Time is on My Side

The gadgets that humanity has at its disposal have always shaped society and intellectualism.  Overnight luxuries become necessities.  If society is not careful, gadgets become idols determining what and how we worship.

Take the invention of the clock.  Most of us live by the clock.  A clock wakes us from our sleep.  Our sleep time started by looking at a clock to see the time of night to analyze the proper hours of sleep we would need for proper rest.  We needed to rest because we start work by punching a time card in a time clock.

During that time of work, clocks determine our breaks, dividing our work time into strategic intervals of rest and time to refuel our bodies.  We leave work by looking at a clock and once again punching a time clock.

We race home looking at the clock to determine what time to prepare supper.  Once food has been prepped for cooking, we use the clock to determine how long each dish will have to cook.  This determines what time we will enjoy a meal and how much time we have to enjoy the remaining time doing homework, watching TV, and other pertinent things before time to go to bed.  It makes me wonder how humanity, especially Americans, operates without a clock. 

Speaking of a time clock, ABC Rail in Calera had an incident where men were in line waiting to clock out, which was against company policy and considered stealing.  As a supervisor approached to give a royal chewing to the time stealing employees, a stealing, quick thinking employee confronted him by saying, “Looks like a company as big as ABC Rail could have two clocks that had the same time.”  The supervisor turned and walked away, outsmarted, at least until the next time.

Another question is what was the necessity that prompted someone to invent a clock?

Well, it was the church.  It was invented to see how much more time it would take the preacher to finish his sermon after saying, “Now in closing” when he really means I have five more minutes to preach because it is not after twelve yet.  No, I am kidding.  However, the Catholic Church at the Pope's insistence initiated the invention.

Reading Clarence P. McClelland’s book, Quotation Marks and Exclamation Points (The Lakeside Press 1935), it reminded me of the clock’s origin.  You know necessity is the mother of invention.  McClelland writes, “Lewis Munford in his fascinating book The Techniques of Civilization tells us that the first manifestation of the machine age was in the regular measurement of time and that the clock, and not the steam engine, is the key machine of the modern industrial age.  He shows how the new mechanical conception of time arose largely out of the routine of the monasteries, particular the Benedictine monasteries.  It was in the seventh century that the Pope decreed that the bells of the monasteries should ring seven times in twenty-four hours for devotions.  Some means of keeping count of these punctuation marks in the day and insuring their regular repetition became necessary.  This led ultimately to the invention of the mechanical clock which in the thirteenth century got out of the monasteries into the cities and brought a new regularity into the life of the workman and the merchant.”

Munford says, “Eternity ceased gradually to serve as the measure and focus of human actions.  The clock, moreover, served as a model for many other kinds of mechanical works, and the analysis of the motion that accompanied the perfection of the clock with the various types of gearing and transmission that were elaborated, contributed to the success of quite different kinds of a machine.”

Did you notice something important there?  “Eternity ceased gradually to serve as the measure and focus of human actions.”  Spiritual things gave way to mechanical things.  Humanity slowly moved from God centered thinking to mechanical thinking.

When Dr. McClelland wrote his book, the Great Depression was six years prior.  That great catastrophe came after a period of great inventions and a frame of mind that technology could save humanity.  It is pre-World War II.

There are those that say that new technology (cell phones, blackberries, etc) are the new gods that people have to have to survive.  The god of technology will save humanity.  I will say that I have been in some worship services and funerals where a cell phone captured more attention than a sermon point.  I have even heard some folks, not necessarily young people, who say they cannot live without a cell phone, computer, etc.

Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.  For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.  And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever (I John 2:15-17 KJV).

What would Munford think today?  Well, it is time to go!

 

Oblivious Rider

My brother David is back on the road as a hardwood salesman.  David attends hardwood conventions across the nation.  At a convention in San Antonio, Texas, he won a fully loaded Harley-Davison motorcycle.  He was hesitant to enter the contest, but did so at the insistence of a young lady.  The keynote speaker was the CEO of Harley-Davison.  When they drew David’s entry, the CEO said that the winner comes from a long line of bikers, referring to Dennis Hopper of the cult movie “Easy Rider.”  David said his heart began to beat faster, faster, and almost exploded when they called out his name.  David claims that this is the first thing he ever won.  Of the three of the Hopper brothers, David rode a motorcycle the least, yet he won one.

David has met some interesting characters over the years, but he has the uncanny ability not to recognize famous people.  For instance, he and our cousin Tim were at a hardwood convention In Nashville and decided to attend a Gaither Concert.  They were fortunate to get seats on the front row.  On the way to the concert from their hotel, a longhaired man in a long trench coat got on the elevator.  They spoke and David wanted to invite the man to the Gaither concert.  He never garnered the nerve to ask.  They did ask where the man was going.  He said that he was headed to work.  When they exited the elevator, David told Tim that he felt sorry for the man.  He said we are so lucky to be going to hear some gospel music and that poor man was probably headed out for a night of wine, women, and song.  David could not fathom such a thought.

David and Tim were enjoying the luxury of first class seat as The Gaithers entered the stage to a standing ovation.  David looked at Tim and said that’s the man in the elevator.  It was Guy Penrod, lead singer for the Gaither Vocal Band.  Penrod is internationally known for his powerful vocals and broad singing range. 

The morning of the concert, an elderly lady asked David’s assistance to set up a display.  David graciously helped the lady and they struck up a conversation.  He found out that she was from Alabama and very familiar with the happy Goodman family.  Oblivious to her identity she finally told David her name was Vestal Goodman. 

Vestal was honored to be named “The Queen of Southern Gospel” and won her first Dove Award in 1969.  She and the Happy Goodmans won multiple Grammy and Dove Awards.  She sang for President Jimmy Carter at the Whitehouse in 1979.

To show that David is really bad at recognizing people, David and Mike Allen, former pastor of Sardis near Thomaston, were playing in a pro/am golf tournament.  Now if you are playing in a pro/am tournament, more that likely you are paired with a professional somebody.

David had teed-off and was returning to his golf cart.  There was a big burly looking man in a cowboy hat smoking a cigarette, slouched on the golf cart.  David told the stranger that he must be his pro teammate.  He asked who are you and what do you do.  He said I am Trace Adkins and I sing.  Did I forget to tell you that David is a true blonde and that he is a minister of music?

Trace Adkins is a movie, television, and country music star.  He is famous for his baritone vocals.  David fits one of Adkins songs, “This Ain’t No Thinking Thing.” Adkins also authored a book.  I am thinking about getting it for David.  The book is A Personal Stand: Observations and Opinions of a Free-Thinking Redneck.

My brother is with some pretty good company when it comes to not recognizing people.

And, behold, two of them went that same day to a village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs. And they talked together of all these things which had happened.  And it came to pass, that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them.  But their eyes were holden that they should not know him (Luke 24:13-16 KJV).

 

And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, He expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning Himself.  And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they went: and He made as though He would have gone further.  But they constrained Him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. And He went in to tarry with them.  And it came to pass, as He sat at meat with them, He took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them.  And their eyes were opened, and they knew Him; and He vanished out of their sight (Luke 24:27-31 KJV).

 

Truth is that most of us have a hard time recognizing Jesus when He is walking with us.

Dad's Words of Wisdom

 

For Mother’s Day I had a long list of things that momma said.  I cannot do the same for Father’s Day.  Daddy told me more things than momma did, but most of them cannot be published in this article.  Daddy’s vocabulary was mostly vulgar words, barnyard terminology.  His language was crude and base before his salvation.  Daddy was very outspoken and one did not have to wonder where or how he stood on a subject.  Here are a few words of wisdom that are permissible:

Your generation has no gumption.

Kids your age are sorry and don’t know how to work.

If the sun don’t come up, what are you going to do about it?

If you don’t stop walking on the sides of your feet, you’ll be cripple by the time you're fifty.

You’d better say yes mam, no mam, yes sir, no sir.

Always take up for those who can’t take up for themselves.

You better not make fun of handicapped or disabled.

Dead folks can’t hurt you, it’s living ones that do.

If you made the bed, you gotta sleep in it.

It will rain when the Master gets ready for it to rain.

Cutting firewood warms you twice.

If you get in jail, you will stay there.

Don’t point that gun at anything unless you intend to kill it.

You can stay at home as long as you want, but you got to help your momma with groceries.

Take that hat off at the table.

Somebody say grace (This was for every meal.)

There is no such thing as a free meal.

If the government gives you something, they will tell you how to live.

You will vote and register for the draft, too many men and women died for our rights.

Treat people like you want to be treated.

A bought lesson is a learned lesson.

Hindsight is always 20/20.

In a hundred years, who gives a care?

 

Daddy taught me about life.  My love for history, motorcycles, and hot rods come from daddy.  He taught me how to split firewood with an ax and how to run a chain saw to cut paperwood.  He taught me how to repair junk, which most folks refer to as “rigging” but I call it “fixin’.”  He taught me to respect people, especially adults and old folks.  He taught me respect of guns and how to use them, especially killing hogs, and then butchering them.  He taught me how to handle a bully; you beat the snot out of them. 

He taught me generosity.  I remember when planting corn by hand daddy would say, “One for the Master, one for the birds, one to rot, and one for me.”  Daddy shared our garden with everyone.  He was always willing to give folks a “mess of corn, peas, okra,” etc.  When folks helped us “kill hogs,” daddy always made sure that they got a “mess of meat.”  He knew whom and who not to tell, “Get all you want.”  Some people were like a plague of locusts when given the opportunity to “get a mess.” Daddy lived this way: Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously (II Corinthians 9:6 NIV).

The Bible speaks of generosity:

 

Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the LORD your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to. Deuteronomy 15:10

 

The wicked borrow and do not repay, but the righteous give generously; Psalm 37:21

 

You will be made rich in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God.  This service that you perform is not only supplying the needs of God's people but is also overflowing in many expressions of thanks to God (II Corinthians 9:11-12 NIV).

What's Your Name?

 Men have comraderie and when grouped together, give one another nicknames.  Elijah P. Brown says that men in mining, military, and lumber give one another names.  He notes that primitive people gave one another names such as Buffalo Face, Kill Deer, Eagle Eye, and Sitting Bull.  Nicknames tell something about a person’s characteristics, bodily features, or dispositions.

I had a nickname or two in school.  In the sixth grade, a classmate saw the Hollywood gossip columnist Hedda Hopper on television.  Hedda was the mother of William Hopper who played Paul Drake, Perry Mason’s private detective.  Hedda wore large hats.  My classmate thought I might be kin to her and it would be neat to call me “Hedda”.  Today when someone calls, “Hey, Hedda,” I know it is a classmate.  Others would call me Hippity Hopper, Grasshopper, Clem Kadiddlehopper, Clodhopper and Bubba.

Having spent most of my adult life in the cement industry, I worked with men who had nicknames and I acquired a nickname or two there myself.  I worked with Meathead, Big Ugly, Round Head, Danny Mac, Bubba, Slim, Smiley, Smithy, Wild Bill, Big Dave, Red, Cotton, Radio, Reron, Grunt, and Gourd Head.  There were supervisors named Buffy, Squirrelly, Snake Doctor, Killer, and Paw Paw. There are many more but some are inappropriate for this article.

The assistant plant manager called me Peewee.  One friend called me Barbara Ann.  Another called me Whopper.  After I became a pastor, they called me Preacher.  The name that became the one most remembered is Maytag.  It came during the time I negotiated contracts between the company and the union.  I got it, not because of the dependability of a washing machine, but because I was a good “agitator.” 

Others called me the “Great Mediator” because of the hundreds of grievances I settled, the many arbitrations I reconciled, and four contracts I bargained.  When I hear “Old Maytag”, I know it is from someone that worked at the cement plant or someone that agrees with the nickname.

Fathers give their children nicknames.  My daddy called me “Shag” after the character on Scooby Doo.  He said that my shaggy hair and few little whiskers made me look like Shag.  He called one of my brothers “Lard” and my sister “Sister”.  He called my brothers and me “Bocephus” most of the time.  Daddy also had some that I have to censor.

In my family today Andy is “Andy Pandy”, Angela is “Angel” or “Little Lulu” and Aaron is “Doodle Bug” or “Precious Life”,  and I am “Dad” or sometimes “The Big Man”.  Now that I have grandchildren, I am Poppie.

God gave Jesus a nickname or two.  Elijah P. Brown says the Bible has 256 names for Jesus.  These names reveal something about the life, the work, and the nature of our Lord.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, the everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6 KJV).

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).