"Uncle"

Do you have a favorite uncle?  I know most families have that weird aunt or uncle that they avoid discussing.  For some reason or another, this aunt or uncle has alienated herself or himself from the family through an embarrassing moment or shameful event.  I bet right about now that person is on your mind.

Most everyone has a favorite aunt or uncle.  It is hard to choose a favorite because I have some good uncles.  My favorite was Uncle Clifton.  I think he was because he is the first one that I remember.  He lived with us when we lived in Illinois.  He was the reason that we moved there initially.

Uncle Clifton was my dad’s younger brother.  He ran away from home when he was sixteen because he had a heart condition and Granny Hopper would not let him participate in football and any other activity that would put a strain on his heart.  So, as the old timers would say, Uncle Clifton went missing for several years and went wild during that time.

Leaving the slow-paced South in the 1940’s, Uncle Clifton settled in the fast and wild area of Illinois ninety miles west of Chicago in the mid 1950’s.  We moved there in 1957 and daddy went to work with Uncle Clifton at Beloit Ironworks in Beloit.  Beloit, Alabama, on Highway 22 near Selma is named for the college located in Beloit, Wisconsin.  If you haven’t figured it out, Beloit was on the Illinois/Wisconsin state line.

For a five-year-old kid to have an uncle who raced cars on a dirt track, rode a Harley with saddlebags, had tattoos, rolled his cigarettes in his white t-shirt sleeves, and wore a black leather jacket with a Marlon Brando motorcycle hat, why would he not be his favorite uncle?

Uncle Cliff and I had a special relationship.  It was wonderful to watch Uncle Clifton race old # 7 at the Madison Raceway, it was fun riding on his Harley, asking about his tattoos, and just listening to him speak in that Yankee brogue.  Uncle Clifton loved and looked up to my daddy.  That made him special.

Uncle Clifton would tell me about the times that daddy would rescue him from barroom brawls.  The police would call daddy and tell him to come get Uncle Clifton.  Uncle Clifton said when daddy entered the barroom, that dad started cleaning house.  Uncle Clifton said that one time he was fighting this guy when a big hand grabbed his shoulder.  Uncle Clifton turned to knock the guy’s block off, but stopped short when he saw that it was dad.  Dad told Uncle Clifton to get in the car.

Years later, long after moving back to Alabama, and Uncle Clifton settled down and married Aunt Maxine, they would make yearly visits to Alabama.  We looked forward to them coming and telling of all the times we had together in Illinois.

By 1982, dad had a brain tumor and started wasting away.  Uncle Clifton could not afford to come to Alabama as he once did.  He had heard how bad dad was and a few weeks before daddy died, Uncle Clifton managed to see dad.

Momma said that when Uncle Clifton saw dad in the hospital bed there in the living room that Uncle Clifton said he had to step outside for a moment.  From the kitchen window, momma saw Uncle Clifton outside by dad’s tractor.  He was crying.  When he saw daddy wasting away, it was more than he could take.

Momma went out and consoled Uncle Clifton convincing him to go back in and see dad.  Uncle Clifton struggled as he watched his big brother and hero wasting away.  Trying not to break down in front of dad, Uncle Clifton spent a few precious moments sharing brotherly love bragging what a big man dad was to him and many others in Beloit.

The last time I saw Uncle Clifton, he had stopped by the Pastorium at Gallion as he made the rounds seeing the ones he loved.  As we sat on the front porch there in Gallion, he talked of dad and told me how much he loved him.  He told me how difficult it was watching dad, and later, momma, Uncle James, Aunt Bessie, and Aunt Gertrude wasting away from cancer and that he did not want to waste away with cancer.

He surprised me when he told me how much he admired me.  Then, he shocked me when he told me that at one time he felt the Lord was calling him to preach, but he ran.

Shortly after becoming Director of Missions, I received a call that Uncle Clifton died from a heart attack while making the loop to see his loved ones.  I knew that he was on his way to visit Linden, but instead I traveled to Beloit, walked down some old familiar roads, and smiled.  I, like uncle Clifton, cried as I looked down at the body of a once young and vigorous body now broken and ravaged by disease.

Uncle Clifton was not the first, nor I the last, to look upon a body wasting away by some demonic disease.  When I read how Job’s friends found him, I think of Uncle Clifton and him seeing daddy.

Now when Job's three friends heard of all this evil that was come upon him, they came every one from his own place; Eliphaz the Temanite, and Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite: for they had made an appointment together to come to mourn with him and to comfort him.  And when they lifted up their eyes afar off, and knew him not, they lifted up their voice, and wept; and they rent every one his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven.  So they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that his grief was very great (Job 2:11-13 KJV).

I like how the Message translates the friends seeing Job: When they first caught sight of him, they couldn’t believe what they saw- they hardly recognized him!

Ain’t it amazing how the Bible speaks to us and makes life relevant?

Pollution It's Everywhere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Celebrate, Celebrate"

Celebration is an important part of our lives.  If you are like me, you celebrated the Christmas Holidays and the beginning of a New Year.  I was so enthralled in celebrating the New Year with four wild grandkids, that I went to bed way before the ball dropped in Times Square faintly hearing some fireworks exploding in the neighborhood.  Being from rural red-neck Alabama those sounds may have been the illegal discharging of firearms by my neighbors. I decided long ago not to be outdoors to see the fireworks in case it was falling lead.  I wanted to celebrate life with four wild children on New Year’s Day.

According to an article that I read years ago, there are numerous fatalities from celebrating by shooting at the stars during times of celebration.  There is a right and wrong way to celebrate.  Random firing in the air for celebration can cause a lifetime of regret. 

My daughter had a volleyball teammate whose brother did jail time for shooting in the sky during a Halloween haunted hayride.  When the 22-caliber bullet ricocheted hitting a small girl in the neck.

The shooting of fireworks is extremely dangerous.  In high school I had a classmate that returned from the Christmas Holidays missing his middle finger from throwing a “cherry bomb” firecracker.  My daughter also bounced a bottle rocket off her cousin’s granddad’s head in celebrating New Year’s.

We do a lot of celebrating.  We celebrate birthdays, holidays, weddings, anniversaries, victories, achievements, grand openings, graduations, retirements, and funerals.  We give cards, flowers, money, watches, certificates, pins, and plaques.  But, how many times do we celebrate God in worship.

It would behoove the church to celebrate the blessings of God rather than the church’s tendency to murmur and gripe.  For some reason churches forget the great things God has done and dwell on things that God has not done or that we think He should have done.  All one must do is see how quickly the Hebrews started complaining when they exited Egypt.  I like to paraphrase like this, “Where two or more Baptist are gathered there will be murmuring and fussing.

Celebrations have two extremes.  I remember reading an editorial in the Clanton Advertiser many years ago of an irate mom concerning here child’s graduation from kindergarten. According to the irate mom, there was not enough celebration because the principal and teachers were so thoughtless of the great achievements of little ones graduating the vicious and demanding academia of kindergarten.  She wanted caps, gowns, and pomp and circumstance, along with a boring speech, REALLY!  Let the kids have cake and ice cream and be thankful they will be entering the academia of the first grade.  Years later, I attended my grandson’s kindergarten graduation and I realized it was more for the parents, not the kids, as the teachers and aides pushed and commanded the children to act like the graduating class of Harvard Law School. 

After the extraction of last tidbit of information drilled into the child’s head, teachers and aides cut them loose to be kindergartners.  They ran and were excited about the cake, ice cream, potato chips, and punch and could not wait to get out of the caps and gowns.  Now that was a celebration. 

Then there is the extreme celebration and often taunting of the athlete who gets a penalty of excessive celebration upon a great achievement of running a touchdown all by himself.  Last time I played; I remember that ten other teammates helped the overly zealous running back score.  If we celebrated, we had to do pushups.

What about celebration on the Lord’s Day?  Is our role the one of the irate mother who thinks there should be more or are we the zealot who fellow parishioners want to throw the penalty flag?

Do we know how to celebrate God?  Is a worldly celebration more important than one for God?  How many editorials do the local newspapers write for churches celebrating or lack of, God at worship?  Is not the work of God more powerful than anything man has done?  Are we afraid to worship?  Do we really understand why we gather on Sundays?  Do we know how to worship?  Are we following tradition, or do we follow the examples of God’s Word? 

In Psalm 22 David wrote a mournful psalm that Jesus quoted while own the cross.  In Psalm 23 David wrote of the gentle shepherd that would help in times of need. In Psalm 24, David knew how to celebrate God’s majestic and triumphant presence.  The Ark of the Covenant had been returned to Jerusalem.  The people were ready to celebrate the presence of God.  David realized that when the heart is prepared, the desire to worship God becomes an integral part of our lives providing direction and focus.

Our moments together at worship are a time of celebration.  In our getting and giving, in our saving and spending, we remember that all belongs to God.  Seduction by the genius of Madison Avenue marketing and advertising distorts celebration by taunting us with pleasure from material wealth. 

God created it all and He is redeeming it all.  Celebrating God is recognizing His redemption.  We celebrate life because Christ lives.  Celebration is conditional.  Celebrating is acknowledging that everything is God’s.  He created us to worship, He redeemed us to worship, and He instructed us to worship. 

There are moral qualifications for worship.  We come with blameless conduct (clean hands), we do right with right motive (pure heart), we are to be faithful to God and to neighbor, and we are to be truthful in dealings.

The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.  For He hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods.  Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in His holy place?  He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully (Psalm 24:1-4 KJV).

Write today’s worries in the sand.  Chisel yesterday’s victories in stone – Max Lucado

Collard Greens, Hawg Jowl, Cornbread, and Black-eyed Peas

Now that we have had time for our hawg jowl and blacked-eyed peas, cornbread, and collared greens to digest, how are our New Year’s resolutions coming? 

Momma always served the poor folks meal in hopes that the peas would bring more pennies and the collards would bring more dollars.  They never did but we did enjoy the food even though daddy said that cooking collards smelled as bad as a dead person did.

New Year’s resolutions usually last as long as the first piece of red velvet last with a cup of coffee.  They last less than trip to the gym and much shorter than the soreness from the exercise.

Have you ever thought who started resolutions?  New Year is the oldest of all holidays.  Ancient Babylon observed it about 4000 years ago. Around 2000 BC, the Babylonian New Year began with the first New Moon or Vernal Equinox (first day of spring).  The beginning of spring is a logical time to start a new year since it is the season of rebirth, of planting new crops, and of blossoming. January 1, on the other hand, has no astronomical or agricultural significance. It is purely arbitrary.

“The tradition of the New Year's Resolutions goes all the way back to 153 B.C. Janus, a mythical king of early Rome was placed at the head of the calendar. With two faces, Janus could look back on past events and forward to the future. Janus became the ancient symbol for resolutions and many Romans looked for forgiveness from their enemies and also exchanged gifts before the beginning of each year.
The New Year has not always begun on January 1, and it doesn't begin on that date everywhere today. It begins on that date only for cultures that use a 365-day solar calendar. January 1 became the beginning of the New Year in 46 B.C., when Julius Caesar developed a calendar that would more accurately reflect the seasons than previous calendars had.
The Romans named the first month of the year after Janus, the god of beginnings and the guardian of doors and entrances. He was always depicted with two faces, one on the front of his head and one on the back. Thus he could look backward and forward at the same time. At midnight on December 31, the Romans imagined Janus looking back at the old year and forward to the new. The Romans began a tradition of exchanging gifts on New Year's Eve by giving one another branches from sacred trees for good fortune. (answerbag.com/q_view/39353)
In the Middle Ages, Christians changed New Year's Day to December 25, the birth of Jesus. Then they changed it to March 25, a holiday called the Annunciation. In the sixteenth century, Pope Gregory XIII revised the Julian calendar, and the celebration of the New Year was returned to January 1.”

Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.  (Philippians 3:13-14 KJV)

Black-eyed peas and hawg jowl, collard greens, and cornbread are good food to eat, but as believers, our spiritual nourishment comes from God’s Word.  Resolutions are made to break, while sacrifice last.  There is no good luck, but God marvelous grace and the opportunity to press forward.

"Baling Hay, Playing the Guitar, and Out of Shape"

One morning as I was reading my daily Proverb, I thought of J B.  J B was a good friend, coworker, and brother in Christ.  As a kid, I would watch him fly past our house in a Baggett tractor-trailer truck.  I thought it was the grandest thing to know someone that actually drove a Semi. There were not many big trucks that traveled our country road.  We saw plenty of pickups, produce trucks, and pulpwood and log trucks.  

My brothers and I would run to the road, put our arms up, and pull down trying to get J B to blow his air horn.  J B would just laugh as he blew the horn and we would say, “There goes J B.”

Most everyone up home had side jobs to compensate income.  J B farmed on the side.  We raised pigs and crops.  J B had cattle and hay.  When J B was not in the semi ridge, he was on his Ford tractor fertilizing hay, cutting hay, raking hay, baling hay, and storing hay.  J B continued to do the small square bales instead of the large round rolls.  He contended that the large round rolls had too much waste.

One summer years later, many years later, my brother David and I were helping J B and another friend of ours, Calvin, haul hay.  We loved helping load and haul hay.  The only problem we were not young any more.  Like the proverb says, “The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the gray head.” (Proverbs 20:29 KJV)  David and I were gray.  In fact, J B had gone to work at the cement plant.  Calvin had been there for years and I was working there.

J B and Calvin loved the longer square bales for their cows.  David and I struggled to throw the hay on the trailer.  Calvin pulled the trailer as J B continued to rake and bale as David and I tired.  David and I both realized that we were bad out of shape.  Calvin commented that we had become soft and weak.  We struggled to lift the bales.

Calvin had mercy on us and volunteered to rest us.  On the first bale, Calvin struggled to life the bale.  As he reached for a second one, he threw it to the ground and said, “Good gracious boys! Why didn’t you tell me the bales were heavy?”  David and I looked at one another and said, we thought we had gotten sorry and weak.  Calvin said, “These bales weigh over 200 lbs.  They are too green!”

Calvin flagged J B down.  J B must have thought he was still driving for Baggett.  He was flying on his tractor raking the cut hay.  Calvin told J B that he did not want to burn down his barns with green hay.  If not dry enough, green hay will go through a heat and catch fire.

I will never will forget what J B said.  “Dutton, I like to bale it a little green.  The cows like it better.”  Calvin won the argument and David and I were relieved.  First, we needed rest and second we were glad we were not as out of shape as we thought.

Most people in our church and community worked hard to make a living.  However, a few in our community did not.

One time J B was raking and baling hay in his fields.  He needed someone to help him so he turned to his neighbor named Joe.  Joe was a tall, slender, and well able to help with the hay.  Watching him growing up I never knew of him holding a job or working.  As J B toiled in the hot summer son, Joe sat on his front porch swing and played his guitar.  J B hired him to help load hay.  Joe helped a short spell and told J B that he had better go home which was across from the hay field.

J B inquired as to his abandonment.  Joe said, “I might be seen by someone and lose my government check.”  J B was furious as he raked, baled, and loaded hay while Joe sat on the front porch and played the guitar.

Every time I see the cartoon movie with Porky Pig as a farmer working hard while his neighbor, an old fox, plays a guitar on the front porch of a shack, I think of J B and Joe.  When winter comes, Porky is feasting while the old fox starves.  Porky’s conscience bothers him and invites his neighbor for dinner.  The sorry fox says that come spring he will work hard.  When spring comes, the old sorry fox returned to playing the guitar.

The sluggard will not plow by reason of the cold; therefore shall he beg in harvest, and have nothing (Proverbs 20:4 KJV).

A Christmas Parade

I looked into the eyes of parents and children one Saturday night during Linden’s Christmas Parade.  Some were screaming in anticipation of candy, beads, or a T-shirt.  Some were downright ugly in their pleas for these condiments of Christmas.

Santa and his little helper tossed beads, candy, pencils, T-shirts, and stuffed animals toward what are normally, upstanding citizens, of the hamlet of West Alabama.  Mixed with the screams for objects of Christmas cheer were the occasional shout about the reality of jolly fat man dressed in red and white atop the fire engine.

There in the crowd was a mother snatching the gift from her son and a dad holding a small child that was too timid to scream at those on the parade floats.  Scuffling boys competed for pencils and beads as police and volunteers directed traffic insuring that everyone had opportunity to get the simple gifts dispersed by Old Saint Nick and his small assistant.

It is said that the Christmas season brings out the best in people.  I saw that disappear for a few moments in the parade.  The debacle of momentary insanity on the crowded sidewalks of downtown is akin to catfish in a pond at feeding time.  Everyone is grabbing for penny ante candy and cheap beads.  Santa had to instruct a man that the purple hippo tossed to a small, shy little girl was her's, not him.  He looked miffed, but the joy the little girl gave through her smile was priceless.  Santa had tossed her a stuffed animal.

I have to ask the question why do people act so bizarre at events such as parades.  As I took my early morning walk the following morning, beads, various hard candies, and wrappers desecrated the streets that were decorated for Christmas.  Gone were the vendors, most of the rides, the laughter, and the excitement.  Now, the hum of a generator stirred the morning fog.  Linden looked like a desolate place.  Pieces of dropped and discarded food were now the property of ants and other assorted insects collecting for the approaching storm.  Dogs, cats, and many other varmints feasted on the waste of having a good time and celebrating Christmas.

I suppose that Bethlehem was like that the morning that Jesus lay in the manger.  The night before was bustling with excitement.  People from distant lands returned home to complete the census for the Roman government.  I wonder who my ancient counterpart was the morning after the Shepherds and the Heavenly host had visited the place where the Messiah was born.  I wonder what sounds hummed that morning and if Bethlehem looked like a deserted place.

I am inclined to think that very little changed that morning in Bethlehem, but I am sure that the Shepherds did more than hum.  They were witnesses to the birth of the King of kings and Lord of lords.

Lots of hard work goes into hosting a parade and I am thankful to live in a town, county, and country where we have parades celebrating magnificent moments in our being.  My prayer is that God’s people share the true meaning of magnificent moments to a world that wants and settles for hangouts.

The look in the eyes of spectators is haunting.  Screaming, pushing, and shoving for what the poet A. E. Houseman termed “endless rue” is the nature of society.  The real purpose of the parade is priceless.  God gave us Himself.

But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son (Galatians 4:4a KJV).

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger (Luke 2:11-12 KJV).

Remember in a time where fear and anxiety rule, God remains King of kings and Lord of lords.  Candy, beads, and things are the condiments of Christmas.  Jesus is the true gift of hope and peace.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

That First Christmas

Christmas is a costly time.  It cost God everything.  When all the hoopla, all the sales, all the parties, and all the family are gone, Christmas becomes memory.  My memories about Christmas are different from most people.  The Hopper Christmas was not about presents, but about time together, momma’s cooking, daddy’s being Scrooge, and no school.

I do not remember my first Christmas.  I was twelve days old.  The first Christmas I remember was when I was four.  It was cold, snow flurries, and the wind was blowing as daddy too me to the Bijou, an old movie house.  Every time I watch It’s A Wonder Life, I have a flashback to the Bijou.  If you remember George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) running down the street in the snow yelling at the Bijou.  It was my first encounter with The Three Stooges, pizza, and salami.  It was in Beloit, Illinois/Wisconsin. 

Beloit was on the state line.  Dad worked in Wisconsin and we lived a few blocks away in Illinois.  No, I am not a Yankee, I was born in Clanton, but when we moved daddy worked at the Beloit Iron Works.  My brother David is the Yankee and now you know why I saw snow.  I walked to school in the snow, had a snowsuit, had snow gloves, and snow boots.

After the Three Stooges movie, each boy and girl received a Christmas present.  I never had seen that many presents before.  It was the first time I remember seeing a Santa Claus and he was very intimidating for a shy, small Alabama boy.  Each boy and girl sat on Santa’s knee to get his or her presents.  My first encounter was quick.  I did not know what to make of a man in a red suit with a long white hair and a beard.

The fact was that each of the employees of Beloit Iron Works contributed money to the company which bought each boy and each girl presents.  I did not know any better.  I was unfamiliar with the whole Santa Claus thing.

When we moved back to the poverty of Alabama, Christmas was never the same.  In rural Chilton County, there was no Bijou, no pizza, and no salami.  It would be years before I saw the Three Stooges.  I would be out of high school before a Pasquales’ Pizza would open thirty miles from home and stores would sell salami.

Each Christmas dad would be on layoff, Christmas shutdown, or unemployed.  There would be no money for food, much less for presents.  We stopped going to visit cousins. They got lots of neat things that we were not allowed to touch.  Aunts and uncles instructed our cousins to hide their toys until the Hoppers left.

Mom and dad stayed on edge during Christmas.  Mom wanted to decorate the house and dad would get depressed and start acting worse than Scrooge.  Even though not a Christian, he would say that Christmas is about the birth of God’s son, not about all the hoopla that people make it to be.

Every year something always made Christmas hoopla diminish.  During the Christmas season, I have repaired a slipping transmission, replaced a blowout tire, replaced a broken fuel pump, and replaced deteriorated disc brake pads.  At other times, things would happen like the dyer element burning out, the pickup engine blowing up, and the well pump going bad.

There would be the unexpected hospital stay for cancer that would days later take mom’s life.  There would Christmas Day emergency room visit for stitches to my son Aaron’s mouth where he tried to run through a barbed wire fence.  Trips to therapy for a bulging disc caused from the stress of layoff, mother dying with cancer, no insurance, and college tuition for upcoming term due.

The first Christmas without dad was tough and the first one without mom was real tough.  The first Christmas with my oldest son Andy was exciting.  He was almost a year old and was happy playing in a box of Christmas paper.  The one with my daughter Angela was challenging.  She was three months old and had colic.  The one with Aaron was special.  He was seven months old and was fun to watch.

One Christmas after graduating high school I bought dad a unique shotgun, a collector’s item the first year he owned it, mom an electric guitar, my sister a beauty salon style hairdryer that looked like a giant hornet nest, one brother a cassette player, and the other brother a starter guitar.

When imagining Joseph and Mary’s first Christmas, today’s hoopla misses the point.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.  And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.  And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger (Luke 2:13-16 KJV)

Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Every time I see the Christmas picture of my baby brother and myself, I remember that Christmas morning as though it were yesterday.  There we are in our worn-out t-shirts and grinning.  My baby brother Glenn he is seven and I am fifteen.  We are holding our Christmas presents.  Mom had told us that we would not be getting very much that year.  I am holding a little wooden box that contains a red corncob.  The outside reads, “Emergency toilet paper.”  I lost that present in the house fire.  I had it in a hope chest in the attic.  Mom had promised me a car that year.  I was holding it too.  It was a tiny matchbox car.

Momma got a big kick out of the gifts.  I know you might be thinking that was her gag gift, but that was really my Christmas present that year.  I told momma that she did not have to get me a present but make sure my brothers and sisters got something under the tree.  I knew that it was only a temporary setback in the Hopper family because some years momma was able to get us some nice gifts.

I remember staying up late one Christmas waiting on Old Saint Nick to come.  I know that momma and daddy must have wondered if we would ever go to sleep.  When we did, it seemed as only a moment when we went running into the living room to find Huffy bicycles under the tree.

About the time I was getting the corncob is about the time I realized that momma would go deep into debt to buy Christmas and spend (no pun intended) the next 365 days paying for that magical morning.  I knew that we did not have the money to buy presents.  We had what money cannot buy and that was love for each other.

Momma accused daddy of being Scrooge.  I realized later that he was not a Scrooge but was actually a Bob Cratchic.  Bob was the one that worked for Scrooge in the movie, A Christmas Carol.  Right now, I am playing the Ghost of Christmas past as I write.  I used to warn my kids every year that I think I feel a Scrooge moment about to come upon me when we go Christmas shopping.

I remember momma crying at Christmas from time to time.  She wanted so much to have a nice home filled with Christmas decorations.  My wife Lisa has a theme-oriented Christmas tree in every room.  For mom, we had to find her a cedar tree that looked like a Christmas tree.  She would decorate it with balls, ribbons, silver icicles, strings of popcorn, and other junk as dad would say.

Momma and my sister kept the house so hot with the one gas space heater that daddy, my brothers, and I stayed outside most of the time.  When momma started decorating the house, we all stayed outside even more.  That is a tradition that I carry on today.  When Lisa starts decorating the house I go outside and stay.  My job during Thanksgiving season is to retrieve all the Christmas junk and place it in the specific place I am instructed to stack it.

I fetch hammers, nails, wire, and other paraphernalia, but quickly exit the house when fulfilling my Christmas obligations.  I could care less about a tree.  I have an official “Charlie Brown tree” in my office.

I had a brilliant moment of inspiration idea several years ago.  My office chair collapsed while I was leaning sideways.  The office chair was rated for a two hundred fifty pound man.  Since I weigh more than that, I had stressed the designer’s recommended specifications, which resulted in an office chair failure.  I tried on several occasions to repair the chair, but the aluminum alloy frame holding the shattered like a broken eggshell.  The seat and the wheels were good.

Led by Pam’s (former secretary), stroke of genius of wanting a Christmas tree on wheels, I mounted the office chair wheels to the bottom of a Christmas tree.  To say the least, when I proudly presented my latest invention, but Christmas Tree Purist were not impressed.  Most said it made the tree too high.  There were some references to my rigging, but I won’t go there.  Well, it wasn’t too high.  The base of the five wheeled office chair allowed the tree to stand lower than the tree stand.

Ignoring the critics, I rolled it into the living room.  When my oldest son the interior designer arrived on Thanksgiving eve, I showed him my invention.  He said that when he decorates for businesses and large corporations for Christmas that their large Christmas trees are mounted on wheels to make decorating easier.  With Andy’s seal of approval, all was well.  There is peace on Earth that Christmas, I mean in the Hopper household.  I wondered if I should get a patent.  I know that it won’t be long until another office chair failure.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.  And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.  And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger Luke 2:13-16 KJV

May the Peace of God be with you and your household.

"Just My Imagination Running Away With Me"

As a kid, I imagined that one day I would be far, far away from home during Christmas.  I do not know why I had that feeling other than it is reminiscent of some Christmas movie I watched or some tale I heard.  I often imagined that I would be returning from a war and that I would surprise mom and dad by arriving on a snowy Christmas morn.  Hey, I know it is Alabama and snow on Christmas morning would be imaginary, but remember it is my imagination and I did live in Illinois when I was in my formative years.

I think that poverty and alienation were two factors in having this Romanized fantasy.  It was a way of taking a dire situation and having hope when dealing with hopeless circumstances.

I could see myself, in uniform and duffle bag tossed across my shoulder, making my way to the old home place in Sugar Ridge.  When I watch a movie that has elements of my imaginary thoughts, tears seep from my eyes.  Part of that emotion roots in the reality that mom and dad are long gone and there will be no return home to them.  The old place lies in ruin and decay.  Rotting boards, a collapsing roof, and consuming vine tarnish memories of what was once a place of life and festivity.  Now, that place I once longed is reserved for the place of memories and mind's eye.

It only comes to life only when I write articles or tell of something that happened related to some spiritual truth I found or experienced.  Ever once and a while, I dream of returning to an old job or going back home.  It seems as though I cannot get to where I need to be.  Something or someone usually interrupts my efforts to get to my destination.  In my dream, no one seems to care that I am struggling to be at the appointed place and time.  Like some character in Alice in Wonderland, I’m late, I’m late . . .  About the time I dream that I am about to reach my destination I wakeup.

Dream interpretation says that I am struggling to reach a goal and I am frustrated because I cannot reach it.  I think that I am longing for things to be as they were in the past and trying to make restitution for past mistakes and blunders.

There are some things in the past that I would like to see again, but there is so much in the past that I am thankful is behind me.  One reason I would never like to start over again is that too hard the first time and I do not want to repeat the process.

Christmas past uproots too many unpleasant memories of having no gifts under the tree, too many weeks of dad being on layoff, and too many memories of momma crying because things were bleak, drowning out the few precious moments of Christmas past.

We look at the past and become nostalgic, we look at the present and become disillusioned, and we look at the future and become anxious.  We know what we have done in the past and we can learn, grow, and make adjustments.  We are in the process of living today because of the experience of the past and the anticipation of the future.  The future will bring new challenges along with new opportunities.

My imaginations are almost exclusively in the past, but at the same time, they are always something that I think is going to happen in the future.  Ironically, most of the places that I dream I am running late do not exist physically any longer.  They exist exclusively in my dreams and memory.

Life is short, but also funny.  Six years at this time, I was looking forward to 2013.  The number 13 is my favorite number and I just knew that it would a wonderful year.  As of today, it has not been as I had anticipated.  It has been as my dreams.  I’m trying to be somewhere and not able to get there.  There were many good events for 2013, but there was plenty in which to mourn.

I pray that as my day, Friday the 13^th  2019, comes, it will be a good day because it will be another day that the Lord has given to me.  That gives twelve days to Christmas and nineteen days to a new year.

As 2019 becomes the past, I pray we leave it behind and look forward to the journey the Lord has prepared for us.  God is always on time.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven Ecclesiastes 3:1

Remember how short my time is Psalm 89:47

But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son (Galatians 4:4a)

Merry Christmas from the Hoppers

"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.