Peter Walked on Water, Larry Did Cartwheels

 The other day I had a flash back to an eventful day at the river.  I do not spend much time in the river since I saw the movie Jaws.  You notice I said in the river.  As a kid, I never gave a second thought to jumping into a creek, pond, river, or lake, but the movie Jaws changed all that.

It is a good thing I had never seen the movie when I dove into the lake at Rainbow City.  I went running down the pier and took a dive that would have been the envy of most Olympic swimmers.  My brother-in-law Tony and cousins said when I dove in the river, the shad jumped out.  The sight was hilarious.  I know what you are thinking, but I was tall and lanky back then and the lake was large.

When I surfaced, Tony and his cousins were screaming in excitement.  I was clueless to what was happening, but when those shad were trying to get away from me, they were striking my boney legs and I thought I had jumped into a school of piranha.  I panicked and got out as quick as I could.

I have always wanted a home on a creek, pond, river, or lake.  It is soothing and tranquil watching the water.  Sometimes when I had the time, I would spend a few moments of solitude watching the Tombigbee River flowing through Demopolis.  Watching the river is therapeutic, especially at night and eating a Big Jack, fries, and hot apple pie.

I remember the Montgomery riverboat ride the night we had a class reunion.  Seeing the lights as we approached Montgomery on the Alabama River will always hold my memory as that romantic moment unfolded.  It was a perfect ending to a wonderful day with classmates.

I spent most of my summer Sundays after church at Bulldog Bend on the little Cahaba River.  At Bulldog Bend there was a swing hanging from a tree overlooking the bend in the river.  In the middle of the bend was a platform made of metal drums and wood.  It was held in place by two cables attached to another cable that spanned the river.

To swing meant to climb a two-stage platform built beside the tree.  The swing looked like a triangle mounted on a rectangle with a center bar.  My friend JJ, from another story, had mastered the art of exiting the swing before it peaked and could sail through the air, baggies flopping in the wind, out to the platform.  Another friend, Butch, slapped the platform on his way down.

Swinging on the tree swing was difficult.  My friend, “Butter Bean,” did not have enough arm strength to swing from the tree platform.  The downward force was too great and Butter Bean would bounce and flop off the bank into the river.

The floating platform was about ten feet square.  That is where the girls watched the boys display their aerobatic skills as the exited the swing.  The guys watched the girls.  Ultimately, someone would want to play king of the floating platform.  It is the water version of “king of the hill.”  Someone would grab the two cables that anchored the platform and start it to rocking.  Eventually it would turn upside down.

One Sunday I was on the float when someone turned it over.  As went flying backwards, the two cables that held it in place trapped my outstretched arms and legs to the upside down float.  I took gasps of air each time I bobbed to the surface.  I'm glad God had a plan for me.

Talk about flying through the air.  Let me get to that eventful day at the river.  One summer around a weekend or two before or after Independence Day, my buddies, Donnis, Larry, Rickey, Tony, and I were skiing on Lay Lake.  We happened upon some classmates that invited us to try their slalom board.  Don, one from their group, was a master at the slalom board.  George, another one of their group, had a souped-up ski rig that would fly.  Don and George would ride the board as the boat did a “pop the whip” move.  They could circle the boat twice, sometimes almost three times.

They invited us to try.  Our group could not ride it sitting down.  Tony and I decided, with a little encouragement I might add, to ride the slalom board together as George and his crew “popped us on the whip.”

The first time Tony and I sailed around the ski boat we thought we had it made.  That was until my leg slipped off the slalom board and swiped Tony off like a cartoon character.  I can still hear Tony yelling, “LEAN, LEAN, LEAN” as we disappeared into the cold murky waters. After a third attempt, we were able to circle the boat.

My cousin Larry went solo.  For some reason, I think it my have been to show off to the bathing beauties on the bank, George “popped the whip” with Larry towards the public landing.  What happened next is unbelievable.  When George slung Larry around the boat, Larry did three cartwheels on top of the water before plunging into the Lay Lake.  We feared that he was going to cartwheel onto shore.

Every time I read about Peter walking on the Sea of Galilee, I think of Larry cart wheeling on Lay Lake.

 And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.  And he said, Come.  And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus (Matthew 14:28-29 KJV).

"Turn Your Lights On"

 Several years ago, I attended an Alumni Officer Meeting at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary.  It was a three-day event to train State officers how to host an alumni meeting and how to solicit money from poor alumni, mostly ministers.

I found out that there are donors with lots of money that want to donate to our Southern Baptist Seminaries.  They give according to the number of alumni that give.  These donors reason that if alumni do not give to their alma maters, then why should they.

As an Alabama Baptist State Alumni officer, I supported the seminary by giving ten dollars for each year after graduating.  I encourage all alumni to give at least ten dollars.  The large donors do not look of the amount of each alumnus, but the number that give.  If you are a New Orleans alum, consider that ten-dollar donation.

One of the benefits of attending the meeting was the food.  The first night the Seminary hosted a crawfish boil.  There were two canoes filled with boiled crawfish, corn, and potatoes.  I am not a big fan of boiled “mud bugs,” but I do like their tails fried.  Being a big man, the servers thought I needed a large serving.  I gave them to a couple of my fellow alumni.  I did have a generous portion of corn and potatoes.  The warm brownie was pretty good too.

I ate at the seminary cafeteria for breakfast and dinner.  The second night the seminary took us to the French Quarters to eat.  Alan and Tony from Florida, Marco from Arkansas, and I went to Deenie’s.  Did I say that we walked the streets of New Orleans guided by a GPS?  I thought we would never get to Deenie’s.  It was fun trying to keep up with those technological advanced guys.  It was trying to rain and turning dark as we entered the restaurant.

I was hoping for some fried crawfish tails, but I settled for a generous portion of fried shrimp, catfish, and French fries.  I had the best time listening to these “music” guys argue over the validity of Contemporary verses Traditional.  I made the comment that Contemporary has been around so long that it has become the new traditional and that the millennials had their own style.  I thought they were going to pound me with hush puppies.

When we left the restaurant, it was still trying to rain.  We were to meet other alumni at the Café de Monde around nine.  As we hurried, we were stopped by a parade, in which I took part.  I have always wanted to be in one the funeral dirges in New Orleans.  Since Alan was most familiar, we followed him.  As we neared the Café de Monde, the parade stopped us again.  I told Alan that I could have stayed in the parade and beat them.

On the way back to the seminary in a steady rain, we had a black man following us and flashing his lights.  Now, it being a bad part of New Orleans and a little rain, it is not an area that you want to be stopping.  The driver of our rental was Tony, who is Puerto Rican.  He did not see the flashing lights; hear the honking horn, and the waving hands of the adjacent driver.  Alan and Marco did and they were very uncomfortable.  Tony and I were trying to see the poorly lighted streets.  Things have changed in New Orleans since Katrina and the once familiar was now the unfamiliar.  There remains much work and rebuilding to be done.  Some Baptists wanted to pull the Seminary out of New Orleans, but Seminary president Dr. Chuck Kelly reminded the powers that be that removing the Seminary would remove the little light that remains in the city.

Suddenly, the adjacent driver got along side of Tony.  Tony rolled down his window and the guy shouted, “You’re driving with your lights off.

That explains a lot.  That is the reason Tony almost went straight instead of making the curve.  It also explains why the cars were awfully close behind us and to the right.  That explains why Tony and I could not see the road signs until being right on top of them.

When Tony turned on his lights, we could see much better.  The only problem was we were very close to the Seminary.  We started to go back and see if we could see what we missed.

I have driven several times with my headlights off.  One time the Clanton police pulled me over for driving without headlights.  When asked why, I looked down at the dash and replied to the officer, and his green teethed sidekick, that I forgot to turn them on while I turned them on.  He told me not to get smart with him.  I did not get smart with him because I didn’t think he, nor his hayseed sidekick knew smart when they heard it.  They accused me of drinking and shined their big four-D batteries flashlights in my car.  Arguing with them that I did not drink, they again accused me of getting smart.  I looked them in the eye and told them they were crazy and pulled away leaving the green-toothed hayseed waving his flashlight.

My experience in New Orleans and in Clanton reminds me of Christians today.  We are traveling life’s highway, having a good time, and enjoying one another but our lights are not on.  Sure, we can see, but others may not see us.  Thank God for people like our black friend in New Orleans that reminded us to turn our lights on.  Seems like I read that somewhere.

Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven (Matthew 5:16 KJV).

Happy Birthday Momma Song

Picture of momma when she was around 16 years old. She always had her guitar. I posted a Poem on May 7, 2021 for my Momma's Birthday.  I trust that you enjoyed it and If you have not read please do.  I sent a copy of it to my brother that inherited mommas gifts most of playing musical instruments, by ear, and writing songs.  Most of our Sunday afternoons were spent sitting on the front porch and singing and playing the guitars.

below is a link to listen to my brother Glenn pick up an old guitar and sing the poem I wrote.  I love the way he arranged it to make this beautiful song for momma.

Momma I do miss your hugging and kissing.  

https://photos.app.goo.gl/F7qVJtbHAJoUyuqt6

I Want To Be A Friend Like That

Many of you have worked in, on, and around machinery.  Be it a paper mill, sewing factory, or just around the house or on the farm, running a piece of machinery can be frustrating.  There was a sign in our maintenance department that said, “If it twists, turns, or moves, it will give trouble.”

My good friend, Keilan, had a very frustrating day operating/burning a cement kiln.  Day shift at most factories is frustrating enough.  Electricians want to check instruments, maintenance men want to change out equipment, engineers want to change the process, and quality control wants to tweak the feed.

Day shift has too many people watching one another to justify changes.  Supervisors, managers, and corporate constantly walk around with pen and pad taking notes on how to improve their product not realizing that all their busyness creates havoc and chaos for operators.

Keilan was having one of those days.  To complicate the problems, reclaimers that put up the coal did so in such a manner that substance other than coal found its way into the coal tanks creating an erratic burn.  Electricians and instrument adjusting the oxygen analyzers disturbed the airflow that made the burn more erratic. 

The mixing of materials to create the feed to make cement somehow how got mish mashed creating a sub par material that the quality control declared “not up to snuff.”

It had been a hard day for my friend Keilan.  When I relieved him at the evening shift change, he looked as though he had been run through a washing machine ringer backwards.  He had the most bewildered and frustrated look until his eyes met mine.  His eyes perked up and a smile came across his face.  He ran to me, hugged me and kissed me.  That’s right he kissed me and I was shocked then he said, “I have never been so happy to see you in my whole life.  This has been the worst day of my life burning the kilns.”

Most of us forget how important it is to be a friend.  I admit that sometimes I am not a good friend.  I have had friends be sick and I never called or sent a card.  I have had friends that lost loved ones and I never expressed condolences to them.  I have had friends struggle with divorce and never visited to see if they needed help or words of encouragement.

Perhaps we have been disappointed when a friend or family member did not show for a big event in our lives.  We give the excuse that we do not know what to say.  Can I testify that it not what you say, but that you were there.

I remember visiting the hospital for a lady in the Brierfield Baptist Church community.  I was bi-vocational, so my visit was at night.  When I entered the critical care unit, the whole atmosphere of the room changed from gloom and doom to hope when my eyes met theirs.  A nurse told the family that three people were allowed to visit the sick lady.  The family chose me as one of the three.  The sick lady was close the death.  I prayed for her.  She recovered and lived many months afterwards.

I told another friend of my experience.  It was the first time I ever had that kind of life changing emotion.  I did not understand what happened.  My friend said, “Dummy, when you walked in the room they knew the Lord was with them.  You are God’s representative.”

I have been to several funerals where the family said, “I knew you would come.”  I did not have to say anything.  People say I have the gift of gab, but there are numerous times I do not know what to say.

There is a story called “In the Trenches” from World War I where soldier friends became very close due the horrors of war.  The trench war of WWI was brutal and created a common bond that helped deal with the misery.

One day the friends, Jim and Bill, charged from the trenches into battle.  At the end of the day, Jim lay bleeding to death between the trenches, his friend Bill returned to the trench.  Realizing his friend was missing, the soldier started back in the field of battle.  The shelling continued at its peak.  His commanding officer refused his request. It was too dangerous.  Ignoring the smell of cordite, the concussion of incoming shells, and a pounding in his chest, Bill made it to Jim. Bill found Jim and dragged him back to the trenches.  It was too late.  Jim was gone.

The smug commander officer cynically asked Bill if it was worth the risk.  Bill said without hesitation, “Yes sir, it was.  My friend’s last words made it more than worth it.”  He looked up at me and said, “I knew you’d come.”

I hope I can be that kind of friend, but I feel more like the disciples with Jesus at Gethsemane.

And he said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt.  And He cometh, and findeth them sleeping, and saith unto Peter, Simon, sleepest thou? couldest not thou watch one hour? Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.  And again He went away, and prayed, and spake the same words.  And when He returned, He found them asleep again, (for their eyes were heavy,) neither wist they what to answer Him.  And He cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and take your rest: it is enough, the hour is come (Mark 14:36-41 KJV).

Momma Showed Me

Mamma it has been a long, long time

Momma I miss your songs and rhyme

 

You left us so young and in your prime

Momma precious mother of mine

 

Momma you showed me Jesus was the way

Momma you taught me to read the Bible and pray

 

You showed me how to work and how to play

Momma your faith showed there is coming a better day

 

Momma you taught life was not about things

Momma you showed me it was not riches or golden rings

 

You proved that life was about home and a song to sing

Momma I miss your hugging and kissing

 

Momma you showed how to never give up and live

Momma you taught me to share and give

 

You trained me how to be innovative

Momma thank you for helping me be creative

 

Momma you wiped away my tears when I would cry

Momma you showed me how to suffer and die

 

You thought of others until you told me goodbye

Momma I know I will see by and by

Momma would be ninety today,  She died form melanoma cancer at age 55 in January 1987

 

 

 

"Dive Angela, Dive"

 My daughter Angela is a “Dumpster Diver.”  What is a Dumpster Diver?  Let me share portions of an article by Kari Abate and Kyle Looby on “The Art of Dumpster Diving:”

Dumpster diving is the deliberate art of gleaning perfectly usable items from commercial and residential dumpsters. It is legal in most areas as long as there are no signs posted against trespassing. To be sure, check your city ordinances, or just call the police department.

The term dumpster diving refers to the position most divers assume in order to retrieve items without actually getting in the dumpster: Picture yourself balanced on the edge of the dumpster, head in the dumpster and legs in the air behind you. (Novice divers may experience some initial discomfort around the abdomen and ribcage. This will pass.)

Safety should always take precedence. No bag of sheets or even the mother lode of brand-name designer shirts is worth a trip to the hospital!

Now, the fun part. Where does one dive? Generally speaking, any store that has a dumpster is up for grabs. Retail dumpsters include craft supply stores, party supply stores, drug stores (a great source of greeting cards, boxed chocolates, small gifts, cases of soda and toys), book stores, department stores, discount stores, pet supply stores, home décor stores, thrift stores and hardware stores.

Once you've started diving, you'll never look at a dumpster the same way again. To us, they are no longer merely trash receptacles, but rather secret treasure chests waiting to be looted.  But you'll never know what you may find in your local dumpsters unless you look, so get out there and lift some lids.

Strip malls are the best places to find retail dumpsters -- they're usually located behind the buildings. Apartment complexes, meanwhile, are a great source of furniture, clothes, small appliances, televisions, VCRs, household items and more.

Angela’s specialty is discarded furniture.  She has become very successful transforming old cabinet doors into plaques with Scripture on them.  People adorn their homes with these plaques creating a market for Angela to sell more.  Family has bought several from her and given them as gifts for showers, birthdays, and Christmas.  People love the transformed dumpster treasures.

Angela has refurbished tables and chairs, coffee tables and chairs, and home entertainment centers.

Angela has raided my shed for items that could be transformed into décor treasures.  She collected old car tags, a broken John Deere lawnmower steering wheel, an old sign or two and probably some stuff I haven’t missed until I need them.

Angela may have inherited the art of dumpster diving from my dad.  He did not dumpster dive, but he did collect produce that a grocery store dumped and daddy supplied the barrels.  It is amazing what stores discard.  We never had to buy butcher knives or aprons.  There was a steady supply from the store.

We started out slopping the hogs with this foodstuff, but we realized there was a lot of good food tossed away.  Pardon the pun, but we did eat high on the hog until the health department informed the grocery store that dad could no longer get the waste claiming that it was unhealthy.

All I can say the only way it was unhealthy it got the hawgs slaughtered and the Hopper family was a little on “porky” side in our size.  I wonder how people got by for centuries without health department regulations.

 

I read another article on dumpster diving where a father, a dumpster diver, cooked a very delicious breakfast from his dumpster dive.

Once you get over the initial shock that people actually do this, you'll quickly realize that it isn't as gross as it sounds. Commercial dumpsters are very clean because employee trash is bagged, while the good stuff is usually in a box or tossed in loosely. Actually, store dumpsters usually smell quite good because of the discarded candles, potpourri and perfume. (Most dumpsters smell like the stores that use them!) Dumpsters are designed to keep critters out, so you typically won't run into rats and other vermin.

As Americans, we are wasteful.  Bins of good food, clothing, and household items head to dumps while people need food, clothing, and shelter.  Company policies and government regulations prevent or halt what could be given to shelters and charity organizations for distributions to those who need it.

On another venue, our churches have all the resources to feed spiritual food, but as a nation we are suffer spiritual malnutrition.  A great example comes from a survey of women in churches by Dr. Denise George.

 In her book, What Women Wish Pastors Knew, she writes,

All around me I see women who exist with the barest scriptural basics and live with thin skin stretched over bones of spiritual malnourishment . . . As a nation, we possess all the necessary resources to feed starving people the life-giving meat of Scripture, yet hungry people search the trash bins of secularism in search of spiritual food.

 And when ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not wholly reap the corners of thy field, neither shalt thou gather the gleanings of thy harvest.  And thou shalt not glean thy vineyard, neither shalt thou gather every grape of thy vineyard; thou shalt leave them for the poor and stranger: I am the Lord your God (Leviticus 19:9-10 KJV).

Behold, the days come, saith the Lord God, that I will send a famine in the land, not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the Lord (Amos 8:11 KJV). 

For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in (Matthew 25:35 KJV).

 

Aaron I Miss Our Morning Talks

 

I realize more and more how much I miss my daily father-son talks with my youngest son Aaron while taking him to school each morning.  It was fun sitting with him at McDonalds in Jemison munching on breakfast and listening to the morning conversations of the “coffee shop” old men.  Most of them have passed into eternity and Aaron eats breakfast somewhere around Mount Belleview, Texas.  On February 11, 1999, I had an inspiration to write a poem about the “coffee shop” men.

“OVER A BILLION TOLD”

Each morning they gather around the table, To tell jokes, lies, and fables.

Each man is an expert in solving the problems of life, But each one admits he does not understand his wife.

Yesterday they were the best, Today they cannot do very much without taking a rest.

Their topic changes each morning, It’s grandkids or the weather and how they change without warning.

Today it was fishing and the one that got away, Tomorrow it may be a friend or family member that passed away.

They discuss the younger generation’s tattoos, body piercing, and pants too far down, And they laugh of their youthful folly of stealing watermelons, drinking rotgut whiskey, and drag racing through town.

It’s fun to know each man and share the start of the day, Realizing one morning I will be that way.

They have paid their dues and earned respect, To spend each morning talking in retrospect.

There is Mr. Blankenship, Seymour, and Mr. Thrash, Sharing friendship with Bobby, J.W., and Mr. Glass.

Many more will come and with their joy be entertained, Whether the day starts with sunshine or whether it has rained.

So in the morning if you want a smile from the men of old, Go to the restaurant in Jemison where lies, over a 100 billion, will be told.

 

“Coffee Shop” conversations are scattered all through God’s Word.  There is the conversation of the Angels with Abraham, Balaam and his donkey, Jesus and the woman at the well, and Jesus and Zacchaeus. One of my favorite television programs, The Andy Griffith Show had Floyd’s barbershop.  The favorite coffee shop at the cement plant was the kiln control room.  There are plenty of conversations, inspired sometimes by the scandal sheets, at the Walmart checkout, both lanes!  Another great place was Papas’ Meat department in Linden.  Now that I spend in conversation with Lisa’s dog Loci and my dog Rocko.  It is a master/dog conversation usually about their wondering over to the neighbor’s house and digging holes in their pen when doing solitary confinement for wondering.

Most conversations will have God in them regardless if it is the latest on President Trump and the great election steal, Alabama’s own honorable Jeff Sessions who lost out to an Auburn football coach, the latest piece of juicy news, a spicy novel, or whatever. 

Each day, when Director of Missions before retirement, I was engaged in conversations.  Some people kidded me about having banking hours when I arrived late at the office.  I tell them that I have been working and receive pay to talk and engage in conversation.  A preacher friend of mind once told me concerning the small town of Linden and everyone knowing me.  He said, “You are a big fish in a small pond.”

The inspiration for this article was one by Dr. Timothy George, one of my professors of Beeson Divinity School at Samford University.  In an Article, “Can We Talk?” Dr. George writes:

 

Conversations can be deep or shallow, casual or serious, but they invariably take place as an encounter between an “I” and a “thou.” They happen at a level of verbal engagement when we have moved beyond the formal courtesies of cordiality—Good morning! Have a nice day! How’s the weather looking?—and reached the point of listening and responding to another person. One-way monologues are not conversations. They are soliloquies.

 

Dr. George said that Pope Francis has recently identified dialogue and listening as two essential components in breaking down walls of misunderstanding:

 

Problems grow, misunderstandings and divisions grow, when there is no dialogue. A condition of dialogue is the capacity to listen, which, unfortunately, is not very common. … The attitude of listening, of which God is the model, spurs us to pull down walls of misunderstandings, and to create bridges of communication, overcoming isolation and closure in one’s small world.

 

We cannot fully understand the impact of our conversations.  That is the reason as we share the Great Commission of Matthew 28:18-20, the world is coming to us.  Let us share God with those we meet.  The example of a maidservant is a great inspiration for us to share.

 

Now Naaman, captain of the host of the king of Syria, was a great man with his master, and honorable, because by him the Lord had given deliverance unto Syria: he was also a mighty man in valour, but he was a leper.  And the Syrians had gone out by companies, and had brought away captive out of the land of Israel a little maid; and she waited on Naaman's wife.  And she said unto her mistress, Would God my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria! for he would recover him of his leprosy. And one went in, and told his Lord, saying, Thus and thus said the maid that is of the land of Israel (2 Kings 5: 1-4 KJV)

 

Sugar Ridge

 

Sugar Ridge 

Sugar Ridge not sweet but named from sour sarcastic pun

Filled with adversity, heartache, and pain

Days growing up there were full of hard work, plenty of love, and fun

Especially the days smelling plum blossoms after a spring rain

 

Smells of honeysuckles, clover, daffodils filled the air

Where the outhouse, pigpen, and chicken coop are no more

Where children ran hills and hollers with their feet bare

Gone the sweet aromas that made it wonderful to be poor

 

Smells of burning fields and fresh plowed ground

Burning hickory, boiling water, killing hogs and stewing lard

Now only the odor of cutgrass, wild onions and wild garlic abound

Mixed with the smell of primrose and sweet shrub permeate the yard

 

Sugar Ridge, home sweet home of the Hoppers

JM, Leecie, Bobby, Diane, David, and Glenn

The home place burned reduced to a pile of bricks, ashes, and copper

No one has lived there since death, marriage, and life caused the end

 

“Welcome Home to Sugar Ridge” a saying started by dad told to mom

For her constant plea to leave God forsaken Perry County and return home

No satire today for Sugar Ridge in its grandeur and magnificence today

It is a reminder of family, peace, and serenity regardless of where you roam

 

Thank you God for giving the Hoppers Sugar Ridge and love

As we enjoy the beauty of the good Earth, we call Sugar Ridge today

It is nothing compared to the joy, comfort, and hope from above

Sugar Ridge is a reminder where there is a will there is a way, Your Way

 

 

 

 

Bobby E. Hopper

April 9, 2021

“Dad’s Birthday”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sin Will Do It Every Time

Several years ago, I received a card that informed me that I won one of several gifts.  The gifts included a brand-new ford Bronco, a big screen TV, $2000 cash, or a two-week vacation on the Caribbean.  All I had to do was call a toll-free number to receive my new gift.  So, I did.

You will never guess what happened!  I won!  I gave them the number on the card and the voice on the other end said, “Congratulations Mr. Hopper, you won the New Ford Bronco.”  He wanted to know my name and address and the information was in the mail.  It would be the information on the Bronco.  He wanted to know the nearest airport where he could send tickets for my wife and me to exotic Las Vegas and be part of giant celebration they were doing in my honor.

All kinds of visions danced in my head.  I had never won anything.  I needed a car.  I could not believe that Bobby’s ship finally came.  I said, “To heck with that rich uncle and his box of money.”  I had a new Bronco.

All the excitement was the best thing that could have happened to the Hopper family.  Then, the voice on the other end of the line asked, “Mr. Hopper are you acquainted with New Lifestyle vitamins?”  He said the gifts were part of a promotional for the vitamins.  He said that it would be great if I actually used them.  I did not know about them, so he asked if I would purchase some.  Me being the man of integrity I am, I decided that I would buy some.  I asked him how many I needed to buy.  He said a year’s supply.  I said okay, how much?  He said $650.  That was a lot of money for me working for minimum wage at the University of Montevallo.  To tell you the truth it was more than I made in a month.  I weighed the cost and said $650 is a small price to pay for a brand-New Ford Bronco.  I gave him my master card number and he said that he would send me a 30mm camera to take the family’s picture to send him to him to use in the promotional.

Before the camera and vitamins arrived, the voice from Las Vegas called.  The charming and persuading voice on the other end said that since I won the New Ford Bronco, the committee wanted me to purchase another year’s supply.  I smelled a rat.  Suddenly I had long ears and went Hee Haw.  I told that charming voice on the other end a flat and very less charming no.  Shortly I received my cheap 30mm camera, a year’s supply of vitamins, a book of coupons for all the film I would ever need for the camera, and an envelope.  I thought I finally got the plane tickets to fly to Las Vegas.  What I got was two tickets to the Caribbean.

I called Las Vegas and the representative told me in order to be eligible for the Bronco I would have to buy more vitamins.  I was not about to buy any more.  Suddenly, I had this sick feeling.  They snookered me.  I bought a bill of goods and an idea for $650, but I did have two cruise tickets.  I contacted a travel agent only to find that they were not worth very much.  They were actually a two for one cruise.  I never wanted to go on the cruise anyway.  I wanted my Bronco.

I called Las Vegas and told them I did not want the vitamins.  They were not any good and I wanted to do an Elvis and “Return to sender.”  They told me they could not accept the vitamins back for fear of tampering.  They did tell me I could exchange my cruise for another gift.  I told them they could exchange it for a Bronco, but I settled for a $650 answering machine.

Not long after this film-flam, I read an article in the Area Magazine, the rural electric cooperative mail-out.  They told of several people who had been snookered.  The article said beware, but they already got me.  The article said to contact the better business bureau or state attorney general. 

I called Las Vegas again.  This fat boy from Alabama acted like Slim from South Alabama in the Jim Croce song.  I called to get my money back or I was calling the better business bureau and the Alabama Attorney General.  I got $190 dollars back, an answering machine, a 30 mm camera, coupons for film, and vitamins.  I never got the Bronco, but I did learn some valuable lessons.

 

Romans 7: 14-17.  For we know that the law is spiritual: but I am carnal, sold under sin.   For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.   If then I do that which I would not, I consent unto the law that it is good.  Now then it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me.

 

Paul says that he was sold on sin.  That means that he was sold an idea, but he got something he really did not want.  I know the feeling Brother Paul.

 

That Must Have Been 20 Years Ago

 

I looked up on the wall of the office one morning and made a startling discovery.  I have been in the ministry over thirty years.  The date on my Certificate of License is dated 27^th day of February 1983.

Moments earlier, I read an article in the Cooperative Farming News, From Pastor to Pasture: That Must have Been 20 years Ago!  Glenn Crumpler, author of the article said he heard a family member say of an event, “That must have been 20 years ago.”  He said that when as a kid he could not imagine how someone could remember something that happened twenty years earlier.  Ironically, he said that happened 45 years ago.  Life is short.

Thirty-one years ago, I would hear preachers say that they had been in the ministry 20, 25, 30, and 40 years.  I remember thinking that is a long time and that I wish I could be in ministry that long. Well, I is there!  That’s not correct subject-verb relationship, but it is true.  Time does fly.  Life is only a vapor!

Ministry has made significant changes in the last thirty years.  When I was pastor at Gallion, a person from the community came to church for the first time in twenty-five years.  After the morning service he told me that church had changed some much since his last visit.  He said he thought he had been to a nightclub instead of a church.  I looked puzzled at him.  He said that the music of the worship service and the humor in my sermon were like that of a comedy club.

I understand his rationale.  The last Christian youth concert I attended I commented that when I was a teenager momma did not allow us to attend rock and roll events at school and now we have them at churches.

Speaking of changes, one night at an Association event, someone asked if she might make a suggestion.  We are always open to suggestions because as Association Ministry Directors, Pam, and I would always evaluate our events.  This person suggested to us that we not  schedule association events that interfere with sporting events.  This question happens more often that you might think.  One time before, I was scolded by a member of one of our churches for having an event during Spring Break.  Bethel Baptist Association ministered in six different school districts, which at that time did not observe spring break at the same time.

Back to the sporting conflict or may I say spiritual conflict.  I learned in thirty plus years of ministry as a pastor, that any event the church schedules conflicts with some activity outside the church.  I assured the questioner that we do our best to dodge as many possible conflicts as we can.  We would never have any ministry events if we tried to dodge conflicts.

My concern here is when did a sporting exercise for a child take precedence over spiritual training?  A majority of student athletes will never use their sporting exercises in the professional arena, yet most parents spend more money and time at the ball field than in studies and time for God. 

When did our communities become consumed with sports and recreation?  I played football, baseball, basketball, and volleyball while growing up.  My dad loved sports and enjoying watching my brothers and me play ball.  Dad taught us that it was a game and that work and chores around home and school came before sports.  Sports were extracurricular events.

I have walked home, around seven miles, after practice to slop pigs and load firewood many times.  I have missed games because dad and mom were at work and I did not have a way to go.

Coaches, schools, and clubs would never allow practice or games to interfere with church events.  Coaches would always allow players to leave early if there was a revival or church event that an athlete needed to attend.  This is not the case today.

The issue at the association event was not with the interference with the athlete playing an event, but with priorities.  I am burdened that parents do not see spiritual development as more essential than worldly development.  I want to weep when I see dads taking their boys hunting or fishing instead of to worship on Sundays.  My dad was a lost man, but he prohibited us to go hunting or fishing on Sundays.  Dad taught priorities.

Before I became a pastor, I volunteered to attend an association brotherhood training event.  The event was on a holiday, but because I worked rotation at the cement plant, I was not off and was scheduled midnights.

My midnight shift allowed me to attend the workshop and not miss work.  Before leaving to attend the workshop, I received a call from the plant that the second shift man did not show and I needed to come in four hours early, six o’clock pm.  I told the second shift foreman that I could not come in early.  He wanted an excuse.  I said that I had committed to our church brotherhood director that I would attend the workshop and I was taught to keep my commitments.  He reminded me that that I was turning down double time and half pay because I was being called out on a holiday.  I reminded him that my commitment was greater than the pay.  I am not bragging, but speaking of commitment and priorities.

Association Ministry Directors, Pam, and I had a yearly planning day where we try to avoid conflict.  We publish this calendar as early as possible where Church Executive Lay Members can share them with their churches.  Conflict is inevitable, commitment is inconvenient, and choice is a matter of priorities.

Not long ago someone inquired of my commitment.  I quoted sports writer and poet, Grantland Rice’s poem “Alumnus Football”:

For when the one great Scorer comes

To mark against your name,

He writes -not that you won or lost-

But how you played the game.

For I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day (II Timothy 1:12b KJV).

Attitude Adjustments and Cultural Change

 

Spending time with my cousins was almost like living in a utopia because I thought that life would always be about family closeness.  There were sixteen boys and six girls in our Chapman extended family.  We were more like brothers and sisters than we were cousins.  We went to church together, played together, and ate together.  One of my favorite pictures is one where I am about five years old and we are together to eat at Grandmoe Chapman’s table.  We thought those days would never end.   

Years later I realized that I was the only grandchild of Joe and Ethel Chapman that built and lived on family land.  Methodically, we ventured into the world.  College, vocations, and marriage separated us.  Precious are the moments we spent together, but there were quandaries.

It never failed that when I spent time with certain cousins that momma and daddy would have to give me an attitude adjustment.  The adjustment started with a verbal warning in the form of a question.  “Am I going to have to whup, slang for whip, the ‘cousin’s full name’ out of you?”  It never failed.  It was guaranteed that I would get a whuppin’ after spending time with certain cousins.  I didn’t realize the negative influence my certain cousins had.  There were some, older ones, that always had good advice, but the younger would get you in trouble.

After an adjustment or two or three or four, heck a bunch of them, I decided I needed to be selective with my cousins’ advice.  The adjustments helped me with life and the art of listening to folks.

People ask me about my decision-making.  I must process information, usually sleeping before making a decision.  I try to research all the information. Good information leads to good decisions.  I must not allow peer pressure to form or sway my decisions.

Peer pressure has been around for a long time and it changes with age.  I believe that the older I get, the more peer pressure pushes my way.  It is hard to go against the flow.  Going against the flow, means standing alone.

As a teenager, when I played football there were those that tried to get me to drink beer.  I chose not to drink.  I remember in state playoff one of our best backs fumbled a kickoff.  He told us that he saw two footballs and he caught the wrong one.  He later was murdered for gambling debts.  Other teammates and classmates are now alcoholics.  Some have failed marriages, lost jobs, and have nothing to show except a life of regrets.

I remember working at Hiwassee Land Company in high school.  The older boys, in their early twenties, pressured me to date, to take girls parking, and to whisper “sweet nothings” in their ears.  I never will forget their reactions when they quizzed me the following week.  They asked me what I whispered into their ears.  I said “sweet nothing.”

In class, there was the pressure to cheat for those that were either lazy or dumb.  They assured me that it would not hurt anything.  Looking back, I hurt them more than I helped them.

In the work place, there was the pressure to buck authority or not to work.  I received ridicule when I would work hard, while fellow employees goofed off.  They said they made just as much as I did.  I reminded them that I could face the paymaster and they needed to walk up backwards to receive their payday.

I have listened to the wrong advice through the years and the consequences are not good. Even as a pastor, there is tremendous peer pressure from within and without the church when the church is struggling.  I am reminded of my call into the ministry almost forty years ago.  During the 1980’s, people questioned the church’s relevancy.  Entertainment, gimmicks, and programs replaced preaching the Word of God. I think were are reaping those seeds today.  Back then, God made it very plain that His Word was not being preached and that I was to preach the truth.

His call is more emphatic today.  There is a shift in conventional wisdom.  It seems that the younger generation has all the answers and wants the old white-haired preachers and leadership to get out of the way.  They are even belligerent and hostile in conversation with older church members and preachers.

Good decision-making means listening to the right people.  Too many believers are listening to the enemy.  The enemy has the ear of the world and it is becoming clearer with each passing day.  Right is wrong and wrong is right if you listen to some folks.

 

President Woodrow Wilson said, “The ear of the leader must ring with the voices of the people.”  Good leaders encourage followers to tell them what they need to know, not what they want to hear.

 

And the king answered them roughly; and king Rehoboam forsook the counsel of the old men, and answered them after the advice of the young men, saying, My father made your yoke heavy, but I will add thereto: my father chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scorpions.  So the king hearkened not unto the people: for the cause was of God, that the Lord might perform his word (2 Chronicles 10: 13-15 KJV).

 

According to John Maxwell, Rehoboam refused to listen to history, his followers, the wise counsel of his staff, and to God.

Rehoboam heard, but did not listen and failed to connect and learn.  Rehoboam failed to listen to the right people.  I wonder if when he was a kid if his mom, Naamah, or dad, Solomon, every whupped the ‘Jewish cousin’ out of him?

For it is not an enemy who taunts me Psalm 55:12a

This was the March 15, 2021 devotion from Servants Alive Ministries The Richly Indwelling Word, A 365 Day Devotional.   

Not all relationships are healthy and one of the greatest hurts in relationships is the betrayal of trust.  Some of our chief adversaries can be those that are in our inner circle of confidants.  Outwardly, they “have our backs” and we trust them only to find that behind closed doors they plot our demise by hypocritical untruths.

Social companions can cause much regret and harm.  When we develop intimate friendships, we risk vulnerability.  Love suffers when trust is broken.  The deeper our intimacy becomes, the deeper our hurt and the longer the agony of betrayal.

It is easier to prepare for enemies than friends who betray.  We are to love and pray for our enemies.  The Psalmist reminds us that we do not expect a Christian friend or a pastor to betray.  When they do, we must pray for them.

Life is difficult without community and fellowship.  It is pleasurable to have friends to share secrets and important events of our being.  Christian relationships that have good foundation provide counsel, yield pleasure, lead in enthusiasm, are sacred, and are carefully guarded.

 

Bobby E. Hopper                        

Dawg Tied

Have you ever put yourself in a sticky situation or gotten into a tangled mess?  I do from time to time.  Recently Aaron and I were “Super Gluing” a plastic part on the oven.  It made me think back to my first job a Keystone Metal Moulding in Clanton after graduating from high school.

There was this guy named Jerry that liked to pull pranks on young, naïve, and unsuspecting new hires.  I had never heard of “Super Glue.”  Keystone used this new glue to adhere vinyl to anodized aluminum.  Jerry told me to hold out my finger to which he placed a drop of this glue.  He proceeded to tell me to hold my finger to my thumb.  Well, dummy me did as I was told.  Jerry the jokester laughed when he told me to try to open my finger and thumb. I could not.  Most of Jerry’s victims panicked and ripped their fingers into the quick.  I felt foolish, but did not panic.  I spent several minutes with my finger and thumb soaking in acetone before the Super Glue dissolved.

I told Aaron the story giving a few minutes for the plastic oven part to dry.  Guess what?  I could not put the plastic part down.  I had glued my thumb and finger to the plastic part.  Having been down that idiotic path before, I sent Aaron, who was laughing, to the bathroom to retrieve some fingernail polish remover, which contains acetone.  After a few minutes of slowing massaging the fingernail polish remover between my fingers and Aaron slowly cutting the glue, I was released from my own entanglement. 

Speaking of tangles, I am always amazed how electrical cords can become so tangled.  After undoing a tangled extension cord, I stepped to start the process of rolling up the cord and tripped over the extension cord.  I had wrapped the cord around my feet.  I don’t think I could have done better it I had tried.  I laughed because that was not my first time to tie my feet together by accident.  I had our two dogs, Rockco, Australian Cattle Dog, and Loki, half German Shepherd and half Great Pyrenees, on leashes and in their excitement to spend time with their master they tied me up.  We looked like casting rod line all jumbled together.

One Sunday several years ago I was visiting Calvary Baptist Church.  Pastor Irby had a great sermon on drug and alcohol addiction.  One of the verses he used was from Proverbs about being caught in our own traps or snares.  I immediately thought of an incident at Gallion Baptist Church.

While pastor there, I received a frantic call from the church pianist, Janelle Baker.  Bill, her husband and music director, was gone and she had a critical situation.  Aaron and I jumped into the truck and went to her rescue.

When we arrived, it was ugly what we found.  Bill and Janelle’s favorite beagle, Tuffy, was in a mess.  Bill’s rod and reel stood against the garage wall.  Tuffy, for some odd reason must have thought she was a fish, a hairy bass and decided to catch the fishing lure tangling from the rod.  The light brown beagle was red with blood from its mouth and all four paws.  Tuffy, other than covered with blood, appeared to be praying with her front paws attached to her mouth.  It was bad, but cute.

The best we could decipher was that the beagle got one of the treble hooks in its mouth.  When she tried to get it out with its paw, it got hooked.  She repeated the process with all her paws.  I did not know what to do as the Tuffy whined and whimpered.  I had caught a many of catfish, but it was my first “dogfish.”

I asked Janelle if Bill had a pair of wire cutters or pliers.  She did not know, so I sent Aaron back to the Pastorium to get my tool bag.  When he returned, Janelle and I had calmed Tuffy somewhat, I preformed emergency surgery as Janelle and Aaron held Tuffy.

One by one, I cut the barbs off the treble hooks.  Aaron and I giggled.  It reminded us of the time I cut a hook from his nose.  Jamie, his cousin, hooked Aaron in the nose as she cast her red worm baited hook while bass fishing.  Aaron had to stand still with a red worm wiggling against his nose as I cut the barb from the hook.  That experience enabled me to cut the eight barbs from Tuffy only she was not as obedient as Aaron was.

The episode with Super Glue, electrical extension cords, dog leashes, and Tuffy reminds me of our lives and sin.  For some odd reason of humanity, we get tangled with the snares of sin.  When we try to free ourselves, we are glued, tangled, roped, and hooked even more.

When death and the grave had entangled our Lord, the power of the Resurrection released Him from death and the grave.  That power is the power that frees us.  Like Tuffy, the harder we try to free ourselves, the more tangled we become.

This is how the God’s Word version of the Bible translates Proverbs 5:22, Irby’s text on “Snares of the Enemy,” A wicked person will be trapped by his own wrongs and he will be caught in the ropes of his own sin.

 

He (Jesus) is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay (Matthew 28:6 KJV).

 

I am glad no one saw Rockco, Loki, and me entangled.

"Puttin' On The Hawg"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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