-mail from Dr. Timothy George of Beeson Divinity School a few days prior to Dr. Miller’s death asking me to pray for Dr. Miller having quadruple by-pass surgery.  He was in intensive care.  I sent Dr. Miller a get well note.  The next e-mail stated that he was recovering and requested that he have no visitors.

When I received a third e-mail, I had this sick gut feeling as I opened it.  My intuition was correct.  Dr. Miller passed away while in intensive care.

Baptists lost a great Theologian, a great orator, a great writer, and a dozen other talents of his genius.  Sharon asked him if he was first in line when God handed out gifts.  The man could paint, play the piano, and write poetry.  His home looked like a botanical garden.  When asked about it, he said he designed it and did all the work except for running the heavy equipment.

Baptists lost a great leader, but I lost a friend and mentor.  One evening at a cookout at his home in Trussville, he shared with his students some qualities that each of us possessed and encouraged us to extend those gifts and gain some new ones along the way.

It was an amazing evening with Dr. Miller.  I could not believe that he had invited me to his home.  I do not remember the first time I heard of Dr. Miller, but I remember reading one of his many books.  He also had an article in the SBC Life magazine.   I remember telling an SBC Life representative that fifty percent of the reason I read the magazine was Dr. Miller’s article.  The other fifty percent was Dr. Charles Lowry’s article.  Both do not write any longer and I do not have any reason to read it.

I do not remember the first time I met Dr. Miller in person, but it was a thrill to meet him.  It was a greater thrill to have studied under his teaching.  He taught me so much about the mechanics of preaching and all the spiritual preparation that the art of preaching involves.

In preaching class, he told me that I had great movement in the pulpit.  He said that movement should be an important element of preaching and that God had gifted me with movement.  He said that I had the gift of preaching.  That night at the cookout at his home he surprised me with another statement.

While sitting around a fire, he said Bobby, you are a good writer.  I was shocked.  I struggle with writing.  One reason is I am a terrible speller with a very limited vocabulary.  I sat there in amazement because of the ten students around the fire; I felt the least of writers.  That night he said that I should do more writing.

One of the biggest things I have ever written was my dissertation for my doctorate.  I waited two years after the class work to do the dissertation.  I blocked off two weeks after doing my project to write it.  I had two English teachers, one from the University of Alabama and one from Greensboro High School, from my church in Gallion to grade it before I turn it in to my doctoral committee at Beeson.  My committee was Dr. Robert Smith, chair, Dr. Louis Drummond, and Dr. Calvin Miller.  The English teachers made a few suggestions but found the dissertation to be without error and wanted to know if I wrote it by myself.  I get that response quite often.

When it came time to face my doctoral committee for what is called “Orals” or oral examination, I waited in a cold sweat outside the examination chamber which felt like a torture chamber.  When Dr. Drummond saw me, he said that Dr. Miller had a “bone to pick with me.”  Now I was scared.  I will never forget what Dr. Miller did.  As he approached me, he grabbed me by the lapels on my suit and pulled me toward him.

He said, “Bobby, if that is not the best dissertation that I have ever read, it is the second best that I have ever read.”  I stood there in amazement.  Suddenly, I experienced calmness for the orals.

During the orals, the committee talked of what a great dissertation it was.  I had heard of how committees would chew up the dissertations and the students making them rewrite and resubmit them.  Dr. Drummond said excellent work.  Dr. Smith said it was good, but he wanted one more paragraph on the Holy Spirit knowing that Baptists were a little intimidated by the Holy Spirit.  Dr. Miller was the only one, including the two English teachers, and two computer programs with spelling and grammar checks that found a mistake.  I used “we” instead of “were” in one sentence.  It read okay, but Dr. Miller knew it was the wrong word.

Dr. Miller did say that the dissertation was the most doctrinal and theological sound that he ever read.  I have sticky notes on the original dissertation were Dr. Miller placed them.

I wondered how I could convince Dr. Miller to come speak for me.  One day he called me.  He said,” Bobby, you know that you are the only Beeson graduate to be a Director of Missions?”  I said, “No sir.”  He said I would like to come speak to your pastors and their wives.  He came and I was thrilled.

The last time I spoke with him, he told me to continue to write and that he enjoyed my two books.

Thanks for the encouragement Dr. Miller.  Most of all, thanks Dr. Miller for being a mentor and friend.

WHERE IS SHE THIS MORNING

Where is she this morning and how was her night?

When she was a baby, it was filled with tears and fright.

Where is she this morning and what has she to eat?

When she was a little girl, she would nibble at her food and run on her feet.

Where is she this morning and what is her plan?

When she was a teenager, it was trying to find a man.

Where is she this morning as a new day starts?

As a young woman her family does not know and its breaks their hearts.

Where is she this morning and will she sleep late?

As she grows older, I pray she comes home and not stay away with bitterness and hate.

Where is she this morning is a question that may seem odd.

We do not know the answer, but the one who does is God.

Dedicated to parents that do not know where the children are.  Living in fear that the next phone call, knock at the door, or visit will inform that the wandering child has been found and a parent's worse fears are now reality.  Until that moment there is hope that the prodigal daughter or son will return home.

WHERE ARE YOU LITTLE BOY

 

Time, distance, and things separated my son Aaron and me.  I wrote this poem as a reminder to us that some things will never change.  The moments that he spent with me will always be etched in my heart and mind.  I love my son and thank God for allowing me to be his dad.  I prepared him for twenty-six years to leave home and teach the next generation of Hoppers.  It is, and will always be, a blessing to me to have been part of Aaron's life.

Where are you little boy head butting without warning

Where are you little boy wanting to play early in the morning

Where are you little boy you did not sleep all night

Where are you little boy with hugs so tight

Where are you little boy asleep with your ear to my heart

Where are you little boy time and distance keeps us apart

Where are you little boy when I close my eyes, I see you

Where are you little boy in everything I see and do

Where are you little boy you were always wanting to assist

Where are you little boy your constant questioning I miss

Where are you little boy you grew into a man

Where are you little boy brave enough alone to stand

Where are you little boy I was your idol nimble and strong

Where are you little boy for you I could do no wrong

Where are you little boy no longer am I your hero

Where are you little boy on your own you must go

Where are you little boy your head on my chest

Where are you little boy praying that you always do what’s best

Where are you little boy in each lonely tear

Where are you little boy, son my heart says, right here

"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 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 the mower salesman, 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, a 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.

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).

Little Old Lady From Lawley

Granny Hopper was an amazing Christian.  Born in 1892, she was one-eighth Native American, or as she would say, “Indian.”  She was Creek or Cherokee.  I do not remember, but I was proud to know I had “Indian” blood. 

She married at age thirteen and was a mother at fourteen.  She always said she went from changing doll babies to changing real babies.  She would have a total of nine children, one of those dying as an infant.  There were five girls and four boys. 

In 1935, during the Great Depression she became a widow.  Her husband, my granddad, committed suicide after a bout with depression resulting from an accident where a longhorn steer gored him.  The injury crippled him and he had severe health problems.  My dad was eleven.

By this time, Granny was helping raise six grandchildren.  One daughter’s husband was killed and another abandoned the family.  Granny was caring for fifteen family members, one her aging daddy, as a sharecropper with no government assistance.

Granny Hopper never had any modern conveniences.  She cooked on an old wood-burning stove, drew water from a well by rope and bucket, washed and scrubbed clothes in an old iron, black wash pot.  She did have a nice two-seater outdoor toilet with a bucket of corn cobs and an old Sears catalogs for tissue.

She raised pigs, cows, and chickens and worked a garden for food.  Talking about food, Granny Hopper could cook the best “Gumbo” soup.  She always had a pot on the stove and in the two warmers on top of the old wood stove were cornbread and biscuits.  Later in life when she was unable to raise livestock and garden she used commodities to make the gumbo and it was still good.

I used to help Granny Hopper stir clothes in the wash pot.  I helped her sling chitterlin’s when we killed hogs.  She loved them and canned them.  She canned everything in glass jars that we called “fruit jars”.  She canned fried sausage.  She would fry sausage, put them in the jars and pour hot lard over them.  They were good.  She canned collards which she had pickled and they were good.  If it was edible, Granny Hopper canned it.

Granny Hopper was a worker.  I remember one time daddy and I went to cut her some firewood for her large pot-bellied stove.  Daddy cut the pieces of a big red oak for me to split.  I was sixteen years old and Granny was seventy-six.  Granny and daddy taught me how to split wood.  The key is to slap the axe against the wood rather hit it straight.  I was splitting it and loading it.  Going too slow for Granny, she took the axe and split it faster than I could load it.  It was embarrassing for this big Jemison football star to be outworked by his 5’ 4” granny.  She told me that I was sorry and that I had better learn how to work.  I guess for her my loading paperwood by shoulder and throwing hay did not qualify as work.  She almost worked me to death.

Granny Hopper toted a pistol in her apron when working around the farm and in her purse when she traveled.  It was a long barrel Smith & Wesson 38 caliber.  I have watched her empty the six-shooter target practicing.  With all six shots she could keep a tin can bouncing.

She went everywhere.  Sometimes when we went to her house there would be notes saying, “Gone to Cecil’s in Death Valley, California, gone to North Carolina, gone to Mobile, or gone to visit Clifton in Illinois.”  She traveled by bus.

She wanted to drive, but she did not have a license.  Her family did not want her driving, but a nephew taught her how to drive.  Granny bought a 1961 Ford Galaxy.  She trained in an old pasture somewhere in Perry County.  She kept it secret.

At eighty-three years of age she went to the Bibb County Courthouse and tried for her license.  She failed the driving test.  She tried again and again.  After eleven attempts, she got her license.  I never will forget her picture in the Centreville Press.  Granny and her sisters posed as Granny held her license.  She was not the “Little Old Lady from Pasadena”, but the little old lady from Lawley.

Her tenacity for getting a driving license is a testimony of her life and her faith.  She is listed as a messenger of Rehobeth Baptist Church in Baptists of Bibb County, A Denominational Salute to the people called Baptists, in Cahawba (Bibb) County, Alabama 1817-1974 by Howard F. McCord.  Rehobeth is one of the churched burned by Birmingham Southern students.

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint Isaiah 40:31 (KJV).