"Puttin' On The Hawg"

I had the opportunity to perform my niece’s wedding several years back.  I always remind couples that the wedding is a magnificent moment for them and their families.  It is a new journey on the road of life.  It is a time of worship, a time of new beginnings, and a time of celebration.

For the Hopper family is a time of “Puttin’on the Hawg.”   You might say “Putting on the Dog.”  We do not do weddings in the tradition of most folks.  Yes, we have all the dainty foods of most weddings, but we take it just a step further.

Here is how we do it.  Once the date is set, I, the preacher of the family do the marital counseling and offer my cache of wedding ceremonies.  I have the spiritual responsibilities of Hopper weddings.  In fact, I had another Hopper wedding in November of same year as the one above for a nephew at the same church. 

My sister, mother of the niece and nephew, usually decorates the church and a fellowship hall and cooks most of the food and the wedding cake.  She sure had a delicious wedding cake this time.  My sister also hired a DJ (disk jockey) to play music.  No, the DJ was not at the church, but at the Jefferson State Performing Arts Hall.

One of my brothers, and his father-in-law grilled one hundred chicken halves and pulled the meat.  He marinates the chicken in a secret sauce.  You do not need any barbeque sauce to moisten the chicken when cooked in this family secret sauce.  As with any true Southern barbeque, the secret is in the sauce. 

If you are wondering about “Puttin’ on the Hawg” and I am writing about chickens, my other brother cooked a 150-pound pig.  Yes, he slow cooked a whole hog.  In the dining hall, there was a whole hog, with an apple in its mouth, on the serving table.  Can you tell it was not a Jewish wedding?  His wife cooked potato salad, baked beans, and slaw.  All other family members help serve and do cleanup.

We have always shared God’s blessings with anyone who attends one of our gatherings.  That’s the way it is when the Hoppers have a wedding or any other kind of get together we invite everyone and anyone.

When I entered my nephew’s wedding celebration that night, I saw an old friend.  We call him “The Comiss” because he is one of Chilton County’s Commissioners.  As I passed him on the way to the DJ to make a special announcement, he called out to me saying, “Hey Hopper, you sure have made a fancy preacher.”  I mingled with the guests.  After a while, I asked “The Comiss” and his wife if I might sit with them and reminisced. 

Heedy, “The Comiss,” was the first person that invited the Hopper family to church.  I will never forget that night.  Heedy had only been a Christian for a short time, but he immediately started sharing his faith.  Looking back, he was very young, less than twenty-five years old.

I was ten or eleven years old when he visited our house.  I was lying on a ragged couch in our old shack of a house.  I remember that I had on an old jacket without having on a shirt.  My brothers, sister, and I always took off our school clothes and put on our ragged clothes when at home. 

What amazed us about his visit was that he was inviting us down to the place all the rich and well-to-do people were going.  We could not understand why he would do something like that.  We were poor, lived in a shack.  Church had better sheds and barns than our shack. I felt embarrassed that night.  I remember looking up at the deteriorating sheetrock ceiling, the worn tar exposing linoleum, and the old propane gas space heater and wondering why he wanted us to come to church and hear more about Jesus.

We did start going and Heedy would become my RA leader.  After I married, he and I would decorate the church for special events.  We would take swimming pool filtering equipment and clean the dirty creek water that we pumped out of the fire truck into the baptism pool.

He and I were elected deacons at the same ordination.  We fished, hunted, worked, played, and most of all, worshiped together.  We sang in the choir, took the RA boys deep-sea fishing and all night camping, and went on church visitation together.

I cannot help but think about all the push on evangelism today.  I am glad folks like Heedy share their faith.  I am leery of more emphasis on evangelism without discipleship.  I thank God for a church and a friend that did more than invite to come to church, they were mentors who discipled me.

During the wedding ceremony I reminded everyone that we in a worship service.  In fact, When Heedy invited the Hopper kids to church; he was introducing us to Jesus, the groom, in anticipation that we would become part of the church, the bride of Christ.

The wedding is ready, but they which were bidden were not worthy.  Go ye therefore into the highways, and as many as ye shall find, bid to the marriage (Matthew 22:8-9 KJV).

Somebody Help Me

Hope is something that this world desperately needs.  People are confused about hope.  I think most people are like Stanley Johnson in the Lending Tree commercial on the riding lawnmower.  If you remember, he says, “I have a great family, a four-bedroom house in great community.  Like my car? It’s new. I belong to the local golf club.  How do I do it? I’m in debt up to my eyeballs.  I can barely pay my finance charges.”  He seems to be living the American Dream until he looks into the camera and says, “Somebody help me.”

Stanley’s idea of hope was getting help and out of debt.  He killed his hope by spending more than he made.  Debt is a “hope killer” unless it makes you hope that you can pay the debt.  People in debt “Rob Peter to pay Paul.”

I remember in one of the churches I pastored that a deacon wanted to give more to the church, but he could not because of debt.  I asked him how serious he was to increase his giving.  After a discussion, he decided either pay off his debt or consolidate his bills and have money to increase his giving. 

Numerous believers do not give due to indebtedness.  I encourage couple contemplating marriage to live by the 80/20 rule.  It is give ten percent to God, save ten percent for themselves, and live on eighty percent of their income.  I tell them to base their income on thirty-two hours, rather than a forty-hour income.  This principle allows you to have room for an unexpected event that you cause them to miss a day’s work.

Unfortunately, most believers do neither.  The first place people cut from their budget is in giving.  I think it is important to remember that the Bible teaches the tithe and that God holds us accountable for the ninety percent He has blessed us.

Momma reminded us of hope every day my brothers and sister were growing up.  She taught us that a better day would come.  We had to focus on the Lord and his plan for our lives.

I remember one time when daddy was on layoff.  This seemed to be quite regular when I was young.  Daddy would “Draw His Pennies.”  The best I could tell was he did not have enough pennies to pay the bills.  One day a man, the dad of one of my classmates, and another man dressed in a shirt and tie drove into the yard in a pickup.  I watched momma cry as the two men loaded our furniture into the pickup truck.  When they left, we did not have a living room or dining room suite as well as some other things.  I felt sorry for momma as she pleaded with the men not to take her furniture.  I found out at school the next day that my classmate’s dad got the furniture for hauling it away from our house.

I do not remember a time that daddy and momma were not in debt.  Daddy had a tendency to make debt and then not pay for it.  Sometimes it was due to a layoff, between jobs, or at other times pure negligence.

Sometimes when I see or read the news, it seems that America spends more than it makes.  In recent days, there have been reports of America’s indebtedness to China.  Our National Debt is astronomical.  The Outstanding Public Debt as of 16 Feb 2011 at 09:29:29 PM GMT is: $14,142,147,989,931.15.  According to the National Debt Clock it was $27,898,933,000,000 as February 11, 2021 12:26 pm CST.

Speaking of the National Debt, I recall my friend “Big Ugly” complaining about it twenty years ago.  He wanted Uncle Sam to print more money.  I told him that he was part of the National Debt.  After he gave me a few “choice” words of admonishment, I asked him if owned any money.  He had mortgages on an auto, a pickup, and a mobile home.  After a long discussion on economics, I helped him see he was part of the National Debt and that the government was a reflection of the people.  If people do not have hope, how can a government of the people, by the people, and for the people give hope? 

Money is a medium of exchange.  Escalating debt is greed.  According to Charlotte Johnson’s article, “The Reason People Get into Debt” says, “In 2007, the average American household possessed $9,480 in credit card debt.”  There are many reasons for this.  She continues saying, “Although many people would shy away from calling themselves greedy, the simple fact is that greed leads to debt. The age old problem of matching or exceeding your neighbors' wealth status still exists. People often see something they want and hastily purchase it rather than saving for the item over time and waiting to purchase it when they have enough funds (or refusing to purchase it all together if it is unnecessary).

Greed is a “Hope Slayer.”

Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.  And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee (Psalm 39: 6-7 KJV).

For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for?  But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it (Romans 8:24-25 KJV).

 

 

 

Notes of Love

 

I may be a little old fashion in a high-tech society because I collect books.  I’m glad that I do because books are on the endangered species list.  Thanks to all the new electronic gadgets and the evolving smart phone, books will soon disappear.  My publisher has conferred that books are no longer in demand and want my future writings to be in electronic format.

I have a good number of books that the authors have autographed.  I have a signed copy of Herschel Hobbs’ My Faith And Message, which Dr. Hobbs autographed three months prior to his death.  I will never forget my conversation with him at a senior adult retreat at Shocco Springs Baptist Retreat at Talladega, Alabama.  We had some mutual friends.  Dr. Hobbs spent his childhood in north Chilton County a few miles north of where I grew up.

I have several book autographed by Dr. Calvin Miller.  It was Dr. Miller that encouraged me to write.  And his books are special reminders that we were friends and that his passing left an empty spot in my heart.  In his book, The Sermon Maker, Tales of A Transformed Preacher he signed , To Bobby, A Great Friend.  In another, The Book of Jesus,  that he edited he signed, To Bobby from an old, old prof and admirer. Calvin Miller.

I always date the books that I read.  I underline pertinent things that help to write articles such as this one.  I have my own order to how the books are on my shelves and usually can find them without much searching.  I know most of my books by color and size and it drives me bananas when I cannot find one quickly.

Since this is Valentine month, I decided that I would look for some Valentine cards that my children have given me through the years.  I knew that I had some in one of my old Bibles.  Instead, I found a Father’s Day note that Aaron gave me in 1999.  It is a white piece of paper with heart stickers all over it.  On the front, Aaron has written Happy Father’s Day!! in blue and he has drawn a red heart with I love you in it. 

Inside are twenty heart stickers on the left and the sticker page where the hearts were is on the right.  Above the missing heart sticker page Aaron writes, “Your the best dad anyone can have you don’t drink and cuss and I thank you for being a good christian.”  The back page has, “from Aaron I love you always. June 20, 1999”

There was a Valentine card from Andy.  It looked like one a small child would draw, but was a published card.  It said, “Dad, here’s a Valentine just to say “I love you.””  The inside reads, “No, I haven’t been drinking and I don’t want to borrow money.  Happy Valentine’s Day.”  Love Andy

Little Valentine Cards from Angel simply say, “Will you be my Valentine.” 

I do not know if children still give Valentine cards at school.  I know I had to give them to classmates that I really did not want to be my Valentine.  There were those little girls that chased me that I really did not need to foster their thoughts about me being their Valentine. There were those pretty, little girls that I had very special Valentine cards.  I took time to write special words to declare my intentions.  Some of those little girls I really thought special felt the same about me as what I felt about the ones I did not want to receive a Valentine.  Well, that’s love.  Sometimes I have wondered, “Did I run too fast and from the wrong girls?” 

My wife Lisa wrote some beautiful love language in last year’s Valentine.  One special line was, “I go to sleep every night knowing that I am loved by you & also that you are my one true love.  I’m lucky I could not outrun her.

 Jesus has sent us a wonderful Valentine card, the Bible.  The Bible is God’s love letter to you and to me.

But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8 KJV).

Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God (1 John 3:1a KJV).

We love him, because he first loved us (1 John 4:19 KJV).

Matthew Henry stated, “As the Father loved Christ, who was most worthy, so he loved his disciples, who were unworthy. All that love the Savior should continue in their love to him, and take all occasions to show it...Christ’s love to us should direct us to love each other.”

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY and as you might guess; I was not able to find all those hidden Valentines.

 

Turn Your Radio On

 

One morning I got a special note from a friend who listened to my Tuesday morning Moody Radio broadcast.

 

Good morning Brother Bobby,

It made my day to hear your voice this morning!! You are always so happy and cheerful, your laugh makes me laugh! We love you and your family and pray you will have a Happy Valentine’s Day! Blessings to you!!! 

Hugs to the Hoppers,

It is always good and encouraging to get notes.  In fact, this morning I sent several text messages to some special friends that are enduring some difficulties and I remember how important an encouraging word can be when your world is tumbling downhill.  Sometimes you just need to hear a voice.

People tell me I have a great radio voice and that I should consider going into radio.  I think that they say that because they can cut me off when they do not want to hear me.  I often tell people that I have a great radio face to go with the voice.

I will never forget the first time I was on the radio.  I did not know it.  Here’s how I found out about it.

I had surrendered to the ministry and I had opportunity to do supply preaching.  I had been asked to supply at the Liberty Hill Baptist Church in Clanton on a Sunday night.  Back then, I knew very little about hermeneutics or exegesis.  Hermeneutics is a fancy word, or should I say a technical or Greek word, for the science of Biblical interpretation.  For example, Paul writes in Second Timothy 2:15 “rightly dividing the word of truth.”

Exegesis is the Greek word meaning “narrative” or explanation.”  Paul and Barnabas exegeted to the Jerusalem council the wonders God had done through them among the Gentiles (Acts 15:14).  Back then, my fathers in the ministry gave me sermon outlines.  They said here is the skeleton.  It is left up to you to put the meat on the bones.  My sermon that night at Liberty Hill was JESUS.  J, Jesus Justified us.  E, Jesus gives Eternal life.  S, Jesus is the only way for Salvation.  U, Jesus provides Unity for His people. S, Jesus Supplies our every need.  It was a simple sermon by a simple-minded beginner.

The following Sunday morning I headed to the Chilton County jail.  No, I was not arrested for disturbing the peace or preaching a bad sermon even though I probably should have been.  I was going there to pick up a trustee who was a product of our jailhouse ministry.  On the way, I listened to WKLF radio in Clanton.  A well-known preacher from central Alabama, Hyman Atcheson was preaching.  Reverend Atcheson is the father of Randy, a renowned concert pianist at Carnie Hall, and Wayne, author of Faith of the Crimson Tide and other books of faith.

I had visions of what it would be like to preach on the radio.  I thought that I would never have the opportunity to preach on the radio.

I picked up the trustee and headed back to my home church.  When I went into the sanctuary, Mrs. Georgia Crumpton greeted me.  She said I enjoyed your message last Sunday night.  I replied with thank you.  I told her that I did not see her and I hate that I missed her.  She said that she was not there and that she heard me on the radio.  Earlier I wondered how it would be to preach on the radio and now I find out that I had been on the radio.  Since that night, I have been on the radio, television, and the internet.

People all over West Alabama tell me how much they enjoy listening to the Tuesday morning announcements on Moody Radio out of Dixons Mills and Tuscaloosa, Alabama.  Traveling the around the state, people say, “I am so glad to put a face with that radio voice.”  There are times when we meet radio personalities, their voices do not match how we imagine them to be.  One lady told me that my voice sounded much younger than I looked.  With all the assorted compliments, I remind them that I do have a great radio face.  People recognize me by my voice, my laugh.  They say, “I knew that had to be Bobby Hopper.  I could tell by your laugh, your voice.”   It is wonderful to be heard and recognized. 

People ask me have you heard the voice of God.  I say I recognize His voice just as if I would if mom or dad spoke to me, saying, “Bobby. . .”

The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty (Psalm 29:4 KJV).

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me (John 10:27 KJV).

Purple Hull Peas and Fried Taters

 

I recollect telling momma that if I ever got grown that I would never eat purple hull peas and fried taters again.  It seems that we ate them every night for supper.  At other times, all we had was googie gravy and biscuits.  For something extra momma would peel a mater (tomato) for the gravy.  Momma was a wonderful cook, but she had very little to make supper during my early teen years.

I remember when dad moved us to Illinois from Alabama.  My uncle Clifton convinced daddy to move there to get a job at Beloit Iron Works.  I commit to memory when we left.  Mom had a few suitcases on the back of an old truck that had the bed removed to haul paper/pulp wood.  She told me to watch the suitcases from the window of the cab of the truck.  I can still see one old brown suitcase in the stack bouncing as she let the truck roll down the dirt road hill to crank it.  The battery was dead.  She pushed the truck and as it started down the hill, she jumped into the cab, pushed the clutch, put the floor shift into gear, and popped the clutch.  We road to the bottom of the hill and she turned around and we began our journey leaving the “Heart of Dixie” to Illinois, the Land of Lincoln.

Daddy moved us into this old wharf rat infested apartment.  I was five years old but I remember how scared momma was.   Momma was twenty-six, my baby sister Diane was two, and we were a long way from the cotton fields of Chilton County Alabama lonely and full of anxiety.  When we arrived, we did not have much to eat so momma fixed some buttered toast and sprinkled it with sugar.  Diane and I did not know any better and thought it was delicious.  It remains one of my favorite things to prepare for a quick snack.  As Diane and I ate our sugar sprinkled buttered toast momma stood guard with a large butcher knife in case one those Yankee wharf rats wanted some of our sweet delights or two small Dixie kids.  I think of  momma imitating Jim Bowie and throwing the butcher knife at the Yankee rat that looked like an Alabama opossum.

We didn’t live in Illinois but about three years. Daddy made us a good living and food got better.  One of our homes had a cherry tree in the backyard.  Momma could fix the best homemade cherry pies.  I love cherries.  I ate my first pizza there.  I used to walk across the street and watch a man in a Chef Boyardee hat tossing pizza dough into the air.  I tasted salami there, drank drinks made from mixing water with fizzies tablets, and ate Wisconsin cheddar cheese.  We lived on the Illinois/Wisconsin line.  We lived in Illinois and daddy worked in Wisconsin.  All I had to do to cross the state line was walk across the creek, which I did almost every day.

Living in Yankee land there were no purple hull peas or fried taters.  Momma got homesick and daddy moved us from the bounty of the North to the poverty of the South.  Daddy had a difficult time finding work in Alabama.  Once again, food was scarce.  I remember my Grandpaw Chapman bringing us food on Saturday mornings until daddy could find work.  I can see him driving up in his old 1950 Plymouth Special Deluxe with the passenger seat filled with sacks of groceries.  Daddy thought himself a failure and would not ask for help.  If he were alive today, he would be really ashamed at how people want handouts.  He worked hard to provide with very little yield but at least he worked.

Looking back I never thought of us as poor.  Everybody out where we lived was just as we were.  All of us were still feeling the results of a hundred years Reconstruction.  Momma was doing the best she could with what she had.  As daddy found work and life got better momma could fix the best Sunday dinners.  Her table looked as a buffet at Shoney’s.  Daddy said momma learned to cook while having grown up ‘fixin’ possum and coon.” 

It was humorous realizing that we were eating “high on the hawg” compared to momma.  Purple hull peas and fried taters, even though they got old every night, were better than possum and coon and we knew that Sunday dinner was coming.

I did get grown and went a long time without peas and taters, especially since momma and daddy have passed on into eternity.  We didn’t have the wonderful enmities that folks have today but we did have love.  It amazes me at the panic created by the 2020 COVID 19 virus and the run on toilet paper and groceries.  Heck, I was almost grown before we could afford toilet paper when we moved back to the Heart of Dixie, the land of cotton and outside toilets with Sears’s catalogs and corncobs.

The other day I reminisced and thought, “I wished I could have momma fix me some purple hull peas and fried taters.  Some googie gravy and biscuits wouldn’t be too bad either.

Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a fatted calf with hatred – Proverbs 15:17 KJV

The More I Attend School, the Dumber I Become

I want to squash a vicious rumor that has slowly circulating around.  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 I am 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 late 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 late friend Lamar from the University of Montevallo carpentry shop who talked real slow, but could spell anything.  He asked me how I spelled correctly.  I said, “I use the dictionary.”  With all of his Chilton County Alabama 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 preacher friend’s sermon on Esther.  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).

 

Happy Birthday Andy

 You are Beautiful

For you are fearfully and Wonderfully made Psalm 139: 14

 

I remember when your momma told me that she was pregnant.  I was so excited that we were going to baby.  Technology to reveal whether a baby was a boy or girl had not been developed.  Your mom had a glow about her as you began to grow inside of her. 

 It was a long hot and dry summer in 1975.  We lived in a second-hand trailer that had been wrecked.  It was all that we could afford and did not have many of the amenities that are commonplace today.  I remember coming in from work at the machine shop in Montevallo to find you mom lying on the living room floor, big belly pointing to the ceiling, cooled by a fan.  I felt so sorry for her as she held you inside.

 Momma and daddy were excited to hear they were having a grandchild.  You would be first and would become the joy of life for them.  We could not wait your arrival.  God blessed us with the excitement of the first Hopper grandchild coming into our lives.  We knew that things would never be the same.  We prayed that you would be a perfect baby with all ten toes and fingers and all the other magnificent things that arrive with the first baby.

 I will never forget the night before you were born.  I was at a brotherhood supper at Union Springs Baptist Church.  I stayed after the meeting playing ping-pong with the Pike boys.     As I left the church, I noticed that the night sky was crystal clear and the moon was full.  I was amazed how beautiful the heavens were not realizing that God was about to hand your momma and me something more beautiful and majestic than that January heavenly view.

 The night air was cold and the old trailer was hard to heat.  Your mom and I went to bed and snuggled up for a good night rest not knowing that in a few moments you would begin your journey in life.

 About two-thirty in the morning your mom woke me telling me that her water had broke and that we were having a baby.  I asked, “Are you sure?”  She said, Yes, I’m sure.  We had some bags packed and ready to go.

 Helping down the old steps of the trailer, I loaded her into the green Cutlass and we started to St. Vincent’s Hospital in Birmingham. This was before Interstate 65 was complete and we had to travel US Highway 31.  I did not want to panic so I drove safely to St. Vincent’s.  I remember telling your mom is was cold and saw a bank sign that said it was 14 degrees.  The sky remained gorgeous and I now realized how special that was.  You came on a midnight clear on Sunday morning at 10:22.  News of your anticipated birth spread quickly at church

 As your arrival drew closer, I prayed with your momma and kissed her as they carried into delivery. Back then, they would not allow the fathers back with the mothers.  I waited with several other excited dads.  Finally, a nurse entered the waiting room and said, “Mr. Hopper.”  I stood and she said, “You have a baby boy.”  I was elated, but suddenly I realized the awesome responsibility I now faced.

 When one of the most special moments came, I saw you lying on your mother’s stomach.  She was so happy and you were so wonderfully made.  Happy 45^th Birthday my son.  I love you, dad.

Double or Nothing in a Technological World

 

I like gadgets.  I can spend hours in hardware stores, automotive shops, and electronic shops looking at all the neat things to have at your disposal.  I guess it is a guy thing, but having the right gadget or tool makes all the difference in the world for doing “honey do” projects.  Wow, have some of these electronic wonders changed the way we work and communicate.

Lately though, I have noticed that many electronic gadgets are beginning to be a nuisance.  I have been to several meetings where ultimately, someone’s cell phone will interrupt the meeting with some ridiculous ring tone.  What makes it ridiculous is that the host most often asks each attendee to turn off their phones or if they are expecting that, “all important call” to put their phone on vibrate.

At the last Southern Baptist Convention I attended, I saw the rudeness of many in attendance who were on their cell phones, blackberries, or laptop computers during times of preaching or business.  I am always amazed at how many people attend a conference and the first thing they do is open laptops, now even smaller “notebooks,” and read e-mails and other stuff during meetings.  It makes me want to buy one of those illegal gadgets that jams the frequencies of phones, blackberries, and laptops.

I remember a funeral I attended last year.  It was the mother of a former church member.  This former member is a respected medical doctor and a family friend.  My sister and I sat together, unbelievably, without daddy making us.  That was punishment for fighting when growing up.  I leaned over to her and said, “I bet you a supper that a cell phone rings during the funeral.”  She agreed with the deal.  Right on cue, someone’s cell phone started ringing to the tune of “Sanford and Son.”

I smiled at my sister and said, “Double or nothing I bet another rings.”  She agreed again.   Did I mention that my sister is gullible?  A few moments later, another phone rang.  It was in a lady’s purse and she fumbled for what seemed an eternity trying to turn it off.

Feeling kind-a bad about my sister owing me two suppers, I asked her to go double or nothing again.  I was thinking that by now everyone made sure his or her cell phones were off and sister could break even.  By the way, my sister is a very good cook.  Before the end of the funeral, another cell phone rang.  After the funeral, I told my sister all she had to do was fix one supper.

We have heard lately about the security breeches, the train wreaks, auto accidents, and other disturbing effects that cell phones and text messaging are causing.  I know I have preached at a couple of churches were the young people are text messaging during worship.  Now our young people can pass notes electronically.  It makes me want to text the sermon to them or have God text them, “LISTEN TO THE SERMON.”

I hope I do not sound like I am on a soapbox, but I think that we are losing our respect for one another.  The other day this dude was talking, I thought, to me.  I was having this conversation with him when I realized he was talking to his ear and I was talking to myself.  He wore another gadget makes people look like an alien from a “Sci Fi” movie.

In Wal Mart, two ladies were walking side by side pushing their buggies while talking on cell phones.  I saw four girls in a car on the Interstate all four talking on their cell phones.  Has it gotten that bad that we have to have cell phones to communicate with one another while with one another?

I know that during the holidays it was hard to carry on a conversation with family and friends because they were constantly talking or text messaging to someone.

As we all know too well, cell phones can be critical in keeping us safe and connected. Technology, its myriad of benefits, and all its gadgets are not the issue, people are.

“Some people have gotten so fed up with rude mobile phone users they have turned to illegal cell phone jammers. These devices knock cell phone users off their lines and prevent a reconnection with the cell tower until the user wanders out of range. The rate at which jammers are selling speaks to the lack of manners among yappers.”

Thinking of cell phone etiquette, we need to remember the words of the Apostle Paul.  And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you (Ephesians 4:32 KJV).  The words of Jesus my express it better.  A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another (John 13:34 KJV).

The next time you are in worship or at a funeral, remember to turn off your cell phone.  It is not likely that God will be using Verizon, ATT, or Southern LINC to contact you and that cute ring tone might not be appropriate.

Sanctity of Human Life

Several years ago a preacher friend and I had the privilege of spending a week at Saddleback Baptist Church.  Yes, this is the one where Rick Warren is the pastor.  Dr. Warren and I have a mutual friend, Danny Daniels, who was on staff at Saddleback at that time.  My friend and I were at Saddleback at Danny’s invitation.

I got to meet Rick’s dad, Jimmy Warren.  My friend commented that while everyone was trying to spend time with Rick, that I was talking with Rick’s dad.  Brother Jimmy, Rick’s dad was a pastor also, saw that I was from Alabama and he initiated the conversation.  I found out that Brother Jimmy had a sister in Alabama and that he lived in Alabama before moving to Texas.  We talked for about forty-five minutes.

My I.D. badge started several conversations.  I was standing in front of the church when a lady noticed I was from Alabama.  She asked me why folks in the south had so many guns and killed little animals and had school shootings.

Taken back by her comment I reminded her that the last school shooting at that time was in Oregon.  I told her I might be from Alabama, but according to our geography books that Oregon was north of California and on the West Coast.  I reminded her that just because we talk slow in Alabama does not mean we are stupid.

I told her that for the amount of guns that there in Alabama that the number of people killed from hunting was very low.  That is not to minimize the life of a shooting victim, but that we teach our children that guns were made to kill and never point it at anything unless you intend to kill it, even if it is unloaded.  Guns do not kill, people do.

I told her that my Aaron, who was small at the time, could shoot a rifle with extreme accuracy.  I pointed to a window in the church and told her he could hit any place I pointed.

She asked me why did we kill deer, turkeys, rabbits, quail, and etc.  I told her that we ate them.  This grossed her out.  I guess these Southern delicacies were not on the LA weight lost diet.  I told her that we also killed varmints.  Then I had to explain varmints.

After I explained to her that “a country boy could survive”, she said that the folks in California just shot.  She said that just a few days before the Saddleback Conference that a young man shot at people traveling on the Interstate.  That’s happening everywhere now days.

She agreed with me that the reasons for school shootings and idiots who randomly shoot from Interstates have no respect for human life.  People see movies where people are shot, bombed, and mutilated.  Movies are make-believe and that actor blown to bits is completely well in the next movie.

Abortion, school shootings, euthanasia, child molestation, and all other manners of evil have no regard for human life.

January is the month that our churches observe Sanctity of Human life.

O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! Who hast set thy glory above the heavens.  Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.  When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet: All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field; The fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.  O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! (Psalm 8)

Stuff

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Decisions"

 

Christmas poses many options.  There are places to shop, parties to hop, and resolutions to stop.  There are presents to buy, people to shy, and old friends to send a card to say hi.

Speaking of old friends, the week after Thanksgiving in 2006 the Bethel Baptist Chain Saw Team did some ministry in New Orleans.  It was a very fruitful week making new friends with some of the survivors of Katrina as we ministered to them by cutting dead trees from their yards and driveways.

While there, we worked under the direction of a “Blue Hat” which with the North American Mission Board is the person that supervised our team.  Our “Blue Hat” was an old friend from up home.

I remember back in 1984 a mission trip that he and I ministered together.  We traveled to Baxter Springs, Kansas to help a church build a bigger sanctuary.  It had been an adventurous trip out having taken a couple of wrong turns, mostly before we left the state of Alabama.

Traveling in caravan of a car, new Chevy pickup, and church van, we started home after a good week of work.  The car and church van had CB radios, but the pickup did not.  The car ran lead and the church van pulled up the rear.

Somewhere around Springfield, Missouri, a new route home, we were traveling down the interstate when someone in the lead car yelled over the CB, “Right turn, right turn, right turn” and quickly moved from the left lane to the exit ramp.

I was driving the church van and I did not have time to exit, as did the pickup.  The pickup stopped under the overpass.  I radioed the lead car that the pickup and I missed the turn and told them that I would go to the next exit and would catch them.  The next exit was seven miles.  Those in the car wanted to know where the pickup truck was.  Here is what happened.

Not having any form of communication, the three in the pickup were in a panic.  My friend, the “Blue Hat,” was a college professor and very analytical.  His companions were carpenters who had never been out of Alabama and, in a fluster; they wanted to know what they were going to do.

My friend responded this way.  “We have three options.  We can back up the interstate, go up the off ramp, or we can catch the van.”  At that moment, the 454 cubic inch engine in the new Chevy screamed and roared like a jet plane taking off.

I had communicated to the car that I would wait on the pickup.  At the next exit, I waited.  I heard it before I saw it.  It sounded alike a jet plane.  I stood on the interstate and flagged them down and when they landed, I asked how fast they were going.  The driver said, “Over a hundred.”

The car traveled at a slow pace and we caught them after we got their location and we continued our journey home on a new route.

When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.  And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.  And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way.  (Matthew 2:10-12 KJV).

This Christmas will present many options.  Let us seek the one for whom we celebrate Christmas and follow the Lord’s directions for our lives.

Good Old Common Sense

 

For several years I had a segment on Moody Radio with John Rogers and Martin Houston in the morning.  Martin was former running back with the University of Alabama and is a Baptist preacher.

That morning we talked about common sense or the lack thereof.  I really feel that people are losing the ability to have common sense.   For instance, did you hear about the man who visited a psychiatrist?   He told the doctor that he was stressed and could not sleep.  After a few questions, the doctor suggested that the man take a few weeks vacation.  The man said that he and his family had just returned from two weeks in the Bahamas.

The doctor then suggested that the man might need to buy a new automobile or truck.  The man responded by saying he just bought a new sports Mercedes convertible.  The doctor suggested that he might change locations and build a new house.  The man said I just built a million-dollar house at the country club.

The psychiatrist was bewildered because the man had everything a person could have.  The psychiatrist asked, “If you have and do all these things, why are you so stressed?”  The man replied, “I make only $250 dollars a week.”

Common sense says that one cannot spend more than one makes.  Unfortunately, we as a nation do the opposite and are part of an unbelievable national debt.  We are a credit card society that wants it now.

After the radio program, I ventured to an event at Judson College.  The guest was Dr. Timothy George, Dean of the Beeson School of Divinity at Samford University.  I had Dr. George for a class when I attended Beeson.  He asked where I was serving and I told him Bethel Baptist Association.  For several years I was the only Beeson graduate serving as a Director of Missions.  Beeson, or should I say, a few professors were proud of that.

Dr. George asked, where is Bethel saying that the last time we talked he said you were near Calera.  Being we were in the auditorium of Judson College in Marion I thought that telling him about 40 miles southwest of here would do.  He responded, “Is that near Tuscaloosa?”  I said that it was about 75 miles south of Tuscaloosa and a good bit north of Mobile on the US Highway 43 corridor.  I realized that my commonsense approach to the very intellectual Dr. George was not communicating.  It is almost like the old saying, “You can’t get there from here.”  What throws people for a loop is I say Bethel Baptist Association and they automatically try to remember their Alabama history and geography realizing that Bethel is not one of the sixty-seven counties.

I felt like I was playing the “hot or cold” game with him.  Every time he would name a town, he was way off base and I was trying get him closer.  He finally said, “Then, you are near Meridian, MS?”  I said that I was closer to Meridian than Tuscaloosa.

We broke for delicious dinner.  I cannot remember how the table conversation about Nanafalia came up, but a couple of pastors at my table said they did not know how to pronounce Nanafalia.  I said it was an Indian name.  All these men were of my generation so understood that “Injun” was what is the politically correct call Native American and not an owner of a service station or a motel. I told them that Nanafalia means long hill.  One of the preachers asked where it was.  I said on Alabama highway 10 between Sweet Water and Butler.  Most had a puzzled look.  I said Nanafalia is across the Tombigbee River from Ezell’s.  Ezell’s catfish restaurant is famous throughout Alabama.

Someone said, “Then Ezell’s is in Nanafalia?”  I said do not make that mistake because it is in Lavacoa in Choctaw County next to the Nanafalia Bridge.

So, I have had a day of Common Sense, Intellectual Conversation, Political Correctness, and Politics.  The event at Judson was about God, the Church, and Politics.  I realized that politics and common sense go together like oil and water.  The event was good and helped me with my responsibility as Christian citizen.  I left the meeting realizing that Romans Chapter 13 and Acts Chapter 4 are not contrary to each other when dealing with powers ordained by God, but reminds the reader that God owns everything.  Common sense says that there are moral laws that govern society.  These moral laws come from God.  If government breaks moral laws, then we must obey God.

Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God . . . (Romans 13:1ff KJV)

And they called them, and commanded them not to speak at all nor teach in the name of Jesus.  But Peter and John answered and said unto them, Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you more than unto God, judge ye . . . (Acts 4:18-19ff KJV)

Remember When We Used to Shake Hands

 The other day I studied my hands.  Gone were the callouses from hard work.  I remember using fingernail clips and scissors to trim the callouses.  Sometimes the callouses would crack open and become sore.  At times, my hands would be so rough that I could not rub my hands across fine linen without snagging the material.  Loading paperwood, using wrenches, and handing hoes, picks, and shovels make callouses.

Gone are oil and grease stains.  My hands were always in something greasy or in burnt motor oil.  Growing up poor, my daddy, brothers, and I did a lot of repair to worn out and broke down equipment.  Burnt motor oil and dirty grease are two of the hardest things to clean off your hands.  Grease and oil under the fingernails will stain the nails.  An old friend taught me to scrape hand soap under my nails before working in grease and oil prevents stains.  Clean oil and WD 40 will also help clean-burnt oil and nasty grease.

Gone from my hands were the stains and smells of “hawg killin’.”  Pigs love nasty.  Scaldin’ and pullin’ hair on a 300lb nasty pig will stain your hands.  I had to wear off the smell and the stain.

Gone are the splinters, the black fingernails, cuts, and scrapes.  I have had some booger splinters.  I had one go deep under a fingernail.  Momma had to cut the nail deep into the “quick,” almost the whole nail, just to use tweezers to pull it out from under the nail.  I remember pulling the nail off my middle finger when I shut it in the front door.  My hands have been so sore that it hurt to use them.

That’s enough about my hands.  Before COVID -19, I would shake a lot of hands and I take notice of the hands I hold.  Hands reflect the person.  I noticed the calloused hands of a lady the other day.  It had been a long time since I felt a female hand that calloused.  I knew the lady worked hard with her hands.

I notice that many of my colleagues in the full-time ministry have soft hands.  They tend to be very protective, especially now, of their hands and have a flimsy shake.  I think to myself, oooh.  I noticed back then that some of these soft-handed colleagues had small bottled hand sanitizers and cleanse their hands after shaking hands.  I know that today that COVID must be driving them bonkers.  Sometimes I wish that these colleagues would have a clinic on hand sanitation for some of the folks in fast food restaurants business.

Most folks have firm handshakes.  Every once in a while, I get a fellow that wants to show me how strong he is and how weak I am.  You know the one that squeezes your hand where your fingers twist together and if you are wearing a ring, the impression of the ring lingers on the finger for a while.  A doctor friend showed me how to prevent “My hand is a vice, you wimp” technique.

I try not to hurt the hands of people when shaking.  Arthritis has crippled some hands.  Some hands are small and tender.

As I examined my hands I thought of the song, Daddy’s Hands, Holly Dunn recorded.

    

I remember Daddy’s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy’s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I’ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I’ll always remember the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

I remember Daddy’s hands, working 'til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I’d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy’s hands, were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands, weren’t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love...
In Daddy’s hands.

 

I think of my daddy’s hands when I hear this song.  His hands were big and strong.  I also think of Jesus’ hands.  I have to believe that his hands were calloused and scared from years of carpentry.  I wonder what the Roman soldier thought as he nailed Jesus’ hands to the cross.  I am sure it was not the same as those that Jesus touched.

Now when the sun was setting, all they that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto him; and he laid his hands on every one of them, and healed them (Luke 4:40 KJV).

Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God. . . (John 13:3 KJV).

Weathering COVID-19 Storms

 

As the football season draws to a close and the football bowl season starts, we know that it is the holiday season.  It is a time of giving thanks, celebrating Christ, ending another year, and making new resolutions.

Family gatherings, festive merriment, and financial exertions will deplete our good nature, drain our energy, and depress our banking accounts.  Each of us will enter the New Year tired.

Take a moment to reflect on the game of football.  It has been said that at a college stadium, there are twenty-two players in need of rest and ninety thousand spectators in need of exercise and that is at the game not counting the hundreds of thousands that are watching on television.

The truth is that the hustle and bustle of the holiday season is everything but a time of Holy day reflection.  Most everyone will start the New Year tired and exhausted.  As my daddy would say about vacations, “Son, I got to go back to work to rest.”

If you are like me, there are times when I have been tired and in need of rest when the unexpected happens.  Suddenly, totally exhausted we must find energy to continue.

While attending the University of Montevallo, I found myself in that situation on several occasions.  One of those times, I was working full time at the cement plant, taking a full course (12 hours) at the University, and pastoring the Brierfield Baptist Church.  I worked rotation shifts at the plant and had to swap my day shifts and evenings for evenings and midnights.  Truman, the co-worker that I swapped, loved the conditions.  I needed to do what I thought would help me live my call in the ministry.

After working a Saturday midnight, I went home, took a nap, got up, showered went to church, preached, ate dinner, took a nap, went to church, went home, and went to work Sunday midnight.  Monday morning I showered at the plant, and went to classes at the University.  My last class was physical education, a course in tennis.  I played tennis with an eighteen-year-old girl who beat me every time we played.  I was thirty-five and running on caffeine having not slept much since starting midnights.

I got home needing to get some rest before working Monday midnight.  Getting ready to sleep I got a call from the cement plant to report to work.  The evening shift man did not report to work and there was an emergency.  I tried my best to convince them that I had no sleep and could not work.  I was an oiler on the cement kilns.

Have you ever noticed how plant safety or any other employee rules go out the window in times of emergency?  The evening supervisor told me that if I needed to sleep, I could sleep in the control room.  Sleeping on the job meant termination on normal days.

I went to work and pulled a double, working the evening shift and the midnight shift.  I was tired on Tuesday morning.  I took a good hot shower at the plant and went to two classes at the University.  When I got home Tuesday afternoon, I died for a few hours.  By the way, I did not sleep on that double shift.  I worked for those sixteen hours.

Life is full of times when trouble comes when needing rest.  We have all been there.

After a very exhausting day of ministry and work, Jesus instructed the disciples to cross the Sea of Galilee.  While in route to the other side, a violent storm arose.  The area in which the disciples were caught in the storm was not an area where storms usually occurred.  It was dark and the boat tossed back and forth causing the disciples to panic.  It is bad when veteran fisherman panic.  Jesus was asleep in the bottom of the boat, but He got up to serve.

There is a lesson for us.  The disciples forgot that hope, Jesus, was in the boat.  They wanted to rest but they had to serve, wanted to rest but had to work, wanted to rest but had to pray, wanted to rest but had to continue, and wanted to rest but had to glorify God.

And the same day, when the even was come, He saith unto them, Let us pass over unto the other side.  And when they had sent away the multitude, they took Him even as He was in the ship. And there were also with Him other little ships.  And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.  And He was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake Him, and say unto Him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?  And He arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.  And He said unto them, why are ye so fearful? How is it that ye have no faith?  And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, what manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him? (Mark 4:35-41 KJV)

 

With the COVID 19 storm robbing people of hope, remember Jesus urges us to go to the other side of the sea.  This COVID 19 storm will pass.