STUMBLING THROUGH LIFE

As I experienced a growth spurt in my early teens, I became a maladroit athlete. Another word for maladroit is clumsy. I learned how to stumble without serious injury by learning to hit and roll. In fact, I made it an art, which was a great attribute to possess—being a practice dummy for the senior high football team that kicked and knocked me around quite regularly.

Shouldering five-foot sticks of pine trees, called paper wood or pulpwood, and walking in the woods through honeysuckle vines and saw briars were great learning tools for the art of stumbling. It is amazing how many of nature’s creeping plants can grab hold of size-twelve boots. Stumbling with a large stick of paper wood, you learn quickly how to fall without serious injury. The weight of the timber was backbreaking enough.

I remember one night during my junior year in high school I intercepted a pass and headed for a touchdown. I had two blockers, who should have been blocking, alongside me as I headed for the end zone. The only man to beat was the quarterback, and he was behind us. He chased, and, at the last minute, dove to catch the tip of my right cleat. I stumbled, falling short of the end zone. I went rolling head over heels like a ball. We did not score and eventually lost 14–13. I watched the play on film, and the quarterback barely touched the tip of my toe. Have you noticed that it is the little things that trip us?

Most people who stumble will jump up readily and look to see if someone is watching. The other day I stumbled on one of the boards I use for a ramp into my tool shed. It has flipped me on several occasions, but I have always landed on my feet—that is, until the moment when my neighbor was watching. The board tilted, throwing me toward the shed. Wanting to preserve my face—actually not wanting any more scars—I used the poise of a ballet dancer to turn while flying through the air toward a host of scar-making items. With the grace of a meteorite striking the earth, and the sound of an elephant falling into a room full of brass cymbals, I miraculously landed sitting upright inside the garage door.

Thinking the moment could have earned me a spot for the grand prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos (except that no one was filming), I heard my neighbor holler, “Are you okay?” I was, until I realized what a sight he had seen. I assured him that it looked and sounded more melodramatic than it was.

One Memorial Day, Bill, my good friend and minister of music at a former church, took my son Aaron and me fishing on a slough converted into a lake on the Tombigbee, west of Demopolis, Alabama. We bought some minnows—called menners in Chilton County—and headed to a great day of crappie fishing.

I became concerned about the size of the boat for the three of us. Bill assured me that it was big enough, as we bypassed a larger one. Bill would be running the trolling motor, so he wanted a boat he could navigate more easily.

We put the boat in the water, and again I questioned the size of the boat compared to the size of the three of us. Bill said, “Preacher, you get in first; Aaron can sit in the middle, and I will sit on the front.”

Slowly I maneuvered my way to the back, thinking a floating boat is an accident waiting to happen, and trying not to stumble and fall into a cold lake. I had already experienced stumbling on a rebar on a bridge and falling backward—while holding and bending two rebars—into a muddy creek where the high temperature for the day was fourteen degrees. Did you know that cold water would take your breath?

Very carefully, I made my way to the back of the dinghy (small boat), and as I sat on the bench the water came within an inch of the rim of the top of the boat. I told Bill I thought we needed the bigger boat. He assured me that it would be okay, and he told Aaron to get in. Aaron, size-fifteen boot, tripped on the ice chest between the front and middle seats and fell into my lifted and outstretched arms. I broke his fall and kept him out of the lake, but the dinghy sank to the bottom of the lake with me holding my precious baby boy in my arms. I had visions of the sinking of the Titanic. For a moment I knew how the Egyptians must have felt when the Red Sea came crashing in on them. I watched the water come over the boat like a miniature Niagara Falls, wetting me to under my armpits. I was glad we were near the bank, or we would have perished.

Bill, holding the rope to the boat—humming, I think, Taps—bent over with laughter, fell to the ground, and rolled on the bank laughing to the high heavens. Aaron made excuses for stumbling, and we became the other famous Soggy Bottom Boys. We were not men of constant sorrows, but men who got the bigger boat and had a great day of fishing, teasing, and laughing—with soggy bottoms.

“We all stumble in many ways.” (James 3:2a, NIV)

Now to Him who is able to keep them from stumbling, and to present you faultless before the presence of His glory in great joy. To the only God our Saviour, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion and power, before all time, and now, and for evermore. Amen. (Jude 24–25, American Standard Version)

 

What is you first reaction when you stumble?

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How do you react when someone of faith has a moral stumble?

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Our first reaction when someone stumbles is to help him or her to his or her feet, but it is better to examine for serious injury first. What do you think?

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Prayer: The Bible reminds us that all fall short of Your glory. Stumbling is part of life. Thank You for people who have helped me when I stumble. Thank You for helping me when there was no one to prevent me from stumbling. Praise be to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who paid the penalty for stumbling.

FLEEING THE TEMPTER

 In 2009, I went to the beach twice.  For most of you, they may not seem that much.  For me, I do not care too much for the beach.  I have been to the Atlantic Ocean beach at St. Augustine, Florida.  I have been to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico in Galveston, Texas.  I waded in the waters of the Pacific Ocean at Newport Beach in Southern California.

Last month I went Destin, Florida with a couple that hosted me for an On Mission Celebration in Covington Association.  We walked on the beach, and I visited two beach weddings.  I was getting ideas knowing I would do one within two weeks.  When I did the wedding at Gulf Shores, I went in the Gulf ankle deep to say I have been in the Gulf.

I am not a beach person, but I have been to Gulf Shores many times visiting friends that visited Gulf Shores each year the week after Christmas.  On one of those visits, I wrote a poem and I thought I would share it with everyone since June is Father’s Day month.

 

FLEEING THE TEMPTER

 

A seagull chases a killdee* up and down, round and round.

As long as the killdee flees, the seagull cannot catch it.

So, in its illusiveness they race just inches above the crashing and roaring waves.

 

Children are playing in the sand, some tiptoe to the edge of the sea’s invitation to dive into its threshold.  In innocence, they laugh as they are chased by incoming waves away from the sea not realizing that they were under the watch of guardians.

 

Seagulls stand guard and await the seas invitation to dine upon its continual supply of refuse, trash, and skeletons of creatures fallen in the sea.  They no longer resist the seas invitation.  The temptation is too great for them and they feast.  People walk by them unnoticed as the seagulls focus on the sea’s roar calling them to come and dine.

 

Some people walk along the shore at the waters edge slowly being seduced by the hypnotic voice of the deep, but quickly escaping the tempter’s snare they flee the cold chill of the rushing waves and continue walking briskly along the shore with no destination in mind.

 

They walk leaving their footprints upon the sands of time only to have them erased by the seas troubled waves.  Slowly they fade way leaving no evidence of the lives that have resisted the seas continual seduction.

 

The older generation sits and reflects upon the repeated temptation of the sea as it goes back and forth.  The motion reminds them of life’s restlessness that was before them and will continue long after they are gone.  They reminisce of childhood as children build sand castles in the shifting sand. 

 

They think of romantic yesterday as they watch two lovers embrace as the waves come crashing to shore.  They think of past passions as the sun is seduced and slowly enters into the sea.  In the seduction, the sun has lost its brilliant glow and now blushed as it kisses the sea.

 

Only moments before the sun’s flame had made the sky crystal clear, pure, and virgin blue sparkling like a beautiful diamond in the cold winter air.  The sun’s warmth penetrated the cold and warmed the air as they embraced.  The sand glistened as a bride dressed in white meeting her groom.

 

Suddenly, the seagull stops his pursuit and the killdee escapes while the seagull dives into the sea for its prey.

 

Bobby E. Hopper, December 29, 1999

Visiting friends in Gulf Shores, Alabama

 

* A killdee is a small bird with long legs that acts injured when it has young.

 

Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you (James 4:7 KJV).

Miss Harvey

It is funny how things trigger your memory.  I got my yearbook and I saw a picture of one of our deceased teachers, Miriam Harvey.  Miss Harvey was a math teacher at Jemison High School.  She was an old maid.  Her eyes were a little weird and her grey hair had a blue tint to it.  She was small and frail looking.  I had her for seventh grade study hall, tenth grade algebra II, eleventh grade geometry, and twelfth grade advanced math.  I knew her before I had her as a teacher.  My aunt, a beautician, was the one that gave her that blue tint.

Miss Harvey called me her best student ever.  She made math so simple with her teaching methods.  First, she asked if there were any problems we could not work.  Second, those students that could not work a problem would go to one chalk board to show what he/she knew.  Third, another student who worked the problem, and for an extra “A”, would go to another chalk board and work it.  Finally, the student that worked the problem would explain to the one who could not how to work the problem. 

Miss Harvey constantly challenged me to go to college.  One particular time she asked if I knew a certain student.  I did.  She reminded me that he was at Auburn University and was the top calculus student there.  She said that I was smarter than he.  I figured (remember I love math) she was just trying to get me to go to college.  We frustrated one another over the college thing. 

Finally, one day I asked her why people went to college anyway.  My parents were very anti-educational. Their perception of college educated people was not very high.  They thought of them as being better than them and as smart-alecky.

Miss Harvey said that people go to college to get an education, to get a good job, and make more money.  I responded that some go to be a smart aleck.  That did not resonate very well with Miss Harvey.  She said I called her a smart-aleck and I got on her bad side.

One day she caught me as I started home.  I never carried books home, having finished my homework at school.  (I took books home to study for tests sometimes.)  She marched me back to my locker to get books to take home.

Another time, the biology teacher and the principle got me and some other “A” students to play a prank on Miss Harvey.  There was a mump epidemic in school and Miss Harvey had never had them.  They gave us bubble gum (a no-no in class) and had us pretend to have the mumps by placing gum in our cheeks.  When we all went back for the laugh the whole episode turned into a fiasco.  When we told her the biology teacher and the principle had us pull the prank, she told us they would never do a cruel act such as that.  When we went to principle, he told us we went too far with it.

That prank got me kicked out of class and ten demerits.  Those demerits, along with some other demerits from a series of unfortunate events, got me kicked out of the beta club.  I had all “A’s” except for an “F” in conduct. 

Miss Harvey was sponsor of the beta club and I was president of the club my senior year.  I felt her wrath.  She told me that no beta club member would have an “F”.  I maintained the required grades for membership, but she got her way.  I spent the remainder of the school year trying to be reinstated in the beta club.  The club overruled Miss Harvey and I got back in the club.

Miss Harvey retired at the end of the school year in 1971.  Her life was Jemison High School and her students.  When I returned to college in 1983, I went to the nursing home to see Miss Harvey.  She smiled when I told her that I was going to college.  She saw something in this “Knot head” I did not see.  When I read of Anna seeing Jesus I think of Miss Harvey.  She was a wonderful Christian teacher.

And there was one Anna, a prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Aser: she was of a great age, and had lived with an husband seven years from her virginity; And she was a widow of about fourscore and four years, which departed not from the temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day.  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 2:36-38 KJV).

Oh, by the way.  Miss Harvey had someone read the Bible and have devotion every morning in her home room class.

Heirloom Rock'n Horse

Fourteen years ago, the Hopper family passed another milestone in life’s journey.  Our first grandson, Jon Grady Chapman celebrated his first birthday on June 13.  He actually turned one on the seventeenth, but the thirteenth was a Saturday where family could attend.

It was rather big party.  Jon Grady’s uncle Andy, the interior designer, brought a cake covered with a miniature circus tent.  I really thought with both extended families there that he should have brought a real circus tent, but we won’t go there.

Jon Grady’s grandparents thought it would be nice to give Jon Grady an heirloom rocking horse.  We got the idea after attending Friendship Baptist Church’s Sunday school get-together at Harold Wayne and Charlotte Leonard’s cabin in Vineland, Alabama.  When we saw it and asked what the horse cost, I got the idea that I could make it out of better wood and build it cheaper than the Gatlinburg price. 

Remember, it was an heirloom horse.  I love woodworking, but at the time I did not have the place for my tools or the time to do much woodworking nowadays.

We asked Liz Thompson if she would take pictures of the horse and e-mail them to me.  Liz did and I thought I could do it, but I realized that plans would be much better.  Pam, our wonderful Associational secretary, suggested that I look online for some plans.  I did and I ordered them from California.  I got them in two days, which amazed me seeing as how some of our mail-outs to local people take more time than that.

I had the plans for several weeks before getting enough time to undertake the project.  I designated one week of vacation to go back up home to Sugar Ridge and build an heirloom rocking horse.  My brother sells hardwood and I got him to get me some cherry wood.  He handpicked me some beautiful cherry and sized it according to the dimensions of the plan.  He delivered it and I immediately started to lay out the pieces from the patterns.  I admit that I read the instructions several times before starting.  I know that is not manly, but it is better to read instructions on some things before assembling them.

I have a small band saw, but it is designed for thin small horses and not heirloom rocking horses.  Cherry is hardwood, but it is a good wood to use.  I decided to go to a Lowe’s and get a new jigsaw.  My old one has disappeared.  I think an interior designer has it.  While at Lowe’s I decided that I need a belt sander achieve a more quality finish.  I am glad I got the cherry wood cheap, tool costs were rising, but nothing compared to today’s prices.  I thought a trip to Gatlinburg for a purchase might be cheaper.

With new tools, I cut out the horse and sanded the pieces to perfection.  I started assembling some pieces and I realized I needed a biscuit cutter, biscuits, and wood glue.  No, I was not cooking, but in cabinet building, biscuits, or oval shaped dowels, help to strengthen joints when gluing wood together.  I made another trip to Lowe’s.  Did you know that Lowe’s stays open to 10:00 PM?  At midnight, I glued the horse’s head to the body with biscuits and glue.  It made a pretty joint and I had three new and handy tools to do woodworking one of these days.

I returned to Linden where Uncle Aaron, and Poppy, that’s me, started the process of creating an heirloom.  The wood was too pink.  I was convinced would turn dark but I stained cherry wood with cherry stain and sealed it with three coats of floor grade polyurethane.  It did look great.  With the heirloom plans, I ordered a blond mane and tail, saddle, bridle, and eyes, which made it more beautiful.

When Jon Grady sat on the horse, he made a clicking sound, which brought smiles to everyone.  I did create a beautiful piece of artisanship and problems.  Every kid at the party wanted a horse and asked their dads if they could build one for them.  It also means that when other Jon Gradys come into the Hopper family that more heirloom horses will have to be created. 

Gatlinburg sure looks nice in the fall of the year.

See, I have chosen Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with skill, ability and knowledge in all kinds of crafts-- to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, to cut and set stones, to work in wood, and to engage in all kinds of craftsmanship (Exodus 31:1-4 NIV).

Dad, The Shed is Burning,: A Memorial Day Memory

I know that we can lose the real meaning of Memorial Day in the fanfare of fun and frolic.   My heart grieves for the parents of those who have lost sons and daughters in service of our country.

I talked with some men and women headed to Iraq a few years back.  I met them at the Cracker Barrel in Tuscaloosa as the Associational Team headed to Shocco Springs.  I studied each one of them and prayed for them knowing that some may not return home alive to their families.  They were so young.  Some were younger than Aaron who will be celebrating his 35^th birthday as some of you read this article.

I heard daddy talk of friend and comrades that did not make it home from WWII.  It always brought a tear to his eyes.  I never understood how much it affected him.  I know that we never did anything special on Memorial Day, but I remember some memorial events.

One Memorial Day we were planting momma some sweet corn.  Daddy took advantage of being off from work and we always worked on holidays.  We never cooked out, never went to the river, never visited, and never shot fireworks, but daddy worked the fire out of us.  It was his way of not allowing us to get bored and a good way to be thankful when we sat down at the table.  Momma’s fried sweet corn was good!

As we plowed, I noticed that something was wrong with our cub tractor.  The right rear tire was wobbling.  The rear housing was broken.  I got daddy’s attention and he said that he would drive it to his brother-in-law’s shop and I could follow him in the Batmobile.  Remember Batman and his Batmobile.  The Batmobile was our black 1960 Ford Galaxy.  It had those heinous rear fender wings, but it was a trill for this 12 year to drive two miles by myself.

Dad removed the rear tire and started welding as I played football with my cousins.  I noticed smoke coming from the top of the shed.  I asked my cousins if it was it normal for the smoke.  That said that when their dad welded that it did that.  I played some more and the black smoke rolled out from the eves of the shed.

I told my cousins I was going to see if dad needed any help.  When I went to the shed, I saw daddy sitting under the tractor welding as burning boards and debris from a raging fire burning overheard roared.  Daddy had his hood down and thought that the fire was the arcing of the welding rods.

I knew I had to get him out and I ran into the fire and pulled on him.  I screamed that the shed was on fire and as daddy raised his shield, he told me to run.  He pulled out my uncle’s welding machine and that was the only piece of equipment saved.  Everything else was lost.

There was no insurance on the tractor and my uncle did not claim our tractor in his insurance claim.  We had to stop farming until daddy found another tractor.  A few weeks later he did and I got to drive it all the way from the Shelby County airport to our house.  That was a great trip that I will never forget.  Driving a Farmall Cub tractor twenty miles all alone was fearful in the beginning but become more exciting by the minute.  Not many twelve-year-olds do that.

I have thought many times after the fire about how close my dad was to perishing in that fire.  I never considered my deed heroic.  I just could not stand to see my dad burn.  I can close my eyes and see the fiery boards falling around my unsuspecting daddy.  I never thought about them trapping him and me.  I glad I ignored my cousins and checked on daddy anyway.  Had I lost dad that day to a fire, I would have lost him to a second fire that lasts forever.  Daddy did not know Christ back then.  His rescue then gave an opportunity for salvation’s rescue many years later.

 

But the heavens and the earth, which are now, by the same word are kept in store, reserved unto fire against the day of judgment and perdition of ungodly men. 2 Peter 3:7

 

And others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire; hating even the garment spotted by the flesh.  Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen. Jude 1:23-25

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).