My Friend Ray

When I received a call about Ray, an old friend, dying in the hospital, I immediately went to see him.  While in route to Shelby Baptist Hospital, my mind raced with all kinds of scenarios concerning his demise.  I had not heard from Ray in a while.  You, as well as I, sometimes let valuable time slip away without talking with old friends.  You do not mean for it to happen, but it does.  We get busy and time flies.

Ray and I made friends when his wife, Jodi, and he started attending my home church.  We were the same age and our children were the same age.  Jodi was a childhood friend of mine.  Ray accepted Christ as his savior because of a revival that started with a study of the Book of Revelation.  Brother Cecil Swell, pastor of West End Baptist Church in Clanton led the study.  I wish I had his notes because it was a wonderful study.

Someone had invited Ray’s brother-in-law and Jodi’s brother, Bobby, to the study.  When Bobby heard the teaching of Brother Cecil, he was scared to death.  Bobby was one of those guys that was scared into the kingdom of God. 

Because of Bobby’s salvation, most of his family became Christians.  It was reminiscent of the Philippian jailer in the Book of Acts were the jailer and his whole family were saved and baptized.  Ray was one of Bobby’s family members, but the range of Revelation spread well beyond Bobby’s extended family.

Ray was eager to hear, study, and learn God’s Word.  I remember spending hours in Bible study with Jodi and him.  Our friendship grew as he grew in the Lord.  He lived nearby so we jogged together; lifted weights together, ate meals together, and visited together.

I never will forget a Thursday night visitation.  Ray and Gary (Scooby) went on visitation with me.  Ray witnessed Scooby as they worked together, and Scooby became a believer.  Both of them were what we term “on fire” for the Lord and they could not wait to share their new faith.

I led them to the house of a fellow that we all knew.  I had been there for several visitations but had no luck.  I thought that these “new boys” might have a great influence knowing that they used to drink together.  When our acquaintance opened the door, he started cussing, ripping, and tearing into us.  I knew he meant no harm, but Ray and Scooby ran as if they met the boogieman.  Suddenly, I found myself all alone.  Our friend had been snorting a few ounces of alcohol, so I said I would come back later and went to retrieve my two new converts who were hiding behind a car.  I reminded them that they were like that at one time.

This was before I surrendered the call into the ministry.  I firmly believed that Scooby and Ray were being called into the ministry, not me.  They had wonderful testimonies and were growing spiritually by leaps and bounds.  I could see God at work in their lives.  Even their wives expressed that they did not know if they could be “preacher wives.” 

I did become a deacon and I realized later that I was the one being called into full time ministry.  Scooby later became our Sunday School director and Ray became a deacon.

Ray eagerly learned and understood the ministry of being a deacon.

Ray and Jodi’s marriage had started on shaky ground having divorced and remarrying about the time of their salvation.  Their commitment to the Lord temporary healed a strained relationship.

As time slipped away, about ten years, the pressure of marriage, kids, and ministry increased.  Ray and Jodi separated a second time.  Ray volunteered to resign as deacon.

With the divorce final, Jodi married another man and Ray started drinking and slowly slipped back into his old ways.  He dated a younger woman, and she became pregnant.  Ray unfortunately chose alcohol for relief and overdosed trying to escape.  With no one to help him, Jodi, with the encouragement of her new husband, stood by Ray’s side in the hospital until he died.  Jodi is the one who called me thinking I could encourage Ray.

Jodi met me and gave me the bad news that he would not live very long.  I will never forget the look in Ray’s eyes as I tried to communicate with him.  He acknowledged me with a penetrating stare from his lifeless body.  He was dying with alcoholic chronic pancreatitis or alcohol poising.  His body could not digest the excessive overdose of alcohol.

I spent as much time allowed by the hospital that afternoon with Ray and Jodi.  Jodi lost the father of her children, and I lost a dear brother in Christ.  There was some much that Ray and I needed to catch up on.  I do not know how much Ray comprehended, but one last time our eyes focused on each other as I told him I loved him.  I thank God for having known Ray and regret I could not help him.

It has been almost thirty years since Ray died the way he did and I have been asked, “Do you think Ray was saved?”  I know he was, but he lost his vision and gave up.  Eugene Peterson expresses it in The Message, “If people can’t see what God is doing, they stumble all over themselves; but when they attend to what God reveals; they are most blessed.”

The King James Version says, “Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he” (Proverbs 29:18).

That Bunch From Mars Hill

I never will forget the first time I heard the phrase “Below the Bogue” which I learned is the same as “South of the Bogue.”  I think I understood its meaning before anyone told me.  I am from across the tracks myself.  I grew up in rural Alabama in a community called Mars Hill.  While in school, Jemison folks called those who lived across the tracks “that bunch from Mars Hill.”

Most of us from Mars Hill lived in shacks, used outdoor toilets, and wore hand-me-down clothes.  We went to school Monday through Friday, to town on Saturday and church on Sundays.  Our dads hauled pulpwood and our mammas stayed at home. 

The best thing about being from Mars Hill was most were great athletes.  A picture of the 1917 Mars Hill baseball team crowns the cover of A Pictorial History of Chilton County.  Jemison High school state championships in baseball, basketball, football, softball, tennis, and volleyball all have Mars Hill athletes as their all-states, all conferences, and captains. 

It was in Sunday school that I learned that the Apostle Paul preached at Mars Hill, not the one in Chilton County, but the one in the Bible.  He had a difficult time preaching there.  They were a tough bunch in Mars Hill.  Mars Hill people are always tough.  If the Bible mentioned Mars Hill, I knew that being from Mars Hill was prophetic and had its advantages.

I have always had to defend my Mars Hill roots.  A church I pastored was one of the places I felt the bias.  A church member confronted me about the issue of prayer for one of our mission programs.  I wanted the leaders to teach our children and youth how to pray.  We had a wonderful mission's program, and it was a model for the Alabama Baptist State Board of Missions in Montgomery.  Two of our RA’s were pages at the Southern Baptist Convention in Salt Lake City one year.  One of the two got a scholarship to Samford University through our RA program. 

I did not want to sidetrack mission ministries but wanted incorporate prayer and teach the importance of prayer in concert and in support of missions.  The response I received knocked the wind from my sails.  The sin of sanctifying geography and the sin of sanctifying size reared its ugly head.  The church member said, “I know that you pastored a little old church in the sticks of Bibb County, and you did not have many members, so you know nothing of missions.  You need to leave the missions to us.” 

The truth was that I served as vice-moderator, moderator, and the Associational Brotherhood director for Bibb Baptist Association.  My Bibb church was a mission church.  I had been a Royal (RA) Ambassador since boyhood and understood the value of missions very much.  The Bibb church lead Bibb Association churches in giving eight percent of its money to the Association. 

I did not take his statement as personal attack, but it did affront me because he offended the kind, generous, and saintly members of that little church.  I felt as though this church member had slapped little churches and pastors of little churches in the face by such a diabolical statement.

I have learned that it is more important where the Lord takes you than where you have been.  Jesus’ teachings speak volumes about geography and size when He calls us to follow Him.  Let me use this paraphrase:  “Give me who you are and forget where you came” is the call to follow Jesus.  Wow, I wish I had known back then what I know today.

Are we guilty of the sin of sanctifying geography when we refer to “that bunch from Mars Hill” or “South of the Bogue?”  Where the Lord takes us is more important that where we have been.  Are we guilty of the sin of sanctifying size when we compare churches or say we are too small to do anything?  God has no small churches.

The day following Jesus would go forth into Galilee, and findeth Philip, and saith unto him, Follow me.  Now Philip was of Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.  Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto him, We have found him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.  And Nathanael said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth? Philip saith unto him, Come and see (John 1:43-46 KJV).

 

 

EXPECTATION

Today is the start of the new Millennium.  School at Beeson starts at eight o’clock Monday morning.  I expect it will be a great class.  Much will be expected of us.  There is always uncertainty of trying to do what the professor expects. My whole community, family, and church expect me to do well.  There is hope for everyone if a poor country boy does well.  That’s expected though! January 1, 2000.

I wrote this paragraph in a devotional book, Front Porch Tales, that I got for Christmas from our eldest son Andy in 1999.  This book became an inspiration for the articles you read.  The devotion was titled Expectation.  It is the expectation of John the Baptist’s birth and the song, which his father sang.  Philip Gulley writes, “. . . that expectation is a blessing, not a curse.  It is a beautiful thing when people expect something decent of you.”

At the time I was meditating on this probing thought, the world was breathing an inkling of relief after being in panic mode for several months.  Remember Y2K.  Corporations, businesses, banks, and utilities spent mega bucks trying to avert a major meltdown of the civilized world of the computer its massive web of control.

I remember bank presidents in Clanton asking the preachers to tell congregations not to make large withdrawals from the banks.  One Clanton resident withdrew $150 thousand dollars.  One banker said that if certain people knew the man’s name, that that man’s life would be worthless.

One member of the church I pastored worked on a power company’s building in downtown Birmingham trying to update the computer infrastructure to avoid meltdown, as electrical outage would be catastrophe.  Expectation of calamity controlled the minds of people around the world during the Y2K scare.  Mass panic was imminent.

Fast forward twenty-two years and we discover that most people laugh at the folly of Y2K, remember the awfulness of 911, dread the terror of COVID as the panic of world destruction looms even greater today.  If one listens to the media, it is DOOM, DESPAIR, and AGONY on me.  We hear about the financial collapse of nations around the world and the expectation that America is ripe for financial collapse clouds our judgment.  We see the moral decay of Europe and witness the deterioration of our great nation with each new song, video, commercial, or fashion design and wonder how low we can sink in moral degradation.

I believe that God created you and me for these times.  I revisit my calling from time to time.  I remember sitting at the dinner table studying the Bible when God directed to preach the truth.  Most people do not believe me, but I am by nature a shy introvert.  God is the reason that I do not appear that way today.

I never expected to be a preacher, especially a director of missions.  I knew that the Lord expected me to use the talents and gifts that He blessed me.  I never expected that I would be a writer of articles that have become a blessing and inspiration to those who read them.

I wanted to quit the University of Montevallo, especially after I made an F ++ over a C-- on my first English 101 paper.  The F was for grammar and the C for content.  I even had to attend the Harbert Writing Center just to learn how to write.

Every Monday I wanted to quit but I was reminded that the family had too much money invested in me.  It made me realize that too many people depended on me.  Remember what I said about expectation.  Many times, I did not believe that I could make it, but I knew the Lord kept providing my every need and increased my abilities.

Along about the time I began to feel a “burnout” bearing down on me, I realized that I expected more from myself than God, family, my church, and the community did.  After my freshman year, I made the dean’s list.  I expected to graduate sigma cum laude, but a geography class and European history class crushed that expectation.  I thought about it.  I was working full time at the cement plant, taking twelve hours of classes, pastoring a church, and trying to raise a family and I was expecting to make straight A’s.  Then I realized who cares if I make straight A’s.  It was my expectations, no one else’s.  I made straight B’s that term, which is not shabby since I only attend one computer class and took tests for the others.  I got a reprieve from the University because the cement plant would not work around my schedule.  I had a high enough grade average that I did not have to attend classes. That’s another story!

When the Lord reminded me of my long-term goals, I started enjoying school and making better grades.  The Lord increased my belief, and my expectations became a blessing.

It is this attitude I need when facing the uncertainty of the world and the certainty of God.  When I think about COVID and the threat of government control, I am reminded of the father of the child with a foul spirit that the Disciples could not help.  Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.  And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief (Mark 9:23-24 KJV).

I believe, no I expect, believers to make a difference.  “It is a beautiful thing when people expect something decent of you.”

 

 

I Heard It In A Love Song

As a minister people assume that Gospel music is my favorite.  I love to sing old hymns; I enjoy listening to Southern Gospel and I think there is not anything more beautiful to hear than a lady’s ensemble.  Some contemporary Christian music is okay.  I look for sound doctrine and theological truths.  The chorus I Exalt Thee and Ray Boltz’s Thank You have some of the best praise words ever written.

I enjoy all kinds of music, but much I can live without listening. I tell people all the time that music died after 1969.  Hank Williams’ I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry and Calijah are two country songs I like. Elvis’ Don’t Be Cruel is another favorite.  My personal favorite music has to be Rock and Roll oldies. 

I remember living in Beloit, Illinois from 1957-1960.  My sister and I had a room on the second floor of an apartment in which we lived.  From our windows, we watched and listened as the teenagers played 45 rpm records.

The teenagers blocked the drive, lined up tables with record players, and piled what seemed to be hundreds of records.  Bill Haley’s See Later Alligator, After While Crocodile was one that they played over and over.

Dressed in poodle dresses, bobbiesocks, and black and white saddle oxfords girls would dance with their boyfriends for hours.  The boys wore their hair slicked back in ducktails, white T-shirts, blue jeans with a rolled cuff, and black and white saddle oxfords.  These impressed this six-year-old boy and his four-year old sister.

As these teenagers graduated and new songs appeared, my sister and I were lucky recipients of many of those 45 rpm records.  We played them over and over.  Only a few exist today.

As a teenager one of my favorite songs was Dion’s A Teenager in Love.  I love listening to it now.  Now you know why people call me a hopeless romantic.  During these years, radio stations had stopped playing the music of the fifties and early sixties and were playing songs by groups named for insects and the hard rock bands of the late sixties and early seventies.

History teaches that the invasion of these foreign insect music groups introduced the drug culture to the United States.  Many of the love songs gave way to antiwar and protest songs. 

Coupled with strong rhythm beats and creative musical instruments, we forget the message a song conveys.  Many radio stations due to what it suggested banned the Everly Brothers song, Wake Up Little Suzie.  That is tame compared to the lyrics of some of today’s music.

Our minds are remarkable recording devices.  Our children sang Bill and Gloria Gaiter’s song that said, “Input, Output, What Goes In Is What Comes Out.”  That is why my Oldies are more nostalgic than anything.  They remind of the time that I almost became a Yankee and time of innocence long ago and far away.

Each Sunday that I visited the wonderful churches of Bethel Baptist Association, we sing the songs from Baptist and Broadman Hymnals, Stamps-Baxter’s, Inspiration Hymnal # 12, and the many praise songs and choruses. These songs remind me of the wonderful Victory in Jesus on The Old Rugged Cross God’s demonstration of Amazing Grace. 

When we have been there ten thousand years, we will have just begun singing the new songs of heaven.  Gone will be Rock of Ages and When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder.

And they sung a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof: for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation. . .Revelation 5:9

 

"Ability to Shoot from the Hip"

Several years ago, one of our pastors, now in another part of the state, asked me about my ability to “shoot from the hip.”  He said his church wanted to know how I did it.  I said that one should never rely on “shooting from the hip” as a way to handle life’s situation.  The ability to “shoot from the hip” is as coaches teach players.  Practice your position so well that it becomes second nature without really thinking.

I told my pastor friend that I constantly read books and articles.  I am storing information that can be retrieved as needed.  Most things we do require thinking and contemplation.
My personality in decision-making requires that I gather the necessary information, meditate, and sleep on it.  “Shooting from the hip” is more exceptional, than the rule of thumb.  It is great to have the ability, but it must be tempered and preceded by thought and reflection.  Folks up home have a saying, “He is sharper than a stepped-on thumb tack.”  All I can say is that the tack has been stepped on a lot if it is sharp.

I never will forget my first day at the cement plant.  The yard foreman was conveying to me why the plant had the reputation for high wages.  He said that it was hot, nasty, hard, and dangerous work.  Reality hit when he said, “You may walk in the plant, but if I did not work safely, co-workers would carry my dead body out.”   I responded, “Yes sir!”

We had regular safety classes.  Everyone that worked rotation had to either stay past quitting time or come in early to attend TAKE 2 classes.  Gerald Thomas from Georgia taught these classes and was a good teacher.  TAKE 2 started in North Alabama at a chemical plant.  The spokesperson was said to be a custodial worker with a very good voice.  I had my doubts, but the old gentleman did have a very good speaking voice.  The chemical plant produced a movie clip that focused on different scenarios where people would get hurt.  It was very good, but it was no Hollywood production.

There was jingle with the presentation that stuck with you after the class.  TAKE 2 meant that one would take two minutes to think about the situation before taking action.  TAKE was an acronym for T, have I Talked over the situation, A, what Actions will I take, K, do I have the Knowledge to perform the task, and E, do I have right Equipment to do the job safely and correctly.

The film would show an employee who did not take time to review the job that resulted in the employee injuring himself.  The narrator would reiterate what the simpleton did wrong and then the same employee would do it correctly following the TAKE 2 steps.

There were several jobs where TAKE 2 had to be automatic and fast reaction saved lives and equipment.  Employees had to be fast, but not careless.  At every safety meeting, Gerald would handout “Fatal Grams,” papers containing reports of fatalities in cement plants, and other related industries.  These men and women walked into the plant, but coworkers or rescue squads carried them out.

Taking 2 is important in ministry.  One of my former pastors of my home church, David Myers, talked with me about being a pastor.  He said, “Bobby, as one of your dads in the ministry, let me give you one piece of advice.  Church members will come to you with difficult problems expecting you to fix it.  Tell them that you will take it with consideration of prayer and genuinely pray.  Wait on God to solve it or give you an answer.  Most preachers run ahead of God trying to fix the problem, if they had waited, God would have taken care of it.  Take time to let God work.”  That is why so many preachers get in trouble and must find another church.

I can say that after thirty plus years of ministry, Brother David was right just as David of the Old Testament:

And it came to pass, when David and his men were come to Ziklag on the third day, that the Amalekites had invaded the south, and Ziklag, and smitten Ziklag, and burned it with fire;  And had taken the women captives, that were therein: they slew not any, either great or small, but carried them away, and went on their way.  So David and his men came to the city, and, behold, it was burned with fire; and their wives, and their sons, and their daughters, were taken captives.  Then David and the people that were with him lifted up their voice and wept, until they had no more power to weep.  And David's two wives were taken captives, Ahinoam the Jezreelitess, and Abigail the wife of Nabal the Carmelite.  And David was greatly distressed; for the people spake of stoning him, because the soul of all the people was grieved, every man for his sons and for his daughters: but David encouraged himself in the Lord his God.  And David said to Abiathar the priest, Ahimelech's son, I pray thee, bring me hither the ephod. And Abiathar brought thither the ephod to David.  And David inquired at the Lord, saying, Shall I pursue after this troop? shall I overtake them? And he answered him, Pursue: for thou shalt surely overtake them, and without fail recover all (I Samuel 30:1-8 KJV).

 

King David was pretty decent at shooting from the hip in his younger years; just ask the Goliath family, but learned wisdom in seeking God as he faced life. 

A Road Renewed

I had a wonderful dream a moment ago

Aaron and I traveled down a fresh graded dirt road

 

It was beautiful as we held hands and walked

Suddenly he let go as a friend yelled and talked

 

Separated for just a moment by a machine

Aaron was gone and not seen

 

As I looked for him with fear in my heart

Around a beam he came swift as a dart

 

He grabbed for my hand with a look of relief

Falling and losing his candy and chips in temporary grief

 

I cringed in pain as he slammed his small hand on a piece of steel

He gave a sign that he was okay and that the pain was real

 

He looked up with eyes of concern of what I would do

I looked back with eyes that said are you hurt and I love you

 

He picked his candy bar, chips, quickly reaching for me

Together we continued down an old road renewed to see

 

All the things one sees in dreams when he longs for sons away

Smiling as he awakes and remembers that they will be back one day

 

Wonderful dreams from God, a loving Father, during a morning time snooze

Gee, I hope the boys come back for we do not have many days to lose

 

As the story in Luke’s gospel where a father longs for a returning son

Seeing him coming down a road renewed knows a new beginning has begun

 

So, thank you Lord for the visions and dreams of old men

They remind me that old things pass away, and renewed roads begin

 

 

 

Written January 18, 2022, Andy’s 46^th Birthday for Aaron and Andy while they are away from me physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  I know one day that we will walk together again.  bobby e. hopper   

 

 

Snow on Your Birthday

 It snowed on a Sunday on the third week in January on the Alabama ground

It was as special and unique as you as the snowflakes falling around

 

Looking forward to snow around the eighteenth reminds me of you

It is something that only the God of all creation can do

 

Snowflakes, babies, and new days are His special gifts He gives

Each only lasts for a short time the longer each of us lives

 

Snowflakes last a few days, babies for a few months, and new days a day

That is what makes the extraordinary and exceptional come our way

 

The snow on your first birthday was one a magnificent moment in our time

Followed by other birthday snows your sixth and sixteenth are memories of mine

 

Your sixteenth was a trip to eat Chinese in a blizzard was fun when we returned home

Stranded in the deep ice and snow we feared as the car slide and started to roam

 

Each time the snow falls, I think of how wonderfully and uniquely created you are   

My son I pray that your birthday gives you all you want and desire

 

The snow is gone for your birthday and you are far away in Texas somewhere

I miss you and long to be with you to watch the snow flying in the air

 

Andy’s 46^th Birthday poem – bobby e. hopper, January 18, 2022

I Can't Wait!

Whew!  Are you glad the Christmas shopping is over?  My favorite day to Christmas shop is Christmas Eve.  Lisa and I had fun this Christmas Eve at the Walmart, Kirkland’s, and Lowes in Alabaster, Alabama.  I heard some woman on her cell phone say, “I’ll be so glad when Christmas is over. And can’t wait to get out of this crowded Walmart.”  She was pushing and overloaded cart of toys.

I remember when my son Andy and daughter Angela were small, I would take them along with Rachel, Brandi, and Allyson, my nieces, Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve.  We would have our pictures taken with Santa, eat at McDonalds or Arby’s, and hit, the now long-gone, Eastwood Mall.  We would get home just in time for supper at Granny and Pawpaw Moxley.  We had a blast looking at all the lights, hearing the sounds, and smelling the treats of Christmas.  I continued this tradition when Aaron came along.  It was fun until they all got too big for one vehicle.

The first year I went alone was 2011 and there was a crowd in Meridian.  There were so many folks Christmas Shopping that I went through three traffic light changes before I was past the light.  One time there was no light, but people were thoughtful and generous to allow cars to enter the lane.

I continued my tradition of eating out at a restaurant.  This time it was Chili’s Restaurant.  It cost about the same as I used to pay for all those Mickey D kid meals or an occasional Arby’s.  By the way, I never did see Santa.

The mall was crowded and the hot item for sale was anything related to cell phones.  I was in several conversations before I realized that cell phone users and customers were talking to their ear.  I did not need any cell phone paraphernalia, but I did buy Toy Story 3 which we watched as a family on Christmas Day.

I am by shopping as I am about hunting and fishing.  People ask me do I hunt or fish.  I tell them that I rather kill and catch.  It is the same with shopping.  I go to buy.  I do research those things that I might be in the market to buy.  I have never understood why people go to several stores and usually return to the first store and buy what they initially picked.

I have never been to haggle.  I had a car salesman friend that I bought most of my vehicles.  I would say, “Jerry, I want you to make a living but not all of it from me.  What is the bottom price?”  If I liked it or thought it fair, I bought it.  If I thought it too much, I went home.

Shopping is an art that I have yet to master or for that matter to acquire.  I heard a preacher on the radio the say that some people visit churches “shopping for a feeling.”  I have heard that from a good many folks over the years.  Some would say, “Preacher, we are just shopping around to see where we want to attend church.”  I translated that as, “Preacher we are trying to find a place that will cater to all are needs.”  The joy of visiting prospects is when they say, “Preacher, how long do we have to wait to serve when we join your church?”

Most people want to be served rather than serving.  They want to feel good when they go to church.  I remember a preacher friend telling one of the “feel good searchers” that one could not always go on feelings because from time to time he felt that he was lost, but the Bible affirmed it was not about feelings and was about what Jesus did and believing it.  Joy comes knowing that even in the worst of times, Jesus did it all and God is on His throne.

Jesus came and purchased our salvation.  Shopping for a feeling will lead to disillusion and disappointment.  Serving is not about feelings, but about faith and sacrifice. 

In Rodelio Mallari’s sermon FACT, FAITH, and FEELING he states, “Our feelings are deceptive because they are based from external factors.  Jeremiah 17:9 states, The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? They are affected by the changing state of finances, weather, environment, problems at home and work, or the sickness and death of loved ones.  The presence of bad feelings and the lack of good feelings do not always indicate that we are sinning or out of God’s will. God sometimes cuts off our source of security and allows us to be deprived temporarily so He may know what is in our hearts; whether we love Him for Who He is.  Feeling is a fruit of salvation not its basis. You’ll feel good when you LIVE and SERVE God for His glory & honor!”

Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ: By whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.  And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us (Romans 5:1-5 KJV).

My Favorite Uncle

With all the hoopla of a new world order behind us and the uncertainty of the world before us, people are cautious.  The prognosis is bleak for a worldview and thus caution prevails as our way of life tumbles.  Cautious people procrastinate and worry of failure. 

Beverly Sills, famed opera singer, observed, “You may be disappointed if you fail, but you are doomed if you don’t try.”

That statement reminds me of my uncle Clifton.  He was my favorite uncle on the Hopper side of the family.  He lived with us when we lived in Illinois.  He rode a Harley, raced stock cars, drove in demolition derbies, and flew airplanes.   Now, you know why he was my favorite uncle.

He was the reason we lived in Illinois.  He got daddy a job at Beloit Iron Works.

Uncle Clifton ran away from home when he was sixteen.  He lived in Bessemer for a short time running moonshine and racing cars with the boys from Hueytown, the ones who would later become Alabama Raceway and NASCAR legends.

He left home because Granny Hopper would not let him play sports or participate in any activity that might harm him due to a heart condition.  No one knew where he was for years until one day, he appeared at our home in Chilton County.  Daddy did not recognize him, and he did not know daddy.  He was looking for daddy when he stopped to ask where the Hoppers lived.  After that meeting, we packed and moved up North.

After three years there, we moved back to Sweet Home Alabama.  Uncle Clifton married Aunt Maxine and for several years could not have children.  They adopted Jim, eighteen months later adopted Mike, twenty-one months later birthed Bill, and later Alice.

Somewhere along the way, my adventurous and dashing uncle became over cautious.  Reckon having kids did that to him?

One day years down the road, my cousin Bill approached Uncle Clifton with a great idea about VCRs.  VCRs were new and Bill suggested to Uncle Clifton that they buy VCR movies and VCR players and rent them to people.  Uncle Clifton told Bill that that new-fangled invention was a fade, and it would be a bad investment.  You know what happened there and now it has gone the way of the Dodo.  When I think of it, I could have been related to the billionaire who created Bill’s Blockbuster or The Hopper Movie Gallery.

A little later Bill, the persistent entrepreneur, had another scheme.  He told Uncle Clifton about paintball guns.  Bill wanted to open a store that sold paintball guns and accessories.  Uncle Clifton said that it was another fad and that it too would pass.

Like the VCR rental, paintball and accessories were the craze of young people everywhere.  Bill did open a store and had success with the store as a part-time venture.  He had paintball guns that were like something out a science fiction movie.

Bill, the perennial entrepreneur, consulted Uncle Clifton with the idea of buying a tract of land and building a course for hosting paintball competition.  Bill envisioned hundreds of people from all over the state coming and competing in paintball wars, battles, and mêlées.  He dreamed of family events, national competition, and maybe worldwide competition.  Uncle Clifton talked him out of the venture.

Uncle Clifton, on one his spontaneous excursions, visited me at Gallion, Alabama.  It was not unusual for him to make a trek from Illinois to Arizona to Louisiana to Alabama to Illinois visiting kinfolk.  He was not too cautious, just with his children and his money.  On this particular visit, he spoke of Bill’s potential as an entrepreneur.  He said that the next time Bill had an idea that they were going to run with it.  On Uncle Clifton’s next spontaneous excursion, he had a stroke near Joplin, Missouri and died in the hospital. 

Being too cautious prohibits many blessings.  Philip is an example of being too cautious in the Bible.

When Jesus then lifted up his eyes, and saw a great company come unto him, he saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat?  And this he said to prove him: for he himself knew what he would do.  Philip answered him, Two hundred pennyworth of bread is not sufficient for them, that every one of them may take a little.  One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, saith unto him,  there is a lad here, which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes: but what are they among so many?(John 6:5-9 KJV)

What's Your Red Stew?

 

This morning as we have gathered in God’s house to speak of the eternal,

Some have chosen to remain away for the temporal. 

They feel that it was more important to call a turkey for the kill,

Rather than call a lost friend to tell them of God’s will. 

Others have stayed at home to rest,

Rather than go to God’s house and give their best. 

Others elected to work,

Rather than be blessed in doing God’s work. 

Others have gone to shop at the mall,

Rather than stop and give God their all. 

They all say they are looking for something their spirits to renew,

But as did Esau, they have traded God’s blessing for some red stew.

Stuff

I opened the shed door and had to move the garden tiller to get the blower.  Once again, the pine straw and my neighbor’s leaves have hidden the driveway and filled the carport.  It is unbelievable how much stuff collects around the house and in the yard.  Just a few days ago, I trimmed the shrubs, cut the grass, weed-eated the fence, and vacuumed the leaves cleaning the yard.

I need to clean out my shed.  It is full of stuff.  It is all necessary stuff to clean the yards, the house, and vehicles.  There is so much stuff, that I have difficulty finding the right stuff to use.  With the abundance of stuff, I have built storage bins to organize my stuff.

The shed contains other stuff too.  There is an office chair, old office computer, shredder, filing racks, and old laminating machine.  There are antiques such as a typewriter, 1950 Plymouth hubcap, an old wash pot we used to stew out cracklings, and an assortment of antique tools.

Speaking of tools, I have all kinds of power tools; a router, vibrating sander, belt sander, jigsaw, plane, reciprocating saw, two chainsaws, hacksaw, coping saw, skill-saw, and handsaw.  There are electric and cordless drills.  They require their stuff such as drill bits, extension cords, battery chargers, bit extensions, and a variety of bits.  The chain saw, blower, and weed-eater require oil mixes and gasoline containers.

There is a flat shovel, a pointed shovel, a corn scoop shovel, two garden hoes, two yard rakes, and a pitchfork.  There are two axes and a hatchet.   There are several knives, assortment of left-handed gloves, a dozen or more cans of spray paint in a mishmash of colors, several small cans of stain, polyurethane, mineral spirits, cleaners, bottles of glue, car wash, waxes, buffing balls, sandpaper, masking tape, paintbrushes, rollers, and paint trays.

There is hanging stuff.  There is an old chandelier from the Pastorium dining room and an old fluorescent light from the office, seasonal bouquets, flowers, bells, and wreaths.  There are tie down straps, ropes, chains, C-clamps, and bungee straps.

There are shelves and shelves of stuff such as oil, filters, transmission fluid, brake fluid, and power steering fluid, and windshield washing fluid.  There is weed killer spray, bug killer spray, and ant poison.

There is free weight bench, rack, a melange of weights, and two hand weights.  There is a kerosene heater, propane bottle and fish cooker, grilling tools, and two-eye Coleman stove.  There are several fishing rods, tackle boxes, and net.

There are tarps, moving quilts, carpet remnants, and padding.  There are two sets of horseshoes and their pins.  There are two tents and a folding seat.  There is the spare tire for my truck and heavy-duty wheelbarrow. There is a sledgehammer and wedges for splitting wood and several pieces of dry hickory for grilling.

There is a motorcycle jack, floor jack, bumper jack, and an antique jack.  There are toolboxes with spare GMC parts, plumbing parts.  There are several other toolboxes, each with an assortment of tools, sockets, rackets, and pull handles.  Most of these have been Christmas presents, birthday presents, of Father’s Day gifts.  The acetylene bottle, the oxygen bottle, hoses, and cutting torch were Christmas presents.  The golf clubs and bags were a gift from a former church member.  The tennis racket and balls were a Father’s Day gift.

I have a wagon filled with hand tools, hammers, and my electrician tools.  There are the chalk bottle and line.  There are an assortment of clamps, some string, magnets, gloves, earplugs, and safety glasses.

The biggest obstacles in the 12’ X 24’ shed are two John Deere riding mowers, one with an industrial Cyclone Rake hooked behind it, a two-wheel fertilizer distributor, a Father’s Day gift, push mower, and an 8’ Christmas tree next to all them.  They made it difficult to get to the six-disc player and radio and my collection of CD’s, most which were gifts.  I need a bigger shed just to have room enough to use my two workbenches, one which is a Black and Decker folding work bench given as a Christmas present, that are covered with stuff.

 

Jesus talked about a man that had too much stuff and wanted to build more or bigger sheds.  And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.  And he spake a parable unto them, saying, The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully: And he thought within himself, saying, What shall I do, because I have no room where to bestow my fruits?  And he said, This will I do: I will pull down my barns, and build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.  And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.  But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided? (Luke 12:15-20 KJV).

 

Christmas tends to be more about STUFF and less about Jesus.  I am thankful for the gifts people have given me, but the greatest gift this Christmas is the gift of love.

 

Merry Christmas from Bobby and Lisa

The Real Christmas Story

On a clear night’s sky the shepherds were watching over their flocks.  Joseph and Mary were lying comfortably next to Jesus on a bed of straw in the peaceful town of Bethlehem, a suburb of the big city of Jerusalem.  The animals peacefully strolled around, and the world was full of joy... and...that is Christmas stuff.

The real Christmas story is:  On a very hectic and troubled night a miracle happened.  The Messiah entered a world of terrible political unrest.  People hated, and did not trust, politicians who were quite corrupt.  There were moves to throw them out of Jerusalem.  Overspending by big government created huge taxes.  The Roman Empire was in decline and centralization of government and taxation were maneuvers to stop the decline and to control and manipulate its citizens.  The average wage earner could not keep a decent standard of living.  Religious institutions were getting more and more involved with politics instead of meeting spiritual needs of people.  Divorce was a common problem, almost at the fifty percent mark.  Abortion was common with babies often seen floating through open sewer lines.  The court system was corrupt; criminals were constantly going free on technicalities.  Nations were constantly redrawing their boundaries; there was a nervous peace around the world.  The educated were denying miracles and the supernatural.  They believed science and technology were the best hopes for mankind and the future.  The disparity between the rich and poor was getting greater and greater all the time.  Even the healthy religious people were losing hope in the Messiah.  For hundreds of years they had been told that the Messiah would come.  In all this God makes His appearance in human flesh.  The Angel of Lord told the shepherds that the Messiah had come.  They would find him as a baby lying in a manger.

For some, merriment, cheer, jing jing jingling and fa la la la la are light years away as you struggle with heaviness in your lives.   Straining under the load of sickness, or keenly felt grief because of death, or trying to escape the fog of depression, or the trap of financial deficiency, or the pressure of the chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out gossip of carnal church members Christmas hope seems light years away.  Hope comes when God’s people share the Good News which the Angel conveyed to the shepherds.

Thanks to all our Pastors who faithfully spread the Good News each Sunday in sermons and each day by example.

 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.  (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)  And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.  And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)  To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.  And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.  And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.  And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.  And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.  And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men (Luke 2:1-14 KJV).

God's Pointing Star

In December 2007, I went to Miller, Missouri to clear trees and branches down from a recent ice storm.  It was the week of Valentine filled snow and cold.  The high for the week was our first day.  It reached 26 degrees with a 30-mile wind.  The morning we returned home, it was six, yes, that is six degrees.  It was so cold that the oil would not pump in our chainsaws and ice chips froze the sprocket.

The trip was very successful and interesting.  A new GPS guided our disaster relief team to Miller. We logged in the address of the Baptist Camp we were to say and we headed out.  When we left Demopolis the GPS said, “Turn right.”  The GPS was programmed with a lady’s voice and the GPS people named her Amanda.  We thought it appropriate that a lady should give us directions.  At least she was mounted on the windshield and not in the back seat.

As we approached Interstate 59/20 in Cuba, Amanda said, “Turn left and proceed on the motorway.”  We could watch our position on the GPS.  It named each road and driveway while in route.  We tried to confuse Amanda, but if we made a turn she would correct our direction.  When we would exit for a service station, she would make adjustments.  We watched her for more 14 hours and more than 700 miles.  She was flawless.

When we exited the Interstate in Mt. Vernon, Missouri, we were doing fine until Amanda told us to exit to the right.  The road was a one-laner.  We lost sight of lights from the city.  Broken limbs and downed trees lined each side of the road.  A couple had followed us all the way.  We had two-way radios to stay in contact.  I radioed Vick, the woman driving, and told her I thought Amanda might be wrong on this one.  She said her husband and her thought we were lost, but had not said anything.

Right dab in the middle of no where Amanda said, “Turn right.”  There was no right turn.  We slowed to a stop and I commented on being lost.  I had noticed a driveway at the moment Amanda said turn right.  I told the driver and another fellow that I thought there was a small sign in the yard back at the driveway.

The driver, under the direction of the other fellow and me, turned the Disaster Relief trailer around on that one-laner and headed back toward the driveway.  Did I say that it was dark?  Amanda said, “Turn left.”  As we turned left, on the left was a small sign that read Baptist Camp.  There was no light anywhere.  As we meandered our way up this hill suddenly there was light.  There she was a beautiful camp atop a hill over looking this beautiful valley.  We did not realize how beautiful it was until the next morning.

For the whole week, Amanda would guide us back to the camp.  Regardless of our assignment, Amada allowed us to see the beauty of God’s creation on a different route each day.  Amanda made a believer of our team.  The best part, we did not have to stop and ask directions.

Two thousand years ago some wise men used the GPS system to find the light of the world, Jesus.  It was God’s Pointing Star.

Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.  . . . they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was (Matthew 2:1-2, 9b KJV).

Merry Christmas

 

The Rockets red glare, Exploding in Air, Dust Falling Everywhere

Can you believe that 2021 is almost over?  The COVID, bug end-of-time plague/Armageddon scare and the unknown of what’s coming is coming.  Babies born in 2019 become teenagers next year, or shall I say in a few days.  Father time creeps along and invades our lives.  Modern marvels and technological advances of the past decade slowly evolve into objects of antiquity.  Suddenly the old is repulsive and the new is alluring. 

That is the nature of the passing of time.  The world continues to spin along in its cosmic passageway and many of us think that it is spinning out of control.  Life has become so complicated and so hurried that 2022 will usher in 2023 before we have time to catch our breath.  Resolutions of slowing down and taking it easy will soon bow to pressures of deadlines and schedules.

The New Year is a time of reflection.  For some Christmas 2021 was the first Christmas without mom, dad, a son, a daughter, a grandparent, or a friend.  It is a time of remembering all those who did not make it into the New Year. 

Celebration of the New Year will take many forms.  Some churches will pray in the New Year while others will sing or eat into the New Year.  Some folks will sleep in the New Year while some will weep in the New Year.  For most, New Year is a monumental event.  For some people, New Year is just another day of the year.  When I worked rotation, New Year was just another day.  There was no celebration.

I remember working midnight on New Year.  I had some bottle rockets left from July 4^th and thought they might not be good enough for New Year.  Land Mart, the store just down the road from the house, sold fireworks where the kids would spend some of their Christmas money. Our kids loved the cash, instead of useless gifts.  I always monitored their spending when buying fireworks.  I hated to see them blow away their cash.  I subsidized their efforts occasionally when they did not receive as much as they did the last Christmas.

I am pretty sure that it was against company policy to have fireworks at work, but that never stopped us from bringing them.  You know that boys will be boys. Kiln burners were notorious for dropping firecrackers, cherry bombs, and spinning chasers down on unsuspecting oilers.  One kiln burner, Swann, dropped a spinning chaser one behind his oiler, Jones.  Jones raced across the railroad tracks with the spinning chaser bumping him in the back.  Pickett, a kiln burner, dropped a lighted pack of firecrackers behind Smithy, his oiler.  Smithy danced a jig as he went down the street.  Those are a few of the fireworks at the plant.

Getting back to the midnight shift, I had several packs of bottle rockets in my lunch box.  I recruited an accomplice to help me light them and toss them into the cement mill room.  This mill room had six giant ball mills that pulverized clinkers (ingredients of sand, iron ore, aluminum, and limestone cooked together to form cement) into powder. It was a very loud building.  Since these mills produced powder, there was cement dust everywhere.  It was a deafening and dusty situation.  The slightest jolt would start an avalanche of dust from girders and beams.

My accomplice and I walked to the edge of the kiln burner floor, which was adjacent to the mill room, and commenced to fire a barrage of rockets into an unstable dust loaded mill room.  Poor old Mr. Betts and Eddie Lee Barkley were trying to figure out what was happening. 

They could not hear the rockets as they zoomed toward them, but they could see the burning tail, the explosion, and the falling dust.  They finally saw two mischievous oilers having a fun time at the dawn of a new day as the clock stuck midnight and ushered in a New Year.  Mr. Betts and Eddie Lee laughed in the New Year that night.

Betts, Eddie Lee, Swann, Jones, and a whole host of others from the cement plant are gone.  Their passing serves as reminder that time passes quickly.  Both have been dead for years. 
Midnight January 1, 2022 quickly approaches.  Some compare time as midnight being the Lord’s return.  What are your plans for midnight, the dawn of 2022?

And it came to pass, that at midnight the Lord smote all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sat on his throne unto the firstborn of the captive that was in the dungeon; and all the firstborn of cattle (Exodus12:29 KJV).

At midnight I will rise to give thanks unto thee because of thy righteous judgments (Psalm 119:62 KJV).

And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them (Acts 16:25 KJV).

And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight (Acts 20:7 KJV).

Our Small Thanksgiving

I get raised eyebrows ever time I tell folks one Hopper tradition for Thanksgiving.  It does resemble the ones when I was at home.  Momma would spend all day cooking for us.  Daddy loved to eat momma’s cooking.  In fact, everyone loved momma’s cooking except momma.

Vulcan Materials, the place where daddy worked as a heavy equipment mechanic, gave all of its employees a big Butterball turkey for Thanksgiving and a ham for Christmas.  Momma would bake that turkey, fix turkey and dressing, cakes, pies, and every other kind of dish imaginable for Thanksgiving dinner.  We celebrated being thankful.  Dad and mom taught us the importance of being thankful for what God had blessed us.

Momma’s table was so full that there was hardly room for us to put our plates but we managed.  Dad always set at the head of the table.  Momma, when she sat, was next to daddy and my sister sat next to her.  My two brothers sat to daddy’s left and I sat on the other end opposite dad.

The first rule was to say the blessing.  Dad required the blessing even though most of our lives dad did not know the Lord.  Once the blessing was said, the feast was on.  Daddy had certain rules for eating.  They were Hopper rules and not “Dear Heloise” rule of etiquette. 

One rule was if someone asked for a dish, that dish went directly to the requestee.  If someone intercepted the dish and removed any amount of contents, dad would make the guilty party remove the food then proceed to lecture on the rules of passing the plate.  Another important rule was never rake food from a bowl or dish.  You must dip the food.

When one item of food remained, such as a biscuit, you had to ask, “Does anyone want that last biscuit?”  If there were no takers, then you got it.  If for some reason someone they wanted it, dad would ask, “How many have you had?”  If you had what he considered plenty, the one asking for it would get it.

The biggest no-no of Hopper rules for feasting was if you dipped it, you had better eat it.  Daddy constantly warned that our eyes better not be bigger than our bellies.  He never cared how much you ate, but you had better eat what you got.  In fact, when one of us did not want to eat dad would remind momma, “Honey they will eat when they’re hungry.”

I miss those days of sitting around the table and passing the bowls filled with momma’s cooking.  Most meals at the house remain on the stove and we dip from pots and pans onto our plates and go to the table.  My sister Diane calls it “feeding the dogs” style of eating. I have heard that it will suppress one from eating too much by having to go back.  All I can say about that is I eat more because walking back creates more room for more food.  I was much thinner when we passed food around the table.  Mrs. Wilkes in Savannah, Georgia serves her guests like momma did and people think it is quaint and fancy dining.

I had the privilege of eating at a nice restaurant operated by folks from New Orleans.  They asked if we wanted to dine by passing the bowls, of course, I did and I loved every minute.  It was good to say, “Pass the creamed taters.”

For a change, one Hopper Thanksgiving  I will start a fire of hickory wood.  When the coals are just right, I grilled vegetables, squash, green tomatoes, onions, and yellow bell peppers.  I threw on some potatoes wrapped in foil and grilled rib-eye steaks.  That was back before COVID and I could afford them.

I remind people when they say “No turkey” that you can get turkey anywhere.  It is good to start new traditions.  This year Lisa and I decided to have a small “traditional” Thanksgiving.  We had the turkey, the dressing, and all the other stuff.  It was just the two of us.  I was thankful she was there and she was thankful I was there.  We sure had a lot of food to eat till Christmas.

 

From our home to yours, have a blessed Thanksgiving.

 

  In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you (I Thessalonians 5:18 KJV).