Be Sure To Write It Down

At a men’s rally, the speaker told of a poster his daughter made for her college dorm room.  Her favorite posters are those with Tim Tebow on them.  I would say of all the posters that college girls could have a Tim Tebow poster is pretty good choice.

To the dad’s surprise, the poster was not of Tim Tebow.  Instead, the poster was a list of the things that the dad had told is daughter as she was growing up.  He said it made him think, what I have told her and what he should have told her.

At the 100^th Anniversary of Dixon’s Mills Baptist, a representative from the Alabama Baptist Historical Society said people should write down the words of church members because so much is lost after a long period of time if it is not recorded.  With a hundred years behind, there had to be many tremendous events of Dixon’s Mills Baptist Church that future members need to know.

Very few people spoke at 100th Celebration.  I think it was the magnitude of the moment and trying to remember what had been said and what had been done.  Pastor Richard Martindale’s granddaughter took notes where at future celebrations there would have a recorded history of words from those who did speak.

I remember one of my history professors at the University of Montevallo saying, “If you do not write down an event, it never happened.”  Word of mouth will turn to hearsay, tale, fable, or legend if events are not documented.  There have been events in our lifetime that proved to be false when people discovered documented evident to the contrary of hearsay

As I reflected on Mother’s Day, I thought of a list of things that my momma told me and decided to write them down.  As I reflect, some are humorous, some are profound, and some prophetic. Here it goes a few:

            You reap what you sow.

            You cannot go swimming until you learn how to swim.

            You can do anything you put your head to do.

            You need to pray that God leads you to girl to be your wife.

            Be sure to wear clean underwear in case you are in an accident.

            If you fall out of that tree and break your neck, I am going to whup you.

            If we were picking our nose she would ask if we were cleaning out the dance hall.

            If you get hurt, don’t come crying to me.

            If someone else can do that, you can do it.

            If you runaway from home, I will beat you to death.

            If you run while I am trying to whup you, I beat you when I catch you.

            If you don’t do it right the first time, you will have to lick that calf again.

            Never kiss a girl unless you are serious about her.

            Good girls don’t call here and ask for you.

            I may not can see you, but God does.

            I got little eyes everywhere so that I can see you.

            I am going to beat you till you cry.

            I hate the name Roe. (Roe was her first name.)

            I been so mean the grass will not grow on my grave when I die. (It does not by the way.)

            What is said in this house stays in this house.

            What ever you do, do your best.

            What you’re doing will come home to you one day.

            What is good for the goose is good for the gander.

            Payday comes one day.

            Don’t let the sun go down being mad at someone

            You may never get a chance to say you’re sorry.

            Use good words, they taste better when you have the eat them.

            Don’t let nobody tell you that you are not good enough.

            Mama told my sister not to wear a dress to the garden because the potatoes had eyes

            “Say Calf Rope” (When she was wrestling us and holding until we said, “Calf Rope.”

            Go cut me a switch!

            Just wait to your daddy gets home.

            When you have kids, you will pay for your raising.

            Ya’ll will probably have to hire people to come to my funeral.

            Nobody may love us, but we love one each other.

            Read your Bible and pray.

            One day I gonna be gone and you will be sorry you said that to me.

            Stick you nose in that corner and stand on your tiptoes until I tell you to stop.

            God will take care of us.

These are only a few that brothers and sister could remember.  There were some others, but I cannot write them in this article.

I remember one Mother’s Day, I preached at Pine Hill and I mentioned Coach “Bear” Bryant’s Bellsouth commercial.  When taping the commercial, he said, “Be sure and call your mom, I wished I could call mine.”  The producers that it was corny, but the more they played it the more genuine it was.

After the service, the sermon and the commercial went viral.  Viral means it was on the internet.  Words I said and words of the late “Bear” Bryant captured for all to read, see, and hear in a matter minutes.  I am glad I took time to write down things momma said.

Proverbs 31:1 sums up the word of a mother pretty good.  The words of king Lemuel, the prophecy that his mother taught him (KJV).      

           

 

           

           

Mother's Day Without Mom

 

I celebrated my thirty-fifth Mother’s Day without my mom.  Legendary Alabama Football Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant did a telephone commercial.  He concluded it with two sentences at the end, "Have you called your Momma?  I sure wish I could call mine."  Producers that it was corny, but the more they listened the more they heard the sincerity of the Bear.  I can say it now.  I wish I could call my momma.

 Mother's Day is a day of celebration and reflection.  I remember doing a friend’s funeral on Mother’s Day.  He was killed in a tractor accident the Thursday evening before Mother's Day.  It followed a wedding, rehearsal and reception, my daughter’s college graduation, a baby dedication, and a high school baseball state championship.  All those events happening in a period of four days drained me emotionally, physically, and spiritually.  Not everyone has a joyous Mother’s Day, especially those who mourn their first Mother’s Day without their mom or the loss of a child.

It is ironic that Memorial Day comes on the heels of Mother’s Day.  Granny Hopper received word that my daddy died in action in North Africa.  It has to be almost unbearable for parents to receive news of a soldier boy or girl dying.  I remember Granny telling how she prayed that her notice was wrong.  She could not believe her ears when daddy told her that he was wounded, but very much alive.

Thousands have not received the good news granny did.  In the Old Testament, there is a story of a mother who waited for the return of her son from war.  Her son was an enemy of Israel, but a son.  The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried through the lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming? why tarry the wheels of his chariots? (Judges 5:28 KJV)  It was another lady, possibly a mother, who killed Sisera.  Then Jael Heber's wife took a nail of the tent, and took an hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him, and smote the nail into his temples, and fastened it into the ground: for he was fast asleep and weary. So he died (Judges 4:21 KJV).

The Bible reminds us that there will be wars and rumors of wars until the return of Christ.  And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet Matthew 24:6 KJV).

As the United States of America continues to defend the freedoms of our nation and the freedoms of those who we have championed, let us remember those who have given the ultimate sacrifice that we might have a Mother’s Day and Memorial to celebrate.

Radiator and me

It is funny the people you meet that stick in your mind and things that call them to mind.  The other day, while working on the laptop computer, I kept using my cell phone as a mouse.  The laptop has a pad that you use, but I had placed my cell phone beside the laptop and unconsciously I would move the phone while looking at the screen only to realize the cursor was not moving.  “Duh”, I said to myself.  I finally placed the cell phone to another place on the desk. 

Then, I thought of how many times I have tried to open the office, the house, the post office box by mashing my key with my thumb.  Talk about being programmed.  My Honda key unlocks my car, opens the trunk and blows the horn, so naturally I try my others key the same.

There is something else.  Did you know that a cordless phone will not change the channels on the television?  I know I have tried it several times.  I would point the antenna at the TV and push channel 4.  Next, I would bump the phone to remind the batteries to work.  It is funny when you realize just how dumb you are.

I know that you can program the DVD player remote to change TV channels and you can program the TV remote to change the DVD, but I do not think you can program the cordless phone to control the DVD player or TV.

They say confession is good for the soul.  I confess.  There are too many gadgets and too many buttons to push.  We live in a push button world.  What was life like before push button gadgets?

Speaking of gadgets, we were actually able to carry on intelligent and extended conversations, drive at normal speeds on the highways, hear sermons, and attend meetings without interruption before cell phones.  Do you remember dial telephones?

That brings me back to people sticking in you mind.  I remember working with a guy named “Radiator”.  It was an odd name and Radiator was an odd kind of man.  He wore coveralls and his hair was never combed and looked as he had just gotten out of bed.

He did odd things.  Once hearing of a submerged fishing boat, sunk by a floating log, he inquired of its location.  A day or two later he had retrieved the sixteen 16’ fiberglass runabout with a Mercury outboard.  He patched the hull, reworked the outboard and started fishing and skiing.

On another occasion he had a Volkswagen bus that had a nut on the real axle that would not stay tightened so he welded the nut to the hub and axle.  He had a knack with gadgets.  It was 1971.  The company where Radiator and I worked said employees were making too many outside calls.  Management placed a lock in the first hole of the rotary dial of all the telephones in the plant.  Our foreman was bragging how outside calls had ceased and people were working more.  Radiator said he could make a call without dialing.  The foreman, who thought Radiator a nut, argued that Radiator could not.  It was very interesting for an 18 year old boy to hear two grown men arguing like grade school boys over a dare, but I listened.

Radiator asked the foreman for his home phone number.  The foreman told him then Radiator proceeded to lift the receiver and with his pointer finger push the buttons in the receiver cradle with a Morse code rhythm of the numbers given by the foreman.  Radiator handed the phone to the foreman which heard ringing and then his wife answer the phone.  The know-it-all foreman got a quick lesson from the gadget man on how the dial was a circuit breaker that when dialed broke the circuits in a systematic rhythm determined by the hole dialed.

Radiator was smarter than he appeared.  When I think of it, John the Baptist, being a little odd, was wiser than he appeared.  I guess with my gadget dilemmas, I am dumber than I appear. 

Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves (Matthew 10:16 KJV)

Serpents know the principles of survival and the softness of doves invites all to know them.  In a push button world, God’s truth obligates the disciple to send the message and the seeker to listen.

  

My First Pastorate

 

My first pastorate was Fellowship Baptist Church in Jemison.  I never will forget the first time I preached there.  I, as many new preachers do, was supply preaching.  Sammy Oaks, one of the most mature eighteen-year-old I have ever known, invited me to preach.  The church was without a pastor.  When asked to preach I did not realize that I was preaching a trial sermon that morning.

Arriving at the church, I noticed that it was a beautiful location underneath some giant oak trees.  There were concrete picnic tables under the trees and a small cemetery behind the church.

There were some unique features of the church.  It had a large bell tower to one side of the church.  Beside the tower was the front door of the church, which the members did not use.  The church was built in the 1880’s and belonged to a retired Methodist preacher.  It was very high off the ground on rock pillars for its foundation.  Facing the front of the church, members started building a basement to serve as an educational wing.  It had never been waterproofed and usually had water in the hole with it.  I found out later that the church lacked finances to finish the project.

Inside the church was odd.  I guess it was my familiarity with Baptist churches and not old Methodist churches.  Some of the pews that faced the pulpit faced the cemetery.  It is one thing to look at a not so handsome preacher and a sleeping and smile-less choir but looking at the graveyard through the back windows!  I guess it was a reminder that the little church was dying.

Another thing was there was only one classroom.  They did not use the front door because it went to this room, and they had folding chairs stacked behind it.  I wondered why they had a window unit hanging from the outside front wall until I entered the classroom.  Someone with creative skills, most folks call it ridging, made a metal duct that went from the air-conditioner, through the classroom, and into the back wall of the sanctuary where a piece of cardboard duct taped over the top of the outlet served as a regulator.

The sanctuary had white paneling that was dinghy.  Sometimes we give no thought of the future, especially when things are on sale.  The pews kept members awake by pinching the back of their legs.  Pews on each side of the sanctuary faced the pews that faced the cemetery.  One can imagine what kind of expressions were on the faces of those that looked at those who looked at the preacher, the choir, and the dead.

The oddest characteristic of the church was the congregation leaned to the left, not in doctrine or in politics, but due to the basement beside the church.  With every rain, the foundation of the church washed in the hole of the neglected basement.  Where the church had not finished the basement, months of neglect and periods of rain now did what the church should have done.  It was backfilling the hole at the expense of the church foundation and the church was slowly sliding in the hole.  I had visions of those on the left sinking into the earth as in the days of Moses.

Among other problems, the church was behind on its payments to the Methodist preacher, they could not buy propane gas until they paid their bill, and the power company threatened to turn off the electricity.

Sitting on the front pew pondering all these things before preaching that morning, my thoughts were I would sure hate to be the preacher at this church.  After the morning message, Sammy asked me if I would consider becoming their pastor.  I did the spiritual thing and told him that I would make it a matter of prayer.

During my quiet time, I prayed that God give me direction on the Fellowship decision.  I was studying the book of First John.  If you take time to read it, you find how I became pastor there.

God blessed my time there.  We paid all the bills, started a building fund, and bought a piano.  Did I mention that several keys did not work on the piano?  We dug a sewer line that allowed water in the basement to drain, backfilled the basement to stop the erosion, and had a reconciliation service with the church from which Fellowship split.

Fellowship started with the wrong foundation spiritually as demonstrated physically by the foundation of the church.  I wish I could say that the church is doing great, but it is not.  In fact, two pastors after me, a cultic group took over the church. 

It is so vital that churches have a firm foundation and know what we believe as Southern Baptists.

But he that heareth, and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth; against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great. (Luke 6:49 KJV).

And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it (Matthew 16:18 KJV).

The Resurrection Lily and Flowers

 As birds gather their choirs of praise

You wait for the sun’s warm rays

Appearance of green and vanishing of winter gloom

The Lord decorates the earth with trees and flowers in bloom

 

Arrayed in white as Angels on Resurrection morn

From garden to Sanctuary, you now adorn

 

All of your beauty the Lord created for us to share

On Resurrection morning your fragrance fills the worship air

 

Symbolizing the purity of sacrificial love on the Cross

The beauty of the Resurrection, life gained, not loss

 

Gone are love ones now in Heaven for eternity reign

Our hope in the Cross, the Resurrection, and Heaven to gain

 

Lily you are but a flower, a reminder of our Lord’s Resurrection

Jesus is the Lily of the Valley, our risen Savior, God’s only son

 

                                                        )

 

 

 

 

The Past Reached For And Held the Future

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

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

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

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

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

Billboards on Life's Highway

Traveling the highways, we see lots of billboards.  On our last trip to Baytown Texas for my son Aaron’s wedding, there were hundreds of billboards.  Not too far from Aaron’s apartment is the world’s largest gas station named Buc-ee’s.  Of course, it is the largest.  What else would you expect from the state that boasts the largest of everything? 

Buc-ee’s is known for billboards by Texas interstate highways with simple and humorous slogans.  One of my favorites is:  Two reasons to stop at Buc-ee’s, # 1 and #2.  The Baytown Buc-ee’s is 60,000 square feet, sits on 18 acres, has 96 gas pumps, and employs 200.  Buc-ees also has the cleanest bathrooms.  Two employees' sole purpose is cleaning the bathrooms 24 hours a day for #1 and #2.

From three hundred miles from Baytown, we started reading the billboards.  The billboards were better than the GPS.  The ideas behind the billboards: When motorists pull in to use the restroom, they are like to buy.  For me it means how far I was from Aaron.

There is a large billboard on I-110 in Pensacola, Florida advertising the Andrews Institute that says, “The world comes to Gulf Breeze.”  It is true people from over the world come to Gulf Breeze to have surgery.  I know I went there.

As a kid, I remember a barn north of Jemison that had “See Rock City” painted on its tin roof.  For several years traveling with the Bethel Baptist Builders, I have seen dozens of old barns with the “See Rock City slogans.  I have been by Rock City on many occasions, especially with the Builders, but have never been there.  My destination is the Builder work site and I resist the temptation thinking that one day Rock City will be the destination.

Billboards are very tempting.  My friend Michael Mason has a chapter in his book True titled 1-800-2good2Btrue.  He says, “That if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”  As a traveling evangelist, he says that he sees motels with rooms for $19.99 per night.  He writes, “Chances are, many of those people at those motels are not there to sleep.”  He and his wife have stayed in rooms with worn carpets, stained bathrooms, and dirty sheets.  He asks, “Is sleeping on clean sheets really worth over a hundred and fifty dollars a night?  Probably not, but peace of mind is priceless.”

Many years ago, on a building trip with my home Association, we were headed to Granger, Wyoming.  On I-80, we started seeing signs inviting us to visit the Little America truck stop.  The closer we got to Granger, the more inviting the billboard became. 

Little America was an oasis along I-80 before truck stops were common.  At Little America, there is a hotel, restaurant, post office, convenience store, repair shop, and other trucker amenities.  We were expecting something more by reading the billboards.  We were kinda disappointed at first.  Before the trip was over, it was truly an oasis.  Way back, when we were there, that is where we showered after working all day on the Granger church.  There were no facilities or other amenities at the church.  Little America was a welcomed relief after working in skunk dens under the church all day.

Michael Mason believes billboards line the highways because the highways are filled with lonely, empty people trying to find their niche in life. And advertisers know people are desperate to find happiness and will do whatever it takes to find it.

There are signs with: 1-800-divorce, all you can eat buffet, $9.99, ice cold beer, Cracker Barrel 18 miles, World’s Largest Adult Bookstore exit 666, Exit here for Gator City, Visit Silver Springs, and my favorite, Accident/ Injury, Call Alexander Shunnarah 1-800-808-****.  Shunnarah is everywhere.

Long before Ricky Nelson was a traveling man. There was the Apostle Paul. On his missionary journeys, he had a traveling companion named Demas.  Demas had potential, but the world captivated him.  Rather than being in the presence of God, he chose the pleasures of the world.  He read one too many billboards that distracted and tempted Demas and he got off at an exit and never returned.

 

Do thy diligence to come shortly unto me:  For Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world, and is departed unto Thessalonica; Crescens to Galatia, Titus unto Dalmatia (II Timothy 4:9-10 KJV).

 

On a Builder trip to Pikeville, Kentucky, there was a billboard in the mountains advertising a plumbing business.  It was an eye catcher.  “We repair what your husband fixed.”  Ain’t you glad that we serve a God that repaired what you and I try to fix after we fall prey to Satan’s billboards.

 

Dad, Willy, and Me

Dad died on April 27, 1984, around four in the morning.  I had been up all night with him and held his hand as he drew his last breath.  Moments before that final breath, I woke mamma, my sister, and baby brother where they could spend those last precious moments with dad.  They were skeptical at first.  We had several close calls with him that final week.  I finally convinced them that the nurse had assured me that he was dying.  The nurse and I had watched his breathing move from the stomach area to his throat.  She said when it got there death was close.

The week began with Easter on April 22.  Dad was at home.  I do not remember what we did that Sunday, but I am sure we tried to make it a great day knowing that he had lived two years longer than the doctors’ first prognosis with his brain tumors and consequential surgery.

Dad did not care for Easter, especially before and even after his salvation.  Dad had something we don’t see much of now days.  Raised by Christian single mom, his dad committed suicide; dad knew and practiced Christian principles.  Dad always told us that Easter was about Jesus’ Resurrection and not about bunnies, baskets, and bonnets.  It was not about dyed eggs, delicious chocolates, or dumb pagan practices. 

Easter was one of the two holidays that momma or we did not have to beg him to go to church with us.  He was faithful on those two events.  I remind pastors and church folks not to make fun of those, especially dads, that come only at Easter and Christmas.  I know I have seen my mother cry a million tears trying to get dad in church.  I still can see her big, beautiful smile when daddy escorted her into the church at Easter.  We were elated too.  New clothes, dad in church, and momma’s Easter dinner made it wonderful.  We were glad Jesus rose.

Dad understood what many skeptics did not.  Daddy believed that Jesus rose from the dead.  Skeptics are like the characters in television investigation programs.  They have to prove everything scientifically.  One of the problems skeptics find with Christianity is faith.  We trust God, but skeptics want tangible proof.

Several weeks ago, while I was reading, I ran across this line.  There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.  I remembered that I had read that phrase before and did not think much about it.  That was until shortly after I read it again in another book.  I thought about it more.  Then a third time within a month there is was again.  Since all three times were in the context of daily devotions or readings I asked, “God what are you trying to say to me.”  I wrote the phrase down and looked for its original author.  I found it to be a quote from William Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet Act One Scene Five.  Well, back to old Willy Shakespeare.  Being an English minor in college, I have had to read him a lot and analyze the meaning of his plays.

Skeptics take Shakespeare’s phrase out of context.  In the play, Hamlet, Horatio, and a Ghost are in conversation.  Hamlet says, “And therefore as a stranger giver welcome.  There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, that are dreamt in your philosophy.”

Hamlet and Horatio are products of Protestant humanism.  This philosophical thought is a compound of ethics, logic, and natural science.  Logically, for Horatio there were no Ghosts, much less carry on a conversation with one.

The Horatio’s of the world refuse to believe the Resurrection, but Jesus demonstrated the Resurrection before He rose from the dead.  Remember that Jesus was late for Lazarus’ funeral, but right on time for his Resurrection.

Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.

And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth (John 11:39, 43 KJV.)

 

The Horatio’s of the world have doubts about supernatural phenomena or in the case of Southern Baptists, spiritual phenomenon.  One meaning on Shakespeare’s quote is there is more that meets the eye, levels of truth, meaning, and complexity that are not visible to casual observers such as the Resurrection morning.  Angel said, “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay” (Matthew 28:6 KJV).

 

As Southern Baptists, we believe there is more than meets the eye.  In our postmodern culture of growing skepticism, our challenge as believers is continue to live by faith.  Paul reminds believers at the very humanist and carnal Corinth about the unseen.  But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him (First Corinthians 2:9 KJV).

 

As I walked from the hospital the morning daddy died, I reflected on the week.  There was a sense of loss and relief.  On Monday night after Easter, I had my last supper with daddy.  It was just daddy and me.  I fed him while mom took a much-needed break.  Later in the wee hours of the morning, dad had a seizure and the ambulance rushed him to the hospital.  By Friday morning, he was with Jesus.  As I held his hand in death, Jesus took dad’s spiritual hand.

Walking to my car, the morning sky was crystal clear, the air was a vigorous cool, birds were singing, and dad was alive and well with Jesus.  We had dad’s funeral on the Lord’s Day.  Take that skeptics!

Life’s Pesty Hang-ups

This morning was my day to take my clothes to the laundry.  I separated the shirts from the slacks and folded them into a pile to carry.   I always return the clothes hangers.  Now up home some folks say cloak hanger, coat hanger, or plain hanger.  I collected them separating the slack hangers from the shirt hangers.  It never ceases to amaze me how they can get tangled.

When I try to hang our clothes in the washroom, which not big enough to “cuss a cat,” those demon hangers want to join together and hold hands, I mean hooks.  It never fails in my effort to get one hanger that three will fall on the floor.  Did I say that the laundry room was small, just enough room to stand between the wall and the washer and dryer?

This morning these pesky hangers hooked up in the bedroom, just outside the place where they hang out with my clothes.  The hangers have this uncanny way of deciding which shirt and sweater that I am going to wear.  I reached for a white shirt, the hanger for the blue striped shirt got in front of the white shirt hanger.  It was like it was saying, “Take me, take me.”  I want to believe there is a tiny clothes hanger gremlin that mixes up the hangers while I shower.

When I get the clothes ready for the cleaners, I routinely place the hangers between the folded shirts and folded slacks to prevent them for being tangled and sliding everywhere.  I have yet to be successful.  First, the hangers are accustomed to hanging with the clothes, not smothered between them.  It is as though I have trapped them, and they search for the just the right moment to escape.  I want to think that I have them in the wrong order with the shirt hangers against the slacks and they are trying to hang with the right article of clothing.

One time the hangers tried to make a daring escape when I got them out of the truck.  They scattered all over the sidewalk in front of the cleaners.  Another time they escaped when I tried to load them to go to the cleaners.  Their escaping just leads to entanglement.

I wish that the shirt hanger and the slack hanger could be like the plastic hangers from clothing departments.  These have swivel hooks, but the plastic ends are subject to break when under pressure.

Some store-bought plastic hangers are various colors.  Their hooks are hard to remove from the closet rod.  They are independent cusses and are harder to hold together.  They are durable, but unlike the metal hangers, they are limited in practicality.

Metal hangers have a variety of uses.  I have used clothes hangers to hold exhaust pipes in place.  The wire is perfect to use in most redneck situations.  They even make a great tool to unlock car doors.  I have used them for welding.  A good hanger and acetylene torch set to the right flame can weld broken car frames, lawn mower decks, and wrought iron.  I have used clothes hangers as a short set of jumper cables.  When using them as jumper cables, make sure you have a solid connection.  The wire does get hot.

There is another hook that can more tangled than clothes hanger hooks and that is fishing hooks.  They are so jealous of one another.  Every time you try to get one to tie on a line, they hang together.  They are one for all and all for one.

They can be testy also.  When you try to separate them, they have been known to bite.  Their bite can hurt too.  When they do bite, they have a tenacity to hold on tight and must be removed by cutting them out.

Every time I think about fishhooks, I think of red worms.  Trying to put a red worm on a hook can be challenging.  Once you have threaded a worm or two on the hook you must cast with care, or you will have to thread more worms on the hook.  Dad used to tell us not to cast too hard because we were feeding worms to the bass and bream.

When I think of fishhooks, I think of Amos 4:1-2 in the Old Testament.  He calls the uppity women cows, we say heifer up home, and says that because of their sin they will be led to captivity with hooks. 

Hear this word, you cows of Bashan on Mount Samaria, you women who oppress the poor and crush the needy and say to your husbands, "Bring us some drinks!"  The Sovereign LORD has sworn by his holiness: "The time will surely come when you will be taken away with hooks, the last of you with fishhooks.  

One commentary said the hooks would be in their noses. This became very vivid when I had to remove a hook from a nose.  I remember one Saturday we were fishing at my sister’s pond when my niece hooked my son Aaron’s nose with a hook.  Aaron didn’t cry but he encouraged me to hurry.  The red worms were tickling his nostril.  I cut off the barb and slid the hook off his nose.

Amos’ passage illustrates how tangled our lives can get with sin.  Sin, like pesky clothes hangers and fishing hooks, has a way of hooking us and causing all sorts of entanglements.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1 KJV).

 

Brother Arch

I was watching a car show the other night.  These shows do what I would love to do, rebuilding old jalopies.  My love for building cars started when I was in the fifth grade.  I got a model car kit from a classmate for Christmas.  Over the years, I had a pretty good collection that I lost when our home burned.  In that collection I had a ’55 Chevy Nomad, a ’50 Ford, a ’57 Chevy, a ’40 Willis, two ’32 Fords, the Batmobile, ’53 Ford pickup, and a few others.  Some of these date back to my teens.  I built them until the government regulations forced glue makes to change the formula and ruining its sticking power.

My dream car is a ’32 Ford Vicky, yellow convertible or five-window, 350 Chevy engine, saddle colored leather interior, and Crager junkyard mag wheels.  Trouble is, they are out there, but beyond a Director of Missions means.

These car-rebuilding programs have the mission of saving old cars one at a time.  The closest I have come to rebuilding an old vehicle is when Aaron and I rebuilt my ’77 GMC pickup, and I understood the statement, “They don’t build them like that anymore” a little better.  It is an era of American history that is fleeting away.   A friend of mine said that it makes him sick to watch classic cars headed to the scrap metal place.

My ’77 GMC is actually a 2009-13 pickup.  It looks old, but it has experienced a transformation.  No, it is not a Johnny Cash Cadillac.  It is a completely restored truck.  It is a work of love and labor.  I will always cherish the time that Aaron and I, father and son, spend together transforming a ragged, rusty, multicolored hunk of junk into what most call a “sweet ride” or a “clean” classic.

Transformed classics make up the body of the church.  Men, women, boys, and girls that experience the transforming power of God are new creations.  The power that raised Jesus from the dead is the power that transforms all those who trust Jesus as Lord and Savior.

As I thought about restored vehicles and changed lives, I cannot help but to think about Brother Arch Crumpton.  He was a classic when speaking of a man of God.  He was an old classic that you don’t see anymore, a one of a kind.  Brother Arch was a giant pillar in my home church.  Brother Arch, two other deacons, and the pastor were the only men in my home church when I was boy.

I heard stories how Brother Arch would walk four miles to church on Sunday morning to start a fire in the old pot-bellied stove, then walk back home, hitch the mule team to the wagon, and then bring the family to church.

Brother Arch always sat on the second pew on the preachers left.  He wore a dark blue suit, white shirt, a tie, and a fedora every Sunday.  He could pray some of the sweetest prayers.  I never heard anyone say a bad word about Brother Arch.

One of the most interesting stores about him was when he was a young man in his twenties.  I remember as a kid thinking that Brother Arch was ancient, being well into his seventies when I was a teenager.  He was tall and frail, but always sported a smile.  In his twenties, which would have been in the 1920’s, he had an appendix attack.  By the time the doctor arrived, he had gangrene and the doctor said there was little or no hope.

The doctor did something that most would think repulsive.  He opened Brother Arch, took out his intestines, and washed them in warm soapy water.  Once they were clean, the doctor repacked them.  I remember that Brother Arch always had a flat stomach.

Somewhere along that time, Brother Arch accepted the Lord as his Savior and the Lord removed the gangrene of sin from Brother Arch.  He was transformed and became a model for the men in our church and our community.

One of my fondest memories of Brother Arch happened one Sunday afternoon at my Aunt Edna’s.  My cousins and I were playing football in the front yard.  Brother Arch and his wife, Mrs. Blonnie, shuffled their way toward the house.  They walked along our goal line, which was the sidewalk to the house halting the game for a few moments.  Suddenly, Brother Arch called for the football.  One of my cousins tossed it to him and Brother Arch kicked the football.  He laughed and told us to have fun.  We all had a little more respect for him seeing that old man could kick a football.  Brother Arch will never know how much of an impact he had on my early Christian walk.  He has always been an inspiration and an example of what a Christian should be.  He was a Christian Classic.  Our churches would much better with more men like Brother Arch.

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit (Second Corinthians 3:18 NIV).

 

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new (Second Corinthians 5:17 KJV).

 

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.