"Work In Progress"

My last position at the cement plant in Calera was electrical and instrumentation trainee.  It took sixteen years to get it, but I was finally doing a job I enjoyed.  I had a machinist background, but I would have never gotten that position.  I was too far down on the seniority totem pole.

I heard some interesting tales while working the kilowatt crew.  It seems that an electrician, Hamm, was returning from the north substation of the plant.  He saw two men operating a drilling machine.  The federal government mandated that the cement plant harness the dust, clean the air, and build aqueducts to control the flow of water used to cool machinery.

Hamm interrupted the men who had just engaged a drilling rig  to dig the aqueducts.  Hamm said you cannot drill there, stating that the main electrical line that furnished the plant was located underneath the drill.

The two educated rednecks shut the drill down, retrieved some electrical schematics, and told Hamm that there were no electrical lines there.  Hamm said all right and returned to the electrical shop to drink coffee.

Hamm entered the mill room when suddenly there was a loud boom and the cement finish mills slowed and went silent.  In fact, the whole plant shut down.  The sonic boom shook tons of dust down in the mill area and covered Hamm.

When Hamm got to the electrical shop, coffee drinking electricians were scurrying like rats on a sinking ship.  They were oblivious to the real reason the plant went down.

As Hamm poured a cup of coffee, Snuffy, the electrical foreman, told Hamm there was no time for coffee that plant lost power and thought that the substation blew a transformer.

Hamm said there was no need to be in a hurry.  Snuffy was bumfuzzelled.  Hamm said the contractors drilled into the main power line.  All the electricians loaded in and onto the electrical truck and went to survey the situation.

Sure enough, there were two men in the state of shock standing beside a huge hole.  They had walked way from the drill to pour themselves a cup of coffee and let the drill run on automatic.  Otherwise, they would have been killed.

Snuffy asked the pale and trembling men if Hamm told them that they were drilling on top of the main line.  They say he did, but the schematics did not show it.  Snuffy said there were no plans and that Hamm was a young electrical when helped put the line there in 1948.  They should have listened to the voice of experience instead of relying on a set of electrical schematics.

Aaron, my youngest son, worked with Culpepper Electric in Demopolis.  Most every evening he would say that he could not understand why more houses did not burn in Demopolis.  When I asked why, he said that customers would want larger breakers or fuses for their electrical control boxes.  Customers would say they need a thirty-amp to replace a twenty-amp because the twenty-amp kept blowing.  Well, if a twenty-amp is blowing, here is your sign.  There is a reason it is blowing.  Increasing the amps multiplies the problem and increases the chance of fire.

I am reminded of two coon hunters from Arkansas.  One night they blew a fuse in their old pickup truck.  Noticing that a twenty-two rifle cartridge is about the same size as the fuse, they replaced the fifteen-amp fuse with the twenty-two cartridge.  Instead of repairing the problem, they intensified the heat to the shell that discharged and shot the driver in his private area.  They had a difficult time explaining it in the emergency room.

Do you realize that if we knew everything about ourselves that God wanted to change, we would blow our circuit breakers?  We cannot handle knowing how God sees us all at once.  He is still working me.  I am a work in progress.



Jesus said, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.”  There is a moment of surrender and a process of surrender.  The moment of surrender is that moment of faith that happens in an instant of time. The process of surrender is a lifelong, crucifying of the will of the flesh.

The will of the flesh is an ugly ogre.  It is a monster that lurks in the shadows and has lackeys that put poison our hearts.  For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness: All these evil things come from within, and defile the man (Mark 7:21-23 KJV).

Put on a Happy Face

I loved to spend time with daddy.  I was happy riding with him, working on junk, or just sitting on an old quilt out in the yard.  One of the things he used to say always made me smile.  He would see something that he liked and would say, “If that fellow had a feather up his behind and I had what he had, we would both be tickled.”

We did not have much but we learned to be happy regardless of the situation.  One of the great joys of growing up was seeing daddy smile.  I can see him smiling when we did something stupid, something good, or something to aggravate momma.  Oh how I would love to see him smile once more.

When my daughter Angela was little, she would say she would be happy if we were rich.  Being a preacher’s family, we did not have many of the amenities that most families had and her brother and she were aware of it.  One day she made the comment again and I told her if she was not happy poor, she would not be happy rich.  I smiled as she jumped and danced saying, “I’m happy, I’m happy.”  We remained poor.

One of the songs that they sang while we were in church was Happiness is to Know the Savior.  The chorus goes; Real joy is mine no matter if the teardrops start.  I’ve found the secret; it’s Jesus in my heart.

Because I grin most of the time, people have accused me of not caring.   I have been told by people that they were gonna wipe that grin off my face.  A deacon scolded me because a church member told him that I did not care because I smiled the whole time she told me of her mother’s sickness.  He had a different attitude when I rebutted him with all the things that I put up with as a pastor.  Anyone else would wear a scowl if they had to put up all the gripes and complaints I heard.  He should be happy I smiled.

I had a preacher friend, or I thought was a friend, reprimand me for acting as though I did not care about a personal family situation.  I responded, “There’s the public Bobby and there’s the private Bobby.  I told him that as a preacher, pastor, and Director of Missions that I thought if anyone had confidence in God it ought to be me.  He would later do the “et tu brute” when I needed support.  You might say he was one of those that wiped the grin off my face.  It took a while but I learned to smile again.  God assured me that He was in control and to trust Him.  Though my world was falling apart, God gave me a smile.

I have goal when I see someone who needs a smile.  I do or say something to get them to smile.  There is a young pharmacist at my drug store that when I walk in she starts smiling.  She was so intense initially.  After a visit or two I had her smiling.

This old world is not giving us much to smile about now days with all disregard for humanity, increased violence, stay at home demand, and the Covid-19 dilemma, but I know real happiness comes for knowing God in my heart.  He is on His throne, very much in control, and in my heart.

The world’s happiness is counterfeit.  Their blessings are temporal and without God.  They have no peace, no refreshing of the soul.  The savings act of God in their heart is something repulsive, out of date, or superstitious.  For those who understand and enjoy the saving acts of God it is about disposition and character, not good fortune.



Happy is that people, that is in such case: yea, happy is that people, whose God is the LORD. Psalm 144:15 (KJV)

The Evening News

The LORD is in his holy temple, the LORD’s throne is in heaven. Psalm 11:4a



The evening news comes on with handsome man in a nice suit or beautiful woman dressed in a designer outfit with warm voices give bad news.  These thirty minutes of bite-sized tragedies create doubt storms and turbulent days when the enemy is too big, the task too great, the future is bleak, and answers too few.


We start asking questions.  If God is so good, why do I sometimes feel so bad?  If the message of Christ is so clear, why am I so confused?  If the Father is in control, why do so many good people have gut-wrenching problems?


First, trust and faith in God enable believers to face adversity. Grace knows how to fight, not how to flee.  Second, God tests the righteous and tries the children of men.  Testing of the righteous is for removal of dross and for the wicked results in judgment.  Third, we live in two worlds and witness the success of the wicked. This world is the only heaven that the world will experience and the only Hell believers will endure.  This world is not the believer's home.  For the righteous, life is one of faith.  God has got control.  Trust His Word and not what handsome or beautiful news anchor says.


Hee Haw comedian Grady Nutt of Hee Haw said, “God should be a resource in the struggle, not a way around it.”

Inattention to Warning Signs

Several years ago, after visiting a pastor friend in Birmingham, I made a detour by our home in Chilton County.  I check on it from time to time with frequent trips there in the spring and summer to cut grass and do other chores of preventive maintenance.  Property unattended can become a jungle over night.

I believe in what criminologists James Q. Wilson and George Kelling call the Broken Window Theory.  The Broken Window Theory is if a window is broken and left unrepaired, people walking by conclude that no one cares and no one is in charge.  Soon more windows are broken until the house is vandalized.   A house gives a license to neighborhood kids to destroy.  I try to make the home look as though someone is at home.

People usually inquire about the condition and the security of our home.  I tell them I have the best security system one could have.  I have relatives that watch my home and if a strange vehicle enters the drive, they check it out.  It is good when people watch out for you.

Turning at one of the two red lights in Jemison, I noticed that the railroad crossing bars descending and red lights blinking warning me to stop.  CSX tracks run North and South parallel to US Highway 31 separating old Main Street from most of busy Jemison.  Of course, I leave across the tracks west of Jemison.

Watching the blinking lights and listening to ringing bells, clanging tracks, bumping cars, my mind wondered back to a time more than forty years ago.  God was looking out for me that morning.  I, along with a busload of classmates, headed to school on old bus #34.  Bus 34 was an early fifties model and one of two of the oldest buses remaining active. All the other routes had new buses.  Remember we lived across the tracks.  The other old bus was too.

Riding the bus was fun.  The windows rattled as you bounced on the seats as the bus ran down red dirt roads.  A malfunction on the old bus rear end springs created a hole in the floorboard above the rear tires which red dust entered and red mud splattered.

When boys riding the bus were old and mature enough, they had the privilege of flagging the bus across the tracks.  Flagging the bus was an important responsibility.  The boy flagging the bus had the honor of standing on the steps, opening the bus doors, and running across the tracks.  Crossing the tracks the runner would look north, south, and north again, south again until reaching the other side.  All the time the runner would wave, or flag, the bus across the tracks.

One morning we had a substitute driver.  The flagman readied himself in the stairwell.  Approaching the tracks, the rails started their descent.  Lights were flashing, bells were sounding, and a long train with dozens of cars headed south.  The substitute driver did not stop.  The barrier rails landed on top of the bus trapping it and bringing it to a stop.

I remember looking out the left side windows.  A locomotive headed right at the center of the bus.  The substitute driver tried to go forward, but the bus was stuck.  He tried to go in reverse, but the bus would not move.  The locomotive’s light was revolving round and round, smoke from its engine was pouring out the top, and the engineer blew the horn over and over.  The light got brighter and the horn got louder.  Screams from a bus full of kids grew louder as girls began to cry.  The rear tires of the bus started to squeal and smoke as the substitute driver tried frantically to pull the bus from the jaws of death.  The pressure was so great that the guardrail bent the top of the bus.

Something happened that morning.  I am convinced that it was a miracle from God.  Just seconds and a few short steps from death, the bus escaped the barrier rail, the bus jumped forward, and the train screamed past the rear of the bus.

The substitute never substituted again.  Every day that bus 34 operated, riders were reminded of that almost horrific morning when we saw the huge dent on the left side of the bus.  Each new rider heard of the morning that a busload of kids almost made national headlines.  Some would say that wish they had been on it while were glad they were not.

As the guardrails lifted, I continued my journey home.  I thought how many warning signs and flagman, who watch out for us, we ignore.

Son of man, I have made thee a watchman unto the house of Israel: therefore hear the word at my mouth, and give them warning from me (Ezekiel 3:17 KJV).



Lord help us watch the warning signs you give us especially in these days of panic from the corona virus.  I know that You are in charge and that You care.

The Parable of the Seed

Long ago, a sower of seeds received word that a group of propagators wanted to form a place of agricultural reverence.   Successful with great harvests, he lived the philosophy “Do not judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant.”  He thought about the invitation and decided he would join the promulgating society of the agricultural gathering.

When he arrived at the agricultural facility, the simplicity of it impressed him.  It was a small building.  Once there, he learned that other sowers had the same philosophy as he did.  They were sowing seeds on every available piece of property they could find.  He decided this was a good thing and started attending their bi-monthly meetings.  A successful collector of seeds, called a spermologist, would teach a class on seeds at these gatherings.

After the harvest time, some of the sowers decided that they would share testimonies about their harvest and collection of seeds.  The core group of sowers invited some potential sowers to these meetings.  They realized that it would be beneficial to start some classes about seeds.  They decided to target the potential sowers and those that were interested in carpology, which is the study of seeds.

As a surprise, a sower sung a song that he wrote about seeds.  He had some of his farm hands deliver his wife’s piano, which she played as the farmer sang.  It was so wonderful that the core group collected seed songs from other agricultural groups.  In no time, the agricultural groups from the county decided to form an association.  This association joined with others across the state and formed a state seed federation.  In a few more years, the states started a national Seed Broadcasting Convention.

This national Seed Broadcasting Convention developed a system that enabled any agricultural reverence gathering, regardless of size, to participate in seed propagation across the nation and around the world.  Because of their cooperation to give 10% of their income, all agricultural gatherings, regardless of size, participated. 

The simplistic agricultural facility grew and started having weekly gatherings with more songs, more instruments, and more classes.  They decided to call a full-time carpologist.  A few years later they decided they needed a carpologist secretary and someone to lead the group in seed inspired music.

In the process of time, sowers spent more and more time at fellowships and less time in the fields.  The agricultural reverence gathering offered studies on types of soil, kinds of farming techniques, and various farming equipment.  They started programs that would raise money for seed awareness in the community, across the state, and around the world.

When excitement for seed sowing dwindled, the carpologist would invite a visiting charismatic carpologist to come and encourage a harvest renewal.  It was so successful that they expanded to doing one harvest renewal during pre-planting and another after harvest.

This lasted for a few years, more and more potential farmers became less involved with sowing seeds, and more interested with maintaining the agricultural society and the benefits it provided.  Sowers were more comfortable becoming spermologists.  The agricultural society, losing its seed sowing focus, slowly drifted toward seed worship.

The agricultural facility evolved as younger sowers focused more praising the seeds than planting them.  Where the traditional songs talked of the power of the seeds and the harvest, the contemporary songs incorporated more musical instruments, more emotions, and less carpology sound verses.  With continual decline, the agricultural reverence gatherings decided to change the way they gathered and where they planted seeds to attract people.  They determined that old soil was not vogue and decided to focus on new and uncultivated soil.  Finding the new soil, the original agricultural reverence gatherings continued to decline.

The move did bring potential sowers.  Spermologists decided that they would develop new techniques and clinics on cultivating.  Potential sowers outnumber veteran sowers and sowing dwindled.  Fewer seeds resulted in smaller harvest.  These modern agricultural reverence gatherings have an array of activities concerning the work of sowers.  The administration and management of these gatherings is a pattern for successful gathering growth.  However, the lead spermologist, associates, and the staff of the larger gatherings are expected to sow.  The rest enjoy the festivities. 

Veteran seed sowers of older agricultural reverence gatherings concentrated on maintaining the status quo.  Because they did not change sowing practices, they plant less seeds and produce little or no harvests.  Both young and old sowers forgot the basis spirit of seeds.  Seeds are remarkable.  Seeds are living organisms held in a state of suspended animation of dormancy.  The longevity of seeds is remarkable.  A seed with constant darkness, cool temperatures, and dryness will last for thousands of years.  Every seed has the potential to grow when given the opportunity.

The bottom line: seeds must be sown to produce harvest.



Being born again, not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever.  For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away:  But the word of the Lord endureth for ever. And this is the word which by the gospel is preached unto you (First Peter 1:23-25 KJV).



Note: Scientists have successfully planted a 2000-year-old Judean date palm seed.  The seed was found in the Judean desert and carbon tested for its age.  The date is called Methuselah.

An Alligator Crossing the Nanafalia Bridge

I was visiting one of the churches I served when director of missions in Bethel down at Hoboken Baptist Church and saw a small dog that did not have a back leg.  That’s something that you don’t see everyday.  I told some small boys watching the dog that the church ran out of chicken legs for Sunday Dinner and they borrowed one from the dog.

My brother-in-law had some cousins that had a small dog that lost both back legs.  Feeling sorry for him, his uncle made the dog an apparatus with roller skate wheels attached to the puppy’s body where his legs would be.  I often wondered what he did around fire hydrants, car tires, and trees.  That’s something you don’t see everyday, a dog roller skate backside.

Back around 1972, the Goodyear Blimp was making a trip from Florida to the Iron Bowl in Birmingham.  The blimp was following Interstate 65.  I was a die setter for Keystone Metal Moulding in Clanton and I was helping a couple of co-die setters stack dies behind the building.  We spotted the blimp meandering above I-65.

Now, there were men and women working at Keystone that were very common country folk.  I could tell they had never been very far from home and lived sheltered lives.  Several ladies came running outside and were in a panic because they were seeing a UFO.  They were screaming and some were wringing their hands.  A cigar shaped silver object slowly rocking in the Eastern sky.  They thought the Lord was coming.  In a blimp. Really?

I stood there amazed at the people.  I said, “Hey y’all it’s the Goodyear Blimp headed to the game at Legion field Saturday.”  Some asked how did know it’s not a spaceship.  I said it has Goodyear written on the side.  It was something you don’t see everyday.

I was headed to the office when I noticed that the pickup in front of me had a mattress and box springs on the trailer it was pulling.  I observed that the mattress had become untied.  Suddenly, the wind picked the mattress up, up, up and away.  In the words of the crows in the Disney movie Dumbo, “Well, I have seen a horsefly, and I seen a dragonfly, yeah, I seen a housefly,” but I ain’t never seen a mattress fly until that moment.  The mattress looked like a large blue and white albatross slowly flying to the roadside.  That’s something your don’t see everyday, a mattress fly.

Speaking of seeing things on the roadside, on our way back from Texas I saw a stretch limo broke down on the side of the road.  It had a couple of doors open and the hood up.  I traveled for years and I think that was a first.  Limos with open doors and hood up are not something you see everyday.

One day traveling on the Interstate I saw port-a-let tied on the back and in the trunk of a car.  I know there are motor homes and travel trailers with built in toilets, but that was the first car I saw with one.  That’s something you do not see everyday.  The poor soul must have had Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

I was told by a truck driver that he saw a large alligator crossing the Nanafalia Bridge between Marengo and Choctaw counties.  Someone in a log truck tried to run over its tail, but most people dodged it.  When someone asked me reckon what the alligator was doing on the bridge.  I said, “Undoubtedly, he did not want to swim from Choctaw County to Marengo County, so took the bridge thinking it safer than being hit by a barge.  An alligator crossing the Nanafalia Bridge is something you don’t see every day.

Headed back home from Central State Bank in Calera when I worked at the cement plant, I saw a group of motorcycles.  The bikers and their women were a motley crew.  Long hair, beards, tattoos, and sporting sleeveless shirts and jackets they rumbled down Main Street on US Highway 31.  I noticed one of the blondes in a black leather jacket on the back of a Harley Hog was a neighbor.  What caught my eye was one of the Harleys pulled a small trailer.  A trailer behind a bike is not unusual. But, the casket on the trailer is something you don’t see every day.  I asked Shelia, my neighbor, about the casket.  She said it was a biker brother that wanted to be carried to graveyard on his bike.  Now that is something you don’t see every day. 

When is the last time you saw something that you don’t see everyday?  I think God gives us these moments where we can stop for a jiffy and ponder life.  Some things we see or hear about can be life changing like the corona virus we are experiencing this Spring of 2020. 

When Jesus walked on earth, there were plenty of things not seen every day.  The blind saw, the deaf heard, and the lame walked.  Lazarus rose from the dead, Peter walked on the water, and a small boy gave his lunch and Jesus fed five thousand.  People did not see those things every day.

I thought about Moses’ call as I pondered on these things.  He saw something that you do not see every day.  He saw a burning bush that did not burn.



And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him (Moses) in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed (Exodus 3:2 KJV).



As you venture down life’s highway, meditate on the things that you do not see everyday and ask this question.  God, what are you trying to teach me?

Spring Perspective and the Resuurection

You can tell when spring is near when you hear birds chirping, smell the aroma of trees and vines budding, see the countless colored daffodils, and taste food from the grill.  Spring is my favorite time of the year.  Everything is coming to life.  It makes Easter special.  It reminds us that the dead of winter and it long dark hours are gone.

I am one if the few that enjoy winter.  The Chain Saw team and I enjoyed snow in Missouri.  Well, I enjoyed the cold and the snow.  It reminded me of living in Illinois as a kid.  No, I am not a Yankee.  As the group ALABAMA sings, “My home is Alabama, Southern Born, and Southern Bred.”  Daddy worked up north for three years.  We moved back home to Alabama in the spring of 1960 because Mamma did not like the Yankees, the cold, and the snow.

Spring reminds me of going home, the eternal one.  It is the promise of eternal life found in the resurrection of Jesus.  Daddy died on Friday after Easter April 29, 1984.  I remember the morning I left the hospital.  The birds were singing, the morning sun glistened, and you could smell the aroma of spring.  I thought about what a beautiful day for daddy to go home with Jesus.

Doctors diagnosed momma with stage four-melanoma cancer in the fall of 1986 and she died in the winter in January.  Her last days were difficult.  The demon cancer consumed her beautiful body.  The funeral director said her body was as a piece of wood that looked solid until you picked it up, and then realized that, it was rotten and it crumbled in your hands.

It snowed days before her death.  With her arm eaten into from cancer, she watched me build a snowman from her hospital window.  I knocked on her window and made a face.  Hours later, the Clanton Hospital transferred her to the University of Alabama Birmingham Hospital.  I rode with her in the emergency vehicle.  I remember it snowing as we unloaded in downtown Birmingham.

They placed her in the terminal ward.  If there was a picture of hell it was the night I spent with her.  Seven people, including a young boy, young mother, and elderly man died that night.  Patients throughout the whole ward cried out in agony and pain. 

I had never been around such torment before.  I heard the cries of a young boy as he cried for his mother to hold him and stop the pain.  The lady in the room with momma would speak in a little girl's voice.  She said, “Daddy, please hold me.”  She repeated it over and over.  Momma would say, “Oh God, help me.”  She repeated this over and over.  I lay there with a feeling of hopelessness.  My pain seemed insignificant compared to those who died that night. 

I have thought about that night many times.  I went home, my back in severe pain from the stress, and stared at the ceiling.  I could not sleep, eat, work, study, read, etc.  I was useless and wanting to die.  This is how I pictured hell.  I was glad that this was the only torment that momma would endure.  When she died, my sister, my brothers, and I thanked God that she entered heaven where the flowers bloom forever and she would receive a new beautiful body.

And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom (Luke 16:23).

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand (John 10:27-28)

Resurrection morning Jesus solidified His promise, I am the resurrection, and the life.  

A Person of Faith

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 retired 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 my youngest son Aaron and I rebuilt my ’77 GMC pickup, and I understood the statement, “They don’t build them like that any more” 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.  It is the same power that carries believers to virus pandemics.

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.  It makes those coveting toilet paper during corona virus panic a little silly.  We have grown too soft in our living.

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 was an inspiration and an example of what a Christian should be.  He was a Christian Classic. He has always been a man of hope.   Our churches would much better with more men and women 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).

Pyromaniacs and Hope

I made a hospital visit to Demopolis the other day.  As I stepped out of the pickup, the aroma of blossoms of Barrett pear trees flooded the air.  Being the global minded, I was transported to a time long gone.  I could smell the burning of a field and I remember gathering sagebrush, setting it afire, and slowly scattering the fire around the field surrounded by wild plums in full blossom.  I could see daddy on the 8N Ford tractor straddling the fire, breaking the freshly burned field, and I could smell the heavenly scent of fresh dirt mixed with smoke rising from burned sage, weeds, and stubs of long gone crops.

Momma always worried that would catch ourselves on fire.  Did I ever tell you that momma was a worrywart and daddy did not worry about anything?  Well anyway, my brothers and I were pyromaniacs, burning fields, burning trash, burning wood, and burning rubber.  Burning rubber was fun until I bought that first set of tires.

The old timers burned off the woods each year to help control undergrowth and bugs.  I do not remember having trouble with pine beetles when we burned the woods.  All we had to watch was the smut.

We burned all the clippings, limbs, and brush we cleared.  It was fun to tell tales by the fire after dark.  Once again all we had to do was watch out for the smut.  You ain’t lived until you see yourself in the mirror after standing around a smutty fire or using pine tops putting out wood fires or field fires started by inexperienced pyrotechnical neighbors.

A fire is hypnotic.  It consumes, destroys, and eliminates where new growth can spring forth with new life.  Ain’t nuthin’ no prettier than new green sprouts shooting up in a smutty area.  It has an indescribable green hue.

When one burns a yard, field, or the woods, there is hope for new growth.  Life comes from that which was dead.  I think that is the reason the Resurrection was in the Spring.  That which was dead, comes forth living and vibrant.

As Ezekiel gazed upon a valley of dry bones God asked, “Son of man, can these bones live?”  Ezekiel answered, “O Lord God, thou knowest.”

I felt that way the first time I remember daddy burned the field.  Daddy knew it would produce a bountiful crop in due time.  Daddy gave me hope.  It reminds me of a story I used several years ago speaking on having hope.  It goes like this.

Several years ago, a teacher assigned to visit children in a large city hospital received a routine call requesting that she visit a particular child.  She took the boy’s name and room number and was told by the teacher on the other end of the line, “We’re studying nouns and adverbs in his class now.  I’d be grateful if you could help him in his homework so he doesn’t fall behind the others.” 

It wasn’t until the visiting teacher got inside the boy’s room that she realized it was located in the hospital’s burn unit.  No one prepared her to find a young boy horribly burned and in great pain.  She felt that she couldn’t just turn around and walk out, so she awkwardly stammered, “I’m the hospital teacher, and your teacher sent me to help you with your nouns and adverbs.” 

The next morning a nurse on the burn unit asked her, “What did you do to that boy?”  Before she could finish a profusion of apologies, the nurse interrupted her:  “You don’t understand.  We’ve been very worried about him, but ever since you were here yesterday, his whole attitude has changed.  He’s decided to live.” 

The boy later explained that he had completely given up hope until he saw that teacher.  It all changed when he came to a simple realization.  With joyful tears, he expressed it this way:  “They would not send a teacher to work on nouns and adverbs with a dying boy, would they?” 

Let’s celebrate hope in the Resurrection Jesus Christ our Lord!

So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone.  And when I beheld, lo, the sinews and the flesh came up upon them, and the skin covered them above: but there was no breath in them.  Then said he unto me, Prophesy unto the wind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith the Lord God; Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.  So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army (Ezekiel 37: 7-10 KJV).

"Like Rats Scurrying From A Corncrib Fire"

Charley was a shift supervisor at the cement plant.  He had this nervous energy.  He would have trouble being a supervisor now days considering all the labor laws, restrictions, and government policies protecting employees.  Charley was not a bad supervisor, but it is a very different working world today as opposed to the late 1970’s.

Charley was terrified of his boss, a man nicknamed “Killer.”  I thought Killer was short for Killingsworth, but word was it was because Killingsworth tried to commit suicide.

Charley transferred his fear of Killer to his crew.  When Killer wanted something done, Charley was a nervous wreck trying to push his crew.

 I remember one incident where we had bricked the burning zone of one of the cement kilns.  Killer was notorious for staying ahead of schedule for winter maintenance shutdowns.  He told Charley to have us light a fire in the kiln burner pipe to start curing the new brick as soon as maintenance pulled (closed) the hood of the kiln.  This process was burning natural gas and slow rotation of the kiln.

Well, the frantic Charley nervously pushed the kiln burner and his two oilers, one oiler being me, to light her up.  M C, the other oiler, and I tied a rag on a long metal rod, sprayed it with WD 40, lit it with a cigarette lighter, and shoved it in the kiln in front of the burner pipe. 

With the lighted rag in front of the burner pipe, the kiln burner opened the natural gas valve on a six-inch line.  That may not mean much, but for informational clarity, a six-inch gas line makes a loud blowing sound like a rocket taking off.  M C and I had liftoff.

Charley did not know that Killer and several laborers were under the burner pipe repairing the discharge hearth of the kiln.  M C and I watched as these men scrambled from the hearth like rats scurrying from a corn crib fire.  The door of the hearth was ten feet off the ground and one ladder.  Had it not been so serious, it would have been comical and Killer was fighting mad.  He had a right to be.  He, along with the other men, could have perished in a fire if there had been a back draught or excess gas in the kiln.  Lighting a kiln was always very dangerous.

Killer chewed on M C and me for a while.  We explained that were only following orders.  He wanted to know if we knew they were in the kiln.  We said we did but he gave the order to Charley and if he gave the order, and he was in the kiln, that he must have known that it was okay to light the fire or he would not have given Charley the order to light it.  M C and I never lit another kiln without being sure it had no one in it.  It was not unusual to work on the hearth when the kiln was lit, but it was lit when no one was in it, only afterwards.  M C and I felt sorry for Charley when Killer got on him.

Charley was a fine Christian man.  Older employees knew him before his conversation.  They said that when Charley accepted Christ as savior that the next week he brought a one-ton truckload of tools and equipment back to the plant.  He had taken shovels, wheelbarrows, air hoses, welding machines, and acetylene torches and hoses to name a few.

Charley lived a converted life.  Everyone in the plant knew it, especially Killer.  I never understood why Charley never stood up to Killer.  I always marveled at Charley’s testimony and confession of stealing the truckload of equipment from the plant.  To me that took courage to confess and even more courage to bring the stuff back, especially when they told him he did not have to bring it back.  That kind of courage could stand against Killer.

And Zacchaeus stood, and said unto the Lord; Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have taken any thing from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold.  And Jesus said unto him, This day is salvation come to this house, forsomuch as he also is a son of Abraham (Luke 19:8-9 KJV)

"If You Can't Spell, How Do You Use A Dictionary?"

I want to squash a vicious rumor that has slowly circulating about me.  As with any rumor, it is hard to locate the source.  Rumors and gossip have a tendency to be bigger and better than reality.  Rumor has it that your Director of Missions is very intelligent or as some say, smart.  Well, It ain’t so.

Truth is you do not know what I do not know.  In the words of the great communicator and master of wit, Will Rogers, “It isn't what we don't know that gives us trouble, it's what we know that ain't so.”

My father-in-law once asked me why I was going to school, referring to seminary, for so long.  I responded by saying that when I was a young man, I thought I was pretty smart.  That was until I started classes at the University of Montevallo.  Once I started into the wonderful world of academia, I realized I did not know anything.  I told paw-in-law that the more I went to school the dumber I got.  Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Knowledge is knowing that we cannot know.”

I know that I cannot spell.  I rely heavily on the dictionary, the thesaurus, and the spell check.  That reminds me of my friend Lamar from the university who talked really slow, but could spell anything.  He asked me how I spelled correctly.  I said, “I use the dictionary.”  With all of his Chilton County wit he asked, I might add very slowly, “How do you use a dictionary if you don’t know how to spell the word?”  I called Lamar a “Smart Aleck!”  What’s funny is I had to use Roget’s Thesaurus to look up “aleck” while writing this article because spell check could not understand what I was trying to say.

The thing is I appear to be more intelligent than I am.  I enjoy being with intellectual thinkers, theologians, and people of wisdom.  I listen more than I speak and act as if I know what they are discussing.  If I listen long enough, a familiar topic will pop up and I will chime into the conversation.  I remember one time in church they were talking about Communion.  I sat among these church folks and I was clueless.  I had visions of something from a hippie commune or something.  I kept my mouth shut long enough to realize they were talking about the Lord’s Supper.

I like what Christian motivational speaker Zig Ziglar says, “It's not what you've got, it's what you use that makes a difference.”  He also says, “Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude.”  Confucius says, “Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.”

In Seminary, my friends would ask, “How in the world are you an English minor and cannot spell?”  I replied, “Very limited vocabulary.”  During lectures, I was continually asking my friends how to spell theological words and terms.  I remember the professor talking about “exegesis.”  I was clueless to what exegesis was and spelled it Xahjesus.  Hermeneutics was another one.  I spelled it hermahnudecks and was clueless to what it was.  Regardless of what Lamar says, I am glad I had a dictionary at home to look up these words.

I had a pastor friend call and ask me what I knew about “such and such ism” that was the new hot topic in scholarly thought.  Having no clue, I said, “I don’t know, what do you think?”  After a while, I figured out what he was referring and I told him my take on the subject.   Jewish scholar Mivchar Peninim says, “A wise man’s question is half the answer.”

It is always good to ask someone how to act and what to wear when attending special events.  Admitting that you do not know something is a very important step in the road to knowing something.  To know that you do not know is true knowledge.  Knowing when to say I don’t know is very librating.  I like Yogi Berra philosophy that says, “If you ask me anything I don’t know, I’m not going to answer.”

It reminds me of a statement from a sermon on Esther.  The preacher said, "It is important knowing what you do not know.  Esther was not afraid to ask for help when meeting the king." 

When the turn came for Esther (the girl Mordecai had adopted, the daughter of his uncle Abihail) to go to the king, she asked for nothing other than what Hegai, the king's eunuch who was in charge of the harem, suggested. And Esther won the favor of everyone who saw her (Esther 2:15 NIV).

"Be My Valentine?"

Do you remember your first Valentine card from your first love?  I remember exchanging Valentine cards and hoping to have a special note from that special little girl that I had a big crush.  She wrote in my Valentine, “Would you be my Valentine.”  Being the dummy I was I discovered that she had written that in every card she gave to the class.

Tucked away in my old Bibles are Valentine cards that my three children Andy, Angela, and Aaron have given me through the years.  I keep them and read them when they are angry with me.

Through the years I have been to many Valentine banquets.  Some have been very formal and many have been simple.  Some have been humorous and some have been serious.  There have been those with TV personalities and some with well-known preachers and church leaders.  There have been those where the menu included steak and potatoes, ham and potato salad, chicken and green beans and always a red velvet cake.

I have been the guest and I've been the host.  I have been the keynote speaker, one who served, and been the headwaiter.  I have been with my sweetheart, my wife, my daughter, and widows.

One church where I was pastor we planned a Valentine Banquet for the senior adults where our young people served and the adult ladies' class cooked.  I had been involved with many church banquets and had very few problems planning and hosting events.  But one would have thought I had asked the adult ladies to prepare for the Queen of England and all her entourage.

The adult ladies' teacher went ballistic.  She panicked saying that they could not cook for huge number of senior adults, all fifty of them.  All the adult ladies were great cooks and cooked for numerous Sunday dinners on the ground, but the teacher had a medulla oblongata malfunction, in other words, she went crazy.

She called a meeting after church one Sunday prior to the banquet, which several of the senior adults attended.  She fussed and fumed saying her class could not do such an undertaking.  I reminded her that the church was buying the food, the young people were serving, and I would help, but it was useless.  I could not understand her dilemma knowing that six ladies from a former, smaller, church I pastored fed members from six churches at a countywide Thanksgiving supper and had plenty of leftovers.  I felt embarrassed for the senior adults were hurt by her actions.  Thank God one of the class members who volunteered to do it.  Three volunteers cooked a feast fit for the Queen of England for the senior adults, whom many are now gone to be with the Lord.

At another church, we had just completed a new family life center.  I thought it would be wonderful to have a formal Valentine banquet for our youth, you know one where everybody dressed up.  This church was very casual in their attire.  In fact they were too casual.  They said the casual dress was not to offend unchurched people and those who rode the church van.  They did not want to “run them off.”

Right off the bat, I was confronted.  I received a lecture on the destitute status of many of our youth, how my expectations were too lofty, and my feelings too callous.  One would have thought I had asked them to dress in evening gowns and tuxedos for the presidential inaugural ball.

Knowing the spiritual immaturity of this member, I asked her if her daughter went to the prom, if she participated in beauty contests, or if she went to school dances.  She concurred that she did.  I asked her if she dressed for those events as she did for church.  She politely told me that her daughter did not.  I said that it is a shame that parents would spend hard-earned money for tuxedos and evening gowns for worldly events and would dress shabby when attending the house of God.

That was over a decade ago.  I agree with a pastor friend who said of people who lead in worship at large events now days.  He said it looks as if these people need a comb for their hair, a razor for their beards, and an iron for their clothes.

The Bible is our Valentine and worship is our banquet.  I want to dress as if meeting a king when I attend church, because Jesus is King of kings and Lord of lords.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life (John 3:16 KJV).

He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love (I John 4:8 KJV).

. . . for he is Lord of lords, and King of kings . . . (Revelation 17:14b KJV).

Lists

Are you a list person?  Most people are.  I went to the grocery store one time to buy a bell pepper.  I did not need a list to buy a pepper.  That bell pepper cost me over fifty dollars.  No, the pepper was not expensive.  They had a sale on steaks that were approaching their expiration date.  I bought them because they are better when they age.  Steaks go well with baked potatoes, so I bought some big baking potatoes.  Steaks taste good marinated in Dale’s Steak Sauce, so I bought a bottle to make sure I had some.  As I checked out, I told the cashier that the bell pepper sure cost me.  I should have made a list, but I still would have bought the steaks.

I quit trying to have a “to do” list.  As I started the list, I realized there were some other things that needed my attention.  I listed several things that I wanted to do that day and the day after.  I never got around to finishing my list for the day so I postponed them to the next day, which postponed my next day list.  Not being able to complete my list, I threw the list away.

Lists are important.  During my years at the University of Montevallo, lists were very prominent.  There were list of classes, lists of degrees, lists of grades, lists of scholarships, lists of job opportunities, lists of those graduating, lists of those who owed tuition, lists of those who were on academic probation, lists of books, lists of required reading, the dean’s list, and the president’s list.

There were lists at the cement plant such as work detail lists, work order lists, absentee lists, employee job lists, requirement lists, job awards lists, vacation lists, lunch menu lists.  If you were fortunate or unfortunate, you got on the boss man’s list.  That was not a good list.  He would give you a list of the worse jobs in the plant.  The plant had an employee list and an employee time card number list.  There were lists of job positions, daily job lists, preventive maintenance lists, and danger lists.

Lists remind me of the couple who were having trouble remembering.  Their family doctor told them they needed to make a list.  They did and it helped.  One night as they prepared for bed, the husband decided he wanted some ice cream.  He asked his wife if she would like some.  She said yes and asked if he would put chocolate syrup on it.  Knowing his forgetfulness, she asked if he needed to write it down.  He said no, that she wanted ice cream with chocolate syrup.

She then said could you put some whipped cream on it.  He said he would.  She asked again if he needed to write it down.  He said that she wanted ice cream with chocolate syrup and whipped cream.  She asked him to put some walnuts on the whipped cream.  She asked him if he needed to write it down.  He reluctantly repeated her list back, ice cream, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and walnuts. She then added one more item asking him to top it off with a cherry. 

“Do you need to write it down,” she asked.  He answered, “No, you want ice cream with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, walnuts, and a cherry on top.”  With that, he went to the kitchen.  Pans rattled, dishes clanged, and cabinet doors slammed.  After twenty minutes, the husband returned with a tray of scrambled eggs, bacon, and grits.  The wife was infuriated.  She said, “I told you to make a list, you forgot the buttered toast.”

Lists are important.  The Bible is full of lists.  When you read a list of “begats,” remember that each name has a story behind it.  Take time to read each one. 

And the days of Adam after he had begotten Seth were eight hundred years: and he begat sons and daughters. . .  And Methuselah lived after he begat Lamech seven hundred eighty and two years, and begat sons and daughters (Genesis 5: 4-27 KJV).

Speaking of the importance of names, God keeps lists.

He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment; and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life, but I will confess his name before my Father, and before his angels (Revelation 3:5 KJV).

"I'm Not Making This Up"

The other day, just moments away from conducting a funeral, I talked with Mel one of the funeral home directors at Martin Funeral home in Clanton.  I have known Mel for a long time.  His dad is the probate judge up home.  Mel, his dad, and uncles run the funeral home in Clanton.  They are very professional, highly respected, and deeply compassionate.

Mel and I go way back to 1982 when I was counselor for the Chilton Baptist Associational Youth Camp at Cook Springs.  The camp is between Birmingham and Pell City.  I had a group of fourth grade boys, Mel being one of them.  I remember that week as if it were last week.  Mel had a problem with his upper lip.  At that time, he was a little shy, a little self-conscious, and somewhat, but not completely, withdrawn because of it.

Mel has transformed into an outgoing young man. Mel and his family do a wonderful job with funerals.

Mel, Rex Kent, former FBC Demopolis pastor, and I spent a moment reminiscing as members of the Oaks family spent time with people paying last respects to AC.  When I return to Chilton County for funerals, Mel and his uncles say to me, “This must be a big funeral when they have to call the ‘Big Gun’ in to perform the ceremony.”  Friends up home are proud of me, I think.  They always say, “I knew you would be a big preacher some day.”

Rex listened as Mel and I reminisced about camp, funerals, and being from Chilton County.  Mel told the story of funeral he did for a certain family in the Jemison area.  In fact, the family for which I reserve the right of confidentially was one I visited while pastoring my first church.  They were members of the community.

I will never forget my first visit.  I found an elderly woman in a wheelchair in one of the filthiest houses I have ever called on while visiting for the church.  When I visit, most hosts will ask me to forgive them for not having a clean house.  If they only knew how some houses look and smell, they would think their homes were fine.  All they need is to go on church visitation to realize the how bad things can get.

The house was at the end of an old red dirt road.  A flock of geese greeted me, and I had to dodge goose droppings along the way.  The house was surrounded with junk and trash.  A short man in a pair of worn and dirty overalls and sporting an old fedora greeted me.  He introduced himself and directed me inside.

As I entered the house, it reeked of foul odors.  The little man had a peculiar smell, but nothing like what I was about to experience.  In the house was a blend of aromas from gangrene, cat mess, human waste, dog feces, bird excrement, goose droppings, and a blend of urine.  Most of this was evident because it covered the 1960’s green shag carpet. Every piece of furniture had an oil film on it and the smell of Prince Albert tobacco on the man in the fedora was minute compared to the other aromas.

Now, I have a strong constitution as the old timers say, but as I tried to witness blowflies buzzed, the cats rubbed my leg, the dog panted in the heat, the birds fluttered in their cages, the summer heat sweltered, the geese squawked, and my stomach churned.  The longer I sat there, the more I felt the need to vomit.  I had to excuse myself by saying I needed something from my car and went outside to catch a breath of fresh air and try to keep my dinner down.

Going back outside was a trip of adventure also.  This trek was solo, no little man to hold back the geese.  Dogs don’t brother me, but geese do.  It is a phobia from childhood.  As I tried to get fresh air, the geese honked and squawked as they rushed toward me.  All I will admit is they will not do it again, I guarantee that.

I frequented the home while pastor in the community and it never got any better.  The family did not care or was so accustomed to the filth that it did not affect them.

Mel said that when the woman died, the funeral was unbelievable.  He said that the woman was filthy, the funeral procession hilarious, and funeral ceremony odd.

It seems that the only family for the funeral arrived in a worn out and broken-down motor home like that of Cousin Eddie in the Chevy Chase movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  The family rode in it behind the hearse in the procession.  A large Confederate Flag waved in the wind on the rear of the motor home.

Since they had a preacher to conduct the funeral, they decided that they would kill two birds with one stone, no pun intended, and have a wedding.  That’s right.  They asked the preacher while they had all the family, the church, the license, and him to conduct a wedding.  They left the church in a decorated motor home.  I am not making this up.  There is no way to make up a story like this.

You must remember; two pastors and a funeral home director discussed this just moments before praying with a family and conducting a funeral.

Ministry is multifaceted.  For most pastors, weddings and funerals are the most stressful. I can only imagine doing them together.

Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me (Matthew 25:34-36 KJV).

I wish there was a line that said, I was filthy, and ye visited me.

Give that Old Time Rock and Roll

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 ladies ensemble or men's choir.  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, bobbie socks, 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 cuffs, 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 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 as Lisa and I visit the wonderful churches of Hale County 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